The car roared closer, towards the tight bend in the long drive. Flynn quickened his pace, suddenly alert. It wasn’t braking soon enough to make the turn.
By the time the sickening screech and thud of a collision shattered the night, Flynn was sprinting.
The drift of cloud across the moon parted as he scudded around the thicket on a surge of frantic adrenaline. There it was: an open convertible at an ungainly angle, nose deep in the dark foliage. Moonlight sparkled on shattered glass that crunched under his feet.
But Flynn’s eyes were on the driver’s seat. On the figure struggling with the door. Moon-silvered hair spilled over pale, bare shoulders and arms flecked with what he suspected was blood. His heart hammered even as relief kicked in. At least she was conscious.
‘Don’t move.’ He had to see how badly she was injured, and quickly.
‘Who’s there?’ Instantly the woman shrank back from the door.
Her head snapped up and shock slammed into him. Ava? It couldn’t be little Ava Cavendish. Not in that tight, low-cut white evening gown. Not with those lush breasts.
‘Who is it?’
This time Flynn registered the sharp fear in her tone. Already she was trying to climb out the opposite side of the car, her long dress catching.
‘Ava? It’s okay. It’s me, Flynn Marshall.’ He reached the driver’s door but couldn’t wrench it open. The metal was buckled. Frustration surged.
‘Flynn? Mrs Marshall’s son?’
Her voice was slurred and anxiety stabbed him. Wasn’t slurred speech a danger sign?
‘Yes, Flynn.’ He made his voice soothing as he tried to recall hazy first aid knowledge. ‘You know me.’
A gusty sigh met the revelation. She mumbled something under her breath. He caught the word safe.
Flynn frowned. ‘Of course you’re safe with me.’
They’d grown up on the estate. Ava in the big house and he in a cramped workers’ cottage with his parents.
‘Here. This way.’ He had to get her away from the car. He couldn’t smell petrol but he’d take no chances.
Whatever her injuries, she could move her arms and legs. No spinal damage, hopefully. She’d already clambered up to kneel on the seat.
She twisted and a bottle dropped to the floor.
Since when had Ava been drinking champagne? She must be only—he did a quick mental calculation—seventeen. More to the point, the Ava he knew was far too responsible to drink and drive, even in a fit of teen rebellion.
‘Sure you’re Flynn?’ She frowned owlishly, sitting back on her heels. ‘You look different.’
Ava had never seen him in his city suit or anything as expensive as his cashmere coat. On his visits to his mother he reverted to casual clothes. Tonight, knowing his mother would be at the big house all night, working, he’d arrived late then set out for a stroll to clear his head after the drive. And to say farewell. This would be his last visit. Finally he’d convinced his mum to leave Frayne Hall.
‘I’m definitely Flynn.’ He reached out and scooped her up in his arms, lifting her carefully over the low door. But when he would have put her on her feet she clung tight, arms wrapped around his neck.
‘You have to promise.’
Wide, bright eyes glittered up at him and something punched hard in his gut.
‘Promise you won’t take me back.’
‘You need help. You’re hurt.’ Some of the dark streaks on her pale skin had smudged. Blood. Hell! He had to get her away from here, see how badly she was injured.
‘You can help me. Just you.’
She pouted up at him, her glossy lips enticing even in the moonlight. To his horror he felt a ripple of masculine response.
‘Please?’
She blinked and he saw tears fill her eyes.
He tightened his hold, valiantly ignoring the fact that little Ava had grown into a seductively luscious woman.
‘Of course I’ll help you.’
‘And you promise you won’t take me back? You won’t tell them where I am?’
The intensity of her stare and the anguish in her voice raised the hairs on his nape.
She didn’t sound drunk. She sounded scared.
He frowned, telling himself it was an illusion. She just didn’t want to face the music. She’d crashed an expensive car and she’d been drinking. Yes, her father would be upset. Yet Flynn knew that Michael Cavendish, though an appalling employer, was a doting family man. Ava had nothing to fear.
‘Promise me!’ Desperation threaded her rising voice and she struggled in his arms.
Flynn looked towards the big house, a blaze of light in the distance. No one had come after her. They mightn’t even know she’d left. He sighed.
‘I promise. For now at least.’ He’d take her to his mother’s cottage, see how badly she was hurt, then decide whether to take her to a hospital and about ringing her father—the last man in the world he wanted to talk to.
‘Thank you, Flynn.’
She smiled and laid her head against him. Her hair tickled his chin, the scent of roses and femininity curling around him.
‘I always liked you. I knew I could trust you.’
* * *
Ava winced as she stepped into the cosy kitchen, awash with bright morning light. It wasn’t that the light exacerbated her sore head so much as the fact it would reveal what she’d seen in the tiny bathroom mirror. Shadowed eyes. Bloodless lips now she’d scrubbed off her scarlet lipstick. Pale skin marked by scores of tiny cuts.
Far too much pale skin.
She’d tried to hitch her bodice up to cover herself a little more but it was no good. The dress was designed to reveal, not conceal.
The coward in her wished she could slip out without Flynn seeing her. He’d been marvellous, so supportive. But what must he think of her? Crashing her car, refusing to call her father or budge from his mother’s cottage. She caught her breath. Would she have to face Mrs Marshall too this morning?
‘Do you have a headache? I’ve got painkillers here.’
Ava swung around. Flynn stood, tall, dark and broodingly attractive, watching her with concern. He held out a glass and some medication. Her silly heart fluttered just at the sight of him.
Embarrassment surged. He’d anticipated she’d have a hangover. Could this scenario get any worse?
She wondered if he thought she did this all the time. Did he think she’d been wildly partying? She shivered.
Next thing she knew she was being gently pushed into a seat with something warm wrapped around her shoulders. It smelt fresh, like the forest after rain. Like Flynn. She breathed deep, his masculine scent going straight to her head.
‘Thank you.’
Ava met his dark eyes, felt again that unfamiliar pulse of awareness before looking away. He overwhelmed her. From childhood she’d been drawn to Flynn, despite the seven years between them, to his devil-may-care adventurous streak and his kindness.
More recently, though, Ava had been tongue-tied by the assured, handsome man he’d become. Even his loose-limbed stride appealed. Did he know he made her heart beat faster? That