She could see that wouldn’t be happening any time soon. She exhaled a resigned sigh into the frigid air. ‘I can see you’re still mad at me, but maybe that’s why we should both have some time to think things through before we meet again?’
‘Think things through? What the hell do you think I’ve been doing for these past four and a half years?’
He took a step towards her, put his face up close to hers—so close she could see every tiny grooved line and pore indenting his skin. She could see the midnight shadow that studded his well-defined jaw, and Caitlin’s heart thudded in shock at the barely contained anger that rolled off him towards her.
‘I thought—’ She took a nervous swallow. ‘I thought you might have married again or—or perhaps be living with someone by now?’
Oh, how she’d dreaded that. Even though there was no earthly or logical reason why Flynn shouldn’t be with someone else by now.
‘I’m no celibate priest, but I’m not in a relationship, no. Why, Caitlin? Did it make it easier for you all these years living in London to think of me being with someone else? Sorry to disappoint you. I guess betrayal leaves a nasty taste in the mouth that’s not easy to relinquish. These days I have only one real use for women, and I’m sure you don’t need me to go into details!’
‘No, I don’t.’
It was almost more than she could bear to imagine him for even one second with another woman, doing the things he had done with her. Oh, God…would this pain ever heal? This longing for him abate? Fixated on the beautiful sensual mouth that hovered so near, Caitlin could almost taste the kiss that her lips longed for. His kisses had been heaven and forbidden fruit all at the same time. Her knees went weak as water at the memory.
As if not trusting himself to be so close to her, Flynn moved abruptly away again—but not before his jade eyes made a blistering examination of her face.
‘And what about you, Caitlin? Do you honestly mean to tell me that there’s been no other man in your life since you left? That you’ve spent every night in your bed alone?’
‘It doesn’t matter what I say, does it? You’ll believe whatever you want to believe!’
‘Can you blame me?’
He strode right away from her then, driving his hand in mute outrage through his sleet-sodden black hair.
‘Flynn!’
She ran after him, cold to the bone and shivering uncontrollably.
‘Please don’t just walk away!’
‘Why not?’ he growled, his expression bleak. ‘Isn’t that what you do?’
‘Please, Flynn,’ she implored again, too weary in mind, body and spirit to argue any more—knowing whatever she said would likely be a red flag to a bull while he was in this frame of mind. ‘I don’t want us to be enemies. I know we can’t be friends, but don’t you think we could try and resolve our differences and at least be civil to each other?’
‘We’d better get out of here.’
Ignoring her plaintive question, Flynn pulled up his jacket collar as far as it would go, with freezing hands almost blue with cold. In spite of his animosity and anger towards her, he could see that Caitlin was in even worse straits. Her wheaten-gold hair was drenched and flattened to her head, and her lips were almost colourless…like wax. The last thing she needed after just burying her father was to come down with a bout of flu…or even…pneumonia.
‘This wind is getting worse and the light is going. Did you make your way here by yourself?’
‘I got a lift to the road and walked from there,’ she replied, her teeth chattering.
‘My Land Rover’s parked down at the bottom. I’ll run you home.’
For a moment she looked as if she might refuse the offer of a lift, but a second later she briefly inclined her head.
‘Thanks…Just halfway down the lane will do. I can walk the rest of the way from there.’
When Flynn pulled up in the lane that led to what had been Tom Burns’ old cottage, he switched off the ignition and turned in his seat to regard his now silent passenger.
‘We could meet at the house tomorrow at around ten. Do you want me to come and get you?’
‘No, it’s all right. I prefer to walk. Ten it is, then.’
She pushed open the door at her side and stepped down onto the snowy road without another word.
Flynn sat and watched her walk up the lane—a slender, duffle-coated figure with bright hair whipped by the wind—and he gripped the steering wheel as though he would break it, shuddering out a long, slow breath.
CHAPTER THREE
SHIVERING, Caitlin wrapped her arms around her chest to try and retain some warmth inside. Since returning from Maiden’s Hill with Flynn she had hardly been able to get warm at all. It was as though some of the ice and snow that covered the beautiful, haunting Irish landscape had seeped into her very bones…drip by freezing drip. Knowing she was finally going to have to tell him about Sorcha tomorrow, she fleetingly mused on how his family would react to the news that the girl they’d so looked down their noses at had a child by Flynn. No doubt they’d instantly believe that she’d come home to try and trap him—just as his mother Estelle had once told him she might.
With her daughter tucked up safely in the old iron-framed bed she had slept in as a child, Caitlin stared out through the back door of the small farm cottage into the inky darkness of the freezing night, lifting her gaze to the sprinkling of bright stars that were like a glittering breastplate above.
None of them burned with the same intense flame or hue as Flynn MacCormac’s unforgettable eyes…And today those same eyes had regarded Caitlin with fury and loathing in their depths for what he clearly perceived as her careless and thoughtless desertion. It was so unfair! And why should all the blame fall on her? If only he had been more emotionally giving and less remote sometimes, she might have been able to open up to him as she’d wanted. How could she have told him she was carrying his child when she’d had no clue at all as to how he might react to such momentous news? What if Flynn had believed that Caitlin really was some conniving little gold-digger, out to try and trap him into a commitment he didn’t want or desire? Such a destroying assumption would have made a complete mockery of her love for him…a love that she had known to be pure and true.
Her throat tightened painfully when she remembered how hard she’d cried on that plane journey across the sea to London—far from her home…far from the man she loved.
When Flynn found out about Sorcha she knew his heart would probably petrify against her completely…that it was likely he would never forgive her. How would she live with that? Especially if he wanted regular contact with Sorcha from now on? How would she cope if he wanted his child but viewed her mother as somehow not good enough or trustworthy enough to be associated with his illustrious family? Her humiliation at the hands of the MacCormac clan would then be complete…
* * *
Returning from his early-morning ride on the stunning grey mare he had recently purchased from an elite stables in Dublin, Flynn left the horse in the capable hands of his top stable-hand, with instructions to get her dry and warm as quickly as possible and give her a feed. Then he went back to the house for a quick hot shower and a change of clothes before Caitlin arrived.
The elegant Georgian mansion he had lived in from a child contained four different wings, each with its own self-contained living quarters. But now Flynn was the only one who lived there. Although, truth to tell, he spent more time these days up in the remote cottage he’d renovated. After Isabel had done her worst, he had more or less viewed the big house as a place in which to conduct the business of the