Of course, he’d been six years older and already away at university then, home only for holidays and birthdays. Maybe that was part of it—he wasn’t around her enough to be irritated by the little hanger-on, the way Thea and Zeke had been. It had also ensured that Flynn had remained completely oblivious to her affections. And Helena wasn’t about to let him find out now.
But Thea must have realised. Isabella certainly had. And since that was still...before, she’d been sympathetic, even caring and protective of Helena’s feelings.
That crush was a decade old, of course, but the thought still lingered. Had she manipulated things so that she was the one who ended up in the wedding dress? She didn’t think so—and, even if she had, she didn’t think Thea and Zeke would be complaining. But she’d certainly jumped into that dress quickly enough.
She’d told Flynn, and herself, that it was all to save face, to protect the family—even to protect Flynn from any embarrassment. But, at the heart of it, had she married him because a part of her had never truly moved on from that crippling teenage crush?
Helena wasn’t sure.
But she knew a crush wasn’t enough of a reason to stay married, and neither was family loyalty. Just as she’d told Thea. And she already knew she wouldn’t be able to give Flynn the future he wanted.
Still...
Maybe it was the champagne talking or the lack of food, but Helena couldn’t shake one lingering thought. Even if it wasn’t forever...could she really pass up the opportunity to live out the wedding night her fourteen-year-old self had dreamed of so often?
Her stomach clenched at just the idea of it. Could she even try? Thea, the counsellor—everyone had told her she had to move on with her life. Had to open up to intimacy again. And she’d tried, of course she had, but it had never felt quite...safe.
Flynn was safe. A laugh bubbled up as she remembered her father calling him ‘a safe pair of hands’. But he was right. Flynn would never hurt her, or make her do anything she didn’t want. And he was enough of a gentleman that if she changed her mind she was pretty sure he’d not just let her go but never even mention it again.
And he was her husband. Even if she wouldn’t—couldn’t—give him children, she could give him this. Give them this. And didn’t they deserve something good at the end of this horrendous day?
It would be good, she knew. Better than good. She might not have a lot to compare it to, but that kiss...she’d almost melted at his feet right then. How could anything that led on from that kiss be less than spectacular?
Helena swallowed, made herself sit up. This was the rest of her life, starting today. She’d done her part and now they were all even. She wasn’t going to waste any more time trying to make up for things—she’d done everything that she could. And maybe she and Flynn wouldn’t make this marriage last longer than it took the ink to dry on the divorce papers, but didn’t that mean there was all the more reason to mark the occasion?
She was moving on from everything that had led them to this day. And sleeping with her husband would prove that.
Pushing herself up off the bed, Helena padded across to the chest of drawers and opened the third drawer again, holding the negligee up against her body for a moment as she summoned up every bit of courage she possessed.
Time for a fresh start.
* * *
Flynn was halfway through the second brandy when the knock came. He blinked, confused, for a moment. This was his father’s study. Who would come looking for him here at long past midnight? And it felt so weird to be the one about to call for whomever it was to come in. As if he should be sitting on the other side of the big old desk, staring censoriously at someone.
A second knock. Flynn shook his head, blamed the brandy for his thoughts and said, ‘Come in.’
The door creaked open, slow and loud, and Flynn put down his glass and sat up straight as Helena’s blonde waves appeared around the edge of it.
‘Oh, good,’ she said with an unfamiliar smile. ‘You’re alone. This could have been embarrassing otherwise.’
‘Embarrassing?’ Flynn asked, confused. But then Helena stepped into the room and he understood all too well. ‘Oh.’
The pale satin of her negligee clung to curves he’d barely realised she had until he’d glimpsed her in her underwear that morning. Somehow, even if this ensemble covered more, it seemed worse. He could almost make out the dark tips of her nipples through the thin fabric, and his whole body was suddenly heavy with desire.
Helena bit her lip and Flynn knew he should set her at her ease, reassure her about...something. But he couldn’t find the words. Any words. Could barely remember the English language, in fact.
‘So, I was sitting up in the bridal suite and I got to thinking.’ Turning, she closed the door behind her and Flynn’s eyes focused automatically on her bottom, lush and curved and perfectly highlighted by the satin. Oh, he was doomed.
‘Thinking,’ he repeated dumbly, very aware that he had absolutely no idea what was happening here and, given the circumstances, probably little chance of figuring it out even if she explained it in words of no greater than two syllables. ‘Uh...what about?’
‘Us, mostly.’ Facing him again, she flashed him a smile—a bright and happy smile like he remembered from Helena of old. Helena at fourteen, following him around the house all Christmas Day, her new camera in hand. Except Helena at fourteen had worn taffeta dresses his mother picked out and had never, ever rendered him speechless like this.
‘You mean the wedding?’ Flynn asked, feeling proud of himself for managing that much in the face of satin nightwear.
‘More...the marriage.’ Moving over to the drinks cabinet he’d left open, Helena poured herself a brandy, then brought the bottle over to top up his glass. Because obviously what he needed at this point was more alcohol. The two brandies he’d already had appeared to have addled his mind completely.
Or maybe that was just her.
She sat down in his father’s abandoned chair and crossed her legs, slim ankles showing under the hem of her negligee. Flynn had always felt that ankles were fairly safe parts of the female anatomy to look at, until now. Now, all he could think about was encircling one of those neat ankles with his fingers, trailing them up under all that satin until she uncrossed those legs and parted her thighs for him...
No. Hadn’t he already decided he couldn’t risk getting any closer to his wife until they agreed terms? He needed her tied to him for good before he risked anything—pregnancy or worse. He couldn’t take the chance that he’d grow attached, start imagining their future together, if she might walk out on him at any moment. And he wasn’t about to let brandy and satin derail the only part of his plan that was still intact.
‘Did you want to talk about the marriage contract?’ he asked, straightening himself in his chair and placing his full glass out of easy reach on the table. All he was feeling right now was lust. Nothing to worry about—as long as he didn’t act on it. A one-night stand would be one thing, a temporary release—and wow, did he want that right now. But a man couldn’t have a one-night stand with his own wife. That wasn’t how this worked.
‘Not exactly.’ The smile she gave him now wasn’t a memory at all. It was all new—teasing and tempting and tantalising. The sort of smile Flynn Ashton would never have been allowed to see if he hadn’t married this woman that morning.
Suddenly, the whole fiasco seemed worthwhile, just for a glimpse of that smile. Even if he couldn’t do anything about it—yet.
Yet. That was the key. He didn’t need to close this door forever, didn’t