'Look after her, will you?' he said to Reilly, as if Summer were a stray dog.

  Reilly saluted. 'Yes sir.' But her eyes were kind when held out her hand to Summer. 'Is that all you have with you? You must be frozen. Come on, I have some spare kit in my tent.'

  Summer abandoned Flynn without a word and followed Reilly to her tent. He could go to hell. Dragging her out here and fobbing her off on someone else.

  Reilly's tent was tiny. The whole thing would fit into her wardrobe back in London. And it held two sleeping bags. Surely it wasn’t meant for two people?

  Reilly searched her kit bag and produced a one-piece camouflage jumpsuit similar to the one she was wearing. 'Here, pull this on.'

  With difficulty, Summer shrugged out of her boots and sweater and pulled the suit on over her shorts and t-shirt before pulling up the zip. It caught at the bust, and Reilly laughed. 'They’re not designed for women. Wait ‘til you try going to the latrine in one. You may want to lose the shorts, otherwise you’ll be there all night.'

  Summer lay back on the sleeping bag and wriggled out of the suit again. 'Why don’t they have suits for women?'

  Reilly’s eyes filled with a quiet pride. 'Because I’m the first woman in the Wing. One of the first female operators in the world.'

  'You’re kidding me. I thought that the army didn’t—'

  'The SAS had a few non-combatants, and the SEALs have none.' Reilly grinned. 'I think that’s why Moore wanted me here this weekend. He has a bet on with Fletcher that the Wing will win. Having a woman on the team will really rub their noses in it.'

  Summer zipped the suit up again and pulled on her boots. She couldn’t imagine any woman wanting to go into battle. 'What did you have to do to join the wing?'

  'The failure rate is really high – about 92%. PT is the worst bit. They start you off with a ten-click run. You have to do that in forty-five minutes. Then you have a cross-country speed march with a thirty-pound CEFO & weapon. After that you swim 400m pushing a raft.'

  'Every day, they work you from 0700 to around 2200, and after that you have to study and look after your kit. The best bit was the twenty-six miles trek in full gear over the mountains. The terrain was so bad that we were only managing one click an hour.'

  'I nearly gave up then, but Captain Flynn kept roaring at me to move my arse, and I didn’t want to let him down. He got me through to the next stage.' Reilly didn’t bother to hide the admiration in her voice.

  Summer didn’t understand half of what she had just said, but it sounded like torture. 'Flynn was your boss?'

  'My CO,' Reilly said.

  Summer couldn’t imagine doing any of that. What would drive a woman, especially one like Reilly, who was pretty under the bad haircut and lack of make-up, to do something like that? She felt a pang of shame for the way she had been drifting around London, shopping and partying, then dismissed it. Reilly had picked it. It wasn’t Summer’s idea of fun.

  The fly screen opened. 'Is this a ladies-only slumber party, or can anyone join in?'

  'Feck off, McTavish,' Reilly said as she threw a mucky boot at him

  He caught it deftly before turning his attention to Summer. 'Flynn sent me. May I have the honour of escorting you to dinner?'

  Summer got to her knees and clambered out of the tent. Only when she stood up did she realise that the suit was a little tight. More than a little. Reilly’s boyish figure wasn’t as well-endowed as hers. Summer had what her grandmother described as the 'O’Sullivan arse' and no amount of workouts in the gym could get rid of it. Summer tugged her zipper up higher, but the zip stuck stubbornly at her boobs—she felt like Armed Forces Barbie. It would take too long to change again so she would just have to brazen it out.

  Flynn glared at the men escorting the two women. How had he managed to forget that when Summer O’Sullivan was around, men swarmed like bees around a honey pot? It didn’t matter what she wore. She had that effect. And he, the brain-dead moron, had made his job twice as difficult by bringing her to an island full of men with so much testosterone overload they could power the Tour de France.

  It hadn’t escaped his notice that Niall and Andy were crowding over her as if they had a patent on stupidity.

  Still, at least Reilly would keep an eye on her, and –bizarre thought— might even act as a chaperone. He trusted her to keep Summer safe.

  Flynn headed for the clearing where fires had already been lit and the smell of steak was perfuming the air. He couldn’t wait to see the rest of the lads and catch up with them. He ran a mental tally of who was in action now and who might be competing. This was the Wing’s year, he was sure of it.

  'Grant.' Fletcher greeted him with a grunt, but cleared a space beside him for Flynn to sit down when he had collected his food. 'Made up your mind if you are Scots or Irish yet? You know you’d be an asset to our boys if you made the right choice.'

  Keeping one eye on Summer, who was now seated between Niall and Andy, Flynn loaded up his plate with two large steaks, three baked potatoes and a spear of broccoli. He knew from experience that once the games began, cooked meals would be a luxury. 'Nobbling the competition already?' he asked. 'Don’t worry. We’ll be gentle with you.'

  Fletcher snorted. 'That’ll be a first. Just giving you the chance to save face when we wipe the floor with you.'

  Flynn laughed and grabbed a beer. Fletcher looked more like a London businessman than the seasoned warrior he was, but it was a stupid man who took his blond GQ looks at face value. 'Well, that’s first and second place sorted. Are we beating the yanks into third place this year?'

  A navy SEAL sitting nearby raised one eyebrow. 'In your dreams, dude.'

  'Exactly,' said a voice Flynn hadn’t heard for five years, and had hoped never to hear again. 'You may as well go home now. I promise not to tell anyone.'

  Flynn turned around slowly, giving himself a moment to blank his face before he met the eyes of Col J. Darren Hall. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a natural air of command and cold laser-blue eyes.

  'You’re still with the SEALs?' he asked. How had the bastard not had a Dishonourable Discharge yet?

  'Of course not.' Hall sniffed, ignoring the derisory scowl from the other American. 'I’m with Blackstone now. They’re the best, and I’m the best of the best.'

  'Dream on,' Flynn said. Beside him, Fletcher looked from one to the other, picking up the tension between the two men.

  Col Hall set down his plate full of food and a beer. Then he turned back to Flynn and stared at Summer who was flirting outrageously with Andy.

  Damn it. Why had he asked the biggest womaniser in the Wing to look after her? He should have asked Reilly.

  'So how is your little bitch now?'

  For a moment, he thought Hall was talking about Summer, and the urge to throttle the bastard nearly overwhelmed him. But Hall had turned to Fletcher. 'Have you seen what the Irish boys have been reduced to? They’ve got their very own pet poodle along this year, and think she can beat the boys.'

  Reilly. Hall was talking about Reilly. Flynn pulled in a breath. 'Our ‘pet poodle’ as you call her, will piss all over your mangy mutts.'

  Hall took a sip from his glass. 'Political Correctness gone mad. Women in Special Ops. Just wait until she claims she can’t do something because she’s on the rag.'

  Flynn held onto his tempter with an effort. 'Reilly is here because she earned her place. When the games start, you’ll see why. Just don’t make the mistake of hitting on her.' He paused. 'On second thoughts, do hit on her. She can look after herself. Not like the last woman I saw you with.'

  The words hung in the air, a declaration of war. Neither of them had forgotten the last time they had met, when Flynn had pulled Hall off a woman in Afghanistan. 'The slut changed her mind, that’s all.' Hall shrugged, the incident only a minor detail to him. He grinned. 'Besides, who would be interested in that pretend soldier when there’s a real woman on the island?' There was a chorus of catcalls and cheers from the SEALs.

  Summer.

  Before his brain could engage, Flynn had moved and had his hand around Hall’s throat. 'Just keep your hands off her. She’s mine.'

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Niall’s look of horror. He clung on to common sense long enough to add, 'I’m her bodyguard. If you want to touch one hair on her head, you go through me.'

  Niall was at his side in an instant. 'And me.'

  Hall glared as Flynn released him. 'Still can’t take a joke, can you?' He turned away, as if the incident was over.

  Niall pushed Flynn back into his seat and spoke in a voice that was quiet, but deadly serious. 'That had better have been a joke, you asshole. Just remember that Ms O’Sullivan is your client.'

  Flynn nodded. He had to remember that.

  THREE

  She was surprised that the food had tasted so good, or maybe it was because she was starving. And everyone had been so nice to her, especially Col. Hall. The former SEAL was a real gentleman. Unlike Flynn who had stared at her all evening with a disapproving look on his face, when he wasn’t talking to Reilly.

  Summer squashed down a tiny spark of jealousy. Flynn never smiled at her like that. He was obviously relaxed here among his friends and the uniform he was wearing didn’t do him any harm either. Before tonight, she hadn’t considered Flynn as a soldier, but he definitely had an air of command. Reilly and some of the younger soldiers were buzzing around like bees in a hive, but their attention didn’t stop him glaring at her.

  Captain Fletcher stood up and banged his tin mug with his knife. 'Gentlemen—and ladies—the games will begin tomorrow at seven a.m. I propose we adjourn for the night.'

  Within minutes, the table was cleared and the party dispersed. Summer wasn’t sure what to do or where she was sleeping. Flynn was still in earnest conversation with Reilly. Sod that, she would find her own bed.

  Flynn’s head shot up. 'Where are you going?'

  'To the ladies’ room.' Although she had looked, she hadn’t spotted a Portaloo anywhere. Some of the old houses were still standing; surely one of them had a working bathroom.

  Reilly stood up. 'I’ll go with you.'

  But Flynn motioned her away. 'I’ll take care of her. Goodnight, Sergeant.'

  Reilly departed, leaving them alone.

  Flynn guided her into along the old street. 'Did you enjoy yourself tonight?' His question was innocent enough, but there was an edge to his tone that sent a shiver down her spine. What was with him? 'Yes, they were all very nice, especially Col. Hall.'

  'Stay away from him.'

  Flynn had dragged her to this place and now he wanted to dictate who she spoke to? Who the hell did he think he was? 'I don’t see why you—'

  'Consider it an order.'

  Summer stopped short. 'Who died and made you my boss? I’m not one of your soldiers and I don’t have to take your orders. This place is giving you delusions of power.'

  The rain had finished and the dark blue sky was full of stars. In the darkness, she could see the glow of flashlights in some of the tents. Most of the soldiers had already gone to bed, and she still hadn’t found a bathroom or knew where she was sleeping. She marched towards one of the houses which seemed to be in better condition than the others.

  'I wouldn’t, if I were you,' Flynn’s voice came from behind her.

  'I need to pee,' she hissed, refusing to look at him.

  'The buildings are unsafe. The plumbing hasn’t worked for years, and they’re full of rats. Why do you think we’re sleeping outside?'

  That stopped her in her tracks. 'Oh.' Damn it!

  'Come on, I’ll take you to the facilities.'

  Beside what remained of the post office was a tiny tent, taller than it was wide. Flynn lifted the flap to reveal with looked alike a large collapsible potty, complete with liner and the stink of chemicals. A roll of toilet paper and a dispenser of sterilizing gel completed the ‘facilities’. Compared to this, the bathroom at the croft was luxurious.

  'I’ll wait for you,' Flynn said and turned his back.

  Cringing, Summer wriggled out of her fatigues and used the latrine as quickly as she could. How was she going to go to the loo tomorrow with all the others around, and how did Reilly manage? She rubbed the gel into her hands three times before she felt able to pull up the zip on her borrowed uniform. Then she hurried to join Flynn.

  After seeing Reilly’s tent, she wasn’t sure why she was expecting anything better. Flynn quickly destroyed any fanciful notions she had when he led her to a tent a little further down the street. 'Wait here.'

  He flicked on a flashlight and crawled inside. Through the fabric of the tent she could see him unrolling two sleeping bags. Why had she thought that a weekend away was a good idea?

  Flynn popped his head out. 'All done. Come on in.'

  'You are kidding me. I’m not sharing with you. I want a proper bed. In my own room. With an en-suite bathroom. And a power shower and a two-person bath. And big fluffy towels. And a king size bed with—' Summer was getting lost in her own fantasy.

  'Well, I hope you fancy a two mile swim and a twenty mile hike in the dark. Otherwise, your choice is outside, or in here with me.'

  ‘Why can’t I share with Reilly?’ Anything would be better than sharing with Flynn and the other woman was nice.

  ‘This island is crawling with soldiers. While you’re my client, I’m not letting you out of my sight for a minute. Now, come to bed,’

  Summer gave serious thought to sleeping outside just to spite him, but was enough of a realist to know it would be stupid. She wriggled inside. Her backpack was already there. Trying to undress while someone as tall as Flynn was undressing beside her was worse than playing Twister. There was barely room for one person to move. She waited until he was in his sleeping bag before rummaging in her backpack for something to clean her face and squeezed a dollop of moisturizer into her hand.

  'That smells nice.'

  It was the first time all day that he hadn’t been horrible, smart-mouthed or disapproving, and for some strange reason, she wanted to cry.

  'Reilly gave it to me,' she said, keeping her voice steady with an effort. She was not a pushover who crumbled because a man was kink to her. She scrambled out of her boots and uniform and into her sleeping bag. She would sleep in her undies.

  It was like lying on a stone. A cold, lumpy stone. She shifted, rolled over and tried again. Eventually, she lay on her back. It was raining again. The slow pit-pit of raindrops turned into a drumming downpour against the canvas. Summer shivered. She hated camping. She rubbed her arms, trying to keep warm. She hadn’t realised how much she had got used to Flynn sleeping beside her in the croft.

  'Cold?' Flynn asked, his voice a welcome distraction from the cold and dark.

  'Yes,' she admitted. 'I’m freezing.

  'Unzip your bag.'

  She obeyed without protest. Anything was better than listening to her teeth chatter for the rest of the night. Flynn deftly zipped both bags together and pulled her against him. He was like a one-man furnace, deliciously warm. Shamelessly, she snuggled closer, wrapping herself around him like a cat. She felt his hand in her hair, the slow stroking soothing her.

  His heartbeat was steady under her ear. The sound of his breathing made her relax. Gradually she got warmer until she felt human again. Summer pressed her face against Flynn’s chest and inhaled the sexy scent she remembered from that night in London. Despite her reputation for living a wild social life, Flynn had been the first man she had slept with for more than a year. But since that night he had kept his distance, treating her as a client – a spoilt, disagreeable one.

  The fingers that had felt so soothing in her hair now strayed to her shoulders, rubbing and kneading gently. Summer sighed and nuzzled his t-shirt clad chest again. Idly, she let her hand drift to circle his nipple.

  'Your hand is still cold,' Flynn murmured before taking it in his and placing it under his t-shirt.

  Shared bodily warmth; that was all this was. They were both cold. It didn’t mean anything. So why did she feel an undeniable stirring?

  He flinched when she placed a second icy hand against his abdomen. 'Jesus woman, are you trying to kill me?'

  Flynn grabbed both of her hands and a giggling tussle ensued as he fought for dominance within the confines of the sleeping bag. The battle ended when she was pinned on her back with her arms above her head. Both of them were breathing heavily. Her legs were sprawled apart and between them she could feel the heat of his attraction for her. She shifted, raising her hips in invitation.

  With a groan, his lips descended on hers in a hot, open-mouthed kiss. Fire danced along her skin wherever he touched her. The thin scraps of lace that covered her breasts gave little protection from his searching mouth. Releasing her hands, he focussed his sensual attention on her nipples, first one and then the other, forcing breathless moans from her. She raked her nails on his back and broad shoulders.

  'Witch.' He retaliated with a nip to her breast that sent a jolt of pleasure through her.

  She arched her back and wrapped her legs around his hips. This way, she could feel his rock-hard erection against her clit. Flynn moved against her, increasing the sensation. She was so turned on that she was ready to come, just from this. 'Please,' she begged.

  Flynn silenced her cry with another searing kiss. His tongue possessed her mouth, claiming her brutally as his hips rocked against hers. Summer dragged her fingers through his hair. She didn’t care where they were or who was listening. She needed him now. All he had to do was shove her panties aside, and he could thrust inside her. She needed this. She needed Flynn. She tore her mouth away to demand he keep going, but froze when he covered her mouth with his hand.

  She heard voices outside; the lilting Ballymena accent of Andy McTavish followed by a woman’s voice. 'Fucking creep,' Reilly said. She sounded as if she wanted to kill someone.

  Summer could only hear Andy’s soothing tones, not the words, but Flynn was up like a shot, pulling on his trousers before hurrying outside. Their voices faded into the distance.