Flynn's Kiss (Disarmed & Dangerous)

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Published By: Taliesin Publishing, LLC, PO Box 155, Sanford, MI 48657

www.taliesinpublishing.com

Flynn’s Kiss

Copyright © 2014 by Diane Saxon

Digital Release: April 2014

ISBN: 978-1-62916-036-8

Cover Artist:  Georgia  Woods

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Table Of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Flynn’s scars are not just skin deep. Will Liberty’s damaged soul overcome her fear of rejection in order to save him?

Severely scarred during a disastrous mission, ex Special Forces operative Flynn Swann is home after three years of avoidance.  By his own admission, he’s no good with women and the last thing he expects or wants is the attention of a curvy little brunette, who’s just passing through.

With apparently no fear or revulsion of his scarred face, the boisterous woman bounds into his life and destroys all hope of a quiet visit. It is obvious to literally everyone that she wants him—all of him.

Worse still, despite her atrocious taste in fashion and Stetsons, she appears to have won the hearts of the entire town.

Scientist Liberty Sophia Glennon is on a mission to find a man before she has to return to the loneliness of the New Zealand outback where she has already spent eighteen lonely months doing research.

A ticking hormone bomb, Liberty feels time is running away with her. Outwardly she is a bouncing ball of over-confidence, but inside she is still a frightened little girl with horrific memories of her childhood and a desperate need to be liked.

Completely unfazed by his external scars, her seduction of Flynn is not so difficult, but follow-through proves painful as Liberty realises Flynn’s wounds run further than just skin deep.

With apparently nothing in common but their passionate attraction, how will these two damaged souls deal with each other’s fear of rejection?

To my husband, Andy ,and my two daughters, Laura and Meghan, for their continued support and admiration of my work.

Long before I wrote my first book, I had a scene in my head – I can still see it now – and having no real aspirations of ever becoming an author, I still felt compelled to write it. It remains virtually unchanged and my hero had a name. It was Flynn then, as it is Flynn now.

I felt my heroine’s pain, but I never knew her name until I started to write Flynn’s story. One of my daughter’s friends had the name I wanted, so I asked if I could borrow it and she graciously let me.

Thank you Liberty Sophia Glennon.

Thanks also to Barbara Lynn Perry who won the right for me to name a character after her. “Oooohh,” she said “can I be a cold-hearted killer?” Sure you can, Barbara!

The pressure in his head made him think it might just explode as he hung upside down from the ceiling. He cracked open his eyes and gave a vague stare at the pool of crimson blood as it gathered and spread in a glutinous puddle over the broken tiles below him. Strange how some of it trickled away to be sucked in by the thirsty dirt lining the floor.

He strained his neck to get a better view of his surroundings. The scorch of pain in his back throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and his face pulsated from the buildup of blood pressing to escape from wounds inflicted by the sharp laceration of a knife through his left cheek from ear to chin. It burned deep into the tender flesh at the corner of his mouth and sent pulse waves of agony through every nerve in his body. He poked his thickened, dry tongue into the rip and withdrew it with a hiss of pain.

Survival wasn’t as certain as it had been fifteen minutes earlier, before the blood had started to stream from him as he swung, suspended like a stuck pig. The ability to think waned. Fifteen minutes ago, he could still have freed himself, slipped his chains and slit the throats of his three captors before they had a chance to draw breath. But his opportunity had passed. He had to wait for the next one, one that possibly didn’t require the ability to think. He closed his eyes to allow his mind to drift with the rhythmic pendulum swing of his body.

Dim awareness warned him they were back. Silent, they approached and he knew their fear of him made them cautious. The gleam of the knife glinted in his peripheral vision. A vicious gouge tore through his skin from eyebrow to jaw and intersected the first cut to narrowly miss his eye as the lethal slash of it scored deep. The blood splatter thrashed a pattern across the floor beneath him to join the vast puddle of dark red blood and coated the walls that flashed in and out of his line of sight. His body swung fast and erratic as pain branded his very soul.

Ashamed of the sound of his own low guttural groan, his eyelids fluttered in protest and his parched lips stuck together, the tender skin stretched and torn. The keening sound of an injured animal still escaped them and for the first time gave him reason to hope as the three men made their mistake and laughed like over-excited hyenas, anxiety stretching their voices to fever pitch, which allowed him to pinpoint their positions.

Stark light hammered on his eyelids from the sun blazing through the open window into the bright white room. He made a conscious decision to keep his eyes closed, feigning defeat, not difficult to do under the circumstances and not so far away from reality.

He knew before they did it, they would cut him down, and understood this might be his last opportunity, his final hope. A muffled sound of movement preceded a wild jerk of the rope, followed by the dead weight of his body as it hit the floor like a sack of grain. He was unable to suppress the agonized grunt of pain as his injured face slapped hard into the pool of his own blood. His eyes opened and he peered with dull disinterest through sweat-stuck eyelashes at the gruesome red pattern sprayed around him as the men laughed once more.

His body almost finished, he rallied and called on every last fiber of his being to react. He gathered himself and squinted to focus on the gleam of the knife. He knew the next time it moved, it would be the death thrust.

“Why, hello, boys.”

His head too heavy, he struggled to raise it and just about managed to focus his bleary eyes on the tiny blonde with the oversized breasts. The sun slanted over her hair and made it gleam bright white like a halo as she leaned casually against the open doorway. In any other life, she would have been a mirage, but he knew without a doubt, in this one, she was his savior.

Barbara Lynn Perry stepped inside the arched doorway of the bright white cell, a feral grin plastered across her face and the look of death in her eye.

Pft…pft…pft
.

Three men dropped stone cold dead into the thick spread of blood on the floor. The weight of the third man slapped into him, drawing another deep groan of agony up from his belly through his throat.

“Hey, Barbie.” The breathless grunt should have shamed him, but he was too relieved. “You sure took your time, honey.” He forced his guttural voice out through his parched throat and tried to smile, but the searing pain in his cheek froze it in place.

“Don’t fucking call me Barbie. If you weren’t going to die anyhow, I’d kill you.”

Her smooth Canadian accent sounded like heaven to him, and he felt the thick slime of blood coating his teeth as he grimaced at her.

She rolled the dead body off his with a firm push of her foot. She elicited another grunt from him as she yanked his hair and stared hard into his face, her huge baby blue eyes narrowed for a second. He felt the sear of her stare trace his features before she blew out a disgusted breath and let his head drop with a solid
thunk
to the ground.

“You’re a fucking mess, Flynn, but you’re going to have to walk out of here, because I’m not fucking carrying you. Haul ass. I’ve done my bit.”

From the vantage point of the cool tiled floor, steeped in his own blood and that of three dead men, Flynn tipped his head, narrowed his eyes, and admired the fast sway of Barbie’s ass as she hightailed it back out of the cell and left him to tend to his own survival.

From the darkened protection of the corner of the room, Flynn watched the curvy little brunette with the bubbly hair bounce around, microphone in hand, wailing her heart out with obvious enjoyment. The sight of her large rounded breasts as they jiggled merrily along with the tune heated his stomach and threatened to move lower. She’d flicked several glances in his direction, and each time she did, he sank farther into the protective shadows by the wall, conscious she couldn’t see the left side of his face too clearly in the blue-hued lighting. Cute and friendly she might seem, but he knew from experience she would change her tune once she got a load of his scars. Women always did.

At the age of eighteen he’d considered himself a lady-killer—as most guys did—but he had been full of himself, knowing he was a good-looking son of a bitch. Never had a single problem or gave a second thought. If he wanted, he took, with great enjoyment and relish. With his unusually pale blue, bold eyes, dark brown hair, and chiseled features, he’d caught the attention of women of all ages. The fact he’d been brought up riding rodeo and working a ranch since he was born just added into the long, lean tone of his body. What nature hadn’t given him naturally, hard work and a tough upbringing had molded to perfection. When he’d joined the Special Forces, he’d honed it beyond perfection. He wasn’t overly tall, just under six feet, but his entire physique gave him presence. As a young man, he’d known it and reveled in it. Ego had driven him hard.

A golden boy, given the gift of a beautiful face, a bright mind, and a naturally lean body. He’d been destined to marry the glamour girl, crowned king and queen of the prom…everyone in town believed he had a long and happy marriage ahead of him with Rachel. Personally, he’d had a few qualms about the woman’s intelligence, but at the time and with the shallowness of youth, he had wallowed in her perfect beauty and the envy of the other boys. Celebrations had been wild at their engagement party before he went off to training camp. Faithful, he had returned to her time and again after each assignment. He’d had ambition, and she’d had plans. The pair were well-suited.

It didn’t matter. It all changed with the slash of a knife. His looks were destroyed, his mind rebelled, and the glamour girl ran screaming for the hills. He’d had the same reaction from women ever since.

He tipped the bottle of beer up to his mouth and stared down the length of it at the pretty brunette. Her breasts were interesting—got a nice little heat going in the pit of his belly—but his preference was her pert little ass as she swayed in perfect rhythm to the song she was murdering. She caught his eye again, gave a broad smile and a twitch of her eyebrows. A definite invitation.

He drew farther into the shadows.

“Hey.” Deputy Sheriff Ethan Swann, longtime friend and school companion, slid into the booth opposite and placed another bottle of beer on the table in front of him. Lifting his own bottle to his lips to take a swig, Ethan’s eyes gave a swift perusal of the room, typical of any law enforcement officer. He dipped his head in the brunette’s direction. “Cute. I saw her give you the eye, Flynn. First time I’ve seen Lady Liberty interested in anyone.”

“Lady Liberty.” Flynn snorted. She was no lady, not the way she was putting it about, letting all the cowboys in the room get an eyeful while she performed for them all. Short skirt hugging her bootilicious butt. He took another good look at her while she shimmied her entire body, her back to the audience, her ass looking as though it was trying to fight its way out of the tiny strip of fabric covering it. Aware he was showing too much interest, he tutted in disgust.