BTW: I Love You (Mills & Boon M&B) (One Hot Fling - Book 1) (11 page)

The second the words slipped out, Rye tensed.

Maddy beamed—as if she were a Sunday School teacher and he a five-year-old who’d just mastered his catechism.

‘Oh, Rye,’ she whispered, her expression brimming with sympathy and understanding and something that looked disturbingly like tenderness.

Oh, crap.
What the hell had he said?

He’d been clinging onto his wits all damn evening with the desperation of a drowning man. While he’d watched her hips jiggle as she’d minced garlic and simmered spices. Through the breathy laugh as she’d whisked their meal onto the table with a flourish. During the slow-motion sweep of her tongue when she licked tomato juice off her full bottom lip. Even
when she’d sat on his lap and done that torturous little wiggle. But he’d lost it completely somewhere around the mention of chocolate sauce. He scrambled frantically to get it back.

She stroked his cheek with an open palm, sent him a soft, sexy and unbearably sweet smile. ‘Why was it so hard for you to tell me that?’

He jerked his head back, grasped her wrist to hold her hand away from his face. ‘Don’t!’

‘Don’t what?’ He saw the flicker of hurt, of distress, and loosened his grip.

Calm down. Don’t overreact. You’ve already made an ass of yourself.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he said carefully. ‘It’s not what you’re thinking.’

‘What am I thinking?’ she asked gently.

Yeah, like he was going to step into that minefield.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ he lied, cradling her head in his hand. ‘The only thing that matters is this.’

Fisting his fingers in her hair, he captured her mouth. She gave a shocked little sob, but her lips parted. Their tongues tangled, duelled and then danced as she surrendered, her hunger matching his own. His breath panted out as he broke away, the erection he’d been sporting most of the night surging back to life.

‘Let’s go to bed,’ he said, running his hands up her sides to cup heavy breasts.

It wasn’t a question but she nodded, looking dazed.

Ten frantic minutes later, as her cries of fulfilment echoed like thunder in his ears, he couldn’t drown out one disturbing thought.

How come, the more of her he had, the more he seemed to need?

M
ADDY’S
eyes opened and focused on an empty pillow. Which she didn’t recognise.

She jerked upright, clasping the fine linen sheet to tender breasts and blinked at the brittle autumnal light seeping through heavy velvet curtains. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she took in the ornate Victorian furniture, the antique silk rug on polished wood flooring.

Rye’s bedroom.

A sigh of distress eased out as the disturbing memories of the night before came tumbling back.

The flirting, the teasing, the dark thrill of desire, the giddy buzz of anticipation. And then the throb of emotion closing her throat and the sting of tears as she had glimpsed something she was never meant to see.

What had she been thinking last night? Why had she been so determined to find out more about Rye, to get to know him better? This was a casual fling. And yet something had changed yesterday. Something that shouldn’t have changed. All because of her smug, stupid determination to trick Rye into talking about his past.

She shook her head, trying to forget the bitter humour in
his voice when he’d told her about his grandfather. And she’d clearly seen the lost, lonely, traumatised boy he’d been.

Slinging back the quilt, she climbed out of the big bed.

Don’t do this, Maddy. Do not do this. He’s not a little boy; he’s a grown man.

He’d proven that pretty conclusively when he’d taken her to bed afterwards. As for that strange connection she’d felt as they’d made love? A figment of her overdeveloped Miss Fixit gene. It had to be.

Rye King did not need her to heal him, or to look after him. Or to rescue him. He’d made that pretty clear too from the closed off look on his face when she’d clumsily tried to offer comfort.

She dashed around the room, gathering her clothes up off the floor.

Wasn’t this what she had always done in the past—believed guys needed her and then got herself trodden all over for her pains? She wriggled into the figure-hugging jeans, pulled her camisole on and finger-combed her hair. She was supposed to be breaking the pattern with Rye, not reinforcing it.

She tiptoed down the hallway to collect her jacket from the kitchen, careful not to look at the remnants of their meal.

As she approached the front door, she heard the low murmur of Rye’s voice coming from his office. He was probably busy with his conference call. She should give him a quick wave and then leave. And would act natural while she was doing it if it killed her.

Practical and pragmatic. Confident and independent. That was the new Maddy Westmore. Not some silly twit who had got herself into an emotional pickle of her own making.

She edged the office door open and spotted Rye standing with his back to her, the speaker phone on the desk. His stance was stiff and unyielding, his broad shoulders tense and his hands buried in his pockets as he talked to whoever was
on the other end of the line. She hesitated, not wanting to disturb him. But not wanting to leave without saying goodbye. It would look suspicious. She didn’t want him to know last night had rattled her—she firmed her chin—even a little.

‘I can get over to California next week,’ Rye said curtly to his acting CEO John Clements, the thought not appealing to him one bit.

Over the past fortnight he’d been building up his involvement in the business again. Had realised how much he’d missed the daily challenges, the make-or-break decisions, the thrill of being in charge of a business he’d built and watched grow from the ground up. No wonder he’d been in the doldrums after the accident. He’d let so much of what was important in his life slide while he’d been licking his wounds. But as much as he’d enjoyed getting back into the thick of things again, he had no desire to resume the punishing travel schedule that had once been such a huge part of his working life.

‘I can check the operation out at The Grange myself,’ he continued, knowing it was the only solution that made sense. ‘Last time I spoke to Zack, though, he didn’t seem nearly as concerned as you are about performance.’

‘With all due respect, Mr King,’ Clements said in an ingratiating voice, ‘that was over six months ago, and the King Xtreme franchise at Mr Boudreaux’s resort hasn’t reached the projections we were all hoping for in its first year.’

‘Which is why I’m flying thousands of miles to sort it out,’ Rye snapped.

He eased out a breath. He was tired; he’d been up half the night, unable to sleep, feeling oddly unsettled as Maddy’s soft, warm body snuggled against him in the old bed.

‘Will you be returning to London after the California trip?’ Clements asked.

He ploughed his fingers through his hair. London. Yet another decision he didn’t want to think about this morning. ‘Probably.’ He couldn’t hold his return off much longer. ‘I’m fully recovered now.’ Or as recovered as he would ever be. ‘There’s nothing keeping me here.’ Or nothing he shouldn’t be able to handle, he reminded himself.

He ended the call to Clements, feeling dispirited. The faint tap had him swinging round.

‘Hi, sorry to bother you.’ Maddy stood in the doorway, looking rumpled and sexy in last night’s jeans and vest, her face pale.

A surge of longing hit him. He shoved his hands back into his pockets.

For God’s sake, King, isn’t it about time you put a chokehold on your appetite?

‘Hi, you didn’t bother me,’ he said.

Although she did. He’d been having regular sex—make that non-stop sex—for sixteen days on the trot now. But he couldn’t seem to stop behaving like a hormonally charged adolescent boy whenever she was around.

‘Um, I should shoot off.’ She took a step back, jerked her thumb over her shoulder. ‘My shift at the café starts in a couple of hours. I need to shower and change.’

Shower here. With me.

He clamped down on the thought. Stopped himself from asking. Maddy was proving to be more of a distraction than he had anticipated. Last night was proof of that. He still couldn’t believe he’d let her seduce him into telling her things he’d never told anyone.

Time to stop letting his libido take charge. ‘Okay. Thanks for dinner last night.’ He paused, forced the words out. ‘I probably won’t make it over tonight.’

She nodded, an unusually bright smile on her face. ‘No problem.’

And with that she was gone.

He listened to the muffled thump as the front door closed behind her. Glancing towards the window, he resolutely resisted the urge to cross the room and look through the curtains.

Things had got way too intense last night. And he suspected she knew it too, from that stilted and unbearably polite conversation. A night apart would do them both good. They needed a cooling off period.

He had at least a week before he had to make the trip to California, by which time he planned to be ready to cut any lingering ties to Cornwall.

‘S
O WHAT
are you conjuring up tonight?’ Rye’s arms circled Maddy’s midriff as he whispered the question in her ear.

She smiled, and tried to concentrate on the feel of his warm body against her back. ‘Comfort food with a hint of spice.’

She looked out of the window above the sink into the gathering gloom. December was just around the corner. Summer, or rather the miserable excuse for one they’d had this year, was now barely a memory. The cottage’s garden had lost all its blooms and the café would be closing in less than a week. Which meant she had to start scouring the classified ads and find another job to tide her over until spring. And stop wasting time mooning over Rye and their non-existent relationship.

‘Well, it smells fantastic,’ he said, giving her a final squeeze as he let her go. ‘I’ll set the table; I’m famished.’

‘Aren’t you always?’ she teased with a lightness she was finding it harder and harder to feel.

Their affair would be over soon. It had always been understood. She’d learned her lesson after that night at the Manor and had been careful not to pry since. But she couldn’t quite quell the silly fantasy that he needed her. Even though he’d made it blatantly obvious he didn’t.

It had been over a week and he still hadn’t mentioned the trip to California she’d overheard him arranging. And try as she might not to let his silence bother her, it did. His reluctance to share the information with her had forced her to accept how little she meant to him. And that hurt. Even though she knew it shouldn’t.

She watched him bend over her kitchen drawer, his golden hair flopping over his brow as he rummaged for the correct cutlery, and bit back a sigh.

Snap out of it, silly. This is how it has to be. This is what you wanted. No strings. No promises. No one gets hurt.

As she listened to him laying the table in the sitting room and heard the pop of a cork as he opened the bottle of Chablis he’d brought, Maddy busied herself in the kitchen, steaming the chard he’d picked up at the farmer’s market and ladling the risotto onto the plates she’d had warming in the oven.

It was just the sex, she thought determinedly as they sat down and she watched him eat her food with his usual enthusiasm. And the company. Also, it had been nice to have someone to cook for who appreciated it. Steve had had a list of food allergies that seemed to multiply every time she tried something new. She adored cooking for Rye. Because he devoured her food with the same enthusiasm as he devoured her body.

And then there was the routine they’d established. It made them seem like a real couple when they never had been.

She stared back down at her plate, pushed the fragrant food around with her fork. This odd sense of regret, of impending loss, couldn’t be anything more than endorphins and habit. She’d been repeating the mantra to herself for over a week now. Why couldn’t she make herself believe it?

She heard the clink of his knife and fork on her grandmother’s china and looked up to find his mesmerising blue eyes fixed on her face. ‘Maddy, I have something to tell you.’

‘Oh?’ she said dully, her mood plummeting. She’d known this was coming; why wasn’t she better prepared for it? ‘What is it?’

‘I have to go to California on a business trip.’

‘I know,’ she replied, deciding it would be silly to pretend she didn’t.

His brow creased. ‘You do?’

‘Yes, I heard you arranging it. That morning at the Manor.’

‘I see,’ he said. He seemed momentarily disconcerted by the news, but nothing else. There was no trace of guilt. No sign that he felt she might have been entitled to know his plans a bit sooner. The realisation made the silly spurt of hurt worse.

‘We opened a new surf shop and academy at a luxury resort in Big Sur a year and a half ago. I have to go check it out. It’s unavoidable, I’m afraid.’

She couldn’t quite process what he was saying, the pump of blood in her ears deafening. What was wrong with her? This was ludicrous. She was overreacting, she knew that, but the panic clawed at her chest and chased her heart into her throat.

She forced the question out—the question she’d been trying not to ask even herself in the last week. ‘Will you be coming back? To Cornwall?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘I haven’t decided yet. But I’d like you to come with me to California.’

It took a few frantic moments for her to hear the words properly. Relief came first, coursing through her veins. And then her heart soared as if it were about to burst. He wanted to take her with him? She’d never even considered that as a possibility in the last week.

Holding her hand, he stood up and tugged her out of the chair. His hands settled on her hips. ‘The resort’s incredible. Belongs to a friend of mine called Zack Boudreaux. I looked at the weather forecast and they’re having an Indian summer.
Temps in the low seventies. With a couple of wetsuits we could swim in the Ocean, then warm up in the hot tub afterwards.’

It sounded wonderful. Like a romantic fantasy. She could already picture them there together. The dramatic Californian coastline. His gorgeous body, naked and available, driving her to even greater heights of fulfilment. And all the excitement, the passion that had become an integral part of her life since she’d met him. But what seduced her more than that erotic vision was the thought of being there with him. As a real girlfriend. A real companion.

The yearning hit her like a bolt of lightning.

‘So what do you say?’ He gave her hips a little jiggle, his smile so tempting her heart imploded.

She searched his face, saw not just desire but the complete conviction that she would say yes. And the joyous acceptance that wanted to burst out of her mouth got stuck in her throat. ‘I don’t think I can.’

His smile faltered. ‘You’re kidding? Why not?’

She stepped away from him, rubbed her palms up arms which were chilled, despite the heat of the open fire in the hearth. ‘Phil’s closing the café next week; I have to look for a winter job.’

‘So look for a job when you get back.’ He sounded more perplexed than annoyed, but still she felt the prickle of temper. She’d never asked him for a thing. Not once. Because she’d thought that was what she wanted. But the offhand offer, which had meant so much to her—and, she suspected, meant very little to him—had made her realise that he’d had every ounce of power in their relationship—however fleeting it was—and she’d had none.

‘Why do you want me to come, Rye?’

Rye felt the twin kicks of frustration and confusion.

What did she expect him to say?

That, as the time had drawn near to take the trip, the thought of going had appealed to him less and less. Until he’d figured out what the problem was. He didn’t want to go without her.

Of course, the minute he’d realised he wasn’t ready to leave her, the thought had annoyed the hell out of him. Had he got suckered into depending on her somehow?

‘I’d say it’s fairly obvious why I want you along.’ He raked his fingers through his hair.

No way was he telling Maddy how he’d agonised over taking the trip without her and then hedged for days about inviting her along. Any feelings he had for her were temporary. He’d made a major mistake by revealing too much the night she had come to the Manor; he wasn’t about to make the same mistake again.

‘I’ve been putting the trip off for a while,’ he said. ‘Because I wasn’t looking forward to it. Plane travel will probably aggravate my leg.’

It wasn’t true. He’d started doing the exercises the physiotherapist had given him not long after he’d first met Maddy—and he’d noticed the difference instantly. The cramps and muscle spasms had stopped altogether and the tired aching pains that he’d endured almost constantly for months only ever happened now if he’d been on his feet for hours. He’d never be able to surf again, and that still hurt, but the ungainly limp was a lot more manageable and didn’t bother him as much any more.

Maddy had never once made an issue of it. In fact, she seemed oblivious to his disability. And, as a result, he’d almost become oblivious to it too. But that didn’t stop him from using it as a convenient excuse. ‘But then I figured if I mixed business with pleasure it would be less of an ordeal.’

‘Well, that’s flattering. So I’d be going along to take your
mind off things. Is that the idea?’ Despite the accusation in her voice, he could see the hurt in her eyes.

He flinched, tried not to let the guilt affect him. He’d made her a promise—that he’d never pretend this was more than it was. All he was doing was keeping that promise. She’d wanted their affair to remain casual as much as he had, so he had nothing to feel guilty about.

‘If you don’t want to come, all you have to do is say so,’ he said, keeping his voice light and non-committal. ‘The invitation wasn’t meant as an insult.’

But he had insulted her—he could see that too—and he didn’t appreciate the renewed stab of guilt one bit.

Her spine straightened and she crossed her arms over her chest. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.’ The fixed smile on her face belied the swirl of emotion in her eyes. ‘It was nice of you to offer,’ she said, but he could hear the refusal in her voice and an unreasonable anger swelled in his chest.

She wasn’t going to come. Why the hell did that bother him so much?

‘But I really need to find a job,’ she finished.

‘Fine, suit yourself,’ he said tightly. If she didn’t want to come, he wasn’t about to beg. However much he might want to.

She bent to stack the plates but he grasped her wrist, pulled her upright. ‘Leave them; I’ll get them later.’

Wrapping his arm round her hips, he brought her flush against him. ‘Let’s make up for lost time before I go?’

He clasped her head in his hands, the elemental desire to claim her turning the kiss from chaste to demanding in a heartbeat. But, as he sank his tongue into her mouth, determined to quell the heat pumping into his groin in the only way he knew how, she struggled out of his arms.

‘I’d rather not tonight,’ she said, the words coming out on a shaky breath. ‘I’m tired.’

She was lying. Her pupils had dilated, turning the vivid green of her irises black with desire and her nipples were clearly visible through the thin cotton T-shirt.

He knew exactly how to touch her, how to caress her to make her admit the lie. But he kept his hands rigidly by his sides.

‘Fair enough,’ he said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. He cupped her cheek, forced himself to place a friendly kiss on her forehead. ‘I’d better be going. Good luck with the job hunt.’

Gathering every last ounce of his willpower, he grabbed his jacket and walked out—and didn’t look back.

Maddy watched the pale moonlight gild the bare trees outside her bedroom window and fought back the foolish sting of tears.

The silence in the small cottage seemed suffocating without the comforting rasp of Rye’s breathing beside her, or the feel of his rough possessive hand resting on her hip.

Her heart squeezed in her chest. And a lone tear fell. She brushed it hastily aside.

Stop being ridiculous.

She’d done the right thing by turning down his invitation to California, and turning him away tonight.

There’s nothing keeping me here.

That was what he’d said to his colleague a week ago. She’d tried to make herself forget the painful little jolt when she’d heard him say it. But the truth was, try as she might, she hadn’t been able to.

She couldn’t go to California with him, she had to start creating some distance between them, not storing up the sort of lifelong memories that would make him even harder to
forget. And sleeping alone tonight was the first crucial step towards regaining her independence.

But, as she drifted into a fitful sleep, the silence wrapped around her like a shroud.