by Heidi Rice
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘I THINK I like immersion therapy.’ Maddy grinned as the hair of Rye’s chest tickled her cheek, his answering chuckle rumbling against her ear. They lay together on Phil’s sofa, gloriously naked, Rye’s long legs tangling with hers. She’d never felt more wanton or more wonderful in her life.
Who knew sex could be that spectacular?
His arm tightened across her shoulders as he peered down into her face. ‘So I take it there were no ill effects this time?’
‘Not one,’ she replied enthusiastically. She stretched, the slight discomfort between her thighs nothing compared to the triumphant afterglow. The flush of contentment washed over her as she recalled how he’d eased into her so carefully and brought her to a stunning …
She bolted upright. ‘Oh, my God.’
She stared in amazement at their surroundings. Phil’s desk, piled high with papers, the shelves full of bulging file folders, the dying pot plant, even the deluxe sofa that they were now lounging on together, completely nude.
‘Is something wrong?’ Rye asked calmly.
‘We just did it in Phil’s office!’
He sent her an amused frown. ‘I realise that.’
‘And you’re my boss …’ She hesitated, briefly distracted by the glorious memory of him buried deep inside her.
He slung one arm behind his head, skimmed his palm down her back to rest on her buttock. ‘Very observant,’ he said, amusement lightening his voice.
‘Rye, don’t you see the significance? I’m cured.’
‘Cured of what?’
She placed her hand on her stomach. ‘I don’t feel nauseous, or even weird about it. I feel wonderful.’
‘Good,’ he said, caressing her bottom. ‘But what is it you don’t feel weird about?’
‘What I saw my father doing to his secretary. It doesn’t matter any more. I don’t care.’ She settled back down, loving the feel of his chest hair abraiding sensitive nipples, and kissed him on the jaw. ‘Rye, you cured me.’ She beamed at him, delighting in the feeling of recklessness, of freedom.
He laughed, stroking her rump. ‘Glad to be of service.’
Maddy laughed at his smug tone. Then shivered.
Rye took her shoulders and lifted her off him. ‘Come on.’ He sat up and scooped her T-shirt off the floor. ‘As much as I enjoy ogling your naked body,’ he said, his eyes slipping suggestively to her breasts as he handed her the T-shirt, ‘it’s getting chilly in here.’
She whipped the garment over her head, pushing the sudden feeling of disappointment to one side.
This was finally it, then. Her wanton fling was well and truly over. They’d done the wild thing until they’d got it right. But, now they had, there wasn’t anything else to explore.
They got dressed in companionable silence but, as Maddy glimpsed Rye’s tight, muscular butt disappearing behind cotton boxers, she couldn’t help letting out a sigh.
Why did Mr Wrong have to be such a stud muffin?
It was very obvious from Rye’s expertise with women, his unassailable self-confidence in bed and the dominating arrogance that had allowed him to march into the café and demand she sleep with him again, that she was just one in a very long line of conquests. He’d been thoughtful when she’d almost thrown up in front of him, and surprisingly sensitive while coaxing the truth about her aversion to sleeping with her boss out of her. But she wasn’t about to kid herself. In a day or two he would have moved on to someone else.
She pushed away the little pang of regret. And the knowledge that it would take her a great deal longer to forget him.
She firmed her lips and retied her ponytail, making herself look away as he tugged his T-shirt over his head and covered up that magnificent chest.
Don’t get sentimental, silly. This is your endorphins talking.
Of course she wouldn’t forget him as easily. Because no man had ever excited her, or made her feel the way he did in bed. But all the qualities that made him so great in bed also made him all wrong for her in every other way.
Sitting on the sofa, she put on her trainers.
She had never been the sentimental type. And she knew, from witnessing the agony of her parents’ marriage for years, that passion didn’t last. You needed compatibility and companionship and something tangible in common to base a real relationship on. Great sex, even spectacular sex, wasn’t enough. However drop dead gorgeous Ryan King might be, and however accomplished in the sack, she knew virtually nothing about him, and what she did know suggested he wasn’t the guy for her.
‘What are you thinking?’
She glanced round to see Rye sitting beside her, his injured leg stretched out in front of him.
‘Nothing,’ she replied, not about to relay her thoughts.
A casual fling was a casual fling and it was a little lowering to realise that she hadn’t quite been able to accept it at face value, even though she knew she should.
He laid a hand on her knee, rubbed gently. ‘Are you sure?’
She sent him a rueful smile—for a sex machine, the man could be quite sensitive. ‘Positive.’ She covered his hand with hers.
He looked down at their joined hands and she felt him stiffen almost imperceptibly.
She lifted her hand, knowing she’d crossed some invisible barrier without meaning to.
He looked away but, just as she felt a prickle of unease, he spoke. ‘You shouldn’t let what your parents did matter,’ he said, his voice distant but sincere.
His eyes met hers and for one brief moment she thought she saw a pain so raw and so all-consuming it took her breath away.
‘They can screw you up,’ he said, the tone dull and flat, the flash of pain gone as if it had never been. ‘But only if you let them.’
‘I see,’ she replied. But she didn’t see, not really. And suddenly she wanted to. Maybe this was only a casual fling, but he’d probed into her past this morning; why shouldn’t she probe his? ‘What were your parents like?’
‘Mine?’ His eyes widened. ‘Who knows?’ He gave a careless shrug. ‘I hardly remember them. They died when I was twelve.’
‘Oh, Rye, I’m so sorry.’ Sympathy assailed her. ‘That must have been terrible.’ Her own parents had been selfish and self-absorbed but, whatever their shortcomings, it would have been harder to be without them. ‘Did you have brothers or sisters?’
‘No. My grandfather took me in. That’s how I ended up in Cornwall at Trewan Manor.’
‘Where did you live before that?’ she asked, unable to control her curiosity at her first insight into his life.
‘All over. Hawaii. California. Cozumel for a while.’
So that explained the odd American word or phrase, the lazy cadence of his speech.
‘My parents didn’t do conventional,’ he said conversationally, slipping on his loafers. ‘We lived out of a camper van and followed the surf. Dad called us the three spirits.’ His eyes had gone dark with memory. ‘It was a stupid joke, but it made her laugh every time he said it.’
Maddy’s heart pounded. He sounded so matter-of-fact. So detached. But why had he lied, saying he barely remembered his parents when it was obvious the loss still hurt?
She touched her hand to his back. ‘You still miss them?’
‘What?’ The shadow cleared from his eyes as he twisted round, dislodging her hand. ‘Hardly. They died nearly twenty years ago.’ He pushed himself up, steadied himself on his injured leg. ‘Believe me, I’m not that sentimental.’
He said the word as if it were offensive.
‘Let’s go.’ Offering her his hand, he hauled her up. ‘Before Phil starts banging on the door.’
As he escorted her out of Phil’s office, his face carefully blank, it occurred to Maddy that she had a hundred and one questions she wanted to ask him. How had his parents died? Had his grandfather filled the gap? And what had it felt like to be cast adrift in Cornwall, in that austere, forbidding house on the cliff after a warm, loving childho
od spent with parents who even she could tell from those two brief sentences had adored him and adored each other?
Was it harder to have what she’d always dreamed of—a warm, loving home and parents who cared about you—and then have it torn away, than never to have it at all?
‘Maddy, you’re not doing that thinking thing again, are you?’ he said lightly, his hand settling on the small of her back as they walked down the corridor towards the café.
She sent him a weak smile. ‘I’m just wondering how I’m going to look Phil in the eye,’ she said, knowing she couldn’t ask any of the questions buzzing in her head. She had no right to ask them. And she doubted he would answer them anyway.
‘We’ll have to come up with a convincing story about what we’ve been doing all this time,’ she added. ‘Or he’s never going to let me forget it.’
‘Phil will have figured it out. And, anyway, it’s not a secret.’
The note of arrogance, of entitlement, reminded her he was still the boss.
‘I’d rather he didn’t know, though. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.’
‘No, you won’t. If he hasn’t guessed already, I’ll tell him.’
She stopped to stare at him. ‘But you can’t.’
‘Why can’t I?’
‘Because I work here.’ Was he really that dense?
‘So?’ He shrugged. ‘You’re entitled to a sex life.’
‘Even so …’ She scrambled for another reason. She needed to keep their fling private. However casual it had been for Rye, it hadn’t been quite as casual for her. She intended to work on that. But she couldn’t bear it if they became the subject of kitchen gossip. ‘I don’t want Phil to know.’
She took a careful breath, but came up short when he took hold of her arm.
‘Maddy,’ he said curtly, ‘don’t tell me you’re under the impression this is over?’
‘But …’ She saw the muscle twitch in his jaw, which she already knew signalled his arousal. And, just like that, her thigh muscles melted and the still tender spot between her legs began to throb. ‘But why would you want to do it with me again?’
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to claw them back and bury them in a very deep hole.
He’d taken her to nirvana, more than once. But she wasn’t about to delude herself that she’d done the same for him. She wasn’t that good at sex and she knew it. Still, she wished she hadn’t told him as much. It made her sound needy and pathetic.
She winced. ‘Could you pretend you didn’t hear that?’ she said, hideously humiliated.
He shook his head slowly, studying her with what, she had an awful feeling, might be pity.
She waited. So mortified she wanted to die on the spot. But, instead of laughing at her, or saying something condescending, his eyes narrowed and, for an insane moment, she thought she saw a flash of fury.
Rye curled his fingers into a fist. What he’d like to do right now was hunt down the bastards who had destroyed Maddy’s confidence and throttle them on the spot. He shoved his hand into the back pocket of his jeans.
She was actually serious. He could see it in her face, and the flush of embarrassment lighting up her cheeks. She had no idea she’d blown him away. He wanted to tell her that she was the most refreshing, the most artlessly sexy and seductive woman he’d ever encountered, but how could he do that and not make this sound like more than it was?
Something he couldn’t afford to do.
Because he’d already made a mess of this. He was usually so clear with women about what he wanted out of a relationship. And what he didn’t. He set boundaries and he never crossed them. No point in confusing things and setting yourself up for an ugly scene further down the line. But he’d crossed those boundaries with Maddy. In fact, he’d never even set them. Because he’d been distracted by his own needs.
After their little heart-to-heart in Phil’s office, when he’d blurted out that rubbish about his parents, he’d known he needed to start setting those boundaries now. And make it clear he wasn’t comfortable with that level of intimacy.
But she was looking at him now, her eyes shadowed with embarassment. As if she couldn’t believe he really wanted to sleep with her again. And he didn’t have a clue how to say what he had to without knocking her confidence even more.
‘Maddy.’ He cupped her cheek, felt the instinctive tremor of response and knew he wasn’t finished with her. Not by a long shot. But he had a tightrope to walk now. And he was doing it blindfolded. ‘I thought you enjoyed yourself this time?’
Those luminous green eyes widened even more. ‘I did. You know I did.’
‘Then what’s the problem with us enjoying more of the same?’
He settled his hand on her shoulder, skimmed his thumb across her collarbone and felt the flutter of her pulse.
‘But …’
‘I’m not looking for anything serious,’ he said casually, but watched her reaction like a hawk.
She seemed more confused than upset by the suggestion. ‘I know that,’ she said, surprising him a little.
‘I’m going to be in Cornwall for another month or so,’ he added, careful not to imply that he would be around indefinitely.
The truth was he had no concrete plans to return to London. He’d left the company in capable hands and had been content to forget about it while living like a recluse in his grandfather’s house. One of the things he’d resolutely refused to think about was his future, because he’d been so busy dwelling on his past. Apart from the fact that his behaviour now seemed remarkably boring and self-indulgent, it occurred to him that if he was going to indulge himself with Maddy, he needed to put an end date into the equation.
‘I still have some recuperation to do but, once winter sets in, I’ll be returning to London.’ For the first time in a long time, the thought didn’t make his stomach tighten with dread. ‘But until then, I don’t see why we can’t continue to enjoy ourselves.’
‘I don’t …’ She stopped, clearly lost for words.
‘We could give each other a great deal of pleasure in that time. Why deny ourselves when there’s no need?’
A small line of concentration formed on her brow. He felt the pulse of heat in his crotch. Damn, she really was adorable. And completely unique. When was the last time he’d had to put this much effort into getting a woman into his bed?
‘What do you say to a no-strings affair? We spend a few weeks exploiting the great sexual chemistry between us and then go our separate ways. And nobody gets hurt.’
Those round green eyes met his. ‘No strings. No promises. Just great sex?’
‘That’s correct.’
Rye felt the punch of his own heartbeat as he waited for her reply. The smile died as he began to feel a little uneasy. Had he ever been this desperate for a woman to say yes?
‘All right,’ she said, as if mulling the idea over in her mind. ‘I think that would be fun.’
‘Great.’
He gripped her waist, hauled her up for a kiss, relief and euphoria lifting the moment of discomfort.
She giggled, then the little line returned to her brow as he set her back on her feet. ‘Can I ask you for one promise, though, Rye?’
His heart sank at the thoughtful tone of voice. Promises were top of his list of things to avoid in a relationship. ‘Sure,’ he said cautiously, hoping like hell whatever she had in mind wasn’t going to be a deal-breaker.
‘Promise me,’ she said gently, ‘we’ll never pretend this is something it’s not.’
The breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding gushed out. ‘You have my word,’ he replied, pleased her promise would be so easy to keep.
‘Good.’ She sent him a tentative smile, the look on her face a tantalising combination of bashful and eager. ‘I could cook you dinner at the cottage tonight,’ she said, the sparkle in her green eyes making his breath catch. ‘And we can discuss terms.’
He chuckled. ‘I’m there.’ Tighte
ning his arms round her waist, he kissed her again. ‘What time do you want me?’ he said, his heart soaring at the prospect of a decent meal in fascinating company after so many months eating convenience food alone.
‘Get there at seven.’ She tapped a fingernail to his chest, her eyes smoky with desire. ‘I’ll let you know when I want you later.’
He laughed at the saucy comment as the blood rushed straight to his groin.
Damn, but it was good to be back in the world of the living at last.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MADDY glared at the gloopy mess in her saucepan and felt the snakes in her stomach tangle themselves into giant knots.
Her béchamel had curdled. How could her béchamel have curdled when she’d made it about a billion times before? She pressed her hand to her stomach and took two careful breaths.
Perhaps because her nerves were stretched so tight they were about to snap.
Why on earth had she invited Rye to dinner? It had seemed like such a great idea at the time.
Her hormones had still been fizzy like a bottle of shaken cola and her confidence soaring into the stratosphere at the knowledge that he still wanted her. When he’d made the offer of a no-strings affair and she’d blithely agreed, the endorphin rush had blinded her to all the possible pitfalls.
No strings, no promises meant no expectations. Which was just what she wanted. Why he should want her so much, she had no idea, but she wasn’t about to look that gift horse in the mouth a second time. When was she ever likely to get an offer like this again? And the chance to dynamite herself out of the rut she’d been in for years?
She could avail herself of Rye King’s superstar abilities in bed and spice up her sadly mundane sex life for the next few weeks and all she had to do was enjoy the ride.
It was way past time she put Maddy first for a change. It all made perfect sense. Or so she’d thought at the time.
She’d offered him a home-cooked meal because she loved cooking. It relaxed her. And inviting him to the cottage gave her the home advantage. She’d planned to be nicely mellow and totally in charge of the situation before they jumped each other tonight.