by Rice, Heidi
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.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘ABOUT damn time you turned up, man.’ Zack Boudreaux clapped Rye on the shoulder, then pulled him into a one-armed hug. ‘What kept you so long? We haven’t seen you in over a year.’
‘The slight matter of a bike pile-up and three months in hospital,’ Rye replied dryly as his friend released him.
‘Yeah, right, heard about that,’ Zack said, apparently not the least embarrassed by the gaffe. ‘But that was months ago. I happen to know ‘cos we sent you …’ he paused for a second ‘… something.’
Rye laughed, grateful to see not a trace of pity or discomfort on Zack’s face. ‘You mean Kate sent me something,’ he shot back, mentioning Zack’s wife of four years.
‘Kate. Me. Same difference. The point is, you waited six months to come and thank us for it. Whatever it was.’ Sitting in one of the armchairs beside the French windows that looked out onto the resort’s cliff-top gardens, Zack motioned towards the armchair opposite. ‘So maybe you’d like to explain that. Kate was pretty hurt.’
‘No, she wasn’t.’ Rye eased himself into the chair and rubbed his leg. His thigh had stiffened up, thanks to an eleven-hour flight which, even in a First Class bed, had felt a lot longer than before, and the two-hour drive down Highway One to get to the resort. ‘I happen to know your wife is made of sterner stuff than that. She’s put up with you for four years.’
‘Can I help it if the woman’s crazy about me?’ Despite the humour in Zack’s voice, Rye felt a funny little stab of envy.
Weird? While he’d always admired the constancy and companionship Zack and his wife shared, he’d never wanted the same thing for himself. A marriage like theirs required promises he wasn’t interested in making, to any woman.
‘And don’t change the subject, pal.’ Zack slung his ankle over his knee, his smile flattening. ‘What took you so long?’ He pinned Rye with a hard stare. ‘I called you, emailed, countless times. Even had to speak to that dumb jerk, Clements. You dropped right off the face of the earth. What the hell happened to you?’
Rye simply stared, stunned by Zack’s outburst and the emotion in his friend’s voice. The sudden surge of guilt had blood rising up his neck. It had never even occurred to him how his self-imposed purgatory in the last few months might have affected his friends. And Zack was a guy who knew him better than most.
They’d met years before in Vegas, when he’d made the mistake of trying to hustle Zack at the poker table. Zack had bluffed him out of every last penny, but somehow they’d connected. One debauched night at the Bellagio later and they’d been nursing the world’s worst hangover together and telling each other their life stories.
He knew Zack and Kate hadn’t just sent flowers to his hospital bed. Zack had tried to contact him but he’d refused to communicate with anyone, busy wallowing in his self-pity, and this was the result. He’d managed to upset one of the few people in his life who mattered.
‘I didn’t know you cared,’ Rye said, the lame joke a desperate attempt to cut through the tension.
Zack swore under his breath. Scraping his fingers through his hair, he sent Rye a weak smile. ‘Kate’s going to kill me. She told me not to lay it all on you the minute you walked in the door. I’m sorry.’
‘That’s okay. Seems I’m the one who should be sorry,’ he said, the guilt intensifying.
Zack huffed out a breath, the smile dying. ‘Why did you leave Clements in charge, Rye? Why put some bean-counter in charge of a business you’ve spent years pouring your life into?’
‘Good question,’ Rye said, and one he had no answer for any more. ‘Don’t worry; Clements’s days are over. As soon as I get back to the UK, I’ll be moving back to London, taking over the reins full-time.’
The statement brought with it a sense of rightness, but also triggered the picture of Maddy that had been lodged in his brain ever since he’d walked away from her two days ago.
He hadn’t bothered to contact her since, hadn’t even told her that he’d left for California. He didn’t have to answer to her; that was already understood. But, more than that, he hadn’t wanted to risk a repeat performance of the foolish way he’d behaved that night, when she’d turned down t
he chance to come with him. He’d convinced himself that his anger, that curious desire to claim her, had been nothing more than hurt pride.
But pictures of Maddy had been crowding into his head ever since. Her bright emerald eyes glinting with pleasure when he teased her. Her wayward curls mussed around her head first thing in the morning when she cooked them breakfast. Her reddened nipples, stung by his stubble, peeking over the quilt as she slept. Even the blush of colour on her cheeks when she told him she didn’t want to sleep with him. The memories were so damn vivid they even came with her scent attached, that intoxicating mix of herbs and spices and summer flowers. He damped down the instant surge of reaction, struggled to dismiss the thought.
He wasn’t through with Maddy yet; that much was obvious. And that was a problem—one he hadn’t figured out yet. But he would. Although he’d have to figure it out sooner rather than later, now he’d committed to returning to London.
‘Rye, you scared me, man,’ Zack said, accusation heavy in his voice. ‘I knew the accident was bad, but when you wouldn’t return my calls, when you put that jerk in charge, I figured you’d damaged a lot more than just your leg.’
I did, but it’s not damaged any more.
‘Truth is, Zack,’ Rye said carefully, ‘I went a little crazy there for a while.’ More than a little crazy. ‘In the last few weeks, though, I’ve come to my senses.’
‘Well, good,’ Zack said, his smile returning. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what turned you around? Six months is a long time to cry over spilt milk.’
Rye chuckled. Zack’s offhand assessment of what had been one of the most difficult periods of his life seemed oddly appropriate. ‘I met someone,’ he said without thinking. ‘She made me realise I hadn’t lost as much as I thought.’
‘Oh, she did, did she?’ Zack’s eyebrows winged up. ‘So the Playboy of the Western World finally got snared.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ Rye backtracked furiously as clammy sweat pooled under his arms.