buzzing in his ears and the glorious swell of heat blossoming in his abdomen.
She shot an annoyed look over her shoulder. ‘Don’t hold back on my account. Say it. You know you want to.’
The scowl made her look even cuter. Like a pixie having a temper tantrum. His eyes snagged on her breasts again. Make that a very sexy pixie having a temper tantrum.
‘What, and risk death and dismemberment?’ he said dryly. ‘No, thanks.’
Her eyes widened and the scowl deepened. ‘So Grumpy has a sense of humour.’ She slapped a hand on one slim but shapely hip and looked even sexier. ‘What a surprise it’s at my expense.’
The heat surged and the tickle returned with a vengeance. He coughed, struggled to focus, as something light and airy and inexplicable bubbled up inside his chest. ‘Exactly who’s calling who Grumpy?’ The quip came out on a strangled groan as the tickle became a tidal wave of pressure, building under his breastbone and making his ribs ache.
She drilled a finger into his chest, wet curls flopping over her brow. ‘Don’t you dare laugh at me.’ Her foot stamped and the sopping trainer squelched. ‘Or you’ll really have something to be grumpy about.’
He wasn’t sure if it was the preposterous threat that did it, delivered with total conviction as only an angry pixie could, or the outraged colour tinting her cheeks and making her emerald eyes sparkle with fury. But the dam cracked and then broke. A sound he barely recognised rattled out—and then wouldn’t stop, reverberating against the cold empty walls. He gulped in air, clutching his sides, his ribs hurting as the unfamiliar sound got richer and deeper and more out of control, filling him with a warmth he hadn’t felt in months.
Maddy gaped, her outrage replaced by utter astonishment.
Her grumpy Adonis had tears in his eyes he was laughing so hard. The sound had been rusty at first, almost painful, but he was practically bent double now, his hand braced on the wall to keep him upright. His arctic eyes were alive with mischief as the barrage of laughs finally subsided to a rumbling chuckle.
She would have been less amazed if the man had started tap dancing.
She took her hand off her hip, unable to stop the answering grin tugging at her lips. She ought to be even madder at him—given she was the butt of this particular joke—but she couldn’t find her anger or her indignation anywhere.
A giggle popped out and she gave his shoulder a soft shove. ‘You sod.’ She smiled as his eyes met hers. He grinned, twin dimples appearing as if by magic in those chiselled cheeks.
‘It’s not funny,’ she moaned. ‘I’m soaked through.’
One last chuckle choked out. ‘I noticed.’
Maddy dragged in an unsteady breath. With his face relaxed and that chilly cobalt glittering with amusement, the man’s brooding male beauty became spellbinding. She crossed her arms over her chest, painfully aware of what a fright she must look.
‘You must be freezing.’ The grin turned to an affectionate smile. ‘You want to get changed?’
His gaze dipped and she shivered, not feeling remotely cold any more.
She nodded, having somehow lost the power of speech.
He indicated the way down the hall. ‘Spare bedroom’s third on the left. Some of my old sweats are in the chest of drawers.’ His gaze flicked down her frame. ‘None of them are going to fit, but at least they’re dry.’
‘Thanks,’ she murmured, finding her voice at last. ‘I really appreciate it.’
‘There’s an en suite with towels and …’ His deep voice trailed off and for a second she wondered if he felt as awkward as she did. His dimples, she noticed, had disappeared.
‘Help yourself.’ He paused again, cleared his throat. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready, it’s at the end of the corridor.’
‘Okay.’ She nodded again. Then thrust out her hand. Having threatened him with physical violence—twice—her granny, Maud, would have expected her to introduce herself.
He glanced down at her palm, but didn’t take it.
‘I’m Madeleine Westmore.’ The words sounded deafening in the pregnant silence. She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘But my mates call me Maddy.’
He’s not your mate, you ninny.
‘Just in case you were wondering,’ she added, her hand still hanging out there.
He brushed his palm on the towelling. ‘Hello, Maddy,’ he said, as long strong fingers folded over hers at last. ‘Ryan King. But Rye will do.’
The heat of his palm—rough with calluses—had a jolt of electricity shimmering through her bloodstream and making her pulse dance.
She let go and stuffed tingling fingers under her arm. ‘Nice to meet you, Rye,’ she murmured, although nice didn’t quite cover it.
His smile spread and her hormones joined the party.
‘You have no idea, Maddy,’ he said cryptically.
She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. ‘I should probably head to the spare room before I flood your hallway.’
Or that super sexy grin gives me a heart attack.
He chuckled, the sound low and easy this time. ‘Yeah. You probably should.’
She shuffled off in the direction he’d indicated, all her nerve-endings two-stepping in time to the deep relaxed rumble of laughter that followed her down the hall.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE spare bedroom turned out to be a large, ornately furnished mausoleum dominated by a gigantic bay window that looked onto the cliffs.
The storm raged outside, wind and rain buffeting the glass and making the room even more funereal. Maddy trembled, the draught from the window penetrating her damp clothes. Skirting a four-poster bed covered with an antique satin bedspread, she made a beeline for the bathroom.
White ceramic tiles, an elegant claw-foot tub and an inbuilt gas wall heater marked this room as another refugee from the Victorian era. Luckily, the heat spread quickly as soon as she lit the fire, making the bathroom considerably more welcoming than the bedroom next door. A couple of fluffy towels, an unopened bar of soap and a bottle of men’s shampoo lay on top of a wicker laundry basket. Maddy sneezed as she stripped off her muddy clothes and stepped into the tub.
Great—nothing like a snotty nose to put the finishing touches to her uber-sexy drowned rat look.
The minute the thought entered her head, embarrassment scorched Maddy’s cheeks and her hormones started two-stepping again. She blew out a breath and whipped the frayed shower curtain into place.
Oh, for goodness’ sake. Get real.
Ryan King wasn’t interested in her. A man that good-looking probably only dated supermodels.
