took ten minutes for them to wrestle the carcass of her bike into the boot of his snazzy little sports car. And twenty minutes more to make the silent drive to her granny’s cottage on the other side of the Bay.
Maddy fumed every single inch of the way—and kept her eyes focused on the road ahead. She waited for an apology, but it didn’t come. By the time he braked in front of the tiny one-bedroom cottage her resentment had reached fever pitch.
Sleeping with a man she didn’t know had been foolhardy. But she thought she’d gone into this adventure with her eyes open. Unfortunately, they hadn’t been open enough. What was supposed to have been a sexually liberating experience had turned into exactly the opposite. He’d made her feel cheap.
But what bugged her the most was that for a second it had actually mattered to her what he thought. He wasn’t her friend. He was her one-night lover. But what was meant to be an anonymous fling didn’t seem so anonymous any more.
She gripped the door handle. ‘Thanks for the lift.’ And the multiple orgasm, she wanted to add with as much sarcasm as she could muster, but figured he had an ego big enough to take it as a compliment.
His arm shot across her to grab the door handle and hold it closed. ‘Calm down.’
Her head whipped round. ‘I am calm.’
‘Yeah, I noticed,’ he said, the planes and angles of his face tense in the moonlight. ‘I have a question for you before you go.’
She stopped struggling with the door handle. ‘If it’s about my sex life, I’m not answering it.’ On that she was absolutely clear. He’d humiliated her enough for one evening.
‘Why won’t you sleep with your boss? Did Phil do something he shouldn’t have?’
The audacious question was such a shock, she answered it without thinking. ‘Of course not. Phil and I are friends. I just … I would never sleep with anyone who’s employing me.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s unethical. And …’ she sputtered ‘… and incredibly tacky.’
She knew she sounded prissy. But she wasn’t about to go into the sordid details of her childhood—and the real reason the thought of workplace sex made her nauseous. This conversation had already got far too personal. ‘Can I go now?’ she said, making it very clear it wasn’t a request.
‘Sure,’ he said, finally letting go of the handle.
She leapt out of the car, determined not to look back.
‘Goodbye, Maddy. And thanks for an incredible evening.’
The statement sounded genuine—and final—and she turned back without intending to.
He shot her a casual salute. Was that supposed to be ironic? But, as the car sped off down the road, the tail lights disappearing into the darkness, Maddy felt the brutal pulse of heat at her core and the strange little hiccup in her heartbeat. And despised herself for it.
She walked to the cottage, took the key from under the eaves of the porch entrance, determined to wipe the pointless spurt of melancholy at his departure from her consciousness. But, as she shut the door and leant back against it, glad to be back in the homely surroundings, she noticed the vacant spot in her hallway where she parked her bike. Her head dropped back against the door with an audible thud.
‘Damn.’
She hadn’t seen the last of Rye King after all.
Rye braked at the junction and swore. Her bike was still in the boot of the car. He shifted into reverse, looked over his shoulder. Then stopped. And swung back round.
He couldn’t go back, not yet. Everything was too damn close to the surface. He’d behaved like a jerk back at the house. The mention of her former boyfriend and then Phil had made something coil in his stomach that he didn’t understand. And suddenly he’d had to know whether she’d slept with his friend. He’d handled the situation badly, though. He could see that now. Accusing her when all he’d really meant to do was ask.
But why had he been so determined to know?
He rubbed his thigh, the muscles cramping, shifted back into first and accelerated.
Probably temporary insanity, brought on by extreme stress. Bringing her to orgasm, watching her come apart in his arms had been incredible—but rediscovering all the wonders of a woman’s body had brought with it a painful side effect. He’d spent the whole afternoon and most of the evening hard as a rock. And he suspected he had a sleepless night ahead of him, lying in a bed still infused with her spicy exotic scent.
The desire to bury himself deep inside her had been all but unstoppable and, while he’d welcomed the pain in many ways because it signified the return of his libido, by the time she’d strolled into the kitchen and he’d listened to her putting on her freshly laundered clothes while he scrambled eggs, his control and his willpower had pretty much reached breaking point.
He hadn’t been in the mood for polite conversation. So, when she’d asked him that innocuous question, he’d had to stop himself from snapping her head off. He’d been sure he knew what was coming.
When he’d re-entered London society after the accident, he’d been brutally aware of the hushed whispers when he entered a room, the furtive glances at the sight of his ruined leg. Women in particular had tiptoed around the subject of his disability, trying to make him feel better by either not referring to it or referring to it all the time.
He’d expected Maddy to be like all the rest.
But she’d surprised him again. She’d genuinely forgotten about it. Her astonished response to his snarled accusation hadn’t only been refreshing, it had been a revelation. Forcing him to face the fact that, after six long months, instead of dwelling on what he had lost, maybe it was about time he started making the most of what he had. The fact that, since Maddy Westmore had stepped into his life, he now had much more than he thought, hadn’t escaped him either.
But the minute that bolt had hit him, another had struck him right afterwards. He still wanted her. And he didn’t know how to deal with that.
He didn’t rely on other people—ever—especially women. He didn’t ask for or expect anything and if they asked for anything from him in return, he usually bolted straight for the door.
He wasn’t interested in anything serious. Anything long-term. And he didn’t want that with Maddy either. He hated that choking, claustrophobic feeling that came with any hint of commitment. A lot of things had changed since the accident, but not that. He needed his freedom. And he always would.
But how did you ask a woman you barely knew if they would be interested in a purely sexual relationship? He’d been trying to get his head around that one when the thought of Maddy and Phil working in close proximity had sent him crashing through another barrier.
It wasn’t that he cared about who Maddy had been with before him. It couldn’t be. He didn’t do jealousy. And he wasn’t possessive with women. He expected them to be faithful for the brief time they were together, but he always wore condoms so he didn’t take any interest in their sexual history.
Turning into the driveway
