BTW: I Love You (Mills & Boon M&B) (One Hot Fling - Book 1) (10 page)

M
ADDY
hummed the joyous chorus of an old R & B song as she pedalled past the gates of Trewan Manor. Leaves brushed across the pathway as the crisp autumnal air stung her cheeks. November had always been her favourite month of the year—brisk and exhilarating.

She swung her leg over the saddle and rode the pedal the final few metres to the house, picturing Rye’s naked body in the cottage’s tiny shower cubicle that morning. And having the hottest guy in the universe at her disposal certainly kept the cold at bay. A giggle popped out as she propped the bike against the front wall.

She stopped, blushing slightly.

Good grief, when had she become a giggler?

She grinned, hauling a sack of groceries out of the bike’s front basket. Probably some time in the last two weeks. Having Rye King as a lover was likely to make any woman high. On life and endorphins. The man was a sexual athlete, of Olympic gold medal winning standards. Passionate, inventive, tireless and completely insatiable. She hugged the groceries to her chest, a delicious shiver running through her
at the memory of exactly what he’d done to her in the shower that morning.

The grin got bigger as she practically floated to the Manor’s front door, adding dedicated, attentive and extremely flexible to his list of accomplishments. She gave a breathy sigh. Rye made love with a concentration so intense it made her feel as if she were the centre of his universe.

Her hand stilled on the door knocker. And the wide grin faltered.

Okay, maybe that was a teensy, weensy bit over the top. Even for a woman who’d been overdosing on endorphins for a fortnight. She shrugged. Clearly blow-your-socks-off sex had the ability to make you lose your grip on reality occasionally. Good to know.

She wasn’t the centre of Rye King’s universe. Any more than he was the centre of hers. All they’d really shared in the last two weeks was a string of intimate meals and even more intimate sexual liaisons. For, while her senses had become attuned to every aspect of his body—his musky enticing scent, the sweet salty taste of his skin, the silky softness of the thin line of hair that bisected his six-pack and made him tense when she trailed her fingertip down it—she still knew next to nothing else about him.

Because the man guarded personal information with the same focus and concentration that he made love. And, frankly, she’d had enough of it. She shifted the groceries onto one arm and lifted the Manor’s heavy brass knocker. But all that was about to change.

She was here now on a mission—having decided that his evasiveness whenever she asked a personal question was getting ridiculous.

When they’d first embarked on their casual affair, she’d totally respected his boundaries. Their no-strings fling was about having fun and … She paused. How had Rye put it? Oh,
yeah, ‘exploiting the great sexual chemistry’ between them. And that had been absolutely fine. At first.

In the beginning, she’d had no desire to examine his psyche, to expose the secrets of his past, especially as he seemed so averse to the idea. So she’d backed off every time she saw that shuttered look that told her louder than words she’d just strayed into forbidden territory. Plus Rye was extremely adept at distracting her. And she’d found it next to impossible not to let him.

But the fact was, after spending every night together at the cottage for two whole weeks, they were starting to run out of things to talk about.

She pounded on the door and guilty knowledge lifted the hairs on the back of her neck.

Stop lying to yourself, Westmore.

All right, fine. Her decision to surprise him this evening had nothing to do with a small talk shortage. And everything to do with the fact that her curiosity was starting to strangle her.

She wasn’t usually a nosy parker. But, the more circumspect Rye became, the more desperate she was to know why he found it necessary to be so secretive. Those questions that had buzzed around in her brain after their tryst in Phil’s office a fortnight ago were all still there. With several more added.

Why was he so determined to keep her at arm’s length? What was so terrifying about revealing personal information? Why wouldn’t he talk about even the most innocuous details of his childhood? And why had he resolutely refused to invite her back to the Manor since that first night?

Yesterday evening, as he’d tucked into her chicken and asparagus risotto and she’d studied the way his wavy hair had begun to curl around his ears, all the questions queuing up on the tip of her tongue had been about to choke her.

His brooding intensity, the moody, taciturn quality that
lurked beneath the relaxed, easy-going charm fascinated her. So much so that getting to know and understand him was starting to become an obsession.

But it was this morning’s events that had finally spurred her into action.

While she’d brushed her teeth, Rye had appeared in the bathroom in his boxers, hugged her round the waist and told her he had an important conference call first thing in the morning so he’d have to stay at his place tonight.

She’d tried to dismiss the little bump of dismay at the thought of spending her first night without him as nothing more than endorphin withdrawal. But she couldn’t dismiss the stab of disappointment—and hurt—that it hadn’t even occurred to him to invite her over to the Manor.

She’d been about to suggest it herself when he’d started murmuring in that low, sexy voice about making up for lost time, pressed her against the shower cubicle to nibble the pulse in her neck—and, before she knew it, she’d been flooding the bathroom instead. She’d still been draped across the bed, seeing stars, her wet hair soaking the quilt when she’d heard the rumble of his car engine as he drove off.

It had taken her a full half an hour more, while she got dressed and put away the breakfast dishes, before she’d finally cottoned on to the fact that their mind-blowing water aerobics had been yet another of Rye’s expertly deployed distraction techniques.

The realisation had annoyed her, frustrated her and been the final straw.

Right, pal. Two can play at that game.

The plan she’d come up with while repairing the extensive damage to the bathroom was both simple and satisfying and wonderfully empowering.

She heard the clank of the bolt on the Manor’s door unlocking.
A sweet and she hoped only slightly smug smile tilted her lips.

Before meeting Rye, she never would have had the guts to show up at a guy’s house uninvited, no matter how much mind-altering sex they’d had together in the last fortnight. But being with Rye, having him want her with a power and a passion that hadn’t dimmed in the slightest in the last two weeks had given her confidence a boost that she now planned to put to good use.

The door swung open.

Oh, my. There is a God.

Her pulse fluttered and her thigh muscles dissolved as she studied the magnificent sight before her. Perspiration glistened on his skin, highlighting the impressive contours of his bare chest and making the thin cotton athletic shorts cling to muscular thighs. The angry puckered scars above his left kneecap only enhanced his dangerous sex appeal.

‘Maddy?’ He lifted the towel slung round his neck to wipe his brow, his voice a little hoarse. ‘Sorry, I was in the gym. I didn’t hear the door.’

Maddy’s smile widened as she inhaled the intoxicating smell of pheromones and sweat. ‘I come bearing gifts,’ she said, holding up her carefully selected bag of bribes. ‘I thought I’d cook you dinner here for a change.’ She dipped her eyelashes. ‘Then we can discuss dessert.’

She sashayed past him, knowing the new black jeans outlined her bum to perfection. Was it her imagination or had he looked less sure of himself than usual?

He gave a strained chuckle as he closed the door behind her.

The feeling of power made her a little light-headed. She’d cornered him on his home turf as planned; now all she had to do was torture him until he lost the will to resist.

Good Lord, was that a thong peeking over the waistband of her jeans?

Rye cursed under his breath as Maddy strolled down the hallway ahead of him, swaying her slim hips like a courtesan.

He took several deep breaths and tried to focus on the dull ache in his thigh from the punishing physiotherapy instead of the growing ache in his crotch.

Take your eyes off her backside, King, before all the blood drains out of your brain.

He tried to muster some irritation at the surprise visit. He’d been punishing himself for over an hour on those damn weight machines to stop from fixating on all the things he had convinced himself he should not be doing with Maddy this evening—and now she’d shot all his hard work right to hell.

He stopped in the kitchen doorway and watched her shrug off her suede jacket to reveal a lacy little vest thing that moulded to her full breasts like a second skin. As she unloaded a bunch of plump red tomatoes from her shopping bag, her cleavage strained against the stretchy cotton.

He bit back a groan. This had to be the road to ruin because he could feel all his good intentions crashing and burning in a tidal wave of lust.

Unfortunately, he was finding it hard to care. One more night couldn’t do that much harm after two solid weeks of unbridled indulgence. He’d simply start weaning himself off his addiction to Maddy Westmore tomorrow.

Best to be philosophical about it. Maybe having her here instead of in the cosy little cottage wasn’t such a bad thing after all. He’d resisted the temptation to invite her to the Manor so far because the dark oppressive house always made him feel more vulnerable, more exposed.

And Maddy was proving to be quite the little busybody. Usually, when he made it clear he wasn’t into share and discuss,
women got bored or backed off. But not Maddy. She’d been relatively easy to put off at first but, as the days passed, she’d got more and more persistent. And he’d been finding it tougher and tougher to stay focused and stop himself from telling her anything she wanted to know.

Which would be a bad move for a number of reasons. He didn’t talk about his past with the women he dated and confiding in Maddy would be more risky than most.

Even after their short acquaintance, he’d figured out that Maddy Westmore was a nurturer at heart. A romantic, despite the rubbish her parents had put her through. Which meant she’d be bound to put her own sentimental spin on whatever he said—and maybe even confuse an urge to confide with an urge to commit. And no way did he want her getting that impression.

But, as Maddy pulled a brass saucepan out of the cabinet, he couldn’t deny how good it felt to see her cooking him a meal in the Manor’s kitchen. She made the place feel warm.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled. ‘Why don’t you shower while I cook? It won’t take long.’ Her eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘Unless you want me to scrub your back?’

He coughed and rubbed his thigh. ‘Probably not a good idea if we want to eat before midnight.’

She gave an infectious laugh while hefting the saucepan to the sink. Then bent forward to turn on the tap. The purple lace string winked at him again.

Damn. Definitely a thong.

Wrenching his gaze away, he headed for the bedroom.

Better make that a cold shower. Maddy seemed different this evening, determined, somehow—and even more irresistible than usual. He had to keep his wits about him.

For as long as was humanly possible.

‘That was sensational.’ Rye leaned forward to lift Maddy’s hand off the table, his eyes heating as he kissed her knuckles. ‘Now, what was that you said about dessert?’

The man looked relaxed and well fed and horny, Maddy thought as her heartbeat pummelled. Mission accomplished. She’d been flirting mercilessly with him all through the meal.

Slipping her hand out of his, she got out of her chair and sat in his lap. ‘I have chocolate sauce,’ she purred, draping her arms over his shoulders.

He gripped her waist, shifted her weight onto his good thigh. ‘Chocolate sauce but no ice cream?’

She giggled. From the prominent bulge pressing into her bottom, she knew she had him. ‘We’re not going to need the ice cream.’

He cursed softly, humour twinkling in his eyes. ‘Are you trying to kill me?’

‘How did you guess?’

It was now or never. She’d never seen him so open or so pliable before.

He tugged her closer to nuzzle her neck, but she pressed a finger to his lips. ‘Not so fast, King. The chocolate sauce comes at a price.’

He nipped her fingertip, his gaze so hot she could feel her skin sizzling. ‘Name it.’

‘Tell me why you hate this house so much?’ she asked, keeping a stranglehold on her own hormones.

‘What?’ He barked out a laugh. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Why on earth do you want to know that?’ He didn’t sound wary, just astonished. Astonished was good. It would keep his guard down. And she’d already satisfied some of her curiosity. He hadn’t denied it. He did hate the house, but why?

‘I’m nosy,’ she said.

‘I noticed.’

‘Answer the question, King, or there’ll be no chocolate sauce with your dessert.’

He gave his head a shake, looking impressed. ‘You are unbeliev …’

‘Stop whining and ‘fess up,’ she interrupted, lazily caressing the curls at his nape. ‘I have you at my mercy.’

He let out an exasperated chuckle. ‘All right. Fine.’ He jostled her on his lap, hot hands stroking under her camisole. ‘I’ll answer the damn question. But, I warn you, this line of conversation has the potential to turn into a passion killer.’

‘I happen to know it would take a nuclear war to kill your passion,’ she teased, excitement coursing through her.

He was finally going to let her in; the shutters hadn’t come down—and he seemed unable to make them. The surge of pleasure at the thought was almost as potent as the shiver of desire rippling up from her core.

‘I hate this house because it’s my grandfather’s. He didn’t want me here. And he made sure I knew it. And the loneliness stuck, I guess.’ He said the words easily, with none of his usual caution. A boyish smile edged his lips. ‘Until now.’