BTW: I Love You (Mills & Boon M&B) (One Hot Fling - Book 1) (13 page)

‘M
ADDY,
it’s Rye, how are you?’

Maddy’s fingers jerked on the handset at the sound of the rich masculine voice on the other end of the line. ‘I’m …’ She paused;
fine
seemed like an overstatement. ‘I’m okay. Where are you?’

‘London. I got back from California last night.’

The stupid bubble of excitement, of anticipation burst. ‘Okay.’

This was probably good. Just because she’d had some sort of bizarre mental and emotional meltdown and fallen in love with her no-strings fling didn’t mean she should pander to it.

‘I won’t be coming back to Cornwall,’ he continued. ‘Not for the foreseeable future.’

‘Oh.’ The word gushed out as air expelled from her lungs and her heart thumped to a stop.

She felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach—even though she had been expecting the news.

He’s not coming back. Our affair is over.

‘I would have called sooner,’ he continued, talking in that reasonable, matter-of-fact tone as Maddy’s insides churned and her heart galloped into overdrive. ‘But things have been
hectic and I thought it would be easier to contact you once I knew what I was doing.’

‘Okay.’ She knew she sounded like a moron but she couldn’t form a coherent thought, let alone a proper sentence. She wanted to be angry with him for being so calm and unruffled when her life had become an emotional car wreck. But all she felt was numb.

‘Listen, Maddy, I can’t talk right now. I’ve got an important board meeting in a few minutes. But I want you to come to London. For Christmas.’

‘You want …?’ She struggled to register the words. ‘But why?’

The sensual rumble of laughter made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. ‘Well, apart from the obvious reason,’ he said, the husky tone of voice making her pulse points vibrate, ‘I may have found a solution to your employment problem. Phil told me you haven’t found a job yet.’

The abrupt change of subject threw her completely. ‘You spoke to Phil?’

‘That’s right.’ She heard a rustle of papers and then a female voice said something in the background that she couldn’t make out. ‘Thanks, Pamela,’ he said, his voice muffled, ‘I’ll be there in five.’ More rustling. ‘Look, I’ve got to dash. There’s a car picking you up in two hours. The flight from Newquay’s at four. And bring some of those silk paintings.’

‘But …’ Why did she feel as if her head were stuffed to bursting with cotton wool?

He chuckled. ‘I’ll see you at my place this evening.’

‘But I …’ the deafening sound of the dialling tone interrupted her question ‘… don’t know where you live,’ she finished, to no one in particular.

She placed the phone in its cradle and dropped into an armchair. Her hands began to tremble so hard she had to clasp them between her knees and squeeze.

Should she go? Wouldn’t she just be prolonging the agony?

She’d barely slept again last night, feeling shaken and confused and desperately unsure of herself. Everything she’d ever believed about herself, about her outlook on life had proved to be wrong and she didn’t know how to make it right again.

But how could she not go? And throw away the one chance to find out whether what she felt for Rye was real?

‘George will escort you up to the penthouse, Miss Westmore.’

Maddy nodded at the uniformed concierge, feeling woefully underdressed in her jeans and second-hand suede jacket. She glanced round the palatial foyer of the Kensington apartment block; the fresh scent of tree sap perfumed the air from the enormous spruce, tastefully decorated with silver bows, taking up one corner of the cavernous space.

When the limo from City Airport had pulled up at the art deco building, she’d thought all the sleek steel and stone made quite a statement amid the rows of quaint Victorian mews cottages. As George, the doorman, walked towards her carrying the battered rucksack he’d lifted out of the limo’s trunk, it occurred to Maddy that the statement was Ludicrously Wealthy.

‘Is Mr King here?’ she asked.

The plump, pretty concierge sent her a polite smile. ‘Mr King’s due back in half an hour. He said to make yourself at home.’

Maddy glanced round the enormous lobby area. Not much chance of that. With its polished teak wall panelling and luxury leather furniture, the place wasn’t exactly homely.

‘Can you contact him for me?’ she asked, trying not to let her annoyance show. She’d rung his mobile about fifty times in the last four hours and got the busy signal and then been given the runaround by his PA, who had insisted he was in meetings all afternoon.

The concierge’s perfectly plucked eyebrows drew together a fraction. ‘I’m afraid I can’t. I could leave a message with Pamela Martin, his PA, if that would be helpful?’

‘That’s okay.’ Pamela Martin already had about twenty messages, none of which had been returned. ‘Please don’t bother.’

What was the point in trying to contact him, anyway? She was here now. But she wasn’t exactly a happy camper.

Having picked herself up off the floor after his call four hours ago, it had taken Maddy a while to get her mind to engage again but, as soon as it had, irritation had started to bubble. Irritation which had swiftly turned to annoyance, during her fruitless attempts to call him back. Annoyance had then turned to aggravation when she’d realised that she didn’t have a choice. He hadn’t given her a choice. Rye King had called the shots and she’d been left trailing in his wake.

Maddy knew she could be too appeasing. Too easy-going. Hence Miss Fixit. Cal had always called it her doormat tendency. But, as she’d stuffed brightly coloured silk into her ratty old rucksack and agonised over what else to pack, her ire, at long last, had been well and truly roused.

And it had stayed that way as she’d sat rigidly in the black Mercedes that had arrived to take her to Newquay Airport and in the sleek First Class cabin as she had flown to City Airport.

Rye had walked out on her without a word eight long days ago. He hadn’t contacted her once. He’d tricked her into falling in love with him. And then he’d had the cheek to ring her up, effectively snap his fingers and expect her to jump to attention without a proper explanation.

The assumption that she would be sharing his bed in London only added fuel to the flames of Maddy’s temper.

Since when did having a casual fling mean that he got to make all the decisions and she was just supposed to step into
line? Fortunately, stewing in her own anger and frustration had a hefty fringe benefit. As long as she was concentrating on how mad she was with him, she didn’t have to dwell on the much bigger problem—what on earth she was going to do about the fact that she’d fallen in love with him?

As George directed her into the panelled lift and closed the ornate cage doors with a creak, Maddy tried not to be intimidated. She resolutely refused to be overwhelmed in any way by the trappings of Rye’s wealth. She had more than enough to worry about without letting his snazzy home bother her too.

Then the lift jolted to a stop and George opened the doors onto a marbled lobby area. Maddy’s boot heels clicked on the tiles. Large bunches of red lilies stood in black onyx vases, decorating the lavish space. She stopped and gawped, dropping her head back to see the lights of a passing plane blinking through the domed glass atrium above her head.

Maddy sucked in a breath. Okay, this was more than just snazzy. This was an alternative reality.

Depositing her rucksack on the cool marble floor, George gave a gallant little bow and left.

As the lift doors clanked closed, Maddy ventured into the apartment proper. Thick royal-blue carpets accented off-white walls hung with an array of modern art in the main hallway. Maddy’s mouth formed an O as she recognised some of the artwork and realised they were originals. She hurried past a series of doors, then stopped dead at the end of the corridor. With a double-height ceiling and one whole wall devoted to a panoramic view of Kensington Gardens, the penthouse’s main living space was breathtaking.

The minimalist decor, which was both tasteful and unobtrusive, had obviously been coordinated by a professional decorator. She couldn’t see Rye bothering to hunt up a rug edged with the exact same shade of turquoise as the waisthigh
glass brick wall that separated the lavish living area from the state-of-the-art kitchen. Or spending hours decorating the Christmas tree in one corner with pinpoint lights and colour-coordinated red and gold ornaments.

Spotting a console embedded into the wall with loads of dials and displays, she wondered if it was for the inbuilt sound system or the huge plasma TV over the fireplace.

She sighed. Probably both.

She stood, her reflection dwarfed by the windows that looked out over a decked balcony. This was the lavish bachelor pad she’d expected Rye to have all those weeks ago, before she’d got to know him, with its new-fangled boy toys and expertly coordinated interior design.

But how could the man she had come to know since live in a place like this? It was as if Rye King were two different people. The urbane billionaire businessman with a swanky penthouse pad in Kensington who probably dined at a new ‘in’ restaurant every night, and the sexy ex-surfer who was happy to slum it in Cornwall and devoured her home cooking as if he were starving to death.

But which man was the real Rye King? Had she fallen in love with a man who had never really existed?

The soft ping of the lift bell had Maddy freezing in place.

She heard the telltale creak and clatter of the lift doors opening. Uneven steps hit the marble foyer tiles, then became muffled by the thick wool carpet in the hallway.

‘Maddy, where are you?’

She wrapped her arms round her midriff. ‘In the living room,’ she called out, her voice sounding small and fragile.

He walked in, looking tall and dangerous in a steel-grey designer suit. A broad grin spread across his features as his gaze roamed over her figure. ‘You came.’

She hugged herself tighter. He sounded like Rye, he even looked like Rye in some ways. The chiselled features, the
mischievous sparkle in those pure blue eyes and his uneven gait were still there. But so much else was different. The unruly hair that had always been carelessly tossed back from his brow had been recently cut so it hugged his head in stylish waves. His clean-shaven jaw lacked its usual five o’clock shadow. The expertly tailored suit accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow hips, making him seem taller and even more imposing. And his skin had a light tan, unlike the winter pallor of a week ago.

He was as breathtakingly handsome as she remembered. But somehow a virtual stranger.

‘Did I have a choice?’ The brittle tone hid the tremor in her voice.

The grin only widened as he crossed to her. He gripped her arms, stroked his thumbs into the curve of her elbows. ‘You’re angry with me,’ he remarked, confident humour in his tone.

She pulled out of his grasp, her temper snapping back to life. ‘Funnily enough, yes, I am.’

She turned round, marched to the window. She didn’t want to get mad. ‘You walk off without a word. You don’t call. And then you expect me to come running.’ She swung back, glad to have the distance between them. ‘I don’t appreciate being treated as if I’m your mistress. Because I’m not and I don’t want to be.’

He made his way towards her, the confident grin still in place. Cupping her cheek, his warm palm settled on her neck and sent an instant quiver through her. ‘So why did you come?’

She opened her mouth, ready to throw the news that she loved him at him. But the words got trapped in her throat. She jerked back, angled her body away so that he couldn’t see the vulnerability in her eyes. ‘Because, for some stupid reason, I missed you.’

He gave a self-satisfied laugh and her heart squeezed.

‘Good.’ His thumb stroked down the line of her neck. She felt the warmth of his body as he stepped behind her, settled a hand on her waist. Of its own accord, her body swayed into his. ‘Because, for some stupid reason—’ he paused, his lips brushing the sensitive skin at her nape ‘—I missed you too, Maddy.’

Electric jolts shot through her as his lips caressed her neck, but she stiffened, drew away. ‘If you missed me you would have called.’

The evidence was irrefutable. As much as she might want it to be true, he hadn’t missed her as much as she had missed him.

His arm banded across her midriff, trapping her against him. She felt the heat of his erection against her bottom. ‘I say we make love,’ he murmured, the feather of his breath brushing her cheek, ‘and argue about this later.’

She shoved his arm away, whipped round, anger at herself and her foolish heart making bitter tears spring into her eyes. ‘I told you, I’m not your mistress.’

RYE tried to school his features, tried to wipe the smile off his face, tried to feel guilty about the shimmer of angry tears in her eyes. But the task was next to impossible when he was so overjoyed to see her. And when the unfamiliar show of temper only made her more beautiful.

He hadn’t seen her in a snit for a long time, not since their first few days together. She was one of the most even-tempered, easy-going people he’d ever met, settled and content, and it was one of the things he had missed the most in the days they’d been apart. Because it made him feel settled too when he was with her. But, while he hated to be a cliché, the way the unfamiliar spurt of temper lit her eyes and brought vivid colour to her cheeks made her even more adorable. If that were possible.

‘Maddy, I don’t think of you as my mistress,’ he said evenly, not really wanting to placate her, but knowing he should.

‘Don’t you?’ she said, her voice defiant. ‘Then why are you treating me like one?’

‘I’m not. I wanted you to come to London for a number of reasons.’ He thrust his tongue into his cheek to stop from smiling. ‘Not
all
of them sexual.’

Her eyes narrowed to slits. ‘You actually think this is funny. Don’t you?’

He grasped her wrist as she tried to pass him.

‘Let go. I’m leaving,’ she said, trying to prise his fingers loose.

He drew her rigid body towards him, wrapping his arm around her hips to hold her in place.

‘Don’t be daft,’ he said. ‘You didn’t come all this way just to walk off in a huff ten minutes after you got here.’

She wriggled furiously, her eyes flashing to his as his growing erection butted against her. ‘I didn’t come all this way just so you could poke me the minute I got here either.’

He choked back a laugh. ‘Fair enough.’ He lifted his hands, letting her scramble away. ‘How about we call a truce? You don’t run off. And I promise not to poke you.’ He paused, unable to resist the suggestive grin. ‘Yet.’

Temper flared but she schooled it, the flush of colour more vivid. And he felt the first tug of guilt.

She was right. He had been selfish and manipulative. And he knew it. When he’d spoken to her on the phone that morning, he’d heard the shock and the disappointment, then the confusion in her voice and he’d trampled over all three to get what he wanted.

He’d railroaded her into coming, deliberately making himself unavailable so she would find it impossible to back out. He wasn’t going to give her a second opportunity to turn him down the way she had a week ago. They needed to get this thing sorted between them once and for all.

He’d given the problem of Maddy Westmore a lot of thought while he was in California and had figured it all out. Maddy wasn’t really the issue so much as the circumstances.

She’d caught him at a vulnerable time in his life. The accident had knocked his confidence more than he’d wanted to admit. He’d never originally intended to spend so much time
with her, but the evenings they spent together had become like a drug. The cottage, with its worn, comfortable furniture, infused with the scent of herbs and spices and decorated in Maddy’s cluttered but welcoming style, had relaxed him, while Maddy’s responsive little body and sweet, undemanding companionship had made him feel whole again.

Bringing her to London would help to put that episode of his life behind him once and for all. This was where he belonged, in the cut and thrust of the thriving metropolis. And Maddy didn’t. Once they’d burnt out the last of the sexual chemistry they shared, they’d both be ready to go their separate ways with no regrets.

The little trickle of guilt dried up. He wasn’t a hypocrite and had always believed the ends justified the means. So, frankly, it was stupid to feel bad about tactics he’d planned so methodically for eleven solid hours on the plane back from California.

Especially when those tactics, however underhand, had produced the desired result. Maddy, in London, in his apartment.

He gave a heavy sigh. Only problem was, if they were going to make productive use of her time here, he’d have to pour some water onto the fire—no matter how tempting it was to watch it spark and sizzle.

He stepped towards her, tucked a forefinger under her chin, brought her gaze to his.

‘I don’t think of you as my mistress, Maddy. And I didn’t bring you here to become my sexual plaything. If you don’t want to sleep with me, you certainly don’t have to.’ Although he’d do his damnedest to make her change her mind.

‘That’s very noble of you, Rye.’ The colour rose even higher in her cheeks. ‘When you know perfectly well how hard it is for me to resist you.’ She didn’t sound pleased but
the admission made the heat in his groin pulse harder nonetheless.

‘So what’s the problem, then?’ he asked.

Her gaze fixed on his, the depth of feeling sending a ripple of unease through his arousal.

‘This isn’t a casual fling any more,’ she murmured. ‘Not for me. And it hasn’t been for a while.’ The softly spoken words were followed by a resigned sigh. ‘I really did miss you. I missed you a lot. And that scares me.’

The brutal honesty of the statement struck him first. One of the qualities that had endeared her to him right from the start was her refreshing lack of guile. She had no secrets, no subterfuge. Unlike all the other women he’d ever dated. Maybe it was for that reason that he felt the need to be honest back. Surely he owed her that much. He knew that they had no future in the long-term. He would never be able to make the sort of commitment that would lead to the kind of life his friends Zack and Kate led. But Maddy wasn’t asking him for that.

‘Maddy, I missed you too.’ He cupped her cheek, the need to touch her overwhelming him. ‘I didn’t contact you because I thought it would pass. And it felt like crossing a line I had no right to cross. But it didn’t pass. It only got stronger. Which is why I crossed that line and invited you here.’ He threaded his fingers into the short cap of hair, rubbed the silky ends between his fingers. ‘I can’t make any promises. And it wouldn’t be fair to you if I did.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘I’ve never had a long-term relationship. And I don’t want one now. But this isn’t casual for me either. Not any more.’ He huffed out a strained laugh. ‘And if that scares you, believe me, it scares me a lot more.’

The minute he’d made the candid admission he flinched. He sounded like a romantic fool. What was he talking about?
This affair wasn’t as casual as it had been, but did he really want her to know that?

But then he looked into her face and saw the same uncertainty, the same confusion that he himself was battling and the panic faded. She leant into his palm, covered his hand with hers, the gesture so warm, so giving, so accepting and so like her that the rapid ticks of his heartbeat slowed.

She blinked, the sheen of tears in her eyes dispelled by the quick, flirtatious grin. ‘I really hope you’re not just saying that to get into my knickers?’

He grinned at her as he touched his forehead to hers and caressed her neck. ‘Actually, I didn’t. But if I’d known it was going to help get me into your knickers—’ he paused to curve his other hand around her lower back and slip his fingers beneath the waistband of her jeans ‘—I would have said it a lot sooner.’

She laughed as he explored the top swell of her buttocks.

‘Talk is cheap,’ she said, stretching up to clasp her hands around his neck, the sinuous movement torturing him. ‘I think now action is required.’

He chuckled and pulled her towards him. Slanting his lips across hers, he thrust his tongue into her mouth, giving her the kiss he’d been wanting to give her ever since he’d spotted her in his living room.

It took them less than ten seconds to make it to the nearest bedroom, and only a few seconds more to tear each other’s clothes off.

He dragged her onto the bed, rejoicing as he slid his fingers into hot swollen flesh and found her wet and ready.

‘Damn. Condoms,’ he snarled, gritting his teeth as he tried to keep a stranglehold on the need to bury himself inside her.

‘I’ll get them. Where are they?’ she gasped.

‘Bedside table.’

He gave a rough chuckle as she grabbed the protection out
of the drawer, obviously as eager as he to consummate the passion that had been building for over a week.

After enduring the exquisite torture while she rolled the latex on with frantic fingers, he gripped her hips and forced her to straddle him. She choked out a sob as she impaled herself on his powerful erection. He delved into the curls at her core and found her clitoris, making her cry out as she rode them both to completion. The tight clasp of her body shot him over the edge in record time as heat exploded in his groin.

Her panting breaths brushed his cheek as she collapsed on top of him, the aftershocks of the brutal climax rippling through his body. His hands skimmed up her back, the musty scents of sex and sweat mingling with the flowery spice of her.

He tucked her hair behind her ear, kissed the lobe as her unsteady breathing slowed.

‘It’s good to have you back,’ he whispered.

He felt the instinctive clench of her body on the still firm erection.

‘It’s good to be back,’ she murmured, her voice groggy with exhaustion.

As she relaxed into sleep, he held her on top of him, prolonging the intimate connection between them a few moments more, and made a promise to himself.

However long it took to work this thing they had together out of their systems, he’d make sure he was careful with her—especially when it was time to let her go.

Maddy awoke with a jolt, her body stiff. Heat pumped off Rye like a furnace and she realised she still lay on top of him, her cheek glued to his chest. She shifted over.

The tingle of shame made it hard for her to give in to sleep as she curled away from him. She should have told him she’d fallen in love with him. Why hadn’t she told him?

He grunted, his hand circling her waist as he hauled her back into the curve of his body. ‘‘Sbetter,’ he murmured, his nose buried in her hair.

She lay in his arms, happy to be held, the guilt and recriminations fading as she listened to his breathing even back into sleep.

She’d have to tell him eventually. She knew that. But why tell him now? And make things even more complicated than they already were. He hadn’t made any commitments—but then neither had she. They were still feeling their way, investigating what they really had together.

She loved him. But did she really know what that meant? Or whether it would last? Maybe her love for Rye was as fickle as her parents’ love for each other had been, based on sexual chemistry and little more. Spending time with him in his real life would help answer those questions.

But, even as she drifted off to sleep, trying to remain sensible, her heart skipped at the tantalising prospect that what Rye had told her—about missing her, about being scared too and about not being casual about their affair any more—meant he was falling for her too.