BTW: I Love You (Mills & Boon M&B) (One Hot Fling - Book 1) (7 page)

Turning into the driveway of Trewan Manor, he eased up the handbrake, switched off the ignition and stared into the darkness.

The need to know about Maddy and Phil had to be another by-product of the accident and the trauma afterwards. His pride and his confidence had been shattered in the last six months and it would take more than one night to rebuild it.

He dug his thumb into his injured muscles to ease the painful cramp—while keying the beach café’s number into the hands-free phone on the car’s dash. First things first. Before he saw Maddy again and figured out a way of engineering her back into his bed, he had to address a more pressing problem.

Phil answered on the second ring.

‘Phil, it’s Rye.’

‘How’s things, stranger?’ Phil’s voice had the easy familiarity of long-time friendship. ‘Still hiding out at Hell Hall?’

‘Yeah,’ Rye said drolly, not rising to the bait. ‘I need to drop by the café tomorrow morning,’ he continued, determined to head off yet another conversation about how he needed to get out more. ‘What time’s the early shift start?’

He wanted to be sure Maddy would be there.

‘The breakfast service starts at nine,’ Phil said.

Rye tapped the steering wheel, surprised by the little spurt of anticipation. ‘Great, I’ll see you at …’

‘Wait a sec,’ Phil cut in, suspicion sharpening his voice. ‘What’s the hurry, all of a sudden?’

‘I’ve got a bike that belongs to one of your employees I need to drop off.’

‘What employee?’

‘Madeleine Westmore.’

‘How do you know Maddy?’

‘It’s a long story,’ Rye stated flatly, not appreciating the third degree—or the tiny tinge of guilt.

Phil swore on the other end of the line. ‘Please tell me you’re not treating Maddy to the Ryan King Do ‘em and Dump ‘em routine.’

Rye’s temper sparked. He’d coined that insulting phrase fifteen years ago, when he’d been sixteen, had turbo-charged hormones and thought boasting about all the women he got into the sack made him a man. ‘We’re not in secondary school any more, Phil.’

‘Too right we’re not,’ Phil interrupted forcefully. ‘Leave her alone, Rye; she doesn’t play those kind of games.’

‘What games?’ Rye demanded, something sour settling in his gut. Since when had free-wheeling Phil become the protective sort? Had Maddy lied to him about the two of them?

‘You know what games,’ Phil said, then sighed. ‘Look, mate, she’s a good friend and a great waitress. She works
really hard and she got dumped on big time last year by some creep called Steve. The last thing she needs is a smooth-talking, over-sexed big shot from London using her for sport.’

Rye would have laughed at Phil’s insulting assessment of him—the
over-sexed
reference being particularly ironic—if the sour something in his gut hadn’t been rising up his throat like bile. ‘What is this? Are you trying to stake your own claim?’

‘No. It’s nothing like that.’ Phil sounded genuinely shocked at the accusation. ‘She’s not interested in me. And, even if she were, she doesn’t do sex with the boss. Ever. She has a rule about it.’

‘How the hell do you know that?’ Rye shouted, the bile threatening to choke him.

‘Because she told me,’ Phil shot right back. ‘She was a little drunk and we were—’ He paused. ‘Anyway, that’s not the point. What did she say when you told her you own this place? I can’t believe she would …’

‘I’m not sleeping with her.’ Not right this minute, anyway.

Rye ignored the tug of guilt. Maybe he should have mentioned that he owned the café, but it hadn’t seemed all that relevant.

He’d inherited all the property along the Bay after the death of his grandfather ten years ago, when he’d still been travelling round the world as a surf bum living off the prize money from competitions and any instructor work he could hustle. After the funeral, he’d spent two months refurbishing the café, opening a surf hire shop next door and blowing the rest of his inheritance rehabbing the old Victorian guest house on the point and reopening it as a boutique hotel to cater to North Cornwall’s young, rich and sporty summer crowd. Then he’d hired Phil to manage the café and surf shop and Tony, another of his old friends from secondary school,
to manage Surf Central, and got the hell out of Cornwall for the second time in his life.

That small taste of empire-building had planted a seed, though, that had blossomed into dissatisfaction as he’d back-packed his way to Hawaii. He’d got as far as California before he’d admitted that his nomadic, shoestring existence didn’t have the cachet at twenty-one that it had when he’d first run away from his grandfather’s oppressive rules and regulations at seventeen. So he’d made his way back to London, remortgaged Trewan Manor, arranged a loan on the Wildwater Bay businesses and started making careful investments in similar extreme sports enterprises around the globe.

The adrenalin kick of riding the perfect wave had gradually been replaced by the more intense and sustained high of managing his fledgling business empire and watching it grow and expand.

He’d worked hard to build King Xtreme into a thriving multinational concern. And, yeah, maybe he’d played hard as well, bedding a string of beautiful women the world over and turning his Kensington penthouse into the party capital of London society during the winter months. But his sexual conquests had never been indiscriminate, or nearly as prolific as the press liked to maintain—and, while he’d had a well-earned reputation as an adrenalin junkie, he’d never used drugs or alcohol to feed the high. Maintaining his health and his fitness had been an important part of his brand. Until the accident.

So he didn’t deserve Phil’s scorn. Or this guilt trip.

‘Maddy will find out that I own the café tomorrow.’ He could sort out any hang-ups she might have about sleeping with the boss then. He didn’t anticipate it being a big hurdle, though, not after the way she had responded to his touch today. And, anyhow, strictly speaking, he wasn’t her boss. Phil was.

‘Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ Phil said. ‘I’ll see
you tomorrow. The breakfast rush is over around eleven. Come by then and I can take time out to show you the books.’

‘I’ll be there at nine-thirty,’ he said and disconnected the call.

He wasn’t waiting till eleven to see Maddy again. Plus he had no desire to see the books. He had accountants to do that sort of thing. And he trusted Phil. Implicitly.

Just not with Maddy.

‘T
HIS
morning’s breakfast special is sweet waffles with crispy bacon and maple syrup.’

Maddy waited patiently for the elderly couple to make up their minds, then jotted down their order. Pasting on what she hoped was a perky smile, she refilled their coffee cups. ‘That’ll be a few minutes. Feel free to help yourself to newspapers and magazines while you wait.’

Tucking her pad away, she slipped through the swinging doors into the kitchen and pinned the only order of the morning on the board.

‘That’s it?’ said Guy, their breakfast chef, as he whisked the tab off the board. ‘I might as well have stayed in bed.’

‘I wish I had.’ Maddy gave the small of her back a rub and glanced at the clock. She still had five hours to go on her shift and her legs already felt like limp noodles.

Yesterday’s unscheduled exercise, both in bed and out, would have been enough to knock her out. But when you factored in the restless night she’d spent while a string of X-rated erotic memories played in her head—and the three-mile hike to the café this morning—she was officially dead on her feet.

‘I can see that.’ Guy scanned her face as he cracked eggs into the mixer. He wiggled his eyebrows. ‘Hot date, eh?’

The suggestive comment had a couple of the most lurid memories popping into her head, in full senso-vision. Guy’s eagle eyes narrowed as the hot flush scorched her throat.

He laughed. ‘So little Maddy finally got her mojo back last night.’

‘Get lost, Guy.’ She threw the words over her shoulder, his amused chuckle drowned out by the whirl of the mixer.

She slammed out of the kitchen door, only to spot her mojo standing in the café doorway. Her stride faltered as the flush burned her scalp. What was
he
doing here? And why did he have to look so gorgeous?

His bronze hair had streaks of gold she hadn’t noticed last night, and fell across his brow in windblown waves as those crystal-blue eyes fixed on her face.

His eyes flicked down her figure and the flush raced into her cheeks.

‘Hello, Madeleine.’ The innocuous pleasantry spoken in that low husky voice had a dangerous effect on her thigh muscles.

‘Hello.’ She fumbled a menu from the end of the bar and directed him to a table. He’d probably just come for breakfast. No need to panic. Yet.

‘I didn’t come here to eat,’ he said, stepping towards her.

He stood too close, that clean scent of pine forests and man making the torrid memories all the more vivid.

‘So why did you come?’ she said, more breathlessly than intended.

‘Your bike.’

‘Oh, yes. Of course.’ Why did the knowledge bring with it that silly spurt of melancholy again? ‘Thanks.’

‘And we need to talk.’

‘What about?’ The question came out on a suspicious squeak. His eyes had gone that intense cobalt blue, the knowledge in them making her thighs quiver.

He stroked a thumb down the side of her neck. ‘Come now, Madeleine.’ Strong fingers spanned her shoulder as he bent to whisper in her ear. ‘We both know you’re not
that
innocent.’

‘Get your hands off my waitress, King.’ Phil’s shout had Maddy jerking back, her thighs now liquid.

Rye raised his head, winked at her, then squared up to her boss. ‘I’ll put my hands where I damn well like, Trevellian.’

Just as Maddy began to panic about how she was going to referee a wrestling match between two guys who were each close to a foot taller than her, Phil laughed and punched Rye on the shoulder. ‘Long time no see, Hermit Man.’ The smile on Phil’s face beamed.

These two didn’t just know each other, Maddy realised, they cared.

Rye gave his friend a brief manly hug. ‘I need to speak to Maddy,’ Rye said. ‘We’ll use your office. Then she’s taking the rest of the shift off.’

She’s what?

Phil’s smile faded. ‘Now hang on a minute, hotshot,’ he said, the affection edged with irritation. ‘I told you already; Maddy’s not …’

‘Hey, Maddy’s standing right here.’

The two of them glanced at her as if
she
were the nutty one.

‘And she doesn’t appreciate being talked about as if she’s not.’

She poked a finger into Rye’s shoulder and enjoyed the flash of surprise as he stumbled back a step.

‘What do you think you’re playing at? Waltzing in here as if you own the place and telling me what to do.’ They’d had exactly one evening together. And he still hadn’t apologised for his insulting questions at the end of it.

She wasn’t Little Miss Pushover any more. The new Maddy didn’t take this crap. She stood up for herself. ‘You’re not my boss. Phil is. So you don’t get to decide when my shift ends.’

Phil tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Maddy.’

‘What?’ She spun round, not appreciating being halted in mid-rant. With a bit more practice, she could get good at this.

Phil cleared his throat. He looked like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ‘He does own the place.’

‘He …? What?’ The blood leached out of Maddy’s face and pounded into her heart.

‘He’s my boss,’ Phil added, no longer meeting her eye. ‘Which also makes him yours.’

She turned to stare at Rye, her mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out.

Sordid memory assailed her. Her father, his face ruddy, his trousers and boxers round his ankles and his large hands fastened to the plump young secretary’s naked hips as he bounced his crotch against her bottom. The visceral horror replayed in her mind, accompanied by the sickening echo of her father’s animalistic grunts.

‘But I … I don’t. I couldn’t have.’ Her voice came out on a horrified whisper. ‘I have a rule.’

The sights, the sounds, even the smell—of furtive arousal, sordid sex—assaulted her senses as if she had walked into her father’s office ten minutes ago, instead of ten years. She clapped her hands over her mouth as the gorge churning in her stomach surged up her throat.

‘I’m going to puke.’

‘So you didn’t sleep with her, eh?’ Phil snarled. ‘You lying son of …’

Rye tuned out his friend’s observations about his parentage as he watched Maddy dash to the toilets as if the hounds of hell were snapping at her heels.

Okay. Maybe he’d underestimated the size of this particular hurdle.

M
ADDY
held her aching stomach and blinked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Hello, Bride of Frankenstein.

Luckily, she hadn’t had time to eat breakfast yet, so the dry heaves hadn’t produced much. But the sallow skin of her face and the dark circles under her eyes made her look an absolute fright. Her ribs protested as she bent down to splash water onto her cheeks.

She straightened at the sound of someone entering behind her.

‘I borrowed these from Phil.’ Rye stood inside the door, holding a toothbrush wrapped in cellophane and a new tube of toothpaste. ‘He keeps them for sleepover emergencies,’ he added wryly.

She snatched the offerings out of his hand, determined not to be touched by the thoughtful gesture. ‘You can’t come in here. This is the Ladies.’

His eyebrow lifted. ‘Yes, I can. I own the place, remember.’

‘Thanks for the reminder.’ She braced herself for the instinctive gagging reflex. Strangely, it didn’t come.

She ripped open the toothbrush and applied the toothpaste,
ignoring his silent, watchful presence. But, as she brushed her teeth, she felt painfully self-conscious. Even after all they’d done together, the mundane ritual seemed too personal to perform in front of him.

She rinsed her mouth and retied her ponytail. Great, she still looked like the Bride of Frankenstein, just with fresher breath.

‘That was a very extreme reaction to the news that I own the café.’ He stood propped against the wall by the door, giving her a probing look. ‘What caused it?’

Maddy’s spine stiffened. No way. She wasn’t answering that. If brushing her teeth in front of him was too intimate, talking about her childhood was a definite no-go area.

‘I should go back to work,’ she said dismissively. But as she went to step past him he took her arm.

‘You’ve got the rest of the day off. Phil’s already lined up a replacement. And you’re not going anywhere until I know what happened.’ His brows lowered. ‘You looked as if you were about to pass out.’

She pulled her arm free, not sure she could cope with being interrogated right now. ‘I was in shock.’ That much was true. ‘You should have told me you owned this place as soon as you knew I worked here.’

The frown deepened. ‘Why would I? It wasn’t relevant.’

‘It was to me,’ she said.

‘Why?’

There was that probing look again. ‘I don’t have to answer that.’

He cupped her cheek as she tried to turn away. ‘Did some guy hurt you? Someone who was employing you?’

His jaw clenched as he asked the question and she realised this was more than curiosity.

‘No.’ She shook off his hand. ‘It’s nothing like that. It’s …’ She hesitated. Ducked her head. She couldn’t talk about this.
Not to him. She barely knew him. But where was the familiar nausea to bolster her resolve? ‘It’s nothing. It was a long time ago and it doesn’t matter any more.’

‘Maddy, it matters.’

‘Why?’

‘Because, if we don’t sort it out … whatever it is … I’ll have to fire you.’

She gave a strangled gasp. ‘You’ll what?’ Had he lost his marbles? But he didn’t look insane. He looked determined. ‘Why would you do that? I work really hard; I …’

‘This has nothing to do with your work ethic and you know it.’

He touched her cheek. She slapped his hand away.

‘Well, what
does
it have to do with?’ Temper rose to strengthen her resolve instead. She couldn’t afford to lose this job. And she didn’t deserve to, just because she’d slept with him and then made a spectacle of herself.

‘Sacking you is the only option,’ he began in that reasonable tone he only employed when saying something outrageous, ‘if you won’t sleep with me because I’m your boss. We’ll have to find another way.’

Her jaw dropped. Literally. If she hadn’t known it was physically impossible, she would have sworn it hit the floor.

As she stood, trying to get her mind to engage, to say something coherent, the elderly customer she had served earlier barged through the bathroom’s double doors.

‘Oh, hello; are you all right, dear?’ The lady adjusted the glasses on her nose and peered at Maddy. ‘You look a little peaky, love.’

‘I’m …’

Rye cleared his throat and the old dear noticed him too.

‘Well, really, I don’t think this is the place for you, young man.’ She straightened like a schoolmarm telling off a particularly
unruly pupil, the top of her head barely reaching Rye’s chest. ‘This is the Ladies, you know.’

‘Is it, really?’ Rye didn’t even have the decency to blush.

‘If you want to talk to your young lady,’ she added, ‘you should do it elsewhere.’

‘I’m not his young …’ Maddy yelped as Rye’s fingers wrapped firmly round her upper arm.

‘You’re absolutely right,’ he said as he shoved the door open with one arm and hauled Maddy through with the other. ‘I’ll take my young lady somewhere more private.’

‘Let go of me,’ she spat, struggling against his grip as he set off down the corridor, those long fingers tightening on her arm like a vice.

His uneven stride did nothing to slow the pace as he marched her, none too gently, into Phil’s office and slammed the door.

‘Now, let’s have it,’ he said, his voice low as her back butted the carved pine. He propped one hand above her head, caging her in. ‘I want to know what made you react like that.’

Outrage blinded her. ‘How dare you haul me about like that!’ She slapped her palms against his chest, pushed hard. He didn’t budge. ‘And I’m never sleeping with …’

His lips came down. Hard, fast, insistent. And the protest got stuck in her throat. Right alongside the resistance.

She gasped. Strong fingers angled her head to deepen the kiss and molten heat shot up from her core. Her hands flexed in the soft cotton of his T-shirt as the sure strokes spread the wildfire.

Her breath gushed out as he lifted his head, moisture flooding between her thighs but doing nothing to put out the fire. One large palm settled on her hip, steadying her.

‘Never say never, Maddy. Not to me. Not when you don’t mean it.’

‘But I do mean it,’ she stammered, but the denial sounded false, even to her.

The rough, callused pad of his thumb touched her cheekbone. She could hear the thunder of her own heartbeat, feel her pulse pummelling her neck as he traced the line of her jaw, pressed the flutter in her throat. ‘No you don’t,’ he murmured.

She looked away, feeling the outline of his arousal against her belly. Her sex ached and tightened, ready to receive him. She realised vaguely she wasn’t revolted by him. Her boss. But hideously turned on.

Shame mingled with longing, the unstoppable rush of response a betrayal. Of that little girl who had sworn to despise all the women in her father’s life—so she wouldn’t have to despise him.

‘What happened? Tell me,’ he coaxed.

‘I have ethics, that’s all,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t think it’s right.’ She couldn’t tell him. It would leave her vulnerable. Like that frightened child with the evidence of something she’d tried so hard to deny branded on her memory for ever.

‘That wasn’t ethics.’ He lifted her face. ‘I’d say it was more like a phobia. You were physically sick.’

Tears clogged her throat at the concern in his voice.

‘I wasn’t sick. It wasn’t that bad. I’m just tired and I hadn’t had breakfast and …’ Her pathetic attempt to explain away what he had seen trailed into silence as he continued to study her, knowledge and understanding in his steely gaze. ‘Can’t you just forget it?’ she asked.

‘No, I can’t.’ He huffed out a laugh. ‘I don’t want to fire you, but I will, if that’s the only way I can make love to you again without you throwing up all over me.’

She heard the wry amusement in his tone—and the note of arrogance.

‘Who said we were going to make love again? When did
I agree to that? Or don’t I get a say?’ The adamant statement sounded fairly ridiculous after the kiss they’d shared. But she didn’t care.

He sent her a sceptical look. ‘How about we manage one problem at a time here?’

‘Excuse me, my choice of sexual partners is not a prob …’

‘Why can’t you talk about it?’ he interrupted. ‘Was it that bad?’ The tender tone cut the lecture off in mid-flow.

She sighed. ‘No, it wasn’t bad. Just embarrassing.’ Maybe reason would deflect him. ‘Honestly, Rye. It’s not that big a deal. It’s silly.’

‘Humour me.’

‘Oh, for …’ She bit back the curse. He looked more stubborn than ever.

She stared over Rye’s shoulder at the wide surf-battered beach through Phil’s office window—and felt cornered. It seemed the more she held out, the more tenacious he became. Maybe if she got it over with he’d lose interest and let her be.

‘All right. But, I warn you, it’s an incredibly boring story.’ She took a shuddering breath.

Tell him quickly, with as little emotion as possible.

‘When I was thirteen, I went to see my dad at his office. It was his birthday and I’d brought him a present. My mother had kicked him out of the house. Again. Two days before. So he was staying at a hotel. Anyway …’ She fumbled to a halt.

Stop reciting your life story. He’s not that interested.

‘I wanted to surprise him and I walked in on him boffing his secretary.’ She let out a breath. ‘See, no big deal. It’s ridiculous that I’ve always let it bother me so much. You’re right. Talking about it made it much better, so thanks.’

She twisted, reached for the door handle. But his hand covered hers before she could escape. She went still, stared blindly as his palm wrapped around the back of her hand and
squeezed. Her heart stuttered. And tears clogged her throat. Tears she couldn’t shed.

Please don’t say anything.

‘That must have been one hell of a shock,’ he said.

She blinked, the idiotic tears prickling. ‘Not really.’ Or it shouldn’t have been. ‘I already knew he couldn’t be faithful. They argued about “his sluts”, as my mother liked to call them, all the time.’

‘Did you tell your mother?’ he asked gently.

Maddy gave her head a swift shake and a lone tear slipped over her lid. ‘God, no.’ She brushed it away, hoping he hadn’t seen it.

‘What about your father? How did he react?’

‘He shouted at me to wait outside.’ She gave a hollow laugh. ‘The poor secretary went crimson. I think she was a lot more horrified by my presence than he was.’ Maddy trembled, remembering the hideousness of listening to the muffled sounds through the closed door, her hands shaking as she threw the carefully wrapped present in the bin. ‘When he came out ten minutes later he was charming. Condescending.’ Was that the first time she had noticed how condescending? ‘He told me he had needs that my mother had never been able to satisfy. But that didn’t mean he didn’t love her.’

It still disgusted her, she realised, the memory of his chiselled features, flushed and satisfied. The musty scent of sex and sweat that clung to his linen suit as he hugged her and told her lies. ‘He took me out for lunch to our favourite restaurant.’

And chose not to notice she couldn’t eat a thing.

‘Then he took me home. He persuaded my mother to take him back a week later, with a little extra help from a luxury trip to Paris. And it was never mentioned again.’

Rye’s hand stroked down her hair, settled on her nape. ‘Maddy, look at me.’

She turned to see sympathy and annoyance in his eyes. ‘So you never spoke to anyone about it?’

‘I spoke to Cal. Years later.’

His brow creased. ‘Who’s Cal?’

A weak smile tilted her lips. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was jealous. ‘My brother. He’s a barrister.’

The crease disappeared. ‘So what did Cal say?’

‘To get over it and move on.’ If only she could have.

‘But you couldn’t,’ he said with a perceptiveness that stunned her. ‘So you made up your rule. About never sleeping with your boss.’

‘It seemed like the best way to handle it.’ Although the whole idea sounded hopelessly immature now. She blew out a breath, her body relaxing against the door. ‘I can’t believe I told you all that,’ she murmured. Or how easy it had been. ‘You must think I’m nuts, to let something that happened so long ago upset me.’

He brushed her hair back, framing her face. ‘Are you still feeling sick?’

She curled her lip under her teeth and slowly shook her head, amazed. The memory that had tormented her for so long seemed pathetic now, rather than nauseating.

‘Are you sure about that?’ He lowered his head, brushed a kiss over her lips. The dart of fire arrowed down. ‘Because I don’t want you to start gagging again.’

She huffed out a laugh at the audacious statement, dizzy with relief. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting we have sex?’ The words came out in a breathless rush as his hand swept under her T-shirt.

‘Not at all.’ He angled her head, nibbled kisses along her jaw. ‘This isn’t sex. It’s immersion therapy.’

‘Immersion..?’ She gasped as he released her bra and cradled the swollen flesh of her breast in one hot palm.

‘I want to be inside you, Maddy,’ he said, toying with the sensitive peak.

Her thigh muscles tensed, the delicious buzz fading at the bold statement—and the memory of the first time he’d been inside her.

‘I don’t think that will work,’ she mumbled, pulling away from him and smoothing down the T-shirt.

‘Why not?’ he asked, resting his hands on her hips.

‘It’s just …’ She paused, heat pumping into her cheeks.

Talk about awkward.

‘You’re a bit too …’ She glanced down at the telltale ridge in his trousers, which looked even more daunting than before. She chewed on her lip. ‘We could do something else,’ she ventured hopefully. But she didn’t have a clue what to offer.

Given that he was about to burst out of his pants, Rye didn’t know whether to laugh at Maddy’s artless offer or howl with frustration. ‘Damn. Was I that much of a clod?’

‘It’s not that,’ she said, rushing the words as the pink flags in her cheeks got pinker. ‘It’s not your fault.’

A strange pang squeezed his chest as he realised she was trying to spare his feelings. The irony struck him first. Women had thrown themselves at him ever since he was sixteen. And he’d never had a single complaint. Apart from that one time with Marta.