BTW: I Love You: Surf, Sea and a Sexy Stranger. Heidi Rice
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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.
Until now.
‘It’s a matter of biology,’ she continued. ‘And … um … anatomy,’ she stuttered, so red now she was practically glowing. ‘We just don’t …’ She trailed off, flicking another wary glance at his crotch. ‘Fit. Very well.’
He