Page 36 of BTW I Love You

She had less than half an hour to turn Minnie Mouse into Mata Hari, Domestic Goddess.

Maddy jumped at the buzz of the doorbell and swept damp palms down the simple black dress she’d settled on after trying on three different outfits. Pulling one of the silk designs she’d painted this spring off the top shelf, she used it as a scarf to tie her hair back hastily, drew a few curls down to frame her face and hoped it made her look sexy. Slipping into her matching black pumps, she crossed the front room and pulled open the heavy oak door.

Rye’s broad shoulders blocked out the evening light as his gaze dropped down her figure. The dress didn’t have much of a cleavage, but heat still crept up her chest at the thorough perusal.

‘Hello, Madeleine,’ he said, the husky tone of voice deliberately suggestive. He handed her the bottle of wine he had tucked under his arm. ‘I bought French Merlot. I hope it suits whatever you’re serving.’

She glanced at the label. The wine looked pricey and sophisticated—and far too good for the mess she had in the oven. ‘This’ll be great.’ She beat a hasty retreat, clutching the wine in her fist. His uneven tread sounded on the wooden floor behind her and she forced herself to slow down.

Relax. Focus.

She sucked in a hasty breath.

And remember to breathe, Mata Hari, before you pass out.

She plonked the bottle on the small pine table she’d laid in the front room with her grandmother’s best bone china and made herself face him. He looked impossibly large in the cosy confines of the sitting room, his head skimming the exposed beams on the ceiling. How come she’d never noticed how tall he was until now? He had to be at least six foot three.

‘I made vegetarian lasagne.’ She fiddled with one of the knives, straightened it, before clasping her hands together. ‘I hope you haven’t any objections to aubergine.’

His lips quirked. ‘Not that I know of,’ he said, amusement lightening his voice. He wore a black leather jacket, a dark blue T-shirt and black jeans, one hip raised in a casual stance as he surveyed the room.

So much for having the home advantage. She was wound tighter than a coiled spring and he couldn’t have looked more relaxed, dominating the small space as if he owned it.

His eyes came back to hers. ‘Where did you get the seascape?’ he asked, nodding past her shoulder as he shrugged off the jacket and slung it over the back of a chair. ‘It’s stunning.’

She glanced round, but knew the picture he was referring to. She’d painted it last autumn, not long after she and Steve had broken up. ‘I did it,’ she replied, relaxing a little; small talk was good. It would help her focus. ‘It’s a silk painting, actually.’

He stepped up to the artwork. She drew in a sharp breath as the soft hairs of his forearm brushed against her, enveloping her in the tantalising scent of musk and man and pheromones.

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‘You’re an artist,’ he murmured. ‘And a remarkably talented one.’

She flushed, surprised by the compliment and how much it meant to her. The silk painting had only ever been a hobby. ‘Thank you.’

‘Why were you angry?’ he asked, his eyes fixing on hers.

‘How can you tell?’ she said, stunned again by how perceptive he was. She dragged her gaze away to look at the painting. Her anger at Steve and at herself was clearly visible in the choppy crest and spikes of the waves, the glowering clouds on the horizon. The weather hadn’t been particularly turbulent that day, as far as she could remember, but she had been.

She jumped slightly as a warm hand settled on her nape.

‘You keep surprising me, Maddy. And I’m not easily surprised.’

Electricity raced down her spine and her nipples pebbled into hard points as his fingers stroked up her neck.

He turned her towards him and she braced her hands on his chest. ‘Is that a bad thing?’ she said breathlessly.

‘A bad thing? Not at all.’ His lips skimmed across hers, the touch barely there. She strained towards him instinctively, her bottom lip quivering.

‘Why are you so nervous?’ he murmured.

‘I …’ she stuttered. He was so close she could see the flecks of silver in his irises, taste the peppermint on his breath. So much for Mata Hari. One kiss and he was very definitely in charge. ‘I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed,’ she said truthfully.

‘I see.’ He chuckled and his mouth closed the tiny gap.

Her fingers sank into the silky strands of his hair as his lips travelled down to devour her neck. Her head dropped back to give him better access, her whole body vibrating with need, excitement finally drowning out her trepidation. And then her nose wrinkled and she drew in a deep breath … Of burnt lasagne.

‘The dinner,’ she yelped as she scrambled out of his arms. She raced across the room with his laughter echoing in her ears.