Page 41 of BTW I Love You
It wasn’t a question but she nodded, looking dazed.
Ten frantic minutes later, as her cries of fulfilment echoed like thunder in his ears, he couldn’t drown out one disturbing thought.
How come, the more of her he had, the more he seemed to need?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MADDY’S eyes opened and focused on an empty pillow. Which she didn’t recognise.
She jerked upright, clasping the fine linen sheet to tender breasts and blinked at the brittle autumnal light seeping through heavy velvet curtains. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she took in the ornate Victorian furniture, the antique silk rug on polished wood flooring.
Rye’s bedroom.
A sigh of distress eased out as the disturbing memories of the night before came tumbling back.
The flirting, the teasing, the dark thrill of desire, the giddy buzz of anticipation. And then the throb of emotion closing her throat and the sting of tears as she had glimpsed something she was never meant to see.
What had she been thinking last night? Why had she been so determined to find out more about Rye, to get to know him better? This was a casual fling. And yet something had changed yesterday. Something that shouldn’t have changed. All because of her smug, stupid determination to trick Rye into talking about his past.
She shook her head, trying to forget the bitter humour in his voice when he’d told her about his grandfather. And she’d clearly seen the lost, lonely, traumatised boy he’d been.
Slinging back the quilt, she climbed out of the big bed.
Don’t do this, Maddy. Do not do this. He’s not a little boy; he’s a grown man.
He’d proven that pretty conclusively when he’d taken her to bed afterwards. As for that strange connection she’d felt as they’d made love? A figment of her overdeveloped Miss Fixit gene. It had to be.
Rye King did not need her to heal him, or to look after him. Or to rescue him. He’d made that pretty clear too from the closed off look on his face when she’d clumsily tried to offer comfort.
She dashed around the room, gathering her clothes up off the floor.
Wasn’t this what she had always done in the past—believed guys needed her and then got herself trodden all over for her pains? She wriggled into the figure-hugging jeans, pulled her camisole on and finger-combed her hair. She was supposed to be breaking the pattern with Rye, not reinforcing it.
She tiptoed down the hallway to collect her jacket from the kitchen, careful not to look at the remnants of their meal.
As she approached the front door, she heard the low murmur of Rye’s voice coming from his office. He was probably busy with his conference call. She should give him a quick wave and then leave. And would act natural while she was doing it if it killed her.
Practical and pragmatic. Confident and independent. That was the new Maddy Westmore. Not some silly twit who had got herself into an emotional pickle of her own making.
She edged the office door open and spotted Rye standing with his back to her, the speaker phone on the desk. His stance was stiff and unyielding, his broad shoulders tense and his hands buried in his pockets as he talked to whoever was on the other end of the line. She hesitated, not wanting to disturb him. But not wanting to leave without saying goodbye. It would look suspicious. She didn’t want him to know last night had rattled her—she firmed her chin—even a little.
‘I can get over to California next week,’ Rye said curtly to his acting CEO John Clements, the thought not appealing to him one bit.
Over the past fortnight he’d been building up his involvement in the business again. Had realised how much he’d missed the daily challenges, the make-or-break decisions, the thrill of being in charge of a business he’d built and watched grow from the ground up. No wonder he’d been in the doldrums after the accident. He’d let so much of what was important in his life slide while he’d been licking his wounds. But as much as he’d enjoyed getting back into the thick of things again, he had no desire to resume the punishing travel schedule that had once been such a huge part of his working life.
‘I can check the operation out at The Grange myself,’ he continued, knowing it was the only solution that made sense. ‘Last time I spoke to Zack, though, he didn’t seem nearly as concerned as you are about performance.’
‘With all due respect, Mr King,’ Clements said in an ingratiating voice, ‘that was over six months ago, and the King Xtreme franchise at Mr Boudreaux’s resort hasn’t reached the projections we were all hoping for in its first year.’
‘Which is why I’m flying thousands of miles to sort it out,’ Rye snapped.
He eased out a breath. He was tired; he’d been up half the night, unable to sleep, feeling oddly unsettled as Maddy’s soft, warm body snuggled against him in the old bed.
‘Will you be returning to London after the California trip?’ Clements asked.
He ploughed his fingers through his hair. London. Yet another decision he didn’t want to think about this morning. ‘Probably.’ He couldn’t hold his return off much longer. ‘I’m fully rec
overed now.’ Or as recovered as he would ever be. ‘There’s nothing keeping me here.’ Or nothing he shouldn’t be able to handle, he reminded himself.