BTW: I Love You: Surf, Sea and a Sexy Stranger

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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.

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 gave a humourless laugh. A little stunned by the evidence of how inexperienced she was. He’d liked her innocence yesterday, because it had made him feel superior and helped to repair his battered ego. He didn’t feel so good about it now.

Had he seriously accused her of sleeping with Phil? He’d be astonished if she’d slept with more than a couple of guys in her whole life. That they hadn’t delivered in the sack went without saying—or why would she be so clueless about sex?

He wondered if the childhood trauma she’d described had anything to do with her inexperience, then dismissed the thought. No need to go there.