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  Rye swallowed a groan and stopped dead in the kitchen doorway. An off-key rendition of Percy Sledge’s When a Man Loves a Woman was accompanied by the sight of his house guest, clad in one of his old sweatshirts, her firm, beautifully rounded little bottom showcased in hot pink panties as she stretched up to reach the kitchen cabinets.

  His mouth went bone dry as the heat, which he had assured himself while getting dressed was a fluke and didn’t signify a thing, shot straight back into his crotch.

  Having found what she was looking for, the girl turned slightly and bounced down. Her breasts jiggled beneath the sweatshirt and his heart slammed into his throat.

  Sweet heaven. No bra. I’m a dead man.

  The mouth-watering hot pink bum disappeared under the sweatshirt but, as Rye devoured slender legs, smooth muscled calves and the glimpse of her profile revealed from behind the curtain of wild reddish-brown curls, he imagined plump naked breasts, the nipples hard and swollen, swaying into his open palms, and painful arousal marched through his system like an army charging into battle.

  He bent his head, stared down at the enormous tent in his fly and had to resist the urge to throw back his head, beat his chest and howl with joy.

  He was harder than granite, for the first time in six long months. He felt mightier than Superman. Ready to leap Everest in a single …

  The shrill whistle of the kettle curbed the superhero fantasy. But only a little. She jumped, her breasts jiggled again, and granite became tungsten.

  He watched her reach for the kettle in a daze of euphoria. Then her fingers closed over the handle and his mind engaged.

  ‘No, don’t touch …’

  Too late. She yelped and snatched her hand back.

  ‘Damn.’ He crossed the room, grasped her wrist. ‘Did you burn yourself?’

  The shimmer of tears made her eyes glitter. ‘What a twit,’ she said, spots of colour hitting her cheeks. ‘I can’t believe I did that.’

  She trembled, and small white teeth dug into her full bottom lip. He forced his gaze away, so desperate to taste her he thought he might explode.

  A scarlet line marred the soft flesh at the base of her thumb. ‘Ouch,’ he murmured.

  Get your head out of your pants, King. She’s hurt.

  He thrust her hand over the sink, the punches of her pulse under his thumb making him light-headed. Leaning over her to turn on the cold water tap, he strained to keep their bodies apart. She flinched and he caught a lungful of her scent. His own shampoo layered with something spicy and unbearably erotic. Sweat popped out on his brow—and the irony of the situation struck him. After six months of nothing, he finally had lift off, poised to launch into orbit at the most inappropriate moment imaginable.

  The tap gurgled and the water gushed out. She jumped as it splashed onto her palm, jerked back instinctively. And her bottom pressed straight into the colossal erection.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WHAT on earth was that?

  Maddy’s eyes popped wide, the smarting pain in her hand forgotten as her nipples shot to attention and her erogenous zones went into meltdown.

  A hissed curse brushed her earlobe as he shot back, letting go of her wrist.

  Maddy stood stock-still, watching the water flow over her hand. She couldn’t feel it. The skin of her palm had gone blessedly numb. Unlike her buttocks, which felt as if they’d been branded.

  To paraphrase Mae West, either her host had an iron bar in his pocket or he was very pleased to see her. The knowledge both petrified and excited her … But not necessarily in that order.

  With all her senses on red alert, the trickle of water and the patter of slowing rain sounded almost as deafening as the low murmur of his breathing and hers. She could smell him, that tantalising hint of seawater and pine soap, feel electricity crackling along her skin at his nearness. He hadn’t moved away, but stood as still as her, just out of reach.

  What the heck should she say? She turned off the tap, scared to look round and more scared not to.

  ‘I …’ she began. ‘Um …’ Heat prickled the hairs on the back of her neck.

  Good one, Mads. That’s articulate.

  He cleared his throat loudly, making her jump.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ his deep voice rumbled out and her nerve-endings sizzled, before she registered the meaning.

  What?

  She twisted round and her gaze landed on the enormous bulge in the front of his faded jeans. As her nerve-endings short-circuited, she tried to make sense of his statement.

  ‘I don’t know what you think I’m thinking—’ she raised her eyes to his face ‘—but, if that’s not one of the biggest erections I’ve ever seen, I’d really like to know what it is.’

  He raised his palms. ‘Okay; you’ve got me.’ His lips quirked. ‘You’re not annoyed?’ he said, sounding relieved.

  ‘No, I’m not annoyed,’ she replied, realising she wasn’t, not even slightly. ‘Despite the pact.’

  His brow furrowed. ‘The what?’

  ‘Never mind.’ Shut up, Mads, and focus.

  She glanced back down. Wow, he was magnificent—and obviously as interested in her as she was in him. Which meant she had two options here.

  She could be a girl about this and revert to type. Tie herself up in knots about whether Rye King would make a suitable mate and run off screaming into the night. And her erogenous zones might calm down in about a decade or two.

  Or she could be a guy about it. Snatch the opportunity and take what she wanted for once without worrying about the consequences. And put her erogenous zones in a very happy place indeed.

  ‘I hate to rush you.’ He tucked a knuckle under her chin and lifted her face to his. ‘But if you’re not annoyed—’ his thumb rubbed across her bottom lip ‘—could you tell me what you are? Exactly?’

  She grinned, the charge of excitement making her erogenous zones do a Snoopy dance. She’d been looking for someone to use. And this guy had to be the perfect candidate. He was surly, intense, gorgeous and the complete antithesis of what she was looking for in a life partner. And he clearly wanted to use her as much as she wanted to use him.

  What was she waiting for?

  Reaching up, she looped tentative arms round his neck, stretched up onto tiptoe and tried to look as if she knew what she was doing. Seduction was virgin territory for her; she’d always let the guy set the pace before, usually after several tame dates and lots of hand-holding. Which had probably been her first mistake.

  Time to seize control of your sex life, Madeleine Westmore.

  Then she pressed against the rigid erection, felt the leap of response. And power surged through her.

  She’d never been wanton before. Never been remotely reckless. But she could see now what she’d always needed was one wild, wanton, reckless fling to shock her out of her complacency.

  ‘Exactly?’ She arched a coquettish eyebrow, loving the way his sensual lips curved into a seductive grin. ‘I’m flattered, big boy. And hoping like hell you’ve got a condom large enough for that thing,’ she murmured, shocking herself.

  He threw back his head and laughed.

  Running large callused palms up her sides under the sweatshirt, he sobered. ‘Maddy Westmore, I think you may be my ideal woman,’ he murmured.

  The little clutch at the meaningless endearment barely registered on the Richter Scale of excitement coursing through her body.

  She gasped as he leant down to nuzzle her neck. His stubble

  abraided sensitive skin as hot lips fastened on the pulse point and his thumbs brushed swollen nipples. He devoured her lips with a hungry, seeking kiss, then pulled back and swung her up in his arms. ‘Come on. Condoms are in my bedroom. Let’s go try one on for size.’

  He strode forward, one step, then staggered and listed to one side. She leapt down before he could drop her.

  He swore viciously, bending over to grab his leg.

  ‘I’m sorry; did I hurt you?’ she asked, mortified. How
could she have forgotten about his bum leg?

  His cheeks flushed a dull red as he looked away, rubbing his thigh. ‘No.’ He bit the word out.

  Glimpsing the Rottweiler again, Maddy cradled his cheek, steered his face back to her. ‘Good.’ His jaw tensed beneath her fingers. ‘So you’re still ready for a fitting?’

  He straightened and gave a brittle half-laugh. ‘Why the hell would you want to bed a cripple?’ The tone was bitter, angry, but she could hear the unhappiness beneath.

  ‘Because it’s not your leg I’m worried about.’

  His eyes narrowed but the tension gradually disappeared from his face. He huffed out another laugh, the hollowness gone. ‘Good point.’

  He took her hand, lifted her fingers to his lips and brushed a kiss across the knuckles. The gesture was so sweet and so unexpected, she felt herself flush.

  ‘I don’t want to disappoint you,’ he said, his eyes shadowed by something she couldn’t read.

  She had no idea what he meant, but he sounded as if he was getting all serious on her … And it was the last thing she wanted.

  This wasn’t serious. It was her first and last wild, reckless, wanton fling. She didn’t want to know him and he didn’t have to know her. Serious was for Miss Fixit. Who was dead and buried.

  ‘As long as you can hobble to the bedroom—’ she grasped his hand in both of hers, tugged him towards the kitchen door ‘—believe me, you won’t.’ If he didn’t hurry up, something dumb—like common sense—was going to get in the way of her Snoopy dance.

  ‘Hobble?’ His eyebrows lifted as he followed, the limp not nearly as prominent as the bulge in his denims. ‘That’s not very flattering,’ he said, sounding more playful than insulted.

  ‘If you want flattering,’ she murmured, fluttering her eyelashes for all she was worth and hoping like mad she wasn’t promising more than she could deliver, ‘you’ll have to get a move on.’

  He laughed as he let her haul him out of the door.

  Adrenalin and desperation surged through Rye’s body as he slammed the bedroom door shut. She stood before him, her breath panting out in ragged gasps and those bright green eyes feverish with desire. He grabbed a handful of the sweatshirt, yanked her into his arms.

  ‘I want you naked,’ he murmured into her curls as his hands clasped her hips, found the soft, seductive flesh beneath.

  She felt smooth and warm and perfect, her lush little body vibrating as he dragged the sweatshirt over her head and threw it away. Her full breasts swayed, mesmerising him, the nipples large and red, like ripe strawberries.

  Her lips lifted but she looked wary all of a sudden—and much less sure of herself.

  He cupped one full orb in his palm and bent to suckle the rigid peak.

  She gave a soft little sob, sank her fingers into his hair and arched into his mouth. The scent of her, the taste assailed him and then panic struck.

  He had to get inside her. Now, before he lost the erection. He couldn’t wait, couldn’t play, couldn’t risk taking the time to pleasure her too much.

  Dragging his mouth away from the feast of flesh, he tumbled her back onto the bed. Struggling with his fly, his fingers frantic, he released the mammoth erection, still gloriously hard. It took him several crucial moments more to kick off his jeans. Drag off his own T-shirt.

  He looked up to see her watching him. Propped on her elbows, her mouth dropped open as she stared. The shell-shocked look on her face gave him a burst of pride. She wasn’t gaping at the scars; she didn’t look disgusted—she looked astonished.

  She didn’t know the half of it. And, hopefully, she never would.

  ‘The condoms are in the bedside table,’ he said in a strained voice. ‘Can you get them?’ It would take him too long to shuffle over there.

  She nodded and rolled over, pulling a foil packet out as he eased onto the bed, trying not to jostle his leg.

  ‘Do you want me to do it?’ she asked, her voice shaky.

  ‘In a minute.’ He curved a hand round her waist, then hooked his fingers in the hot pink knickers.

  He could give her a minute. At least.

  She lifted her hips and he drew the swatch of lace down slender, toned legs. God, if only he could risk taking his time. He wanted to feast on her for an eternity. She smelled so good, looked so delicious, the dim light from the storm outside gilding her pearly-white skin and making his groin throb all the harder. But fear and panic barked in his head like angry dogs, threatening the promise of pleasure, so tantalisingly close.

  He pulled her slim body clumsily beneath him, slanted his lips across hers. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her breath coming in shallow pants as his tongue delved. He cupped her sex, felt her buck as he sank seeking fingers into tight tender flesh.

  Thank God. She was ready. Hot, wet, slick with need.

  He ripped the foil open with his teeth, his breath sawing as he rolled the condom on one-handed.

  Pain stabbed in his leg, panic clawing at his throat as he adjusted her hips, nestled between her thighs.

  Do it now. Before you lose it all again.

  She gasped something, grasped his neck, but he couldn’t hear her through the rush of blood in his ears, the need and desperation tightening like a fist around his heart.

  He thrust deep. The surge of power, of pleasure, of triumph so intense he couldn’t breathe.

  The velvet flesh closed so tight around him he had to withdraw, thrust again. At last he settled deep, the blast of raw heat incredible. His hips pistoned, the pain in his leg forgotten as the orgasm, cruel, elemental, unstoppable, roared through him.

  He shouted out his release and charged over the edge, his lungs bursting, the wondrous euphoria raging through him like the storm outside.

  CHAPTER SIX

  MADDY stared at the plaster moulding on the ceiling, her disappointment almost as huge as the heavy male body smothering her.

  Was that it?

  Her wild, reckless, wanton fling? What a total waste of time and effort.

  Ryan King may have had the sexiest body she’d ever laid eyes on—and the biggest ‘you-know what’—but he also had about as much finesse as a bulldozer.

  Her eyes narrowed as the shock began to clear.

  She’d asked him to slow down, tried to give him a little bit of direction. But had he listened? No, he’d just charged on regardless, using his thing like a battering ram.

  Okay, he hadn’t hurt her. But that was only because she’d been so turned on. The way he’d ploughed into her, he could have done her an injury.

  She wriggled, winced and wedged her hand under his shoulder to give him a shove. He grunted, but hardly budged. Then the still-huge erection pulsed inside her. She groaned, the too-full ache making her more uncomfortable and annoyed by the second.

  This could have been so much better, so much more. If he’d taken his time, shown a little patience and consideration for her enjoyment, her feelings. Instead of which, he was obviously one of those guys who thought having a handsome face and a larger-than-average appendage was enough. Well, it wasn’t, not by a long shot. Not for her. Maybe there really were women who could spontaneously combust to order with only two seconds of foreplay, but she wasn’t one of them. And she refused to feel inadequate about it.

  She gave him another heftier shove and bit her lip as he rolled off her to flop onto the bed beside her.

  She closed her legs, noticed the tenderness between her thighs and glared at him. With his eyes closed and a smile of blissful satisfaction on his too-handsome face, he looked like a small boy who had just devoured a whole Knickerbocker Glory in one swallow.

  Unfortunately for her, it had been all Knickerbocker and very little Glory.

  Resentment overwhelmed her. Swiftly followed by recrimination.

  This is all your own stupid fault. What the heck were you thinking?

  If only she’d actually been thinking. She’d have remembered there was a reason why you had to get to know someone before you did
the wild thing with them. Never had her granny’s favourite saying been truer. ‘If it looks too good to be true …’

  Clutching the sheet to her chin, she examined the plaster some more.

  She should never have let her hormones and her dismal relationship history rob her of every last ounce of self-control—and common sense. She’d known the guy was arrogant and dominant and moody, but she’d decided to seduce him anyway.

  She shuffled across the bed, her overworked muscles protesting, and resentment peaked.

  Well, at least she’d learned her lesson. No more wild, wanton, reckless flings, not for a while anyway. Because she was going to be paying the price for this one for days.

  She swung her feet to the floor, glanced at the rain splashing against his bedroom window and sighed. And that was without even factoring in the long walk home through a hurricane.

  She shifted to get up.

  ‘Maddy?’ She twisted round at the deep rumble of his voice. He stretched, propped one hand behind his head and reached out to stroke a finger down her arm, the self-satisfied smile still in place. ‘Going somewhere?’

  Fabulous. Why couldn’t he have stayed in a coma so she could at least make a clean getaway? Resentment flared.

  ‘I’m going home,’ she said sharply. Did he even know how disappointing he’d been?

  She tried to lift herself off the bed but his fingers circled her wrist.

  ‘Don’t go. Stay a while.’

  What the heck for?

  ‘I can’t stay. I’ve got to get back,’ she said tightly, trying to keep her resentment out of her voice. Telling him how rubbish he was in bed would only make this more personal.

  ‘It’s still raining, your clothes are soaking wet and your bike has a puncture,’ he said reasonably. ‘It’s not a good idea.’