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He covered her hand, his pensive smile making her heart punch her chest. ‘Maddy, you’ve given me more. Believe me.’
Tenderness blind-sided her at the enigmatic comment. What could she possibly have given him that he hadn’t given her back ten-fold?
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, suddenly desperate to probe beneath the surface. ‘How could I have?’
He stiffened, drew his arm away as he sat up. ‘Forget it. It’s not important,’ he said, his expression shutting her out.
She understood instantly, she’d been dismissed. And struggled to ignore the silly little dart of pain.
She mustn’t start acting like a girl now. This was a purely sexual fling and absolutely nothing more. She wasn’t supposed to feel anything for this man. Nothing outside the physical. And he clearly felt nothing for her. That had been understood when they’d jumped into bed together without a thing between them except sexual attraction.
Pulling the sheet back, he got out of bed. ‘I’ll go stick your stuff in the dryer,’ he said, his back to her as he grabbed his T-shirt off the floor and put it on. ‘How about I cook us dinner before I drive you home?’
‘That would be nice. Thanks,’ Maddy said, disorientated by the abrupt change in his manner despite all her careful justifications. She clutched the sheet to her chest as he left the room.
The door closed behind him—and she slumped down into the pillows.
The problem was she had absolutely no experience with this kind of relationship and she didn’t know the rules. While they’d been making love … or, rather, having sex … it had been easy to concentrate on the physical and nothing else. But somehow the intimacy had crept up on her while she wasn’t looking. She absolutely mustn’t start reading things into this that weren’t there.
Ryan King was a handsome, exciting, superbly sexy enigma. And he had to stay that way. Tonight had been about sex. Incredible sex. And nothing else. The man was clearly a veteran of one-night flings. His comprehensive knowledge of female anatomy was proof of that.
She’d just have to take her cue from him. And not let her tendency to over-emotionalise and over-think every little nuance of a relationship get in the way. Clearly, personal, probing questions were not the way to go in this situation.
But, as Maddy walked into the bathroom to wash and then scouted the bedroom for her discarded clothing, all the questions she yearned to ask Rye King about his strangely barren home, about his past, about his present—and the reasons why he’d given her so much and taken so little—crowded into her head like corn kernels popping on a hot stove.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘COULD I ask you a question?’ Maddy kept her eyes on the simple meal of scrambled eggs on toast Rye had rustled up.
She heard the clink of his knife and fork and looked up to find him watching her. She tried not to fidget or feel intimidated. She’d waited a decent amount of time before giving in to her curiosity. But she simply wasn’t enough of a guy to let this one go.
‘Sure,’ he replied, but she could hear the slight edge in his voice. ‘What do you want to know?’
It was hardly a fulsome invitation. The question got caught in her throat.
Spit it out, Mads. You’re entitled to ask one stupid question.
The man had been inside her, for goodness’ sake. He’d licked her to orgasm. More than once. Maybe it was a girl thing, but curiosity didn’t have to be bad. And, frankly, after the silence that had stretched out between them ever since she’d ventured into the kitchen to find him cooking their meal, she wasn’t sure she could swallow another bite until she got at least one piece of popcorn out of her head.
‘Is this your house?’
His eyebrows lifted.
‘It’s just … it doesn’t seem to suit you,’ she rushed on, feeling foolish when his forehead creased. How would she know what suited him?
‘That’s the question?’ He gave an incredulous laugh. ‘Seriously?’
‘Well, yes.’ Some of the tension eased out of her shoulders. ‘What did you think I was going to ask?’
He leaned back in his chair, stretched his long legs out and drummed the fingers of one hand on the table. The considering look he sent her made her cheeks heat a little. Why did she feel like a particularly rare amoeba under a microscope?
‘I thought you were going to ask what everyone asks,’ he said.
‘Which is?’
‘How I got to be a cripple.’
The blunt statement threw her for a moment. Until she remembered. Her gaze flicked to his thigh. ‘Oh, you mean your limp.’
