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He chuckled, but without bitterness. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on the table. ‘Don’t you want to know how I messed up my leg?’
‘Not particularly,’ she said staunchly. ‘It sounds like it’s a sore subject.’
He barked out a laugh. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’
She winced, mortified, as she realised what she’d said. ‘I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make fun of your injury.’ She lurched up, began piling their plates. ‘Why don’t I wash up and get going?’
‘Sit down.’ His hand covered hers where it gripped the plate. ‘It’s okay.’ His thumb stroked the back of her hand. ‘You didn’t offend me. I’m far too sensitive about the stupid thing, anyway.’
She sat down, sighed, letting him link his fingers with hers. ‘I tend to speak before I think. Steve hated it.’
‘Who’s Steve?’ he asked, lifting her fingers and kissing the knuckles.
‘My ex.’ She tugged her hand away, surprised by the thump of her heartbeat at the absent gesture.
A slow suggestive smile curved his lips as he regarded her with an unwavering gaze. ‘Your ex, the moron?’
Heat stung her nape and throbbed in her nether regions as she recalled his earlier remark in the bathroom about her past boyfriends—and exactly how he had remedied the problem. ‘Um … yes … that would be Steve.’
She stood, took the plates again, his husky laughter making her feel hot and achy and a little embarrassed. No-strings flings clearly took a bit of getting used to. ‘I really should get going. I’ve got the early shift tomorrow.’
Her wild, wanton, reckless fling was over and it was way past time she went home. After everything that had happened today, it would be a miracle if she managed to fall asleep before midnight.
‘When does your lifeguard shift sta
rt?’ he asked as she put the plates in the sink with a clatter.
‘I haven’t got any more lifeguard shifts. Tomorrow’s the last day of the season.’
‘So what shift were you talking about?’
She switched on the hot tap, confused by his sudden desire to talk. Wasn’t all this information supposed to be out of bounds? ‘My waitressing shift at the beach café.’
‘You work at the café? On Wildwater Bay?’
She turned, leaned against the sink. He sounded astonished. ‘That’s right.’
He got up and crossed to her, brushing against her to switch off the tap. ‘So how many times has Phil hit on you, then?’
‘You know Phil?’ How strange. She’d never seen Rye in the café, she would definitely have remembered.
‘Yeah, I know Phil. And exactly how much of a flirt he is.’ For a second she thought she detected something a little off in his tone, but then discarded the idea. Why would he care about Phil and her?
‘So, has he talked you into bed yet?’ he asked.
She tensed as heat rocketed up her throat. ‘No.’ That wasn’t just off, it was totally out of order. What right did he have to ask her a question like that? And in that accusatory tone? ‘He’s my boss; I would never sleep with my boss.’ She stopped. Why was she justifying herself? ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’
She hated that she sounded so lame—and that the question had made her feel dirty.
She stepped past him. ‘I’d better go.’
‘Hang on a minute.’ He grasped her arm, holding her in place. ‘There’s no need to get upset. It was a valid question.’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ she said, tugging on her arm and getting more outraged by the second.
How could she have exposed herself to this? When they’d jumped each other this afternoon, she’d never considered he might not respect her afterwards.
He had no right to probe into her sex life, just because she’d done exactly what he’d done. She hadn’t thought less of him for his actions, why should he think less of her? The double standard sucked. But far worse was the humiliation that lay just beneath. She had nothing whatsoever to feel humiliated about. She was a single consenting adult who could decide to sleep with anyone she chose. But the memory of how she’d let him bring her to orgasm—countless times—made her feel defenceless. What exactly had he been thinking while he was pleasuring her so efficiently? That she was a tart?
