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So much for the domestic goddess too.
‘It’s ruined.’ She dumped the charred remains of her signature dish onto the hob and batted away the acrid smoke.
‘Maybe just a bit.’ He laid his palm on the small of her back and passed her a glass of the Merlot.
She took a hasty swallow to ease the mortification tightening her throat—and nearly choked.
His palm rubbed circles on her back through the cotton of her dress. ‘It’s not a problem. I’ll order take-out from the hotel restaurant, get one of the waiters to drive it up.’
She placed the glass on the sideboard, her shoulders slumping. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t cut out for this. She didn’t do sophisticated, or sensual.
‘I’m so sorry, Rye. But I’m not sure this is going to work.’
His eyebrow lifted and he looked so damn gorgeous she wanted to bawl her eyes out. Why couldn’t she be the sort of woman who could have her cake and eat it too? Or, at the very least, bake it without burning it to a crisp.
‘All this over burnt lasagne.’ He gave her an easy smile, not looking deterred in the least. ‘It’s not important, Maddy. As sweet as it was for you to offer, I don’t expect you to cook for me.’
‘I know. It’s not that. It’s …’ She picked up her wine glass, watched the rich red liquid slop against the rim. ‘I’m so nervous I’m shaking.’
He took the glass out of her hand, placed it carefully on the sideboard again.
‘I mean, I’ve never done anything like this before,’ she blurted out. ‘I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.’
He drew her neatly into his arms. She blinked, shocked to feel the outline of his erection. How could he be turned on when she’d made such a mess of things?
‘You’re over-complicating things,’ he said, the low timbre of his voice making the hairs on her nape stand on end and every one of the places where their bodies touched throb. ‘I know exactly what I’m doing,’ he said, framing her face. ‘So there’s no need for you to worry about it.’
He threaded his fingers into her hair, held her head steady for a mind-numbing kiss. Her panic receded, blasted away by the rush of lust as his tongue worked its way into her mouth and then explored in soft, sensual strokes.
He broke away first, gave her a quick kiss on the nose. ‘So why don’t you relax and enjoy yourself and let me lead the way?’
‘I’ll try,’ she said hesitantly, still feeling hopelessly overwhelmed.
He grinned suggestively and she gave a half-laugh. He looked so sinfully seductive.
‘Don’t worry, I happen to know a great relaxation technique.’
By the time the delivery of seared scallops and rocket salad arrived an hour later, Maddy was so relaxed she was practically in a coma—and ready to let Rye lead her anywhere he wanted to.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MADDY hummed the joyous chorus of an old R & B song as she pedalled past the gates of Trewan Manor. Leaves brushed across the pathway as the crisp autumnal air stung her cheeks. November had always been her favourite month of the year—brisk and exhilarating.
She swung her leg over the saddle and rode the pedal the final few metres to the house, picturing Rye’s naked body in the cottage’s tiny shower cubicle that morning. And having the hottest guy in the universe at her disposal certainly kept the cold at bay. A giggle popped out as she propped the bike against the front wall.
She stopped, blushing slightly.
Good grief, when had she become a giggler?
She grinned, hauling a sack of groceries out of the bike’s front basket. Probably some time in the last two weeks. Having Rye King as a lover was likely to make any woman high. On life and endorphins. The man was a sexual athlete, of Olympic gold medal winning standards. Passionate, inventive, tireless and completely insatiable. She hugged the groceries to her chest, a delicious shiver running through her at the memory of exactly what he’d done to her in the shower that morning.
The grin got bigger as she practically floated to the Manor’s front door, adding dedicated, attentive and extremely flexible to his list of accomplishments. She gave a breathy sigh. Rye made love with a concentration so intense it made her feel as if she were the centre of his universe.
Her hand stilled on the door knocker. And the wide grin faltered.
Okay, maybe that was a teensy, weensy bit over the top. Even for a woman who’d been overdosing on endorphins for a fortnight. She shrugged. Clearly blow-your-socks-off sex had the ability to make you lose your grip on reality occasionally. Good to know.
She wasn’t the centre of Rye King’s universe. Any more than he was the centre of hers. All they’d really shared in the last two weeks was a string of intimate meals and even more intimate sexual liaisons. For, while her senses had become attuned to every aspect of his body—his musky enticing scent, the sweet salty taste of his skin, the silky softness of the thin line of hair that bisected his six-pack and made him tense when she trailed her fingertip down it—she still knew next to nothing else about him.
