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The minimalist decor, which was both tasteful and unobtrusive, had obviously been coordinated by a professional decorator. She couldn’t see Rye bothering to hunt up a rug edged with the exact same shade of turquoise as the waisthigh glass brick wall that separated the lavish living area from the state-of-the-art kitchen. Or spending hours decorating the Christmas tree in one corner with pinpoint lights and colour-coordinated red and gold ornaments.
Spotting a console embedded into the wall with loads of dials and displays, she wondered if it was for the inbuilt sound system or the huge plasma TV over the fireplace.
She sighed. Probably both.
She stood, her reflection dwarfed by the windows that looked out over a decked balcony. This was the lavish bachelor pad she’d expected Rye to have all those weeks ago, before she’d got to know him, with its new-fangled boy toys and expertly coordinated interior design.
But how could the man she had come to know since live in a place like this? It was as if Rye King were two different people. The urbane billionaire businessman with a swanky penthouse pad in Kensington who probably dined at a new ‘in’ restaurant every night, and the sexy ex-surfer who was happy to slum it in Cornwall and devoured her home cooking as if he were starving to death.
But which man was the real Rye King? Had she fallen in love with a man who had never really existed?
The soft ping of the lift bell had Maddy freezing in place.
She heard the telltale creak and clatter of the lift doors opening. Uneven steps hit the marble foyer tiles, then became muffled by the thick wool carpet in the hallway.
‘Maddy, where are you?’
She wrapped her arms round her midriff. ‘In the living room,’ she called out, her voice sounding small and fragile.
He walked in, looking tall and dangerous in a steel-grey designer suit. A broad grin spread across his features as his gaze roamed over her figure. ‘You came.’
She hugged herself tighter. He sounded like Rye, he even looked like Rye in some ways. The chiselled features, the mischievous sparkle in those pure blue eyes and his uneven gait were still there. But so much else was different. The unruly hair that had always been carelessly tossed back from his brow had been recently cut so it hugged his head in stylish waves. His clean-shaven jaw lacked its usual five o’clock shadow. The expertly tailored suit accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow hips, making him seem taller and even more imposing. And his skin had a light tan, unlike the winter pallor of a week ago.
He was as breathtakingly handsome as she remembered. But somehow a virtual stranger.
‘Did I have a choice?’ The brittle tone hid the tremor in her voice.
The grin only widened as he crossed to her. He gripped her arms, stroked his thumbs into the curve of her elbows. ‘You’re angry with me,’ he remarked, confident humour in his tone.
She pulled out of his grasp, her temper snapping back to life. ‘Funnily enough, yes, I am.’
She turned round, marched to the window. She didn’t want to get mad. ‘You walk off without a word. You don’t call. And then you expect me to come running.’ She swung back, glad to have the distance between them. ‘I don’t appreciate being treated as if I’m your mistress. Because I’m not and I don’t want to be.’
He made his way towards her, the confident grin still in place. Cupping her cheek, his warm palm settled on her neck and sent an instant quiver through her. ‘So why did you come?’
She opened her mouth, ready to throw the news that she loved him at him. But the words got trapped in her throat. She jerked back, angled her body away so that he couldn’t see the vulnerability in her eyes. ‘Because, for some stupid reason, I missed you.’
He gave a self-satisfied laugh and her heart squeezed.
‘Good.’ His thumb stroked down the line of her neck. She felt the warmth of his body as he stepped behind her, settled a hand on her waist. Of its own accord, her body swayed into his. ‘Because, for some stupid reason—’ he paused, his lips brushing the sensitive skin at her nape ‘—I missed you too, Maddy.’
Electric jolts shot through her as his lips caressed her neck, but she stiffened, drew away. ‘If you missed me you would have called.’
The evidence was irrefutable. As much as she might want it to be true, he hadn’t missed her as much as she had missed him.
His arm banded across her midriff, trapping her against him. She felt the heat of his erection against her bottom. ‘I say we make love,’ he murmured, the feather of his breath brushing her cheek, ‘and argue about this later.’
She shoved his arm away, whipped round, anger at herself and her foolish heart making bitter tears spring into her eyes. ‘I told you, I’m not your mistress.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
RYE tried to school his features, tried to wipe the smile off his face, tried to feel guilty about the shimmer of angry tears in her eyes. But the task was next to impossible when he was so overjoyed to see her. And when the unfamiliar show of temper only made her more beautiful.
He hadn’t seen her in a snit for a long time, not since their first few days together. She was one of the most even-tempered, easy-going people he’d ever met, settled and content, and it was one of the things he had missed the most in the days they’d been apart. Because it made him feel settled too when he was with her. But, while he hated to be a cliché, the way the unfamiliar spurt of temper lit her eyes and brought vivid colour to her cheeks made her even more adorable. If that were possible.
‘Maddy, I don’t think of you as my mistress,’ he said evenly, not really wanting to placate her, but knowing he should.
‘Don’t you?’ she said, her voice defiant. ‘Then why are you treating me like one?’
