BTW: I Love You

‘And we need to talk.’

‘What about?’ The question came out on a suspicious squeak. His eyes had gone that intense cobalt blue, the knowledge in them making her thighs quiver.

He stroked a thumb down the side of her neck. ‘Come now, Madeleine.’ Strong fingers spanned her shoulder as he bent to whisper in her ear. ‘We both know you’re not that innocent.’

‘Get your hands off my waitress, King.’ Phil’s shout had Maddy jerking back, her thighs now liquid.

Rye raised his head, winked at her, then squared up to her boss. ‘I’ll put my hands where I damn well like, Trevellian.’

Just as Maddy began to panic about how she was going to referee a wrestling match between two guys who were each close to a foot taller than her, Phil laughed and punched Rye on the shoulder. ‘Long time no see, Hermit Man.’ The smile on Phil’s face beamed.

These two didn’t just know each other, Maddy realised, they cared.

Rye gave his friend a brief manly hug. ‘I need to speak to Maddy,’ Rye said. ‘We’ll use your office. Then she’s taking the rest of the shift off.’

She’s what?

Phil’s smile faded. ‘Now hang on a minute, hotshot,’ he said, the affection edged with irritation. ‘I told you already; Maddy’s not …’

‘Hey, Maddy’s standing right here.’

The two of them glanced at her as if she were the nutty one.

‘And she doesn’t appreciate being talked about as if she’s not.’

She poked a finger into Rye’s shoulder and enjoyed the flash of surprise as he stumbled back a step.

‘What do you think you’re playing at? Waltzing in here as if you own the place and telling me what to do.’ They’d had exactly one evening together. And he still hadn’t apologised for his insulting questions at the end of it.

She wasn’t Little Miss Pushover any more. The new Maddy didn’t take this crap. She stood up for herself. ‘You’re not my boss. Phil is. So you don’t get to decide when my shift ends.’

Phil tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Maddy.’

‘What?’ She spun round, not appreciating being halted in mid-rant. With a bit more practice, she could get good at this.

Phil cleared his throat. He looked like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ‘He does own the place.’

‘He …? What?’ The blood leached out of Maddy’s face and pounded into her heart.

‘He’s my boss,’ Phil added, no longer meeting her eye. ‘Which also makes him yours.’

She turned to stare at Rye, her mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out.

Sordid memory assailed her. Her father, his face ruddy, his trousers and boxers round his ankles and his large hands fastened to the plump young secretary’s naked hips as he bounced his crotch against her bottom. The visceral horror replayed in her mind, accompanied by the sickening echo of her father’s animalistic grunts.

‘But I … I don’t. I couldn’t have.’ Her voice came out on a horrified whisper. ‘I have a rule.’

The sights, the sounds, even the smell—of furtive arousal, sordid sex—assaulted her senses as if she had walked into her father’s office ten minutes ago, instead of ten years. She clapped her hands over her mouth as the gorge churning in her stomach surged up her throat.

‘I’m going to puke.’

‘So you didn’t sleep with her, eh?’ Phil snarled. ‘You lying son of …’

Rye tuned out his friend’s observations about his parentage as he watched Maddy dash to the toilets as if the hounds of hell were snapping at her heels.

Okay. Maybe he’d underestimated the size of this particular hurdle.

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