Читать книгу BTW: I Love You: Surf, Sea and a Sexy Stranger - Heidi Rice - Страница 14

‘THIS morning’s breakfast special is sweet waffles with crispy bacon and maple syrup.’

Maddy waited patiently for the elderly couple to make up their minds, then jotted down their order. Pasting on what she hoped was a perky smile, she refilled their coffee cups. ‘That’ll be a few minutes. Feel free to help yourself to newspapers and magazines while you wait.’

Tucking her pad away, she slipped through the swinging doors into the kitchen and pinned the only order of the morning on the board.

‘That’s it?’ said Guy, their breakfast chef, as he whisked the tab off the board. ‘I might as well have stayed in bed.’

‘I wish I had.’ Maddy gave the small of her back a rub and glanced at the clock. She still had five hours to go on her shift and her legs already felt like limp noodles.

Yesterday’s unscheduled exercise, both in bed and out, would have been enough to knock her out. But when you factored in the restless night she’d spent while a string of X-rated erotic memories played in her head—and the three-mile hike to the café this morning—she was officially dead on her feet.

‘I can see that.’ Guy scanned her face as he cracked eggs into the mixer. He wiggled his eyebrows. ‘Hot date, eh?’

The suggestive comment had a couple of the most lurid memories popping into her head, in full senso-vision. Guy’s eagle eyes narrowed as the hot flush scorched her throat.

He laughed. ‘So little Maddy finally got her mojo back last night.’

‘Get lost, Guy.’ She threw the words over her shoulder, his amused chuckle drowned out by the whirl of the mixer.

She slammed out of the kitchen door, only to spot her mojo standing in the café doorway. Her stride faltered as the flush burned her scalp. What was he doing here? And why did he have to look so gorgeous?

His bronze hair had streaks of gold she hadn’t noticed last night, and fell across his brow in windblown waves as those crystal-blue eyes fixed on her face.

His eyes flicked down her figure and the flush raced into her cheeks.

‘Hello, Madeleine.’ The innocuous pleasantry spoken in that low husky voice had a dangerous effect on her thigh muscles.

‘Hello.’ She fumbled a menu from the end of the bar and directed him to a table. He’d probably just come for breakfast. No need to panic. Yet.

‘I didn’t come here to eat,’ he said, stepping towards her.

He stood too close, that clean scent of pine forests and man making the torrid memories all the more vivid.

‘So why did you come?’ she said, more breathlessly than intended.

‘Your bike.’

‘Oh, yes. Of course.’ Why did the knowledge bring with it that silly spurt of melancholy again? ‘Thanks.’

‘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.