by Heidi Rice
She was getting ahead of herself as usual. She needed to make the most of her time with Rye in London. Get him to open up about how he felt. And she wasn’t going to be able to do that if she had a panic attack at the first sign of the unfamiliar. Her time in London was going to be an adventure. And, like all the best adventures, it was as scary as it was exciting.
Swinging her legs to the floor, she stood up and wrapped the sheet around her. She’d have a shower, get her stuff unpacked and then explore the apartment and the neighbourhood beyond, as Rye had suggested.
She studied the bedroom. She’d been too preoccupied last night to take in the splendour of Rye’s home properly. With its high ceilings and understated but impossibly chic interior design, the master bedroom had the same take-your-breath-away effect as the living room.
She headed for the en suite bathroom, eager to explore, and spotted the notes he’d left on the dresser. Her brow creased as she tugged the sheet tighter around her breasts.
Rye might not think of her as his mistress, but the blithe way he’d dismissed her objections to the money suggested he was used to being blasé about his wealth, and probably unnecessarily generous with the women he dated.
After the argument they’d had last night about his highhanded attitude, she’d been annoyed by the offer of money. But his attitude was probably as much her fault as his.
Right from the start, he’d made all the decisions in their relationship and she’d let him. Partly because it was in her nature to be non-confrontational. But also because she’d found the forcefulness of Rye’s character—his independence, his authority, his desire to take control—extremely attractive, because it was so unlike the other men she’d dated. But she could see now that the same qualities which had made Rye so appealing to begin with could also become an obstacle to their future happiness—if she didn’t start standing up to him.
Calling him to task yesterday for his domineering behaviour had been a very good start. But she needed to follow through—opening the top drawer on the dresser, she swept the notes inside and slammed it shut—which meant she wasn’t going to let him treat her like his kept woman.
Gripping the sheet in her fists, she headed for the bathroom.
She’d accepted his hospitality but she didn’t intend to sit idly in his apartment all day while he went off to work either. The Christmas season was approaching and there were lots of posh shops and cafés round the corner in Kensington High Street that might be looking for casual staff. Why not go exploring and check out her employment prospects while she was at it?
She doubted he’d be too pleased with the idea. But she was not going to be intimidated by Rye’s money, or his lavish lifestyle, or the force of his will either—however indomitable. Because she’d recently discovered she had a will of her own. Plus she had something to fight for now that would be worth winning.
Not only Rye’s love, but also his respect.
Not being intimidated by Rye and his lifestyle turned out to be a lot easier said than done, Maddy realised, as the maître d’ led her through the bijou Notting Hill restaurant he’d booked for dinner. She brushed her palms down the chic midnight-blue cashmere dress she’d splurged on in the hope of finding a job quickly and tried not to worry too much about her fruitless search for employment so far.
It didn’t matter; she would try again tomorrow. And the dress had been worth it. She’d rather live on yoghurt for a month than have to walk through a place like this in her old black wraparound or, worse, a T-shirt and jeans.
Glasses and cutlery clinked, conversation dimmed to discreet murmurs, the air redolent with the seductive scent of freshly cut holly, expensive perfume and delicate spices. The cellar restaurant had an exclusive air reinforced by the plush velvet-curtained booths and the number of beautiful people they seemed to number among their clientele. Maddy struggled not to gawp as she was escorted past a table where a supermodel was sharing a candlelit dinner for two with a young rock star who had recently topped the charts.
Yup, the dress had definitely been worth every penny.
‘Mr King and Ms Chelmsford are waiting for you in the private annexe,’ the Maître d’ announced as he whisked open a glass door at the end of the restaurant.
Ms Who?
Maddy blinked as she stepped into what looked like a tropical rainforest, the lush plants in stark contrast to the winter flora that had decorated the rest of the place. She spotted Rye, sitting at the only table, deep in conversation with an impossibly chic middle-aged woman in a tailored trouser suit. He tilted his head back and laughed at something the woman said, the strong column of his throat drawing Maddy’s eye. But then his companion bent forward and touched his wrist. Maddy’s stomach dipped at the intimacy of the gesture.
The maître d’ announced her presence and the woman’s fingers drew back as Rye braced his hands on the table to stand up.
‘At last, you’re here.’ His blue eyes lit with appreciation as he crossed towards her and the little dart of jealousy vanished. Grasping her around the waist, he gave her a long, lingering kiss that had heat rising up her neck.
‘This is Ruth Chelmsford,’ he said, keeping his arm round her waist as he introduced her. ‘She’s an old friend of mine.’
The woman rose and offered her hand. ‘It’s lovely to meet you.’ Her handshake was firm and friendly and her smile unguarded, making Maddy feel foolish for her suspicions. ‘Rye has been talking my ear off about you for twenty minutes.’
‘He has?’
The woman laughed easily at Maddy’s gauche comment as Rye pulled out a chair for her.
‘You look incredible,’ he whispered, his breath brushing her nape. ‘Relax.’
She settled in the chair and tried to do just that.
‘Yes, he has,’ Ruth said indulgently. ‘Rye thinks you may have something I want,’ she continued.
‘Here’s one of them,’ Rye remarked. Then, before Maddy could stop him, he plucked off the silk scarf she had tied round her waist to accent her dress and handed it to Ruth. ‘What do you think?’
Ruth held the scarf up by its corners as if it were spun gold. ‘It’s exquisite.’ Her eyes locked on Maddy’s as she lowered the scarf to her lap. ‘You created this yourself?’
‘Yes, I … It’s sort of a hobby,’ she replied, a little embarrassed by the praise.
‘How many of them do you have?’
‘I’m not sure.’ She glanced at Rye, confused. But all he did was wink at her, confusing her even more. ‘Why do you want to know?’
The woman laughed. ‘Because I’m the chief buyer for DeMontfort’s of Piccadilly. We’ve been looking for a new silk designer for our spring collection. And I think I may have found her.’
‘You mean …?’ It was Maddy’s turn to gasp. Had this woman called her a designer? ‘DeMontfort’s? Seriously?’
The exclusive London department store had been a fixture in the West End for over a century. But in the last thirty years it had become a world leader in the fashion world as well, famous for showcasing bold new British design talent. She’d window-shopped there herself the few times she’d visited London, adoring the store’s grace and beauty and the innovation of its displays. But she’d never been able to afford any of the merchandise.
‘Unfortunately, time is of the essence,’ Ruth said, apparently oblivious to Maddy’s shocked expression. ‘We’re launching the spring range with a charity gala at The Savoy on the fifteenth, so I’ll need to see whatever you have, select the pieces we can use.’
‘How many did you bring with you?’ Rye said softly beside her, his hand covering hers and jolting her out of her stupor.
‘About …’ she paused, tried to think with her head spinning and her heart jumping ‘… about ten, maybe.’
‘Ten is a good start. But we’ll need more. Luckily, we have a workshop in Soho with space you can use. We can supply …’
The woman’s voice faded into the distance as the drumming of Maddy’s heartbeat b
egan to deafen her. She answered the barrage of questions on autopilot, trying to breathe through the knowledge that something she’d never even dreamed of, something she would have been too scared to dream of, was actually happening.
She could make a living out of her silk work? She loved it. Had always loved it. But it had never even occurred to her that it would be good enough to sell. And not just sell. From the snippets of Ruth’s conversation she could actually process, it seemed the woman thought she could sell it at a very decent price indeed.
‘Ruth, give her a minute, she’s not committing to any of that yet.’ Rye’s sure, certain voice cut through the fog of awe and excitement. ‘We’ll get the other silk sent over tomorrow morning. When you’ve drawn up a contract—and I’ve had my solicitor look at it—and once Maddy’s had a chance to digest all this.’ Rye’s hand squeezed hers on the table. ‘Then you can talk to her again and iron out the details.’
Ruth gave an astonished laugh. ‘Why, Rye, you sound protective.’ She stood up. ‘Clearly Maddy here is even more special than I imagined.’
Rye’s hand tensed and lifted off hers as Ruth excused herself and left the annexe.
‘I can’t believe it. DeMontfort’s? It’s like a dream,’ Maddy said, excitement bubbling.
Rye gave a gruff chuckle, the moment of tension gone. ‘You deserve it. You’ve got a rare talent.’ Sitting back, he lifted the menu. ‘Now, how about we order dinner and a bottle of Dom, then grab a cab back to mine and make wild passionate love for the rest of the night to celebrate?’
Maddy giggled as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, feeling young and carefree and so in love she was sure she was about to burst.
How could he have known she wanted this, when she hadn’t even known it herself? And how could he have taken the time and trouble to make it happen if he wasn’t at least a little bit in love with her too?
Rye listened to Maddy’s breathing deepen as she lay exhausted in his arms, his body still humming from the afterglow of their passionate celebration, but his own refused to do the same. Ruth’s throwaway comment earlier played over and over again in his mind like a cracked record.
Clearly Maddy here is even more special than I imagined.
Ruth had always been remarkably perceptive. When he’d been a brash young entrepreneur of twenty-five, it was one of the things about her he’d liked the most. She’d been perceptive enough to realise their brief but passionate affair had no future without him having to tell her—and because of that she was one of the few women he’d managed to stay friends with. But the knowledge that she knew him better than most only made her comment all the more disturbing.
Maddy wasn’t special. He couldn’t let her be. Whatever Zack and now Ruth believed. But even though she wasn’t special, she was definitely different.
When had he ever cut a business trip short because he missed a woman so much he couldn’t be without her? And when had he ever found it this hard to let one go?
He’d actually been concerned about inviting Maddy to Graystone’s for dinner. The restaurant was one of the most sought-after places to eat in London—frequented by the very top echelons of the capital’s business and entertainment worlds—and he’d worried about her feeling out of place and uncomfortable. But when she’d walked in, the blue dress clinging to her curves and making his mouth go bone-dry, he was the one who had felt uncomfortable. Because the desire to carry her off and then gobble her up in a few quick greedy bites had been stronger than ever.
Why did she fit here every bit as much as she did in that tiny cottage on the cliffpath? And when was he going to start tiring of her? Because they’d been together for over a month now. Which was already a record for him.
He’d planned the meeting with Ruth with one simple motive in mind. If Ruth liked Maddy’s work, it would absolve him of any lingering guilt over their affair. He’d used Maddy to repair his own battered ego and it seemed only fair to give her something back.
But the simple motive had backfired. He’d got a genuine thrill out of Maddy’s awestruck expression when Ruth had talked about the DeMontfort’s show, and her excited chatter all the way home in the cab about the prospect of her future career—not to mention the heady enthusiasm with which she’d made love to him when they got back to the apartment. She’d looked at him as if he had given her something precious—and made him wish that his motives had been as pure as she believed.
She stirred against him in her sleep, the movement sweet and sexy and so trusting he huffed out a sigh.
He had to reset the boundaries between them.
He took a deep breath of her intoxicating scent.
And somehow find a way to stick to them this time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘MADDY, dear—’ Ruth peered at her as she poured the pot of tea ‘—you look exhausted.’
Maddy took the ornate china teacup Ruth offered her and sipped at the delicate brew, trying to mask the creeping fatigue that had begun to sap her strength. ‘I’m fine. Really.’
‘You’re not fine. That much is obvious,’ Ruth said, her eyes clouded with sympathy as she draped the designs they had been discussing over her desk. ‘Is it the show? I’ve been working you like a slavedriver.’
Maddy shook her head. ‘I’m so excited about tonight, that’s all. I’m finding it hard to sleep,’ she murmured, fingering the silk, not quite able to look Ruth in the eye.
She put the teacup down carefully on the tray, felt the emotions that had been so close to the surface for two weeks well up inside her. Who was she kidding? Her lack of sleep had nothing to do with the charity gala and everything to do with her relationship with Rye.
At first she’d tried to persuade herself it was her imagination—and the stress caused by the manic preparations for the show. Just because Rye had insisted they go out every single night and seemed reluctant to spend any time alone her.
They still made love every evening and often in the morning as well. And he had been a charming and considerate host, planning a series of outings and excursions. He’d taken her ice skating one evening at the rink at Somerset House, bought box seats for a show in Shaftesbury Avenue, wined and dined her in a number of swanky restaurants and nightclubs.
But gradually she’d begun to feel as if the whirlwind of social engagements he kept insisting on were really just more of the diversionary tactics he’d employed so skilfully all along. She’d hoped that their relationship would deepen, strengthen while she was in London but, honestly, the reverse seemed to be happening.
‘Does Rye know you’re in love with him?’
Maddy’s head jerked up at Ruth’s softly spoken question. ‘I’m sorry—what?’ she said, but the flush was already creeping up her neck.
Ruth crossed her legs and smoothed her skirt over her knees. ‘You haven’t told him, have you, my dear?’
She could try to deny it, but somehow the concern on Ruth’s face had the emotion swelling in her throat. She dipped her head, gave it a little shake. ‘How did you know?’ she asked, twisting her hands together in her lap.
Ruth’s hand covered hers and squeezed. ‘I recognised the symptoms. Six years ago, I went through the same thing myself. And I’m sure I looked as unhappy and as unsure of myself as you do right now.’
Maddy looked up, the sympathy and total understanding in Ruth’s gaze making tears prickle the backs of her eyes. ‘You and Rye were lovers?’
Ruth nodded. ‘We had a brief fling. As I suspect you guessed when we first met.’
Maddy nodded, desperately embarrassed. She had guessed it, but she’d gone into denial about that as well as everything else in the past few weeks.
‘There’s no need to feel awkward,’ Ruth remarked, sending Maddy a warm smile. ‘It only lasted a few weeks. I was forty and had just gone through a particularly bitter divorce when Rye came along. He was fifteen years younger, impossibly gorgeous and devastating in bed—and of course I fell stupidly in love with him. But it meant absolutely
nothing to him.’
Delivered in an amused tone, Ruth’s candid confession didn’t bring on the jealousy Maddy would have expected.
‘I’m sorry. Rye didn’t say anything,’ Maddy murmured.
Ruth patted her hand. ‘Of course he didn’t. Why would he? Rye left me as soon as he realised I was getting serious about him. And there have been a string of women since, who I’ve watched go through the same unhappy experience. I’m grateful that we managed to remain friends, but much more grateful that episode of my life is over. Heartache can be hell on the complexion, you know.’
Maddy huffed out a laugh, but her own heart felt as if it were being torn out of her chest, because Ruth’s words had brought her face to face with exactly what it was that had been so wrong in the past weeks. Rye had been shutting her out and she’d been too scared to even admit it to herself, let alone confront him about it.
Maddy’s palms dampened as her heartbeat began to hammer like a pneumatic drill. She should have told Rye two weeks ago how she felt. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t be a pushover any more, that she’d stand up for herself. And she hadn’t. Because she’d been scared to risk the sort of confrontation she’d spent her whole life avoiding.
‘I have to tell him how I feel,’ she murmured.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Ruth said quietly. ‘Rye has a pattern that won’t allow him to get close to anyone. And he’s far too pigheaded to change it on his own.’
Maddy nodded. She’d suspected as much all along—that he’d never recovered from the loss of his parents and he’d been protecting himself in the only way he knew how ever since.
‘But how can I change it, if he won’t let me?’
‘I’ve seen the way he looks at you, my dear.’ Ruth sent her a reassuring smile. ‘I believe you already have.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
‘SUCCESS agrees with you, Maddy. You look gorgeous tonight.’ Rye cupped her cheek as he leaned across their table. ‘But I’m not waiting much longer to find out what you’ve got on under that gown.’
