Surf, Sea and a Sexy Stranger. Heidi Rice

raised his palms. ‘Okay; you’ve got me.’ His lips quirked. ‘You’re not annoyed?’ he said, sounding relieved.

      ‘No, I’m not annoyed,’ she replied, realising she wasn’t, not even slightly. ‘Despite the pact.’

      His brow furrowed. ‘The what?’

      ‘Never mind.’ Shut up, Mads, and focus.

      She glanced back down. Wow, he was magnificent—and obviously as interested in her as she was in him. Which meant she had two options here.

      She could be a girl about this and revert to type. Tie herself up in knots about whether Rye King would make a suitable mate and run off screaming into the night. And her erogenous zones might calm down in about a decade or two.

      Or she could be a guy about it. Snatch the opportunity and take what she wanted for once without worrying about the consequences. And put her erogenous zones in a very happy place indeed.

      ‘I hate to rush you.’ He tucked a knuckle under her chin and lifted her face to his. ‘But if you’re not annoyed—’ his thumb rubbed across her bottom lip ‘—could you tell me what you are? Exactly?’

      She grinned, the charge of excitement making her erogenous zones do a Snoopy dance. She’d been looking for someone to use. And this guy had to be the perfect candidate. He was surly, intense, gorgeous and the complete antithesis of what she was looking for in a life partner. And he clearly wanted to use her as much as she wanted to use him.

      What was she waiting for?

      Reaching up, she looped tentative arms round his neck, stretched up onto tiptoe and tried to look as if she knew what she was doing. Seduction was virgin territory for her; she’d always let the guy set the pace before, usually after several tame dates and lots of hand-holding. Which had probably been her first mistake.

       Time to seize control of your sex life, Madeleine Westmore.

      Then she pressed against the rigid erection, felt the leap of response. And power surged through her.

      She’d never been wanton before. Never been remotely reckless. But she could see now what she’d always needed was one wild, wanton, reckless fling to shock her out of her complacency.

      ‘Exactly?’ She arched a coquettish eyebrow, loving the way his sensual lips curved into a seductive grin. ‘I’m flattered, big boy. And hoping like hell you’ve got a condom large enough for that thing,’ she murmured, shocking herself.

      He threw back his head and laughed.

      Running large callused palms up her sides under the sweatshirt, he sobered. ‘Maddy Westmore, I think you may be my ideal woman,’ he murmured.

      The little clutch at the meaningless endearment barely registered on the Richter Scale of excitement coursing through her body.

      She gasped as he leant down to nuzzle her neck. His stubble abraided sensitive skin as hot lips fastened on the pulse point and his thumbs brushed swollen nipples. He devoured her lips with a hungry, seeking kiss, then pulled back and swung her up in his arms. ‘Come on. Condoms are in my bedroom. Let’s go try one on for size.’

      He strode forward, one step, then staggered and listed to one side. She leapt down before he could drop her.

      He swore viciously, bending over to grab his leg.

      ‘I’m sorry; did I hurt you?’ she asked, mortified. How could she have forgotten about his bum leg?

      His cheeks flushed a dull red as he looked away, rubbing his thigh. ‘No.’ He bit the word out.

      Glimpsing the Rottweiler again, Maddy cradled his cheek, steered his face back to her. ‘Good.’ His jaw tensed beneath her fingers. ‘So you’re still ready for a fitting?’

      He straightened and gave a brittle half-laugh. ‘Why the hell would you want to bed a cripple?’ The tone was bitter, angry, but she could hear the unhappiness beneath.

      ‘Because it’s not your leg I’m worried about.’

      His eyes narrowed but the tension gradually disappeared from his face. He huffed out another laugh, the hollowness gone. ‘Good point.’

      He took her hand, lifted her fingers to his lips and brushed a kiss across the knuckles. The gesture was so sweet and so unexpected, she felt herself flush.

      ‘I don’t want to disappoint you,’ he said, his eyes shadowed by something she couldn’t read.

      She had no idea what he meant, but he sounded as if he was getting all serious on her…And it was the last thing she wanted.

      This wasn’t serious. It was her first and last wild, reckless, wanton fling. She didn’t want to know him and he didn’t have to know her. Serious was for Miss Fixit. Who was dead and buried.

      ‘As long as you can hobble to the bedroom—’ she grasped his hand in both of hers, tugged him towards the kitchen door ‘—believe me, you won’t.’ If he didn’t hurry up, something dumb—like common sense—was going to get in the way of her Snoopy dance.

      ‘Hobble?’ His eyebrows lifted as he followed, the limp not nearly as prominent as the bulge in his denims. ‘That’s not very flattering,’ he said, sounding more playful than insulted.

      ‘If you want flattering,’ she murmured, fluttering her eyelashes for all she was worth and hoping like mad she wasn’t promising more than she could deliver, ‘you’ll have to get a move on.’

      He laughed as he let her haul him out of the door.

      Adrenalin and desperation surged through Rye’s body as he slammed the bedroom door shut. She stood before him, her breath panting out in ragged gasps and those bright green eyes feverish with desire. He grabbed a handful of the sweatshirt, yanked her into his arms.

      ‘I want you naked,’ he murmured into her curls as his hands clasped her hips, found the soft, seductive flesh beneath.

      She felt smooth and warm and perfect, her lush little body vibrating as he dragged the sweatshirt over her head and threw it away. Her full breasts swayed, mesmerising him, the nipples large and red, like ripe strawberries.

      Her lips lifted but she looked wary all of a sudden—and much less sure of herself.

      He cupped one full orb in his palm and bent to suckle the rigid peak.

      She gave a soft little sob, sank her fingers into his hair and arched into his mouth. The scent of her, the taste assailed him and then panic struck.

      He had to get inside her. Now, before he lost the erection. He couldn’t wait, couldn’t play, couldn’t risk taking the time to pleasure her too much.

      Dragging his mouth away from the feast of flesh, he tumbled her back onto the bed. Struggling with his fly, his fingers frantic, he released the mammoth erection, still gloriously hard. It took him several crucial moments more to kick off his jeans. Drag off his own T-shirt.

      He looked up to see her watching him. Propped on her elbows, her mouth dropped open as she stared. The shell-shocked look on her face gave him a burst of pride. She wasn’t gaping at the scars; she didn’t look disgusted—she looked astonished.

      She didn’t know the half of it. And, hopefully, she never would.

      ‘The condoms are in the bedside table,’ he said in a strained voice. ‘Can you get them?’ It would take him too long to shuffle over there.

      She nodded and rolled over, pulling a foil packet out as he eased onto the bed, trying not to jostle his leg.

      ‘Do you want me to do it?’ she asked, her voice shaky.

      ‘In a minute.’ He curved a hand round her waist, then hooked his fingers in the hot pink knickers.

      He could give her a minute. At least.

      She