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for her enjoyment, her feelings. Instead of which, he was obviously one of those guys who thought having a handsome face and a larger-than-average appendage was enough. Well, it wasn’t, not by a long shot. Not for her. Maybe there really were women who could spontaneously combust to order with only two seconds of foreplay, but she wasn’t one of them. And she refused to feel inadequate about it.

      She gave him another heftier shove and bit her lip as he rolled off her to flop onto the bed beside her.

      She closed her legs, noticed the tenderness between her thighs and glared at him. With his eyes closed and a smile of blissful satisfaction on his too-handsome face, he looked like a small boy who had just devoured a whole Knickerbocker Glory in one swallow.

      Unfortunately for her, it had been all Knickerbocker and very little Glory.

      Resentment overwhelmed her. Swiftly followed by recrimination.

       This is all your own stupid fault. What the heck were you thinking?

      If only she’d actually been thinking. She’d have remembered there was a reason why you had to get to know someone before you did the wild thing with them. Never had her granny’s favourite saying been truer. ‘If it looks too good to be true …’

      Clutching the sheet to her chin, she examined the plaster some more.

      She should never have let her hormones and her dismal relationship history rob her of every last ounce of self-control—and common sense. She’d known the guy was arrogant and dominant and moody, but she’d decided to seduce him anyway.

      She shuffled across the bed, her overworked muscles protesting, and resentment peaked.

      Well, at least she’d learned her lesson. No more wild, wanton, reckless flings, not for a while anyway. Because she was going to be paying the price for this one for days.

      She swung her feet to the floor, glanced at the rain splashing against his bedroom window and sighed. And that was without even factoring in the long walk home through a hurricane.

      She shifted to get up.

      ‘Maddy?’ She twisted round at the deep rumble of his voice. He stretched, propped one hand behind his head and reached out to stroke a finger down her arm, the self-satisfied smile still in place. ‘Going somewhere?’

      Fabulous. Why couldn’t he have stayed in a coma so she could at least make a clean getaway? Resentment flared.

      ‘I’m going home,’ she said sharply. Did he even know how disappointing he’d been?

      She tried to lift herself off the bed but his fingers circled her wrist.

      ‘Don’t go. Stay a while.’

       What the heck for?

      ‘I can’t stay. I’ve got to get back,’ she said tightly, trying to keep her resentment out of her voice. Telling him how rubbish he was in bed would only make this more personal.

      ‘It’s still raining, your clothes are soaking wet and your bike has a puncture,’ he said reasonably. ‘It’s not a good idea.’

      His thumb skimmed across her pulse point and she trembled.

      ‘It’s not that far,’ she lied, snatching her hand away. She didn’t want to be touched. ‘I can always …’

      ‘You didn’t come,’ he interrupted, shocking her into silence. ‘Sorry about that.’

      ‘Don’t worry; it’s not a problem,’ she said, not all that convinced the apology was sincere. If he felt bad about his abysmal performance, what was with that sheepish smile?

      ‘Really?’ He chuckled, annoying her even more. ‘What’s with the angry eyes, then?’

      She tried to dim the glare. ‘I’m not angry,’ she said with exaggerated patience. This was getting awkward now as well as irritating. She was stark naked under the sheet she had clutched to her bosom and her nerve-endings were still popping and fizzing at the sight of that bare chest and washboard-lean six-pack—when they ought to know better by now. ‘I really have to go.’

      She scanned the room for his sweatshirt. Where was the stupid thing?

      He took her arm. ‘Why don’t you hear me out before you rush off?’

       Oh, for …

      ‘Fine.’ She straightened, trapped and acutely aware of her nakedness. ‘But can I have the sweatshirt first?’ She didn’t know what he had to say and she didn’t really care. But she wasn’t listening to anything in the nude. ‘I think it’s on your side of the bed.’

      His lips curved as he released her. Scooping the sweatshirt off the floor, he lobbed it to her. She heard his heavy sigh as she pulled it on.

      ‘So what did you want to say?’ she demanded when he remained silent, his gaze heating with lazy approval.

      ‘That I’m not usually that bad.’ He scraped the hair off his brow, the smile becoming almost boyish. ‘There are reasons for what happened that I won’t bore you with,’ he murmured, his eyes darkening to a rich cobalt. ‘Let me make it up to you.’

      Maddy felt the pulse of response—and cursed her idiotic hormones. He might have that sexy, intense look down pat, but talk about false advertising.

      ‘That really isn’t necessary,’ she said primly. Another round like the last one would probably kill off her libido for good.

      ‘Yes, it is.’

      ‘Look, Mr King—’ time to stop this stupid charade ‘—I’m not interested.’

      ‘Mr King?’ He sounded amused. ‘Was I that bad?’

      ‘Yes, actually you were.’ Why sugar-coat it?

      He clasped a hand to his breast in mock horror. ‘You wound me, Maddy.’

      ‘Well, now you know how it feels,’ she snapped, annoyed by his teasing. What was so flipping hilarious?

      He frowned, then bolted upright, the lazy smile gone. ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’ The colour drained from his face. ‘You were so tight, but I thought you were ready.’

      She flushed, a little ashamed of herself. He looked genuinely horrified. ‘No. That’s not what I meant.’

      ‘Thank God.’ He scrubbed his hands down his face, then pinned her with that sexy, intense look again and her nerve-endings sizzled some more. ‘Look, how about we make a deal, Madeleine?’

      She didn’t like the sound of that, and she wished he’d stop saying her name in that low, intimate way. But then he took her wrist again, pressed his thumb to the pulse point—and she lost focus. ‘What deal?’

      ‘I’ll sling your clothes in the machine—and, when they’re done, I’ll drive you home myself, if you still want to go.’

      ‘You have a washing machine?’ she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

      ‘Yeah.’ The lazy smile was back. ‘I know this place looks like a throwback to the Stone Age, but it does have a few mod cons.’

      ‘I see,’ she said, annoyingly tempted.

      His offer would be a lot nicer than having to push the bike three miles down the coast road, in a rain storm, in wet jeans. No question. But she wasn’t sure about that if. Or the way the gentle rub of his thumb was playing havoc with her pulse.

      ‘You promise you’ll drive me home? No questions asked?’

      ‘Absolutely,’ he said. But she wasn’t at all sure she could trust him. He had that damn sexy and intense thing going on again.

      Or that she could trust herself. Why was her pulse doing the foxtrot?

      He released her wrist and lifted her chin with

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