BTW: I Love You (Mills & Boon M&B) (One Hot Fling - Book 1) Read Online Free

to fall into place.
    ‘Hey, before you go, I hear congratulations are in order,’ Phil remarked. ‘Luke says you pulled your first floater out this afternoon like a pro.’
    ‘Thanks,’ Maddy replied, a little abashed by Phil’s praise. The incident hadn’t exactly ended as well as it might, which was why her conscience had been bugging her all afternoon. ‘I’m afraid the job’s not quite done yet, though. We didn’t do any of the standard checks on the guy. He shot off so fast.’
    Phil dropped the bar rag into the sink. ‘Seems to me, if he left without getting checked out that’s his problem, not yours.’
    ‘Technically, maybe.’ She’d been trying all afternoon to convince herself of that fact. But her conscience wouldn’t let her. ‘But I should have made sure he was okay before I let him go.’
    What if he had water in his lungs? Or a concussion? He could even now be unconscious on the floor of his mansion. She’d never forgive herself. Having dragged him out of the sea, she felt responsible for him. Which was ridiculous, of course—and probably just another biproduct of her Miss Fixitcurse—but knowing that wasn’t going to help her sleep tonight until she knew for sure he was all right.
    ‘There’s not much you can do about it now,’ Phil added.
    ‘Actually, there is.’ Walking round the bar, Maddy stuffed her apron and pad in their cubby hole. ‘I’m going to pay him a visit.’ She knew where he lived. The tide had cut off the cliff path an hour ago, but it would take her less than twenty minutes to cycle up to his home via the coast road and put her mind at rest. She crossed to the café door and grabbed her rain poncho off the hook.
    ‘You sure he’s going to want you checking up on him?’ Phil called after her.
    Maddy glanced back. ‘No, I’m sure he’s going to hate it,’ she said as she tugged the poncho over her head. ‘But that’s his tough luck.’ She shoved open the door on a surge of righteous determination. ‘He shouldn’t have tried to drown himself on my watch.’
    As Maddy pedalled through the gates of Trewan Manor close to an hour later, righteous determination had turned to abject misery—and her rescue mission had turned into an epic farce. What had she been thinking? The taciturn man she had come to see was probably perfectly fine and would no doubt slam the door in her face, if he even bothered to open it—and the trip home in what was threatening to be a thunderstorm of biblical proportions would probably kill her.
    The journey to the house along the coast road had been a nightmare. Negotiating tarmac slicked with mud and bracken from the recent storm had been bad enough, but then her old banger of a bike had lost its chain twice and the hill climb had made thigh muscles already abused by the afternoon’s sea-rescue weep in protest.
    The spitting rain dripped under the collar of her waterproof as she dismounted and wheeled the bike past the highhedges edging the property. Maddy glared over her shoulder at the darkening sky behind her as she bounced the heavy bike along the rutted track and prayed the storm clouds would hold off for another half an hour. She didn’t have her bike lights with her, which was going to make cycling home to her cottage on the other side of the Bay suicidal if the weather let rip.
    She cursed her conscience—and her compassionate nature. Callum was right. Sometimes being a Good Samaritan sucked.
    Then she walked into the house’s forecourt. And her jaw went slack.
    The towering Gothic edifice of Trewan Manor loomed over her, looking more like Castle Dracula than Wuthering Heights. The fanciful turrets and gables were even more dramatic and over-the-top up close, while the tall, unlit mullioned windows seemed to stare at her with unblinking disapproval. She propped the bike against one of the stone pillars flanking the entrance and shivered as she mounted the three steps to an enormous oak door, feeling like Dorothy about