One Summer At The Beach: Pleasured by the Secret Millionaire / Not-So-Perfect Princess / Wedding at Pelican Beach

‘I can’t give out information about our customers.’

‘So she is staying?’

The bland expression remained.

‘More than one night?’

No answer again, but there was a suspicion of a wink.

Rhys savoured the slight satisfaction but it wasn’t enough. He’d get all the answers, thank you very much. Utter irritation, unquenchable desire, undeniable need to know forced his actions. ‘Got any vacancies?’

‘Dormitory or own room?’

He thought for a moment—wicked intent winning over cold curiosity. ‘Got any doubles?’

The door guy grinned. ‘Sure.’ He pulled a form and started filling it in. ‘I need name and details, how many nights you want and I need ID—passport or driver’s licence.’

Damn. He didn’t want to reveal who he was. ‘Can’t I just pay up front? Cash?’

‘We still need ID.’

Rhys deliberated for a nanosecond. Privacy was precious—but the guy on the desk was an American. He’d have no idea who he was. He’d be in the clear. Just one night—so he could find her over breakfast and ask what the hell was going on. So he handed over his driving licence. Filled in the forms. Got the key.

He finally got to go up the stairs she’d ascended ahead of him. He unlocked his room. He even had his own mini-bathroom. Not bad for a cheap-as-they-come hostel. Although he was paying the ‘premium’ rate for his own room and en suite. He wondered where she was right now. Under this roof—but in a room full of bunks or on her own? Was she thinking of him?

Hell—was she with someone else?

He rejected that idea immediately. There had been hesitation—he was sure he’d seen that in the blue sea of her eyes. She had said she didn’t usually…

What? Go for millionaire heirs? It wouldn’t be the first time some stunner had used him to bag herself a fortune. Different style from Mandy, same result. Money. Only this would be even more damaging. He’d be left with a permanent reminder of his folly—no child deserved to be brought into being purely to serve as a bargaining chip, a commodity. He had to find her and fix this.

He swore. How had he managed to lose control so entirely? Irritated, he stood for as long as he could under piping hot water. Sluicing the sweat from his body, he also rinsed his shirt while he was at it, hanging it up where it would dry quick-time. The storm had abated, the temperature would only rise again.

He thought about her parting words. Thank you. Simple. Strangely heartfelt. He hardened his own heart. He was not going to be suckered by a burning blonde. Just because she had a nice hint of vulnerability in her eyes that threatened to soften even his roughened-up skin.

But in the steam of the room, memories of their dark encounter flew at him, tormenting him. He turned the tap to cold, glanced at his watch and groaned. It was going to be a long few hours. But no way was she getting away with whatever the hell she had planned.

Although what he was going to do about it, he had no idea.

CHAPTER FOUR

SIENNA sat on the sand and watched the sun rise. The dawn of a new day, and a different Sienna. She chuckled at her dramatic moment. But she felt changed. And she would always thank him for it. She’d escaped the dorm as early as she could, not wanting any kind of post-mortem with Julia and Brooke. Last night was not for analysing. She’d feigned sleep when they’d stumbled back in at stupid o’clock. Really she’d lain awake almost all the remainder of the night.

She stretched out on the sand, rotating her ankles in circles. Half tempted to ease the slight stiffness with some exercises, but mostly tempted not to. Deciding to keep the gentle aches as a reminder of the most physical and intense experience of her life. Her body still felt warm and pliant from the contact with his. Still felt wet and wanting.

She’d never had a one-night stand before and she refused to regret it. She only regretted that it couldn’t be more. She grabbed her day pack. Sipped from her water bottle and pulled out her new journal. She never went anywhere without it. She’d kept one for years—had volumes locked away in a suitcase in the attic of her mother’s house. It wasn’t so much a ‘today I did x, y and z’ kind of diary, but a personal place to explore her dreams and fears. For years it had been largely fears. She’d recognised early on that she couldn’t talk to her mother, brother or even her best friend about those fears because doing so upset them. They worried about her enough. So she developed the skill to listen to others, talk but keep her own anxieties to herself.

Writing was her way of making sense of what was happening in her life. But despite the weightiness of past events, for the first time she felt unable to pen a word, let alone a sentence. She stared unseeing across the sea, flashes of the previous night filling her mind. Impossible. She could never capture that beauty in words. Unable to record what had happened, let alone how she felt about it.

She looked back down to her book, with a thinly protected heart read over the list of her life’s must-dos. The list she always wrote at the start of each year in the front of the new journal. Always hoping to cross at least one or two off in the course of the year. As the years had progressed the list had grown longer not shorter, more fanciful, humorous, outrageous.

But she’d done it. Number One could be crossed off. The one that had made her simultaneously blush and giggle as she’d written it. A joke. A fantasy. And it had been more fantastic than she’d ever imagined. Hell, she’d never imagined it could actually be a reality. Despondent, she recapped her pen. To record it would diminish it and it had been so profound, so perfect. She stared again at the water, watching the sun sparkle on the rippling waves. She wished she weren’t such a girl over this. Wished the niggle of guilt would leave her.

She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there, but she wasn’t alone any more. There were people arriving with sunscreen and shades. She should get up and get some breakfast. Face the world again. But she didn’t move—couldn’t be bothered and she sure wasn’t hungry.

She played with the sand, drawing up a handful and letting it run through her fingers. She’d feel better soon. She had so much to look forward to—this was merely a wait in the wings before her adventure. But she wished for more of last night’s adventure—more of him. She felt bad for not explaining things to him. He’d been wonderful and she’d just disappeared. It wasn’t her usual style. None of it had been her usual style—and that had been the whole point. To have been able to have it like that she’d had to leave.

She’d struggled to find her way out of the bar at first. Disoriented. Dazed. The crowd had seemed crazy. She’d forgotten other people existed. She’d felt so cocooned in that darkness. She hadn’t wanted to go. Her body had ached to lie with his, to sleep curled beside his. It had hated the fact she was walking away. It had not been what was meant to happen. They had been supposed to rest. And then do it all again.

She shook off the sand, picked up the pen again, pulling the cap off and replacing it, over and over.

‘Did you sleep well?’

She jerked her head up, dropping the pen and her jaw as she looked at the tall person towering over her.

Oh, God, it was him.

‘What—you didn’t expect to see me again?’

She snapped her journal shut, and her mouth. Stuffed the fabric-covered, hardbound book into the bottom of her bag. Bought some more time by hunting for the lid of the pen, but it was lost for ever in the sand. Hot blood burned in her cheeks. ‘Um. I…um…’

‘I didn’t sleep too well, actually, thanks for asking.’

She cleared her throat, but still couldn’t get words to come out.

‘You see, I met this girl—’

‘Rhys,’ she croaked.

‘Oh. You remember my name.’

‘Of course I remember your name!’

He squatted down beside her. And she saw into his face properly. Got a shock. He was looking ferocious. Angry as hell.

She got in quickly then, words flying. ‘Look, I’m really sorry about last night.’

‘I’m not. Yet. I hope I’m not going to be.’

Confusion deepened the burn in her face.

His eyes, mainly slate, captured hers. ‘Like, in nine months time going to be sorry. The mother of all honey traps, was it?’

‘What?’ Her clammy hands covered her inferno-like flush. She grasped his implication. Nine months? As in B-A-B-Y? He thought she used him to get pregnant? As if.

‘Contraception is covered, trust me.’ She choked the words out. Marriage and children might be on most people’s list of life ambitions but they’d never be on hers. She didn’t want any child of hers living the kind of cloistered life she’d suffered and she didn’t want to commit to someone only to have to leave them too soon—as her father had left her mother.

The hardness in his eyes didn’t soften a jot. ‘It’s a dangerous game you play.’

‘I don’t. I…I really don’t do that,’ she stammered. Annoyed with her mortification. Annoyed that she felt the desperate need to defend herself against his thoughts. It shouldn’t matter. But it did. He’d been amazing. And she’d just snuck off. She wanted to slink away now. But couldn’t. He thought she was some hideous tramp?

‘I meant it when I said I didn’t usually…’ She faltered under his implacability, finally looking away. ‘I’m so embarrassed. I got carried away. It was the tequila slammers.’

‘You only had one.’

‘I had more before you arrived.’

‘Rubbish. I was watching you from the moment you walked in.’

She swallowed. Nerves stretching taut—how could she possibly explain this to him?

‘You spend all your holidays having one-nighters with people you hardly know?’ He laughed. It sounded dangerously like a snarl. ‘It wasn’t even one whole night, just a turgid hour. A quick lay and you’re off. Did you find someone else for the rest of the night?’

‘No!’ Anger settled in her. She would not have him demean their experience. OK, so she hadn’t been particularly thoughtful, but there was no need for things to turn nasty. ‘No. That’s sleazy. What we did was not sleazy.’

‘What was it, then?’

‘A beautiful memory.’

He paused at that. When he spoke again it was softer. ‘Past tense?’

She looked back to the sea, not wanting to see him and suffer the bitter temptation of something she couldn’t ever have again. ‘Past.’

There was a long silence. She hoped he’d take the hint and leave. Her heart was fraying round the edges. Was this why so many women regretted one-night stands? There really was no such thing as ‘just walk away’. Things always got complicated.

She wasn’t naïve enough to think you could fall in love with someone after a one-night stand. But she certainly cared about what he thought. Too much. It was only because he’d done something for her that no one else ever had been able to. The stars had been aligned, maybe there had been a full moon—some sort of mysterious magic? Anyhow, it was a one-off—those circumstances couldn’t be repeated.

He didn’t leave, rather he sat on the sand, stretched his legs out alongside hers.

He still had the same shirt on but it was looking rumpled. His tanned arms were tense. More stubbly shadow darkened his jaw. The cold light of day—and he was even more gorgeous. Wilder looking than last night, but that, she suspected, was because he was feeling a little wild. With her.

Fair enough.

She felt compelled to talk honestly. ‘I didn’t expect to see you again.’

He lay back, resting on his elbow, the length of his beautiful body shown off. Hers went all soft inside and she over-compensated—tensing on the outer.

‘You just ran into the night like Cinderella, only you didn’t leave me a glass slipper, you left me these.’

Mortified, she watched as he pulled her panties out of his pocket. A scrap of lace and elastic. Looking a lot like something a streetwalker would wear.

It was an effort to speak—a squeak, really. ‘Can I have them back?’

‘No.’ A half-smile quirked the corners of his mouth up. ‘I don’t think you can. Because, unlike you, for me that hour wasn’t anywhere near enough.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Last night was an appetiser. My appetite is well and truly whetted. I want you in a bed, my bed, with all the hours of darkness ahead of us.’

Colour flooded her. Top to toe. She knew it did. She could hear blood beating in her ears, feel it in her cheeks, the palms of her hands. Even her ankles were blushing—her knees. Actually blushing. And it wasn’t just embarrassment.

It was the most words he’d strung together in the short time she’d known him and she wished he hadn’t because his voice was rich and deep and she couldn’t help but listen—and be seduced. And she couldn’t help but look at his mouth as it moved and really those lips alone were seductive enough.

As for what he’d actually said…

The blush deepened. But she didn’t have a chance in succeeding a second time. She’d have to get naked—and that she didn’t want to do. She’d never forgotten the look on Neil’s face. The way he’d recoiled. Everything would change.

‘One night. What do you say? Finish off what we started.’

She melted more into the sand.

‘It was only the beginning, you know.’

If she had any kind of backbone she’d stand and walk away. But her bones weren’t there any more, there was just mush. Wanting, so badly, what she couldn’t have.

He sat up. ‘Tell you what, I think we’ve done this all round the wrong way—topsy-turvy. Back to front. Did the sex before the date. Let’s do the date now.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I’m serious. Dinner, a drink, some conversation. I think you owe me that at least.’

It was so tempting. And she did owe him. Could she even manage telling him the truth? No. She didn’t want to, didn’t want to see desire fade. She wanted to maintain the memory. Maybe, if she was careful, she could add to it just a teeny bit.

Rhys watched the conflict cross her face. She wanted to, but didn’t want to. Sitting there blushing like a schoolgirl. Apparently mortified over her wildness the previous night. Not her usual behaviour—that was for sure. You couldn’t fake a bodily reaction like that blush. Just as you couldn’t fake the fire between them.

He felt happier than the moment he learned he’d come first in his final med exams. Initial instinct had been right. It wasn’t a ruse. She had no idea who he was. She wasn’t out for a million-dollar baby. He believed her about the contraception. She’d wanted him. Still wanted him. So why the up-and-vanish act? He knew he shouldn’t be pursuing this. He was running a risk—the longer it went on, the more likely he was to be caught out. But as he sat near to her now, his body made up his mind for him, shoving the prickling doubt away with ease. He wanted to know her. Last night humour had sparkled in her eyes. She’d watched her friends flirt with the band with an unholy twinkle. He wanted in on her joke. And, OK, he’d lain awake the entire night harder than titanium, lusting after her again. He’d have her again right now if he could. But he was happy to do the conventional courting thing if that was how she wanted it this time. Given her all-over colour, he figured she wasn’t lying when she said she didn’t usually have one-night stands. So why had she? She’d been so bold. A contrary woman who had secrets. There were definitely secrets in those eyes. Rhys had secrets of his own and he was used to holding them close. But he wasn’t used to others holding theirs back from him.

He inched closer, her nearness not enough. He badly wanted to feel her hair with his fingers again—glorious colour, divine length. From the way her pulse was beating, she was not immune to his proximity. He shifted again so their legs almost brushed. He had her attention. Awareness arced between them. Why did she want to run from it? ‘You know, when I get close to you, you breathe a little faster.’

She nodded. ‘Fear.’

‘Maybe, but I don’t think that’s entirely true. What are you afraid of? You were fearless last night. Utterly fearless.’

She looked up at him. ‘I won’t say it was a mistake. But it was something that can’t ever be repeated.’

His blood ran cold. ‘You have a boyfriend?’ He looked at her hand. ‘A husband?’ A ridiculous knot of jealousy pulled tight in his belly.

‘No!’ She flashed a hurt look at him. ‘What kind of woman do you think I am?’

He relaxed, amused by her fire. ‘Well, I’m not really sure. That’s why I want to spend some time with you. So I can find out.’

‘I’m surprised you want to spend another minute with me, you’re so keen to think all these horrible things—first I’m out for a baby, then I’m cheating…’

‘OK.’ He held up a hand and grinned. ‘Believe me, I want to spend more time with you.’ She didn’t soften. He needed to change tack. He ruefully rubbed his hands over his face as he tried to think of a way to break through. ‘Look, let’s just start over. Completely fresh. Forget all this even happened.’

‘Forget all?’

‘Let’s temporarily forget last night, and totally forget the last five minutes.’

He finally got a glimmer of a smile. He leant a little closer. ‘I’ve just sat next to you—wanting to borrow some sunscreen.’

‘Sunscreen? Oh, come on, surely you can do better than that.’

He laughed. ‘OK, but it’s early morning and I had a sleepless night—’he gave her a meaningful look ‘—and it will do.’ He continued with his latest façade, getting the feel for it. ‘So it’s sunscreen. You’re a nice person, you smile, say sure, and pass me the bottle.’

‘You didn’t want me to rub it in for you?’

He blinked. Hell, yes, rub right where I’m aching. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves again, OK?’

‘Too fast?’

‘A little.’

Her gurgle of laughter hit him in the solar plexus.

‘Anyway, we get to chatting. We swap names. I’m Rhys and you’re…’

‘Sienna.’

‘We chat idly. I tell you I’m here on holiday and isn’t the weather fantastic? You smile, nod, agree.’ He paused, looked at her expectantly.

She laughed. ‘OK. Yes, it is.’

‘Finally I get around to it. I ask. Have dinner with me.’

She went back to serious.

‘We’re two people on holiday. Why not join forces and see some sights together? Do a little dinner. Maybe we could hit a club afterwards?’ He caught her eye. She was blushing again and quickly looked away. Damn, he should’ve put the damper on the gas jet.

But then she spoke. ‘What about lunch?’

Lunch. She was playing safe. Tortoise speed rather than hare. He figured he should be glad it wasn’t ‘maybe a coffee’. Right now he was happy she was still in the game. Besides, a long leisurely lunch could lead to a long lazy afternoon—or not so lazy. A chilled bottle of sauvignon blanc and seafood perhaps? They could go to…

He halted. No. He was supposed to be as much of a tourist on holiday as she was, foreign to this town. They’d have to go to a place foreign to him. Actually he’d prefer they didn’t go to a restaurant at all. He wanted to keep out of the spotlight, to stay in this small stretch of beach. An idea bubbled. He answered. ‘Lunch would be fantastic.’

She smiled warily. ‘OK.’

It was his turn to look wary. ‘So it’s a date? You’re not going to disappear?’

‘No.’ She seemed both decisive and apologetic. ‘I’ll be there.’

‘The foyer of the hostel over the road? Midday? You’re sure?’

Her smile peeked out again. ‘As sure as you are.’

He couldn’t hold back any longer. Reaching out, he took her hand. The fire flashed. He looked at where his skin touched hers. Looked back to her face and saw it in her serious expression. No exaggeration. The current rippled from her through every inch of his body. ‘Good.’

He got away then. Needing some space to think, to plan, to perfect his new persona. He approached Reception quickly. Happy no one else was around. It was the same guy, looking ragged around the edges. He got a smile this time.

‘Maitland, wanting to check out?’

‘Call me Rhys. Don’t you ever stop working this desk?’

He shrugged. ‘I need the money.’

‘I need a few more nights.’

‘Sure. How many?’ He tapped at the computer with a cunning smile. ‘Find what you were after?’

Rhys gave him a narrow-eyed glance. ‘Maybe.’

He walked out of the hostel again, straight to the taxi rank—soon in the back of a car and heading to his apartment. He pushed away the guilt with determination. Rhys Maitland didn’t want to be Rhys Maitland for a couple of days. He wanted to be free and on holiday and able to do whatever—just Rhys. Maitland, Monroe, Smith—what was in a name? Justifying it because he couldn’t not. He’d gone a step too far to backtrack now and he wanted to be with Sienna more than he wanted to risk being honest with her.

He stuffed a few casual clothes into a small carryall, paused when his mobile beeped. He checked it. A text from Tim.

‘Where the hell r u?’

Rhys laughed. He’d forgotten about Tim and the others. He’d just gone after Sienna without thought of anything or anyone else. He was supposed to have helped pack the band’s gear away. He was supposed to be at some barbecue Tim was organising for the new crop of interns this afternoon.

But now he had other plans. Better plans. He was having time out. He pushed at the buttons with his thumb.

‘On holiday.’ He sent the message, waited for the confirmation it had gone. And then, with a broad smile, he hit one last button—‘Off’.

CHAPTER FIVE

TROUSERS were the only option. Together with the obligatory high-necked, long-sleeved top. Hell, Sienna was going to swelter. But she was going to be steaming up anyway—just from being within three feet of Mr Sex God. She took off the note wedged into the straps of her pack. Scanned it.

‘We have lots of questions. We want answers. Later!’

She grinned and grimaced at the same time, then started the rummage through for some suitably unsexy outfit for her ‘date’. She should have said no. She should have been rude. She should have let him think what he liked.

Impossible.

Mouth like that, eyes like those. She didn’t want them frowning at her and looking icy. So she’d go. Have lunch. Do as Rhys suggested and play the game in reverse. But there’d be no re-match, pre-match or after-match frills. No resumption of body contact. But maybe she could give him the kiss goodbye she’d forgotten last night.

She pulled out her quick-dry, billion-pocketed, zip-off-leg, multi-climate, all-terrain, all-purpose pants and stared at them.

Never in a million years. Even if contact was off the menu she wasn’t going looking like such a frump. They’d be great for trekking at altitude. But for a lunch in a hip Sydney café in the middle of summer? Whether accompanied by off-limits sex god or not, it was definitely a no to the trousers. Had to be a skirt. She’d go denim. It was slightly longer than the quick-dry equivalent of the combat travel pants, and no way could she wear the number from last night. Then it was just a matter of selecting which high-neck slim tee she’d team it with.

She tried to blow away the helium floating her hopes. But every breath in had them rising higher. So stupid. This was the finale—the bitter-sweet end to a fantasy come true. She sat on the bunk bed and stared into nothing.

Just go and enjoy the first half of the date that you missed out on last night. Let him see you’re not some scary serial slapper or some desperate-to-get-pregnant wench. Then walk away.

Who was she kidding? It wasn’t about what he thought. It was about what she wanted—more time in his company. And it wasn’t just that he oozed a raw sexuality that had her hot in the ping of a bra strap. She didn’t just want him, she wanted to get to know him. There was more going on in those greeny-grey eyes that she wanted to explore.

Exactly midday she left the room and went downstairs, met his gaze across the foyer. He was over by the reception desk watching as she descended the last few steps. He made her feel as if she were supermodel beautiful, as if the eyes of the world were on her—watching, wanting. No one had ever looked that way at her before. Everyone had always known. For once she was centre-stage, not in the wings—actively involved rather than in the audience.