Pleasured by the Secret Millionaire

by Natalie Anderson

  ‘This is way better than any movie.’ A different South African this time, she got a low murmur of agreement.

  Sienna’s cheeks were redder than a fire engine. ‘Stop it, Rhys.’ She addressed the girls. ‘It’s me who owes the apology. Again.’ Contrite eyes pleaded with him and the rest of the room. Hmm. She was good. A little honesty mixed in with a sidestep.

  She turned back to him. ‘I’m sorry, Rhys.’

  He heard the finality she was striving for and tensed. He wasn’t about to let her go. ‘Let’s get coffee and talk.’

  ‘I can’t now. I’ve promised to go to an art gallery with Brooke this afternoon.’

  He was not letting her slip away a third time—he’d have his answers. ‘That’s OK. You can make it up to me later.’ He studied the now silent audience. They could be more of a help to him than her if he played it right. ‘Don’t you think she should?’ He cast a soulful gaze around; it wasn’t much of a stretch to play the part of crushed suitor—not hard at all given he actually felt it.

  ‘Oh, yeah, Sienna. You must.’

  He had them now, eating out of his palm.

  ‘Give the guy a break.’

  ‘She’ll see you later at that bar.’ Caustic South African again. More on his side than he’d realised. ‘We’ll make sure she’s there. Six p.m. Have her drink waiting.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  He didn’t stick around to let Sienna try to argue, but her eyes flashed her thoughts in the final moment he met them. Anxiety, anger, reluctance—and, at the bottom of it all, desire.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SIENNA didn’t go to the gallery. She went shopping. She was pathetic. But she wanted him again so badly and she wanted it to be as good as the night before. So she was on a mission for a new top—anything that might work. She stopped at the make-up counter. Stage make-up could create a fabulous scar—couldn’t it hide one too? She tried on a variety of in-season style tops. There was none with a polo neck. Everything was summery—low-cut and revealing. Exactly what she didn’t want.

  In despair she went to the lingerie section of the department store. New frillies were supposed to help with confidence, weren’t they?

  ‘How was the gallery?’ Rhys was waiting. Clad in jeans and a different shirt. Cool beer in a glass, half empty already. Steely eyes lanced her with questions that she knew he wouldn’t hold back on. That she knew she was going to have to answer. Honestly.

  ‘I didn’t go. Went shopping instead.’

  ‘Buy anything interesting?’

  ‘No.’ A new bra. She was wearing it now. Figured if she was going to go down she might as well do it in a hot outfit. And her sensible travel numbers didn’t have the requisite lace ratio. This one did. She could feel her budded nipples pressing against the slightly scratchy stitching even now.

  ‘Sienna—’

  She didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want the pretence. Didn’t want the girls from the hostel, whom she hardly knew, watching and wondering. This was going to end in tears—for her anyway. She might as well just get it over with right now.

  She grabbed him by the hand. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  He let her lead, walking beside her but in the direction of her choice. She marched down the street not having a clue where she was headed. Just wanting away from eyes and those memories only recently made but that were going to be the best of a lifetime. Right now she was going to ruin them.

  The contact of his hand around hers meant her blood was travelling at high speed to every outlying inch. Making her feel more aware of her body, making her feel more alive than she ever had. It didn’t frighten her. It seduced her. Frustration and want and bitterness forced her. She wanted him enough to risk it.

  She went into the alleyway a shop down from the hostel. Ducked into a doorway partly along. Turned to face him. He was right behind her.

  ‘Sienna?’

  She shut him up with her mouth, passionately pressing against him. His arms clamped around her. He pivoted to lean against the door, taking her weight with him. Hot, intense, searing kisses—as if the moment on the beach had never been interrupted, only intensified. Burning, aching, she swept her hands across his shoulders, rotated against him, driving her hips against his. Wanting to reconnect, taking his mouth with a depth of passion she relished and wanted to relive again and again.

  He jerked his head back. ‘What the hell is going on, Sienna?’

  She pulled him back to her. Not wanting to think. Not wanting to admit to anything just yet. Wanting to drown her doubts for moments longer in his kiss.

  ‘You want this?’ He groaned against her. ‘You want me? Say it.’

  ‘Yes.’ She clawed him closer. ‘I want you.’

  His fingers pulled in her hair, holding her still so he could plunder, pressing a hard kiss that left her in no doubt of the frustration he’d been feeling all afternoon. A kiss that left her utterly without breath.

  The lack of oxygen, the fever, sent her crazy. She reached for him. Reckless. If she’d been able to get away with it once, couldn’t she do it again? If she could somehow keep his hands occupied—like the way she had last night, forcing him to take her weight, to take her. God, she wanted that again. His strength. His glorious width. Frantic, furious and fast. She fought with his belt. Once more. Just once.

  He pulled back sharply, grabbing her hands, stopping them with his. ‘No.’

  She looked up at him in surprise. Stepped back when she saw the anger in his eyes.

  He shook his head at her. ‘Too fast.’ A savage whisper.

  She tried to get her hands back but he tightened his grip. ‘If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this properly.’ He eyeballed her, stepping closer. ‘My room or yours?’

  She looked away. Damn. Honestly she wanted nothing more than to lie in a comfortable bed and be able to explore him freely and at leisure, but it wouldn’t be the same. He’d be like Neil—freeze, then run a mile. Or he’d treat her like some fragile piece of glass and she hated being wrapped in cotton wool.

  He stepped even closer, so his body pressed against hers. His erection teased her. His question terrified her. ‘Why won’t you let me see you naked?’

  She tried to pull away but he moved closer still—pushing her back against the wall, keeping hold of her hands, his body leaning into hers.

  Her breathing shallowed—half from fear, half from desire.

  ‘You’re willing to let me kiss you. You’re willing to let me inside you. But you won’t take your clothes off.’

  ‘Rhys…’ Amazed at his acuteness, she pleaded with him not to go there despite knowing it had been inevitable—from the moment he’d strode onto the sand beside her this morning. She’d been kidding herself to think she could get away with not telling him. But it was exactly what she didn’t want to have happened. Exactly why she’d run into the night after their encounter.

  ‘Why?’

  She stared into his searching eyes, at his sensual mouth now pulled into a hard line. She reached up on tiptoe, pressed her hand to his lips. Finally felt them soften and part. He kissed the tip of her fingers—his mouth moving slowly, warm and teasing.

  Desire raged through her veins, coupled with painful anger over what was to come. But she knew no matter what happened, no matter how things would change, she couldn’t walk away from him a third time. She was as human as the next person and the temptation was too strong. She had to run the risk so she could have the chance of feeling his erotic intensity again.

  She pulled her hand away. He straightened, watching her, waiting for her answer.

  She stared at his shirt buttons. ‘I have a scar.’

  There was a bit of a silence.

  ‘So do I.’

  She jerked her head up.

  He looked down at her. Mouth twitching. ‘You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.’

  She stared back at him and watched his humorous touch fade. His brows lifted. ‘Big scar?’

  ‘Prett
y big.’ Actually it wasn’t. More like hairline, it was what it represented that was huge.

  ‘It can’t be as big as mine.’ He firmed his grip on her.

  He still wasn’t getting it. Unable to handle it any more, she grabbed the neckline of her tee in a tight fist. Pulled it down so it exposed the vee of skin all the way from her neck down to the dainty bow decorating the point where the cups of her bra met in the middle. The scar ran from the base of her throat. A straight line right down the centre of her body. Defining her.

  She saw the shock register in his face. And recognition. And then she saw it. The look she’d known was unavoidable. Fear. He hid it quickly. Shutting down. Closing off. But it had been there. She tensed.

  He said nothing. Just stood frozen. Staring at her chest. His mouth opened a fraction and the buttons on his shirt jumped about as she heard the sharp intake of breath.

  Anger and pride held her head high. Her chin lifted higher—underlining the challenge he’d already failed. As she’d predicted, as she’d known, the flame of desire was snuffed out in a flash.

  She pushed him back against the wall. Met no resistance, almost as if he’d stepped back at the moment she pushed. She ran, feet light in her sandals. She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. He didn’t come after her. Didn’t call out. Didn’t seem to stir even.

  She dragged in deep breaths, pushing the sobs back deep into her chest. Forget it, forget it, forget it.

  She scurried past Curtis on Reception, raced into the telly room, knowing at this time on a Saturday night it was bound to be empty, everyone would be out partying. She chose a big chair on the far side of the room, curled into it like a cat, hiding from the world. She reached into her small day pack and pulled out her journal.

  The list of wannabe life achievements she’d scrawled on page one stared at her, making a fool of her. She told herself it didn’t matter. Tried not to let it ruin everything. Failed. With anger and misery she relived past revelations.

  Neil had been like that. Backed off the instant he’d seen it. Eventually he’d returned. But he’d been hesitant, treating her gingerly. Then he’d made it worse. He’d told the world. She’d only just escaped her hometown and the notoriety of being the ‘heart-girl’. Wanting to start over with anonymity. Be normal, like anyone else at university. She’d thought she could trust Neil to see past it. He didn’t. And her secret had become common knowledge—the looks, unwanted, undeserved pity sent her way again. And rather than understanding more, Neil had understood less. Become more protective, more and more stifling until he was as bad as her mother and brother combined.

  She wanted freedom. She wanted to be the same as anyone else—and to be treated like that. Part of the reason she was going overseas was to start over—again. She read over the list again. Then, for the first time in all her years of keeping a journal, she ripped a page right out.

  Rhys rested back on the warm bricks as a range of emotions rushed through him. Shock, anger and desire but mostly disappointment. In himself—what had happened to his renowned beside manner? His unflappable charm? So much for an uncomplicated summer fling. He’d known what he was looking at. For a second after the shock he’d even admired the skill of the surgeon who’d done it. As neat a job as you could get. Then the ramifications set in. You got that kind of scar from a major operation. Open-heart surgery. The thought of her lying on an operating table had made him recoil. Not someone as young and full of vitality as her.

  Stupid, when every day at the hospital he was confronted with mortality—he knew full well it could hit anyone any time. He knew that from his own brush with it as a kid. With Theo.

  He hadn’t been joking about having a scar of his own. It was a mess, but it had left an even bigger mess on the inside. While Sienna’s heart might have been operated on, his was the scarred one—one that had never fully healed. He tried so hard to make it right. And failed every time. Roughly healed, puckered tissue formed a protective barrier and he didn’t want anyone to penetrate it. He wasn’t going to be vulnerable. He’d never reveal the depth of that pain—to anyone. Nor did he want to set himself up for more of that kind of hurt.

  He headed back to the hostel. Maybe he should just check out. She’d be feeling pretty mad with him and he was mad with her for not giving him a chance. For springing it on him and then skipping out.

  But the more he thought of her, the greater his need to see her again grew. As the shock faded, he felt the resurgence of desire. If anything he wanted her more. He wanted to kiss away the pain he’d seen in her eyes. He wanted them heavy with passion and the glow of life. He refused to analyse why. Just pegged it on desire. Tim had told him to lighten up, to take a break. He rationalised, remembered she was only in town for a few days. This could still be a holiday fling. They weren’t talking for ever and babies. Being with her once more couldn’t do him any more damage—or her. Maybe they could both forget about their scars for a while.

  Curtis was in his regular position behind the reception desk.

  ‘Did they concrete you in place here?’ Rhys muttered.

  Curtis looked up from the old gossip mag in front of him, his eyes narrowing when he saw it was Rhys. ‘She’s in the TV room. Looks like you’re in trouble.’

  Rhys acknowledged the truth with a grunt and went in search of her. He looked into the room, saw her in the far corner, her fine-boned figure folded into the armchair. Her head jerked up as he approached and he saw her stuff a piece of paper into her book, snap it shut and then jam the whole thing into her bag.

  ‘You running out on me is a really bad habit.’

  ‘Be honest, this time you were happy to be run out on.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t, and I really don’t want you to run out on me again.’

  She stared up at him, the blue in her eyes shadowed with the purple of pain. Looking all the more intense in the unnatural pallor of her face.

  He boxed on. ‘I never did get to show you my scar. You walked away before I had the chance.’

  ‘You froze over. Colder than, than…’

  ‘I was unprepared.’

  ‘It’s good that way. Then I get an honest reaction.’

  ‘It’s not fair to set someone up. What was I supposed to do? Of course I was going to be shocked. How could I have predicted that? Anyway, it looks to me like some kind of life-saving scar.’

  She looked away from him then, seeming to focus on a speck of dust hanging in mid-air.

  ‘Did it work?’

  ‘Clearly.’

  He hid his smile at her caustic tone. ‘Come on.’ He tugged on her hand, hauling her out of the chair. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’

  ‘Rhys, I really don’t want—’

  ‘Come with me.’ He spoke quickly and then gave a cheeky grin as he realised the double entendre of his words.

  She looked less bruised, more baleful.

  ‘Please.’ He kept hold of her hand and led her up the stairs, away from Curtis’ grin and to the privacy of his own room.

  ‘You know, yours isn’t really much of a scar. Mine is much bigger.’

  She blinked. He’d taken her aback. He undid his jeans and pushed them down so he could step out of them. He hadn’t bothered with boxers so his erection thrust up. He suppressed his satisfaction as he saw her eyes widen at the sight of him. Her deadened look disappeared. Her cheeks flushed. Yes, he still wanted her. Now she knew it.

  He twisted his leg to show her the place on the outside of his thigh where the glass had gone deep. The scar was old and jagged but still angry-looking.

  She was totally diverted. Frowning at it. ‘That’s not a life-saving scar.’

  ‘No.’ It had been a life-taking scar. A constant reminder to him of that day of youthful folly and painful helplessness. The kind of day he’d determined never to experience again. The mistakes he’d never repeat, the inability to do a damn thing…

  ‘I don’t really want to talk about it either.’ He pulled back his leg. ‘So, I win o
n the scar stakes.’ He shut out the memories, shut away the emotion. No room for that kind of emotion here. Only fun—a fling with the sexiest woman he’d ever seen.

  They’d just forget their wounds for a few moments. He reached out to her, touching his fingers to the back of her hand, sliding up her arm, stepping closer. But she held back, stiff, head away, not melting into his embrace. He thought he knew why. So they weren’t going to be able to forget the scars just yet—at least not hers. He kissed the corner of her mouth. Spoke right into her ear.

  ‘Sienna, for the record. You are not ugly. Your scar is not ugly.’

  ‘I don’t think I’m ugly.’ She pulled back and he saw vehemence in her eyes. ‘That’s not what worries me. It’s more that people take one look and start acting like I’m going to collapse in a corner any moment. When I wear a low-cut top, I see their curiosity. People look at me, then quickly look away thinking either I’m a circus exhibit or I’m on borrowed time.’

  ‘And are you?’

  ‘Well, I might be able to do the splits but it’s going to take me years to learn to juggle.’

  ‘You can do the splits?’

  The big blues glinted back at him. ‘Three ways.’

  ‘OK, you can prove that to me later, but for now you’re saying you’re not a circus exhibit and you’re not going to collapse in the corner in the next five minutes?’

  ‘You got it.’

  He waited, knowing there was more. Despite the gentle humour she wasn’t ready yet and he wanted to hear all she had to say.

  She stumbled her way through it. ‘Last night…last night was amazing.’

  ‘Yes.’ He agreed quietly—major understatement.

  ‘You didn’t know.’

  He thought for a second, trying to figure where she was going—she thought it was amazing only because he didn’t know? ‘You think it’s going to change now I do?’

  The flush in her cheeks deepened but she looked him square in the eye—he found himself understanding the expression ‘true blue’ precisely, such was the painful honesty reflected there. ‘I just want to fully enjoy everything like normal people do,’ she mumbled.