He stopped the replay with the strength of mind that had got him through years of study, years of guilt.
He did not discuss the scar. Not with anyone.
He realised he’d been silent a while. She was watching him, watching whatever he’d let slip across his face. She looked serious and he knew she’d seen more than he’d intended. He flashed her a smile—charm mode. But the questions didn’t leave her eyes. Her serious look intensified. Not buying it.
He needed a better method of distraction—for both her and him. He moved quickly, picked her up and carried her to the bathroom—the weight of her transforming the moment of angst to a moment of masculine pleasure. They just managed to fit in the shower.
She giggled at the ridiculously small cubicle. ‘Practising for the Mile High Club, are we?’
‘I think that’d be a piece of cake after this.’ He hoisted her up against the wall. ‘I like carrying you. Makes me feel all he-man.’
‘And I’m the little woman? That is not a PC thing to say.’
He shrugged. ‘What are you going to do? Sue me?’ He scooped her higher so her breasts were almost at mouth height. ‘Besides,’ he added with unashamed arrogance, ‘you like it.’
He kissed her body, let her slide down the wall so he could kiss her mouth. The pathetic trickle of water from the shower head was barely enough to wet her majestic hair. Man, he wished they were in his apartment. His bathroom was built for more than one occupant and had fantastic water pressure. He’d take the hose and spray the water all over her lithe limbs and then follow it with his hands and mouth. His appetite for her was huge and hardly filled.
She seemed to share the hunger for him. She swept her hands over his chest, traversing the indentations and ridges of muscle and bone.
‘What do you do to keep fit?’
‘Sail.’
On the few days he had away from work he’d spend hours on the water, in the water. Finding freedom with wind and sun and silence.
‘You get muscles like these from sailing?’ She started exploring them with her mouth as well as her fingers.
‘It’s not all just sitting around holding the tiller eating crab cakes.’
She mumbled as she kissed down his sternum. ‘I’ve never been sailing.’
‘We should go some time.’ They should do everything.
‘Would you take me below deck?’
She was heading south now and he could hardly answer. ‘I’d take you above…below…in the cupboard where I keep the sails. You’d look sexy on my spinnaker.’
‘Where do you sail?’
‘On the…’ harbour. He jerked out of the daze of desire. He wasn’t supposed to live in Sydney. What had he said—had he said? He’d thought Melbourne. Hell, he couldn’t think at all when she did that. She didn’t seem to have noticed his lack of answer. She was trailing her hands down his belly, watching as his body responded. Her eyes glazed, the flame in her face growing. He could think of nothing but her. ‘What do you want?’
She didn’t reply with words. Instead she made like him and let her actions speak—touching him with the hunger he had for her. She raised her head from where it had been deliciously close to where he really wanted her. ‘Are you sore at all? From last night?’
Actually, yeah, his legs had been feeling it a bit today.
‘Maybe you should lie down, let me do the work this time.’
He lost all ability to think, couldn’t come up with a thing to say. She could be the boss. Fine. ‘Uh, OK.’
They abandoned the shower, didn’t bother with towels, just landed back on the bed in a hot, damp tangle. Her smile was so full of eager anticipation he had to close his eyes against the power of it. He lay on the bed and she knelt above him. Slowly roving over him from top to toe with her hands, her trailing hair, her hot mouth. Her roughened hands killing him with their firm grip and determined action. Exactly where he’d wanted her. Keeping control was such an effort—one certain to slice even more years off his life.
She guided him home. He gasped as she rode him hard. ‘We’re supposed to be pushing you, not me.’
She laughed, shook her head at him as she kept it crazy, fast, slow, faster again, keeping him on the edge until the heat was intolerable and his breath came harsh.
Sienna propped up her head by placing four of the thin pillows in the one pile, looked down her body to where he lay sprawled halfway down the bed. He’d spread her legs around him. Was seemingly having a wonderful time focusing on one at a time and exploring it—running smooth fingers down her thigh, twirling round her knee and back up again, fingers playing on her occasional freckles. She was almost reluctant to break into his enjoyment, but she couldn’t resist talking to him, wanting to get to know him better. Wanting to break through his quiet charming façade and beyond into the vast reservoir that she sensed was there. There was a lot more going on with Rhys Monroe than he let show.
‘You have such smooth hands. No calluses from hammering?’
He looked up, confusion flashing in his face.
She held up her hands to him. ‘Look, hardly sexy, is it?’ The calluses from hours and hours keeping the beat, from holding the drumsticks. Yet his palms were soft and smooth, surprising given he must spend hours and hours holding hammers and tools.
Dark shadows lurked in his eyes before the green light chased them away again. ‘Actually, your hands are very sexy. You have a hold that is unique.’
‘A hold?’
‘Good friction.’ He grinned wickedly.
‘You like them?’ She looked at the raised welts of toughened skin in amazement.
‘There’s nothing about your body I don’t like.’
‘How come you don’t have workman’s hands?’ He didn’t. He had the fine hands of a pianist. Long-fingered, smooth-skinned, neatly manicured.
He shrugged. ‘I spend more time working inside than out these days.’
She was about to ask more but he diverted her, leaning over to follow the path of his deftly moving fingers with his mouth. She couldn’t concentrate on finding out about him, only what he was doing.
But he was learning about her—body and mind. His fingers probed while he posed questions. ‘How come you ended up playing the drums?’
She leaned back on the pile of pillows, luxuriating in the wantonness of her position. Loving looking down and seeing his head nestled between her thighs. Delighting in the freedom to lie back and let him taste her as if she were the most delicious thing. ‘I wanted to do something. I wasn’t allowed to play sports. And I didn’t have the puff for a wind instrument. I thought piano and strings were dull. I wanted to make the biggest, baddest noise I could.’
‘Prove you were there, huh?’
She lifted her head to look at his expression. His astuteness was acute—and fascinating to her. He understood her so quickly and she had no hesitation in opening up further to him. Yes, she’d wanted to declare her existence to the world. Not wanting to have a mouse-like existence on the edge of life, hardly daring to move for fear her heart wouldn’t cope with action. She’d wanted to claim her place, make enough noise to let others, and herself, know she was there. ‘I like loud.’
‘Do you, now?’ His fingers climbed higher and his chuckle warmed her skin. ‘I think I knew that.’
She giggled. He wiggled closer. Nuzzling the very top of her thigh.
‘So why the holiday in Australia?’
‘I wanted a week to relax before starting the big bit of my trip. Sydney has shopping, sun, surf…so long as I don’t see any of your spiders and snakes I’m a happy tourist.’
He laughed. ‘They don’t tend to show themselves in the city much. You’re in the clear, I think.’
‘Maybe from the snakes but not the spiders. And they’re all poisonous, aren’t they? I’m terrified every time I shower one will scuttle out of the drain.’
He nipped her tender skin, then licked it, soothing and seducing. ‘Tell you what, I’ll shower with you the rest
of your holiday and scare them away.’
She grinned. ‘OK.’
‘And what’s the big bit of your trip?’
She lay back, enjoying the delightfully slow way he was toying with her—the thin thread of desire being pulled ever tighter. ‘Checking a few things off my list.’
‘List?’
‘Yeah, things I want to achieve before I die.’
His head jerked up. ‘I thought you weren’t about to die.’
‘Well, hopefully not.’ She gave him a reassuring grin. ‘But it’s time to take control of my life and do the things I’ve always thought I’d never be able to do.’
He looked at her for a long moment. ‘Like what?’
‘Silly things.’ She felt her cheeks heat. She wasn’t going to tell him he’d just helped her achieve something she’d never imagined would really be possible. ‘I don’t mean climb Everest or be the first person on Mars or win a Nobel Prize. I mean, play in a fountain on a sunny day type of things. Eat too many hotdogs at the fair.’
‘That’s not that silly.’ He kept his eyes trained on her, his hands gently stroking up and down her inner thighs. ‘You’re not planning on doing dangerous things, are you? Like swimming with sharks, or walking on burning embers—in search of some extreme adrenalin rush? Prove your existence that way?’
‘Hell, no.’ She shuddered. ‘It’s not about risk. It’s about knowing I’m alive and loving it, that I’m not taking life for granted. I want to live here and now, make the most of every moment.’
There was a long silence. She peeked down at him. Serious and contemplative, he seemed miles away. He looked up and saw her watching him. ‘Are you ready to make the most of this moment?’ His hands slid back to the top of her thighs. Heat flooded her—ridiculous that she should feel any embarrassment now they’d been in this bed for so many hours, being as intimate as it was possible for two people to physically be. But this intimacy wasn’t just physical. She was talking with a freedom she hadn’t had before. He didn’t judge, he simply listened and all the while made her feel sexier than hell. Killer combo. She’d never seen lust so raw like this. Never imagined a guy could even look this way—let alone at her. Never realised how intoxicating it was when she felt it in return—threefold.
Unable to stop, she tilted her hips up to him, silently issuing the invitation—access all areas.
She sprawled back on the flat mattress, having swept away all the pillows in her fight for release, a film of sweat on her brow. But he wasn’t done. His gentle exploration, of both her body and life, began again.
‘You have a job?’
‘Not now. I worked all sorts to save for this trip—in bars, temping, gigs, session recordings.’ She’d worked hard—not wanting to use her brother’s money although he’d offered time and time again. She wanted to be free of his concern, his well-intentioned control. She wanted to do it all by herself. And while she had good grades and talent, right now she was factoring in the ‘me-time’.
‘You don’t want to be a full-time musician?’
‘Music is great but the lifestyle isn’t.’ And she wanted something more—to make a difference somewhere, somehow. Now she had a life she wanted to achieve something with it.
‘Why not teach?’
She frowned.
He laughed. ‘Come on, short work days, all those holidays…’
She threw him a sceptical look. ‘Which shows how much you know about teaching.’ It was a great profession but she’d have to do more study. She couldn’t afford that time-wise or dollar-wise at present. Top of her agenda was travelling to the places she’d dreamed of for too long, then she’d work in the UK and decide. Ideally she’d like to work in a voluntary sector—helping out in areas where little help was usually available or affordable. But she still had to eat.
‘So what are you going to do?’
Something important. Something useful. Something fulfilling. ‘I don’t know yet. Does it matter?’
‘Yes—to you. That’s what you’re looking for, isn’t it? A way to make your mark? Something positive.’
Too astute by half.
‘You’d make a good teacher,’ he persisted. ‘Teachers are really important.’
‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘You sound like my brother—actually he’s a builder, or was. Now he’s into commercial property development.’
‘Great.’
A bland response if ever there was one. But Sienna wanted to hone in on some commonality—wanting something to link them besides the physical ache for each other. And he was so damn reticent when it came to talking about himself. ‘You do residential property? People’s houses?’
‘Uh? Yeah.’ He looked away from her, down her legs again. ‘Tell me more about this list of yours. Is multiple orgasms on it?’
Rhys was still deep inside her, the overwhelming sensations still reverberating in his brain and body when she spoke.
‘What about you? You have some things you want to do before you die?’
‘I guess.’ He could die now a happy man. No. Correction. He needed to experience her softness again. It registered that he wasn’t going to be happy again until he’d had more of her. A lot more.
She’d said she wanted to live life in the moment—to make the most of it. He realised that he felt more alive when he was with her like this than he had done in years. She was more addictive than the most dangerous narcotic. The way she felt, the way she smelt, the sounds she made, the touch she gave. All combined to hit him with a natural high that he wanted again and again.
But it was just sex. He hadn’t focused like this in a while, that was all. Hadn’t lain in bed all night and half the day with a woman and done everything and anything on a whim.
But it wasn’t quite just sex. She was interesting. He was interested in learning more about her—and not just her body. She had a refreshing outlook, a different drive from other people he knew. She wanted to make the most of every moment. He wanted a piece of her attitude for himself. ‘I think we should trade.’
‘Hmm?’ She was drowsy, looking dazed and sleepy.
‘Something I want to do. Something you want to do.’ Hell, she wanted to frolic in a fountain. As if that’d be hard. But he could give her some challenges. He could set up some things she’d never forget. It seemed important she never forget because he had the discomforting feeling he’d never forget her. Never forget the moment he’d first laid eyes on her. Certainly never forget the moment his lips first got to touch hers. ‘Deal?’
The blue in her eyes deepened. ‘What kind of things?’
He shrugged. ‘All kinds of things. Like on your list. Let’s cross a few off this week.’
‘You want to trade items on our life to-do lists?’
He was intrigued to see colour flood into her cheeks. ‘Exactly.’ He raised a brow at her blush. ‘What do you say?’
‘Oka-a-ay. But I’m a tad nervous about what might be on your list.’
He laughed. ‘Nothing illegal, honey.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
SIENNA woke early and found her body ached all over—serious workout stiffness. Rhys hadn’t been kidding when he’d suggested testing how much she was capable of. He’d pushed her to the edge and beyond.
A huge chunk of her loved the hedonism of it—her body revelling in the physical release. But inescapable thoughts niggled at her. There was a part of her searching for more. Wanting more from him.
A couple of times in the night he’d turned to her, saying nothing but taking her again with an almost desperate desire. As if he was seeking something from her, but she didn’t know what it was. She wished he’d open up. She was used to listening to people, getting their stories out, but he was that guarded, didn’t offer up a thing—not verbally. His actions told her. He drove inside her as if the physical satisfaction she gave pacified some other, deeper demon inside him.
She rolled over and watched him sleeping. His expression was relaxed, dark lashes curved on his cheek, his mouth
soft and sensuous in repose. She was sure he had needs, certain he had hurts, but she couldn’t figure them out—couldn’t figure him out. She didn’t know if she was going to have time to. But she was damn well going to try.
He opened his eyes, looked about with a fidgety air that signalled he wasn’t quite a natural hedonist either. ‘We need to get out of this room.’ He threw back the sheet and slid from the bed. ‘Come on, we’ll come back and shower. Right now I’ve got something you’ve got to do at least once in life.’
She pulled on her skirt, then hunted for her tee—a crumpled mess half under the bed. With a grin Rhys handed her one of his shirts. The relaxed intimacy of his action made her gooey inside. She didn’t bother with a bra, just slipped a couple of buttons through. Suddenly not concerned about covering the scar. It was early, there’d be no one about and Rhys had seen it all. The loose cotton was cool and wearing his clothing made her feel sexy. His sparkling expression hinted he liked it too.
‘Let’s go before I get a better idea.’ He laughed and she felt freedom—to explore everything with him.
Barefoot, he led the way down the stairs. She watched, amused at his vitality and good humour. He grabbed a bag from the back of the reception counter—the light was on but for once it seemed Curtis wasn’t home. They snuck out across the quiet street and onto the beach.
She followed him across the sand. ‘What?’
‘Beach volleyball.’
‘Oh, no.’
‘The tiny bikini is not mandatory.’ He winked. ‘Well, it would be if this was our own private beach—actually then we’d be having a naturist tournament. Sadly, it’s not, and as you are is just fine.’
‘Rhys, I really suck with balls.’
He froze. Shot her a look. Started to laugh.
Fire-engine-red, she laughed too.
‘I have a feeling you’ll do just fine. Anyway, it’s early, no one’s around to watch.’
Yeah, just you. It was all right for him. She watched the way he bent and pulled a ball from the bag. He had effortless grace, natural style.
He tossed the ball from one hand to the other, obviously amused by her reluctance. ‘I thought you wanted to live now?’
Pleasured by the Secret Millionaire Page 9