Her eyes flashed fire. ‘Yes.’
‘Then come with me now and I’ll give it to you.’
‘You can give it to me here.’
‘No. I’ll give it to you once we’ve sat down and talked about this like adults.’
‘I really don’t see that we have that much to say. You lied. End of story.’
He studied her. Wanting to throw his own accusations but conscious of the greedy interest of the others, conscious of how tired she looked. She seemed to have got thinner overnight. ‘I’m walking out of here right now. If you want this back, you’re coming with me.’
He wanted away from all the observers. He wanted just him and her again. He knew she’d come. Hell, if nothing else, he had her medication—and her passport.
She said nothing. Just turned and marched ahead of him. Waited on the footpath outside for him to point out the direction. Despite his own fury he couldn’t stop the grudging smile inside. What would she do if he told her how beautiful she looked when she was mad?
Sienna sizzled all the way along the street. Fuming. She’d had an awful night’s sleep, and an even more miserable day trying to take in some exciting tourist stuff, but all her mind would let her see was the sight of Rhys in full doctor mode. She replayed the moment of realisation over and over as she searched for reasons—consistently failing to figure answers.
That was why she was walking with him. She wanted answers and that was all she was after. She didn’t want anything more from him now—right? Certainly not any more of his hot body.
Except that was all she could think about right this very second. How different he seemed. As gorgeous as the day before but now even more energy bounced off him. He exuded an aura of barely leashed passion. It had her on edge. It had her excited. In turn, that made her even madder.
He stopped a few yards along from the hostel.
‘What’s this?’
‘My car.’
She stared at the shiny black convertible. ‘Car? You brought your car on holiday with you? All the way from…where was it you said you were from again?’ She raised her brows at him—attempting a look of cool inquisition but any faux haughtiness evaporated at his angry expression. How dared he look so cross when he was the one who’d fibbed his way through the last four days?
‘We’re not here to discuss my car, Sienna. Get in.’
Her mouth dropped. ‘Ever heard of the word please?’
‘Get in. Now.’
If he didn’t have her most precious things in his hand, she’d walk away this instant. If he didn’t have a hold on something even more precious of hers she’d be running like an Olympian. Then again, given he actually had all this precious stuff of hers, she should be flying.
Instead, she got in the passenger seat and slammed the door behind her.
He started the engine and drove. She had no idea where. But after half an hour of simmering silence he pulled into a park and got out of the car.
He walked ahead of her, brandishing her bag. She marched after him. Quite happy by now to give him one hell of a piece of her mind because he was really, really, asking for it.
He turned into a doorway. She blinked as she stepped out of the dazzling sunlight and into a gloomy interior. They were in a small bar. Guitar music played softly. Spanish. He led her to a table at the front, with booth seats ninety degrees to the window. He didn’t sit, just gestured for her to and then, not bothering to wait for the waitress, went straight to the bar and ordered.
Sienna sat, studiously stared out the window, pretended she wasn’t remotely interested in what he was doing.
Two cool beers in long glasses were plonked onto the table. He slid into the bench seat across from hers.
Much as she wanted to she couldn’t refuse the drink—parched. She picked it up and drank deeply. He did the same. Half-empty glasses returned to the table with equally violent bangs.
‘You lied to me.’
He sat back, seeming to relax a little. ‘Yes.’
‘You made up a name. You made up a whole story about yourself.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you think that’s OK?’
‘Of course not. But what about you? What about your list?’ Scathing to say the least.
She sat up. ‘What about it?’
‘What about number one on your list?’
Blood pounded through every vein. ‘You read my journal?’ She watched, immobile and enraged, as with calm movements he unzipped her bag. ‘Hand that over this instant. That is not your property. You have no right to read that.’
‘I didn’t. This page fell out when I opened your pack.’
‘Why were you going through my pack?’
‘I was worried. I wanted to see if you had any medication you’d missed.’
She stopped, jaw dropping; the world she saw was suddenly stained red. Dr Rhys. Interfering already.
‘Anyway, so what if I read it? You wrote it to be read. That’s why people write things down—so they get read.’
‘Rubbish,’ she snapped. ‘Writing goals down helps make them real. Helps you realise them.’
‘And that’s what this was? Some goal?’ He picked up the page and read in cutting tones. ‘“1. To have wild, abandoned sex with someone who doesn’t know about my heart condition.”’
‘And?’ With superwoman strength she hid the cringe. OK, it sounded trashy read aloud, but so what? What business was it of his? It was a fantasy, for heaven’s sake. One she’d never imagined would ever actually happen.
‘So anyone would have done? You just wanted the experience of being with someone who didn’t know about you. Well, lucky me. Right place, right time. Good thing I got to the table when I did or would you have gone for Tim, or Gaz or some other sucker on the dance floor? Anyone so long as it was dark and he could satisfy you?’
Incensed, she threw it back on him. ‘Well, as I remember it you weren’t exactly complaining. Don’t make out like I’ve used you any more than you’ve used me.’ She choked the words out. ‘Don’t you dare come across all holier than thou. It’s not like you were out looking for a serious relationship either. Were you? You can’t even tell me your real name. For days you’ve been lying to me. I was up front a hell of a lot sooner than you.’ And, no, of course she wouldn’t have gone for Tim or Gaz or anyone else in the whole entire world. Because she’d never felt that instant, unstoppable attraction to another before. Not that she was about to tell him that. How dared he judge her? ‘It was a one-night stand. That was all either of us intended.’
‘How do you know?’
Astounded, she stared. ‘How can you say that? We’d known each other thirty seconds before we had sex. Conversed on nothings for a minute max. Relationships don’t start that way, Rhys. And we’re certainly missing out on the fundamentals of any kind of relationship—like honesty, like trust.’ Utterly defensive, she stormed at him. Of course it had meant more and secretly hadn’t she dreamed? Stupidly. But now she was out to salvage what little pride she had left. She’d downplay it—how it had felt and what it had meant—because he hadn’t even been honest with her about his name.
Besides, she needed to protect herself. Serious relationships weren’t for her, remember? She couldn’t offer happy ever after to anyone. She might not have the ever and after.
He jerked, sitting bolt upright, glaring at her, looking as if he was about to launch a blistering attack. His eyes glowed green but his jaw clamped. For a long moment he sat rigid. Finally, vehemently, he threw her words back at her. ‘What we did wasn’t sleazy.’
She met his gaze then, held it for a moment, and then they both looked to the glasses on the table.
‘OK.’ He spoke more softly. ‘So neither of us has been entirely honest.’
She looked back at him, anger refuelled. ‘I might have had secrets but I have been honest. You’re the one who hasn’t. Why lie? What have you got to hide?’ She gave a mocking laugh. ‘Do tell me, who are you really, Rhys?’
/> ‘Here are your tapas, Rhys.’ The waitress stood with a tray covered in tiny dishes, her glance flicking between the two of them—her attempt to maintain a bland expression a complete failure.
Sienna turned to the woman. ‘What’s his surname?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘His surname. What is it?’
‘Sienna.’
‘Maitland,’ the waitress replied just as Rhys interjected.
Sienna sat back in the seat and stared at him through narrowed eyes.
‘Thanks, Tracey, that’s fine.’ Rhys smiled at the waitress, who was looking at Sienna as if she were some crazy lady. She’d set the dishes across the table and given them a plate each and after Rhys’ words she turned and practically ran to the bar where the other waitress was lounging, watching.
Rhys stared back at Sienna. Eyes hard, the glow gone. ‘Eat. You need it.’
She needed answers more. ‘Who are you and why did you lie to me?’
‘Stuff some chorizo into your mouth and I’ll answer. Maybe then I’ll have a chance of finishing before you interrupt me.’
Mutinously she picked up the fork and stabbed the sausage several times. His lips twitched.
He picked up an olive and, ignoring his own etiquette advice, put it in his mouth and talked at the same time. ‘My name is Rhys Maitland and I’m a doctor. I work in the ER department of the hospital down the road and I’ve lived in Sydney all my life.’
She swallowed. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that at the start?’
Rhys thought about his response. No matter how he framed this he was going to come across as a jerk. Then again, that might be an improvement on her current perception of him. ‘I just wanted to escape.’
‘What on earth have you got to escape from?’
He decided to give her the easy answer—the only answer he’d be able to tell anyone. ‘I’m the heir of a multi-million sportswear empire.’
‘What?’
‘I’m worth millions. I have a trust fund I inherited from my grandfather and I’ll inherit most of the company shares from my father. My family is…well-known in Sydney. We’re in the society pages, my cousin’s wedding was in the weekly women’s magazines, that sort of thing.’
She looked blank. ‘Are you telling me you’re some sort of celebrity, Rhys?’
‘Not by choice. No, not really.’ He sighed. ‘A little. I try to avoid that rubbish. But sometimes, there are events I have to go to, and the press are there and because of the money, the name, they write about it.’ Like the eligible bachelors spread some rag had done a couple of months ago that had made life a living hell at the hospital for some time.
‘So you have all this money but you work as a doctor.’
He nodded, could see the thought processes. The next question was obvious.
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’ He stalled. He knew where she was going and he didn’t want to answer. Some things you could never escape from.
‘Why medicine? Why not the family business?’
‘I wanted to do something useful.’ Instantly he saw more questions leap in her mind but he headed her off. ‘Anyway, back to why I lied. I get sick of people only being interested in me because of my bank balance. I wanted to be away from me, from the preconceived ideas people have. I think that’s something you can understand, isn’t it?’ He looked at her pointedly.
He’d got away all right. He’d been acting in a manner totally unlike himself—acting crazy. It wasn’t just about her not knowing who he was; it was about him being free to do whatever he fancied. And he fancied her. He continued the confession. ‘I am on holiday this week. Tim works at the hospital with me and is in his band for fun. I went along to help with the gear for the gig. Met you. Knew you weren’t from town—’ He broke off. Realising he was heading into mud the way he was telling it.
‘So I was the lucky one,’ she carried on for him softly. ‘Right place, right time. Right tourist.’
Not true. He’d never behaved like that in his life. Never wanted someone the way he’d wanted her—in the very instant he saw her. It was as if she’d switched the on button to his main power source. Until now he’d been functioning at fifty per cent. But he wasn’t about to tell her that. Not when she was wearing a frown that would rival Attila the Hun’s. Not when he was still irrationally angry with her. It bothered him beyond belief. The idea that she’d just wanted to have sex with someone—anyone—who was ignorant of her history, was utterly galling. He wanted to be more than that. This mattered, and he wanted it to matter to her too. He couldn’t hold back the bitterness in his tone. ‘I guess we’re even.’
Her hand wobbled out to her glass. Despite the food she looked pale, unhappy and beautiful. His anger evaporated in the warmth of concern and the heat of desire. He wanted to get out of here, wanted to take her to his apartment so they could lie down—rest and relax. He wanted his holiday to come home. Wanted to see her there. Definitely wanted her in the bathroom.
But the strain in her eyes slowed his libido down. She’d argue it till she was blue in the face but the fact was she was vulnerable. She did have to take extra care. There were higher risks for her—a trip to the dentist could cause her problems.
Rhys shifted on his seat. He didn’t have room in his heart for her kind of vulnerable. He couldn’t afford to get too involved. He had to protect his bruised heart as much as she literally had to protect hers.
‘Have something more to eat.’ He took her wrist in his hand as he spoke. Surreptitiously keen to read her pulse, but initially thrown by the erratic beat of his own heart, he held on that little too long.
‘Why are you holding my wrist like this?’ She stared at his fingers. ‘Are you taking my pulse? You jerk. How dare you?’
He felt the beat quicken even before her words were all out her mouth. ‘You look like hell.’
‘Any wonder? And you’ve been doing the overprotective bit this whole time, haven’t you?’
‘What? Don’t you accuse me of mollycoddling you or treating you any different from how I’d treat anyone.’
‘That’s just the point though, isn’t it, Rhys? You’re a doctor. You treat people.’
He lowered his voice. ‘You know exactly how far I’ve pushed you—the extremes I’ve pushed you to.’ And himself. If he was honest, he was going beyond his comfort zone even now. But he couldn’t seem to stop. He wanted to make things right with her.
But she was off on a bender. ‘This is why you stopped me from doing the bridge walk. You’ve been protecting me?’
‘No.’
Sienna laughed harshly. ‘You really are incredible, you know that, Rhys? You thought I couldn’t do it, didn’t you? That I couldn’t even manage some stairs?’ ‘That is not why I didn’t want to do the bridge walk, Sienna.’ He breathed out heavily. Damn the woman and her incessant interrogation. He wanted to be honest but still felt the usual constraint about telling her anything. The last thing he wanted to do was relive the Mandy experience. And he didn’t want to put ideas into her head—about selling her story. But at the same time he wanted to straighten this mess out. Reluctance swamped him but the need to resolve things with her won over his reservations about inviting her into his world. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Is everything complicated with you?’
‘No more than it is with you.’
‘I’m not that complicated, Rhys.’
‘That’s not true, Sienna. There are depths in you. Areas you don’t let anyone into.’
Sienna looked across the table at him. She might have a few dark corners, but his no-go areas were vast fields. ‘That’s true of anyone.’ She picked up an olive. ‘Anything you told me in the last few days—the sailing, the family motto. Was any of it true?’
‘Every word.’
She paused, the olive halfway to her mouth. She really wanted not to believe him. But the intensity in his answer was compelling. She could feel him willing her to see him as genuine.
&nb
sp; ‘Can’t we just forget about all this rubbish? You know me, Sienna. I know you. I want to keep challenging you.’
She sat back. He was all challenge. He was the challenge of her life. And she couldn’t walk away. ‘I don’t think I know you at all, Rhys.’
‘Look. Come back to my apartment with me now. Let me show you.’
She shifted on the seat. Not sure what he meant by ‘show’—not sure how she felt about letting him in again that way.
He read her mind. ‘I’ll run you back to the hostel any time you want—you just say the word.’
CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS a two-minute walk to his apartment. They swept past the security guard who managed to keep his curiosity marginally better hidden than the waitress had. They got in the lift. Rhys pressed several buttons on the keypad and then the lift ascended.
There was another keypad outside his apartment door. Another series of buttons were punched. He looked up and caught Sienna’s look of surprise. ‘I value my privacy.’
‘I could never remember a code that long.’
Once inside she looked around his apartment. He hadn’t been kidding about the money thing. Her brother was rich, but this was on a whole other level. The fittings, the furniture, the air, the art—it all screamed extreme amounts of money mixed with good taste.
He watched as she took it all in. ‘Does it make a difference?’
‘Not to me,’ she answered, irritated that he’d think it would. ‘Why? You think I’m going to ask you to pay me?’
‘No!’ he snapped.
His flare irritated her more. ‘Then don’t insult me. The only person this makes a difference to is you.’
‘You’re probably right.’ A hint of apology crossed his expression as he stood in the centre of the room. ‘So this is me.’ He gestured wide, a little self-consciously.
She looked at him, rather than his home. She knew some things now, more made sense. But she also knew he had stuff still buried deep that he chose to ignore. It was in his eyes, the mirror reflecting his reticence. His dislike of the media and attention might answer some of it, but there was more to it and she, like the proverbial cat, was curious. That, together with concern, motivated her decision to be here.
Pleasured by the Secret Millionaire Page 11