Pleasured by the Secret Millionaire

by Natalie Anderson

  His smile remained on his mouth but his eyes went wary. ‘Maybe a little.’

  ‘How much?’ She walked towards him. ‘How much do you trust me?’

  The wary look spread. He knew she wasn’t joking around. ‘Why, what do you want to do?’

  ‘Not me, Rhys. You.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  It was so easy, yet he seemed to find it so hard. ‘Talk.’

  He looked nonplussed. ‘What about?’

  ‘How you’re feeling.’

  ‘Oh, my God.’ He looked at her as if she’d grown two heads.

  She laughed. ‘It’s not that bad. How about this? I touch you, and you tell me how it feels.’

  ‘Touch?’ His brows were up, she could tell he could cope with the touch bit. But he didn’t know where she planned to lay her hands yet. ‘OK.’

  ‘Great. Let’s start simple.’ She cocked her head on the side and studied him. ‘Where to begin…How about if I touch you here? How does that feel?’ She ran her fingertips along the breadth of his shoulders.

  ‘Not bad.’

  ‘What about here?’ She slid them down to his nipples, circled around them.

  ‘Getting better.’

  She went a little lower, crossing abs that went taut at her touch.

  ‘Mmm hmm.’

  ‘Words, Rhys, use your words.’

  He grunted. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

  She felt a touch of guilty amusement at his expression—half of him wanting her, half of him wanting her to shut up. She paused the downward trajectory of her fingertips and looked up to him, waiting.

  The wanting half of him won. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

  She stayed silent.

  He sighed. ‘Would it make this simpler if I told you that anywhere you touch me feels good?’

  ‘Well, now, that was a sweet thing to say.’

  She squeezed some shower gel onto her hands, rubbed them together in circles to lather it up into a silky, bubbly mass. She skipped over the middle of him entirely. Dropped to her knees. She heard him suck in a quick breath.

  She smiled up at him as she knelt before him.

  ‘OK, I’m quite liking this.’ He looked back down at her, cheeky grin on the full lips.

  Yes, but he didn’t know what she had planned. She spread her soapy hands and placed them on the front of his thighs, ran them down over his knees. Switched both hands to one leg and wrapped around his calf, sliding down with sensual slowness and back up.

  He’d gone quiet again. She’d known he would. She gave the other leg the same treatment, loving the spray of the water from the multiple shower jets warming her. This was way better than standing in some freezing fountain.

  With nervous fingers she went back up his thigh with both hands. Slipped to the side and gently touched his scar. With light fingers she went back over it.

  She sensed the change instantly. His tension was palpable, his body rigid. Silence. Even his breathing held in check. She brushed her lips against the puckered skin. Swept across it with a soft, open mouth.

  He jerked away. ‘Don’t, Sienna.’

  She ran soothing hands down his legs. ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘No.’ Brief.

  She touched the scar again. His fists curled at his sides.

  She knew he wanted her. But she sensed his anger as well. As sure as steam rose, it was rising, nearing the surface. He had such a seemingly impregnable veneer—quietly charming. But he used it to keep everyone at bay, granting no opening to his true emotion. She wanted to shatter it. Pierce through the layer to the passion and pain she knew simmered deep, deep below. So she traced over the scarred skin once more, first with a quick finger, then with lips, then with the tip of her tongue.

  She heard him suck in a breath, struggle to rein in his temper.

  ‘Sienna—’

  She couldn’t ignore the warning. She stood, laid a tender palm on his chest. Felt the strong, regular beat of his heart beneath. ‘Does it hurt here, Rhys?’

  Tension hung in the room. His face was like a mask. She let her fingers brush the scar again.

  He jerked. ‘Back off.’

  She stepped after him. ‘No.’

  His arms crossed his chest. He took another step away. She walked forward another pace, and another half. Until his back was against the bathroom wall.

  ‘Tell me.’

  He stared down, eyes heavy-lidded. Almost shut. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

  She put her hands on his chest. ‘Talk to me. Your challenge this time, Rhys. Talk to me.’

  ‘Damn it, don’t you know when to leave it alone?’

  He moved fast. Spinning around, spinning her around so it was her turn to be pinned against the wall. His body slammed up hard against hers. The tiles were cold on her back. His thighs were hot between her own.

  ‘I don’t. Want. To talk.’

  ‘Fine!’ she yelled. Right in his face. ‘Don’t. Don’t say a damn thing. Keep your secrets. Don’t let anyone in. Don’t let anyone get anywhere near you!’

  ‘Near me? How near me do you want to get?’ His hands went to her hips, pulling her hard against his. ‘This near?’ He jerked her closer so his erection dug hard against her lower belly. ‘This?’

  She rose on tiptoe, wrapped one leg around his waist so he couldn’t step away. ‘Closer.’

  He kissed her then, hard and angry. She was angry too but it was whisked away when she sensed the hurt he was trying to hide. So she opened for him, and he took. Boy, did he take. The ferocity of his passion literally made her weak. It was as if the stronger he was, the softer she became. Her legs were no longer able to support her—gut instinct demanded she lie down and welcome. They slid to the floor, swiftly he moved, entering with a hard thrust and a harsh growl. Any pretence at foreplay was forgotten. She pulled him even closer. Pushed him further.

  The water sprayed down on them and as she gazed up at him it was like being under that fountain of her dreams. He could make her feel so wonderful, could make her feel as if she wanted to share everything with him. Most of all she wanted him to share with her. But this was only his body. She understood what he was seeking. The relief, the release, the joy that would obliterate the angst—momentarily. He wanted this to make him feel better. Why couldn’t he understand that he’d feel so much more if he opened up completely?

  He shuddered, rigid, his groan wrenched out from deep within. She wrapped her arms and legs tight around him. Kissed the side of his face over and over. He’d buried it deep into her neck. She turned into him, wanting to kiss his beautiful mouth. But he kept it locked in the ridge above her collar-bone. So she kissed the skin she did have access to—his neck, his jaw, his cheek. She paused—sure she’d tasted salt. Sweat or tears? Maybe both.

  ‘Rhys?’

  Silence. For long moments she felt his heart thunder against hers, felt his ragged breathing. Finally he pulled out, pushed away. Stood. Said nothing. Took a towel and left.

  She lay where she was, on the floor, the streaming water keeping her warm, washing away the taste of her own tears.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  BY THE time Sienna braved the bedroom Rhys had already finished there. She pulled on some clothes, feeling colder than she had the entire time in Sydney. Summoning courage, she walked into the living area. He was standing by the window, looking out through the thin lines of the blinds. He must have heard her because he turned immediately.

  ‘I was thinking Thai for dinner. What do you say?’

  She stared at him. The smile was there, there was even a slight twinkle in his eye. But his heart was missing.

  Her own heart sank. Useless. She’d tried and failed. He’d never let her beyond the barriers and into the reserves he held so deep. She shook her head a little. Such a shame. He was a man who could offer so much—to someone. If only he’d stop for a second and let that someone in. But it wasn’t going to be her. And, she acknowledged sadly, nor should it be. She was going be
yond her own boundaries as it was. Why blur his as well?

  ‘Tell me about your trip.’

  So she was going to be doing the talking—again. And she did. Talked to him about the plans for South America, her desire to see the ancient Inca settlement. Then she was due to fly to London. Hopefully get some work there. Maybe travel about a bit. Ireland? The Continent? She really didn’t know but she kept up the chatter. Not wanting the situation to descend into awkward silence. A couple of times he looked about to say something. Then stopped. She looked away, tried to ignore her own hurt. He wouldn’t talk to her. He wouldn’t trust her. He couldn’t love her. The sense of futility grew. There was no point any more. And she shouldn’t hang around to go from bruised to broken.

  Rhys found the curry utterly tasteless. Might as well be chewing cardboard. This slop was from his favourite Thai restaurant? Maybe he was coming down with something and his taste buds were the first to be infected. He watched Sienna spoon more sauce onto her rice. She was talking, as much as usual, but with restraint. Being careful not to cross any lines. He knew she was holding back over what had happened in the bathroom. In her particularly unique way she’d asked him about the scar, invited him to confess to her. And the thing was he’d been tempted, so tempted. Still was. But it wasn’t possible. That was what had made him so angry.

  He knew he hadn’t hurt her in a physical sense. The way her hips had risen to meet his, matching his energy, his rhythm. The way her hands had pressed him closer, the way she had cried his name as sensation had overruled everything. Despite his anger, his lack of finesse, she had still taken him, enveloping him in her softness, wanting him no matter what. It made him think that maybe, even if she knew it all, she’d still embrace him. That thought was so heady, so intoxicating, he could hardly reason. He wanted it—to confide in her, to take her comfort. And he was beginning to think he wanted it long-term.

  But it couldn’t happen. He drank deeply from his glass of water. Trying to cool down, calm down. It ripped him apart that the one person to whom he longed to give everything was so vulnerable. And her vulnerability would make him vulnerable. And that he couldn’t allow.

  So he couldn’t talk about it. He tried to switch back to usual mode—of trying to forget it at all times. Some things ran too deep ever to be touched, not by her. Yet somehow she’d got so close. He’d had to push back—barely hiding the hurt. He just wanted to feel better. Wanted to find that physical relief.

  But it was only temporary. And now he felt worse.

  He pushed his plate away, overcome by a sense of foreboding. Something really, really bad was going to happen if she went on that trip. He knew it in his bones. ‘Are you sure you should do it?’

  ‘Do what?’

  He’d interrupted her mid-flow and was ashamed to admit he hadn’t caught up with her last sentence. He was still struggling with the whole concept. ‘Your trip. South America.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Are you sure it’s wise? I mean, maybe you’re not up to it yet.’

  ‘Not up to it? What do you mean not up to it?’

  He’d got her back up just like that. He wasn’t getting this out right. ‘I—’

  ‘Are you saying you don’t think I can do it?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Don’t you dare lecture me on what I can and can’t do.’

  The snap came quicker and sharper than he’d anticipated. ‘Peru isn’t the easiest of destinations. The ruins will be wonderful but it’s a hard trek—the path to the top outlook is steep and narrow.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘You have a heart condition, Sienna. You have to be careful when travelling at altitude. You’re not trekking all the way up there, are you?’ His mind sped into medic mode. ‘What about antibiotics? Have you got some with you? You’re at greater risk of—’

  ‘I’m well aware of what I’m at risk of. I don’t need you to tell me.’ She put her fork down. ‘You might be a doctor, Rhys, but you’re not my doctor.’

  ‘I’m not lecturing you in my professional capacity. I’m talking common sense.’ He glared at her. ‘You’re a woman travelling alone. What if you got in trouble?’

  ‘Oh, please, we’re living in the twenty-first century. Women travel alone everywhere all the time.’

  ‘That doesn’t make it sensible. I’d be saying the same thing if you were going Outback or to Asia or…anywhere.’ He clamped his jaw shut and glared some more. Anger continued to rise. What the hell was she doing on this trip anyway? What about her friends, her family, her life? ‘Even your mates at the hostel travel with someone. Why aren’t you doing this with a friend?’

  ‘That’s the whole point, Rhys. I want to do this on my own.’ Hurt glistened in her eyes and he knew it wasn’t just from this line of conversation. ‘I don’t need anyone, Rhys.’

  ‘But you might. What if you have an accident? What if you get in trouble?’

  ‘I’m not going to get in trouble. I am not weak, Rhys. I can do anything.’

  ‘Fine! Smash your head against that wall. Go on. Do it. Just to prove you can.’ He pointed to the wall dividing the kitchen from the living room. ‘No? Not going to? Because it’s a dumb thing to do. And so is jetting off to who knows where all by yourself. A dumb thing to do.’

  ‘It is not. This is what I want.’ Her eyes were bright. ‘I want this. I’m leaving. I’m living my life. Mine. I’m not sharing it. And I will not be told what I can and can’t do by you or anyone else. OK?’

  ‘Well, I…’ don’t want you to ‘…think it’s stupid,’ he said lamely.

  ‘Well, we’re just going to have to agree to disagree.’ She pushed her plate away, food half eaten. ‘Maybe I should go back to the hostel.’

  ‘No!’ He felt like banging her head on the wall for her. ‘No.’ He repeated it, less loud but just as vehement. He thought of another point. ‘There are snakes there, you know. Lots and lots of snakes. And spiders. Big ones.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ She positively smoked at him. ‘We have a few hours left, Rhys. Can’t we just enjoy it? Forget about my trip. Why do you want to ruin this last day?’

  Good question. Why did he? Because it was all wrong. Everything felt wrong all of the time. Except when he was deep inside her. Then it was all very, very right. But that couldn’t be right. She was not the one to want more from. He was filled with the desperate need to be with her and the stark knowledge that it couldn’t be for any more than this one last night. No way could it be more. He could not take the risk.

  He stood up from the table so fast he knocked over his chair. ‘Forget it. Forget everything. Let’s not waste another minute.’

  But the hesitation in her face was unmistakable now. That first night, it had been the merest flicker, gone again under the weight of desire. Now, he saw, the desire had been stamped out by the burden of insecurity. He didn’t blame her but still he tried. He speared her gaze with his as he stepped forward, wanting the physical attraction to overrule their heads and hearts. He wanted to hold her close, kiss her, make the doubts disappear in the heat of the moment. Just once more.

  Her gaze slid away, avoiding him. He’d held back and now she was shutting him out. He understood but he hated it. He wanted to restore her openness, her wide-eyed honesty. But to do that, he’d have to be the honest, open one.

  Could he give just a little of what she was asking? Could he talk to her? She seemed to offer so much if he did.

  He ran his fingers through her hair. Wanting to imprint the feel of her, the scent of her, the very essence of her, in his mind and body.

  He was so close to caving in, so close to confessing. So torn. Wanting to trust her. Knowing he shouldn’t. What had she said? Relationships didn’t start this way. Could there be the level of trust he needed? Could he commit to someone who might not be around for as long as he needed?

  He pushed away the thoughts, concentrated on actions, on sensations. He traced the line of her jaw with his finger. Nudged her ch
in so she faced him again, but her lashes brushed her cheek and she wouldn’t lift them.

  Sienna. His blue-eyed Siren. Even now, in silence, she called to him. Tempting him to surrender that which he had locked away for so long—his secrets, his heart. He inched nearer. If he kissed her the passion would override the promise of the tranquillity that might come if he talked with her. But, much as he wanted to taste her, a piece would still be missing and finally the need to fix things was stronger. He wanted to explain, just a little—wanted to right the wrong inside. Wanted her to understand why this could only be physical, and only for now.

  Still she wouldn’t meet his gaze. It made him feel worse than anything. He didn’t want her to step away. Didn’t want her to go back to the hostel. He needed to buy some time. They needed respite from this all-consuming intensity.

  He twirled her hair some more. Became aware of the way she was standing so still before him. Almost as if she was holding her breath.

  ‘Why don’t we go see a movie?’ he muttered. ‘We could go for coffee after and…’ Silence fell again. He lightly stroked across her high cheekbones, the silky soft skin so smooth under his fingertips.

  ‘And what?’ Her prompt was quiet. Her expression still hidden.

  ‘Talk.’ He wanted to. God, the longing. Her lashes swooped up. Her eyes were like deep pools and he wanted to bathe in their healing beauty. Still the fear held him back—the pain of loss and the desperate need to avoid more of that kind of pain. The pressure in his chest was immense. Everything was bubbling so close to the surface, closer than it had ever been. And he wanted to be free of it. But his burden was heavy and she was so slight and he couldn’t quite be sure. Not yet.

  She was silent a long time.

  ‘Please. Just something light. I know a great café for after. The music’s not too loud and it has comfy sofas you can curl up in.’ If she curled at one end he could sit beside her. Maybe he could touch her hand, or toy with her hair, and maybe, just maybe, he could talk to her about what had happened on the day that everything had changed.