Don’t walk out on me just yet.
What he had to say might hurt her, but if he didn’t try he’d probably hurt her even more. And even though this had to come to an end, he didn’t want to upset her more than he had to.
‘OK.’ She put a hand to her chaotic hair. ‘Let me go and freshen up.’
He felt a spurt of relief, an easing in the ribcage, sent her a small smile. ‘I’ll find out what’s on.’
She left the room and after a deep breath he went to the kitchen counter where he’d chucked the mail that had been delivered with lunch. He pushed around the stack of letters and the advertising circulars and found the day’s paper in the pile. Unfolded it and started leafing through the pages to find the entertainment section. He got to the social pages. Stopped. Stared at his own face in full colour. They were on the beach and he was looking at her and his feelings were there for the world to read. On the other side of the headline was another picture of Sienna alone—smiling straight at the camera.
MAITLAND’S MYSTERY MATCH
Single women of Sydney sigh with despair over this. It seems the city’s hottest bachelor has been snagged at last. Rhys Maitland, heir to the Maitland millions, was snapped in his favourite haunt with a strawberry-blonde who, as the pictures show, had him spellbound. What began as an ill-concealed argument became a tentative reconciliation with the blonde giving him a hard time. They finally left the tapas bar and walked to Rhys’ nearby luxury apartment—where the Maitland magic must have worked as the blinds have yet to be opened!
Our source tells us Rhys checked into the hostel she was staying at, determined to catch up with the beauty. And as our pictures show, he certainly did that…
Rhys stopped reading, stared sightlessly across the kitchen as it sank in. Source. Sienna. The drivel was merely an add-on to the steamy photo of them kissing on the beach the morning they’d failed to play volleyball. He’d been taken for a ride. Once was unfortunate. Twice was sheer stupidity.
The fear that had been raging within rose and transformed into a fury that was blinding. With excessive force he scrunched the paper in his hands.
Sienna ran the brush through her hair and tried not to let the feeling of elation grow beyond all proportion. Take it easy. Keep it slow.
Something had changed. Her lover, with the world’s most impenetrable security system around his heart, might just be about to unlock a gate—a cat-flap, perhaps. A tiny opening into the vast reservoir on the other side. He was so very strong but just then he’d softened—a slight touch. There was hope. She couldn’t help but hope. All too easily she flicked her own doubts out of her mind. Focusing on him, she could forget about her own rules.
She jumped out of her skin when she heard him shout her name.
He appeared in the doorway. ‘You’re just like all the rest, aren’t you?’
‘Rhys?’ Shocked, she watched as he strode towards her, his hands shaking. He shoved the newspaper in her face. She grasped it but couldn’t read—too thrown by his expression, the menace with which he towered over her.
‘Is that what you were writing earlier? More details you can sell for part two of your exposé?’
‘Rhys, what are you talking about?’ Frantic, she glanced down over the headline, saw the picture of herself looking so cheekily at whomever it was taking the photo. Oh, no. ‘Rhys, this wasn’t me.’
‘Yeah, right. When did you tip them off? You’ve known all along, haven’t you?’ He swore. ‘God, how guilty I felt. I really thought I’d hurt you. And you’ve been laughing at me this whole time.’ He stepped back, strode around the room. ‘You’ve played me for such a fool. What is it you’re really after—fifteen minutes of fame? Money?’
‘Rhys, look at me.’ He couldn’t think this had been her. He just couldn’t.
‘Look at you? Like I am there—in love?’ Bitterly scornful, he stopped pacing, gestured to the paper. ‘Never.’ He spun away, swore some more—ferociously.
She shrank from the vehemence in his voice and the frown on his face. Violently hurt by his words and how quick he was to believe so badly of her. For a second their gazes met—steel lancing tremulous blue.
‘No, don’t give me that look. Your eyes tell lies.’ He turned away from her again, fingers curling back into fists. ‘How could I have been so stupid?’
‘Rhys—’ Panicked that he wouldn’t stop and think.
‘Take the rubbish you helped them write and go.’
‘Rhys!’ She had to talk to him. Had to get her head round what the hell had happened, but he was wild and wasn’t going to listen and wasn’t giving her a second.
‘I can’t believe I was such an idiot. And to think I wanted to tell you…to think I was going to—’ He turned sharply and headed to the door.
‘What, Rhys?’ she cried after him. Her voice breaking as she tried to make him stop, make him hear her. ‘Whatever it is you can tell me!’
‘I can’t!’ He whirled to face her. Stepped towards her with such barely held fury she instinctively moved back. He shouted. Every word wounded. ‘I can’t trust you!’
She stared into his face. Cringing at the blazing anger, the hate she saw there. Crushing hurt swamped her. Her heart ached so hard she thought it would burst. She couldn’t take any more. She wanted to give to him. Wanted him to lean on her the way she had him.
She wanted to love him.
And he thought she’d betrayed him?
They could offer billions and she’d never let him down. But she could say nothing. Do nothing. Could only try to escape the absolute agony she felt at his words. She wanted to hide from the bitter way he looked at her. Wanted to hide from the fact he’d never care for her the way she did for him. Oh, how that hurt.
She tried to bite back the sobs, but they burst out anyway. Deep, racking gulps that stole her fight and her energy. Hardly able to see, she grabbed at her bag, crushing the pages of the paper against her. Scalding tears spilled. Blindly she ran.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE emergency department was overflowing as always. Rhys had rung in. Not wanting a minute more of his wretched holiday, so out of sorts and unhappy that he’d be best off working crazy hours and having something—anything—to occupy his brain and fill in the void where his heart should be. He needed a sense of purpose—saving a few lives ought to be enough. Wasn’t that the whole reason he went into medicine? To make amends?
Despite the fact he was busy he still felt hollow—lonely in the crowded corridors. He dealt with crises and walked through the waiting areas. Used to recognition in the eyes of passers-by, he was able to let the obvious speculation slide over him. He kept up his reserved but amiable demeanour. Hid behind the ‘Doctor’ title. He watched the patients, the worried faces of family and lovers, witnessed the reunions, the fears, the loss, the relief, the recovery.
Usually he drew satisfaction from the effort of his work. Even if he failed to help someone, he knew he had tried. And it tired him enough to keep the demons at bay. But now it wasn’t working. Instead the emptiness inside was growing.
He was haunted.
In every patient he saw the hurt in her eyes. The plea to stop, the shock, the truth. And with every passing moment the certainty grew that he’d been so wrong. So completely wrong he didn’t know how he was going to make it right.
He ignored the sidelong grins and glances of his colleagues. They were his friends. He knew he had their respect. But he also knew their curiosity would get the better of them. It was Tim—inevitably—who broached the topic as they walked through the ward. ‘So you really hit it off with the drummer girl.’
Rhys gave a noncommittal grunt and hoped it was enough to signal ‘end of conversation’.
‘What was the surgery?’
Rhys frowned. ‘Surgery?’
‘You know, the pictures in the paper.’
Pictures. He hadn’t got much past the opening paragraph. Hadn’t seen beyond the teasing grin she’d given the camera. There’d been other
pictures?
Tim drummed his fingers on his chest. ‘I’m thinking heart?’
‘Valve replacement,’ Rhys answered shortly. ‘I have to go check something.’
He strode to the staff room, rifled through the stack of papers and magazines on the table. Please, please, please. And there it was. Folded open, well read by the look of it. Gritting his teeth, he skimmed over the first few lines, going straight to the later paragraphs.
No stranger to tragedy, has Rhys set himself up for more heartache by falling for one of his patients?
He froze, icy fingers slipping across his skin. He looked for the first time at the photos along the bottom of the page. They’d snapped her in his shirt when they were on the beach in the pale light of dawn. It was only buttoned at the waist—she looked hot and there was no hiding her fresh-from-bed hair. And there was no hiding her scar in the open vee of his shirt either. To make it worse they’d blown up the part of her chest and added it as a pop-up pic, circling the mark of the long incision.
The scar suggests the mystery beauty has had major surgery.
Hot guilt mixed with the icy dread. The words confirmed what he already knew. What had kept him tossing and turning at night. Sienna would never have sold him out.
His knuckles clenched, the skin turning white as he read on. Media intrusion was something he was used to. He disliked it and worked hard to avoid it, but it came with his name. She had no experience, had no defences built for this kind of invasion. They had no right to destroy her privacy. She would hate to have her scar revealed to the world.
He had been such an idiot. She must surely hate him. She should have been angry, should have yelled, should have put him in his place good and proper. But she’d been hurt—too hurt. And he’d been a fool to throw away someone who could care like that.
He should have been helping her—consoling her over having her life ripped open for the entertainment of the masses. Instead he’d accused her of orchestrating the whole thing.
And why? He’d been like a trapped tiger searching out something to attack. It gave him a way of shoving her back. Because he’d been on the verge of letting her right inside and it terrified him.
He raked fingers through his hair as frustration and futility ravaged his heart. Sienna hadn’t deserved that, just as she didn’t deserve this. She’d be mortified by these pictures. He looked closely at the head and shoulders shot of her at the top of the page—the one where she smiled so freely. He could make out part of the sign on the wall behind her. Recognised it hung in Reception at the hostel. Of course, it was obvious now. Curtis—who had to work all those hours because he ‘needed the money’. He’d known all along who Rhys was. The creep. With sadness Rhys read on. Not only had they debated on her history, they’d printed the details of his accident with Theo. And then they’d reprinted some of Mandy’s more painful comments. He blanched as he skimmed over them. So inevitable. So predictable. So true?
Sienna read the article again and again and again. She had no chance of sleeping on the plane. Couldn’t concentrate on any in-flight entertainment. The cabin steward was wonderfully kind and provided an entire box of tissues and a cool pack for her eyes.
Rhys, fourteen at the time, and his twelve-year-old cousin Theo were skateboarding down the street. A car, speeding out of its driveway, collided with both boys. Rhys was tossed to the side while Theo was crushed, dying at the scene…
She stared at the photos, not of herself, but of Rhys, of the way he was smiling at her—in love? So the gushing journalist said. But she knew otherwise. He’d told her otherwise. He’d never opened up. She’d asked. He’d refused. Not trusting in himself, in her, or in the bond she’d thought they had. All the while she’d been so open, he’d kept part of himself locked away. But what else could she expect when they’d started so casually? She couldn’t demand anything more serious from him just because she then wanted it.
She wished it had stayed purely physical—that searing attraction. It had been a wild coming together that had blown her mind. In the hostel they’d channelled the energy, deliberately fuelling it, pushing it. Since the first time in his apartment, she’d been unable to control anything, not least the entirety of her response.
For it was no longer just physical. Her mind was involved. And so was her heart. And all she could hear right now was her head telling her how bad her heart was feeling.
His ex-girlfriend Mandy says he’s emotionally crippled, claiming the city’s wealthiest bachelor will never wed as he’s already married to his job…
Deep anger gripped her as she read the comments. No wonder he was so untrusting, when his ex could so blithely say such cutting things. He wasn’t crippled, he was warm and caring and funny and hurt.
Now she knew his history she saw it had been for the best. They could never have had a relationship beyond a brief affair. She couldn’t give him what he needed—serenity, security, stability. There were things on her list that she’d never written down. Rules she had to live by—no marriage, no kids. She couldn’t promise her life to anyone, not when she wasn’t sure she had the power to see it through. But she needed to be a little better at observing those rules. Instinctively she’d known long-term wasn’t for her, thinking it was because she didn’t want anyone else to worry over her the way her mother and brother did. But now she knew the real reason was because she couldn’t cope with the heartache herself. She just wasn’t strong enough. And she couldn’t bear to see Rhys hurt more than he already was. He needed someone whole and well and who would be reliable. She couldn’t guarantee that. She didn’t know what her future held.
Their parting was definitely for the best.
That didn’t stop the tears rolling.
Taking several deep breaths, Rhys ducked into the supply cupboard for some space, raised shaking fingers to his face and massaged his forehead. Sienna, Sienna, Sienna.
He could no longer keep the lid on his emotions. For the first time his personal life was affecting his ability to work. He’d almost choked up over that patient. Had seen the startled look the nurse had given him. He couldn’t go on like this. Every second it got worse, not better.
He closed his eyes and caught the memory of when he’d first seen her.
The blood had pumped in his veins. His senses had gone supersonic. Everything was brighter when she was around. Hell, he was pathetic. He’d made up the whole Monroe thing to escape himself more than anything. It wasn’t about her. It had been about him. And it had backfired completely.
His world was all about life and death. He witnessed both—every day, every night. But that was just it, he was witnessing. Facilitating. Fighting for others. But not actually doing it himself. He’d been driven to make a difference—to give, to help. But he was so busy trying to save, he no longer lived his own life. He stood on the sidelines, spectating. Bound by fear. Afraid of losing. But he’d already lost.
Sienna had been forced to spectate for most of her life. He had chosen to. Now she was fighting to live it—reaching out and taking it on with both hands. Rhys couldn’t, he felt duty-bound not to waste the life he’d been given. Not when he’d been instrumental in Theo losing his. He’d work and help and never be useless again.
But didn’t he have a duty to Sienna as well? At the very least, she deserved an explanation and an apology. He couldn’t leave it unfinished. He owed her answers. He owed her honesty.
He banged his creased forehead with his knuckles. She didn’t want duty from him. She’d said he had a responsibility to live his own life. What about his life’s to-do list? He’d never even thought about it seriously. He’d never been to Peru either. Why shouldn’t he go too? Wasn’t it as much a waste of a life to focus so completely on only one aspect—in his case, work? Shouldn’t he be embracing all avenues of his life? How she tempted him. Made him long for everything.
In the gloom of the supply room it dawned on him that he’d used her—wanting the moments of bliss to break up the lifetime of guilt. And h
adn’t she used him too? To have those moments of freedom? Be treated normally? But then she’d wanted more—she’d wanted him to open up to her. Why? If it was just a fling, an affair—an extended one-night stand…
Because it wasn’t just a fling. Because she cared.
And he’d hurt her. And in hurting her, he’d hurt himself more. The least he could do was apologise. See her, explain it all the best he could. He’d never been able to apologise to Theo. He should take the opportunity to apologise to her while he had it. He had to take a leaf out of her book and seize the day. Make the most of every moment, and leave no room for regret. He locked his knuckles together. Right now he regretted everything he hadn’t done.
He didn’t know what the future held. No one did. All he knew was that he couldn’t go on in the present as it was. He couldn’t hide any more. It was too late. She was already there, lodged deep in his heart, and he had to fight to stop his heart from breaking.
A nurse came into the cupboard. Stopped as she saw Rhys leaning against the cabinet. Glanced round to see if there was anyone else in the tiny room. ‘Sorry, I—’
‘It’s OK. I was just leaving.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SOMEHOW it was so typical that after five days of fairly tiring travel, a lifetime of dreaming and a huge chunk of her life savings spent, the ruins of Machu Picchu would be shrouded in mist the one day Sienna had to visit them. She’d known it would be a possibility, it wasn’t the optimum time to travel there weather-wise, but she’d wanted to go so much and hadn’t wanted to wait any longer. She’d wanted it to be the first major step on her big adventure. New year, new life. But she’d stepped into her adventure with far more of a jump than she’d planned.
And there would be no view for her. Not today. She wouldn’t be climbing the steep track. The one that Rhys had become so ‘lecturing doctor’ over. She hadn’t wanted to anyway, she’d just wanted to walk in the ancient ruins and marvel. And she hadn’t trekked all the way. She’d taken the train, taken her time, got used to the thinner air, ensured she rested as well as she could. Despite what he thought, she knew her own limitations. And it was enough to be here. Wasn’t it?
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