Читать книгу One Summer At The Beach: Pleasured by the Secret Millionaire / Not-So-Perfect Princess / Wedding at Pelican Beach - Melissa McClone, Emily Forbes - Страница 14

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?’

‘Pretty 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 on 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.

He started to see even clearer. ‘You don’t want any soft treatment because of your history.’

She nodded.

‘You want to be just like anybody else.’

She nodded again.

He chuckled. ‘I’m sorry, honey, but there is no way on this earth you’ll ever be just like anybody else.’ He finished his thought before her mad look got madder. ‘You’re special.’ Very special and his body was harder than it had ever been. He asked, ‘Do you want to be pushed to extremes, Sienna?’

She stared. ‘What sort of extremes?’ She sucked in a breath as if she were tasting fresh mountain air for the first time. ‘Like last night sort of extreme?’

It was his turn to nod—slowly. ‘Yeah.’ He slid his hands to her hips, wanting to keep her near him. ‘Shall we find out exactly how much pleasure your body is capable of?’

The shiver shook her from head to foot. Huge blue pools stared up at him, mirroring her thoughts—incredulity at what he’d said, excitement, temptation.

He couldn’t quite believe he’d said it himself, but now he had, he knew it was exactly what she needed. And what he needed—the most wonderful challenge. The opportunity to forget himself, his life, and just bury deep into her, make her forget the trauma her body had been through, show her how much fun she could have.

He saw the moment she was sold—the flash in her eyes, the parting of her mouth.

‘OK.’

He hugged her, holding her close to the beat in his own chest, savouring the satisfaction in knowing she wouldn’t be running out on him again, that he’d have all the time he needed to quench this lust. Thank God they were finally in agreement.

No one had ever stared at her before with such a look of want. Did he really not mind it? Did he even notice it? Did he not wonder?

‘Is it OK if I touch it?’

So he definitely saw it. He ran his finger down the white line that bisected her from base of her throat to diaphragm. Then he looked to the side. He grinned. ‘Is it OK if I touch these?’ He cupped her breasts; his thumbs stroked her nipples through her bra. ‘Very pretty. Pretty flowers, but what’s underneath is even prettier.’ He pulled the lace down so her nipples played peek-a-boo over the top. Bent and pressed kisses along the rising slope of one, stopped just shy of her nipple—it was so hard it hurt. He slid his hands around her back, loosened the catch and let the straps fall from her shoulders.

‘Extreme…’he muttered. ‘Let’s see if we can do extreme.’

She held her breath, refusing to let her body sway towards his, one last doubt needing to be dealt with. ‘I don’t frighten you?’

He laughed. ‘A slim little thing like you?’

‘No.’ She jabbed a finger at her chest. ‘This doesn’t frighten you?’

‘Honestly?’ He stared straight into her eyes. ‘No.’ He grazed the back of his knuckles against her nipples. ‘I’ll tell you what frightens me. The thought of not having you for one whole night where I can lie with you and we can go at it like rabbits.’

She giggled, spontaneous effervescence bursting through her solemnity. ‘How do rabbits do it?’

‘I don’t know but they do it lots. Let’s just go with the lots for now, OK?’

‘OK.’

He pulled his tee shirt over his head. Then he returned to her breasts, finally fitting that heaven-sent mouth around her pointed tip and letting his tongue rough over it.

She marvelled at the feel of his hands on her body, the way he was struggling with his passion. He really wasn’t fazed by her scar at all—his desire not lessened by any degree. If anything he was even more aroused than the night before. She figured that was because, in one way, he didn’t care. He just wanted her. Wasn’t worried for her. Because there was nothing invested here—they weren’t talking futures or relationships or anything remotely serious. Hell, they weren’t even talking tomorrow. They were talking sex—good, hard sex, right now.

That was OK. In fact, she reasoned in the last seconds she could still think, that was perfect—they were living life right in this moment. Exactly how she’d decided she had to live. No guarantees, just go with the now.

He undid the button on her skirt and tugged at it, his fingers catching her panties underneath as well. Slowly, he slid his hands down, kneeling before her as he pulled both skirt and underwear off.

‘You have the most magnificent legs I have ever seen.’

She looked down. Six foot three of strongly muscled, extremely naked man was at her feet and gazing at her with unconcealed lust—despite her scar. She was as naked as he. The answering desire inspired in her meant she could hardly stand. She reached a shaking hand out to his shoulder, needing the support.

He stood, scooped her up. ‘Do you have any idea the thoughts I’ve had these last twenty-four hours?’

She let her head fall back on his chest, willingly doing the featherweight female act. ‘Do I want to?’

‘Sure you do. But—’ he grinned as he spread her on the bed to his satisfaction ‘—I’m not going to tell you, I’m just going to do it.’

He started with a kiss that tasted of his smile and his promise of maximum pleasure. She kissed him back, hungry to take the satisfaction she knew he’d give. His determination, his intention, was unmistakable and she was breathless with just the thought of it, let alone the accomplishment.

He left her lips, left her gasping, while he kissed her cheeks, her jaw, down her neck—kissing all over her shoulders and chest until her entire torso had been touched by his beautiful mouth. His hands worked in accompaniment—trailing fire, teasing, tending to the parts of her that his mouth wasn’t fixed to. Meantime she tried to take in air.

He slid down the bed, between legs she’d happily parted. He placed one knee over his shoulder, so he could kiss along the inside of her leg. ‘That OK for you?’

Nothing beat the sensation of his stubble gently rasping against her inner thighs. ‘Uh-huh.’

He lifted her other leg over his other shoulder so his head was cradled between her thighs. She was hot and wet and he hadn’t even touched her yet—not there. She could hardly wait. She raised her hips, wanting to rock them, wanting him to rub and rotate and reach right into her.

His lips curved and her desire to have them press against her became paramount. ‘Rhys.’

He bent his head and she stopped breathing altogether. When she started again, it was even faster and shallower. Her entire body beat to the pulse of his movements, to the rhythm of the blood in her veins. She’d never lain like this. Never wanted anything or anyone the way she wanted him doing this, like this.

His fingers stroked, his mouth teased. And all the while she got hotter and wetter and way more vocal about what she wanted—for once in her life she had someone listening, who was willing to take her where she wanted to go at the speed she wanted to go at. She was on the journey and he was the chauffeur. She called out, encouraging him, so close.

He raised his head. ‘Need to slow down a second, honey.’

Why?

His half-smile at her expression inflamed her. When he gave her the reason he nearly sent her over the edge. ‘I want you really ready.’

She was ready alright. She was beyond ready.

Suddenly he rose, kneeling, hands on her calves. As if she were a doll, he scissored her legs, pushing one right above her head. He looked intrigued. ‘You weren’t kidding about the splits.’

She grinned and shook her head. Pliant, she stretched for him. He wound her other leg around his waist. The position had her so exposed. His hand hardened round her ankle, the look on his face intensified as he gazed down the length of her leg with wicked intent. Aroused beyond bearing, she could hardly stand the wait.

He arched over, bringing his hips into line with hers. ‘This is going to be as deep as it can get. That OK?’

Of course it was OK. She was just damn glad she’d done all that yoga and had no problems with flexibility. ‘Yeah.’

He edged in a fraction and then, with his other hand pressing on the mattress beside her hip, penning her in place, he caught her eye and thrust fiercely.

She cried out. Deep wasn’t the word.

His eyes narrowed; she could see the tension in his jaw. ‘OK?’

She nodded. More than OK. More than anything she’d ever known. Her body half lifted off the bed with him as he tilted back, pausing before pushing in again.

She couldn’t hold back the whimper—of delight and of desire. This was incredible.

‘You want physical, Sienna?’ He gulped in air. ‘I can do physical.’

She picked up what he’d left unsaid. ‘Just physical?’

He puffed out. ‘Yeah.’

Fine. At least he was honest. Besides, she’d be gone in a week, and she was living right now. ‘So do it.’

He didn’t need telling again. Slowly, but with the impact of a ten-tonne truck, he surged into her, grinding deep before pulling back inch by devastating inch.

She’d never been so totally possessed. She couldn’t move, couldn’t even embrace him back, instead she reached her arms up above her head and took hold of the railing of the headboard—trying to keep as in control as him but with every deep, powerful thrust he took a little more from her.

‘You like it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Want more?’

‘Yes.’

‘Harder?’

‘Yes.’

And from then she couldn’t speak, could only moan and not even do that consciously. All she could see was him. All she could feel was him—he was touching her innermost core, and it was so sensitive, so exquisite, she honestly thought she couldn’t cope. The heat in her body was so intense she shied from it, shook her head, wanting it to stop, never wanting it to stop.

He spoke. Growled at her as he slowly pulled out. ‘Give me that fearless response I had last night. You don’t want fear from me—well, I don’t want fear from you either.’

He pushed harder on her leg, parting her further so she was so open, so that each time his body slammed forward as much of him entered her as was physically possible—and then some. His pace increased and her consciousness receded. His pelvic bone rubbed against hers—tormenting her, bringing her closer and closer to an oblivion she couldn’t contend with.

She held tighter to the rail. She couldn’t take it, couldn’t…

‘More?’ His hand gripped, his muscles bunched, his expression showed his thin grip on his self-command.

She couldn’t resist. Gave in to the overwhelming instinct to surrender. ‘Yes. Oh…’

He pounded. She lost it. Closed her eyes against him, screwed them tight in the agony of ecstasy, her scream sounding around the room.

His body locked rigid as he uttered one word before giving in to the tension, the demand to drive deep and hard that one last time and pour his all into her.

‘Perfect.’