One Summer At The Beach: Pleasured by the Secret Millionaire / Not-So-Perfect Princess / Wedding at Pelican Beach

CHAPTER TWO

SIENNA dressed with more than usual care and way more than usual excitement. If ever there was a man to help her achieve number one on her list, he was that man. She’d gone back to the hostel and lain in wait for Julia and Brooke, the two South Africans she’d met on arrival last night. No sooner had she mentioned the words ‘band’ and ‘bar’ than they’d agreed to go with her. Sienna was pleased. Total party girls those two—and they’d ensure she had a good time no matter what might or might not happen with the gorgeous guy. And that was the purpose of this overseas jaunt, wasn’t it? To have fun. Be normal. Seize the day.

Sienna emerged last from the bathroom, clutching her top to her. ‘Can you tie these ribbons for me?’

Julia wolf-whistled. ‘That is some top!’

It was. She’d only brought it with her on the spur-of-the-moment last-minute mad decision. It rolled up really small and she’d stuffed it at the bottom of her pack, never really dreaming she’d put it on. Midnight-blue satin with a matching sequin trim. The material clung from her neck to her abdomen. Three sets of long ribbons trailed. One for her neck, one for her chest and one for her stomach. Julia artfully wound them round for her. The fabric covered her from neck to belly at the front but left her back bare—other than the ribbon ties.

She twisted her head, trying to see how Julia was getting on, while ensuring the fabric was held tight to her skin. ‘Quadruple knot them.’

‘Are you sure? You’ll need scissors to get out of it.’

‘I’m sure.’ That was the whole point. It was sexy and revealing but no way could anyone get underneath to discover what was below. The ribbon across her lower abdomen stopped a hand sliding up, the ribbon at the neck stopped fingers sliding south. Perfect.

She teamed it with a short black A-line skirt and high-heeled sandals. Her legs were her best feature and she intended to make the most of them. If dreams were going to come true, then she had to help them out a bit. She massaged moisturiser down the length of them. Then discreetly adjusted the strap of her underwear—a teeny, tiny lace-fronted G-string. Knickers like she never usually wore. But she was reinventing herself. And tonight she’d be as in-your-face frisky as she could get. Ribbons reached halfway down her skirt. She was covered far more than the bikini woman on the beach but was as naked as she’d ever been.

‘That’s a vamp outfit.’ Julia stood back and surveyed her before sharply turning to her pack which had its contents spilling over the dorm floor. ‘I gotta find me something to compete with that. Time to get ready and glamorise.’

As Julia’s ample breasts provided more than enough competition, Sienna wasn’t letting the comment go to her head. She’d never be page-three pin-up but with her legs emphasised, and her back drawing attention from her front, she might do OK.

Brooke’s voice came distantly through the top she was squeezing into. ‘Is the lead singer cute? You want the singer, right?’

‘The singer is all yours. In fact the entire band is all yours.’

Brooke’s head popped through the neck of her top. ‘So who is it you’re after? The bartender?’

Was it so obvious she was after someone? ‘No.’ She came clean. ‘The band has a guy helping out.’

‘You’re going for the roadie?’ Brooke shrieked.

‘God, don’t tell me he’s the technical guy? Not the sound and lighting geek?’

Julia sounded appalled.

Sienna giggled. ‘I’m not sure what he does. He was helping with their equipment.’

The others sent her pitying looks. ‘OK, if you’re sure. We’ll leave him to you.’

They sat on the beds, stared into tiny compact mirrors and worked hair and make-up. Sienna twisted her hair up. Put on her mascara and gloss with a slightly heavier hand than usual and wished the hostel allowed drink in the bedrooms.

This was ridiculous. She was getting worked up—and dollied up—over nothing. He probably wouldn’t even be there. She almost succumbed to the urge to cancel there and then. Time for a mental slap on the cheek. This didn’t matter. She was in a foreign city, free to do as she pleased. If he was there, then she’d have a great time; if he wasn’t, she’d still have a great time.

Uh-huh.

She really wanted to see him again—wanted to replay the moment she’d sizzled like a drop of water in a pan of hot oil. Just another look would be enough.

Uh-huh.

‘Right, girls, let’s go have ourselves a blast.’ Julia gave a foxy twirl.

Sienna couldn’t stop the giggles bursting out. She was such an idiot. But seeing as she was dressed to kill, she might as well go and make the most of it. She could just dance at least—as she used to with her best friend Lucy. Go and dance and have a laugh.

As they linked arms and strode down the street, Sienna soaked up some of the confidence the others oozed.

She didn’t arrive until well into the second set. Rhys was at the bar, half hidden but in a place that gave him a clear view of the door—so he’d see her the minute she got there. She was with two other women. They looked like fellow tourists—tanned, relaxed, riveting. The other two were staring at the stage, she was looking around the audience. He stepped back into the shadows as her gaze swept over the bar. He wanted to observe for a while. Still deciding how or even if he would make a move. He glanced at Tim. Saw he’d seen their arrival because he winked at them. Immediately he looked straight to where Rhys stood, flashing him a huge grin.

The band wrapped up the set a song early and headed straight to her—all four of them. But it was Tim, as always, who got there first, and who less than subtly cast a glance of pure appreciation over the other two. Rhys watched for a while, wanting to see if she spent that killer look on any of the others. He saw her smile, saw her introduce her friends, but then she seemed to quieten, let the girlfriends do the talking and the flirting as they headed to the table in the back corner reserved for the band. He saw her glance around before sitting. She was looking for someone. It had better be him.

Tim came up to the bar. Ordered a tray of tequila shots, his usual modus operandi, then came to where Rhys stood.

‘Doc, Doc, Doc. Why are you hiding out here? There’s a lady at that table all wrapped up with your name on her.’

Rhys frowned. He didn’t want his name out anywhere. Just for once.

‘Rhys, you can’t go doing the hardworking serious doctor thing all your life. You have to cut loose and have some fun some time. Hell, they’ve ordered you to take time off. Have a holiday, for heaven’s sake. There is your holiday.’ He jerked his head back towards the table.

Rhys managed a tight grin. They had. Made him take a fortnight. Said he was accruing too many days—a liability on the budget. They didn’t want to owe him three months or more. So he’d been forced to take a break. He didn’t much like breaks—they meant he had too much time to sit and think. He preferred to keep busy.

‘Come on, dude. When was the last time you had a one-nighter?’

It was all right for Tim. His every action wasn’t watched and subsequently detailed in the gossip pages of the local rag. If Rhys was seen within five feet of a woman it was reported the next day as a new relationship—possible wedding bells every time. The exaggeration and speculation was exhausting. The prying of paparazzi keen to rustle up a story out of nothing invaded what he’d hoped could be an ordinary existence. But Rhys knew when it came to money, especially his kind of money, people didn’t scruple to sell their souls.

Mandy had done just that. Sold herself, and him, to the highest bidder. She’d taken everything he held close and hung it out for the world to see. And she hadn’t even got it right. He’d asked her out on a whim. She’d been working in a café near the hospital; he’d been in there after a long shift. Her effervescence had been so attractive to his tired self. It had been a fun hour, chatting over coffee. The hour became a date, then a string of dates. He didn’t figure ’til later she’d known all along who he was. That the most she understood was the wealth and status his name entailed. Too late he realised he knew nothing of the real Mandy, that nothing they had shared was real, that there was no depth beneath the bubbly exterior. He’d broken it off and then really learned how money had been her biggest motivator.

He wouldn’t be fool enough to trust like that again. Not someone he didn’t know. So he didn’t do one-night stands. He didn’t want to read all about it in the paper the next day over breakfast. Instead he did the discreet dating thing with women from his own social circle. Glamorous, beautiful for sure, but also safe, circumspect and so boring.

Tonight he could do with some anonymity—be able to have some fun and not worry about where the details might surface. He supposed he shouldn’t care, should shrug it off and enjoy the reputation. But he wanted his life to be more meaningful. He refused to be the rich, spoiled playboy spending his days using his money and name to score. And he refused to be used himself.

Life, Rhys knew, was precious.

Unfortunately, that seemed to make him all the more attractive to the gutter press. And with Mandy’s betrayal, telling all to anyone who’d pay enough, he’d been painted as some wounded saint—the earnest ER doctor working to escape the inanity of privileged life and the tragedy of past lessons. And that he wasn’t either.

He looked back over to where the drummer girl sat at the table. Watched as she sat, smiling, her head tilted to the side as she listened to whatever it was that her friend was saying. She nodded, her smile flashing wider as she giggled. He could see the sparkle in her eyes even from this distance. Any sobering memory of Mandy’s sell-out fled from his head as he focused on the stranger’s golden hair and pale-skinned shoulders. His abs tightened. He sure didn’t have saintly urges when it came to her. Maybe, just for once, he could do the frivolity thing. His desire for her was strong enough to tip the balance. Maybe there was a way around his issue of identity.

‘She’s not from here, is she?’

‘Kiwi, I think. Her mates are from South Africa. Met up in the hostel they’re staying at.’

Rhys stared at her some more. Felt those urges bite. Figured she was only going to be in town a night or two—what would she care if his name wasn’t quite the right one? More than ever he didn’t want to be himself any more. He was tired of living with his recollections and his regret. Temptation won. ‘OK. I’m Rhys—she knows that, right? But she doesn’t know anything else. So let’s say I’m Rhys…Rhys Monroe.’

Tim stared at him, his smile slow and full of wicked disbelief. ‘And what do you do for a living, Mr Monroe?’

Rhys frowned. ‘Dunno. What do you think?’

‘Better be something you’re really crap at. The bigger the lie, the more likely they are to believe it.’

‘And you know this how?’

‘Rhys.’ Tim looked affronted. ‘I’m a professional.’ He smiled at the waitress as she put the slices of lemon and dish of salt on the tray. ‘Let’s make you a builder.’

‘A what?’

‘Builder. Carpenter. You know, chippie.’

‘That’s ridiculous. I haven’t a practical bone in my body.’

‘Precisely.’

Rhys gave a grunt of laughter.

‘And no way are you that Maitland guy, heir to all those millions.’

Rhys shook his head. ‘Never heard of him.’

Tim picked up the tray of shot glasses. ‘Well, come on, Monroe, let’s get lying.’

‘I’ll be over in a second. Just got to finalise my persona.’

Tim winked, and, grinning broadly, headed back to the table. Rhys watched, covered by the crowd, as Tim set the tray down in front of them and handed out the shot glasses. She took one. He saw her nostrils flare as she took a sniff. Not so keen. But she did it. So did the others. Tim immediately started handing everyone a second round. She declined that one. He saw the way she pulled in her cheeks, looked over the table, glanced to the bar. Rhys smiled to himself, and summoned the waitress.

Julia and Brooke were barracking for a third shot. Sienna laughed at them. Heart sliding south as she did. Already knowing she was headed for yet another night on the sidelines. The taste of the tequila was bitterly burning her up. She couldn’t handle strong alcohol, would prefer a little wine. Something light—for the lightweight she was.

No sign of the roadie. She tried to tell herself she didn’t mind. Looked around the bar. Loads of men, loads. All looking good, gathering in groups. But the view was tainted. That kick of attraction had been so fierce and so foreign and she’d stupidly pinned more on it than there was. Now looking around, she couldn’t help the feeling the joint was a bit of a meat market—and she didn’t have the goods to set up shop.

Tim had managed to find himself a seat between the two South African beauties. Leaning back on it, talking, he soon had them laughing. The others in the band sat on chairs around them, letting Tim hold court but interjecting with witticisms of their own that had the girls shrieking even more. No doubt about it, they were a polished act and Sienna knew her place was firmly in the audience. She’d leave the participation bit to Julia and Brooke.

An arm appeared over her shoulder. ‘Thought you might prefer this.’ A glass was placed in front of her. Cool, clear water.

‘Then you might like this.’ Another glass was set alongside the first. Pale wine, just the sight of it a balm on her still-screaming taste buds.

He pulled up a chair and sat down beside her, back a little, away from the others. Dressed in black jeans and a black shirt. She could see his forearms. Lightly tanned. Muscular. Capable. He gave her a barely there grin. His face had intensity all over it—accentuated by the shadow on his jaw.

‘Thank you.’ She lifted the water and took a deep sip, needing it more than ever.

He watched. Before she could put the glass back on the table he took it from her. Eyes not breaking their hold, he lifted it to his sensuous, sensitive mouth and drank deeply.

‘You mind sharing?’ he asked belatedly.

Sienna snaked in some air. ‘Not at all.’

Julia’s eyebrows had disappeared under her fringe. Brooke was hammily fanning herself.

Tim dropped forward on his seat, clunking the legs down. ‘Glad you could finally join us, Rhys. Let me introduce you. Julia, Brooke, this is Rhys. And I think you met Sienna earlier.’

A look passed between the two men. An even less subtle look passed between Brooke and Julia. Sienna ignored the lot of them, quickly reaching for the wine.

‘Rhys is an old school friend of mine who’s in town for a few days. Thought I’d get him to help us out.’

‘Shouldn’t you be up on that stage singing your little heart out, Tim?’ Rhys interrupted.

Tim smiled a sly smile, picked up his bottle and headed back to the stage where the other band members were already strapping on instruments and quickly checking their pitch.

Julia and Brooke stared after him, then turned back and stared at Rhys, then Sienna.

‘We’re going to dance,’ Brooke declared, grabbing Julia by the hand and leaping to her feet, eyes flashing.

‘Some sound and lighting geek,’ Sienna heard Julia mutter as she passed her.

‘Mmm hmm.’ Sienna bought some time by having another sip of wine.

Julia and Brooke hit the dance floor and headed right up the front, taking Tim’s tambourine from him and starting dancing in a way that more men than just those in the band enjoyed.

Sienna watched them for a moment, loving their enthusiasm. But the strong, silent presence beside her was all she could really focus on. She turned to study him as he quietly regarded her. One thing she did know how to do was talk to people. Or, rather, how to get people to talk to her. She’d been cast in the role of confidante for so many years. The one sitting, while others achieved; she’d be the ear when they needed a rest or reviving. Ironic that she, who couldn’t participate, could motivate and could listen.

‘You in town for long, Rhys?’

‘Just a few days. I’m a builder. From Melbourne.’ He took another drink from their shared water.

OK. Keen to get the basics out. She tried to get him to elaborate a little. ‘A builder?’

His attention was fixed on the band. ‘Sure.’

‘You don’t look like a builder.’

He glanced at her then. Wry amusement in his face. ‘I didn’t think I’d need my tool belt tonight.’

She grinned and gave up on the small talk. He clearly wasn’t one to waste words. And the most she was conscious of was her Goliath-sized awareness of him—it didn’t leave much room for conversational effort.

Surprisingly he took on the task. ‘What about you? What do you do?’

‘Not much at the moment.’

‘On holiday?’

She nodded.

‘From where?’

‘Life in general.’ She laughed at her own pretension. Expanded so he wouldn’t think she was an idiot. ‘I’m in Sydney for a week before embarking on my big adventure.’

‘Your OE?’

The great Overseas Experience. Obligatory for most Kiwis in their early twenties. Maybe it was something to do with being stuck in a tiny country on the edge of the earth. For a year or two or more they’d pack their packs and traipse around the world. She nodded. It had taken her a little longer to get organised, but finally she was on her way.

‘Europe?’

‘South America initially.’ There were a couple of things on her life’s must-do list that she wanted to finally cross off. Peru was right up there.

‘So where is home?’

She shrugged. ‘I’m not sure yet.’ It wasn’t where she’d come from. She loved it. She loved the people but she needed space to set her life in its new direction. ‘What about you?’

‘I’ve a couple of weeks off. Just spending it hanging out in Sydney.’

‘Catching up with old friends?’

‘Right now I’m more interested in making new ones.’

Silence fell again. His eyes held hers as he took another sip—this time of her wine. She wished he wouldn’t. She really did because all she then saw was that beautiful mouth with its perfect cupid bow. Since when did she feel jealous of a glass? But how would it feel to be pressed against his lips, to have his tongue lick her rim?

She felt heat rise in her cheeks. The way she was thinking! And the worst of it was she was certain he knew. Possibly even thinking the same. Because his attention was fixed on her when she took the glass from him and sipped.

He waited until she’d placed her glass back on the table before leaning closer to her, speaking with the world’s most tempting voice.

‘You know what I think, Sienna?’

‘What?’

‘I think you should dance with me.’

A flicker of excitement ran from the nape of her neck all the way down her spine, through her legs and to her toes. She wriggled them in her sandals. ‘OK.’

They stood. Julia and Brooke were somewhere up the front, playing up to Tim’s ‘glam lead singer’ act. Sienna stopped in the middle of the crowd, wanting to disappear into it. Not wanting to feel any more self-conscious than she already was. Fully aware that Tim and the other band members were probably watching. That Brooke and Julia would be giving the thumbs-up behind Rhys’ back. She didn’t want the distraction or the discomfort.

Within three seconds she wouldn’t have cared if there were a film crew beside her broadcasting the action live to twenty million viewers. She’d totally lost awareness of all others, of their surroundings. She lost all sense of everything except Rhys. The thrill rippled through her—her awareness of him almost a tangible entity. They took advantage of the crowd on the floor to stand close. He smiled and she found herself smiling back, just like that. So easy. The music wasn’t too heavy, he moved, she followed. Fingers brushed. She nearly jumped, the electricity practically sparking. She glanced at her hand. Quickly looked to gauge his reaction—had he felt that current? He was watching her face, then looked to her hand. With slow deliberation he reached out and took it in his, his grip firming at her tremble.

If she felt this on edge with just one small touch, how on earth would anything more feel? All she knew was that she wanted that more—with a biting need, almost desperation. Desire both ferocious and foreign.

Neither of them was smiling any more. They moved closer as the floor became more crowded. He didn’t take his eyes off her. Shadows fought with emerald light. His hold on her hand tightened.

‘I know this is really forward. And I know I don’t really know you. And feel free to say no, but…’

‘But what?’

He looked straight into her eyes with a wry turn-up of his mouth. ‘I’m going to kiss you.’

Sienna stopped moving. Stood stock-still in the middle of the dance floor while a hundred others grooved close around her. Her initial reaction was relief—that she hadn’t been dreaming, that the attraction wasn’t all one-sided. The relief soon gave way to electric excitement. She provoked it further, confidence surging through her. ‘Well, that’s good, because I intend to kiss you right back.’

He’d stopped dancing too. Abandoned the pretence of caring about the music. Green eyes, not slate, burned into her. ‘That’s good.’

He stepped nearer. Her body screamed for the touch of his. But it was still out of range—the millimetres feeling like miles. Yet there was almost reluctance between them. A tacit agreement to draw it out, to savour the moment that they’d both been seeking since first seeing each other. She sensed it in him, the deliberate decision to take time to truly appreciate each moment.

Anticipation immobilised her. As much as she wanted to move, it was he who would have to take that final step.

He did. His hand came up, traced her cheek and jaw with a light finger. She quelled the tremor inside. Her lips were tingling. She just had to lick them, had to.

‘No,’ he muttered. ‘Let me.’

He bent to her. Very gently touched the tip of his tongue to the full centre of her lower lip.

Sensation engulfed her. This was crazy. But the fire ripping through her was real.

His hands, gentle, went to frame her chin.

‘Better?’

‘No.’ She tried to hide the shaking, not wanting to admit to the extremity of her reaction.

‘Still thirsty?’

Desperately so. She managed a minute nod. Her chin tilted up to meet him, her neck arched to its full length.

His hand slid around it so his fingers tangled into her hair at the back. How she wanted that mouth—that beautiful mouth…

He touched her again. Brushed his lips over hers a couple of times. Such soft teasing that tore at her self-control. She reached up and mirrored his action, threading her fingers into the thick hair at the back of his head, pulling him down to her.

They stood completely still in the mass of movement. Unable even to sway in time, concentrating wholly on each other, on the fragile softness that would shatter if their passion was unleashed. This wasn’t the place for it to be unleashed. Yet she knew it was impossible to hold back.

A moment of fantasy melded with reality. Just this once.

He lowered his head as she lifted her chin. They met at the middle, lips catching and clinging. Mouths opening so tongues could taste—deep and delicious.