Kitabı oku: «One Summer At The Beach»

For Bridge: over twenty-five years of

best-friendship. Cool huh? I’m banking on

at least sixty more…

And Kate: for all those Thursday mornings,

awesome F&H adventures, yummy veggie

dinners—not to mention the book on Peru!

Thanks so much.

CHAPTER ONE

SYDNEY: sun, surf and shopping. All that was missing was the sex.

Sienna smiled as she crossed the beach, the soles of her feet tingling on the hot sand. Beautiful bodies decorated the shore and she cruised through them, winding her way back up to the footpath. Oh, yeah. If she ever went to a doctor again this would be the only prescription she’d pay attention to. One week of pure holiday—preparation time before her big adventure. Her first week where no one knew about her health or her history—the fresh beginning she’d been hanging out half her life for.

She paused to let a couple stroll by in front of her. Tried not to envy the way the woman oh-so-casually wore her teeny tiny triangles of material—aka her bikini. Crimson-red with shoestring straps, it revealed more than it concealed and she had both the body and boldness to wear it. Sienna didn’t have either. She didn’t want the looks, the ill-concealed curiosity or pity. She didn’t want the speculation full stop. Hence her throat-high top—even though it did cling and her miniskirt was more on the mini than the skirt side. And sure she’d spotted the odd sideways glance her way from a couple of men. As usual she’d shied away from them. She could never show her cleavage the way that woman did. Irritation increased her pace and she lectured her wavering confidence—must improve assertiveness quotient! How was she ever going to tick her way through her list of ‘must achieve’ activities if she couldn’t even hold a stranger’s gaze for more than a split second? How was that ‘living in the moment’—her new motto?

Suddenly touched by melancholy she crossed the street, moving away from the beach and into the pub, club and café scene. She needed to buck up—wasn’t it her New Year’s resolution to live life to the max? Take no prisoners? Maybe she’d go dancing with the girls she’d met at the hostel the previous night. Full of adventure and fun, they’d be able to teach her a few tricks. At least she could hang on for the ride and watch. But that was what she was sick of—being the one on the sidelines, unable to participate because she wasn’t allowed. Well, now she was allowed. And there was no one here to tell her she couldn’t, wouldn’t or shouldn’t. But nor was there anyone to tell her she could, would or should either. She wished Lucy were here, her crazy friend who had all the gumption and the heart as well. The person who’d shown her some fun in spite of the restrictions all those years. But she’d had to come away alone—needing to prove to herself that she could do it. Because then she’d truly believe it and could insist others recognise it too.

She glanced at her watch. A bit after three p.m., the lunch crowd had moved on and everyone was back at work—except the tourists, travellers and holiday-makers like her. The restaurant and club a couple of blocks down from the hostel had its doors wide open—circulating air on the steamy Sydney day when the humidity was high and the thunderstorm approaching. She hoped it would happen soon; she wasn’t used to the hard-to-breathe air.

Then she heard it. Boom, boom, hiss, boom, boom, hiss—the unmistakable strike of stick on drum and cymbal. It stopped and then started again. Then she heard the twang of a rough chord on an electric guitar followed by a disembodied male voice. ‘One, one. Two, t-t-t-two.’

Sound check.

Suddenly she felt right at home, right at ease, and her legs just walked her in there—right into the open bar that was closed for business. To where the band was onstage and the rehearsal was happening. Four guys were up there, dressed in shorts and tees and the lead singer had the skinny boy star look and mandatory crazy hair. She slipped in the back, enjoying the breeze from the fans, watched the drummer with envy, her fingers itching.

‘I’m sorry, you can’t stay here. The bar’s not open yet.’

Reluctantly she dragged her gaze from the drum kit to the man who’d walked up beside her. She blinked. Once. Again. Then rapidly a couple more times to try to make her silly eyes focus. My God. So men like that really did exist? The kind that would have every woman in the vicinity immediately doing their pelvic floor exercises because they knew, absolutely knew, that keeping up with him in the bedroom would require some spectacular performance.

Sienna’s whole body tensed—especially her pelvic floor.

Steely grey eyes with a smidgen of green regarded her. They were surrounded by dark lashes and topped with strongly curved dark brows. Great combination. But it was his mouth that had her flexing—the fullest, most sensual lips she’d ever seen on a man.

She blinked again and broke the contact. Looked down and in that speck of time took in his exhilarating appearance once more. He wore designer board shorts with artless ease and a close-fitting cotton tee shirt. His dark hair was clipped short and his sandals were of soft-looking leather. Details burnt into her brain in rapid-fire succession. But it was his hands she lingered on as they rested on his arms folded across his chest. Large palms and long fingers—he’d have no trouble reaching a couple of octaves on the piano. Nails so neat you’d think they’d been professionally manicured.

He must be gay.

She saw his glance slip over her as he paused too. Saw the hint of censure cloud into something else. The green light grew. The go-ahead signal. Attraction.

Not gay.

She snuck in a breath and remembered what she’d been going to ask. ‘You mind if I watch a while?’ Her voice seemed to have lost all power. It was some pathetic trickle of its usual timbre and the way he was looking at her, she’d lose all ability to speak or think at all. Man, he was hot.

He kept staring at her and she stared back, intrigued to see the green in his eyes intensify. His stance, with his arms banded across his chest, showed off the breadth of his shoulders and emphasised his masculine triangular shape. His shirt pulled at the seams slightly, struggling to contain the breadth of the bone and muscle beneath. Finally he opened his mouth to answer but the singer got in first.

‘It’s OK, Rhys. She can stay. Can you bring in the other amp?’ The singer seemed to have forgotten about the microphone and shouted—the result so loud Sienna jumped. So did Mr Handsome Stranger.

Rhys. He jerked his head to the stage, looking as if he’d just remembered where he was. She saw a glance flicker between all the men, had no problem interpreting it. That was OK. She’d been in and around bands long enough to know what they thought. Groupie? Not today. Well, certainly not for any of the musicians. But Rhys their roadie? My God. She’d never seen a roadie like that before.

She watched as he walked behind the bar to wherever to get the missing equipment.

The singer smiled at her. ‘Come sit and watch for a while if you want.’

She managed to work her dry mouth into some sort of smile and walked to a table near the front—one that gave a good view through to the back of the bar. She sat, stretched her legs out and let the air circulate around her, resting her body from the heat of the sun. She could cool down here for a moment and let the rhythm of the drum soothe her disgruntled soul.

Two minutes later Rhys came back in carrying a large black case. He strode past her to put it on the stage. Gave the singer a mock salute and returned to the bar. She honed in on his every movement. So much for cooling off—just looking at him made her sweat.

Across the tables, he stood level with her, looming in the corner of her eye. She tried to concentrate on the musicians but couldn’t help her sidelong observance of Mr Utterly Attractive. He wasn’t even trying to hide the fact he was looking at her. He stood with his back against the bar, arms across his chest again, and coolly watched her watching the band.

She forced herself to focus on the music. Succeeded for a time—well, her eyes at any rate. Her brain was still assessing his magnificent features. She caught movement to the side and no way could she not look. He’d turned to reach across the bar behind him. She watched, forgetting the musicians entirely as he stretched his body out. Under that tee was a flat wall of muscle. A perfect physical specimen. Sienna, like most people, could appreciate beauty. And his was breathtaking.

He turned back, bottle of water in his hand, and speared her gaze. With a wry turn of his lips he subtly lifted the bottle in her direction, a tiny silent toast, and then sipped.

Finding herself mirroring his swallowing action, and finding her throat rawly dry, she registered her own incredible thirst. Not necessarily for water. What it would be to lick away the drops from his lips. To have him turn into her and take her mouth, giving her exactly what she needed right now. She shivered, her heat almost a fever. She remembered herself and refocused. The slight smile, the tiny tug at the corner of his mouth put her on guard. There was knowledge in his eyes. Sinful awareness. She realised he’d had a direct view into her head and seen exactly what she’d been thinking. From his expression, he didn’t think the idea was too bad either.

She turned back to the band and this time really put the blinkers on. Not going to look his way at all. Unbelievable. Her insides churned. She wanted him. He was exactly what she’d been looking for and never expected to find. A man who’d take the sexiest-man-alive title unchallenged. A man who, with just a look, told her she was beautiful.

Despondency dampened her burgeoning excitement. That look would change the minute he saw her—really saw her. Attraction would fade to pity—and fear. Sienna hated seeing fear in the eyes of a lover. It didn’t exactly make her feel desirable. It didn’t make her feel normal and for once, just once, she wanted normal. And that put her crazy fantasy in mind once more. Number one on her list of life experiences. She’d penned it in her journal only this morning on the beach. Front page, fifteenth volume. And she meant it this time—she was going to fulfil at least one New Year’s resolution. Could she attempt it? Could she really get away with it?

She pushed a breath out as her fingers toyed with the high neck of her tee shirt. She hadn’t a chance. No way could she ever manage it. Lovers tended to get naked. Sienna didn’t want naked—not her at any rate—because then the fun would end and the pity party would start.

She glared at the sticks hitting the drum. Watched the relentless strike on the skin, wanting a hypnotic effect. Failed. She flicked a glance back to the bar, unable to stop her need to at least look at him one last time.

An acute and way over the top amount of disappointment flooded her when she saw he wasn’t there. He’d gone.

End of fantasy.

Her thumbs itched. Hell, everything itched. She stared at the stage, the energy in her bursting to get out. She knew the sure way to make herself feel better—to beat out the blues as she had many a time. She stood and walked right up to the edge of the stage. The singer stopped and the band cut the music.

‘I’m sorry. I know this is a really strange thing to ask and it’s fine to say no, but would you mind if I had a turn on the drums?’ Her heart raced and she looked to the drummer as she asked the final part.

‘You play the drums?’

‘Sure. But I’m on holiday and I haven’t been near a set for a while and I’d really like to.’ She flashed a smile. Hoped they wouldn’t think she was some desperate groupie. Really, all she wanted was to play the drums.

‘We could do with a break. Go right ahead.’

Pleasure washed through her. ‘Thank you.’ She took the steep step up onto the stage and headed to the back. The drummer handed her the sticks with a smile. She felt the weight of them in her hands and then set them on the snare.

She pulled her hair up off the back of her neck and twisted it into a knot on the top of her head, regretting the loss of her fifty-thousandth scrunchie. She spun the seat a few turns to lower it a little. Flexed her wrists and then rotated her hands round a couple of times. Picked up the sticks, pulled back her shoulders and sat. She tilted her head from side to side in her little pre-drumming warm-up routine. Her foot tapped and mentally she worked through the rhythm, slipping easily into the zone and feeling her body come alive. Her smile spread slow and wide across her closed mouth. This was exactly what she’d needed. Then she moved, hands, feet, whole body—moving separately but together to create one hell of a noise.

Rhys Maitland stood at the far end of the bar and clamped his jaw shut to stop it falling to the floor. He held his arms tight across his body as if to hold back the sudden rush of adrenalin—make that attraction. He’d been in unchartered territory since that strawberry-blonde had walked into the bar and stared right into him with those huge blue eyes of hers. His brain hadn’t been working properly since. Instead he’d been filled with one thought only. Getting her naked. Yep, screaming lust central. Thing was, he had a feeling that same thing might have happened to her. She kept glancing at him, and that was definitely a good sign. Either that or he was wearing his lunch on his chin—the attention she paid to his mouth. He’d taken a sip of water to cool his internal heat, but the need to move had grown too strong and he’d slipped out the bar and back round so he could watch her from behind, so he wouldn’t be sent into cardiac arrest—her eyes were more powerful weaponry than anything he’d ever encountered.

So now he stood, a picture of studied relaxation, staring at the elfin honey onstage. She looked small behind the drum kit but he knew from when he’d stood beside her that she was actually quite tall. Very slim, almost ethereal, and yet there she was thrashing the life out of those drums in a way that had him, and every other male on the premises, immobile and in awe. Her hair had been piled up on her head but as she moved it started to come down—first a couple of wisps and then the whole mass tumbled about her shoulders and down her back as she rocked on her seat in time to the beat. Heaven have mercy. Her face gently flushed with the exertion. And try as hard as he could he couldn’t tear his gaze from her.

He sensed the stillness in the bar. Knew all the others were equally transfixed. Felt the flare of territorial male. She’d looked at him. And in that moment, they’d swapped something. Recognition—not of him, of his name, or who he was, but awareness of something elemental.

Like desire. Evident from the moment she’d walked in with her long, long, slim legs set off by a very cute little skirt. Her sandals were just a hint of leather straps over her feet. She was like any other babe on the beach and yet somehow totally different. She lacked the usual overtly confident quality. She’d come in, but with quiet reticence. Then her big eyes, bluer than any ocean or outback sky, had sized him up. Beneath the hesitation he’d seen a flash of bold awareness—a contradiction that had him uncharacteristically uncertain of how to progress. But, man, he wanted to progress. The unshakeable fog of ennui that had hung over him these last few weeks blown away in that one second.

Tim sidled up to him at the bar. ‘Have you ever seen anything like that?’

Rhys shook his head, not trusting his voice.

‘That is the hottest thing I’ve seen on two legs. Unbelievable.’ Even Tim knew to shut up after that and enjoy the view.

After a few minutes—they could have all happily watched for hours—she stopped. Sat still on the stool for a moment, head bowed. Rhys could see her panting.

She stood and handed the sticks back to Greg, the drummer. ‘Thanks, I needed that.’

‘Any time.’ Greg almost fell over the kit to take the sticks, his complete attention on her and not the obstacles in the way.

Tim walked up to the stage, looked up to where she stood now at the front of it. ‘I’m Tim. You have to come and watch tonight. As payment, you know.’

‘Sure.’ She smiled and jumped down from the stage. Rhys clenched his fists even tighter at the view of her legs in action. ‘I really appreciate that, guys. I feel a lot better now.’

She must have known they were all watching, tongues practically hanging out of their mouths like rabid dogs. But she walked casually as if she hadn’t a care in the world, as if no one was looking, not least five full-grown, deeply red-blooded men.

She felt a lot better? Rhys’ blood was pumping through his body to a far faster beat than she’d been playing on the drums. More alive than he’d been in months—yep, he felt better too. And he knew what would make him feel marvellous.

It had been so long.

He tracked her progress down the room. She was looking down and ahead of her, seemingly forgetting the band onstage behind her. Coolly ignoring the four sets of eyes trained on her back. Then she turned her head just as she passed where he was ‘resting’ against the bar.

Five tables stood between them as she walked down the centre aisle, but they could have been millimetres apart, such was the clarity with which he could see her eyes, almost feel their laser-like intensity. She didn’t smile as she looked him over—one killer inspection. He didn’t smile either, didn’t move a muscle in fact—couldn’t.

Unspoken communication. Unstoppable contact. That screaming lust again. Every sinew and muscle in his body tightened to the point of pain, his body wanting him to take action—to reach out and grab. At three in the afternoon with a bunch of his best mates watching?

Then she looked away and walked out of the bar. Rhys jerked his attention back to the band. Finally remembered to breathe.

‘Hot damn, that was some chick,’ Tim called over to Rhys. ‘Gave you the look.’

Rhys stood locked in position against the bar and managed another shrug. Yep. The look. He was still in recovery. Her eyes were haunting. Those brilliant blues had burned right through him and that message had passed again. Magnetic. Rhys was no stranger to ‘the look’—the one a woman flicked a man to say she’d noticed him and was interested. That maybe he and she were a possibility.

Maybe a possibility?

She was a dead certainty. Right now he wanted her as he’d never before wanted a woman. Instant, inescapable, intense. His body was still coiled. He wanted to reach for her, wrap her around him and make her his. Restraining that urge made him ache.

Per capita Sydney had an excess of beautiful, glamorous women and Rhys was on familiar terms with several of them. But suddenly a slip of a girl in a casual tee and quick-dry skirt had nearly rendered him catatonic with need.

‘The minute she finds out who you are, she’s yours,’ Tim said, sizing up the situation.

Rhys frowned. Wrong. She hadn’t known who he was. And he didn’t want her to find out. Didn’t want to see that suggestion of raw physical attraction in her face replaced with attraction to something else—like dollar signs. He wanted to explore the desire without the hindrance and hang-ups that came of history and prejudice and preconceptions.

She was foreign. Had the vowel sounds of a New Zealander. Was wearing the garb of a girl who had nothing but a pack on her back. Kiwi girl on holiday. He was out of his native habitat too—in a part of the city he rarely came to. It was almost like being in a foreign country, one where he, blessedly, wasn’t known. Thus far their interaction was pretty much a blank slate. He didn’t need it to be filled in. What he wanted was physical—his body sought a connection with hers and had from the second he saw her. She’d felt the pull too and he sure as hell wasn’t leaving this bar again until she walked back in.

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.

He kissed his way down the length of her neck, and back up to her ear. ‘You are quite the most beautiful thing.’ He pulled back to look at her, his gaze heavy and gleaming.

She ensured her lips curved upwards but dropped her lashes so he wouldn’t see the pain she knew her eyes would have reflected. Beautiful? Not entirely.

She tugged on his hair, directing him back to her mouth. Wanting the words to end and only the feeling to remain. Not wanting compliments or pretty phrases or promises to falsely gild this moment. Because that was all it was—one moment, but one of absolute bliss. The kind of moment she’d wanted all her adult life and one she wanted to extend. She wanted to make the most of the magic in the night. She melted into him in a way she’d never do at home. But she wasn’t at home. She wasn’t with anyone she knew.

The sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on was holding her and kissing her as if she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. There was no one who knew to tell him otherwise. She’d keep up this pretence as long as she possibly could.

Their bodies collided as passion rose. Initial restraint fast fading as they recognised their needs matched.

More.

At the first touch of his fingers on her bare back, her body shook—the electric charge bolting through her system again. He jerked his head back, his startled green eyes reading hers. She registered the same aftershock in them. He opened his mouth to speak but she stretched forward, reaching right up on tiptoe to prevent him. Not wanting to name it, just wanting to experience it.

Again.

His fingers traversed, burning fire as they went. The need to have them touch her all over nearly crippled her. Instead she spread fingers and palms across his shoulders. Wanting to experience the feel of him as much as the way he made her feel.

So this was what Cinderella must have felt like. To have met her Prince Charming, to be dancing, but knowing it was a fantasy that couldn’t last past the midnight hour.

Make the most of it.

Time constraint made her bolder. She basked in his openly hungry gaze. He wanted her and she wanted nothing but that mouth roving over every inch of her.

No. Not every inch. She forced the miserable thought back, stepped closer into his embrace. Determined to take what she wanted while she could. And he met her, sensed her availability without censure, simply giving her what she asked for and more.

She’d never been so forward in all her life. And she loved it. It wasn’t really the kind of kiss that should be in public at all. She was locked in his arms, length to length they pressed together hard. Both feeling the desperate need to seep into each other’s bodies. To somehow transcend the clothing, the fabric between them and to merge into one.

What had begun as a slow, sensuous dance flavoured with restraint had now become frankly hot and heavy and not nearly enough. His hands traced over her back, fingers that had fluttered over her soft skin now stroked with increasing insistence. His palms pressed her towards him—closer but still not as close as she wanted. She ached, a real physical pain deep inside that only he could soothe—by being deep inside her.

His hand came to rest on her bottom, curved over it with pressure, pulling her tight into him. Locking them pelvis to pelvis. The feel of his erection against her was the most exquisite torture. Half of her trembled, the other half imbued with a surge of strength that had her moving in a way to torment him too. Hunting out the response her basic instinct demanded she receive—him driven to take.

His grip grew stronger, his kisses more frantic—trailing across her face, down her neck. Her eyes closed. Her breath came short and fast—faster and faster until she was panting, almost pleading.

His jaw brushed rough against her over-sensitised skin as he raised his head with sudden and unexpected force. ‘We shouldn’t be here any more.’ His voice was low and husky and his hands tightened, keeping her close. ‘I think we need to be alone.’

Green eyes searched hers. She knew they were seeking out doubt. But she had no intention of stepping away. For the first time in her life she ignored her worry and just went with the want.

‘Somewhere close.’ Miraculously her voice worked.

‘You’re sure?’

Again the intensity together with a sensitivity she hadn’t expected. And faint hesitancy just as there had been when they had first hit the dance floor. Desire most certainly, but something else as well. Some other thought, small but inescapable, that had him pausing. But as he pulled on her arm it seemed that he, like she, had no choice.

She gave him the only possible answer. ‘As sure as you are.’

CHAPTER THREE

THE door closed behind them, muting the noise of bottles, beat and bar. Sienna was in some oversized pantry. Half-dazed, she took in the shelves where giant jars of sun-dried tomatoes vied for space next to sacks of rice and tins of whatever. Rhys had taken her by the hand and led her off the dance floor. Known exactly where he was headed. She’d simply followed, unquestioning. He closed the door behind him. Bolted it. Swung her so her back was to the door, the lock just by her arm. He nodded to it.

‘You can leave any time.’

‘I don’t want to.’

She saw his tension as he braced against the door but holding his body away from her. She looked along the length of his arms, pinning her in. She could see the strength in them. Not overdeveloped, bulging biceps, but defined, long muscles that were, frankly, beautiful. She sensed he was pushing against the door as a way to keep himself in check. She didn’t want him to hold back. No restraint, she wanted everything. Wanted him to want her in the deeply physical way she wanted him, and she wanted to feel it, experience it. All.

It was her turn to seize the moment. Daring, she reached out quickly before habit returned and she hesitated. She unfastened the top button of his shirt. She heard the catch of his breath. A tiny smile tugged the corners of her mouth. This could be an awful lot of fun. And she’d gone too long without fun. Well, not tonight.

Her fingers shook only a little as she worked the buttons with surprising ease. Until both halves of the shirt hung apart and she was able to see his taut bronzed torso. The initial attack of butterflies in her tummy was fast replaced by a serious tightening. Transverse, internal and external obliques—all those abdominal muscles tensed at the sight of raw male in perfect prime.

She must have a fairy godmother to grant her this wish. She forced her gaze from his torso to his face. She could see the way he’d clamped his jaw shut as he watched her admiring him.

Their eyes met. She saw the serious look in his again. The reality of what she was considering hit her.

She spoke. ‘I don’t usually…’

‘Neither do I.’

Somehow she knew that was true. ‘I just want to…’

‘Me too.’

Touch.

She reached a hand out sideways and flipped the light switch. Blackness covered them—sudden and total. She couldn’t even make out his outline. But she could hear him. Could sense his nearness.

‘Sienna?’

‘Indulge me.’ She smiled—excited by his audible tension, amused by her actions. She even sounded like a seductress. She slipped her panties down, kicking them off and to the floor. Now she felt like one. A sense of exhilaration flooded her. Freedom. In the dark, where there was only touch and scent and sensation, she could be as wicked and wild as she wanted.

‘How should I indulge you?’ The tension was still there, and a trace of husky desire.

‘Touch me.’

He stepped closer. She heard the movement of his feet. With the loss of vision her other senses seemed more acute.

His voice lowered but she still heard every word as clear as the beat of the drum. ‘Where should I touch you?’

‘Anywhere you want.’ Everywhere. She didn’t mind. In the dark like this, anything could happen.

He was close. Very close but still not touching and she wanted that beyond belief.

She smelt the wine they’d drunk. Then caught a hint of a scent new to her but thoroughly delightful—Rhys. Aroused.

But still he held back.

Her breasts ached. She longed to feel him caress them—to both soothe and set on fire. As for his mouth, the kind of luscious lips that overly wealthy housewives paid thousands for. The perfect Cupid’s bow. She wanted that everywhere. Where was he? Panic gripped her—he hadn’t changed his mind?

Then he spoke, that low sound of temptation personified. ‘I can’t quite decide where to touch and whether to use my hands or mouth.’

‘How about both? Everywhere.’

She heard his puff of amusement and his low murmur. ‘Sienna the Siren.’

At last he touched her, his hands settling on her waist as his lips sought hers. Back to the beginning—but it wasn’t a beginner’s kind of kiss. Deeper, long, lush kisses followed—lasting for ever. His hands moved, played up her back, and then slipped round her front, his fingers seeking her softness. The ache in her breasts intensified, wanting more.

He spoke her desire aloud. ‘I want to touch you. How do I get this off?’ He tugged at the material.

‘It’s complicated. I…’

His groan sounded half smothered. ‘Later, we’ll get rid of it later.’

Regret whistled through her. There would be no later. But the thought was wiped from her mind as his hands encircled her braless breasts, and his mouth found her nipple with killer precision.

Raw need ricocheted through her. She felt the pull in every limb. Her brain forcing her entire body to attend to the sensation in her nipples. Never had she felt so desired. Never had her breasts received such attention. Such deliberate and devastating touches. Lovers were usually distracted by then—by the scar. Tonight, despite the thin, slippery fabric covering her, she could feel his desire, the wet heat of his mouth as he caressed her with a physical want she knew would wane if he ever saw her in entirety.

She rocked her pelvis against him—an unconscious desire to soothe the ache that had sprung there. Then she realised her body, her very sex, was demanding the same kind of attention her breasts were receiving. The essence of her wanted his fingers, his lips, his tongue to delve and devour the way they were her rounded flesh.

She wanted everything he had. All of his body. All of his strength.

The scent of the room, the sound of her, the softness of her skin and the heady darkness all combined to give Rhys the feeling he’d left this earth and entered some sort of heaven. He ran his hands over her breasts and back, partly wanting to pull her into him, partly wanting her on a pedestal so he could worship each delicious bit of her.

He was spinning so far out of control. He needed to step back. Regroup a little. Hell, he couldn’t even remember if he had a condom in his wallet. Did he have one? Think, brain. Think. But she was kissing him again and rational thought was becoming impossible. In this darkness, the cool room wasn’t that cool at all. Her long hair tickled his skin and he found himself weaving his hands into it again and again. Running fingers through its silky softness as she kissed his chest, her hands firmly smoothing down his abs. And suddenly he could see it—there was nothing in his mind but the bright, burning gold. Flaxen flames. A gorgeous mess that was so striking and so seductive. He pulled her close for another deep kiss, couldn’t keep away any longer, wanting to touch her most intimate space. From the way her hips writhed against his he knew she wasn’t about to say no.

He bent his knees so he could place a palm on each leg, halfway up her thighs. He heard her breathing hitch. He kissed her softly, kept close so he could catch every nuance of her reaction as he slowly slid his hands towards home. Her legs were slim but he could feel their supple strength. As he traced up towards where they gently curved together he saw them in his mind’s eye—a heaven-sent pillow. After this, when they were in his bed, he would rest his head there and explore the treasure at the top—at length. Right now, his fingers were sending him the images, his ears supplying the audio. Her shallow snatches of air accelerated as he neared his destination. Little gulps turned into little groans and he was seized by the desire to hear her sounds as she came. He’d make sure that happened very, very soon.

He reached the curve of her bottom, the cleft of her sex. And his pleasure in assessing her reaction was totally toppled by the realisation she wasn’t wearing any underwear. He had complete access. His mind blanked. But his body knew what to do—make use of it. He traced through her wet warmth, and the scent of her secret space slipped out, filling him, tempting him. He had to taste her. He had to take her. He’d plunge deep into this woman, no matter what.

He was so busy concentrating, so busy deciding, he didn’t really register she’d been fiddling at his waist, not until he felt his belt pulled away. How she got his zip down he didn’t know but it was blessed relief as his erection sprang free from the denim prison.

With surprising strength she placed one hand on the back of his head, pulling him into a kiss while the other grasped his straining penis. Her hand was warm and firm and she was stroking him and he choked a growl into her mouth. He needed to pull back for a moment or it would be all over in a few more seconds.

And then she jumped. Literally jumped into his arms. Instantly, instinctively, he moved, righting his balance, spreading his legs wide so he could bear both his weight and hers. He had no choice but to have his hands under her bottom, supporting her as she wrapped around him.

God, it felt good. He felt her wetness right on him. Agonisingly close. Then she shifted. He heard the little noise—a cross between a sigh and a cry—as she wriggled and slid onto him. Right down, naturally adjusting her angle so she took him in to the hilt. Her legs locked around him.

Oh, yes!

Sudden. Shocking. And so incredibly satisfying he almost came right away.

Not yet! Not yet! Not yet!

Sucking in air, he fought it. Holding back with an effort sure to shave a few years off his life. His heart thundered. She was so hot, so wet and so wanting. But he couldn’t think about it, couldn’t indulge immediately. His breath calmed as control returned to him—although he knew it wouldn’t be for long.

‘You OK?’

Hell, he’d wanted to ensure she was really ready for him, had half planned not to do this until they were in a bed rather than some tiny cupboard at the back of a bar.

But there was no way he could stop now and here she was the one asking if he was coping all right.

‘Too fast?’

‘A little.’ Answering honestly, he pushed out some air. ‘But I’ve got you now.’

He sure did. Hot and sweet. He kissed every inch of her he could reach, squeezed her sweet rounded bottom as he supported her. He wanted this to go a little slower but she was riding him, pressing him home to victory in a way he couldn’t resist for much longer. He groaned. Reminded himself this was just the appetiser. The prelude to a fantastic evening ahead where they would lie and roll in a bed over and over, again and again. A room where he would rip the clothing from her if he had to so he could see her as well as feel her, hear her without the backdrop of noise from an overcrowded bar in full party mode. And with that thought relieving him he gave in to the desire to simply take what she was offering. To plunge in deeper and harder and hold her so he could claim her with all his strength.

Her legs curled tighter around him, vice-like she gripped him. Her whimpers of delight turned into cries of celebration as her tension snapped. He felt the waves washing over her, radiating out to him, threatening to swamp him.

And incredibly he didn’t explode. Instead he found himself in a new phase, even more intense, where he had even more energy, strength to keep holding her, supporting her while she contracted around him again and again. He pushed inside, further and further, the heated silk of her body absorbing him, the strokes of pleasure almost sending him out of his mind.

More, more, more!

She was coiling tighter again, uttering soft, broken murmurs that sounded like screams to him, they pierced him so intensely. He wanted them louder, wanted her harder.

He growled as he adjusted his stance, tightening his fingers on her, no longer able to keep from bruising, just needing with a kind of possessive and primal instinct that was as foreign to him as it was raw.

He switched his hold, freeing one hand so he could grasp her by her hair, pulling her mouth to his, taking it in a kiss that was hard and hungry and utterly unrestrained.

She gave as good as she got. Her tongue came out—eagerly searching, tasting deep into him, and as he released her from the kiss she came after him, her tongue seeking his lips, tracing their curve and then nipping at them. Her fingers curled into his hair, tugging, holding him so he couldn’t escape the heat of her kiss. She took all his breath and demanded more. She was devouring him—raw, relentlessly seeking and giving pure physical pleasure.

And he could fight it no longer. Gave her what she sought. A male body, aroused beyond control, possessively thrusting, pulsating with pleasure, pouring in everything he had until he was utterly, utterly spent.

The bright, burning gold light exploded in his head.

And then there was blackness.

Her weight was no longer his sweet burden. Her legs were gone from his waist. His hands hung, unusually useless, as he tried and failed to get his body working again. He whistled air into his burning lungs—rough and ragged.

He felt her fingers on his neck as she pulled his head down to hers. He felt her warm breath in his ear. He heard the jerky whisper.

‘Thank you.’

Before he could reply, she’d slid back the bolt and opened the door, escaping into the passage between bar and restaurant and pulling it shut again quickly behind her.

Rhys blinked. Colour spots floated in front of him, caused by the split second of harsh light. Plunged into blackness again, he reached forward. Palms hit wood.

Hell. She was gone.

He braced his hands on the door, light-headed from the expenditure of energy and sheer disbelief over the intensity of the moment he’d just experienced. Blood rushed all over. To his body, not his brain. That he couldn’t seem to work. He couldn’t seem to move at all. Stunned. Sapped of all strength.

Then he felt the sweat running off his brow. Felt the way his shirt was sticking to his back. Felt the burn in his thighs and arms, his muscles now seizing from the effort of taking her weight, taking her completely for he didn’t know how long.

He pressed the light on his watch. Hell. They’d been in here over an hour. Had she turned him into some tantric sexpert? Rhys was no stranger to a sustained sex session, but he’d never managed quite such a marathon before. And the thing was it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Incredibly he wanted more this minute. He straightened. His body recharged in only those few milliseconds and filled with the need to seek and conquer. Again. Now.

He found the light switch, fastened his jeans, and stuffed a couple of shirt buttons through holes. He gave a quick glance round the cold store—amazingly not a thing appeared out of place. In the small square foot of space in the centre of the room the earth had shifted, reality had receded, and yet not one grain of rice had hit the floor. For a second he frowned—had he just imagined that whole thing? Maybe the hospital had been right and he really, really needed this holiday. Was his brain reduced to feeding him the ultimate fantasy? Losing it, definitely losing it.

Then he caught sight of the slip of black. He bent and retrieved it. A faint, tantalising scent whispered to him. It registered and hit hard in the groin. Her panties. She must have slid them off right at the start. He smiled at their size—a scrap of lace and nothing. He paused, thinking the encounter through. She’d known exactly what she wanted from the start. His smile faded, frown returned. What had gone on tonight? Had she had a hidden agenda? But she’d seemed so genuine. She’d seemed as blown away as he had. Doubt rushed in with anger hot on its heels as an evil thought occurred to him. Maybe she did know who he was. Maybe she’d known his identity exactly and targeted him. And he’d been the fool. Had he just fallen prey to the biggest honey trap ever? And was a million-dollar baby her prize? The Mandy mess would be nothing compared to that.

His blood pumped faster. He knew nothing about her. And he’d just had unprotected sex with her. Stupid. Reckless. Risky. Rhys didn’t do risk. He always ensured he retained control of a situation—never allowing circumstance to change so vulnerability could be possible. Vulnerability led to disaster. That he did know.

But he hadn’t been in control of that situation—she had. She’d sprung on him, surprised him and—got what she wanted? For once he’d just let go, gone with something that had felt so incredibly good he hadn’t had the strength to fight it. Been tempted by the whole holiday idea, the fun of forgetting who he was for a while. Was he now going to pay the price?

Seriously angry with himself, he yanked his belt. Angry with Tim for bringing him to this hellish haven for traveller types. Hell, he couldn’t even blame booze for that moment of madness. It had been all-consuming lust. He’d been unable to think beyond having her, hearing her, being in her.

Again. He still wanted it.

Jaw clamped, he stuffed the delicate garment into his jeans pocket. He’d better find her damn fast. And find out exactly what kind of game she was playing. He burst out of the pantry—ignored the startled yelp of the bartender who, with unfortunate timing, happened to be walking past the door.

Rhys strode into the bar. Only a few seconds had passed but that could be her make-or-break advantage. And she had wanted to escape. But the bar was thick and crowded. Thankful for his superior height, he soon spotted the divine stretch of skin that was her back as she slowly threaded her way through. She was almost at the door. He barrelled through the masses, uncaring of knocking someone, hearing the glass fall. He muttered an unintelligible apology that wouldn’t have been heard anyway, given he was already three paces past. His eyes were glued to the prize. But then she was out the door. Left. She turned left.

He reached the exit and whipped his head to spot her. There. Several yards along. Even from the distance he could see she was struggling. Her hand rose to her head, fingers knotted in her hair to hold it back from her face. She seemed oblivious to the storm that threw wind and rain at her.

Humidity’s hold had been shattered, but until now Rhys hadn’t noticed either. The sound of thunder had been disguised, not by the beat of the band, but by the cacophony of their sighs and whispers in the cold store. Her song still rang in his ears, driving him to follow her. Fast. The large drops of rain pelting him were a relief, cooling his lust and anger-heated body.

Something stopped him from calling out to her. He wanted to see where she was going first. Hoped like hell she wasn’t about to disappear into a taxi—he could see the lights of one at the stand not too far ahead. Only the one vehicle. Damn.

But instead she turned, stepping through the brightly lit doorway. He read the sign in a second. A hostel. Backpacker paradise. So maybe one part of her story checked out. On the surface at least she was on holiday.

He entered in time to see her ankles disappearing up the stairs. He went to follow but the guy on Reception nobbled him.

‘Can I help you?’

‘The woman who just went past here. Slim, strawberry-blonde.’

The doorman blinked lazily.

‘She’s staying here?’ Rhys rapped out the question.

‘I can’t give out information about our customers.’

‘So she is staying?’

The bland expression remained.

‘More than one night?’

No answer again, but there was a suspicion of a wink.

Rhys savoured the slight satisfaction but it wasn’t enough. He’d get all the answers, thank you very much. Utter irritation, unquenchable desire, undeniable need to know forced his actions. ‘Got any vacancies?’

‘Dormitory or own room?’

He thought for a moment—wicked intent winning over cold curiosity. ‘Got any doubles?’

The door guy grinned. ‘Sure.’ He pulled a form and started filling it in. ‘I need name and details, how many nights you want and I need ID—passport or driver’s licence.’

Damn. He didn’t want to reveal who he was. ‘Can’t I just pay up front? Cash?’

‘We still need ID.’

Rhys deliberated for a nanosecond. Privacy was precious—but the guy on the desk was an American. He’d have no idea who he was. He’d be in the clear. Just one night—so he could find her over breakfast and ask what the hell was going on. So he handed over his driving licence. Filled in the forms. Got the key.

He finally got to go up the stairs she’d ascended ahead of him. He unlocked his room. He even had his own mini-bathroom. Not bad for a cheap-as-they-come hostel. Although he was paying the ‘premium’ rate for his own room and en suite. He wondered where she was right now. Under this roof—but in a room full of bunks or on her own? Was she thinking of him?

Hell—was she with someone else?

He rejected that idea immediately. There had been hesitation—he was sure he’d seen that in the blue sea of her eyes. She had said she didn’t usually…

What? Go for millionaire heirs? It wouldn’t be the first time some stunner had used him to bag herself a fortune. Different style from Mandy, same result. Money. Only this would be even more damaging. He’d be left with a permanent reminder of his folly—no child deserved to be brought into being purely to serve as a bargaining chip, a commodity. He had to find her and fix this.

He swore. How had he managed to lose control so entirely? Irritated, he stood for as long as he could under piping hot water. Sluicing the sweat from his body, he also rinsed his shirt while he was at it, hanging it up where it would dry quick-time. The storm had abated, the temperature would only rise again.

He thought about her parting words. Thank you. Simple. Strangely heartfelt. He hardened his own heart. He was not going to be suckered by a burning blonde. Just because she had a nice hint of vulnerability in her eyes that threatened to soften even his roughened-up skin.

But in the steam of the room, memories of their dark encounter flew at him, tormenting him. He turned the tap to cold, glanced at his watch and groaned. It was going to be a long few hours. But no way was she getting away with whatever the hell she had planned.

Although what he was going to do about it, he had no idea.