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

He lost all ability to think, couldn’t come up with a thing to say. She could be the boss. Fine. ‘Uh, OK.’

They abandoned the shower, didn’t bother with towels, just landed back on the bed in a hot, damp tangle. Her smile was so full of eager anticipation he had to close his eyes against the power of it. He lay on the bed and she knelt above him. Slowly roving over him from top to toe with her hands, her trailing hair, her hot mouth. Her roughened hands killing him with their firm grip and determined action. Exactly where he’d wanted her. Keeping control was such an effort—one certain to slice even more years off his life.

She guided him home. He gasped as she rode him hard. ‘We’re supposed to be pushing you, not me.’

She laughed, shook her head at him as she kept it crazy, fast, slow, faster again, keeping him on the edge until the heat was intolerable and his breath came harsh.

Sienna propped up her head by placing four of the thin pillows in the one pile, looked down her body to where he lay sprawled halfway down the bed. He’d spread her legs around him. Was seemingly having a wonderful time focusing on one at a time and exploring it—running smooth fingers down her thigh, twirling round her knee and back up again, fingers playing on her occasional freckles. She was almost reluctant to break into his enjoyment, but she couldn’t resist talking to him, wanting to get to know him better. Wanting to break through his quiet charming façade and beyond into the vast reservoir that she sensed was there. There was a lot more going on with Rhys Monroe than he let show.

‘You have such smooth hands. No calluses from hammering?’

He looked up, confusion flashing in his face.

She held up her hands to him. ‘Look, hardly sexy, is it?’ The calluses from hours and hours keeping the beat, from holding the drumsticks. Yet his palms were soft and smooth, surprising given he must spend hours and hours holding hammers and tools.

Dark shadows lurked in his eyes before the green light chased them away again. ‘Actually, your hands are very sexy. You have a hold that is unique.’

‘A hold?’

‘Good friction.’ He grinned wickedly.

‘You like them?’ She looked at the raised welts of toughened skin in amazement.

‘There’s nothing about your body I don’t like.’

‘How come you don’t have workman’s hands?’ He didn’t. He had the fine hands of a pianist. Long-fingered, smooth-skinned, neatly manicured.

He shrugged. ‘I spend more time working inside than out these days.’

She was about to ask more but he diverted her, leaning over to follow the path of his deftly moving fingers with his mouth. She couldn’t concentrate on finding out about him, only what he was doing.

But he was learning about her—body and mind. His fingers probed while he posed questions. ‘How come you ended up playing the drums?’

She leaned back on the pile of pillows, luxuriating in the wantonness of her position. Loving looking down and seeing his head nestled between her thighs. Delighting in the freedom to lie back and let him taste her as if she were the most delicious thing. ‘I wanted to do something. I wasn’t allowed to play sports. And I didn’t have the puff for a wind instrument. I thought piano and strings were dull. I wanted to make the biggest, baddest noise I could.’

‘Prove you were there, huh?’

She lifted her head to look at his expression. His astuteness was acute—and fascinating to her. He understood her so quickly and she had no hesitation in opening up further to him. Yes, she’d wanted to declare her existence to the world. Not wanting to have a mouse-like existence on the edge of life, hardly daring to move for fear her heart wouldn’t cope with action. She’d wanted to claim her place, make enough noise to let others, and herself, know she was there. ‘I like loud.’

‘Do you, now?’ His fingers climbed higher and his chuckle warmed her skin. ‘I think I knew that.’

She giggled. He wiggled closer. Nuzzling the very top of her thigh.

‘So why the holiday in Australia?’

‘I wanted a week to relax before starting the big bit of my trip. Sydney has shopping, sun, surf…so long as I don’t see any of your spiders and snakes I’m a happy tourist.’

He laughed. ‘They don’t tend to show themselves in the city much. You’re in the clear, I think.’

‘Maybe from the snakes but not the spiders. And they’re all poisonous, aren’t they? I’m terrified every time I shower one will scuttle out of the drain.’

He nipped her tender skin, then licked it, soothing and seducing. ‘Tell you what, I’ll shower with you the rest of your holiday and scare them away.’

She grinned. ‘OK.’

‘And what’s the big bit of your trip?’

She lay back, enjoying the delightfully slow way he was toying with her—the thin thread of desire being pulled ever tighter. ‘Checking a few things off my list.’

‘List?’

‘Yeah, things I want to achieve before I die.’

His head jerked up. ‘I thought you weren’t about to die.’

‘Well, hopefully not.’ She gave him a reassuring grin. ‘But it’s time to take control of my life and do the things I’ve always thought I’d never be able to do.’

He looked at her for a long moment. ‘Like what?’

‘Silly things.’ She felt her cheeks heat. She wasn’t going to tell him he’d just helped her achieve something she’d never imagined would really be possible. ‘I don’t mean climb Everest or be the first person on Mars or win a Nobel Prize. I mean, play in a fountain on a sunny day type of things. Eat too many hotdogs at the fair.’

‘That’s not that silly.’ He kept his eyes trained on her, his hands gently stroking up and down her inner thighs. ‘You’re not planning on doing dangerous things, are you? Like swimming with sharks, or walking on burning embers—in search of some extreme adrenalin rush? Prove your existence that way?’

‘Hell, no.’ She shuddered. ‘It’s not about risk. It’s about knowing I’m alive and loving it, that I’m not taking life for granted. I want to live here and now, make the most of every moment.’

There was a long silence. She peeked down at him. Serious and contemplative, he seemed miles away. He looked up and saw her watching him. ‘Are you ready to make the most of this moment?’ His hands slid back to the top of her thighs. Heat flooded her—ridiculous that she should feel any embarrassment now they’d been in this bed for so many hours, being as intimate as it was possible for two people to physically be. But this intimacy wasn’t just physical. She was talking with a freedom she hadn’t had before. He didn’t judge, he simply listened and all the while made her feel sexier than hell. Killer combo. She’d never seen lust so raw like this. Never imagined a guy could even look this way—let alone at her. Never realised how intoxicating it was when she felt it in return—threefold.

Unable to stop, she tilted her hips up to him, silently issuing the invitation—access all areas.

She sprawled back on the flat mattress, having swept away all the pillows in her fight for release, a film of sweat on her brow. But he wasn’t done. His gentle exploration, of both her body and life, began again.

‘You have a job?’

‘Not now. I worked all sorts to save for this trip—in bars, temping, gigs, session recordings.’ She’d worked hard—not wanting to use her brother’s money although he’d offered time and time again. She wanted to be free of his concern, his well-intentioned control. She wanted to do it all by herself. And while she had good grades and talent, right now she was factoring in the ‘me-time’.

‘You don’t want to be a full-time musician?’

‘Music is great but the lifestyle isn’t.’ And she wanted something more—to make a difference somewhere, somehow. Now she had a life she wanted to achieve something with it.

‘Why not teach?’

She frowned.

He laughed. ‘Come on, short work days, all those holidays…’

She threw him a sceptical look. ‘Which shows how much you know about teaching.’ It was a great profession but she’d have to do more study. She couldn’t afford that time-wise or dollar-wise at present. Top of her agenda was travelling to the places she’d dreamed of for too long, then she’d work in the UK and decide. Ideally she’d like to work in a voluntary sector—helping out in areas where little help was usually available or affordable. But she still had to eat.

‘So what are you going to do?’