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

‘No.’

‘And are you a builder, Rhys?’

‘No.’

‘Naughty, naughty Rhys,’ Mistress South Africa said.

He ignored her. Held up the day pack in front of Sienna. ‘Want this back?’

Her eyes flashed fire. ‘Yes.’

‘Then come with me now and I’ll give it to you.’

‘You can give it to me here.’

‘No. I’ll give it to you once we’ve sat down and talked about this like adults.’

‘I really don’t see that we have that much to say. You lied. End of story.’

He studied her. Wanting to throw his own accusations but conscious of the greedy interest of the others, conscious of how tired she looked. She seemed to have got thinner overnight. ‘I’m walking out of here right now. If you want this back, you’re coming with me.’

He wanted away from all the observers. He wanted just him and her again. He knew she’d come. Hell, if nothing else, he had her medication—and her passport.

She said nothing. Just turned and marched ahead of him. Waited on the footpath outside for him to point out the direction. Despite his own fury he couldn’t stop the grudging smile inside. What would she do if he told her how beautiful she looked when she was mad?

Sienna sizzled all the way along the street. Fuming. She’d had an awful night’s sleep, and an even more miserable day trying to take in some exciting tourist stuff, but all her mind would let her see was the sight of Rhys in full doctor mode. She replayed the moment of realisation over and over as she searched for reasons—consistently failing to figure answers.

That was why she was walking with him. She wanted answers and that was all she was after. She didn’t want anything more from him now—right? Certainly not any more of his hot body.

Except that was all she could think about right this very second. How different he seemed. As gorgeous as the day before but now even more energy bounced off him. He exuded an aura of barely leashed passion. It had her on edge. It had her excited. In turn, that made her even madder.

He stopped a few yards along from the hostel.

‘What’s this?’

‘My car.’

She stared at the shiny black convertible. ‘Car? You brought your car on holiday with you? All the way from…where was it you said you were from again?’ She raised her brows at him—attempting a look of cool inquisition but any faux haughtiness evaporated at his angry expression. How dared he look so cross when he was the one who’d fibbed his way through the last four days?

‘We’re not here to discuss my car, Sienna. Get in.’

Her mouth dropped. ‘Ever heard of the word please?’

‘Get in. Now.’

If he didn’t have her most precious things in his hand, she’d walk away this instant. If he didn’t have a hold on something even more precious of hers she’d be running like an Olympian. Then again, given he actually had all this precious stuff of hers, she should be flying.

Instead, she got in the passenger seat and slammed the door behind her.

He started the engine and drove. She had no idea where. But after half an hour of simmering silence he pulled into a park and got out of the car.

He walked ahead of her, brandishing her bag. She marched after him. Quite happy by now to give him one hell of a piece of her mind because he was really, really, asking for it.

He turned into a doorway. She blinked as she stepped out of the dazzling sunlight and into a gloomy interior. They were in a small bar. Guitar music played softly. Spanish. He led her to a table at the front, with booth seats ninety degrees to the window. He didn’t sit, just gestured for her to and then, not bothering to wait for the waitress, went straight to the bar and ordered.

Sienna sat, studiously stared out the window, pretended she wasn’t remotely interested in what he was doing.

Two cool beers in long glasses were plonked onto the table. He slid into the bench seat across from hers.

Much as she wanted to she couldn’t refuse the drink—parched. She picked it up and drank deeply. He did the same. Half-empty glasses returned to the table with equally violent bangs.

‘You lied to me.’

He sat back, seeming to relax a little. ‘Yes.’

‘You made up a name. You made up a whole story about yourself.’

‘Yes.’

‘And you think that’s OK?’

‘Of course not. But what about you? What about your list?’ Scathing to say the least.

She sat up. ‘What about it?’

‘What about number one on your list?’

Blood pounded through every vein. ‘You read my journal?’ She watched, immobile and enraged, as with calm movements he unzipped her bag. ‘Hand that over this instant. That is not your property. You have no right to read that.’

‘I didn’t. This page fell out when I opened your pack.’

‘Why were you going through my pack?’

‘I was worried. I wanted to see if you had any medication you’d missed.’

She stopped, jaw dropping; the world she saw was suddenly stained red. Dr Rhys. Interfering already.

‘Anyway, so what if I read it? You wrote it to be read. That’s why people write things down—so they get read.’

‘Rubbish,’ she snapped. ‘Writing goals down helps make them real. Helps you realise them.’

‘And that’s what this was? Some goal?’ He picked up the page and read in cutting tones. ‘“1. To have wild, abandoned sex with someone who doesn’t know about my heart condition.”’

‘And?’ With superwoman strength she hid the cringe. OK, it sounded trashy read aloud, but so what? What business was it of his? It was a fantasy, for heaven’s sake. One she’d never imagined would ever actually happen.

‘So anyone would have done? You just wanted the experience of being with someone who didn’t know about you. Well, lucky me. Right place, right time. Good thing I got to the table when I did or would you have gone for Tim, or Gaz or some other sucker on the dance floor? Anyone so long as it was dark and he could satisfy you?’

Incensed, she threw it back on him. ‘Well, as I remember it you weren’t exactly complaining. Don’t make out like I’ve used you any more than you’ve used me.’ She choked the words out. ‘Don’t you dare come across all holier than thou. It’s not like you were out looking for a serious relationship either. Were you? You can’t even tell me your real name. For days you’ve been lying to me. I was up front a hell of a lot sooner than you.’ And, no, of course she wouldn’t have gone for Tim or Gaz or anyone else in the whole entire world. Because she’d never felt that instant, unstoppable attraction to another before. Not that she was about to tell him that. How dared he judge her? ‘It was a one-night stand. That was all either of us intended.’