Pleasured by the Secret Millionaire

Now that he’d invited her here he seemed a little at a loss to know what to do with her. She helped him out. ‘You going to make me a coffee?’

He moved then, reminded of his host duties. ‘You don’t want wine?’

She shook her head. The beer she’d had at the bar had been enough. She needed to keep her wits about her and her will firm. Already she was in danger of forgiving all and letting him get away with anything. There was something so irresistible about his strength and silence and in the occasional vulnerability she saw in his full, sensual mouth. Part of her was so tempted to make a move—this was merely a holiday fling, after all. But she was deluding herself and she knew it. So instead she’d give them a moment for closure and then go back to the hostel. If she stayed around him she’d slip further under his spell and that would be stupid. Falling in love wasn’t an option—marriage, kids and a white picket fence were off the list. For the well-being of everyone.

Aside from the art and the opulence there was little to distinguish his apartment from any other bachelor pad. Overflowing bookcases, a state-of-the-art entertainment system that included games console, stereo, masses of CDs and DVDs.

She followed him into the kitchen area and as she turned to admire the gleaming espresso machine she saw what hung on the dividing wall.

It was covered with black and white photos printed on canvas blocks. Varying sizes. Varying groupings. Formal portraits, family snaps. All had been digitally enhanced, then printed onto the canvas. Occasional stripes of colour had been painted on, or tiny details filled in. Some photos were left plain, others had been added to. The effect as a whole was striking—a dramatically different sort of ‘rogues’ gallery’.

Sienna stared and stared. Finally asked, ‘Family?’

He nodded. Eventually gave some more detail. ‘My sister did it for me. She’s a photographic artist. She does some interesting stuff.’

‘This is really cool.’ She walked closer, wanting to see if she could guess. She pointed to one shot of a young couple in older style wedding clothes. ‘Your parents?’

He nodded, slowly coming to stand beside her.

She pointed to a roly-poly baby. ‘You?’

Again a jerky affirmative.

There was a shot to the side of two wide-smiling boys aged maybe eight and ten, the elder one clearly Rhys. ‘Your brother?’

He walked, angled away from her, arms folded across the front of his body. She could see his hands were curled into fists. ‘Cousin.’

She stared at him. His ‘conversation closed’ body language couldn’t be any louder. She glanced again at the picture then moved on. ‘Which is your sister?’

He came back. Obviously reluctant. Pointed, but immediately pulled his head back so his arms became bars across his chest.

‘She’s younger?’

He nodded.

She smiled. ‘Are you a bossy, overprotective older brother?’

‘She’d probably say so. I’d say I’m the responsible one.’

‘Responsible.’ Not the first time that had come up. She turned to him. ‘It’s a balance, isn’t it? Yes, you have to be responsible but you also have to live. And let others live their lives too.’

‘Yes, but you also have to recognise you have responsibilities to others—especially those you care about and who care about you.’

Sienna knew that. It was precisely why she didn’t want someone getting too close. She didn’t want to be stifled. And, ultimately, she didn’t want to let them down.

Rhys stared back at the wall. ‘You also have a duty to help where you can. A duty not to hurt, not to let people down.’ As his last words echoed her thoughts, his gaze landed on the picture of him with his cousin.

Sienna was hit by a horrible thought. ‘Is that why you came after me? After I showed you my scar—you felt a duty?’

‘Not a duty. No.’

‘No? You didn’t feel bound not to leave me feeling bad?’

‘No.’ He turned away from the pictures and faced her. ‘I came after you because I couldn’t not.’

‘So it was a duty.’

His gaze locked with hers. ‘It was desire. It’s still desire.’ He stepped closer, his reserve breaking. ‘I like how I feel when I’m around you.’ He put his hands on her shoulders, his fingers firm. ‘I like how I feel when I touch you.’ He drew closer still, speaking quietly yet every word rang loud. ‘I can’t help but want to touch you.’

He kissed her then, a soft brush that had her parting and wanting. So much for closure.

He looked down at her, his lips a fraction from hers, his eyes burning bright. ‘You have no idea how much I want to make love to you.’

Her gasp was soft and in that very instant his mouth was back on hers, preventing her response, stopping her from voicing her doubt. Sending that doubt packing.

They kissed and kissed and kissed again. A couple of times he pulled away from her lips, kissing down her throat but as quickly he was back to her mouth as if unable to keep away, as if needing to taste the sweet intimacy.

Her resistance melted in the onslaught. As his hands framed her face, cradling her as he kissed her so tenderly, a wave of emotion rose in her and was more than enough to drown her hesitation and hurt. She closed her eyes and absorbed the care he was taking. She was too overwhelmed by sensation to realise he’d been slowly walking them somewhere. Not once breaking the kiss, not giving her the chance to take breath and reclaim sanity, he guided her to his room. With desire-drugged eyes she took in vague details. Just a glimpse of the bed had her knees pathetically weakening.

‘I’m sorry I lied.’ And she knew that he was. And she wanted to forgive him. She did. But he was still holding a part of himself back, and she knew it and she couldn’t quite say it didn’t matter.

‘Rhys…’ She should go back to the hostel. She shouldn’t let this become anything more. But the change was already happening; she could feel it swirling around her.

‘Let me show you.’ He made it so utterly impossible to say no.

He gently set about removing her clothes. She raised her arms so he could slide the tee shirt off her, stepped out of the skirt as it puddled around her feet. Naked for him again, baring everything. Could he do the same for her?

Her senses flared as he stripped. The way he touched her, the way he looked at her, she almost couldn’t bear it. His tenderness was so intense she felt more bowled over than if he’d bodily picked her up and taken her barbarian-style on the bed. Instead he moved with deliberate leisure over the length of her body, proving a level of passion that she could scarcely believe. She’d been treated gingerly before. This was different. This was genuine—it felt like love.

She tasted his groan as he slowly pushed into her. She twisted her fingers in the hair at the back of his head, letting her other hand slide down the strong muscles of his back as gently, so gently, he moved against her. The press of his pelvis, the lock of his lips on hers, so they were joined and it was so deep, so complete. With arms wound tight about each other, nothing could come between them.

The simplest intimacy. So sublime.

Her head was spinning and the tears started falling before she was even aware of them until finally she had to break the kiss, arching her neck so she could gulp in one last breath before her body shuddered and her mind shattered.

‘That’s my girl.’ His smile was tender and tight.