Don’t walk out on me just yet.
What he had to say might hurt her, but if he didn’t try he’d probably hurt her even more. And even though this had to come to an end, he didn’t want to upset her more than he had to.
‘OK.’ She put a hand to her chaotic hair. ‘Let me go and freshen up.’
He felt a spurt of relief, an easing in the ribcage, sent her a small smile. ‘I’ll find out what’s on.’
She left the room and after a deep breath he went to the kitchen counter where he’d chucked the mail that had been delivered with lunch. He pushed around the stack of letters and the advertising circulars and found the day’s paper in the pile. Unfolded it and started leafing through the pages to find the entertainment section. He got to the social pages. Stopped. Stared at his own face in full colour. They were on the beach and he was looking at her and his feelings were there for the world to read. On the other side of the headline was another picture of Sienna alone—smiling straight at the camera.
MAITLAND’S MYSTERY MATCH
Single women of Sydney sigh with despair over this. It seems the city’s hottest bachelor has been snagged at last. Rhys Maitland, heir to the Maitland millions, was snapped in his favourite haunt with a strawberry-blonde who, as the pictures show, had him spellbound. What began as an ill-concealed argument became a tentative reconciliation with the blonde giving him a hard time. They finally left the tapas bar and walked to Rhys’ nearby luxury apartment—where the Maitland magic must have worked as the blinds have yet to be opened!
Our source tells us Rhys checked into the hostel she was staying at, determined to catch up with the beauty. And as our pictures show, he certainly did that…
Rhys stopped reading, stared sightlessly across the kitchen as it sank in. Source. Sienna. The drivel was merely an add-on to the steamy photo of them kissing on the beach the morning they’d failed to play volleyball. He’d been taken for a ride. Once was unfortunate. Twice was sheer stupidity.
The fear that had been raging within rose and transformed into a fury that was blinding. With excessive force he scrunched the paper in his hands.
Sienna ran the brush through her hair and tried not to let the feeling of elation grow beyond all proportion. Take it easy. Keep it slow.
Something had changed. Her lover, with the world’s most impenetrable security system around his heart, might just be about to unlock a gate—a cat-flap, perhaps. A tiny opening into the vast reservoir on the other side. He was so very strong but just then he’d softened—a slight touch. There was hope. She couldn’t help but hope. All too easily she flicked her own doubts out of her mind. Focusing on him, she could forget about her own rules.
She jumped out of her skin when she heard him shout her name.
He appeared in the doorway. ‘You’re just like all the rest, aren’t you?’
‘Rhys?’ Shocked, she watched as he strode towards her, his hands shaking. He shoved the newspaper in her face. She grasped it but couldn’t read—too thrown by his expression, the menace with which he towered over her.
‘Is that what you were writing earlier? More details you can sell for part two of your exposé?’
‘Rhys, what are you talking about?’ Frantic, she glanced down over the headline, saw the picture of herself looking so cheekily at whomever it was taking the photo. Oh, no. ‘Rhys, this wasn’t me.’
‘Yeah, right. When did you tip them off? You’ve known all along, haven’t you?’ He swore. ‘God, how guilty I felt. I really thought I’d hurt you. And you’ve been laughing at me this whole time.’ He stepped back, strode around the room. ‘You’ve played me for such a fool. What is it you’re really after—fifteen minutes of fame? Money?’
‘Rhys, look at me.’ He couldn’t think this had been her. He just couldn’t.
‘Look at you? Like I am there—in love?’ Bitterly scornful, he stopped pacing, gestured to the paper. ‘Never.’ He spun away, swore some more—ferociously.
She shrank from the vehemence in his voice and the frown on his face. Violently hurt by his words and how quick he was to believe so badly of her. For a second their gazes met—steel lancing tremulous blue.
‘No, don’t give me that look. Your eyes tell lies.’ He turned away from her again, fingers curling back into fists. ‘How could I have been so stupid?’
‘Rhys—’ Panicked that he wouldn’t stop and think.
‘Take the rubbish you helped them write and go.’
‘Rhys!’ She had to talk to him. Had to get her head round what the hell had happened, but he was wild and wasn’t going to listen and wasn’t giving her a second.
‘I can’t believe I was such an idiot. And to think I wanted to tell you…to think I was going to—’ He turned sharply and headed to the door.
‘What, Rhys?’ she cried after him. Her voice breaking as she tried to make him stop, make him hear her. ‘Whatever it is you can tell me!’
‘I can’t!’ He whirled to face her. Stepped towards her with such barely held fury she instinctively moved back. He shouted. Every word wounded. ‘I can’t trust you!’
She stared into his face. Cringing at the blazing anger, the hate she saw there. Crushing hurt swamped her. Her heart ached so hard she thought it would burst. She couldn’t take any more. She wanted to give to him. Wanted him to lean on her the way she had him.
She wanted to love him.
And he thought she’d betrayed him?
They could offer billions and she’d never let him down. But she could say nothing. Do nothing. Could only try to escape the absolute agony she felt at his words. She wanted to hide from the bitter way he looked at her. Wanted to hide from the fact he’d never care for her the way she did for him. Oh, how that hurt.
She tried to bite back the sobs, but they burst out anyway. Deep, racking gulps that stole her fight and her energy. Hardly able to see, she grabbed at her bag, crushing the pages of the paper against her. Scalding tears spilled. Blindly she ran.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE emergency department was overflowing as always. Rhys had rung in. Not wanting a minute more of his wretched holiday, so out of sorts and unhappy that he’d be best off working crazy hours and having something—anything—to occupy his brain and fill in the void where his heart should be. He needed a sense of purpose—saving a few lives ought to be enough. Wasn’t that the whole reason he went into medicine? To make amends?
Despite the fact he was busy he still felt hollow—lonely in the crowded corridors. He dealt with crises and walked through the waiting areas. Used to recognition in the eyes of passers-by, he was able to let the obvious speculation slide over him. He kept up his reserved but amiable demeanour. Hid behind the ‘Doctor’ title. He watched the patients, the worried faces of family and lovers, witnessed the reunions, the fears, the loss, the relief, the recovery.
Usually he drew satisfaction from the effort of his work. Even if he failed to help someone, he knew he had tried. And it tired him enough to keep the demons at bay. But now it wasn’t working. Instead the emptiness inside was growing.
He was haunted.
In every patient he saw the hurt in her eyes. The plea to stop, the shock, the truth. And with every passing moment the certainty grew that he’d been so wrong. So completely wrong he didn’t know how he was going to make it right.
He ignored the sidelong grins and glances of his colleagues. They were his friends. He knew he had their respect. But he also knew their curiosity would get the better of them. It was Tim—inevitably—who broached the topic as they walked through the ward. ‘So you really hit it off with the drummer girl.’
Rhys gave a noncommittal grunt and hoped it was enough to signal ‘end of conversation’.
‘What was the surgery?’
Rhys frowned. ‘Surgery?’
‘You know, the pictures in the paper.’