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

      ‘How was the gallery?’ Rhys was waiting. Clad in jeans and a different shirt. Cool beer in a glass, half empty already. Steely eyes lanced her with questions that she knew he wouldn’t hold back on. That she knew she was going to have to answer. Honestly.

      ‘I didn’t go. Went shopping instead.’

      ‘Buy anything interesting?’

      ‘No.’ A new bra. She was wearing it now. Figured if she was going to go down she might as well do it in a hot outfit. And her sensible travel numbers didn’t have the requisite lace ratio. This one did. She could feel her budded nipples pressing against the slightly scratchy stitching even now.

      ‘Sienna—’

      She didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want the pretence. Didn’t want the girls from the hostel, whom she hardly knew, watching and wondering. This was going to end in tears—for her anyway. She might as well just get it over with right now.

      She grabbed him by the hand. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

      He let her lead, walking beside her but in the direction of her choice. She marched down the street not having a clue where she was headed. Just wanting away from eyes and those memories only recently made but that were going to be the best of a lifetime. Right now she was going to ruin them.

      The contact of his hand around hers meant her blood was travelling at high speed to every outlying inch. Making her feel more aware of her body, making her feel more alive than she ever had. It didn’t frighten her. It seduced her. Frustration and want and bitterness forced her. She wanted him enough to risk it.

      She went into the alleyway a shop down from the hostel. Ducked into a doorway partly along. Turned to face him. He was right behind her.

      ‘Sienna?’

      She shut him up with her mouth, passionately pressing against him. His arms clamped around her. He pivoted to lean against the door, taking her weight with him. Hot, intense, searing kisses—as if the moment on the beach had never been interrupted, only intensified. Burning, aching, she swept her hands across his shoulders, rotated against him, driving her hips against his. Wanting to reconnect, taking his mouth with a depth of passion she relished and wanted to relive again and again.

      He jerked his head back. ‘What the hell is going on, Sienna?’

      She pulled him back to her. Not wanting to think. Not wanting to admit to anything just yet. Wanting to drown her doubts for moments longer in his kiss.

      ‘You want this?’ He groaned against her. ‘You want me? Say it.’

      ‘Yes.’ She clawed him closer. ‘I want you.’

      His fingers pulled in her hair, holding her still so he could plunder, pressing a hard kiss that left her in no doubt of the frustration he’d been feeling all afternoon. A kiss that left her utterly without breath.

      The lack of oxygen, the fever, sent her crazy. She reached for him. Reckless. If she’d been able to get away with it once, couldn’t she do it again? If she could somehow keep his hands occupied—like the way she had last night, forcing him to take her weight, to take her. God, she wanted that again. His strength. His glorious width. Frantic, furious and fast. She fought with his belt. Once more. Just once.

      He pulled back sharply, grabbing her hands, stopping them with his. ‘No.’

      She looked up at him in surprise. Stepped back when she saw the anger in his eyes.

      He shook his head at her. ‘Too fast.’ A savage whisper.

      She tried to get her hands back but he tightened his grip. ‘If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this properly.’ He eyeballed her, stepping closer. ‘My room or yours?’

      She looked away. Damn. Honestly she wanted nothing more than to lie in a comfortable bed and be able to explore him freely and at leisure, but it wouldn’t be the same. He’d be like Neil—freeze, then run a mile. Or he’d treat her like some fragile piece of glass and she hated being wrapped in cotton wool.

      He stepped even closer, so his body pressed against hers. His erection teased her. His question terrified her. ‘Why won’t you let me see you naked?’

      She tried to pull away but he moved closer still—pushing her back against the wall, keeping hold of her hands, his body leaning into hers.

      Her breathing shallowed—half from fear, half from desire.

      ‘You’re willing to let me kiss you. You’re willing to let me inside you. But you won’t take your clothes off.’

      ‘Rhys…’ Amazed at his acuteness, she pleaded with him not to go there despite knowing it had been inevitable—from the moment he’d strode onto the sand beside her this morning. She’d been kidding herself to think she could get away with not telling him. But it was exactly what she didn’t want to have happened. Exactly why she’d run into the night after their encounter.

      ‘Why?’

      She stared into his searching eyes, at his sensual mouth now pulled into a hard line. She reached up on tiptoe, pressed her hand to his lips. Finally felt them soften and part. He kissed the tip of her fingers—his mouth moving slowly, warm and teasing.

      Desire raged through her veins, coupled with painful anger over what was to come. But she knew no matter what happened, no matter how things would change, she couldn’t walk away from him a third time. She was as human as the next person and the temptation was too strong. She had to run the risk so she could have the chance of feeling his erotic intensity again.

      She pulled her hand away. He straightened, watching her, waiting for her answer.

      She stared at his shirt buttons. ‘I have a scar.’

      There was a bit of a silence.

      ‘So do I.’

      She jerked her head up.

      He looked down at her. Mouth twitching. ‘You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.’

      She stared back at him and watched his humorous touch fade. His brows lifted. ‘Big scar?’

      ‘Pretty big.’ Actually it wasn’t. More like hairline, it was what it represented that was huge.

      ‘It can’t be as big as mine.’ He firmed his grip on her.

      He still wasn’t getting it. Unable to handle it any more, she grabbed the neckline of her tee in a tight fist. Pulled it down so it exposed the vee of skin all the way from her neck down to the dainty bow decorating the point where the cups of her bra met in the middle. The scar ran from the base of her throat. A straight line right down the centre of her body. Defining her.

      She saw the shock register in his face. And recognition. And then she saw it. The look she’d known was unavoidable. Fear. He hid it quickly. Shutting down. Closing off. But it had been there. She tensed.

      He said nothing. Just stood frozen. Staring at her chest. His mouth opened a fraction and the buttons on his shirt jumped about as she heard the sharp intake of breath.

      Anger and pride held her head high. Her chin lifted higher—underlining the challenge he’d already failed. As she’d predicted, as she’d known, the flame of desire was snuffed out in a flash.

      She pushed him back against the wall. Met no resistance, almost as if he’d stepped back at the moment she pushed. She ran, feet light in her sandals. She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. He didn’t come after her. Didn’t call out. Didn’t seem to stir even.

      She dragged in deep breaths,