One Summer At The Beach. Natalie AndersonЧитать онлайн книгу.
for his own room and en suite. He wondered where she was right now. Under this roof—but in a room full of bunks or on her own? Was she thinking of him?
Hell—was she with someone else?
He rejected that idea immediately. There had been hesitation—he was sure he’d seen that in the blue sea of her eyes. She had said she didn’t usually…
What? Go for millionaire heirs? It wouldn’t be the first time some stunner had used him to bag herself a fortune. Different style from Mandy, same result. Money. Only this would be even more damaging. He’d be left with a permanent reminder of his folly—no child deserved to be brought into being purely to serve as a bargaining chip, a commodity. He had to find her and fix this.
He swore. How had he managed to lose control so entirely? Irritated, he stood for as long as he could under piping hot water. Sluicing the sweat from his body, he also rinsed his shirt while he was at it, hanging it up where it would dry quick-time. The storm had abated, the temperature would only rise again.
He thought about her parting words. Thank you. Simple. Strangely heartfelt. He hardened his own heart. He was not going to be suckered by a burning blonde. Just because she had a nice hint of vulnerability in her eyes that threatened to soften even his roughened-up skin.
But in the steam of the room, memories of their dark encounter flew at him, tormenting him. He turned the tap to cold, glanced at his watch and groaned. It was going to be a long few hours. But no way was she getting away with whatever the hell she had planned.
Although what he was going to do about it, he had no idea.
SIENNA sat on the sand and watched the sun rise. The dawn of a new day, and a different Sienna. She chuckled at her dramatic moment. But she felt changed. And she would always thank him for it. She’d escaped the dorm as early as she could, not wanting any kind of post-mortem with Julia and Brooke. Last night was not for analysing. She’d feigned sleep when they’d stumbled back in at stupid o’clock. Really she’d lain awake almost all the remainder of the night.
She stretched out on the sand, rotating her ankles in circles. Half tempted to ease the slight stiffness with some exercises, but mostly tempted not to. Deciding to keep the gentle aches as a reminder of the most physical and intense experience of her life. Her body still felt warm and pliant from the contact with his. Still felt wet and wanting.
She’d never had a one-night stand before and she refused to regret it. She only regretted that it couldn’t be more. She grabbed her day pack. Sipped from her water bottle and pulled out her new journal. She never went anywhere without it. She’d kept one for years—had volumes locked away in a suitcase in the attic of her mother’s house. It wasn’t so much a ‘today I did x, y and z’ kind of diary, but a personal place to explore her dreams and fears. For years it had been largely fears. She’d recognised early on that she couldn’t talk to her mother, brother or even her best friend about those fears because doing so upset them. They worried about her enough. So she developed the skill to listen to others, talk but keep her own anxieties to herself.
Writing was her way of making sense of what was happening in her life. But despite the weightiness of past events, for the first time she felt unable to pen a word, let alone a sentence. She stared unseeing across the sea, flashes of the previous night filling her mind. Impossible. She could never capture that beauty in words. Unable to record what had happened, let alone how she felt about it.
She looked back down to her book, with a thinly protected heart read over the list of her life’s must-dos. The list she always wrote at the start of each year in the front of the new journal. Always hoping to cross at least one or two off in the course of the year. As the years had progressed the list had grown longer not shorter, more fanciful, humorous, outrageous.
But she’d done it. Number One could be crossed off. The one that had made her simultaneously blush and giggle as she’d written it. A joke. A fantasy. And it had been more fantastic than she’d ever imagined. Hell, she’d never imagined it could actually be a reality. Despondent, she recapped her pen. To record it would diminish it and it had been so profound, so perfect. She stared again at the water, watching the sun sparkle on the rippling waves. She wished she weren’t such a girl over this. Wished the niggle of guilt would leave her.
She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there, but she wasn’t alone any more. There were people arriving with sunscreen and shades. She should get up and get some breakfast. Face the world again. But she didn’t move—couldn’t be bothered and she sure wasn’t hungry.
She played with the sand, drawing up a handful and letting it run through her fingers. She’d feel better soon. She had so much to look forward to—this was merely a wait in the wings before her adventure. But she wished for more of last night’s adventure—more of him. She felt bad for not explaining things to him. He’d been wonderful and she’d just disappeared. It wasn’t her usual style. None of it had been her usual style—and that had been the whole point. To have been able to have it like that she’d had to leave.
She’d struggled to find her way out of the bar at first. Disoriented. Dazed. The crowd had seemed crazy. She’d forgotten other people existed. She’d felt so cocooned in that darkness. She hadn’t wanted to go. Her body had ached to lie with his, to sleep curled beside his. It had hated the fact she was walking away. It had not been what was meant to happen. They had been supposed to rest. And then do it all again.
She shook off the sand, picked up the pen again, pulling the cap off and replacing it, over and over.
‘Did you sleep well?’
She jerked her head up, dropping the pen and her jaw as she looked at the tall person towering over her.
Oh, God, it was him.
‘What—you didn’t expect to see me again?’
She snapped her journal shut, and her mouth. Stuffed the fabric-covered, hardbound book into the bottom of her bag. Bought some more time by hunting for the lid of the pen, but it was lost for ever in the sand. Hot blood burned in her cheeks. ‘Um. I…um…’
‘I didn’t sleep too well, actually, thanks for asking.’
She cleared her throat, but still couldn’t get words to come out.
‘You see, I met this girl—’
‘Rhys,’ she croaked.
‘Oh. You remember my name.’
‘Of course I remember your name!’
He squatted down beside her. And she saw into his face properly. Got a shock. He was looking ferocious. Angry as hell.
She got in quickly then, words flying. ‘Look, I’m really sorry about last night.’
‘I’m not. Yet. I hope I’m not going to be.’
Confusion deepened the burn in her face.
His eyes, mainly slate, captured hers. ‘Like, in nine months time going to be sorry. The mother of all honey traps, was it?’
‘What?’ Her clammy hands covered her inferno-like flush. She grasped his implication. Nine months? As in B-A-B-Y? He thought she used him to get pregnant? As if.
‘Contraception is covered, trust me.’ She choked the words out. Marriage and children might be on most people’s list of life ambitions but they’d never be on hers. She didn’t want any child of hers living the kind of cloistered life she’d suffered and she didn’t want to commit to someone only to have to leave them too soon—as her father had left her mother.
The hardness in his eyes didn’t soften a jot. ‘It’s a dangerous game you play.’
‘I don’t. I…I really don’t do that,’ she stammered. Annoyed with her mortification. Annoyed that she felt the desperate need to defend herself