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

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      Sienna looked across the table at him. She might have a few dark corners, but his no-go areas were vast fields. ‘That’s true of anyone.’ She picked up an olive. ‘Anything you told me in the last few days—the sailing, the family motto. Was any of it true?’

      ‘Every word.’

      She paused, the olive halfway to her mouth. She really wanted not to believe him. But the intensity in his answer was compelling. She could feel him willing her to see him as genuine.

      ‘Can’t we just forget about all this rubbish? You know me, Sienna. I know you. I want to keep challenging you.’

      She sat back. He was all challenge. He was the challenge of her life. And she couldn’t walk away. ‘I don’t think I know you at all, Rhys.’

      ‘Look. Come back to my apartment with me now. Let me show you.’

      She shifted on the seat. Not sure what he meant by ‘show’—not sure how she felt about letting him in again that way.

      He read her mind. ‘I’ll run you back to the hostel any time you want—you just say the word.’

CHAPTER TEN

      IT WAS a two-minute walk to his apartment. They swept past the security guard who managed to keep his curiosity marginally better hidden than the waitress had. They got in the lift. Rhys pressed several buttons on the keypad and then the lift ascended.

      There was another keypad outside his apartment door. Another series of buttons were punched. He looked up and caught Sienna’s look of surprise. ‘I value my privacy.’

      ‘I could never remember a code that long.’

      Once inside she looked around his apartment. He hadn’t been kidding about the money thing. Her brother was rich, but this was on a whole other level. The fittings, the furniture, the air, the art—it all screamed extreme amounts of money mixed with good taste.

      He watched as she took it all in. ‘Does it make a difference?’

      ‘Not to me,’ she answered, irritated that he’d think it would. ‘Why? You think I’m going to ask you to pay me?’

      ‘No!’ he snapped.

      His flare irritated her more. ‘Then don’t insult me. The only person this makes a difference to is you.’

      ‘You’re probably right.’ A hint of apology crossed his expression as he stood in the centre of the room. ‘So this is me.’ He gestured wide, a little self-consciously.

      She looked at him, rather than his home. She knew some things now, more made sense. But she also knew he had stuff still buried deep that he chose to ignore. It was in his eyes, the mirror reflecting his reticence. His dislike of the media and attention might answer some of it, but there was more to it and she, like the proverbial cat, was curious. That, together with concern, motivated her decision to be here.

      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.’