One Summer At The Beach. Natalie Anderson
was already gone.
RHYS’ hands itched. He hadn’t got back to the hostel for hours—waylaid by people at the hospital who had seemed to think he’d fallen off the face of the earth because he hadn’t been at work 24/7 as usual. Regardless that he was supposed to be having a holiday. They had seemed stunned that he actually had. Teased that he still couldn’t keep away—not even a full week. If they’d only stopped talking to him he’d have been out of there a lot sooner. For once he hadn’t wanted to be there a second longer than necessary.
There’d been no sign of Sienna when he’d got back to his room. Her stuff had vanished. She hadn’t appeared the rest of the afternoon or evening. He’d patrolled the place, but hadn’t dared enter the dorm room in the middle of the night—imagining all too well the scandalous headlines that might cause. So now, the next day, he was in for the sit and wait. He could hardly raise a polite response to Curtis’ idle chat. But no way was he leaving Reception until he’d seen her. Desperate to explain. Determined to get her over that anger. Disproportionately upset that she was mad at him.
He sighed in frustration. Why should it matter? She was his holiday fling. She’d be out of here in just a few days. But it mattered an awful lot. How the hell could he make it right? He’d been such a fool. He glanced at her day pack parked next to him on the sofa.
Anxiety ate at him. Where the hell was she? He didn’t know if she was on meds. After an op like that a patient was usually on drugs long-term. Had she missed them? He unzipped the bag, needing to check.
A fabric-covered book was at the top. He knew what it was. He concentrated fiercely on his integrity. He’d been enough of a jerk. Not going to be tempted. Not going to pry into her personal thoughts. Much as part of him would love to. Purely to understand.
But as he lifted the journal to look underneath for any medicine packets, a piece of paper fluttered from it to the floor and as he picked it up his eyes automatically scanned it. Computed it. Sealed it in his brain. And acidic disappointment flooded his entire body.
It wasn’t until after two p.m. that she appeared. Flanked by the inevitable army of girls from the hostel. She saw him as soon as she walked into Reception. Her eyes flashed and her cheeks flushed redder than they already were. She looked hot and bothered. Well, she wasn’t nearly as bothered as him.
‘Had a good day?’ He managed to grate the words out, leaping to his feet and intercepting her.
‘I don’t think I’m talking to you. In fact, I don’t think I even know your name—do I?’
‘Rhys. My name is Rhys.’
‘Rhys Monroe?’
‘No.’
‘And are you a builder, Rhys?’
‘No.’
‘Naughty, naughty Rhys,’ Mistress South Africa said.
He ignored her. Held up the day pack in front of Sienna. ‘Want this back?’
Her eyes flashed fire. ‘Yes.’
‘Then come with me now and I’ll give it to you.’
‘You can give it to me here.’
‘No. I’ll give it to you once we’ve sat down and talked about this like adults.’
‘I really don’t see that we have that much to say. You lied. End of story.’
He studied her. Wanting to throw his own accusations but conscious of the greedy interest of the others, conscious of how tired she looked. She seemed to have got thinner overnight. ‘I’m walking out of here right now. If you want this back, you’re coming with me.’
He wanted away from all the observers. He wanted just him and her again. He knew she’d come. Hell, if nothing else, he had her medication—and her passport.
She said nothing. Just turned and marched ahead of him. Waited on the footpath outside for him to point out the direction. Despite his own fury he couldn’t stop the grudging smile inside. What would she do if he told her how beautiful she looked when she was mad?
Sienna sizzled all the way along the street. Fuming. She’d had an awful night’s sleep, and an even more miserable day trying to take in some exciting tourist stuff, but all her mind would let her see was the sight of Rhys in full doctor mode. She replayed the moment of realisation over and over as she searched for reasons—consistently failing to figure answers.
That was why she was walking with him. She wanted answers and that was all she was after. She didn’t want anything more from him now—right? Certainly not any more of his hot body.
Except that was all she could think about right this very second. How different he seemed. As gorgeous as the day before but now even more energy bounced off him. He exuded an aura of barely leashed passion. It had her on edge. It had her excited. In turn, that made her even madder.
He stopped a few yards along from the hostel.
‘What’s this?’
‘My car.’
She stared at the shiny black convertible. ‘Car? You brought your car on holiday with you? All the way from…where was it you said you were from again?’ She raised her brows at him—attempting a look of cool inquisition but any faux haughtiness evaporated at his angry expression. How dared he look so cross when he was the one who’d fibbed his way through the last four days?
‘We’re not here to discuss my car, Sienna. Get in.’
Her mouth dropped. ‘Ever heard of the word please?’
‘Get in. Now.’
If he didn’t have her most precious things in his hand, she’d walk away this instant. If he didn’t have a hold on something even more precious of hers she’d be running like an Olympian. Then again, given he actually had all this precious stuff of hers, she should be flying.
Instead, she got in the passenger seat and slammed the door behind her.
He started the engine and drove. She had no idea where. But after half an hour of simmering silence he pulled into a park and got out of the car.
He walked ahead of her, brandishing her bag. She marched after him. Quite happy by now to give him one hell of a piece of her mind because he was really, really, asking for it.
He turned into a doorway. She blinked as she stepped out of the dazzling sunlight and into a gloomy interior. They were in a small bar. Guitar music played softly. Spanish. He led her to a table at the front, with booth seats ninety degrees to the window. He didn’t sit, just gestured for her to and then, not bothering to wait for the waitress, went straight to the bar and ordered.
Sienna sat, studiously stared out the window, pretended she wasn’t remotely interested in what he was doing.
Two cool beers in long glasses were plonked onto the table. He slid into the bench seat across from hers.
Much as she wanted to she couldn’t refuse the drink—parched. She picked it up and drank deeply. He did the same. Half-empty glasses returned to the table with equally violent bangs.
‘You lied to me.’
He sat back, seeming to relax a little. ‘Yes.’
‘You made up a name. You made up a whole story about yourself.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you think that’s OK?’
‘Of course not. But what about you? What about your list?’ Scathing to say the least.
She sat up. ‘What about it?’
‘What about number one on your list?’
Blood