‘How do you know?’
Astounded, she stared. ‘How can you say that? We’d known each other thirty seconds before we had sex. Conversed on nothings for a minute max. Relationships don’t start that way, Rhys. And we’re certainly missing out on the fundamentals of any kind of relationship—like honesty, like trust.’ Utterly defensive, she stormed at him. Of course it had meant more and secretly hadn’t she dreamed? Stupidly. But now she was out to salvage what little pride she had left. She’d downplay it—how it had felt and what it had meant—because he hadn’t even been honest with her about his name.
Besides, she needed to protect herself. Serious relationships weren’t for her, remember? She couldn’t offer happy ever after to anyone. She might not have the ever and after.
He jerked, sitting bolt upright, glaring at her, looking as if he was about to launch a blistering attack. His eyes glowed green but his jaw clamped. For a long moment he sat rigid. Finally, vehemently, he threw her words back at her. ‘What we did wasn’t sleazy.’
She met his gaze then, held it for a moment, and then they both looked to the glasses on the table.
‘OK.’ He spoke more softly. ‘So neither of us has been entirely honest.’
She looked back at him, anger refuelled. ‘I might have had secrets but I have been honest. You’re the one who hasn’t. Why lie? What have you got to hide?’ She gave a mocking laugh. ‘Do tell me, who are you really, Rhys?’
‘Here are your tapas, Rhys.’ The waitress stood with a tray covered in tiny dishes, her glance flicking between the two of them—her attempt to maintain a bland expression a complete failure.
Sienna turned to the woman. ‘What’s his surname?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘His surname. What is it?’
‘Sienna.’
‘Maitland,’ the waitress replied just as Rhys interjected.
Sienna sat back in the seat and stared at him through narrowed eyes.
‘Thanks, Tracey, that’s fine.’ Rhys smiled at the waitress, who was looking at Sienna as if she were some crazy lady. She’d set the dishes across the table and given them a plate each and after Rhys’ words she turned and practically ran to the bar where the other waitress was lounging, watching.
Rhys stared back at Sienna. Eyes hard, the glow gone. ‘Eat. You need it.’
She needed answers more. ‘Who are you and why did you lie to me?’
‘Stuff some chorizo into your mouth and I’ll answer. Maybe then I’ll have a chance of finishing before you interrupt me.’
Mutinously she picked up the fork and stabbed the sausage several times. His lips twitched.
He picked up an olive and, ignoring his own etiquette advice, put it in his mouth and talked at the same time. ‘My name is Rhys Maitland and I’m a doctor. I work in the ER department of the hospital down the road and I’ve lived in Sydney all my life.’
She swallowed. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that at the start?’
Rhys thought about his response. No matter how he framed this he was going to come across as a jerk. Then again, that might be an improvement on her current perception of him. ‘I just wanted to escape.’
‘What on earth have you got to escape from?’
He decided to give her the easy answer—the only answer he’d be able to tell anyone. ‘I’m the heir of a multi-million sportswear empire.’
‘What?’
‘I’m worth millions. I have a trust fund I inherited from my grandfather and I’ll inherit most of the company shares from my father. My family is…well-known in Sydney. We’re in the society pages, my cousin’s wedding was in the weekly women’s magazines, that sort of thing.’
She looked blank. ‘Are you telling me you’re some sort of celebrity, Rhys?’
‘Not by choice. No, not really.’ He sighed. ‘A little. I try to avoid that rubbish. But sometimes, there are events I have to go to, and the press are there and because of the money, the name, they write about it.’ Like the eligible bachelors spread some rag had done a couple of months ago that had made life a living hell at the hospital for some time.
‘So you have all this money but you work as a doctor.’
He nodded, could see the thought processes. The next question was obvious.
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’ He stalled. He knew where she was going and he didn’t want to answer. Some things you could never escape from.
‘Why medicine? Why not the family business?’
‘I wanted to do something useful.’ Instantly he saw more questions leap in her mind but he headed her off. ‘Anyway, back to why I lied. I get sick of people only being interested in me because of my bank balance. I wanted to be away from me, from the preconceived ideas people have. I think that’s something you can understand, isn’t it?’ He looked at her pointedly.
He’d got away all right. He’d been acting in a manner totally unlike himself—acting crazy. It wasn’t just about her not knowing who he was; it was about him being free to do whatever he fancied. And he fancied her. He continued the confession. ‘I am on holiday this week. Tim works at the hospital with me and is in his band for fun. I went along to help with the gear for the gig. Met you. Knew you weren’t from town—’ He broke off. Realising he was heading into mud the way he was telling it.
‘So I was the lucky one,’ she carried on for him softly. ‘Right place, right time. Right tourist.’
Not true. He’d never behaved like that in his life. Never wanted someone the way he’d wanted her—in the very instant he saw her. It was as if she’d switched the on button to his main power source. Until now he’d been functioning at fifty per cent. But he wasn’t about to tell her that. Not when she was wearing a frown that would rival Attila the Hun’s. Not when he was still irrationally angry with her. It bothered him beyond belief. The idea that she’d just wanted to have sex with someone—anyone—who was ignorant of her history, was utterly galling. He wanted to be more than that. This mattered, and he wanted it to matter to her too. He couldn’t hold back the bitterness in his tone. ‘I guess we’re even.’
Her hand wobbled out to her glass. Despite the food she looked pale, unhappy and beautiful. His anger evaporated in the warmth of concern and the heat of desire. He wanted to get out of here, wanted to take her to his apartment so they could lie down—rest and relax. He wanted his holiday to come home. Wanted to see her there. Definitely wanted her in the bathroom.
But the strain in her eyes slowed his libido down. She’d argue it till she was blue in the face but the fact was she was vulnerable. She did have to take extra care. There were higher risks for her—a trip to the dentist could cause her problems.
Rhys shifted on his seat. He didn’t have room in his heart for her kind of vulnerable. He couldn’t afford to get too involved. He had to protect his bruised heart as much as she literally had to protect hers.
‘Have something more to eat.’ He took her wrist in his hand as he spoke.