by Fiona Brand
Kyle turned into the underground parking building of the Messena building. “Any success locating the ring?”
Nick unfastened his seat belt as Kyle pulled into a space. “I’ve been asked that question a lot lately.”
By his mother, his older brother, Gabriel and a selection of great-aunts and -uncles who were concerned about the loss of an important heirloom piece. Last but not least, the insurance assessor who, while engaged in a revaluing exercise, had discovered the ring was missing.
Climbing out of the Jeep, Nick slammed the door. “I’m beginning to feel like Frodo Baggins.”
Kyle extracted his briefcase, locked the vehicle and tossed him the keys. “If that’s the little guy off Lord of the Rings, he had prettier eyes.”
“He also had friends who helped him.”
Kyle grinned good-naturedly. “Cool. Just don’t expect me to be one of them. My detective skills are zero. ”
Nick tapped in the security PIN to access the elevator. “Anyone ever tell you you’re irritating?”
“My last blonde girlfriend.”
Nick hit the floor number that would take them to Gabriel’s suite of offices and a discussion about diversifying his business interests. “I don’t recall your last girlfriend.”
Of all the Messena clan, Kyle was the quietest and the hardest to read. Maybe because of his time in Special Forces, or the fact that he had lost his wife and child to the horror of a terror attack, he had grown to be perceptibly different to them all.
“That was because I was on an overseas posting.”
“She was foreign?”
“No. A military brat.”
“What happened?”
He shrugged, his expression cagey. “We both moved on.”
Nick studied Kyle’s clean profile. With his obdurate jaw and the short, crisp cut of his hair, even in a sleek business suit he still managed to look dangerous. “So it wasn’t serious.”
“No.”
Kyle’s clear-cut indifference about his last casual relationship struck an odd chord with Nick. Kyle had cared about his wife and child, to the point that he hadn’t cared about anyone since.
Nick hadn’t lost a wife and child, not even close, but it was also true that for years, ever since their father had died, and the night with Elena, he had not been able to form a relationship.
The elevator doors slid open. Moving on automatic pilot, Nick strolled with Kyle through the familiar, hushed and expensive interior of the bank.
Normally, his social life was neatly compartmentalized and didn’t impinge on the long hours he worked. But lately his social life had ground to a halt.
Dispassionately he examined the intensity of his focus on Elena, which, according to his PA, had made him irritable and terminally bad-tempered. He had considered dating, but every time he picked up the phone he found himself replacing it without making the call.
The blunt fact was that finding out that the past was not set in stone had been like opening up a Pandora’s box. In that moment a raft of thoughts and emotions had hit him like a kick in the chest. Among them the stubborn, visceral need to reclaim Elena.
He couldn’t fathom the need, and despite every effort, he hadn’t been able to reason it away. It was just there.
The thought of making love with Elena made every muscle in his body tighten. The response, in itself, was singular. Usually when he finished a relationship it was over, his approach to dating and sex as cut-and-dried as his approach to contracting and completing a business deal.
But for some reason those few hours with Elena had stuck in his mind. Maybe the explanation was simply that what they’d shared had been over almost before it had begun. There hadn’t been a cooling-off period when the usual frustrations over his commitment to his business kicked in.
But as much as he wanted Elena, bed would have to wait. His first priority had to be to obtain answers and closure. Although every time he got close to Elena the concept of closure crashed and burned.
Despite the buttoned-down clothing and schoolmarm hair, there had always been something irresistibly, tantalizingly sensual about Elena. She had probably noticed he’d been having trouble keeping his hands off her.
It was no wonder she had practically run from him in Cutler’s office.
* * *
Nick had liked her.
A surge of delighted warmth shimmered through Elena as she strolled through a small park.
Six years ago Nick had cared enough to step in and protect her from a date that would have been uncomfortable, at best. More probably it would have ended in an embarrassing struggle, because Geoffrey Smale had a reputation for not taking no for an answer.
Feeling distinctly unsettled and on edge at this new view of the past, Elena made a beeline for the nearest park bench and sat down.
For six years she had been mad at Nick. Now she didn’t know quite what to feel, except that, lurking beneath all of the confusion, being discarded by him all those years ago still hurt.
The problem was that as a teenager she’d had a thing for him. Summers spent in Dolphin Bay, visiting her aunt and watching a bronzed, muscular Nick surfing, had definitely contributed to the fascination.
Walking away from the night they’d spent together would have been easier if he had been a complete stranger, but he hadn’t been. Because of her summers with her aunt at the original Lyon homestead on the beach, and because of Katherine’s work for his family as a housekeeper, Elena had felt connected to Nick.
Too restless to sit, she checked her watch and strolled back in the direction of the Atraeus Hotel, where she was staying.
As she approached a set of exclusive boutiques a glass door swung open, and a sleek woman wearing a kingfisher-blue dress that showed off her perfect golden tan stepped out onto the street.
The door closed on a waft of some gorgeous perfume, and in the process Elena’s reflection—that of a slightly overweight woman dressed in a plain dress and jacket, and wearing glasses—flashed back at her.
Even her handbag looked heavy and just a little boring. The only things that looked right were her shoes, which were pretty but didn’t really go with the rest of her outfit.
Not just a victim, a fashion victim.
Nick’s words came back to haunt her.
He didn’t like her glasses or the way she did her hair. He hadn’t mentioned her clothes, but she was seeing them through his eyes, and she was ready to admit that they were just as clunky, just as boring as the glasses and her hair.
As much as she resented his opinion, he was right. Something had to change. She had to change.
She could no longer immerse herself in work and avoid the fact that another birthday had just flown by. She was twenty-eight. Two more years and she would be thirty.
If she wasn’t careful she would be thirty and alone.
Or she could change her life so that she would be thirty and immersed in a passionate love relationship.
Feeling electrified, as if she was standing on the edge of a precipice, about to take a perilous leap into the unknown, she studied the elegant writing on the glass frontage of the store. A tingling sense of fate taking a hand gripped her.
It wasn’t a store, exactly. It was a very exclusive and expensive health and beauty spa. The kind of place she was routinely around because her employer, the Atraeus Group, numbered a few very high-quality spa facilities among its resort properties. Of course, she had never personally utilized any of those spa facilities.
But that was the old Elena.
Her jaw firmed. She had made a decision to change. By the time she was finished, she would be, if not as pretty, at least as sleek and stylish and confident as the woman in the blue dress.
The idea gained momentum. She would no longer allow herself to feel inadequat
e and excluded, which would mean inner as well as outward change.
She could walk in those doors now if she wanted. She had the money. After years of saving her very good salary, she had more than enough to pay for a makeover.
Feeling a little dizzy at the notion that she didn’t have to stay as she was, that she had the power to change herself, she stepped up to the exquisite white-and-gold portal. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door wide and stepped inside.
* * *
After an initial hour-long consultation with a stylist called Giorgio, during which he had casually ticked almost every box on the interview form he had used, Elena signed on for every treatment recommended.
First up was weight loss and detox, which included a week in a secluded health spa. That was followed by a comprehensive fitness program and an introduction to her new personal trainer. A series of beauty and pamper treatments, and a comprehensive hair, makeup and wardrobe makeover completed her program.
The initial week at their spa facility would cost a staggering amount, but she was desperate.
According to Giorgio she wasn’t desperate; she was worth it.
Elena wasn’t about to split hairs. As long as the spa could carry out its promise and transform her, she was happy to pay.
Her heart sped up at the changes she was about to make. Hope flooded her.
The next time she saw Nick Messena, things would be different. She would be different.
Three
One month later, Nick Messena watched, green gaze cool, as Elena Lyon walked with measured elegance down the aisle toward him, every step precisely, perfectly timed with the beat of the Wedding March.
Mellow afternoon sunlight poured through stained glass windows, illuminating the startling changes she had made, from her long, stylishly cut, midnight-dark hair to the tips of her outrageously sexy pink high heels. Her bridesmaid’s dress, a sophisticated confection of pink lace and silk that he privately thought was just a little too revealing, clung to lush, gentle curves and a mouthwateringly tiny waist.
As the bride reached the altar, Elena’s gaze rested briefly on Kyle who was Gabriel’s groomsman, then locked with his. With grim satisfaction, he noted that she hadn’t realized he had changed roles with Kyle and taken over as Gabriel’s best man. If she had, he was certain she would have very quickly and efficiently organized someone else to take her place as maid of honor.
Dragging her gaze free, Elena briskly took charge of the flower girl, Gabriel and Gemma’s daughter Sanchia, who had just finished tossing rose petals. Nick’s brows jerked together as he took stock of some of the changes he had barely had time to register at the prewedding dinner the previous evening. For the first time he noticed a tiny, discreet sparkle to one side of Elena’s delicate nose. A piercing.
Every muscle in his body tightened at the small, exotic touch. His elusive ex-lover had lost weight, cut her hair and ditched the dull, shapeless clothing she had worn like a uniform. In the space of a few weeks, Elena had morphed from softly curved, bespectacled and repressively buttoned-down, into an exotically hot and sensuous swan.
Jaw clamped, Nick transferred his attention to the bride, Gemma O’Neill, as she stood beside his brother.
As the ceremony proceeded, Elena kept her attention fixed on the priest. Fascinated by her intention to utterly ignore him, Nick took the opportunity to study the newly sculpted contours of Elena’s cheekbones, her shell-like lobes decorated with pink pearls and tiny pink jewels.
The sexily ruffled haircut seemed to sum up the changes Elena had made: less, but a whole lot more.
As Nick handed the ring to Gabriel, Elena’s dark gaze clashed with his for a pulse-pounding moment. The starry, romantic softness he glimpsed died an instant death, replaced by the familiar professional blandness that made his jaw tighten.
The cool neutrality was distinctly at odds with the way Elena had used to look at him. It was light-years away from the ingenuous passion that had burned him from the inside out when they had made love.
A delicate, sophisticated perfume wafted around him. The tantalizing scent, like Elena’s designer wardrobe, her new, sleek body shape and the ultramodern haircut—all clearly the product of a ruthless makeover artist—set him even more sensually on edge.
Gabriel turned to take the hand of the woman he had pledged to marry.
A flash of Elena’s pink dress, as she bent down to whisper something to Sanchia, drew Nick’s gaze, along with another tempting flash of cleavage.
With a brisk elegance that underlined the fact that the old Elena was long gone, she repositioned Sanchia next to Gemma. Nick clamped down on his impatience as the ceremony proceeded at a snail’s pace.
Elena had been avoiding him for the past twenty-four hours, ever since she had arrived in Dolphin Bay. The one time he had managed to get her alone—last night to discuss meeting at the beach villa—she had successfully stonewalled him. Now his temper was on a slow burn. Whether she liked it or not, they would conclude their business this weekend.
Distantly, he registered that Gabriel was kissing his new bride. With grim patience, Nick waited out the signing of the register in the small, adjacent vestry.
As Gabriel swung his small daughter up into his arms, Elena’s gaze, unexpectedly misty and soft, connected with his again, long enough for him to register two salient facts. The contact lenses with which she had replaced her trademark glasses were not the regular, transparent type. They were a dark chocolate brown that completely obliterated the usual, cheerful golden brown of her irises.
More importantly, despite her cool control and her efforts to pretend that he didn’t exist, he was aware in that moment that for Elena, he very palpably did exist.
Every muscle in his body tightened at the knowledge that despite her refusals to meet with him, despite the fact that every time they did meet they ended up arguing, Elena still wanted him.
With an effort of will, Nick kept his expression neutral as he signed as a witness to the ceremony. In a few minutes he would walk down the aisle with Elena on his arm. It was the window of opportunity he had planned for when he had arranged to change places with Kyle.
Negotiation was not his best talent; that was Gabriel’s forte. Nick was more suited to the blunt, laconic cadences of construction sites. A world of black and white, where “yes” meant yes and “no” meant no and not some murky, frustrating shade in between.
As the music swelled and Elena looped her arm through his, the issue of retrieving an heirloom ring and unraveling the mystery of his father’s link with Elena’s aunt faded.
With Elena’s delicately enticing perfume filling his nostrils again, Nick acknowledged that the only “yes” he really wanted from Elena was the one she had given him six years ago.
* * *
Elena steeled herself against the tiny electrical charge that coursed through her as she settled her palm lightly on Nick’s arm.
Nick sent her another assessing glance. Despite her intention to be cool and distant and, as she’d done the previous evening, pretend that she didn’t look a whole lot different than she had a month ago, Elena’s pulse rate accelerated. Even though she knew she looked her very best, thanks to the efforts of the beauty spa, she was still adjusting to the changes. Having Nick Messena put her new look under a microscope, and wondering if he liked what he saw, was unexpectedly nerve-racking.
Nick bent his head close enough that she caught an intriguing whiff of his cologne. “Is that a tattoo on your shoulder?”
Elena stiffened at the blunt question and the hint of disapproval that went with it. “It’s a transfer. I’m thinking about a tattoo.”
There was a small tense silence. “You don’t need it.”
The flat statement made her bristle. “I think I need it and Giorgio thought it looked very good.”
“Damn,” he said softly. “Who is Giorgio?”
A small thrill went through her at the sudden, blinding thought that Nick was jealous, although she refused to allow herself to buy into that fantasy.
From what she knew personally and had read in magazines and tabloids, Nick Messena didn’t have a jealous bone in his body. Most of his liaisons were so brief there was no time for an emotion as deep and powerful as jealousy to form. “Giorgio is...a friend.”
She caught the barest hint of annoyance in his expression, and a small but satisfying surge of feminine power coursed through her at the decision not to disclose her true relationship with Giorgio. It was absolutely none of Nick’s business that Giorgio was her personal beauty consultant.
In that moment she remembered Robert Corrado, another very new friend who had the potential to be much more. After just a couple of dates, it was too early to tell if Robert was poised to be the love of her life, but right now he was a touchstone she desperately needed.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to recall exactly what Robert looked like as they followed Gabriel, Gemma and Sanchia down the aisle.
She felt Nick’s gaze once again on her profile. “You’ve lost weight.”
Her jaw clenched at the excruciating conversation opener. It was not the response she had envisaged, but all the same, a small renegade part of her was happy that he had noticed.
Her new hourglass shape constantly surprised her. The diet, combined with a rigorous exercise regime had produced a totally unexpected body. She still had curves, albeit more streamlined than they used to be, and they were now combined with a tiny waist.
She was still amazed that the loss of such a small amount of weight had made such a difference. If she had realized how little had stood between her and a totally new body, she would have opted for diet and exercise years ago. “Can’t you come up with a better conversational opener than that?”
“Maybe I’m out of touch. What am I supposed to say?”
“According to a gossip columnist you’re not in the least out of touch. If you want to make conversation, you could try concentrating on positives.”
