Marriage: For Business or Pleasure?

by Nicola Marsh

  ‘About this business proposition?’ He turned back to face her, surprised by the vulnerability he glimpsed in her eyes. Hell, it was just a damn kiss, no big deal.

  ‘All in there.’

  She pointed at the Manila folder in his hands, stared at it as if it were a ticking bomb ready to detonate.

  He weighed it in one hand, tapped it against his palm, gauging her reaction.

  ‘Jeez, why don’t you just open it?’ She exploded, just as she used to in the good old days and he grinned.

  ‘Good to see you’ve still got that fiery temper beneath all that polish.’

  He looked her up and down, admiring the subtle changes to her appearance: the gold streaks in her now shoulder-length hair, the svelte body packed with more curves than a racetrack, the elegant wardrobe. As a teenager she’d been pretty. As a woman, she was stunning.

  With a confident toss of that luscious hair, she fixed him with a newly acquired haughty grin.

  ‘Actually, you’re the only one who seems to bring it out in me. Now, back to business?’

  Curiosity ate at him. To bring her back here, this precious business deal of hers had to be important. In that case, he wanted to be one hundred per cent appraised of the situation before he started discussing anything with her.

  He raised an eyebrow, rattled the folder and gestured at his bare torso. ‘I don’t do business like this. Where are you staying?’

  To his delight, she blushed, her gaze lingering on his chest a few seconds too long. ‘The Phant-A-Sea in Noosa.’

  Oh, this just got better and better.

  ‘But I don’t expect you to drive all that way just to meet me. We can do this here—’

  ‘I was heading into town after I’d finished up here anyway. Why don’t I meet you there around five? We can discuss this over drinks.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary—’

  ‘But it will.’

  He leaned closer, her awareness of him evident in the widening of her pupils, the tip of her tongue darting out to moisten her bottom lip, and his gut clenched with how badly he still wanted her.

  Maybe he should tell her the truth now and be done with it.

  But then, where was the fun in that?

  ‘Give me some time to clean up, take a look at your proposal and we can discuss it over a Shirley Temple.’

  He scored another direct hit with reference to her favourite drink back then, her lips compressing into an unimpressed line.

  ‘This isn’t some trip down memory lane. This is business.’

  His glance strayed to her lips, lush and pouting, before sweeping back to her eyes, registering the shock of arousal that made a mockery of their business.

  ‘So you keep saying. Business. Ri-i-ight.’

  To his surprise, she laughed. ‘You haven’t changed a bit. Still the charmer.’

  She was wrong, dead wrong.

  He’d changed and, come five o’clock, she’d discover exactly how much.

  Propping on the bonnet, he crossed his ankles. ‘Is it working?’

  ‘Nope, I’m immune to rebel charmers these days.’

  ‘Pity.’

  His glance slid over her, taking in every delicious curve, earning another blush.

  ‘How long are you in town for?’

  ‘For as long as it takes.’

  She’d gone cold again. Retreating back into the business at hand…

  His glance swept the distant cane fields he loved so much, encompassing the sugar cane that was as much a part of him as his Italian heritage, wondering what she’d make of him once she discovered his real business these days.

  Would she be impressed? Probably, though in all fairness what he did or where he came from had never been an issue with her.

  They’d been friends before lovers in the old days, travelling on the same bus to school every day even though she’d attended the private grammar school and he’d gone to the local high school.

  She’d pretended to ignore him at first so he’d done his best to rile her with constant taunts about everything from her shiny shoes to her long red pigtails. And when her fiery temper had sparked her into retaliating by ramming his bike with hers, their friendship had been cemented.

  She’d never given a damn about the gaping hole in their social circles: the richest girl in the district hooking up with the Italian working-class farm boy.

  But other people had. He’d heard the whispers, the innuendos, about her slumming it with him before she got married to a suitable man.

  He’d let it taint what they had, had ended it for good before things got out of control. But he’d never forgotten how dating her had made him feel. Simply, he’d wanted to be a better man for her.

  All ancient history, and as he refocused he knew that impulsive kiss was a stupid move.

  He didn’t do impulsive any more. Every decision he made was carefully weighed, evaluated and executed with the utmost precision. He wasn’t at the top of his game these days for nothing.

  Pushing off the car, he tapped the bonnet.

  ‘You better get going. Give me a chance to finish up here and meet you later.’

  ‘Fine.’

  He opened the car door for her and watched as she buckled up. Déjà vu hit and an irresistible impulse came over him in spite of all the resolutions he’d just made. He leaned in quickly through the open window.

  ‘Hey, Red?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  He grinned and tweaked her nose just as he used to. ‘You kiss even better than I remember.’

  Before she could respond, he straightened, chuckling at the instant indignation sparking her beautiful eyes as he strode towards the farmhouse.

  CHAPTER TWO

  BRITTANY pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks as Nick strode away.

  The man was a menace.

  In less than ten minutes he’d managed to unbalance her, unhinge her and undermine her.

  As for that kiss…she thunked her head on the steering wheel, twice, for good measure.

  Not only had she stood there and let him do it, she’d responded! Like a woman who hadn’t been kissed in a very long time.

  Which in all honesty was probably true considering she’d been so focused on the managing director position coming up for grabs she hadn’t dated in yonks.

  But that didn’t excuse her eager response, nor did the total and utter meltdown she’d experienced the second his lips had touched hers.

  ‘Ice Princess my butt,’ she muttered, releasing the brake and sending gravel flying before heading back down the drive.

  Sneaking a peek in the rear-vision mirror, she wasn’t surprised to see Nick staring over his shoulder with a grin as wide as the Sydney Harbour Bridge plastered across his smug face.

  She clamped her lips shut on a host of expletives and headed for the main highway.

  In a way, she was glad he’d suggested they meet at her hotel to discuss her proposal. She’d be much better prepared to face him again in the cool elegance of the Phant-A-Sea’s front bar than inside the cosy farmhouse that held a host of memories.

  Wonderful, heartfelt memories of sitting across from him at the handmade wooden dining table, tearing into steaming ciabatta hot from the oven, dipping it into olive oil and balsamic vinegar, licking the drips off each other’s fingers…

  Cuddling up on the worn chintz sofa, watching old black and white Laurel and Hardy movies and laughing themselves silly.

  Clearing the family room of its mismatched lounge chairs and scarred coffee table stacked with newspapers and magazines so they could dance body to body to their favourite crooning country singer.

  The memories were so real, so poignant that her eyes misted over and she blinked, caught up in the magic of the past when she should be focused on the future.

  Her future as Managing Director of Sell depended on it.

  Come five o’clock, she’d make sure Nick Mancini with his sexy smile and flashing dimples and hot body knew exactly the type of businesswoma
n he was dealing with.

  Brittany sipped at her sugar-cane juice as she glanced around the Phant-A-Sea’s bar.

  She’d stayed in some gorgeous hotels around the world but this one was something else. From its sandstone-tiled entrance to its pristine whitewashed exterior, from its cascading waterfalls to the stunning umbrella-shaped poincianas lush with flamboyant crimson flowers, it beckoned a weary traveller to come in and stay awhile.

  As for her beautiful room with its king-size bed and six-hundred-thread-count sheets, double shower, Jacuzzi and locally made lavender toiletries, she could happily stay there for ever.

  But this wasn’t a pleasure trip, far from it.

  She needed to seal this deal with Nick. It would give her confidence an added boost to face the other nemesis this journey: her father.

  They hadn’t spoken in ten years.

  But she was here, he now lived in an exclusive special accommodation for the elderly and, as she wouldn’t be back, she needed to put the past to rest, say a proper goodbye this time.

  She’d taken up yoga in London, was a convert to karma, and wanted to ensure hers was good rather than being dogged the rest of her life for not doing the right thing when she had the opportunity.

  Swirling the lime wedge in her juice around and around, she mulled over her dad’s anger, his need to control, his escalating abuse before she’d left.

  He’d always been domineering but when she’d turned eighteen he’d gone into overdrive. She’d escaped, hadn’t looked back, but there wasn’t a day went by when she hadn’t wondered how different her life would’ve been if she’d stuck around.

  Would she and Nick have married? Would they have a brood of gorgeous, curly dark-haired, dimpled kids?

  Swallowing the lump of regret clogging her throat, she glanced up, and the lump expanded to Ayers Rock proportions.

  Farm-boy Nick in faded, torn denim and sweat-glistening chest was hot.

  Executive Nick in an ebony pinstriped designer suit, crisp white shirt accentuating his tan and a silk amethyst tie was something else entirely.

  She froze as he strode towards her, all long legs and designer outfit and dimpled smile.

  ‘Hope you haven’t been waiting long.’

  He ducked his head to plant a quick kiss on her cheek and her senses reeled as she caught the faintest whiff of his familiar woody deodorant mingled with the sweetness of harvested cane.

  Memories slammed into her: snuggling in the crook of his arm under their jacaranda tree, lying on top of him along the river bank, nuzzling his neck as they made love…She gulped a lungful of air, several, to ease her breathlessness.

  His scent was so evocative, so rich in memories she struggled to remember what he’d just asked her.

  Casting a curious glance her way, he sat opposite, his knees in close proximity to hers, and she surreptitiously sidled back to avoid accidental contact.

  That was all she needed. As if she hadn’t made enough of a fool of herself already.

  ‘What do you think of the hotel?’

  She managed to unglue her tongue from the roof of her mouth, take a quick sip of her juice before answering. ‘It’s gorgeous. There was nothing like it ten years ago.’

  His proud grin baffled her as much as seeing him in a suit. ‘Phant-A-Sea was built five years ago. Business is booming.’

  Taking in the subtle lighting, the understated elegance, she nodded.

  ‘I’m not surprised. I’ve travelled extensively for business the last six years or so, but haven’t stayed in anything quite like this before.’

  The mention of business cleared the sensual fog that had enveloped her the moment he’d strutted into the bar, and she glanced at his empty hands.

  ‘Where’s my proposal? Did you take a look at it?’

  He shook his head, gestured to a waiter who scurried over as if the prime minister had beckoned.

  ‘I prefer to hear this pitch from you first, then go over the details later.’

  ‘Is that why you’re in a suit?’ she blurted, wishing she hadn’t asked when his gaze raked over her own change of clothes. The dove-grey skirt suit was another favourite, never failed to give her a confidence boost and with Nick’s steamy stare sliding over her she needed every ounce of confidence she could get.

  Before he could respond, the waiter said, ‘The usual, Mr Mancini?’

  ‘Yes, thanks, Kyoshi.’

  Confused, she flicked her gaze between the two. Nick hadn’t as much as glanced at the waiter’s name tag, and along with ‘the usual’ it was obvious he frequented this place.

  Strange, considering thriving, cosmopolitan Noosa was a good ninety-minute drive from the plantation and she hadn’t pegged Nick for the bar-hopping type.

  Then again, she’d been away a decade, people changed, so what did she know?

  ‘You like?’

  He glanced down at his suit, leaving her no option but to do the same, and she gulped at the way his chest filled out the shirt, how the fine material of the suit jacket hugged his shoulders.

  ‘I’ve never seen you in one.’

  His eyes glittered with a satisfaction she didn’t understand as he pinned her with a stare that had her squirming.

  ‘Times change.’

  She gripped her glass so tight she wouldn’t have been at all surprised if it cracked and she forced her hand to relax and place it on the table by her elbow.

  ‘They do. So let’s get down to business.’

  Leaning back, he placed an outstretched arm on the back of his chair, the simple action pulling his shirt taut across the muscular chest she’d seen in all its glory earlier that day and she instantly wished for a drink refill to cool her down.

  ‘I have to say I’m intrigued. This business must be pretty damn special to drag you back here from the bright lights of London.’

  Special? How could she begin to explain to him what this promotion meant? The long hours she’d put in over the years? The overnight jaunts to godforsaken places, going the extra yards to secure information, ensuring her pitches were bigger and better than everyone else’s? The endless drive to prove her independence in every way that counted?

  Nick wouldn’t get it.

  Papa Mancini had doted on him, not having a mum had bonded them like nothing else. Wish she could’ve said the same for her ‘family’.

  ‘I’ll give you the short version.’

  She leaned forward, clasped her hands in her lap and prepared to give the pitch of her life.

  Securing the use of the Mancini plantation was paramount to her plans and would assure her that promotion. The current MD had virtually said so. Then why the nagging doubt convincing Nick wouldn’t be as easy as she’d hoped?

  ‘I work for Sell, London’s biggest advertising company. We’re doing a worldwide campaign for the sugar industry, driven by the mega-wealthy plantation owners in the States.’

  A flicker of interest lit his eyes and she continued. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Nick. There’s a big promotion in this for me, a huge one. If I nail this, I’m the new managing director.’

  His eyebrows shot up. ‘That’s some title.’

  Picking up the boutique beer the waiter had discreetly placed on the table in front of him, he took a healthy slug.

  ‘So where do I fit into all this?’

  She’d got this far. Taking a deep breath, she went for broke.

  ‘Your place is the oldest sugar-cane plantation in Australia. If I could have exclusive access to it, shoot footage, use some of the history, I’m pretty sure the promotion is mine. That’s it in a nutshell.’

  She didn’t like his silence, his controlled posture. She’d expected some kind of reaction, not this tense quiet that left her on edge and wondering what was going on behind those deep dark eyes.

  ‘I’ve set out facts and figures in the written proposal. How much the company’s willing to pay to use the farm, how many hours it will involve, that kind of thing.’

  Her voice had taken o
n a fake, bubbly edge, as if she was trying too hard, and she eventually fell silent, waiting for him to say something.

  When he didn’t, she blurted, ‘Well, what do you think?’

  Something shifted in his eyes, a shrewdness she’d never seen before.

  ‘All sounds very feasible.’

  Elation swept through her, quickly tempered when he leaned forward and shook his head.

  ‘There’s just one problem. I’m about to sell the farm.’

  ‘Sell it? But where will you live? Where will you work?’

  His condescending grin sent a chill of foreboding through her.

  ‘You still see me as some hick bumpkin farm boy, don’t you?’

  She fought a rising blush and lost. ‘Of course not. I just meant that place has been in your family for generations. I don’t get why you’d sell now.’

  He gestured all around him. ‘Because my place is here now.’

  Confusion creased her brow as she followed his hand. His designer suit, his patronising smile, his cryptic comments, made her feel as if she was left out of some in-joke and the punchline was on her.

  ‘You belong here?’

  She shook her head, knowing if there was one place a guy like Nick belonged, it wasn’t in this ultra-elegant hotel.

  He’d always loved the farm, had been proud of his family’s heritage, so what had changed? The Nick she’d known and loved thrived under the harsh Queensland sun, harvesting billets of sugar cane, getting his hands dirty with the machinery he’d loved tinkering with, riding down the highway on his beat-up Harley with the wind in his hair and the devil at his back.

  He frowned, his shoulders rigid as he sat back. ‘You find that so hard to believe?’

  ‘It’s just not you.’

  ‘It is now,’ he snapped, his control slipping as anger flashed like fire from those dark eyes she’d lost herself in too many times to count.

  ‘Just because we had a teenage fling, don’t presume you know me.’

  That hurt, more than she could’ve thought possible after all this time.

  ‘It was more than that and you know it.’

  Understanding warred with passion before he blinked, obliterating the slightest sign he acknowledged what she’d said as true.