Marriage: For Business or Pleasure?

by Nicola Marsh

  That shut her up as she closed her eyes and prayed for a miracle.

  Her slumber-party theory wasn’t working, not with Nick standing there in his underwear. His very sexy underwear.

  ‘Trying to imagine what I’d look like, huh? Well, if you open your eyes, I can give you a demo—’

  ‘No!’ she yelled, her eyes flying open against her will in the faint hope he’d go through with his threat. ‘Just get under the damn sheets and keep your underwear on.’

  ‘Your loss.’

  He had the audacity to shrug out of his T, toss it on a chair and slide in next to her, sending a dazzling smile in the process. Cocky, brash and totally shameless.

  The next ten hours were going to be hell. Or heaven, depending how she looked at it, and right now, with an amazing expanse of broad, tanned chest on display, heaven seemed uncomfortably closer to the mark. ‘’Night, Red. Pleasant dreams.’

  As if.

  Pleasant would be the last word she’d use to describe what she knew would be an erotic kaleidoscope of images that would plague her all night long.

  She turned off the lamp, grateful she couldn’t see him any more. Not that she needed to. The image of Nick standing next to the bed wearing nothing but those black boxers and a smile would be a memory to treasure for years to come.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’

  She sighed and rolled over to face him, her eyes adjusting to the darkness slowly and just able to make out his reclining form at a safe distance across the bed.

  Though were a few feet really safe? This was Nick Mancini she was sharing a bed with, the Nick Mancini she’d loved as a teenager and missed for years.

  ‘You will anyway, so go ahead.’

  ‘Why did you run away?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  The defensive words popped out before she thought about it, an instant response to a subject she’d rather avoid.

  ‘Yeah, you did.’

  His whisper floated on the darkness, a mixture of accusation and regret, and she wondered how he’d felt at the time.

  When she’d first arrived in London, she’d been too busy coping with her own hurt to think about anything else. The people she loved in her life kept hurting her: her dad, then Nick, and she’d struggled to hold together while trying to build a new life.

  Part of her coping strategy had been to paint Nick in a bad light: he wasn’t worthy of her; he didn’t care; he wasn’t capable of emotions.

  But what if she’d been wrong?

  What if he had cared and there was another reason behind his refusal to accompany her? After all, she’d hidden her real reason for fleeing.

  ‘I just needed a new start.’

  Which was partially true. She just couldn’t tell him the reason behind her desperate yearning for a new start.

  ‘But why London? You hung around Brisbane for a month before you left—you could’ve stayed there. Even Sydney or Melbourne at a pinch, places where we could’ve kept in contact, tried to maintain a re…’ He trailed off and she resisted the urge to sit bolt upright and flick the light on.

  Had she heard right? Was he saying they could’ve had a relationship if she hadn’t wanted to get as far away from her father as possible?

  ‘Maintain a what?’ she prompted, eager to hear the words but almost wishing he wouldn’t say them.

  What was the point of bringing all this up now? She couldn’t change the past, couldn’t change what she’d done, and knowing she could’ve had a future with Nick even outside Jacaranda would hurt her all over again.

  ‘A really strong friendship,’ he finished, and disappointment pierced her.

  So what? Wasn’t that better than hearing he might’ve loved her back then as much as she’d loved him?

  ‘I know I acted like a jerk before you left, I know we had our share of troubles, but we were really good friends. I missed that after you left.’

  Wow, he’d missed her. And actually admitted it!

  Time to lighten the mood before she lost her head completely, blurted out the truth and sought comfort in his strong arms.

  ‘Aw, shucks. I didn’t think you cared.’

  ‘I cared.’

  His two little words hung in the growing silence between them, laden with untold truths and forgotten dreams. ‘But, hey, life happens.’

  This time, he broke the tension with a forced chuckle. ‘We’ve both come a long way. And however many times I tied your hair to a chair or put frogs in your bag, I still care. Goodnight.’

  Nick’s admission filled her with a slow, delicious warmth that seeped through her body, leaving her cocooned in a delightful haze.

  How could she maintain her immunity when he said stuff like that? Better yet, did she want to?

  ‘Don’t let the bed bugs bite,’ she murmured, snuggling under the sheets and closing her eyes, hoping for sleep and knowing it was useless.

  She had too much to think about, starting with her reawakening feelings for a man best left in her past.

  CHAPTER NINE

  NICK stirred some time around midnight, his dreamless sleep disturbed by a puff of air somewhere in the vicinity of his ear lobe.

  His eyelids cranked open a fraction, half-heartedly investigating the source of air, only to snap open as he registered a luscious woman draped over his upper torso, her arm flung proprietorially across his chest and a leg nudging the vicinity of his boxers.

  Not just any woman.

  Britt.

  His wife.

  Whom he wanted to make love to something fierce.

  Considering the chaste way they’d fallen asleep he should gently slip out from under her and try not to wake her.

  But his good intentions evaporated when she snuggled closer, her knee edging towards a fast-growing hard-on, and he froze, gritting his teeth to stop from groaning out loud.

  He could play the gentleman, but where would be the fun in that? Britt had always called him her bad boy and, while a small part of him had thought she only hung around him because she was tempted to slum it for a while, he’d liked the reputation.

  And it had grown, fuelled by idle gossip of small-town inhabitants and the fact he smoked, rode a motorbike and lived in denim.

  He’d heard the rumours, from his fictitious tattoo of skull-and-crossbones on his butt to riding bare-chested all the way to Sydney.

  He’d laughed, silently appalled at how reputations could be made or broken by hearsay. Considering he’d been working his ass off trying to make the plantation stay afloat at the time, he hadn’t much cared.

  Another puff of air, another small moan in her sleep had him easing away before he did something she’d regret. Make no mistake, she’d been about to give him the ‘don’t think you can seduce me’ talk last night before he’d cut her off. As if he wouldn’t have got the message from seeing her in that libido-killing bulky robe.

  She’d made her point earlier and he’d be damned if he sat through it again, rehashing stuff he didn’t agree with. Especially when she was half naked, with all the distraction that would have entailed. The way he saw it, they could keep this marriage business focused while having fun too but there was no way, no how, he’d be pushing the issue now.

  Britt had made her feelings more than clear.

  ‘Nick?’

  Her sleepy whisper slammed into his consciousness, beckoning him to stay right where he was. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t take advantage of the situation no matter how turned on he was or how badly he wanted his wife.

  ‘Shh, go back to sleep.’

  He stroked her hair, a small part of him melting as she snuggled deeper and, rather than pull away, he cuddled her closer with his arm.

  Her hair tickled his shoulder, her cheek, so soft and warm, pressed against his chest and the faintest scent of lavender and vanilla lulled him into believing that, for now, this was enough.

  If Nick was a bad boy, Brittany was a bad girl.

  A very bad girl.

  When she’d
woken in Nick’s arms that first morning, she’d felt him pulling away, sensed him trying to disengage. And while winding up with her head resting on his chest and the rest of her draped over him hadn’t been planned, she’d taken full advantage of the situation.

  Maybe not full advantage, as that would’ve entailed doing a lot more than cuddling, but she’d pretended to sleep while savouring the hard chest cushioning her cheek, the warm, toned body beneath her hands and his intensely male scent, which set off her pheromones in a big way and always had.

  She could’ve stopped there but, no, she’d been a really, really bad girl.

  And proceeded to do the same thing every morning.

  For the next two weeks.

  The tension was killing her. If only it were doing the same to her husband.

  ‘How’s business coming along?’

  Her head snapped up from where she’d been resting her chin in her hands, staring out of the window and daydreaming of exactly how bad she’d like to be, to find the object of her wicked fantasies staring at her with cool detachment.

  It had to be a ruse. After all, wasn’t he the one who’d been hot to trot on their wedding night? Surely he couldn’t have turned off just like that?

  By his compressed lips and grim expression, apparently so.

  Feigning nonchalance she didn’t feel, she waved her hand towards the stack of paperwork on the table in front of her.

  ‘The photographer’s been out to the plantation every day this week and taken loads of shots. The cameraman’s due out there tomorrow, and I’m collating some of the historical info I got from your grandfather’s ledgers. So everything’s coming along nicely.’

  He crossed the room, perched on the edge of the table, her eyes now level with his crotch, and she quickly stood, not needing to look there considering she’d been having bad thoughts a few moments ago.

  ‘You’ve been busy.’

  ‘Loads to do. I’ve got a task list a mile long today, including heading out to the plantation to scout more locations, checking the ones I’ve already chosen, making sure they match the information I’m in the process of adding to the pitch—’

  ‘Hang on.’

  His hand shot out, gripping hers and preventing her from putting some much-needed distance between them.

  Trying not to show how much his simple touch affected her, she raised an eyebrow.

  ‘What’s up?’

  Shaking his head, he squeezed her hand before releasing it. ‘I’m no good at this.’

  ‘At what?’

  ‘This whole fake marriage thing.’

  ‘Oh, thaaat.’

  Well, well, well, maybe the tension was getting to him after all.

  ‘Not used to sharing a suite, huh?’

  He must’ve heard her teasing tone but rather than smile, he fixed her with a piercing stare.

  ‘Not used to sharing a suite with you.’

  Right then she knew, no matter how cool Nick was playing it, how busy he was, he was just as rattled by their underlying attraction as she was.

  ‘Oh? I thought it’d be a breeze.’

  She waltzed around the room, picking up floral skirts and summer dresses and the odd piece of lingerie or two.

  Okay, so she wasn’t playing fair with the lingerie but, hey, she wanted to get a reaction out of him, and if the tortured look that flickered across his face as she twirled an ebony satin bra on the end of her finger before tossing it into a drawer was any indication, her plan was working.

  ‘A breeze? More like a damn tropical cyclone,’ he muttered, shoving off the table and heading for the wide window affording a glorious view of Noosa beach.

  ‘I’m getting to you, aren’t I?’

  She snuck up behind him, just stopping short of sliding her arms around his waist and laying her head against his back.

  He didn’t turn, keeping his gaze fixed on the stunning view.

  ‘I guess this business arrangement of ours isn’t quite what I expected.’

  ‘That’s because we share a past, you dufus.’

  Oops. Had she really said that out loud?

  By the speed at which he turned to face her, she had.

  An endearing smile curled his lips. ‘Dufus?’

  ‘I’ve called you worse.’

  His eyes darkened as they hovered on her mouth, as if he was remembering everything she’d ever called him and more.

  ‘Yeah, I remember.’

  She’d come this far, might as well go for broke.

  ‘What else do you remember?’

  Silence stretched between them, surprising her. Nick might be many things, but chicken wasn’t one of them. She’d called his bluff, expecting some kind of answer even if it was a dismissive smart-ass remark.

  Just when she’d given up, he finally reached out and twirled a strand of her hair around his finger.

  ‘I remember you wore your hair long, to your waist. I remember how you used to squeal on the back of my bike as I rounded the bends.’

  He tugged on her hair, bringing her closer…and closer…and closer until there was a whisper between them.

  ‘But most of all, I remember how you made me feel back then.’

  Unexpected emotion clogged her throat, effectively clouding her sweep-me-into-your-arms fantasy.

  She’d wanted to prove the sizzle existed between them, wanted to tease him, wanted to get a reaction out of him. The last thing she’d expected was this serious trip down memory lane from a guy who acted as if they didn’t have a past most of the time.

  ‘How did I make you feel?’

  He was so close his breath feathered her lips, sending a ripple of longing so intense through her it took her breath away.

  ‘Like I could make all our dreams come true.’

  She sighed, wishing he hadn’t pushed her away, wishing he’d said yes when she’d asked him to move away with her all those years ago, wishing he had made her dreams come true.

  He was all she’d ever wanted, until her freedom became all important.

  She’d thought she’d had it all, convinced he’d move to London and they’d have the life they wanted. Until he’d withdrawn from her, shutting her out emotionally, physically, citing work and study and family as a means not to see her.

  She’d persisted, convinced they were meant to be together, captivated by the occasional glimpse of the guy she’d fallen in love with, wary of what he’d become the harder she pushed for them to leave town.

  Her dreams had been big, had been big enough for both of them. But Nick wasn’t the dream-maker she’d been foolish once to believe he was.

  Acknowledging their attraction was one thing, opening her heart another, and while she wanted him now more than ever she knew nothing had changed.

  He still wouldn’t follow her to London even if she were crazy enough to ask.

  ‘Nick, I don’t think—’

  ‘Then don’t. Think, that is,’ he murmured, a second before his lips locked on hers in the softest heartbreaking kiss that reached all the way down to her soul.

  It lasted less than a few seconds, a fleeting glimpse of tenderness rarely seen from this passionate man, and when he raised his head, brushed her bottom lip with a fingertip and walked away, she was left reeling.

  Reeling with the knowledge she still believed in dreams.

  And his ability to make all hers come true.

  Nick entered the marquee, his gaze immediately drawn to the stunning woman in a white dress chatting to the richest guy in the State.

  Brittany looked incredible, a soft, clingy Grecian-style dress fastened on one shoulder with a silver clip, leaving her other deliciously bare, her hair piled up with soft golden streaks falling softly around her face and just enough makeup to enhance her beauty.

  Hell. Just looking at her from a distance was making him crazy; what hope did he have up close?

  Sure, she looked like a supermodel tonight but he still couldn’t erase the image of her clad in that supersized robe on th
eir wedding night.

  He’d lied about the robe being contraception on legs. The minute he’d caught his first glimpse of her, framed in the bathroom doorway with vulnerability written all over her face, he’d wanted to cross the room, haul her into his arms and never let go.

  That had been one hell of a night.

  Not for the reason he might’ve anticipated, considering she fired his libido as no other woman ever had or probably ever would.

  He’d lain awake for hours, listening to the soft sounds of her breathing, wishing things could’ve turned out differently between them, silently chastising himself for being a bloody fool.

  He’d thought by getting her to talk about the past, she might relax, learn to trust him again. Instead, she’d fed him some lame excuse about why she’d run away and he’d been the stupid one to blurt out he still cared. Go figure?

  Thankfully, the last fortnight had passed in a frenetic blur with finalising details for the new Caribbean hotel and, apart from that slight aberration yesterday when he’d almost made a pathetic declaration of how much he liked having her around, they’d managed to maintain a polite distance.

  All business, which was exactly why she’d agreed to accompany him to the Bachelor and Spinsters Ball tonight. A ball the Phant-A-Sea chain was sponsoring, a ball where every billionaire in Australasia would be in attendance, a ball where he’d learn how far his plan to marry Britt had got him.

  Hotel occupancy was up fifty per cent, phone calls from potential investors tripling since he’d married. Maybe the old-school tycoons had finally recognised him as a successful, wealthy businessman with one thing on his mind: making his hotels the best in the world.

  Tonight would prove how far he’d come, for calling him was one thing, accepting him as one of their own in public another.

  Britt glanced up at that moment and their gazes locked, hot, intense, and he strode across the harvesting shed, which looked like a cross between a country-and-western saloon and a high-school disco.

  It would be the plantation’s final hurrah, for once Britt had completed her work here he’d sell the place, sever ties to his past once and for all.

  He’d prevaricated for the last twelve months, plagued by guilt. This place had been Papa’s pride and joy, built from the ground up with grit, sweat and determination. It had been the only place he’d ever called home but, more than that, it had been a refuge after his mum had abandoned them.