Marriage: For Business or Pleasure?

by Nicola Marsh

  And he gave her more.

  He drove into her, his chest rasping her sensitised nipples, his tongue mating with hers, his rhythm taking them higher and higher until he stiffened and cried out her name, shuddering into her.

  Brittany had no idea how long they stayed locked together, their heart rates slowly calming, their breathing soft and ragged.

  She didn’t mind his weight, didn’t mind the slick of sweat between their bodies.

  She’d asked for the stars and the moon.

  Nick had delivered the whole damn solar system.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SLEEPING with Britt had been a bad idea.

  Not that there’d been much sleeping involved.

  Their cataclysmic night had changed everything.

  ‘This place hasn’t changed a bit,’ she said, tugging his hand as she ran towards the river’s edge, leaving Nick no option but to follow.

  And follow he would, to the ends of the earth if she asked, for last night had shattered any illusions he had about this marriage being all business.

  With every kiss, with every caress, with every gut-wrenching moan, she’d stripped away the years, catapulting him straight back to a time he was so crazy for her he couldn’t see straight.

  Nothing had changed, absolutely nothing.

  Even that was a lie.

  Ten years ago, he’d been a fool, kidding himself all he felt for Britt was lust.

  Now he knew the truth.

  What they’d shared had never just been about lust; it was more than that, so much more.

  And their night of passion had hurtled him back a decade, to a time he couldn’t get enough of her, to a time where his heart clamoured towards her while his head reeled back with the implications of trusting a woman.

  ‘Do you miss Jacaranda?’

  She stopped, alerted to the seriousness of his question by something in his voice as he waved towards the river, trying to distract her.

  It didn’t work, for she reached up, cupped his cheek, her simple touch as catastrophic as if she’d reached into his chest and squeezed his heart.

  ‘I tried not to. I tried to forget.’

  Her fingertips trailed down his cheek, lingered on his jaw, before dropping lower where she placed her palm flat against his chest, directly over his heart. Claiming ownership. It was hers, had always been hers, he just never admitted it.

  ‘But I couldn’t. This place is in my blood. I never forgot it.’

  She paused, massaged his chest gently as if soothing his soul. ‘I never forgot you.’

  ‘Same here.’

  He settled his mouth over hers, needing this kiss, aching for it. Nothing like the ache of how he’d wanted her last night, when he’d been blinded by lust and passion.

  Uh-uh, this ache settled right over his heart, exactly where her hand was, the kind of ache that scared the hell out of him.

  Her lips parted, so soft, so moist, and he groaned as his tongue touched hers, going a little crazy as he backed her up against the nearest tree, their bodies melding perfectly, his hands sliding under her top, cupping her breasts.

  ‘Nick…’

  Her wanton plea made his hard-on throb as he lifted her top, ducked his head, and captured an erect nipple between his teeth, plucking at the lace covering it, her low moans firing him to flick the clasp and allow the tempting lushness to fall into his hands.

  But the Jacaranda fauna had other ideas as a raucous cackle of a nearby kookaburra pierced the silence and reminded him of where they were.

  In the good old days this river bed was deserted but now the worn track along the bank showed exactly how popular this spot was with bushwalkers and tourists and he had no intention of providing an X-rated show for any of them.

  Reluctantly tugging her top down, he brushed a soft kiss against her lips.

  ‘You used to love those damn birds. Too bad this one has shocking timing.’

  She laughed, a clear, joyous sound that had him chuckling right along with her. ‘Remember the time we made out down here and—?’

  ‘Can we change the subject?’ He sent a pointed look at his groin. ‘You’re killing me, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

  As she ground her pelvis against his her smile was pure evil. ‘Oh, I noticed.’

  She slid her hands around his neck, bringing her breasts flush against his chest. ‘Why don’t we continue this discussion back at the farm?’

  ‘You’re one wicked woman,’ he said, smoothing stray tendrils of copper gold away from her face, his heart bucking at the adoration in her eyes.

  He wanted her to look at him like this, wanted her. Then why the faintest doubt he was deluding himself, about everything?

  One night and he’d been blinded to the transient nature of their marriage: her job, her promotion, their deal.

  Last night changed everything, but they hadn’t discussed it, any of it, and while now wasn’t ideal there would come a time soon, very soon, where they’d both need to lay it all on the line.

  ‘Come on, let’s head back.’

  He didn’t need to be asked twice and as they sprinted back to the farmhouse, laughing and falling over their flying feet, he banished his doubts and decided to live in the moment.

  For now.

  Brittany paced from one end of their suite to the other, casting malevolent glances at her laptop on each circuit and the incriminating email on the screen.

  The promotion was hers.

  David had seen the preliminary pitch she’d emailed, blown away by the video footage, pictures of the plantation and the accompanying spread, had evaluated it and made his decision.

  She was the new managing director of Sell.

  She’d done it.

  Which meant her work here was done.

  So where did that leave her and Nick?

  She should be ecstatic, her dream finally a reality with the added bonus of clearing her debt to Daddy dearest and finally being free of her past.

  Instead, dread warred with terror as she mentally rehearsed her spiel.

  She had to tell Nick the truth.

  She was leaving, heading back to her job, back to a dream she’d worked incredibly hard for, had strived for, had given up a heck of a lot for.

  But what if the dream had changed?

  What if the dream had evolved to include a sexy billionaire, a pristine beach and a very real marriage?

  At the sound of the door opening she stopped, lunged at the laptop and slammed it shut.

  She was nowhere near ready for this.

  ‘Hey, how’s the most beautiful girl in Noosa doing?’

  ‘Great.’

  She forced a smile, quelling the urge to blurt the truth the instant he stepped through the door.

  He opened his arms. ‘Come here. Rough day at the office and I need a welcome kiss from my wife.’

  She flew into his arms, crushing her lips to his in an urgent, validating kiss before burrowing into his chest, seeking comfort, seeking warmth, seeking a solution to her terrible dilemma.

  She wanted the promotion.

  She wanted him.

  And never the twain should meet.

  ‘What’s up?’

  He pulled away, his hands spanning her waist, anchoring her in a world spinning dangerously out of control.

  ‘We need to discuss our arrangement.’

  Frowning, he dropped his hands and stepped away, leaving her cursing her choice of words and wishing there were a simple solution to this.

  But there wasn’t and she needed to face the truth: she’d fallen for Nick all over again, had blown her ‘have fun for a short time not a long time’ motto and, in doing so, had the potential to blow her dream job too.

  ‘By arrangement I assume you mean our marriage?’

  She nodded, biting her bottom lip as his face wiped of all expression, his cool indifference a frightening reminder of the emotional barriers he’d slammed up the weeks leading up to the night he’d dashed her dreams of a future t
en years earlier.

  ‘I got the promotion.’

  ‘Congratulations.’

  He thrust his hands in his pockets, his calculating gaze not leaving hers, as if daring her to continue, daring her to speak her mind and put an end to this.

  ‘It’s all happened rather soon—’

  ‘When do you leave?’

  No begging her to stay, no declaration of undying love.

  But then, what did she expect?

  Ever since their marriage had turned physical they’d slipped into old ways; comfortable with each other, teasing, joking, making up for lost time in the bedroom.

  Yet they’d skirted around the issue of a future, never chatting beyond the day-to-day events, making love with frantic abandon as if each time could be their last.

  It reminded her of the past, of the fragile nature of their relationship back then. But Nick wasn’t the bad-ass rebel any more and she wasn’t the wide-eyed romantic dreaming of happily ever after.

  She hadn’t got as far as she had in her career without being practical and there was no way she’d give up on them without a fight.

  There had to be a solution to this, there just had to be.

  Grabbing her hair and twisting it into a loose knot at the base of her neck, she sank onto the edge of the bed and patted it.

  ‘My leaving depends on you.’

  He eyed her warily, his rigid posture at odds with the fleeting yearning in his eyes as his gaze strayed to the spot next to her.

  ‘Come on, take a seat. We need to sort this out.’

  ‘Fine.’

  With a terse nod, he flung himself into an armchair opposite, his inflexible expression not giving an inch.

  ‘Don’t trust me?’

  ‘Don’t trust myself.’

  A glimmer of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, giving her hope. ‘You know what happens any time I get near you on a bed.’

  ‘Not just a bed, from memory.’

  His eyes darkened to burnt caramel and she swallowed. It was so easy slipping into old ways with him; teasing, flirting. But flirting wouldn’t solve this, nothing but a good dose of honesty would, and she steadied her resolve to confront this rather than tumble into bed with him and forget everything.

  She shook her head, breaking eye contact, and when she met his gaze again he’d cooled, slipping those darn barriers firmly back in place.

  ‘What do you want?’

  The million-dollar question: if only she had a priceless answer.

  ‘Honestly? I want it all. My job, the promotion, you…’

  She trailed off, hoping he’d fill the void, say something, anything, to give her some indication he wanted this marriage to work as much as she did.

  But he didn’t move, didn’t speak, his lips clamped shut in tight disapproval, leaving her floundering for her next words when she was usually brilliantly articulate at work.

  With her job, she knew what she wanted and knew what to say to get it. She’d nailed pitches other companies craved, had climbed to the top with sheer determination.

  Those skills weren’t exclusive to advertising and right now she knew what she wanted, and he was staring at her with studied apathy she knew had to be a front.

  ‘I know this marriage was a business arrangement at first, but the boundaries have changed.’

  Taking a deep breath, she made the pitch of her life. ‘I want this marriage to work, and not just because of our deal at the start. We’ve got something special, something that time apart hasn’t erased, and I know if we give this a chance it can be the best thing to happen to us.’

  His expression thawed, his shoulders relaxing as he swiped a hand over his face and she went for broke.

  ‘Whatever it takes to make this marriage work, I’ll do it. If it means giving up my job in London and moving here…’

  She shrugged, shocked by the words coming out of her mouth, yet strangely relieved.

  She’d voiced a solution, a terrifying, monstrous, life-changing solution, and rather than being overwhelmed by the enormity of it her heart expanded, filled with a surprising peace.

  Shock darkened his eyes to chocolate as he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.

  ‘You’d do that for me?’

  ‘For us.’

  Padding over to join him, she plopped onto his lap, leaving him no option but to hold her.

  ‘Hell, Red, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Then don’t say anything for now.’

  She placed a finger against his lips, yearning to trace the contours but knowing this wasn’t the time. Despite his shell-shocked expression he hadn’t lost the wariness and she knew he needed time: time to think, to assimilate, to decide.

  She knew what she wanted; it looked as if her husband needed to figure out the same.

  ‘Think about it. We’ll talk later.’

  Brushing a kiss across his lips, she slipped from his arms, saddened he let her go but determined to give him the time he needed.

  She’d done her bit to save their marriage.

  The rest was up to him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  NICK did the one thing guaranteed to blow away the cobwebs of confusion threading his thoughts into a muddled jumble.

  He hit the road.

  Slamming his visor down, he glanced over his shoulder, let out the throttle and savoured the roar of the motorbike as he pulled out onto the open highway.

  It had been way too long since he’d done this.

  Putting his past behind him came at a price and, while slaving his guts out to make a success of his business had worked, he missed the simple things in life. Like making pasta from scratch, cooking the rich, creamy sauces Papa had shown him, growing the herbs to complete any good Italian meal, taking off on a whim and riding as far as a tank of petrol lasted.

  And Britt.

  He’d missed her more than he’d ever imagined, hadn’t known how much until she’d strutted back into his life with her fancy suits and stellar career.

  The simple life…he’d had it once but had moved on. For what? Fame? Fortune? To impress a bunch of rich phoneys who hadn’t given him the time of day until he’d proven he could be responsible by marrying?

  He’d been a fool.

  None of it mattered, not any more.

  Britt wanted him.

  At what cost? He couldn’t let her give up her dream for him and, as much as he appreciated how far she was willing to go to give them a chance, it scared the hell out of him.

  They’d barely been married six weeks and she was willing to lay it all on the line? For him?

  Old doubts crept under his guard, crawled under his skin until he itched to pull over and scratch them away.

  What if he wasn’t good enough for her?

  What if he couldn’t be the man she deserved?

  What if she didn’t need him as much as he needed her?

  Yeah, the same old doubts, undermining the confident, successful man he’d become.

  Crazy. But then, so was their unrelenting passion that hadn’t waned in ten long years.

  But were they making up for lost time? Fulfilling an affair they never really had first time around? Confusing a sizzling attraction for a deeper emotion they’d need as a solid foundation to build a real marriage on?

  The wind filled his ears, not loud enough to obliterate the questions whirling through his head, and he glanced down at the speedometer, muttering a curse as he realised he’d momentarily lost concentration.

  All this mulling was pointless anyway. Until he cleared the past, he couldn’t make way for the future.

  If they were to have any future, he had to tell Britt the truth. All of it.

  Making an impulsive decision that had landed him in more scrapes as a youngster than he cared to admit, he slowed, checked for traffic and made a U-turn.

  Time to pay his past a visit.

  Nick rang the reception bell, glancing around as he waited. He’d assumed the local specia
l accommodation for the elderly would be shabby, run-down, with the cloying smell of disinfectant and overcooked stew in the air.

  Surprisingly, this place could pass for a hotel with its manicured lawns, new whitewash, elegant furniture and sweeping veranda, with floor-to-ceiling windows highlighting a breathtaking vista. Then again, would he expect Darby Lloyd to live in anything less?

  ‘Can I help you?’

  A middle-aged woman in a nurse’s uniform bustled out from a back room and leaned over the desk with a beaming smile.

  ‘I hope so. I’d like to see Darby Lloyd?’

  To her credit, the nurse’s smile didn’t slip, but he saw the fleeting surprise in her twinkling eyes.

  ‘Certainly. Darby doesn’t get many visitors so I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you.’

  He bit back a grin. The last thing good old Darby would be was thrilled.

  ‘Follow me.’

  If the outside had been impressive, the inside of the place knocked him for six as he followed the nurse down a series of corridors. Paintings of every size and description covered the walls, antiques tastefully arranged on every available inch of furniture and the rich, polished Tasmanian Oak floorboards gleamed in the late afternoon light pouring through the atrium-like ceilings.

  The nurse came to an abrupt halt outside a mahogany door and gestured him forward. ‘Just knock and head on in. Though please keep your visit brief. Darby’s blood pressure’s elevated and he has a tendency to overdo things.’

  ‘You have my word.’

  His wink was rewarded with a blush and a smile as she bustled away, leaving him with lead in his boots.

  He shouldn’t have come here, unannounced, especially if the old man was having a bad day. He hadn’t seen Darby in ten years, hadn’t wanted to after what he’d done, but that was the past and if he wanted to move forward he had to lay it to rest, once and for all.

  He took a deep breath, knocked twice and pushed the door open.

  ‘Mr Lloyd, it’s Nick Mancini.’

  He’d hated this man for years, had mentally prepared himself to face his nemesis. What he hadn’t prepared for was the swift rush of compassion for the pale, frail old man sitting in a recliner, propped up by a mountain of pillows, his eyes closed.