Untamed Billionaires: Marriage: For Business or Pleasure? / Getting Red-Hot with the Rogue / One Night with the Rebel Billionaire. Элли Блейк
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had driven him to possess her years earlier.
Nothing had changed, absolutely nothing. He was still the same star-struck guy helplessly under her spell.
The realisation should’ve angered him, for he was nothing like the blue-collar farm boy he’d once been. But he didn’t give a damn, didn’t care two hoots she now had him as ready and raring for her as he’d been as a horny eighteen-year-old.
Wrenching his mouth from hers and dragging in a breath, he captured her face in his hands, noting the swollen lips, the rosy cheeks, the eyes midnight-blue with passion, his libido roaring in response.
‘You know something? This was meant to happen from the first moment you came back.’
To her credit, she didn’t look away, didn’t take a step back.
‘You’re wrong. Nothing has gone to plan since I returned.’
The flicker of pain in her eyes hit him hard and he dropped his hands, gave her space and she took it, putting enough distance between them for him to feel the loss.
‘Tell me you don’t want to consummate this marriage as much as I do.’
There, he threw it out, knowing the firebrand she used to be would never back down from a challenge.
However, the forlorn bride in a fancy dress staring wistfully out of the window was a far cry from the feisty girl he’d known, and the thought he’d made her this unhappy was a kick in the guts. And the wake-up call he needed.
‘Forget it. I’m going out for a while. I’ll be back later.’
Failure didn’t sit well with him, never had, and, hating how he’d botched this, he wrenched open the door.
‘Nick, wait!’
But he didn’t.
He walked out on his bride and slammed the door shut on his dreams of a memorable wedding night.
Brittany kicked off her sandals, ripped off the wedding dress and tore the frangipani from her hair, crushing it in her palm in the process.
She stared at the furrowed flower, limp, lifeless, and sank onto the bed, letting the petals drift from her finger-tips to the floor.
She was like that flower: all pristine and showy on the outside, a crumpled mess on the inside.
As if getting through the ceremony hadn’t been hard enough, pretending she didn’t want a real wedding night had almost driven her insane.
Nick wanted her.
She wanted Nick.
Where was the problem?
A sharp pain shot through her chest as a timely reminder of exactly what the problem was: her heart. Her stupid, impressionable, just-break-me-now heart that jumped up and said ‘pick me, pick me’ every time Nick Mancini looked her way.
It’d been the same ten years ago and nothing had changed. She’d been home just over a week, long enough to realise singing the ‘I’m only doing this for business’ tune wouldn’t cut it with Nick.
Not this time.
He’d let her walk away back then, he’d let her do it now, so why was she falling for him regardless?
With a frustrated groan, she headed for the bathroom. A good, long soak might ease her tension.
Yeah, right, just as trying to date other guys had eradicated Nick from her memory banks. Not a chance in hell.
While the bath filled she paced the bathroom, fiddling with the fancy toiletries, picking them up, putting them down, trying not to stare at her reflection as she did so.
The odd times she caught a glimpse in the disastrously monstrous mirrors, she didn’t like what she saw.
A woman in sexy lingerie with thoroughly kissed lips, shining eyes and a glow no amount of blush could induce.
A woman who’d subconsciously bought the sheer ivory lace demi-cup bra and matching knickers edged in rosebuds in the hope the man she still fancied might get to see it.
A woman who was kidding herself.
That stung most of all, the fact she was a smart, astute businesswoman yet here she was playing silly games with herself.
She wanted Nick.
It all came back to that.
Her job and the promotion might be the reason she was here but right now, this very second, Nick was her motivation for staying in this suite when she could’ve quite as easily escaped.
She hated manipulation, hated lies: dear old Dad had seen to that. So why was she wasting time lying to herself now? She’d be gone in a few months, back to her orderly life. Why not make the most of the time they had?
For if she slept with Nick or not, spending the next eight weeks with him would break her heart regardless. At least this way she’d have some fun.
After closing off the gold taps, she carefully slipped out of the lingerie—she had high hopes for the stuff now—and dipped under the lavender-scented bubbles to her neck, resting her head against the giant Jacuzzi and sighing with pleasure.
Closing her eyes, she savoured the lavender scent infusing her senses, soothing, relaxing, helping her mind wander. And wander it did, taking a stroll down memory lane, to the first time Nick had made love to her.
Inviting her to dinner at the plantation when Papa had taken a business trip to Brisbane, the lukewarm pizza they’d fed each other while sitting on the frayed love seat on the back veranda, the icy cola fizzing up out of the can and dousing her in stickiness, Nick’s tongue licking it off her…
He’d made her first time beyond special. He’d been caring and gentle and amazing, treating her virginity like a precious gift she’d given him.
She’d never forgotten it, never forgotten him and it was high time she stopped pretending she didn’t want to recreate the magic they’d once shared between the sheets.
Sinking under water to sluice away her memories, she thought she’d done a fair job by the time she resurfaced.
Until she opened her eyes and saw Nick leaning against the bathroom door, staring at her with barely disguised lust in his incredible dark eyes, looking like a man in definite need of a bath.
NICK took several surreptitious breaths, willing his pulse to slow and his heart to stop pounding. At this rate, he’d collapse on the spot if it kept thumping with such ferocity.
‘You came back.’
Her tentative smile had him gripping the door jamb to stop from striding across the bathroom, sweeping her out of the bath and holding her close.
Thankfully, only her head was visible, the rest of her delectable body submerged under a bubble cover that threatened to spill out onto the black-and-white-tiled floor. Not that the bubbles hampered his imagination. He could picture exactly what delights were hidden beneath those bubbles and the images weren’t helping his heart rate.
‘Yeah, couldn’t stay away.’
‘I’m glad.’
Her tongue flicked out to moisten her bottom lip in a totally innocuous gesture that slammed into his conscious like a bull ramming a gate in mating season.
‘Are you?’
He was too old to play guessing games, too wound up to figure out why the turnaround.
He’d come back because this was his wedding night and, while lust might have temporarily blinded him to the real reason behind this marriage, the sight of more international guests checking into the hotel had alerted him to the fact he needed to make this marriage look real for