Untamed Billionaires: Marriage: For Business or Pleasure? / Getting Red-Hot with the Rogue / One Night with the Rebel Billionaire. Элли Блейк
Читать онлайн книгу.
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.
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 businesswoman 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