Slinging her bag higher on her shoulder, she kept her face devoid of pity for the father she’d never had.
‘Sorry you feel that way. I thought…’
What? That the old despot might’ve changed, might’ve mellowed with time and illness? Not likely. If anything, his belligerence had worsened and she’d been crazy to come here, setting the past to rest while hoping for a miracle.
‘Thought what? I’d welcome you with open arms after all this time?’
He snorted, waved his good hand towards the door. ‘Just leave the way you came in.’
She’d cried rivers of wasted tears when she was a teenager for all this man had put her through and there was no way she’d stand here now and allow him to reduce her to tears again.
With a shake of her head, she turned away, ready to walk out and never look back.
‘That’s it, run away again. Though this time, you won’t have a penny of mine to cushion you when you fall.’
Icy foreboding trickled down her spine as she slowly swung back to face him.
‘What did you just say?’
His malevolent grin raised goose bumps on her skin. ‘You heard. That money from your mother? It was a crock. She never left you a cent. That was my money you squandered on your little trip, my money that made sure you didn’t end up in the gutter.’
She staggered, leaned against the doorway for support, her gut twisting with the painful truth.
‘So, daughter dearest, looks like you owe me after all.’
With his words ringing in her ears, she stumbled from the apartment, from the accommodation and made it to her car before she collapsed, slumping over the steering wheel.
She’d thought she’d escaped his stranglehold ten years earlier, had fought hard for her independence, had found safety and confidence in her career.
She’d been wrong.
Right then, she vowed to do whatever it took to pay off her debt.
You owe me…
With the hateful truth ringing in her ears, her head snapped up as she straightened, knowing what she had to do.
There was only one thing that would clear a debt of that magnitude and, right now, gaining her promotion was a necessity.
In choosing between owing her dad a huge amount of money and agreeing to Nick’s outlandish proposal, marrying Nick would be the lesser of two evils.
She’d come.
Nick squinted at Brittany between the spokes of his Harley, trying to read her expression and coming up empty.
She’d left a message for him at the hotel desk requesting a meeting and he had suggested to meet at the farm, hoping that the memories might throw her off balance—make her vulnerable, more easily manipulated. He hadn’t anticipated that those very same memories might unsettle him as well, but with Britt standing there, dressed in a short white skirt and pink vest-top, gnawing at her full bottom lip, an action he remembered all too well, attending to his bike was the last thing on his mind.
He waited for her to speak, continued polishing the chrome, an action he found soothing. He rarely got time to lavish on his bike these days and this was the first opportunity he’d had to work on his baby in months.
Even with her forget-me-not eyes clouded with worry, tendrils of hair escaping her ponytail and draping her face in golden copper and that worried action which drew attention to her lush mouth like it always had, she looked incredible, like his greatest fantasy come to life.
Which she was, not that he’d ever told her. He’d had his chance ten years earlier and she’d made it more than clear what she’d thought of his rebuff back then.
‘You blow this chance, Mancini, you’ll never get another one. This is it, you and me, together. So what will it be?’
His answer had been pretty clear. He’d given her one last kiss, a bruising, harsh kiss to say goodbye to the best thing that could’ve happened to him, pushed her away and said, ‘There is no us, Red. And there never will be.’
She hadn’t cried and he’d admired her for it. She hadn’t clung or tried to change his mind. She’d sent him a pitying look, shook her long red mane, held her head high and walked out on him, leaving him with an ache in the vicinity of his heart. An ache that had returned tenfold despite all his self talk what they’d shared back then was nothing more than a teenage fling.
Slamming a door on pointless memories, he stood, tucked the polishing cloth in his back pocket and leaned against the bike.
‘You made it.’
For a second, he wished he hadn’t sounded so flippant as her eyes clouded with wariness.
‘Yeah, thanks for agreeing to meet me.’
The hint of vulnerability in her voice, in her expression, stunned him. The Brittany Lloyd he knew would never show weakness in front of anybody, least of all him.
‘Let’s pull up a seat.’ He pointed to the outer perimeter of the machinery shed, where a few old-fashioned plastic garden chairs lay scattered. ‘Have you given any more thought to my proposal?’
Stupid question. As if she would’ve thought of anything else since she’d stormed out of his office yesterday.
She ignored his question and said, ‘I want to talk about my father.’
No way.
If there was one topic of conversation off-limits, that was it.
Darby Lloyd was an out and out bastard. He’d controlled everything and everyone in this district, had set out to ruin Papa. Until Nick had given him what he wanted.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, ‘I don’t have much to say on that topic.’
‘Not many people do. But I want to know something. Did he ever approach you about me back when we were dating? Did he try to interfere?’
His blood chilled. There was no way he’d ever tell her the truth about her father. Besides, it wasn’t as if Darby were the cause of their break-up. It’d been much easier to blame their disintegrated relationship on her wanting to escape Jacaranda for the bright lights of a big city. That way, he could live with himself and what he’d done.
To help justify their break-up he’d told himself women were fickle. His aunt had run off to Melbourne with a salesman, his godmother had absconded with the butcher to Bunbury, his mum had abandoned her family and Britt had followed suit, hightailing it to London as soon as she hit eighteen.
Britt might have invited him along for the ride but he’d known that was due to the teenage fantasy she’d built in her head, the one where she saw him as some fancy Prince Charming riding his white horse to save her.
The problem with fantasies was they weren’t true and he’d been forced to burst her bubble before he did something silly—such as trust her as he’d trusted his mother.
‘What did he do? Tell me.’
She clicked her fingers in front of his face and as he looked into her luminous blue eyes a small part of him wished he’d indulged her fantasy.
Where would they be today if he had? Happily married with a brood of ruffians? Sharing confidences and dreams? Spending every night wrapped in each other’s arms, recreating the magic, the passion, that haunted him to this day? He could’ve had one hell of a life.
But he’d made his choices, his sacrifices, and, considering the successful hotelier he’d become, life wasn’t all bad.
‘Just thinking of the