He smiled at the memories, remembering how he’d used to tease her mercilessly and how she’d given as good as she’d got. She’d been a little firebrand back then, her red hair a definite symbol of a quick-fire temper. And a symbol of a simmering passion he’d been lucky enough to unleash.
Man, had she pushed his buttons back then and he hoped to God he’d grown out of it, whatever it was.
He didn’t have time for emotions in this marriage. It was business, pure and simple. He had more important matters to consider, such as building his profile with investors, expanding into new cities and upping profit margins.
‘You loved every minute of it. Remember that time I put a toad in your bag?’
She rolled her eyes, a smile twitching at the corners of her glossed lips. ‘Oh yeah, I really loved that. Not!’
‘How about the garlic I rubbed into your Spandau Ballet T-shirt?’
Her lips twitched more. ‘You were a jerk.’
‘What about the shed incident?’
‘Which one?’
Her lips curved into a small, secretive smile and he clenched his hands into fists and thrust them into his pockets to prevent them reaching for her.
‘The time you had me shovelling manure or the time you opened your mouth and poured the verbal variety on me so I’d fall into your arms?’
‘Ouch!’ He clutched at his heart. ‘You haven’t changed a bit, Red. That hurt.’
‘And you haven’t changed a bit either, still shovelling it in the hope to distract me. Now, can we get back to the topic of my father?’
She was onto him. Always had been, seeing right through his tough-guy act, reducing him to a love-struck schmuck around her.
Correction, lust-struck schmuck.
Big difference there. He’d never loved Brittany. Liked her, lusted after her but he’d never dared love her.
He didn’t do love.
Love equalled loss and loneliness and pain, emotions he could do without.
Folding his arms, he leaned back in the rickety chair. If he couldn’t deflect her attention, he’d have to give her some snippet of the truth to placate her before they tackled more important matters, like the question of their impending nuptials.
‘You know how much your dad hated any guy who came near you. Why dredge all this up now?’
She gnawed at her bottom lip, fiddled with the edge of her short skirt. He’d never seen her this nervous before.
Well, maybe on one other occasion, the night she’d asked him to go away with her, the night he’d made the final break.
Until yesterday, he’d convinced himself he’d made the right decision. Women were unpredictable, erratic creatures who couldn’t be depended on. Then Brittany Lloyd walked back into his life, making him re-evaluate his choice and think a whole lot of ‘what-ifs’.
What if he’d gone away with her?
What if they’d made a life together?
What if they fell in love and lived happily ever after?
Yeah, like happy-ever-afters ever happened in the real world.
‘Because I visited him yesterday.’ She raised stricken eyes to his and it took every ounce of will power not to reach out, bundle her into his arms and comfort her. ‘He hasn’t changed a bit.’
He swallowed the bitterness that rose at the thought of Darby Lloyd and his far-reaching tentacles poisoning everything and everyone around him, including this remarkably special woman.
He hadn’t blamed her for running away. He’d wondered what took her so long.
Unable to resist, he reached out and took hold of her hand, surprised and more than a little grateful when she let him. ‘Want to know what I think?’
She nodded, her eyes wide with pain.
‘You’ve moved on. From what you’ve told me, you’re a successful businesswoman with one hell of a career so don’t let the past suck you back in.’
He squeezed her hand, trailed his thumb across the back of it. ‘It’s not worth it.’
Brittany couldn’t meet his gaze; it was far too kind. Far too full of memories.
‘Thanks,’ she muttered, and made an angry swipe at her eyes, dashing away the tears pooled there. She’d done nothing but make a fool of herself since she’d arrived in Jacaranda: making assumptions about Nick, letting him kiss her, hoping her father had changed. She didn’t need to start blubbering like a two-year-old to top it off.
Teasing Nick she could handle. Compassionate Nick, holding her hand and staring at her with unquestionable warmth in his eyes, had the potential to undo her completely.
‘Hey, don’t cry.’
He leaned over and brushed away the tears that had spilled over and run down her cheeks.
Great. Just her luck she hadn’t worn waterproof mascara today.
‘Jet lag catching up with me,’ she muttered, blinking rapidly only to find a veritable flood seeping out of her eyes.
‘Come here, you.’
Before she could protest, Nick hauled her into his arms and cradled her close, smoothing her hair, making small crooning noises. Being enveloped in his strong arms, her face pressed against hard chest wall, surrounded by his familiar scent of sugar and spice and all things nice, should’ve soothed her.
It didn’t. Being held by Nick dammed her tears but it resurrected a host of feelings that had nothing to do with comfort.
Desire seeped through her body as he continued stroking her hair, rendering her powerless to move. She couldn’t have pulled away if she wanted to. And, God help her, she didn’t want to.
She inhaled deeply, allowing the heady combination of sugar-cane sweetness, metal polish and tropical sunshine to flood her lungs, enjoying the momentary lapse in reason as she wished he could hold her like this for ever.
Sliding her arms around his waist, she allowed her hands the luxury of smoothing across hard muscle, revelling in the heat radiating through his cotton T-shirt.
Closing her eyes, she sighed, knowing there was no place in the world she’d rather be than right here.
London was her life now, the vibrant city a part of her new persona but even with her career shooting into the stratosphere, at times like this, in the warm embrace of an incredible man, it wasn’t enough.
She’d tried to forget Nick, had rarely succeeded: wondering what he was doing, who he was doing it with, where they would be if he’d said yes to her all those years ago.
‘You okay now?’
He pulled back with such swiftness she almost fell off her chair.
‘Yeah, thanks.’
She scanned his face for an indication of what he was thinking, but true to form the Mancini mask had slipped into place, leaving her wondering what was going on behind those enigmatic dark eyes. She’d seen it their last night together ten years ago, the night he’d broken her heart.
‘We have other business to discuss.’
Her heart sank.
For those all too brief moments when he’d held her, she’d forgotten the reason she’d requested this meeting. But the thought of her father,