A sweep of lights coming down the road heralded the taxi she’d summoned, and not a moment too soon. She had enough dander up right now to march back on up the driveway and give her father a piece of her mind all over again—for whatever good it would do.
“Look,” she continued, “I’ve got to go. I need some space right now to think things over.”
“Nicole, come back. Let’s talk this out face-to-face.”
“No,” Nicole answered as the cab pulled up alongside the curb. “I’m done talking. Please don’t call me again.”
She disconnected the call and switched off her phone for good measure before throwing it into the bottom of her bag.
“Viaduct Basin,” she instructed as she got into the taxi and settled in the darkened interior with her equally dark thoughts.
Hopefully the vibrant atmosphere at the array of bars and clubs in downtown Auckland would provide her with the distraction she needed. Nicole repaired her tear-stained makeup as well as she could with the limited cosmetics in her bag. It annoyed the heck out of her that anger, for her, usually resulted in tears, as well. It was an awkward combination that plagued her on the rare occasions she actually lost her temper, and it made it hard for her to be taken seriously.
She willed her hand to be steady as she applied a rich red lip gloss and gave herself a final check in her compact mirror.
Satisfied she’d done her best with her makeup, she sat back against the soft upholstery of the luxury taxi and tried to ignore the echo of her father’s words, the faintly smug paternal tone that seemed to say that she’d soon get over her temper tantrum and realize he was right all along.
“Over my dead body,” she muttered.
“Pardon, miss, what was that you said?” the neatly suited taxi driver asked over his shoulder.
“Nothing, sorry, just talking to myself.”
She shook her head and blinked hard at the fresh tears that pricked in her eyes. In doing what her father had done he’d permanently damaged his relationship with her, fractured the trust between her and Anna, and virtually destroyed any chance of her and Judd building a sibling bond together. She had no family she could rely on anymore—not her father, her brother, her sister and certainly not her mother. Nicole had not seen or heard from her mother since Cynthia Masters-Wilson had taken Judd back to her native Australia when he was six and Nicole only one year old.
Nicole had long since convinced herself she’d never wanted to know her mother growing up. Her father had been everything and everyone she’d ever needed. But even as a child, she’d always been able to tell that she wasn’t enough to make up for the wife and son that her father still missed. It had driven Nicole to work harder, to be a top student and to learn everything she could about the family business, in the hopes of winning her father’s approval, making him proud. Goodness only knew running Wilson Wines was all she’d ever wanted to do from the moment she’d understood just what held the balance of her father’s attention every day.
Now that Judd was back, it was as if she didn’t exist anymore. As if she never had.
Nicole reached up to remove the hair tie that had held her hair in its no-nonsense, businesslike ponytail all day, and shoved her fingers through her hair to tousle it out into party mode. She would not let her father’s actions beat her. Once she’d worked this upset out of her system she’d figure out a way to fix things. Until then, she was going to enjoy herself.
She alighted from the taxi and paid the driver then undid the top button of her suit jacket, exposing a glimpse of the gold-and-black satin-and-lace bra she wore beneath it. There, she thought defiantly, from business woman to party girl in one easy step. Squaring her shoulders, Nicole headed into the first bar on the strip. Oblivion had never looked better.
Nate leaned against the bar and watched the pulsing throng of bodies on the dance floor with disinterest. He’d only agreed to come along tonight for Raoul’s sake. Hosting the guy’s stag party was small recompense for the work Raoul had done holding Jackson Importers together after Nate’s father’s sudden death last year. Knowing the running of the business was in Raoul’s very capable hands until Nate could return to New Zealand to pick up the reins had been a massive relief. Extricating himself from Jackson Importers’ European office and appointing a replacement there had taken time, and he owed the guy big for stepping up to the plate.
His philanthropy didn’t assuage his boredom, however, and Nate was on the verge of saying his goodbyes and making his way home when she caught his eye. The woman moved on the dance floor with a sensuous grace that sent a spiraling swell of primal male interest through his body. She was dressed as if she’d come from the office, although he’d never seen any of his staff look that good in a suit. Her jacket was unbuttoned just enough to give a tantalizing view of creamy feminine swells of flesh supported by sexy black satin and gold lace, and while her skirt wasn’t exactly short, her long legs and spiky heels certainly made it look that way.
He felt a familiar twinge in his groin. All of a sudden, heading out to his home on the ocean side of the Waitakere Ranges wasn’t his top priority anymore—at least not immediately and, hopefully, not alone.
Nate cut through the throng of seething bodies to get nearer. There was something familiar about her but he couldn’t place it immediately. Her long dark hair swung around her face as she moved to the beat of the music and he imagined it swinging in other areas, gliding over his body. Oh, yes, definitely gliding over his body—or even spread across the starkness of his Egyptian cotton sheets while he glided across hers. He clenched and unclenched his jaw as every cell in his body responded to the visual image.
He let the beat of the music infuse him and eased in beside her. “Hi, can I join in?” he asked with a smile.
“Sure,” she replied, before flicking her hair from her face and exposing dark eyes a man could lose himself in, and a delectably red-painted mouth that was made for pure sin.
They danced awhile, their bodies moving in synchronicity—close, but not touching. The air between them was incendiary. Would they move in such unison alone together, too?
Another dancer jostled past, knocking her against his chest. His hands whipped up to steady her and she looked up into his eyes with a smile that started slowly before spreading wide.
“My hero,” she said, with a wicked gleam in her dark eyes.
He found his mouth curving in response. “I can be whatever you want me to be,” he said, bending his head slightly and putting his mouth to the shell of her ear.
She quivered in his arms. “Anything?”
“Anything.”
“Thank you,” she said, so softly he almost couldn’t hear her over the noise around them. “I could do with a dose of anything right now.”
She draped her arms over his shoulders, the fingers of one hand playing with his hair where it sat at the nape of his neck. Her touch did crazy things to him. Things that made him want to do nothing more than take her out of here and transport her to his home, his bed.
Nate wasn’t into one-night stands. Aside from the fact his mother had drilled respect for women into him from an early age, he’d never been that kind of guy. Nate liked to plan, to calculate all the angles—spontaneity wasn’t really his strong suit, especially in his private life. He knew how important it was to be cautious, to keep people at a distance until you were sure of their motives. But there was something about the girl in his arms that made him want to take a chance.
He looked down into her face and recognition began to dawn. Suddenly he knew why she’d seemed familiar. She was Nicole Wilson—none other than Charles Wilson’s daughter, and the second in command at Wilson Wines. Her picture had been in the dossier of information he’d asked Raoul to gather on the