She’d persisted, convinced they were meant to be together, captivated by the occasional glimpse of the guy she’d fallen in love with, wary of what he’d become the harder she pushed for them to leave town.
Her dreams had been big, had been big enough for both of them. But Nick wasn’t the dream-maker she’d been foolish once to believe he was.
Acknowledging their attraction was one thing, opening her heart another, and while she wanted him now more than ever she knew nothing had changed.
He still wouldn’t follow her to London even if she were crazy enough to ask.
‘Nick, I don’t think—’
‘Then don’t. Think, that is,’ he murmured, a second before his lips locked on hers in the softest heartbreaking kiss that reached all the way down to her soul.
It lasted less than a few seconds, a fleeting glimpse of tenderness rarely seen from this passionate man, and when he raised his head, brushed her bottom lip with a fingertip and walked away, she was left reeling.
Reeling with the knowledge she still believed in dreams.
And his ability to make all hers come true.
Nick entered the marquee, his gaze immediately drawn to the stunning woman in a white dress chatting to the richest guy in the State.
Brittany looked incredible, a soft, clingy Grecian-style dress fastened on one shoulder with a silver clip, leaving her other deliciously bare, her hair piled up with soft golden streaks falling softly around her face and just enough make-up to enhance her beauty.
Hell. Just looking at her from a distance was making him crazy; what hope did he have up close?
Sure, she looked like a supermodel tonight but he still couldn’t erase the image of her clad in that supersized robe on their wedding night.
He’d lied about the robe being contraception on legs. The minute he’d caught his first glimpse of her, framed in the bathroom doorway with vulnerability written all over her face, he’d wanted to cross the room, haul her into his arms and never let go.
That had been one hell of a night.
Not for the reason he might’ve anticipated, considering she fired his libido as no other woman ever had or probably ever would.
He’d lain awake for hours, listening to the soft sounds of her breathing, wishing things could’ve turned out differently between them, silently chastising himself for being a bloody fool.
He’d thought by getting her to talk about the past, she might relax, learn to trust him again. Instead, she’d fed him some lame excuse about why she’d run away and he’d been the stupid one to blurt out he still cared. Go figure?
Thankfully, the last fortnight had passed in a frenetic blur with finalising details for the new Caribbean hotel and, apart from that slight aberration yesterday when he’d almost made a pathetic declaration of how much he liked having her around, they’d managed to maintain a polite distance.
All business, which was exactly why she’d agreed to accompany him to the Bachelor and Spinsters Ball tonight. A ball the Phant-A-Sea chain was sponsoring, a ball where every billionaire in Australasia would be in attendance, a ball where he’d learn how far his plan to marry Britt had got him.
Hotel occupancy was up fifty per cent, phone calls from potential investors tripling since he’d married. Maybe the old-school tycoons had finally recognised him as a successful, wealthy businessman with one thing on his mind: making his hotels the best in the world.
Tonight would prove how far he’d come, for calling him was one thing, accepting him as one of their own in public another.
Britt glanced up at that moment and their gazes locked, hot, intense, and he strode across the harvesting shed, which looked like a cross between a country-and-western saloon and a high-school disco.
It would be the plantation’s final hurrah, for once Britt had completed her work here he’d sell the place, sever ties to his past once and for all.
He’d prevaricated for the last twelve months, plagued by guilt. This place had been Papa’s pride and joy, built from the ground up with grit, sweat and determination. It had been the only place he’d ever called home but, more than that, it had been a refuge after his mum had abandoned them.
The old farmhouse should’ve repulsed him, should’ve been a constant reminder of what happened when he loved a woman too much.
But he’d deliberately blocked out the few memories of his mum, had filled his head and his heart with new ones, mostly centred on a wizened Italian man with a penchant for ripe tomatoes, coarse wine and sugar in his veins.
Papa had been more than a parent, he’d been his idol. The thought of bringing shame to the family name had stopped him from taking his rebel image too far, Papa’s steadfast support a constant reminder that he could be anybody he chose to be.
But that was the problem.
As long as he held onto the plantation, people would be reminded of his humble beginnings, would still harbour doubts about his ability to mix it with the big boys.
It would kill him to sell, would tear him clean in two, but nothing could take away memories of a father who’d helped mould him into the man he was today.
Papa would’ve understood, would’ve encouraged him to move forward, and that was exactly what he would do, despite the nagging gut feeling he was turning his back on family.
‘Well, if it isn’t the man of the moment. Glad you finally showed up at your own shindig, Mancini.’
To his amazement, Bram Rutger stuck his hand out, something he’d never done despite the many times they’d crossed paths at similar functions in Sydney or Singapore the last few years.
He shook it, vindicated his plan had worked yet despising himself for caring what this pompous old fool thought of him.
‘Business, you know how it is.’
‘That I do, my boy. Something we’ll discuss more of when you return my phone calls. I’m looking to expand my investment portfolio and I think we should talk.’
Bram’s announcement reinforced he’d made a sound business decision in marrying Britt, but his satisfaction evaporated when the old fool slipped an arm around Britt’s waist.
‘And I hear congratulations are in order. You’ve picked a fine woman here.’
Bram squeezed Britt’s waist as Nick’s hands squeezed into fists. ‘I’ve known young Brittany since she was in the cradle, so make sure you take good care of her, you hear?’
Oh, he’d take good care of her, starting with punching the supercilious coot in the nose, but he forced a smile and nodded.
‘Shall do. Now, if you’ll excuse us?’
He held out a hand, biting back a grin when Britt all but bolted out of Bram’s hold. ‘Nice seeing you again, Bram.’
She wiggled her fingers in a teasing wave and Nick growled under his breath as they walked away.
‘You shouldn’t tease the old goat. Might give him a heart attack.’
Her cheeky smile lit up her face. ‘Well, then, his kids will thank me. Apparently he’s worth billions these days.’
‘You’re incorrigible.’
She quirked an eyebrow. ‘This, coming from the guy who used to do very poor impersonations of Bram and his cronies?’
She shook her head. ‘You’ve changed. Become a snob like them.’
‘This, coming from the girl who wouldn’t sit down by Jacaranda River unless I’d spread out a blanket first? From the girl who wouldn’t hop on the back of my bike unless I made sure there wasn’t a dot of grease on the