“Are you all right?”
Elena cupped Nick’s jaw and tried for a confident smile. “I’m fine.”
One long finger stroked down her cheek, sending a raw shimmer through her. “Then why do I get the feeling that you’re not quite comfortable with this?”
“Probably because I haven’t done this in a while.”
Something flared in his gaze. “How long?”
“Uh—around six years, I guess.”
He said something soft beneath his breath. “Six years ago you slept with me.”
The breath caught in her throat. “I’m surprised you remember.”
“I’m not likely to forget,” he said quietly, “since you were a virgin.”
For a split second she was afraid he might abandon the whole idea of making love, so she took a deep breath and boldly trailed a hand down his chest. “I’m not a virgin now.”
He trapped her hand beneath his, then used it to pull her close so that she found herself half-sprawled across his chest. “Good.”
* * *
Just One More Night is part of The Pearl House series: Business and passion collide when two dynasties forge ties bound by love
Just One More Night
Fiona Brand
FIONA BRAND lives in the sunny Bay of Islands, New Zealand. Now that both her sons are grown, she continues to love writing books and gardening. After a life-changing time in which she met Christ, she has undertaken study for a bachelor of theology and has become a member of The Order of St Luke, Christ’s healing ministry.
To the Lord, whose “word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.”
—Psalms 119
For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.
—John 3:16
Many thanks to Stacy Boyd, Allison Carroll and all of the editorial staff who work so hard to help shape and polish each book, and always do a fabulous job.
Contents
One
Elena Lyon would never get a man in her life until she surgically removed every last reminder of Nick Messena from hers!
Number one on her purge list was getting rid of the beach villa located in Dolphin Bay, New Zealand, in which she had spent one disastrous, passionate night with Messena.
As she strolled down one of Auckland’s busiest streets, eyes peeled for the real estate agency she had chosen to handle the sale, a large sign emblazoned with the name Messena Construction shimmered into view, seeming to float in the brassy summer heat.
Automatic tension hummed, even though the likelihood that Nick, who spent most of his time overseas, was at the busy construction site was small.
Although, the sudden conviction that he was there, and watching her, was strong enough to stop her in her tracks.
Taking a deep breath, she dismissed the overreaction which was completely at odds with her usual calm precision and girded herself to walk past the brash, noisy work site. Gaze averted from a trio of bare-chested construction workers, Elena decided she couldn’t wait to sell the beach villa. Every time she visited, it seemed to hold whispering echoes of the intense emotions that, six years ago, had been her downfall.
Emotions that hadn’t appeared to affect the dark and dangerously unreliable CEO of Messena Construction in the slightest.
The rich, heady notes of a tango emanating from her handbag distracted Elena from an embarrassingly loud series of whistles and catcalls.
A breeze whipped glossy, dark tendrils loose from her neat French pleat as she retrieved the phone. Pushing her glasses a little higher on the delicate bridge of her nose, she peered at the number glowing on her screen.
Nick Messena.
Her heart slammed once, hard. The sticky heat and background hum of Friday afternoon traffic dissolved and she was abruptly transported back six years....
To the dim heat of what had then been her aunt Katherine’s beach villa, tropical rain pounding on the roof. Nick Messena’s muscular, tanned body sprawled heavily across hers—
Cheeks suddenly overwarm, she checked the phone, which had stopped ringing. A message flashed on the screen. She had voice mail.
Her jaw locked. It had to be a coincidence that Nick had rung this afternoon when she was planning one of her infrequent trips back to Dolphin Bay.
Her fingers tightened on the utilitarian black cell, the perfect no-nonsense match for her handbag. Out of the blue, Nick had started ringing her a week ago at her apartment in Sydney. Unfortunately, she had been off guard enough to actually pick up the first call, then mesmerized enough by the sexy timbre of his voice that she’d been incapable of slamming the phone down.
To make matters worse, somehow, she had ended up agreeing to meet him for dinner, as if the searing hours she’d spent locked in his arms all those years ago had never happened.
Of course, she hadn’t gone, and she hadn’t canceled, either. She had stood him up.
Behaving in such a way, without manners or consideration, had gone against the grain. But the jab of guilt had been swamped by a warming satisfaction that finally, six years on, Messena had gotten a tiny taste of the disappointment she had felt.
The