Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

' I brought dessert.'

Britt held out the store-bought lemon meringue pie, wishing Nick would take the damn thing before it tumbled from her shaking hands. This dinner was supposed to set her mind at rest, a pre-wedding get-together to discuss plans and take the edge off her nerves.

So far, it wasn't working.

'Thanks, looks delicious.' His gaze flicked over her, appreciation lighting his eyes, and she had the distinct feeling he wasn't talking about the pie.

She'd spent an hour deciding what to wear, aiming for casual, yet wanting to make him look twice. After five changes, she'd finally decided on caramel suede pants sitting low on her hips and a chocolate rib top that fitted like a second skin. The warm tones highlighted her hair and skin to perfection—or so some stylist had told her at a boutique in Notting Hill.

In London, she'd taken her appearance for granted, spending a small fortune on clothes and accessories to fit the image of a top marketing consultant. She dressed to impress. Her excuse for wanting to look her best tonight.

Yeah, right.

'What's for dinner?' She headed for the stove in an attempt to escape Nick's intense stare.

'Antipasto for starters, then home-made ravioli filled with asparagus and leeks, smothered in a four-cheese herb sauce for main.'

He picked up a ladle, lifted a pot lid, and stirred, the delicious aroma of melted cheese and garlic filling the kitchen and making her mouth water.

'You make your own pasta?' She raised an eyebrow, beyond impressed. How did the guy find time to run a hotel, do stuff around the farm and be a whiz in the kitchen?

He cocked a hip and shrugged, deliciously smug and modest at the same time. 'What can I say? I'm good with my hands.'

Her cheeks burned when he eyeballed her, daring her to disagree, before sprinkling fresh chopped parsley into the pot, sending her a cheeky grin that notched up the heat in the kitchen.

Either that or she was taking a lot longer to acclimatise to the Jacaranda humidity than expected.

'I'm impressed. Is there anything you can't do?'

'No, though I guess I'm better at some things than others.' He winked and turned back to the stove, his attention riveted to the pot while the embarrassing blush in her cheeks intensified.

She remembered exactly how good he was at some things, which was why she grabbed cutlery off the sideboard, trying to remember the difference between left and right as she struggled to place knives, forks, and spoons in their right place.

She'd been insane to agree to his marriage proposal, mad to think she could remain businesslike for the length of their marriage—yet another thing they had to decide tonight. For she was in little doubt this platonic union would have a time limit.

He'd asked as much earlier and she'd had no idea how to respond, didn't want to think beyond this pitch and what she had to do to secure her promotion: marriage to Nick, a business deal. And business deals had set time frames, both parties aware of how long the proposed business would take right from the start.

So why the odd pang in the vicinity of her heart?

Once she set the table she picked up the pasta bowls and took them to the stove. 'We've got a lot to talk about tonight.'

He held up a hand. 'Not on an empty stomach. Let's eat first.'

'Fine with me.'

But it wasn't fine, none of this was, and while they made polite small talk over his fabulous pasta, she couldn't forget the real reason she was here: to set the boundaries of their marriage.

An event she'd dreamed of ten years ago, had planned in her head to the nth degree: strolling towards her gorgeous groom under the shade of their favourite jacaranda tree down by the river, Nick in a casual suit with his shirt collar open, the wind ruffling his too-long-to-be-neat hair, her in a flowing ivory silk minidress made for walking by the river after she'd married the man of her dreams.

Somehow, the quick, impersonal ceremony in front of a minister they would now go through didn't have the same ring to it.

Her heart skipped a beat again, hurting enough to show, no matter how much she pretended this was all business, she knew deep down she was selling her soul.