Chapter 3

Chapter Three

B ritt pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks as Nick strode away.

The man was a menace.

In less than ten minutes he'd managed to unbalance her, unhinge her, and undermine her.

As for that kiss…she thunked her head on the steering wheel, twice, for good measure. Not only had she stood there and let him do it, she responded like a woman who hadn't been kissed in a long time. True, considering she'd been so focused on the managing director position coming up for grabs at work she hadn't dated in months.

But that didn't excuse her eager response, or explain the meltdown she'd experienced the second his lips touched hers.

'Ice Princess my butt,' she muttered, releasing the brake and sending gravel flying before heading down the driveway.

She snuck a peek in the rear-vision mirror, not surprised to see Nick staring over his shoulder with a grin as wide as the Sydney Harbour Bridge plastered across his smug face.

She clamped her lips shut on a host of expletives and headed for the main highway.

In a way, she was glad he suggested they meet at her hotel to discuss her proposal. She'd be better prepared to face him again in the cool elegance of the FantaSea's front bar than inside the cosy farmhouse that held a host of memories.

Wonderful, heartfelt memories of sitting across from him at the handmade wooden dining table, tearing into steaming ciabatta hot from the oven, dipping the delicious bread into olive oil and balsamic vinegar, licking the drops off each other's fingers. Cuddling on the worn chintz sofa, watching corny old black and white movies, and laughing themselves silly. Clearing the living room of mismatched armchairs and the scarred coffee table stacked with newspapers and magazines so they could dance to their favourite crooning country singer.

The memories were so real, so poignant, that her eyes misted over and she blinked, caught up in the magic of the past when she should be focused on the future.

Her promotion to Managing Director of Sell depended on it.

Come five o'clock, she'd make sure Nick Mancini—with his sexy smile, flashing dimples and hot body—knew exactly the type of businesswoman she'd become and that she wouldn't take no for an answer.

Brittany sipped her sugar-cane juice as she glanced around the FantaSea bar.

She'd stayed in some gorgeous hotels around the world but this one surpassed them all. From its sandstone-tiled entrance to its pristine whitewashed exterior, from its cascading waterfalls to the stunning umbrella-shaped poincianas lush with flamboyant crimson flowers, it beckoned a weary traveller to enter and stay awhile.

As for her beautiful room, with its king-size bed and six-hundred-thread-count sheets, double shower, Jacuzzi, and locally made lavender toiletries, she could happily stay there forever.

But this wasn't a pleasure trip, far from it. She needed to seal this deal with Nick. It would give her a confidence boost to face her other nemesis this journey.

Her father.

They hadn't spoken in ten years. He now lived in an exclusive special accommodation for the elderly and, as she wouldn't return to Jacaranda again, she needed to put the past to rest once and for all during this visit.

She'd taken up yoga in London, a convert to karma, and wanted to ensure hers was good rather than being dogged the rest of her life for not doing the right thing when she had the opportunity.

Swirling the lime wedge in her juice around and around, she mulled over her dad's anger, his need to control, his escalating abuse before she left.

He'd always been domineering, but when she turned eighteen he'd gone into overdrive. She'd escaped and hadn't looked back, but there wasn't a day went by when she didn't wondered how different her life could've been if she'd stuck around.

Would she and Nick have married? Would they have a brood of gorgeous, curly dark-haired, dimpled kids? Would they be happy?

Swallowing the lump of regret clogging her throat, her skin prickled with awareness like she was being watched, and she glanced up.

Farm-boy Nick in faded, torn denim and sweat-glistening chest was hot.

Executive Nick in an ebony pinstriped designer suit, crisp white shirt accentuating his tan, and a silk amethyst tie, was something else entirely.

She froze as he strode toward her, all long legs, confident stride, and dimpled smile.

'Hope you haven't been waiting long.'

He ducked his head to plant a quick kiss on her cheek and her senses reeled as she caught the faintest whiff of his familiar woody deodorant mingled with the sweetness of harvested cane.

Memories slammed into her—snuggling in the crook of his arm under their jacaranda tree, lying on top of him along the river bank, nuzzling his neck as they made love—and she gulped a lungful of air to ease her breathlessness.

His scent was so evocative, so rich in memories, she struggled to remember what he'd asked her.

Casting a curious glance her way, he sat opposite, his knees in close proximity to hers, and she surreptitiously sidled back to avoid accidental contact. That was all she needed. As if she hadn't made enough of a fool of herself already.

'What do you think of the hotel?'

She managed to unglue her tongue from the roof of her mouth and take a quick sip of juice before answering.

'It's gorgeous. There was nothing like it in the region ten years ago.'

His proud grin baffled her as much as seeing him in a suit. ' FantaSea was built five years ago. Business is booming.'

Taking in the subtle lighting, the understated elegance, she nodded. 'I'm not surprised. I've travelled extensively for business the last six years or so, but haven't stayed in anything like this before.'

The mention of business cleared the sensual fog that had enveloped her the moment he strutted into the bar and she glanced at his empty hands. 'Where's my proposal? Did you take a look at it?'

He shook his head and gestured to a waiter who scurried over as if the prime minister had beckoned.

'I prefer to hear this pitch from you first, then go over the details later.'

'Is that why you're in a suit?' she blurted, wishing she hadn't asked when his gaze raked over her change of clothes. The dove-grey skirt suit was another favourite that never failed to give her a confidence boost, and with Nick's intense stare sliding over her, she needed every ounce of confidence she could get.

Before he could respond, the waiter said, 'The usual, Mr Mancini?'

'Yes, thanks, Kyoshi.'

Confused, her gaze flicked between them. Nick hadn't glanced at the waiter's name tag, and with the waiter asking if he wanted 'the usual', he obviously frequented this place. Strange, considering thriving, cosmopolitan Noosa was a ninety-minute drive from the Mancini plantation and she hadn't pegged Nick for the bar-hopping type.

Then again, she'd been away a decade and people changed.

'You like?' He glanced down at his suit, leaving her no option but to do the same, and her pulse raced at the way his chest filled out the shirt, how the fine material of the suit jacket hugged his shoulders.

'I've never seen you in one.'

His eyes glittered with a satisfaction she didn't understand as he pinned her with a stare that had her squirming. 'Times change.'

She gripped her glass so tight she wouldn't have been surprised if it cracked and she forced her hand to relax and place it on the table by her elbow. 'They do. So let's get down to business.'

Leaning back, he placed an outstretched arm on the back of his chair, the simple action pulling his shirt taut across the muscular chest she'd seen in all its glory earlier that day and she instantly wished for a drink refill to cool her down.

'I have to say I'm intrigued. This business must be pretty damn special to drag you back here from the bright lights of London.'

How could she begin to explain to him what this promotion meant? The long hours she'd put in over the years. The overnight jaunts to godforsaken places, going the extra yards to secure information, ensuring her pitches were bigger and better than everyone else. The endless drive to prove her independence in every way that counted.

Nick wouldn't get it. Not having a mother had bonded him and Pa Mancini like nothing else. He'd never had to prove himself or give his all for recognition. His father had doted on him.

She wished she could say the same about hers.

'I'll give you the short version.' She leaned forward, clasped her hands in her lap, and prepared to give the pitch of her life.

Securing the use of the Mancini plantation was paramount to her plans and would guarantee her that promotion. The current managing director had virtually said so. Then why the nagging doubt that convincing Nick wouldn't be as easy as she hoped?

'I work for Sell , London's biggest advertising company. We're doing a worldwide campaign for the sugar industry, driven by the mega-wealthy plantation owners in the States.'

A flicker of interest lit his eyes and she continued. 'I'll be honest with you, Nick. There's a big promotion in this for me, a huge one. If I nail this, I'm the new managing director of the company.'

His eyebrows shot up. 'That's an impressive title.'

Picking up the boutique beer the waiter had discreetly placed on the table in front of him, he took a healthy slug. 'So where do I fit into all this?'

She'd got this far. Taking a deep breath, she went for broke. 'Your place is the oldest sugar-cane plantation in Australia. If I could have exclusive access to it, shoot footage, use some of the history, I'm pretty sure the resultant campaign will be amazing and the promotion is mine. That's it in a nutshell.'

She didn't like his silence, his controlled posture. She'd expected some kind of reaction, not this tense quiet that left her on edge and wondering what was going on behind those dark eyes.

'I've set out the facts and figures in the written proposal. How much the company's willing to pay to use the farm, how many hours it will involve, that kind of thing.' Her voice had taken on a fake, bubbly edge, as if she was trying too hard, and she eventually fell silent, waiting for him to say something.

When he didn't, she blurted, 'What do you think?'

Something shifted in his eyes, a shrewdness she'd never seen before.

‘It sounds feasible.'

Elation swept through her, quickly tempered when he leaned forward and shook his head.

'There's just one problem. I'm about to sell the farm.'

'Sell it? But where will you live? Where will you work?'

His condescending grin sent a chill of foreboding through her. 'You still see me as some hick bumpkin farm boy, don't you?'

She fought a rising blush and lost. 'Of course not. I just meant that place has been in your family for generations. I don't understand why you'd sell.'

He gestured all around him. 'Because my place is here now.'

Confusion creased her brow as she looked around the hip bar. His designer suit, his patronising smile, his cryptic comments, made her feel as if he'd left her out of some in-joke and the punchline was on her.

'You belong here?' She shook her head, knowing if there was one place a guy like Nick belonged, it wasn't in this ultra-elegant hotel.

He'd always loved the farm, had been proud of his family's heritage, so what had changed? The Nick she'd known and loved thrived under the harsh Queensland sun, harvesting billets of sugar cane, getting his hands dirty with the machinery he'd loved tinkering with, riding down the highway on his beat-up motorbike with the wind in his hair and the devil at his back.

He frowned, his shoulders rigid as he sat back. 'You find that so hard to believe?'

‘This place isn't you.'

'It is now,' he snapped, his control slipping as anger flashed from those dark eyes she'd lost herself in too many times to count. 'Just because we had a teenage fling, don't presume you know me.'

That hurt more than she could've thought possible after all this time. 'It was more than that and you know it.'

Understanding flickered in his eyes before he blinked, obliterating the slightest sign he acknowledged what she'd said was true.

‘Our past is irrelevant to our business now.' He glanced at his watch and stood. 'Sorry, I have to cut this meeting short. I've got an interview scheduled.'

'You want to work here?'

The corners of his mouth twitched. 'I already do.'

‘You work here ?' She made it sound like he stripped for a living and his upper lip curled in derision.

'Technically, yes.'

'I don't understand.'

As he nodded to someone over her shoulder and held up a finger to indicate a minute, he leaned down, his breath fanning her ear and sending ripples of heat through her.

'I don't work here, I own the place.'