Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

S he'd come.

Nick squinted at Britt from his crouched position behind his motorbike, equal parts surprised and relieved she'd turned up.

She'd left a message for him at the hotel desk requesting a meeting and he'd suggested they meet at the farm, hoping the memories might throw her off balance—make her vulnerable, more easily manipulated.

He hadn't anticipated those very same memories might unsettle him too, and with Britt dressed in a short white skirt and pink top, gnawing at her full bottom lip—an action he remembered all too well—cleaning his bike was the last thing on his mind.

He waited for her to speak, continued polishing the chrome, an action he found soothing. He rarely got time to lavish on his baby these days and this was the first opportunity he'd had to work on his motorbike in months.

Even with Britt's forget-me-not eyes clouded with worry, tendrils of hair escaping her ponytail and draping her face in golden copper, and the gnawing that drew attention to her lush mouth like it always had, she looked incredible, like his greatest fantasy come to life.

That's what she'd always been for him, a fantasy; not that he'd ever told her. He had his chance ten years earlier and she'd made it more than clear what she'd thought of his rebuff back then.

'You blow this chance, Mancini, you'll never get another one. This is it, you and me, together. So what will it be?'

His answer had been pretty clear. He'd given her one last kiss, a bruising, harsh kiss to say goodbye to the best thing that could've happened to him, pushed her away, and said, 'There is no us, Red. And there never will be.'

She hadn't cried and he'd admired her for it. She hadn't clung or tried to change his mind. She'd shot him a pitying look, shook her long red mane, held her head high, and walked out on him, leaving him with an ache in the vicinity of his heart. An ache that had returned tenfold despite all his self-talk that what they'd shared back then was nothing more than a teenage fling.

Ignoring pointless memories, he stood, tucked the polishing cloth in his back pocket, and leaned against the motorbike.

'You made it.'

For a second, he wished he hadn't sounded so flippant as her eyes clouded with wariness.

'Yeah, thanks for agreeing to meet me.'

The hint of vulnerability in her voice, in her expression, stunned him. The Brittany Lloyd he knew would never show weakness in front of anybody, least of all him.

'Let's pull up a seat.' He pointed to the outer perimeter of the machinery shed, where a few old-fashioned plastic garden chairs lay scattered. 'Have you given more thought to my proposal?'

Stupid question. As if she would've thought of anything else since she'd stormed out of his office yesterday.

She ignored his question and said, 'I want to talk about my father.'

No way. If there was one topic of conversation off-limits, that was it. Darby Lloyd was an absolute bastard. He'd controlled everything and everyone in this district, and had set out to ruin Pa.

Until Nick had given him what he wanted.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Nick said, 'I don't have much to say on that topic.'

'Not many people do. But I want to know something.' She hesitated, her pallor a worry. ‘Did he ever approach you about me when we were dating? Did he try to interfere?'

His blood chilled. No way in hell he'd ever tell her the truth about her father.

Besides, Darby hadn't been the cause of their break-up. It had been much easier to blame their disintegrated relationship on Britt wanting to escape Jacaranda for the bright lights of a big city.

That way, he could live with himself and what he'd done.

To help justify their break-up he'd told himself women were fickle. His aunt had run off to Melbourne with a salesman, his godmother had absconded with the butcher to Bunbury, his mum had abandoned her family, and Britt had followed suit, hightailing it to London as soon as she hit eighteen.

Britt might have invited him along for the ride at the time but he'd known that was due to the teenage fantasy she'd built in her head, the one where she saw him as some fairytale knight riding his white horse to save her.

The problem with fantasies, they weren't true, and he'd been forced to burst her bubble before he did something silly—like trust her as he'd trusted his mother.

'What did he do? Tell me.' She clicked her fingers in front of his face to snap him out of his musings, and as he looked into her luminous blue eyes, a small part of him wished he'd indulged her fantasy.

Where would they be today if he had? Happily married with a brood of ruffians? Sharing confidences and dreams? Spending every night wrapped in each other's arms, recreating the magic, the passion, that haunted him to this day? He could've had one hell of a life.

But he'd made his choices, his sacrifices, and, considering the successful hotelier he'd become, life wasn't all bad.

‘I'm thinking about the good old days,' he said, trying to distract her. He didn't want to talk about her father, not now, not ever.

'Good old days? Which ones?' She rolled her eyes. 'The days when you tied my plaits to the bus seat, or the days when you plucked my lunch right out of my hands, or the days when you threw my pet rock collection into the river?'

He smiled at the memories, remembering how he'd used to tease her mercilessly and how she'd given as good as she'd got. She'd been a little firebrand back then, her red hair a definite symbol of a trigger temper.

And a symbol of a simmering passion he'd been lucky enough to unleash.

Man, had she pushed his buttons back then and he hoped he'd outgrown it, whatever it was. He didn't have time for emotions in this marriage. It was business, pure and simple.

He had more important matters to consider, such as building his profile with investors, expanding into new cities, and upping profit margins.

'You loved every minute of it. Remember that time I put a toad in your bag?'

She snickered, a smile twitching at the corners of her glossed lips. 'Oh yeah, I really loved that. Not.'

'How about the garlic I rubbed into your boy band T-shirt?

Her lips twitched more. 'You were a jerk.'

'What about the shed incident?'

'Which one?' Her lips curved into a small, secretive smile and he clenched his hands into fists and thrust them into his pockets to prevent them reaching for her. 'The time you had me shovelling manure or the time you opened your mouth and poured the verbal variety on me so I'd fall into your arms?'

'Ouch.' He clutched at his heart. 'You haven't changed a bit, Red. That hurt.'

'And you haven't changed a bit either, still shovelling it in the hope to distract me. Now, can we get back to the topic of my father?'

She'd always seen through his tough-guy act, reducing him to a love-struck schmuck around her.

Correction, lust-struck schmuck.

Big difference there. He'd never loved Brittany. Liked her, lusted after her, but never dared love her.

He didn't do love.

Love equalled loss and loneliness and pain, emotions he could do without.

Folding his arms, he leaned back in the rickety chair. If he couldn't deflect her attention, he'd have to give her some snippet of the truth to placate her before they tackled more important matters, like the question of their impending nuptials.

'You know how much your dad hated any guy who came near you. Why dredge this up now?'

She fiddled with the edge of her short skirt, her fingers plucking at it. The only other time he'd seen her this nervous before was on the night she'd asked him to go away with her, the night he'd made the final break.

Until yesterday, he'd convinced himself he'd made the right decision. Women were unpredictable and erratic and couldn't be depended on. Then Brittany Lloyd walked back into his life, making him re-evaluate his choice and think a whole lot of 'what-ifs'.

What if he'd gone away with her?

What if they'd made a life together?

What if they fell in love and lived happily ever after?

Yeah, like happy-ever-afters ever happened in the real world.

‘I want to discuss my father because I visited him yesterday.' She raised stricken eyes to his and it took every ounce of willpower not to reach out, bundle her into his arms, and comfort her. 'He hasn't changed a bit.'

Nick swallowed the bitterness that rose at the thought of Darby Lloyd and his far-reaching vitriol poisoning everything and everyone around him, including this special woman.

Nick hadn't blamed her for running away. He'd wondered what took her so long.

Unable to resist, he reached out and took hold of her hand, surprised and more than a little grateful when she let him. 'Want to know what I think?'

She nodded, her eyes wide with pain.

'You've moved on. From what you've told me, you're a successful businesswoman with one hell of a career so don't let the past suck you back in.' He squeezed her hand, trailed his thumb across the back of it. 'It's not worth it.'

Brittany couldn't meet Nick's kind gaze. She preferred his tough guy persona. She could protect her heart from that guy. Caring Nick, not so much.

'Thanks,' she murmured, blinking away the tears. She'd done nothing but make a fool of herself since she'd arrived in Jacaranda: making assumptions about Nick, letting him kiss her, hoping her father had changed. She didn't need to start blubbering to top it off.

'Hey, don't cry.'

His thumb brushed away the tears that had spilled over and run down her cheeks in a gentle swipe. Great. Just her luck she hadn't worn waterproof mascara today.

‘Must be jet lag catching up with me,' she said, mortified when a veritable flood seeped from her eyes.

'Come here, you.'

Before she could protest, Nick hauled her into his arms and cradled her close, smoothing her hair, making soft crooning noises. Being enveloped in his strong arms, her face pressed against his chest, surrounded by his familiar scent of sugar and spice and all things nice, should've soothed her.

It didn't. Being held by Nick dammed her tears but it resurrected a host of feelings that had nothing to do with comfort.

Desire seeped through her body as he continued stroking her hair, rendering her powerless to move. She couldn't have pulled away if she wanted to.

She inhaled deeply, allowing the heady combination of sugar-cane sweetness, metal polish, and tropical sunshine to flood her lungs, enjoying the momentary lapse in reason as she wished he could hold her like this forever.

Sliding her arms around his waist, she allowed her hands the luxury of smoothing across firm muscle, revelling in the heat radiating through his cotton T-shirt.

Closing her eyes, she sighed, knowing there was no place in the world she'd rather be than right here.

London was her life now, the vibrant city a part of her new persona, but even with her career shooting into the stratosphere, at times like this, in the warm embrace of an incredible man, it wasn't enough.

She'd tried to forget Nick. But at random times, like doing the laundry or strolling alongside the Thames or waiting for the photocopier, she'd wonder what he was doing, who he was doing it with, and where they would be if he'd said yes to her all those years ago.

‘Are you okay now?' He pulled back with such swiftness she almost fell off her chair.

'Yeah, thanks.'

She scanned his face for an indication of what he was thinking, but the Mancini mask had slipped into place, leaving her wondering what was going on behind those enigmatic dark eyes. She'd seen this same shuttered expression on their last night together ten years ago, the night he'd broken her heart.

He cleared his throat. ‘Don' forget, we have other business to discuss.'

Her heart sank. For those all too brief moments when he'd held her, she'd forgotten the reason she'd requested this meeting. But the thought of her father, as poisonous as a puffer fish, leaped to mind and she knew she had to do this.

It was the only way.

She needed this promotion now more than ever, needed the money to clear a debt she'd never known existed, and the sooner that was done, the better. Then she'd finally be free.

'You're right, we do need to talk.' She twisted a strand of hair around her finger, a habit she'd long conquered, before belatedly releasing it. What was it about this guy that obliterated the last ten years as if they'd never happened and thrust her back to a time she'd rather forget, when she'd been naive and uncertain? 'I have an answer for you regarding your proposal.'

'And?' He propped against the motorbike, looking every bit the bad boy rebel he'd once been: dark, devastating, delicious.

She swallowed, her throat clenching with how much she still wanted him after all this time. He might've proposed a marriage for business purposes but deep down she knew there wasn't a chance in hell she'd be able to keep her hands off him. And considering he'd kissed her, twice, she had an inkling the feeling was mutual.

So where did that leave them? What would the boundaries of their marriage be? Monogamous? Casual?

He straightened and stepped closer. 'Stop over-analysing this. Give me your answer and we'll go from there.'

With her heart pounding and heat from his proximity prickling her skin, she wrenched her gaze from his chest within tantalising touching distance and slowly raised it until wavering blue locked with questioning brown.

Her voice barely above a whisper, she said, 'My answer is yes.'