by Fiona Brand
“Don’t ask.”
Acutely aware that if Nick had another item in his pockets, it was probably a condom, Elena peered into a dusty mirror propped against the wall.
For a disorienting moment she was surprised by the way she looked, the tousled hair and exotic curve of her cheekbones, the pale lushness of her mouth.
She had definitely made outward changes, but inside she wasn’t nearly as confident as that image would suggest.
Although according to Giorgio, that would change once she resurrected her sex life.
The thought that she could resume her sex life, here, now, if she wanted, made her heart pound and put her even more on edge.
* * *
An hour later, they emptied the final trunk. “That’s it.” Relief filled Elena as she closed the lid. “If the ring isn’t here, then Katherine didn’t receive it. I’ve already been through everything else.”
“You searched all of the desks and bureaus downstairs?”
Elena wiped her hands off on a cloth. “Every cupboard and drawer.”
Absently, she picked up a photo album, which she’d decided to take downstairs.
Picking up the cloth, she wiped the cover of the album. Glancing at the first page of photos, her interest was piqued. Unusually, many of the photos were of the Messena family.
She was aware of Nick’s gaze fixing on the album. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind disparate pieces of information fused into a conclusion she should have arrived at a long time ago. Nick had taken a special interest in any photo album he had come across.
As she tucked the album under her arm and bent to retrieve her damp cardigan, a small bundle of letters dropped out from between the pages. Bending, she picked them up. The envelopes were plain, although of very good parchment, a rich cream that seemed to glow in the stark light. They were tied together with a white satin ribbon that shimmered with a pearlized sheen.
Her throat closed up. Love letters.
The top envelope was addressed to her aunt. Heart beating just a little faster, because she knew without doubt that she had found a remnant of the relationship her aunt had kept secret until she died, Elena turned the small bundle over.
The name Carlos Messena leaped out at her, and the final piece in the puzzle of just why her aunt and Stefano Messena had been personally linked fell into place. “Mystery solved,” she said softly.
Nick tossed the cloth he’d used to wipe his hands with over the back of a broken chair. Stepping over a pile of old newspapers that were destined for the fire, he took the letters.
“Uncle Carlos,” he said quietly, satisfaction edging his voice. “My father was the first son, he was the second. Carlos died on active duty overseas around thirty years ago. So that’s why Dad gave Katherine the ring. It was traditionally given to the brides of the second son in the family. If Katherine and Carlos had married, it would have been hers.”
With careful movements, he untied the faded ribbon and fanned the letters out on the top of a trunk, checking the dates on each letter.
Holding her breath, because to read the personal exchanges, even now, seemed an invasion of privacy, Elena picked up the first letter. It was written in a strong, slanting hand, and she was instantly drawn into the clear narrative of a love affair that had ended almost before it had begun, after just one night together.
Empathy held her in thrall as she was drawn into the brief affair that had ended abruptly when Carlos, a naval officer, had shipped out.
Elena refolded the letter and replaced it back in its envelope. Nick passed her the contents of the envelope he had just opened. On plainer, cheaper paper, it was written in a different hand. There was no love letter, but in some ways the content was even more personal: a short note, a black-and-white snapshot of a toddler, a birth certificate and adoption papers for a baby named Michael Carlos.
The mystery of Stefano’s relationship with Katherine was finally solved: he had been helping her find the child she had adopted out. A Messena child.
Nick studied the address on the final envelope. “Emilia Ambrosi.” He shook his head. “She’s a distant cousin of the Pearl House Ambrosis. I could be wrong, but as far as I know she still lives on Medinos.” He let out a breath. “Medinos was the one place we didn’t look.”
Elena dragged her attention from the sparse details of the Messena child. “You knew Aunt Katherine had had a baby?”
“It seemed possible, but we had no proof.”
Feeling stunned at the secret her aunt had kept, she handed Nick the note, the snapshot and the birth certificate.
Gathering up the letters, she tied them together with the ribbon and braced herself for the fact that Nick would be gone in a matter of minutes.
She should be happy they had solved the mystery and found closure. Her aunt had tragically lost Carlos, but she had at least experienced the heights—she had been loved. They hadn’t found the ring but, at a guess, Katherine had sent it to her son, who was probably a resident on Medinos.
Elena made her way downstairs to the second level. Placing the album and the sadly rumpled cardigan on a side dresser in the hall, she washed her hands and face, then waited out in the hall while Nick did the same.
Curious to see if Aunt Katherine had included any further shots of her small son in the album, she flipped to the first page. Unexpectedly, it was dotted with snapshots of the Messena children when they had been babies.
Nick’s gaze touched on hers as he exited the bathroom, and the awareness that had vibrated between them in the attic sprang to life again.
She closed the album with a faint snap. “You must have suspected all along that a Medinian engagement ring, a family heirloom, was a strange gift for a mistress.”
With his waistcoat hanging open, his shirt unfastened partway down his chest, the sleeves rolled up over muscular forearms, Nick looked tough and masculine and faintly dissolute in the narrow confines of the hall. “It wouldn’t be my choice.”
The thought that Nick obviously gave gifts to women he loved and appreciated ignited a familiar coal of old hurt and anger. After their night together she hadn’t rated so much as a phone call.
“What would you choose? Roses? Dinner? A tropical holiday?”
She seemed to remember reading an exposé from a former PA of Nick’s and her claims that she had organized a number of tropical holidays for some of his shorter, more fiery flings.
His expression turned wary. “I don’t normally send gifts. Not when—”
“Great strategy.” She smiled brightly. “Why encourage the current woman when there’s always another one queuing up?”
There was a moment of heavy silence during which the humid, overwarm night seemed to close in, isolating them in the dimly lit hall.
Nick frowned. “Last I heard there is no queue.”
Probably because he was never in one place long enough for the queue to form. Nick was more a girl-in-every-port kind of guy.
Elena found herself blurting out a piece of advice he probably didn’t want to hear. “Maybe if you slowed down and stayed in one place for long enough there would be.”
And suddenly Nick was so close she could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the clean scents of soap and aftershave, and an electrifying whiff of fresh sweat generated by the stuffy, overheated attic.
She stared at a pulse beating along the strong column of his throat. Sweat shouldn’t be sexy, she thought a little desperately, but it suddenly, very palpably, was.
Nick’s hand landed on the wall beside her head, subtly fencing her in. “With my schedule, commitment has never been viable.”
“Then maybe you should take control of your schedule. Not,” she amended hastily, “that I have any interest in a committed relationship with you. I have—Robert.”
She didn’t, not
really, and the small lie made her go hot all over. But suddenly it seemed very important that she should have someone, that she shouldn’t look like a total loser in the relationship stakes.
Nick’s brows jerked together. “I’m glad we’re clear on that point.”
“Totally. Crystal clear.” But her heart pounded at the edge in Nick’s voice, as if he hadn’t been entirely happy at her mention of Robert. Or that she had nixed the whole idea of a relationship with him.
Nick cupped her jaw, the heat of his fingers warm and slightly rough against her skin. “So this is just friendship?”
He dipped his head, slowly enough that she could avoid the kiss if she wanted.
A shaft of heat burned through her as he touched his mouth to hers. She could move away. One step and she could end the dizzying delight that was sweeping through her that maybe, just maybe, they had turned some kind of corner when they had uncovered the reason behind his father’s relationship with her aunt.
That now that the past was resolved, a relationship between them wasn’t so impossible.
Heart pounding as the kiss deepened, she lifted up on her toes, one hand curving over Nick’s broad shoulder as she hung on. The tingling heat that flooded her, the notion that they could have a future, were all achingly addictive. She couldn’t remember feeling so alive.
Except, maybe, six years ago.
That thought should have stopped her in her tracks. But the gap of time, the emotional desert she’d trudged through, after Nick, had taught her a salutary lesson.
She needed to be loved, and she absolutely did not want to remain alone. So far the search for a husband had proved anticlimactic. Good character and an appealing outward appearance just didn’t seem to generate the “in love” part of the equation. Bluntly put, so far there had been no chemistry.
On the other hand, while Nick failed every sensible requirement, with him there was nothing but chemistry.
If she could have the chemistry and the committed relationship with Nick, she would be...happy.
His mouth lifted. He released her jaw as if he was reluctant to do so, as if he hadn’t wanted the kiss to end, either.
Drawing a shaky breath, Elena relinquished her grip on Nick’s shoulder.
A relationship with Nick? Maybe even with a view to marriage?
It was a major shift in her thinking. She didn’t know if Nick could be anything to her beyond a fatal attraction. All she knew was that with his gaze fixed on hers and the unsettling awareness sizzling between them, the possibility seemed to float in the air.
That, and the knowledge that she was about to lose him in approximately two minutes.
She drew a swift breath. If she wanted Nick, she would have to take a risk. She would have to fight for him.
The fingers of her free hand curled into one of the lapels of his waistcoat where it hung open, her thumb automatically sweeping over the small button.
Surprise at the small possessive gesture flared in his gaze and was quickly replaced by a heat that took her breath. “I have to leave early in the morning.”
She did her best to conceal her shock at how quickly he had cut to the chase and assumed that they would spend the night together, and the instant stab of hurt evoked by his blunt pronouncement that he had to leave. She had already known he was flying out on business. “Yes.”
“You don’t mind?”
She did, like crazy, but she wasn’t about to let him know that. She had decided to take the risk of trying for a relationship with Nick. That meant she had to toughen up because a measure of hurt would naturally be involved.
She forced a smile. “I’m only here for a few days myself, then I need to be back in Sydney.”
He wound a finger in her hair, the touch featherlight, and she tried not to love it too much. “For the record, my dating is usually on a casual basis. Most of it happens around yachting events when I’m racing.”
That wasn’t news to Elena. Her current Atraeus boss was a sailor, which meant there were quite often yachting magazines lying around in the office. Nick’s name occasionally leaped out from the pages. “Which is quite often.”
His breath wafted against her cheek, damp and warm and faintly scented with the champagne they’d drunk at the wedding. “Granted.”
She inhaled and tried to drag her gaze from the slice of brown flesh and sprinkling of dark hair visible in the opening of his shirt. “But there have been a lot of women.”
The album, which had been tucked under her arm, slipped and fell to the floor, as if to punctuate her statement.
His hands closed on the bare skin of her arms, his palms warm and faintly abrasive, sending darting rivulets of fire shimmering through her. “According to the tabloids. But we both know how reliable they are as a source of information.”
Nick bent his head, bringing his mouth closer to hers. “If you don’t want me to stay the night, just say so, and I’ll leave you alone.”
As he drew her close, she gripped the lapels of his shirt, preserving a small distance. Despite committing to a night with him, caution was kicking in. She needed more. “Why me?”
“For the same reason it’s always been. I’m attracted to you. I like you.”
A month ago, on a street in Auckland, he had said he liked her. It wasn’t enough, but coupled with the chemistry that vibrated between them and the fact that the rift between their families would now be healed, a relationship suddenly seemed viable.
Cupping Nick’s stubbled jaw, she lifted up on her toes and kissed him. A split second later she found herself in his arms. With a heady sense of inevitability, she looped her arms around his neck, heat clenching low in her belly as she fitted herself even more closely against the hard angles and planes of his body.
After all the years of being calmly, methodically organized, of never losing her cool, there was something exhilarating about abandoning herself to a passionate interlude with Nick.
“That’s better.” He smiled, a glimpse of the uncomplicated charm that had always entrapped her, the kind of charm that made little kids flock around him and old ladies sit and chat. Except this time it was all for her and enticingly softer.
As Nick’s mouth settled on hers, the reason he was so successful with women hit her. Despite the hard muscle and the wickedly hot exterior, he possessed a bedrock niceness that made women melt.
It was there in the way he noticed small things, like the color of her eyes and the fact that she was wearing contacts, the way he had rescued her from the blind date six years ago when he didn’t have to get involved.
Her feet lost contact with the floor; the light of the hall faded to dim shadows as they stepped into a bedroom.
With a sense of inevitability, Elena noted the wide soft bed, with its lush piled cushions and rich red coverlet.
A lavish, traditional Medinian marriage bed, arrayed for a wedding. The room she had whimsically decorated.
The same room in which Nick had made love to her the last time.
Eight
Fitful moonlight shafted through a thick bridal veil of gauze festooning a tall sash window as Elena was set down on marble-smooth floorboards.
Nick shrugged out of his shirt, revealing sleekly powerful shoulders, a broad chest and washboard abs.
His mouth captured hers as he locked her against the furnace heat of his body. The hot shock of skin on skin momentarily made her head swim, but for all that, the kiss and the muscled hardness of his chest felt, oddly, like coming home.
Lifting up on her toes, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back. She felt the zipper of her dress glide down, the sudden looseness. Seconds later, she shrugged out of the straps and let the flimsy cotton float to the floor. Another long, drugging kiss and her bra was gone.
Bending, Nick took one breast in
to his mouth and for long aching minutes the night seemed to slow, stop, as heat and sensation coiled tight.
She heard his rapid intake of breath. A split second later she found herself deposited on the silken-soft bed.
Feeling a little self-conscious and exposed, Elena slipped beneath the red coverlet, unexpected emotion catching in her throat as she watched Nick peel out of his trousers. She was used to seeing him in a modern setting as masculine, muscled and hot, but cloaked in moonlight and shadows, his bronzed skin gleaming in the glow of light from the hall, he was unexpectedly, fiercely beautiful, reminding her of paintings of Medinian warriors of old.
Dimly, she registered a rustling sound, like paper or foil. The bed depressed as Nick pulled the coverlet aside and came down beside her. The heat of his body sent a raw quiver through her as he pulled her close.
His gaze locked with hers, the softness she had noted in the hall giving her the reassurance she suddenly desperately needed.
He propped himself on one elbow, a frown creasing his brow. “Are you all right?”
She cupped his jaw and tried for a confident smile. “I’m fine.”
One long finger stroked down her cheek. “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 guess, given what happened that night, you’re not likely to forget.”
“If the accident hadn’t happened, I would still have remembered,” he said quietly, “since you were a virgin.”
For a split second she felt his indecision, the streak of masculine honor that had once been ingrained in Medinian culture. Abruptly afraid that he might abandon the whole idea of making love, that she might lose this chance to get him back in her life, she took a deep breath and boldly trailed a hand down his chest. “I’m not a virgin now.”