by Fiona Brand
She hadn’t come close, because in her heart of hearts she hadn’t been able to move on. She had still been in love with Nick.
She went still inside, the hubbub of conversation receding as she examined the extremity of her emotions, the single-minded way she had clung to the one man who had never really wanted her.
Could she possibly still be in love with Nick?
The thought settled in with a searing, depressing finality. If so, she had loved him through her teens and for all of her adult life, eleven years and counting, with almost no encouragement at all. The chances that she could walk away from him now and get over him didn’t look good.
She knew her nature. As controlled and methodical as she was in her daily life, she was also aware of a lurking streak of passionate extremity that seemed to be a part of her emotional make up. Like her aunt Katherine, she obviously had a deep need for a lasting, true love. The kind of love that was neither light nor casual, and which possessed the terrible propensity for things to go wrong.
Nick set his coffee down, untouched. “Eva’s a wedding planner. This resort is one of her most requested wedding venues.”
Unbidden relief made her knees feel suddenly as weak as water. “If all you want is to gauge the effectiveness of the seminar, you don’t need to attend. The head therapist of the spa facility is sitting in.”
Nick crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not leaving, babe.”
A secret little thrill shot down her spine at Nick’s casual use of “babe,” a term that carried the heady subtext that they were a couple and he was stubbornly bent on proving that fact.
A little desperately she skimmed the room and tried to restore her perspective. “I am not your babe.”
Ignoring the steady way he watched her, she checked her watch, set her tea back down on the table and walked back to the podium.
Once the first session started it was easier to focus. Nick, true to his word, hadn’t left but was occupying a seat near the back of the room. She would have to tolerate his presence until he got tired of material he could have absolutely no interest in and left. The other two men, Harold and Irvine, obviously keen to learn, were seated in the front row.
After introducing the other speakers who were there for the day, Elena surrendered the podium to a beauty therapist who wanted to talk about the latest skin-care technology. While that was going on Elena handed out her quiz.
When she reached Nick’s row, which was occupied by Eva and a couple of the more elderly women, she bypassed him without handing out a quiz sheet.
A lean hand briefly curled around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. “Whatever that is you’re handing out, I’d like to see it.”
Reluctantly she handed him the quiz. “It’s not something you’d be interested in.”
He studied the sheet. “As it happens, I’m pretty sure I do know what women really want.”
Her temper snapped at a sudden visual of Nick with dozens of women marching through his bedroom. “Sex doesn’t count.”
He went still. “Maybe I’m not all about sex. You think I’ll score low?”
“I think your score will be catastrophic. Most men can’t get above thirty percent.”
“What would you say if I believe I can score at least eighty?”
“I’d say that was impossible.”
“Then you wouldn’t mind a wager on that?”
She drew a swift breath. “Name it.”
“You in my bed, for one more night.”
She blinked at the sudden flash of heat evoked by that image.
Although, he would never get past 10 percent. She had tried the test on her male hairdresser who was used to dealing with women all day. He had aced it at 55 percent. Nick definitely didn’t have a chance. “What do I get when you lose?”
“A free rein to make whatever changes you want to our spa services. And I’ll leave you alone.”
She met his gaze. “Done.”
There was a small smattering of applause.
Embarrassed, Elena swung around to find that the entire seminar group had stopped to listen, including the beauty therapist.
The elderly lady sitting next to Nick said, “When can he do the test?”
“Now would be a good time,” Elena muttered grimly.
Twenty minutes later, Elena studied Nick’s test with disbelief. She had checked through on her answer sheet, a sheet that only she had access to, twice. He had scored 85 percent, and she was almost certain that he had fluffed one of the easy questions to show off.
She thought she knew Nick through and through, although she was aware that there were private glimpses of his life, like his relationship with his father, which informed her that Nick had a very private side.
Still, could she have been so wrong, and the baddest of the bad boys wasn’t so bad after all?
She walked over to where Nick was standing drinking wheatgrass juice and eating sushi with an expression on his face that suggested he wasn’t entirely sure that either item qualified as food. “How did you do it?”
“What was my score?”
When she told him, Nick set his wheatgrass juice down, his gaze oddly wary. “When do I get my prize?”
Elena’s stomach did a somersault as the completely unacceptable sensual excitement that had proved to be her downfall, twice, leaped to life.
Her reaction made no sense, because she had no interest in a slice of the relationship cake—she wanted the whole thing. She wanted to be desperately in love with a gorgeous guy who was just as in love with her.
She wanted to wallow in the attention and the nurturing warmth of being with someone who not only wanted her but who couldn’t live without her.
Nick was not that man.
At six, as part of the pamper weekend package, they were all due to go on a sunset cruise. The cruise would take up a substantial part of the evening. By the time they got back there wouldn’t be much of the evening left. “Tonight.”
Twelve
Nick knocked on her door at six. Feeling more than a little nervous, she checked her appearance. For the first time in her life she was wearing a bikini, a daring jungle print, concealed by a filmy green cotton tunic that fell to midthigh and was belted at her hips. The look was casual, chic and sexy.
Applying a last waft of perfume, she picked up her beach bag, slipped on matching emerald-green sandals and strolled to the door. When she opened it, Nick, still dressed in the dark trousers and polo, was lounging in the small portico talking on his cell.
His gaze skimmed the emerald-green cover-up and the length of tanned leg it revealed as he hung up. “There’s been a change of plan. The motor on the resort’s yacht is leaking oil, so we’ll be taking mine.”
Saraband.
Elena’s pulse kicked up another notch at the mention of Nick’s yacht. She had seen it moored out in the bay. It was large, with elegant, racy lines.
He checked his wristwatch. “The catering staff is stocking Saraband, but before we cast off I need to collect a spare radio.” He nodded in the direction of his Jeep, which she could glimpse, parked just beyond the trees that screened her cottage.
Long minutes later, emotion grabbed at her as Nick drove onto the manicured grounds of the Messena family home. She used to visit on occasion when her aunt was working here, but she had never actually been invited.
The house itself was a large, Victorian old lady with a colonnaded entrance and wraparound verandas top and bottom, giving it a grand, colonial air.
Ultrasensitive to Nick’s presence and the knowledge that she had agreed to sleep with him again, tonight, Elena climbed out of the Jeep before Nick could get around to help her.
Nick strolled up the steps with her and held the front door.
Removing her sungla
sses, Elena stepped into the shady hall.
Nick gestured at a large, airy sitting room with comfortable cream couches floating on a gleaming hardwood floor. French doors led onto a patio, a sweep of green lawn added to the feeling of tranquillity. “Make yourself at home—I won’t be long. Eva’s staying here for the duration of the retreat but, other than her, the house is empty.”
Elena stiffened at the mention of Eva’s name.
Firming her chin, she banished the too-familiar insecurities. She had committed to spend the night with Nick. She would not lose her nerve or allow herself to imagine that she wasn’t attractive enough for him. It wasn’t as if they had never spent a night together. They had. Twice.
Taking a steadying breath, she checked out the sun-washed patio with its pretty planters overflowing with gardenias and star jasmine, then stepped back inside, blinking as her vision adjusted to the shady dimness.
She had already reasoned out her approach. The whole idea of challenging Nick to the quiz had been a mistake. She would never in her wildest dreams have imagined that he could score so highly.
Now that he had, it was up to her to create a positive for herself out of the experience. It was an ideal opportunity to demystify the exciting passion that she now realized had blocked her from experiencing the true love she needed.
Both other times their lovemaking had been spontaneous and a little wild. This time she was determined that out-of-control passion would not be a factor. If Nick wanted to get her into bed, he would have to woo her, something she was convinced—despite his meteoric test score—that he would fail at, miserably.
Once he was exposed as superficial, unfeeling, basically dysfunctional and terrible husband material, she should be able to forget him and move on.
In theory....
She strolled to a sideboard covered with family photographs. Idly she studied an old-fashioned, touched-up wedding photo of Stefano and Luisa, and a variety of baby and family photos. She halted beside a large framed color photo of a plump, bespectacled boy in a wheelchair. It was clearly one of the Messena children, or perhaps a cousin, although she couldn’t ever remember anyone mentioning that there was a disabled member of the family.
She studied the young teenager’s nose, which had been broken at some point, perhaps in the accident that had injured him, and froze, drawn by an inescapable sense of familiarity. A split second later she was aware that Nick was in the room. When she turned, she logged that he had changed into faded, glove-soft denims and a white, V-necked T-shirt that hugged his shoulders and chest. A duffel bag was slung over one shoulder and he was carrying the spare radio he needed.
She looked at the framed photo of the boy in the wheelchair then transferred her gaze to Nick’s nose.
The wariness of his expression killed any uncertainty she might have had stone dead. “That’s you.”
“At age sixteen.”
She could feel the firm emotional ground she had been occupying shift, throwing her subtly off balance. She could remember her aunt mentioning that Nick had had an accident, she had just never imagined it had been that bad.
Just when she thought she had Nick in focus, something changed and she had to reevaluate. The last thing she wanted to learn now was that Nick had a past hurt, that he had been vulnerable, that maybe there were depths she had missed. “What happened?”
“A rugby accident.” He shrugged. “It’s old history now. I was playing in a trial game for a place at Auckland Boy’s Grammar and their rugby academy. I got hit with a bad tackle and broke my back.”
Nodding his head at the door, he indicated that they needed to leave, but Elena wasn’t finished.
“How long were you overweight?”
He held the door for her, his expression now distinctly impatient. “About a year. Until I started to walk again.”
“Long enough not to like how it felt.”
“I guess you could say that.”
Her mind racing, Elena followed him outside and neatly avoided his offer of assistance as she climbed into the Jeep’s front passenger seat.
Her fingers fumbling as she fastened the seat belt, she tried to move briskly past this setback. She thought she’d had Nick all figured out, that he was callous and shallow, but it was worse than that.
He had a nice streak, a compassionate, protective instinct that she could relate to with every cell of her body. When she was a kid, she had automatically protected every other overweight kid. She hadn’t been able to help it; she had felt their vulnerability when they got picked on.
Nick shared that trait in common with her because he had been in that same depressing place, and with the glasses. “Is that why you stepped in as my blind date, then slept with me?”
Nick frowned. “The reason I stepped in on your blind date is that I couldn’t stand the thought of Smale getting his hands on you. And it wasn’t just because I wanted to protect you,” he said grimly. “Babe, believe it. I wanted you for myself.”
* * *
Nick maneuvered the Saraband into a sheltered crescent bay on Honeymoon Island, a small jewel of an island about three miles offshore from the resort.
He started lowering the anchor. While he waited for the chain to stop feeding out, he looked over the bow.
Elena had spent the first part of the trip circulating with the clients, but for the past fifteen minutes she had been a solitary figure sitting on the bow, staring out to sea.
Nick jammed his finger on the button, stopping the anchor chain from feeding out. Impatience ate at his normally rock-solid composure while he waited for the yacht to swing around in the breeze. He took a further minute to check line-of-sight bearings to ensure that the anchor had locked securely on to the seabed and that they weren’t drifting. By the time he walked out onto the deck, the first boat, with Elena aboard, was already heading for the bay.
His gaze was remote as he slipped a pair of dark glasses onto the bridge of his nose. No doubt about it, she was avoiding him.
Not that he would let her do that for long.
She needed some space. He might not be the sensitive, New Age guy she thought she wanted. Over the next few hours he intended to prove to her that he was the man she needed.
Two hours later, annoyed with the champagne and the canapés, and the fact that Elena seemed intent on having long, heartfelt conversations with the two men attending the seminar, Harold and Irvine, Nick decided to take action.
He didn’t dislike Harold, though something about Irvine set him on edge. Though both were married, he wasn’t about to underestimate either of them. Harold, at least, was a carbon copy of the guy Elena was lining up to be her future husband.
By the time he had extracted himself from a conversation with a pretty blonde, the kind of friendly, confident woman he was normally attracted to, Elena had disappeared.
Annoyed, he skimmed the beach and the array of bathers lying beneath colorful resort beach umbrellas. There was no flash of the green tunic Elena had been wearing. After having a quick word with Harold, who was now immersed in a book, he followed a lone set of footprints.
Rounding a corner, he found a small private beach overhung with pohutukawa trees in blossom, their deep red flowers a rich accent to gray-green leaves and honey-colored sand. Beneath the tree, in a pool of dappled shade, lay Elena’s beach bag and the green tunic.
He looked out to sea and saw her swimming with slow, leisurely grace. His jaw tightened when he saw a second swimmer closing in on Elena. Irvine.
Out of habit, suspicious of the motives of men who wanted to come on a course designed for women, he had done some checking and received the information just minutes before. Harold had proved to be exactly as he appeared, a businessman intent on trying to please a dominant wife. Irvine, however, had a background that was distinctly unpleasant.
Nick shrug
ged out of his T-shirt and peeled off his jeans, revealing the swimming trunks he was wearing beneath. Jogging to the water, he waded to the break line. A few quick strokes through choppy waves and he was gliding through deep water.
A piercing shriek shoved raw adrenaline through his veins. Irvine was treading water beside Elena, holding his nose. Relief eased some of his tension as he logged the fact that it was Irvine, not Elena, who had shrieked. The source of the outraged cry was clear in the bloody nose Irvine was nursing.
An odd mixture of pride and satisfaction coursed through Nick as he saw Elena slicing through the waves toward him, her strokes workmanlike and efficient. Irvine had clearly thought he had caught Elena vulnerable and alone—no doubt his favorite modus operandi—and she had quickly dispelled that idea with a solid punch to the nose.
Irvine finally noticed Nick, and went white as a sheet. Nick didn’t need to utter a threat—the long steady look was message enough. He would deal with Irvine later.
Elena splashed to a halt beside him. “Did you see what Irvine did?”
Nick watched Irvine’s progress as he gave them a wide berth and dog-paddled haltingly in the direction of the crowded beach. “I was too busy trying to get to you in time.”
She treaded water. “You knew about Irvine?”
Nick dragged his gaze from the tantalizing view through the water of a sexy jungle-print bikini and the curves it revealed. “I ran a security check on him this morning. I received the results a few minutes ago.”
Nick’s hands closed around Elena’s arms as the swell pushed her in close against him. “He has a police record and no wife. Did he touch you?”
The question was rough and flat, but the thought that Irvine had laid hands on Elena sent a cold fire shooting through his veins.
“He didn’t touch me—he didn’t get the chance. It was more what he said.”