by Fiona Brand
When the elevator doors opened, he strode out of the building and was just in time to see a taxi pull away from the curb and disappear into traffic. He controlled the impulse to follow her in the Jeep.
He already knew her destination. Elena was smart and highly organized, and as a former Atraeus PA she had a lot of contacts in the travel industry. She would have booked a flight out of Auckland. He could try and stop her, but he wouldn’t succeed. She would be back in Sydney within hours.
Stomach coiling in panic he took the elevator back to his apartment and threw on clean clothes. Minutes later, he was in traffic. It was rush hour and took an agonizing hour to do the normal thirty-minute drive to the airport.
During that time he made a number of calls, but every time he came close to making a breakthrough and discovering what flight Elena had booked, he was stymied. Elena, it seemed, had invoked the Atraeus name and chartered a flight. Now, apparently, there was a code of silence.
He found himself considering the caliber of the woman who had started out as a PA, then turned herself into one of the Atraeus Group’s leading executives. It was just one more facet of Elena’s quiet determination to succeed.
Now she was leaving with the kind of quiet, unshakable efficiency that told him she wouldn’t be back, and he couldn’t blame her
He had made a mistake. It was the same mistake he had made twice before with Elena. He had been irresistibly attracted but had failed to be honest with her about where he was in the relationship stakes.
He had changed. The problem was that the process of change had been agonizingly slow and the urge to protect himself had become so ingrained that he’d closed down even when he’d wanted to open up.
The quiz had been a case in point. Instead of being up front with Elena, exposing himself to vulnerability, he had used his knowledge of the quiz to leverage the intimacy he wanted without exposing any emotions.
Now that very protective behavior had backfired, ensuring that he would lose the one woman he desperately needed in his life.
He picked up his phone and stabbed the redial. When Elena once again refused to pick up, he tossed the phone on the passenger-side seat and drove.
* * *
Nick stepped off the evening flight from Auckland to Sydney, carrying his briefcase.
He hadn’t brought luggage with him because he didn’t need to. He was in Sydney often enough that he owned a waterfront apartment just minutes from the city center.
Twenty minutes later, he paid the taxi fare and walked into his apartment. A quick call to the private detective he had hired earlier on in the day and he had the information he needed.
The tactic was ruthless but, as it turned out, necessary.
Elena had arrived on her flight and gone straight to her apartment. She had stayed in her apartment all afternoon, the curtains drawn. Twenty minutes ago, she had taken a taxi to an expensive restaurant where she was having dinner with Corrado.
Nick’s stomach hollowed out at the report. Corrado’s name was like a death knell.
He grabbed his car keys and strode to the front door. The mirrored glass on one wall threw his reflection back at him. His hair was ruffled, as if he’d run his fingers through it repeatedly, which he had. His jaw was covered with a dark five-o’clock shadow because he hadn’t stopped to shave, and somehow he had made the mistake of pulling on a mauve T-shirt with his suit jacket. The T-shirt was great for the beach; it looked a little alternative for downtown Sydney after five.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, he cruised past the restaurant, the black Ferrari almost veering into oncoming traffic as he saw Elena and Corrado occupying a table by the window overlooking the street.
Jaw clenching at the blaring horns, he searched for a parking space and couldn’t find one. Eventually he found a spot in an adjoining street and walked back in the direction of the restaurant.
He was just in time to see a troop of violinists stationing themselves around Elena and Corrado and a waiter arriving with a silver bucket of champagne.
His heart slammed in his chest. Corrado was proposing.
Something inside him snapped. He was pretty sure it was his heart. In that moment he knew with utter clarity that he loved Elena. He had loved her for years. There was no other explanation for his inability to forget her and move on.
Too late to wish that he could have found the courage to tell Elena that.
His family had termed his behavior a dysfunction caused by the supposed betrayal of his father, but they were wrong.
The situation with his father had definitely skewed things for Nick. He had walked away from a lot of emotions he wanted no part of, but that still hadn’t stopped him falling for Elena.
He had been hurt, but his dysfunction hadn’t been his inability to fall in love, just his objection to being in love.
Dazed at the discovery that he had found the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with six years ago and had somehow missed that fact, Nick walked up to the table and curtly asked the violinists to leave.
The music sawed to a stop as Elena shot to her feet, knocking over the flute that had just been filled with champagne. “What are you doing here?”
“Following you. I hired a private detective.”
Elena blinked, her eyes oddly bright, her cheeks pale. “Why would you do that?”
“Because there’s something I need to tell you—”
“Messena. I thought I recognized you.” Corrado pushed to his feet, an annoyed expression on his face.
Doggedly, Nick ignored him, keeping his gaze on Elena. “We didn’t get to talk, either last night or this morning, and we needed to.”
He didn’t need to shoot a look at Corrado to know that he had heard and understood that they had clearly spent the night together. It wasn’t fair or ethical, but he was fighting for his life here.
Reaching into his jacket pocket, Nick pulled out the original copy of the quiz he had attempted without the answers and a letter he had written on the flight from Sydney, and handed both to Elena.
The quiz contained the raw, unadulterated truth about how bad he was at conducting a relationship. The letter contained the words he had never given her.
He didn’t know if they would be enough.
* * *
Elena took the crumpled copy of the quiz and the letter.
Breath hitched in her throat, she set the letter on the table and examined the quiz first.
She knew the answers by heart. A quick scan of the boxes Nick had marked gave him a score that was terminally low. It was the test she had expected from him, reflecting his blunt practicality and pressurized work schedule, the ruthless streak that had seen him forge a billion-dollar construction business in the space of a few years.
It was also, she realized, a chronicled list of the non–politically correct traits that attracted her profoundly. Alpha male traits that could be both exciting and annoying, and which Corrado, despite looking the part, didn’t have. “You cheated.”
The hurt of finding the sheet seared through her again. “I thought you used it to get me into bed.”
A woman from a neighboring table made an outraged sound. Elena ignored it, meeting Nick’s gaze squarely.
“I did cheat,” he said flatly. “I knew I wouldn’t stand a chance with you, otherwise. Things were not exactly going smoothly and the opportunity was there to get you into bed so we could have the time together we needed. I took it.”
Elena held her breath. “Why did you want time together, exactly?”
There was a small vibrating silence. “The same reason I arranged to be in Dolphin Bay during your seminar. I wanted what we should have had all along—a relationship.”
Fingers shaking just a little, she set the quiz down and picked up the letter. Written on thick blue parchm
ent, it looked old-fashioned but was definitely new and addressed to her.
Holding her breath, she carefully opened it and took the single sheet out. The writing was black and bold, the wording straightforward and very beautiful.
The flickering candles on the table shimmered, courtesy of the dampness in her eyes. Her throat closed up. It was a love letter.
Her fingers tightened on the page. Absurdly, she was shaking inside. She noticed that at some point Robert had left. It seemed oddly symptomatic of their short relationship that she hadn’t noticed. “What took you so long?”
“Fear and stupidity,” Nick said bluntly. “I’ve loved you for years.”
He took her hand and went down on one knee. There was a burst of applause; the violins started again.
Nick reached into his pocket again and drew out a small box from a well-known and extremely expensive jeweler. Elena’s heart pounded in her chest, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. After the black despair of the flight to Sydney, the situation was...unreal.
Nick extracted a ring, a gorgeous pale pink diamond solitaire that glittered and dazzled beneath the lights. “Elena Lyon, will you be my love and my wife?”
The words on the single page of romantic prose Nick had written, and which were now engraved on her heart, gave her the confidence she needed to hold out her left hand. “I will,” she said shakily. “Just so long as you promise to never let me go.”
“With all my heart.” Nick slid the ring onto the third finger of her left hand; the fit was perfect. “From this day forward and forever.”
He rose to his feet and pulled her into his arms, whispering, “Babe, I’m sorry I had to put you through this. If I could take it all back and start again, I would.”
“It doesn’t matter.” And suddenly it didn’t. She had been hurt—they had both been hurt—but the softness she loved was in his eyes, and suddenly loving Nick was no risk at all.
Epilogue
The wedding was a family affair, that is, both the Messena and the Lyon families, with a whole slew of Atraeus and Ambrosi relatives on the side.
The bride was stylish in white, with racy dashes of pink in her bouquet and ultramodern pink diamonds at her lobes.
Elena did her best not to cry and spoil her makeup as Nick slid the simple gold band, symbolizing love, faithfulness and eternity, onto her finger. When the priest declared they were man and wife, the words seemed to echo in the small, beautiful church, carrying a resonance she knew would continue on through their married life.
Elena’s bridesmaid, Eva, on the arm of Kyle Messena, the best man, strolled behind them down the aisle. They halted at the door of the church and the press jostled to take photos.
Elena leaned into Nick, suddenly blissfully, absurdly happy. “Let’s hope they get the wedding story right this time.”
Nick pulled her even closer, his hold protective as they made their way toward the waiting limousine. “No chance of a mistake this time. Pretty sure Eva’s on record as saying she’ll never marry, and Kyle’s escorting her on sufferance. They’re oil and water.”
As brilliant and sunny as the day was, the wedding photos proved to be a trial. The Messena family did what all large families did; they argued. Sophie and Francesca were the worst. They loved Nick unreservedly, but they couldn’t resist poking and prodding at him.
Their main issue was that they wanted to know what the aliens had done with their real brother, the bad-tempered, brooding, pain-in-the-ass one, and when would they be getting him back?
Nick had taken it all in good part, telling them that if they had an ax to grind over the fact that he had fallen in love, they would have to take it up with his wife.
Sophie and Francesca had grinned with delight, given Elena a thumbs-up and opened another bottle of champagne.
Halfway through the wedding dinner, which was held at sunset under the trees at the Dolphin Bay Resort, a guest they had all been waiting for arrived.
Tall, dark and with the clean, strong features that would always brand him a Messena, Katherine Lyon’s long-lost son hadn’t wanted to miss the wedding. Unfortunately, his flight from Medinos had been delayed, which meant he’d missed the actual ceremony.
Nick, who had gone to Medinos to meet with Michael Ambrosi just weeks before, made introductions.
Elena dispensed with the handshake and gave him a hug that was long overdue. After all, they were cousins.
After being thoroughly welcomed into the family fold, Michael took Elena and Nick aside and produced a small box.
Elena surveyed the antique diamond ring, nestled on top of the stack of love letters they had found in Katherine’s attic, and finally understood why there had been so much fuss about it.
The pear-shaped diamond was set in soft, rich gold and radiated a pure, white light. The setting suggested that the ring was very, very old, the purity of the stone that it was extremely expensive.
Gorgeous as it was, Elena very quickly decided she much preferred the softness of the pink solitaire Nick had given her. “Aunt Katherine would have been proud to wear it.”
Michael replaced the ring in its box. As Carlos’s son, the ring was his to give to his future wife if he chose. It was just one of the many strands that now tied him irrevocably into a family that had been anxious to include him and make up for lost time.
* * *
As the sun sank into the sea, Nick pulled Elena onto the dance floor constructed beneath the trees. Illuminated by lights strung through the branches and just feet away from the waves lapping at the shore, it was the perfect way to end a perfect day.
A little farther out in the bay, Nick’s yacht—the venue for their honeymoon—sat at anchor, lights beckoning.
Elena wound her arms around Nick’s neck and went into his arms. “I have a confession. I used to watch you from the beach when I was a teenager.”
Nick grinned. “I used to watch you from the yacht.”
Elena smiled and leaned into Nick, melting against him as they danced.
No more unhappiness, no more uncertainty, she thought dreamily. Just love.
* * * * *
If you liked Elena’s story, don’t miss a single novel in THE PEARL HOUSE series from Fiona Brand
A BREATHLESS BRIDE
A TANGLED AFFAIR
A PERFECT HUSBAND
THE FIANCÉE CHARADE
All available now, from Harlequin Desire!
Keep reading for an excerpt from BOUND BY A CHILD by Katherine Garbera.
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One
Allan McKinney might look like a Hollywood hottie with his lean, made-for-sin body, neatly styled dark brown hair and piercing silver eyes that could make a woman forget to think. But Jessi Chandler knew he was the devil in disguise.
He was the bad guy and always had been. More tempting than sin itself as he rode in at the last minute to ruin everything. Knowing him the way she did, she couldn’t imagine he had come to her table in the corner of Little Bar here in the Wilshire/La Brea area of Los Angeles for any other reason than to crow about his latest victory.
It had been only three weeks since he an
d his vengeful cousins at Playtone Games had taken over her family’s company, Infinity Games, bringing their longtime rivalry to a vicious climax.
She’d just come from a meeting at Playtone Games where she’d made a proposal to try to save her job. The most humiliating thing about this merger was having to grovel in front of Allan. She was a damned fine director of marketing, but instead of being able to continue in her role and just get on with the work that needed to be done, she had to trek into the city from Malibu once a week and prove to the Montrose cousins that she was earning her paycheck.
He slid into the booth across from her, his long legs brushing against hers. He acted as if he owned this place and the world. There was something about his arrogance that had always made her want to take him down a notch or two.
It was 5:00 p.m., and the bar was just beginning to get busy with the after-work crowd. She was anonymous here and could just let her guard down for a minute, but now that Allan was sitting across from her, messing with her mojo, that wasn’t going to happen.
“Are you here to rub it in?” she asked at last. It fit with the man she believed him to be and with the little competition they’d had going since the moment they’d met. “Seems like a Montrose-McKinney thing to do.”
Her father had been adamant about staying away from Thomas Montrose’s grandsons due to the bad blood between their families. She got that, but even before the takeover, she’d had no choice but to deal with Allan when her best friend, Patti, had fallen in love with and married his best friend.
“Not quite. I’m here to make you an offer,” he said, signaling the waitress and ordering a Glenlivet neat.
“Thanks, but I don’t need your kind of help,” she said. She’d probably find herself out of a job quicker with him on her side.
He ran his hand over the top of his short hair, narrowed his eyes and looked at her in a way that made her sit up straighter in her chair. “Do you get off on pushing me to the edge?”
“Sort of,” she said. She did take a certain joy in sparring with him. And she kept score of who won and who lost.