by Nicola Marsh
A magical marriage filled with light and laughter and love.
A magical mirage of a handsome groom with stars in his eyes and a bride who believed in the happily ever after she’d always dreamed about.
A magical mystery, that despite their motivations for this marriage they were embarking on something truly wonderful today.
Taking one last look in the mirror, satisfied she hadn’t streaked her make-up in a fit of misplaced sentimentality, she shook her head.
Magic wasn’t real and she was foolish to dream of anything other than what this marriage was: a business arrangement.
She slipped off her robe and padded across the room to the wardrobe, her fingers trembling as she slid the zip open on the dress’s carrier bag.
Every metallic slide, every crinkle of the thick plastic, every rustle of silk chiffon brought her closer to her wedding and her tummy twisted as she reverently lifted the dress out.
Emotion clogged her throat and she swallowed several times as the soft flowing skirt cascaded to the floor in a silken ripple.
The dress was a dream, and her breath whooshed out as she steeled her nerve and slowly, carefully stepped into it, wishing she could channel some of that magic.
Closing her eyes, she tugged at the bodice, smoothed the skirt, ignoring the sick churning of nerves gone awry as the reality of marrying Nick hit home, and hard.
Almost faint from anxiety, she took a deep breath, another, before opening her eyes…and gasping.
She looked like a bride.
But it wasn’t the divine dress or the fancy hairdo or the immaculate make-up that made all of this real.
It was the starry-eyed expression in her frightened gaze that said it all.
In spite of every sensible thing she kept trying to tell herself, she looked like a bride on the brink of marrying the man of her dreams.
Brittany’s breath caught as she stepped out of the portico and got her first glimpse of her husband-to-be.
Nick stood under a beautiful poinciana lush with vivid crimson blossoms, his black tux framed against the vibrant colour. With the sun setting behind him, casting a golden glow over everything, and the fairy lights strung around the trees in the garden just twinkling to life, the entire scene was surreal.
It shouldn’t be this romantic, this enticing, this special. This wedding was all business.
Tell that to my heart, she thought as she took a tentative step, her stiletto sandals skidding as they hit the sandstone pavers.
She couldn’t see Nick’s expression from this distance but as she walked towards him the shadows cast from the blossoms cleared and what she saw took her breath away all over again.
Honest to goodness, undiluted happiness.
Why would he look like that?
He was the one who’d proposed this ridiculous arrangement in the first place, had made it more than clear what they’d both get out of it.
So why the ecstatic, proud expression of a man who’d just glimpsed his real bride for the first time?
Her heart hammered in time with her steps, beating a rapid rhythm as she all but tripped towards him, eager to get this over and done with.
While the setting might be picture perfect and her groom beyond handsome, this wasn’t how she’d envisioned her wedding ceremony.
Sure, the groom might be the same guy she’d imagined, but that was a lifetime ago. So much had happened, so much had changed, and she was a fool if she thought for one second that anything about this marriage resembled her dreams of years gone by.
The closer she got, the louder her heart roared until she could barely hear by the time she pulled up next to him, a nervous, trembling mess.
‘You’re a beautiful bride,’ Nick murmured in her ear, so close his warm breath raised a trail of tiny goose bumps along her neck and she knew while this marriage might be all business on paper, she wondered how on earth she’d manage to keep it platonic in the bedroom.
‘Thanks.’
She cast a nervous glance at the civilian minister in a crass white suit, and a pair of bored witnesses in hotel uniforms. Her eyes squeezed shut as she dragged air into her lungs.
How had it come to this?
A quickie wedding, empty and meaningless, to a man she’d once loved with all her heart yet who hadn’t loved her enough in return, when all she’d wanted to do when she’d come home was gather enough information to secure a promotion.
‘Hey, it’s going to be okay.’
Nick squeezed her hand and she opened her eyes, captured by the kindness in his, kindness underlined by happiness she’d glimpsed earlier.
‘Trust me.’
Trust him?
She’d trusted him with her heart.
She’d trusted him with her virginity.
And he’d sent her away anyway.
So excuse her if she was a little light in the trust stakes these days.
Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile. ‘Let’s get this done.’
Shadows gathered in his eyes, obliterating his joy, and she mentally kicked herself for sounding so abrupt.
He wasn’t forcing her into this. She was a big girl, she’d made her own decision, and now the moment of truth had arrived she had to suck it up.
Nick gestured to the minister to start and the next fifteen minutes flew by in a blur of meaningless vows, empty promises and pretend smiles.
Her heart ached so much she almost cried, twice, but one look into Nick’s determined dark eyes gave her the strength to get through it.
Until the kiss.
‘You may now kiss the bride.’
The minister beamed as if he’d just bestowed the greatest gift on them, but all Brittany could think was how she’d hold it together when Nick’s lips touched hers.
Her eyelids slammed shut against the threatening tears, against the determination on his face as his head descended, slowly, agonisingly slowly, when all she wanted was for this to be done with.
She wanted a quick, seal-the-deal kiss.
What she got was something else entirely as his lips brushed hers, so soft, so gentle, so tantalising, drawing her towards him like an invisible gossamer thread being gently tugged.
She couldn’t break the hold, break the spell, as he bundled her in his arms and kissed her, really kissed her, with every ounce of pent-up emotion bubbling between them.
The tears started falling then, swift, coursing, raining down her cheeks and splattering his lapels as he dabbed them away with his thumbs, his smile too warm, too tender, too understanding.
‘Damn you, Mancini,’ she muttered, her gaze firmly fixed on the second button of his dress shirt as she blinked rapidly.
‘I feel this too, Red.’
He tilted her chin up, giving her no option but to meet his scrutinising gaze. ‘Don’t fight it.’ She had as much chance of fighting this as receiving a welcome-home hug from her father! But she knew she mustn’t give in entirely to this attraction simmering between them, couldn’t give into the insane dream to make this marriage real.
She had a life in London, a promotion to nail. Then why the renewed rush of tears at the thought of leaving all this, leaving Nick, behind?
‘Come on, almost done, then we can relax.’
He held her hand the entire time through the signing of the certificates, through the forced pleasantries from the minister and the false congratulations from the witnesses she didn’t know, and the trip in the elevator to the fifth floor.
‘Where are we going?’
Stupid question, for she knew, and every cell in her body was on high alert.
They had to have a fake wedding night for people to believe this marriage was real, she got that. The part she was having trouble with was reminding herself of the fake part.
‘Our suite.’
Two little words that sent a tremor of longing through her as she wished she were being whisked away to a fabulous room with her husband for real.
But this wasn’t real, none of it was
, and she needed to keep telling herself that as he held onto her hand as if he’d never let go.
‘It’s one of the hotel’s best. The type of room that allows the occupants to step into a different world and lets all their fantasies come true.’
Her head snapped up at his husky tone, her skin prickling in alarm at the basest desire glittering in his eyes.
Oh, heck, why did he have to go and mention fantasies? It would’ve been hard enough resisting him without the added pressure of envisioning all sorts of inventive ways she could share a room with the hottest guy to walk the earth, possibly seeing him naked, his hair ruffled by sleep first thing in the morning, that sexy smile playing about his mouth…
‘I’m sure the room will be fine.’
Could she sound any lamer?
‘Oh, it’s better than fine.’
She inhaled sharply, Nick’s subtle woody aftershave that had teased her for the last hours warping her senses when she had a precarious enough hold on them as it was.
‘It’s the French suite. Hope you like it.’
The French suite?
Suddenly, her magnanimous decision to share a room for a faux wedding night with Nick took on a whole new meaning.
A basic, boring, run-of-the-mill room she could’ve handled. Something like the French suite sounded way too seductive for comfort. Though right now, with Nick palming a key card out of his pocket as they stopped outside an elaborate ivory and gold door, she had more important things to worry about.
Such as how she could keep the guy she’d loved all those years ago at arm’s length.
More importantly, did she really want to?
CHAPTER SEVEN
NICK gripped Brittany’s hand as he slid their room card into the slot and waited for the tiny green light to flash.
Their room.
They’d be sharing a room, tonight, their wedding night.
He could barely think of anything else as he pushed the door open and gestured to her to step inside.
‘Oh, my.’
Her gasp of surprise had him standing taller. Every inch of this hotel was his idea, from the boutique-styled foyer with its casual elegance to the extensive range of ‘fantasy’ suites designed to please the most discerning traveller.
Having the woman he’d married, the woman whose opinion he’d always valued, admire this room filled him with pride.
‘You like it?’
She nodded, her eyes wide as they swept the room, alighting on the massive four-poster king-size bed covered in gold and ivory cushions and draped in yards of filmy chiffon—he’d labelled it ‘some fancy thin material’ and stood corrected by the aghast interior designer who’d taken him through the hotel suite by suite when he’d first dreamed up the idea.
The memory brought a smile to his face, a smile that quickly broadened when Britt turned her wide eyes, now filled with mischief, towards him.
‘Knowing your sense of humour, for a second there when you mentioned French suite I had visions of a maid’s outfit hanging in the wardrobes rather than fluffy robes and baskets of…’
She trailed off, bit her tongue and he raised an eyebrow.
‘Of?’
With crimson cheeks, she said, ‘French letters.’
He chuckled, urged her into the room with a gentle push in the small of her back.
‘I haven’t heard condoms called those in years.’
She waved her hand at him. ‘Forget I said anything. Speaking before I think.’
She looked adorable with her flaming cheeks and wobbly smile, in stark contrast to her wedding gown and upswept hair.
He shouldn’t tease her, he really shouldn’t, but he didn’t have her on the back foot very often and he couldn’t resist.
‘If this suite is too boring, we could always change to another. The Roman room, complete with marble columns around a central spa bath right in the bedroom, is pretty nifty. Or there’s the Scottish room with its lavish faux fireplace and fur rug in front of it, or if you’re feeling really adventurous there’s always the Tack room, complete with whips, for those who need a little added excitement in their lives.’
‘Whips?’
Her voice came out a squeak and he laughed.
‘Okay, so I’ve just invented the Tack room, but hey, what the hell, it might draw a few customers.’
‘What sort of hotel are you running here?’
‘I resent what you’re implying, lady.’
To his surprise, the mischief had returned to her eyes as she quirked an eyebrow. ‘It’s wifey to you now.’
Just like that, it hit him all over again.
They were married.
It was their wedding night.
And no amount of kidding around or playing the fool would douse his driving need to consummate this marriage.
Business might be the motivator behind their nuptials but his unquenchable need to have Britt in his arms again was a definite bonus.
Taking a step closer, he ran a fingertip down her arm, delighting in the slight tremor, proving she wasn’t as immune to him as she’d like him to believe.
‘Wife…I like the sound of that.’
‘In name only, of course.’
Her biting response might have been edgy, but she didn’t move when his finger continued its leisurely exploration, reaching her shoulder, skimming along her collarbone, resting in the hollow just above where her pulse beat frantically.
‘Of course,’ he said, ducking his head to replace his finger with his lips, turned on by her low moan and the way her head fell back to give him better access.
Her skin tasted better than he remembered, deliciously soft with a hint of vanilla, and it took every inch of his rapidly dwindling will power not to devour her on the spot.
‘This isn’t supposed to happen,’ she murmured as his lips trailed slowly upwards, nuzzling behind her ear, nipping the lobe before swooping on her mouth in a fiery kiss that branded her his.
Raging need exploded in him as her tongue touched his, the same overpowering, overwhelming need that had driven him to possess her years earlier.
Nothing had changed, absolutely nothing. He was still the same star-struck guy helplessly under her spell.
The realisation should’ve angered him, for he was nothing like the blue-collar farm boy he’d once been. But he didn’t give a damn, didn’t care two hoots she now had him as ready and raring for her as he’d been as a horny eighteen-year-old.
Wrenching his mouth from hers and dragging in a breath, he captured her face in his hands, noting the swollen lips, the rosy cheeks, the eyes midnight-blue with passion, his libido roaring in response.
‘You know something? This was meant to happen from the first moment you came back.’
To her credit, she didn’t look away, didn’t take a step back.
‘You’re wrong. Nothing has gone to plan since I returned.’
The flicker of pain in her eyes hit him hard and he dropped his hands, gave her space and she took it, putting enough distance between them for him to feel the loss.
‘Tell me you don’t want to consummate this marriage as much as I do.’
There, he threw it out, knowing the firebrand she used to be would never back down from a challenge.
However, the forlorn bride in a fancy dress staring wistfully out of the window was a far cry from the feisty girl he’d known, and the thought he’d made her this unhappy was a kick in the guts. And the wake-up call he needed.
‘Forget it. I’m going out for a while. I’ll be back later.’
Failure didn’t sit well with him, never had, and, hating how he’d botched this, he wrenched open the door.
‘Nick, wait!’
But he didn’t.
He walked out on his bride and slammed the door shut on his dreams of a memorable wedding night.
Brittany kicked off her sandals, ripped off the wedding dress and tore the frangipani from her hair, crushing it in her palm in the process.
She st
ared at the furrowed flower, limp, lifeless, and sank onto the bed, letting the petals drift from her fingertips to the floor.
She was like that flower: all pristine and showy on the outside, a crumpled mess on the inside.
As if getting through the ceremony hadn’t been hard enough, pretending she didn’t want a real wedding night had almost driven her insane.
Nick wanted her.
She wanted Nick.
Where was the problem?
A sharp pain shot through her chest as a timely reminder of exactly what the problem was: her heart. Her stupid, impressionable, just-break-me-now heart that jumped up and said ‘pick me, pick me’ every time Nick Mancini looked her way.
It’d been the same ten years ago and nothing had changed. She’d been home just over a week, long enough to realise singing the ‘I’m only doing this for business’ tune wouldn’t cut it with Nick.
Not this time.
He’d let her walk away back then, he’d let her do it now, so why was she falling for him regardless?
With a frustrated groan, she headed for the bathroom. A good, long soak might ease her tension.
Yeah, right, just as trying to date other guys had eradicated Nick from her memory banks. Not a chance in hell.
While the bath filled she paced the bathroom, fiddling with the fancy toiletries, picking them up, putting them down, trying not to stare at her reflection as she did so.
The odd times she caught a glimpse in the disastrously monstrous mirrors, she didn’t like what she saw.
A woman in sexy lingerie with thoroughly kissed lips, shining eyes and a glow no amount of blush could induce.
A woman who’d subconsciously bought the sheer ivory lace demi-cup bra and matching knickers edged in rosebuds in the hope the man she still fancied might get to see it.
A woman who was kidding herself.
That stung most of all, the fact she was a smart, astute businesswoman yet here she was playing silly games with herself.
She wanted Nick.
It all came back to that.
Her job and the promotion might be the reason she was here but right now, this very second, Nick was her motivation for staying in this suite when she could’ve quite as easily escaped.