Marriage: For Business or Pleasure?

by Nicola Marsh

  ‘Oh…’

  She melted against him, clung to him, her need for Nick astonishing in its all-consuming power.

  She couldn’t think when he grazed her clitoris, didn’t want to think when he thumbed it, circled it, backing her slowly towards the bed without breaking tempo.

  ‘Step up, sweetheart,’ he murmured, guiding her like a maestro when they hit the dais, gently laying her on the bed, playing her body until she could’ve sung encore arias all night long.

  He kept her on the edge, tormenting her with pleasure as she arched her back, thrust her hips up, desperate to feel his touch, begging for release.

  ‘We have all night.’

  He kissed her, swallowed her plea, toying with her until she was incoherent with mind-numbing need.

  ‘Nick, please…’

  Finally, he picked up the tempo, his thumb circling her clitoris with perfect pressure, and on the next stroke spasms rocked her body, wave after wave of intense, mindless pleasure drenching her.

  Before she could catch her breath he’d whipped off his pants, sheathed himself and was inside her, hard, insistent, demanding more of her than she could give.

  She was spent, listless with satisfaction, but as Nick drove into her, smooth and unrelenting, she reignited, tensed and exploded at the same time he did, their cries mingling on the night air before fading away to a contented silence.

  She was gone.

  He knew it the second he woke, not needing to open his eyes to know Britt had left.

  She was a part of him, always had been. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told her about this room, his hopes she’d come back.

  Everyone returned home to their roots at some stage and he’d counted on it. She was the only woman for him and now she was his wife and they loved each other…well, nothing would stop them.

  Then why was he lying here, alone, and she was winging her way to the other side of the world again?

  He’d let her get away once. Porca miseria! Never again.

  But he couldn’t control her, couldn’t hold her back any more than let her go. He understood her drive, her ambition, the same need for success pounding through his veins.

  So why the crazy feeling she’d left for good?

  They hadn’t resolved anything last night. He’d planned to, had wanted to talk, but his good intentions had crashed and burned around the time he’d been unable to keep his hands off her. From there, all bets had been off as they’d pleasured each other repeatedly, all night long, finally falling asleep around five a.m.

  He didn’t need to glance at his watch to know it was around nine now, the brightness of a cloudless Noosa sky indicative of the late hour.

  Pushing out of bed, he wrenched on his trousers, hopping and cursing alternately when his foot caught and he pitched off the dais.

  Britt couldn’t have got much of a head start on him and he needed to see her, needed to make sure she understood the depth of his feelings before she boarded that plane.

  Shrugging into his shirt and caring little for the buttons, he strode to the door, his hand stilling on the knob as a glint of metal on the hallway table caught his eye.

  The streaming sun reflected off the object, scattering shards of golden diamonds against the pristine walls, and as he moved a fraction to the left he saw what it was.

  His heart stopped.

  No, it couldn’t be.

  Sweeping the ring into his palm, he juggled it like a hot coal, fury warring with disbelief.

  Britt had taken off her wedding band, had left it behind.

  Which could only mean one thing: she wanted out.

  Santo cielo!

  Shoving the ring deep in his pocket to eradicate the painful reminder of how much she didn’t want him no matter what they’d shared, he yanked the door open.

  He wasn’t losing her without a fight.

  Not this time.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  BRITTANY fiddled with her empty ring finger the entire twenty-four-hour flight to London.

  Had she done the right thing?

  With the skin rubbed raw where the wedding band had resided, she forced herself to stop tracing the faint tan line, folding her arms and tucking her hands safely out of fiddling reach.

  A good thing too, for if she stopped touching the skin where the ring had been she might be tempted to rub her forehead to erase the big fat C branded there.

  C for coward, for that was exactly what she was, a spineless, quivering coward for yanking the wedding band off in a fit of madness and bolting into the early-morning light while Nick slept soundly.

  Last night had changed everything.

  She didn’t trust words, needed actions, and Nick had proved to her how much he wanted this marriage for real, how much he loved her. With every silken caress, with every murmured endearment, with every soul-reaching kiss, he’d shown her he loved her.

  That was when she’d realised she had to run.

  She couldn’t have left if they’d woken together, if he’d asked her to stay. The realization terrified her. She, Brittany, poster-girl for the independent career woman, was so completely in love that she no longer had control over her own actions. She’d had a final window of escape and she’d taken it.

  She had to flee. There was no other way.

  Nick knew nothing of the truth about her father, about why that debt weighed so heavily upon her or about how much she knew of the way people who loved you could hurt you.

  Telling him the truth would’ve been the brave thing to do, but just thinking about it made her tremble.

  She didn’t want his pity or his sympathy. She couldn’t rely on that love because one day it would no longer be there. She’d nearly lost herself before—this time she knew that if she let herself fall, there’d be no coming back.

  She didn’t want him dragged into her sordid family life, didn’t want to tell him the whole truth.

  This was her past.

  She needed it wiped clean before she could concentrate on her future.

  Courtesy of a minor catastrophe with the new Phant-A-Sea project in the Bahamas, Nick spent three weeks stewing over his wife’s disappearance.

  He’d tried calling; she didn’t return his calls.

  He’d tried emailing; she’d sent him a brief response about how busy she was in her new position, how she didn’t have a spare moment, how she’d get in touch soon, yada, yada, yada.

  It was a crock, all of it.

  How long did it take to tack on ‘I love you’ at the end of an email? A quick text message ‘I miss you’?

  While his wife was industriously breaking through the glass ceiling he’d had three long weeks to replay and rehash and remember every moment of their marriage, culminating in that last night together.

  If she didn’t get it after that night she never would and he had a good mind to pack his bags, head back to Noosa, bury his nose in business and forget all about their short-lived marriage.

  But Red wasn’t the only one with a temper and twenty-one long days had served to fuel his fury.

  He wanted answers.

  He deserved answers.

  And, by God, he’d get answers.

  Picking up his mobile, he flipped it open, his thumb poised over the keypad.

  If he called she probably wouldn’t take it, so he’d send her a text of his impending arrival. But what good would that do? Considering the cold shoulder she’d been giving him, she’d probably take off on some piddly business trip just to avoid him.

  Better to have the element of surprise on his side.

  Knowing his stubborn wife as well as he did, he had a feeling he’d need all the help he could get.

  Brittany checked the address on her BlackBerry and squinted at the faded number above the crumbling stone door.

  Yep, this was the place.

  Some conglomerate she’d never heard of wanted to turn this old Edwardian place in the middle of Chelsea into a boutique hotel. Doing a quick sweep, she noted the
disintegrating brickwork, the fragmented window frames and the general dilapidated air of the once grand home; they had their work cut out for them.

  But it wasn’t her job to assess viability of the building. She needed to wow them with the potential advertising campaign she could produce for a project of this scale, needed a brand-spanking new, bright shiny project to absorb her focus and occupy her every waking hour. That way, she could stop dwelling on Nick and how much she missed him.

  Missed? More like craved, an intense, unstoppable, uncontrollable craving that intensified rather than lessened with each passing day.

  It had almost been a month and, while she was grateful he’d stopped calling her every day, had stopped emailing her, a small part of her curled up and howled every time she checked her messages or her inbox and found nothing from him.

  She’d picked up the phone so many times, desperate to hear his voice, before slamming it down, knowing if she heard his dulcet tones professing his love she’d break down and blurt the truth.

  And she couldn’t afford to, figuratively and literally. Just a few more months and she’d be free…every cent paid back to her dad and, after that, who knew? Maybe her future had room for a husband and a renewed relationship with her father?

  Her BlackBerry beeped, caller ID displayed the new client’s number and she read the message.

  MEET ME ON TOP FLOOR.

  EAGER TO GET THIS MEETING UNDER WAY.

  ‘Damn tycoons,’ she muttered, shoving the BlackBerry in her handbag, hitching her portfolio higher and pushing through the front door, not surprised when the hinges groaned in protest.

  Grateful the building was only three storeys high, she climbed the rickety stairs, admiring the soaring ceilings, the elaborate cornices and the chandeliers that would be magnificent once restored to former glory.

  In fact, the crumbling façade of this grand old dame hadn’t done justice to the treasure-trove inside and she could see why someone would want to turn this place into a hotel.

  Reaching the top landing, she made for the one open door at the end of a long corridor, drawn by the light spilling temptingly into the gloom.

  Ideas had assaulted her from all angles as she’d climbed the staircase and she couldn’t wait to put some of her enthusiasm to good use and wow her potential new client.

  Smoothing her hair with one hand, she tightened her grip on her portfolio with the other, assuming her best professional smile as she stepped into the room.

  Her client stood in front of the window, making it difficult for her to see, but as he turned and took a step towards her she saw too much.

  Her smile slipped along with her portfolio, which crashed to the ground with her hopes of holding Nick Mancini at bay until her work was done.

  Nick’s first instinct was to rush to Britt, sweep her into his arms and forget the agony of the past month.

  That was before he saw the stubborn set of her mouth, the angry sapphire glint as she fixed him with a haughty stare.

  He’d flown around the world to be with the woman he loved and she was angry?

  Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he leaned against the window sill.

  ‘What? No welcome kiss for your husband?’

  She picked up her bags, placed them on a nearby table, too cool and controlled for his liking. He wanted her off guard, nervous, so he could bully the truth out of her as to why she bolted, why she’d given back his ring. Instead, she smoothed a too-tight hound’s-tooth skirt, tugged on the hem of a matching jacket and perched on the table’s edge.

  ‘What are you doing here, Nick?’

  ‘Business.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Her slight nod annoyed him as much as her clipped response.

  ‘Unfinished business.’

  Unable to control himself, he crossed the room in four strides, hauled her into his arms and kissed her.

  She struggled for all of two seconds before melting into him, a perfect fit as always, and he growled, a deep, possessive sound ripped from deep within.

  ‘Don’t.’

  On the point of deepening the kiss, she shoved him away and if he hadn’t seen the real fear in her eyes he would’ve pushed the issue.

  He stepped back, gave her space while the old familiar need to have her clawed at him, demanding and uncontrollable as always.

  ‘Don’t what? Give you this?’

  He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out her wedding band and, grabbing her hand, held her fingers open while he dropped it into her palm.

  ‘You left it behind, though for the life of me I can’t figure out why.’

  Her mouth opened, closed, in a fair imitation of a goldfish, and he curled her fingers over the ring before releasing her, not trusting himself to touch her one moment longer without hauling her back into his arms.

  ‘Last thing I knew, you wanted this marriage to work. Sure, you wanted to head back here, and I thought we’d figure out logistics.’

  He ran a hand through his hair, rattled by her distant expression, as if she’d closed off emotionally. ‘Instead, you bolt before we can say a proper goodbye, leaving your ring behind. Which begs the question. Do you want out of this marriage?’

  A taut silence stretched, grew, before she finally raised her gaze to his and what he saw blew his mind: the shimmer of tears, the glimmer of defeat.

  ‘Hell, Red, I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘It’s okay, I should’ve told you…’ Her words hitched on a sob and he folded her into his arms, powerless to do anything but hold her while the woman he’d seen defiant, sassy and brave cried.

  Even when he’d callously shoved her away ten years earlier she hadn’t shed a single tear, and he’d admired her for it. Now, as the floodgates opened and she clung to him, her tears drenching his shirt, the tiny crack in his heart that had opened the moment he’d found that wedding band lying forlornly on the hall table widened and he knew he could never repair it again.

  Desperate to deflect her tears, he said, ‘So are you going to help me transform this place into a Phant-A-Sea or what?’

  Her sobs petered out as she sniffled and swiped at her eyes before raising her head.

  ‘You’re really going to convert this place to a hotel?’

  ‘Uh-huh. But I’ll need the undivided attention of Sell’s MD to help me do it.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘A lifetime.’

  Her eyes widened as she gnawed on her deliciously plump lower lip. ‘Are you—?’

  ‘I’m saying I love you and I want this marriage to work, Red. I would’ve been here sooner but I had to clear up urgent business so I can spend as long as it takes here in London. With you.’

  He grabbed her hands, held them splayed against his chest, directly over his heart beating wildly for her, only her. ‘It’s what I wanted to say to you the morning you ran out. I’ll do whatever it takes to make our marriage work, to show you how much I love you.’

  Her lower lip wobbled and he shook his head. ‘Oh, no, you don’t.’

  He kissed her, slowly, tenderly, infusing every ounce of his love for this incredible woman into it, hoping she could feel one tenth of his love for her.

  To his horror, she broke the kiss, wrenched out of his embrace and backed away, her gaze firmly fixed on her shoes.

  ‘Red?’

  When she finally met his gaze, hers was anguished. ‘There’s so much I haven’t told you.’

  ‘Try me.’

  Taking a step towards her before thinking better of it, he held his hands out to her, palm up. ‘There’s nothing you could tell me that would change how I feel about you.’

  Brittany swallowed a sob.

  She couldn’t comprehend Nick was here, let alone absorb the impact of his words.

  He loved her.

  He was willing to spend however long it took to make their marriage work with her, here, in London.

  He’d followed her here, had made the effort he hadn’t made before—could it be
that he really had changed? That he was offering her something entirely new?

  But rather than blurt out the truth, as was her first instinct, she stalled, searching for the right words, humiliated at the thought of the man she loved seeing her anything less than capable.

  ‘Why did you run? Leave the ring behind?’

  ‘Because this job is everything to me.’

  Nick glared at her, his toffee eyes turning icy in the wan light filtering through the tattered velvet drapes.

  ‘I see.’

  From his rigid posture to his clenched hands, tension radiated off him and she knew she’d have to tell him the truth to salvage their relationship.

  ‘Actually, you don’t.’

  Weariness seeped through her body as she slumped into a stuffy armchair, waving away the puff of dust that arose like a mushroom cloud.

  ‘I need the money. Desperately.’

  Realisation dawned as he sat opposite and leaned forward by bracing his elbows on his knees.

  ‘But if you need cash I could—’

  ‘That’s exactly why I left.’

  She shook her head, twisted her hair into a loose knot before releasing it. ‘I need to do this on my own. It’s my problem, I’ll take care of it.’

  ‘What problem?’

  Wincing, she rubbed the bridge of her nose, a futile gesture to ward off the headache building between her eyes.

  ‘My father.’

  Nick stiffened as she’d known he would.

  ‘What’s he done now?’

  She sighed, toying with the frayed edge of the chair’s arm before folding her fingers to stop fiddling.

  ‘You know about him giving me money when I left Australia to start here?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  She leapt from the chair, started pacing. ‘He knew I didn’t want a cent of his money. He knew I wanted nothing to do with him. I thought it was all about control. Even tried to flaunt it when I tried to make peace after ten years.’

  Suspicion clouded his eyes. ‘Why did you need to make peace? Haven’t you kept in touch?’

  She shook her head, hating the road their conversation had taken, for it could only lead to one destination: full disclosure.