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Untamed Billionaires: Marriage: For Business or Pleasure? / Getting Red-Hot with the Rogue / One Night with the Rebel Billionaire - Элли Блейк - Читать любовный роман онлайн в женской библиотеке LadyLib.Net
Untamed Billionaires: Marriage: For Business or Pleasure? / Getting Red-Hot with the Rogue / One Night with the Rebel Billionaire - Элли Блейк - Скачать любовный роман в женской библиотеке LadyLib.Net
Блейк Элли
Untamed Billionaires: Marriage: For Business or Pleasure? / Getting Red-Hot with the Rogue / One Night with the Rebel Billionaire
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CHAPTER FIVE
NICK snuck in the side entrance of the conference room, not wanting to intrude but driven by curiosity.
Since Britt had agreed to his proposal, she’d morphed into a businesswoman dervish, throwing herself into work at a speed that made him, a confirmed workaholic, seem like a snail.
She’d commandeered the business centre of the hotel, had turned this room into a hive of activity.
In less than a day.
He shook his head, beyond impressed at her work ethic. He’d never seen her like this: focused, determined, driven, issuing orders and delegating to the team she’d assembled in record time.
Watching her in a power suit the colour of ripe plums, her hair twisted in a fancy topknot and her brow creased in concentration while she tapped on a keyboard with one hand and shuffled documents with the other, he understood why she’d said yes to his proposal.
Her job meant everything to her and, while he empathised with her ambition, he couldn’t help but wish some of her agreement stemmed from the sexual tension strumming between them.
A surge of heat at the memory of kissing her had him sliding a finger between his neck and suddenly too tight collar.
Their marriage might be motivated by business, but who said they couldn’t have a real honeymoon?
Her head snapped up and their gazes locked, as if he’d inadvertently telepathised his thoughts and he grinned, sent her a half-salute, not surprised when she frowned and gestured towards the stack of paperwork in front of her.
She didn’t want him here.
His cue to saunter across the room and drop into the vacant chair next to her.
‘How’s it going?’
Frowning, she barely glanced at him. ‘Busy.’
‘So I see.’
‘Don’t you have work of your own to do?’
Leaning back, he linked his fingers and stretched. ‘I’m taking a break.’
He smothered an outright laugh as she glared. ‘Anything I can do to help?’
‘No, all under control.’
Her laptop screen flickered and she swore, making a mockery of her previous statement.
‘I’ve got the latest technology in my office if you need it.’
‘I said I was fine,’ she snapped, rubbing the bridge of her nose before mustering an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry. I’m used to having my team around me in London. It’s harder trying to get a cohesive unit together so quickly here.’
‘Why the rush?’
He knew she’d see right through his innocuous question, knew she’d understand what he was really asking was ‘how long are you sticking around?’
With her gaze firmly fixed on her laptop screen, she said, ‘Deadlines. I’m sure you understand.’
Placing a hand on her arm, he leaned across to murmur in her ear. ‘How long, Red?’
She stared at his hand as if it were a tiger snake before finally raising her eyes to his.
‘I don’t know. This pitch is big. Huge. The MD didn’t set an exact timeline but he knows I’m a fast worker. As long as I deliver, it’s up to me.’
He wanted to push the issue, wanted to discuss how long they’d have to make this marriage as real as it could get, but now wasn’t the time or place.
Squeezing her arm, he released her and glanced at his watch. ‘I do have an appointment, but we should get together later to discuss our other business.’
Her eyes widened as the pen in her right hand started rapping a frenetic rhythm against the Manila folder in front of her.
Amazing how the mention of their pending marriage could change her from uber-cool career-woman to nervous Nelly.
‘I’m not sure how long I’ll be here. I have loads to do, then I need to head out to the farm—’
‘Perfect. We can discuss our plans over dinner.’
She opened her mouth to refuse and he raised an eyebrow, daring her to disagree.
‘Not having second thoughts, are you? Because if you are, I might have to expedite the sale of the farm and—’
‘Fine, I’ll see you there.’
The coolness in her tone belied the angry flush creeping up her neck as he marvelled again at how damn important this promotion must be for her to go through with this.
Marrying for convenience occurred a fair bit in the business world, but never in his wildest dreams had he thought he’d do it, let alone to the only woman he would’ve ever contemplated walking down the aisle with once upon a time.
‘Glad that’s settled.’
He stood, looked down at her elaborate hairdo, his fingers itching to tug the pins out and send the whole thing tumbling around her shoulders.
As if sensing his thoughts again, she tilted back on the chair, glared at him. ‘Was there anything else, because you’re hovering?’
With a smile designed to provoke a response, he ducked down to murmur in her ear. ‘I’ll cook, but I hope you remember how much I love dessert.’
As the pen picked up tempo again he chuckled, snatched a hairpin and laid it on the stack of paperwork in front of her, before heading for the door.
‘I brought dessert.’
Brittany held out the store-bought lemon meringue pie, wishing Nick would take the damn thing before it tumbled from her shaking hands.
This dinner was supposed to set her mind at rest, a pre-wedding get-together to discuss plans and take the edge off her nerves.
So far, it wasn’t working.
‘Thanks, looks delicious.’
His gaze flicked over her, appreciation lighting his eyes, and she had no doubt he wasn’t talking about the pie.
She’d spent an hour deciding what to wear, aiming for casual yet wanting to make him look twice. After five changes she’d finally decided on caramel suede trousers sitting low on her hips and a chocolate rib top that fitted like a second skin. The warm tones highlighted her hair and skin to perfection, or so some stylist had told her at Harrods.
In London, she’d taken her appearance for granted, spending a small fortune on clothes and accessories to fit the image of a top marketing consultant. She dressed to impress, was used to it. That was her excuse for wanting to look her best tonight. Yeah, right.
‘What’s for dinner?’
She headed for the stove in an attempt to escape Nick’s intense stare.
‘Antipasto for starters, home-made ravioli filled with asparagus and leeks, smothered in a four-cheese herb sauce for main.’
He picked up a ladle, lifted a pot lid and stirred, the delicious aroma of melted cheese and garlic filling the kitchen and making her mouth water.
‘You make your own pasta?’
She raised an eyebrow, beyond impressed. How did the guy find time to run a hotel, do stuff around the farm and be a whiz in the kitchen?
He cocked a hip and shrugged, deliciously smug and modest at the same time.
‘What can I say? I’m a regular Neil Perry.’
‘Who?’
‘Australia’s equivalent to Jamie Oliver,’ he said, sprinkling fresh chopped parsley into the pot, sending her a cheeky grin that notched up the heat in the kitchen.
Either that or she was taking a lot longer to acclimatise to the Jacaranda humidity than expected.
‘I’m impressed. Is there anything you can’t do?’
‘No, though I guess I’m better at some things than others.’
He winked and turned back to the stove, his attention riveted to the pot bubbling away while an embarrassing blush crept into her cheeks.
Oh, yeah, she remembered exactly how good he was at some things, which was why she grabbed the cutlery off the sideboard, trying to remember the difference between left and right as she struggled to place knives, forks and spoons in their right place.
She’d been insane to agree to his marriage proposal, absolutely stark, raving mad to think she could remain businesslike for the length of their marriage—yet another thing they had to decide tonight. For she was in little doubt this platonic union would have a time limit.
He’d asked as much earlier and she’d had no idea how to respond, didn’t want to think beyond this pitch and what she had to do to secure her promotion.
Marriage to Nick, a business deal. And business deals had set time frames, both parties aware of how long the proposed business would take right from the start.
So why the sudden pang in the vicinity of her heart?
Once the table was set, she picked up the pasta bowls and took them to the stove.
‘We’ve got a lot to talk about tonight.’
He held up a hand. ‘Not on an empty stomach. Let’s eat first.’
‘Fine with me.’
But it wasn’t fine, none of this was, and while they made polite small talk over his fabulous pasta she couldn’t forget the real reason she was here: to set the boundaries of their marriage.
An event she’d dreamed of ten years ago, had planned in her head to the nth degree: strolling towards her incredible groom under the shade of their favourite jacaranda tree down by the river, him in a casual suit with his shirt collar open, the wind ruffling his too-long-to-be-neat hair, her in a flowing ivory silk minidress made for strolling down by the river after she’d married the man of her dreams.
Somehow, the quick, impersonal ceremony in front of a minister they would now go through didn’t have the same ring to it.
There went her heart again, squeezing tight, hurting enough to show, no matter how much she pretended this was all business, she knew, deep down, she was selling her soul.
Nick tried not to stare at Brittany, he really did, but it was like trying not to look at the sun glistening on Jacaranda River first thing in the morning or the moon rising over a glittering Noosa at night.
Perfectly natural occurrences where a person’s gaze was riveted by beauty, unable to do otherwise and that was exactly how he felt now, taking in her slight frown, pursed lips and thoughtful expression as she tapped a pen against the pad in her hands.
‘We’re forgetting something,’ she said, screwing her eyes up as if trying to see the missing info.
From where he sat, the only thing forgotten was how damn good it felt to be with her like this.
‘Want me to take a look?’
‘Uh-huh,’ she answered absent-mindedly, not looking up from the pad. ‘I was sure we’d covered everything but…’
He perched on the couch next to her, grateful for the opportunity to get closer to the woman who was driving him slowly insane with every flutter of her mascaraed eyelashes, with every teasing smile.
Dinner had been a quiet affair and her genuine appreciation for his culinary skills made him feel like a god, yet the underlying tension with every glance, every smile, stretched taut between them.
While she looked amazing tonight, her fancy top and figure-hugging trousers outlining her body to perfection, a body that beckoned him to trace its contours, to feel every gorgeous line, it was more than that.
They’d slipped back into the comfortable camaraderie they used to share and he was thrilled. While he had no illusions about this marriage being anything other than what it was—a convenient business arrangement—it would be so much easier to be friends.
Or more than friends, if he was lucky. He wanted her just as badly now as he ever had, the driving hunger startling and ferocious and capable of sending him bonkers.
‘Are you going to help me or just sit there with that goofy look on your face?’
She waved the pen under his nose and he managed a rueful grin. He’d settle for goofy when, the way his thoughts had been heading, she would’ve been more accurate in describing him as drooling.
‘Let me take a look.’
He leaned towards her, a swift stab of longing shooting straight to his groin as a waft of her vanilla perfume hit him.
Vanilla: warm, sweet, tempting.
Exactly how he saw her. The same tantalising scent she’d worn that fateful night ten years ago, the night he’d told her there would never be anything between them.
He just wished he had the same self-control now, but with her inches away, looking like his living, breathing fantasy, a guy could only take so much.
‘This list has stuff for you to do and the stuff I can help with.’
She tapped her pen against the paper in a sharp staccato sound, an action fast becoming a nervous habit, and he struggled to focus on her writing, more intrigued by the streaks of blonde through her copper hair and the way they highlighted her beautiful face.
‘What’s missing?’
‘This.’
He tipped her chin up, drinking in her slightly flushed cheeks, her sparkling blue eyes, her glossed lips. Man, she was a stunner, and as a spark of desire flared in her eyes he knew this time he wouldn’t be satisfied with a few kisses.
As he moved towards her she stiffened and pulled away.
‘We need to concentrate. The sooner we get married, the sooner I can really get started on my work around here and the sooner I get my promotion. Capish?’
She sent him a nervous smile before waving the pad in his face and, though he’d love nothing better than to see if her desire matched his, he relented.
The mention of her promotion did it. She was doing this for her career, as he was, with no place for emotions to cloud the issue.
Scanning the extensive list she’d made, he pointed to the last few asterisks.
‘The licence, the legalities, all taken care of.’
When she quirked an eyebrow, he shrugged. ‘Things get done when you have money.’
A shadow passed over her face and he silently cursed his choice of words. If anyone knew the cause and effect of money, she did. Her father threw enough of the green stuff around to buy whatever and whoever he wanted.
He should know.
‘So the venue’s all taken care of?’
For the first time since she’d arrived tonight, his confidence wavered.
‘I thought the hotel garden would be a good spot? Beneath that poinciana tree near the pool?’
It was a perfect spot for a wedding, or so he’d been told by many guests: the towering umbrella-shaped tree laden with bright red flowers, Noosa beach in the background, clear blue ocean as far as the eye could see.
Britt had made him all too aware this marriage was a business merger, nothing more, yet he remembered how sentimental she’d get over the slightest thing and, while she appeared aloof with the planning, he’d bet his last dollar she’d want something a tad special.
‘That’s fine.’
Her pen picked up tempo as she focused on the list, obviously eager to get this over and done with so she could escape. Accepting this marriage was business was one thing, having to pretend to like it another.
Why did that rankle so much? It wasn’t as if this were remotely romantic yet somehow, ever since she’d returned—and returned his kisses—he’d been having strange pains in his chest, the type of pain he used to have when she was around all those years ago.
She intrigued him, infuriated him, inflamed him and, though he tried to dismiss this marriage as a means to a goal, deep down he knew better.
He’d always wanted a family, the type of family he’d never had, and the only woman he’d ever let get close was sitting less than a foot away with fiddling fingers and a wary gleam in her blue eyes.
‘Anything else?’
‘What about a notice in the newspaper for an authentic touch?’
‘That’s it.’ She jotted it down. ‘I’d call you a genius but it’d just go to your head.’
‘Try me.’
He leaned towards her with the sole intention of brushing a stray tendril of hair from her forehead. He never got the chance as their gazes locked for a heated moment before she leaped off the couch.
‘Right, we’re all done here. Thanks for dinner, it was great.’
She shoved the notebook into her bag, slung it over her shoulder. ‘I’m pretty tired, so I’ll head off now. Big day Friday.’
With an overly bright smile, she practically ran around the room. ‘I’ll get a copy of this list to you tomorrow. We don’t have much time to get everything organised, so the sooner we get it done, the better. I’ll—’
‘Red?’
‘Yeah?’
She paused mid-flight and took a deep breath, the simple action drawing his attention to her breasts and the way they filled out her ribbed top.
‘For a city girl, you’re sure behaving like a country virgin.’
He expected a host of retorts, or at least one decent smart-ass remark.
Instead, she glared at him, flushed a deep crimson and bolted out of the door.
Brittany wriggled her toes in her favourite Garfield slippers, pulled her fluffy tangerine robe tighter and cradled a hot chocolate while scanning her emails.
Not that she needed the extra calories after the mountain of food she’d consumed at Nick’s, but chocolate didn’t count, especially of the liquid variety. Besides, the way she was feeling right now, she needed comfort food, and this was it.
Nick had been right, damn him.
She had behaved like a country virgin, the exact way she used to act around him ten years earlier, jumping like a cane toad whenever he glanced her way; which had been often, though that hadn’t been the hard part.
The hard part had come when he’d looked at her as if he wanted to gobble her up and come back for more. Several times.
As for that almost-kiss…yikes! She’d deflected it with some pathetic line about needing to concentrate, but he hadn’t been fooled. She’d seen it by the knowing glint in his toffee eyes, by the smirk that had played around his kissable lips. And they were definitely kissable.
She’d wanted that kiss so badly she’d almost tasted it yet had done the smart thing and fobbed him off.
Smart for whom?
For both of them. She wasn’t interested in making this marriage real. She had a successful career waiting for her in London, a fabulous promotion, good friends, a great apartment. Everything a girl could want.
But what if she wanted more?
If she did, Nick Mancini sure wasn’t the guy to give it to her. His life was poles apart from hers.
His business was here, hers was in London.
His heritage was here, she’d always craved to escape family here.
He didn’t want a real marriage, a small part of her did.
Huh?
Where had that last bit come from?
Sighing, she took a comforting sip of the creamy hot chocolate, savouring the mini marshmallows melting on her tongue.
Unfortunately, as fabulous as her life in London was, there was one thing lacking and that was a real, steady relationship. Not some casual fling, not some short-term dating and not some modern equivalent of ‘being involved’—meeting once a week for a regular meal and sex. She’d tried these options and found them infinitely depressing.
No man had come close to matching what she’d felt for Nick, had once had with Nick.
And therein lay her problem.
‘Just great,’ she muttered, hitting the delete key on several joke emails and wishing she could erase her feelings for Nick as easily.
She’d been back a few days and had already reverted to her old ways: thinking about him constantly, wondering what he thought of her, hoping he felt half of what she did.
Pathetic.
The last email in her inbox effectively distracted her from the Nick problem. Her boss had given her leeway to complete this job, so why send her an email with ‘Tight Timeline’ in the subject header?
Clicking on the email, she quickly scanned the contents.
TO: BrittanyLloyd@Sell.London.com
FROM: DavidWaterson@Sell.London.com
SUBJECT: Tight Timeline
Hi Brittany,
How’s my number one marketing guru enjoying her trip Down Under? Working hard, I hope.
I know we left your timeline fairly open for this pitch, but there’s a change in plans.
Looks like Sell is expanding the NY office sooner than we thought and they want me to head it up ASAP, which means my job here needs to be filled within three months.
To be fair to all prospective candidates, we’d need your pitch presented in eight weeks.
Hope this is viable. If not, contact me.
We’re expecting big things from you, don’t let us down.
David
Brittany rubbed a weary hand across her eyes and quickly reread the email.
Eight weeks.
Two brief months to collate information, take pictures and perfect her pitch. Oh, and throw in a snap wedding.
What was she thinking?
But if the wedding didn’t happen, she wouldn’t have access to the farm, and no access meant no chance at the promotion anyway.
Her hands were tied. So why did it feel as if her insides were following suit?
Off the record, David had virtually assured her the MD role if she presented a killer pitch. She should be doing cartwheels.
Instead, the longer she stared at her boss’s email, the more aware she became of exactly how far away London was from Noosa…and her soon-to-be husband who resided there.
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