Untamed Billionaires: Marriage: For Business or Pleasure? / Getting Red-Hot with the Rogue / One Night with the Rebel Billionaire

CHAPTER NINE

NICK stirred some time around midnight, his dreamless sleep disturbed by a puff of air somewhere in the vicinity of his ear lobe.

His eyelids cranked open a fraction, half-heartedly investigating the source of air, only to snap open as he registered a luscious woman draped over his upper torso, her arm flung proprietorially across his chest and a leg nudging the vicinity of his boxers.

Not just any woman.

Britt.

His wife.

Whom he wanted to make love to something fierce.

Considering the chaste way they’d fallen asleep he should gently slip out from under her and try not to wake her.

But his good intentions evaporated when she snuggled closer, her knee edging towards a fast-growing hard-on, and he froze, gritting his teeth to stop from groaning out loud.

He could play the gentleman, but where would be the fun in that? Britt had always called him her bad boy and, while a small part of him had thought she only hung around him because she was tempted to slum it for a while, he’d liked the reputation.

And it had grown, fuelled by idle gossip of small-town inhabitants and the fact he smoked, rode a motorbike and lived in denim.

He’d heard the rumours, from his fictitious tattoo of skull-and-crossbones on his butt to riding bare-chested all the way to Sydney.

He’d laughed, silently appalled at how reputations could be made or broken by hearsay. Considering he’d been working his ass off trying to make the plantation stay afloat at the time, he hadn’t much cared.

Another puff of air, another small moan in her sleep had him easing away before he did something she’d regret. Make no mistake, she’d been about to give him the ‘don’t think you can seduce me’ talk last night before he’d cut her off. As if he wouldn’t have got the message from seeing her in that libido-killing bulky robe.

She’d made her point earlier and he’d be damned if he sat through it again, rehashing stuff he didn’t agree with. Especially when she was half naked, with all the distraction that would have entailed. The way he saw it, they could keep this marriage business focused while having fun too but there was no way, no how, he’d be pushing the issue now.

Britt had made her feelings more than clear.

‘Nick?’

Her sleepy whisper slammed into his consciousness, beckoning him to stay right where he was. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t take advantage of the situation no matter how turned on he was or how badly he wanted his wife.

‘Shh, go back to sleep.’

He stroked her hair, a small part of him melting as she snuggled deeper and, rather than pull away, he cuddled her closer with his arm.

Her hair tickled his shoulder, her cheek, so soft and warm, pressed against his chest and the faintest scent of lavender and vanilla lulled him into believing that, for now, this was enough.

If Nick was a bad boy, Brittany was a bad girl.

A very bad girl.

When she’d woken in Nick’s arms that first morning, she’d felt him pulling away, sensed him trying to disengage. And while winding up with her head resting on his chest and the rest of her draped over him hadn’t been planned, she’d taken full advantage of the situation.

Maybe not full advantage, as that would’ve entailed doing a lot more than cuddling, but she’d pretended to sleep while savouring the hard chest cushioning her cheek, the warm, toned body beneath her hands and his intensely male scent, which set off her pheromones in a big way and always had.

She could’ve stopped there but, no, she’d been a really, really bad girl.

And proceeded to do the same thing every morning.

For the next two weeks.

The tension was killing her. If only it were doing the same to her husband.

‘How’s business coming along?’

Her head snapped up from where she’d been resting her chin in her hands, staring out of the window and daydreaming of exactly how bad she’d like to be, to find the object of her wicked fantasies staring at her with cool detachment.

It had to be a ruse. After all, wasn’t he the one who’d been hot to trot on their wedding night? Surely he couldn’t have turned off just like that?

By his compressed lips and grim expression, apparently so.

Feigning nonchalance she didn’t feel, she waved her hand towards the stack of paperwork on the table in front of her.

‘The photographer’s been out to the plantation every day this week and taken loads of shots. The cameraman’s due out there tomorrow, and I’m collating some of the historical info I got from your grandfather’s ledgers. So everything’s coming along nicely.’

He crossed the room, perched on the edge of the table, her eyes now level with his crotch, and she quickly stood, not needing to look there considering she’d been having bad thoughts a few moments ago.

‘You’ve been busy.’

‘Loads to do. I’ve got a task list a mile long today, including heading out to the plantation to scout more locations, checking the ones I’ve already chosen, making sure they match the information I’m in the process of adding to the pitch—’

‘Hang on.’

His hand shot out, gripping hers and preventing her from putting some much-needed distance between them.

Trying not to show how much his simple touch affected her, she raised an eyebrow.

‘What’s up?’

Shaking his head, he squeezed her hand before releasing it. ‘I’m no good at this.’

‘At what?’

‘This whole fake marriage thing.’

‘Oh, thaaat.’

Well, well, well, maybe the tension was getting to him after all.

‘Not used to sharing a suite, huh?’

He must’ve heard her teasing tone but rather than smile, he fixed her with a piercing stare.

‘Not used to sharing a suite with you.’

Right then she knew, no matter how cool Nick was playing it, how busy he was, he was just as rattled by their underlying attraction as she was.

‘Oh? I thought it’d be a breeze.’

She waltzed around the room, picking up floral skirts and summer dresses and the odd piece of lingerie or two.

Okay, so she wasn’t playing fair with the lingerie but, hey, she wanted to get a reaction out of him, and if the tortured look that flickered across his face as she twirled an ebony satin bra on the end of her finger before tossing it into a drawer was any indication, her plan was working.

‘A breeze? More like a damn tropical cyclone,’ he muttered, shoving off the table and heading for the wide window affording a glorious view of Noosa beach.

‘I’m getting to you, aren’t I?’

She snuck up behind him, just stopping short of sliding her arms around his waist and laying her head against his back.

He didn’t turn, keeping his gaze fixed on the stunning view.

‘I guess this business arrangement of ours isn’t quite what I expected.’

‘That’s because we share a past, you dufus.’

Oops. Had she really said that out loud?

By the speed at which he turned to face her, she had.

An endearing smile curled his lips. ‘Dufus?’

‘I’ve called you worse.’

His eyes darkened as they hovered on her mouth, as if he was remembering everything she’d ever called him and more.

‘Yeah, I remember.’

She’d come this far, might as well go for broke.

‘What else do you remember?’

Silence stretched between them, surprising her. Nick might be many things, but chicken wasn’t one of them. She’d called his bluff, expecting some kind of answer even if it was a dismissive smart-ass remark.

Just when she’d given up, he finally reached out and twirled a strand of her hair around his finger.

‘I remember you wore your hair long, to your waist. I remember how you used to squeal on the back of my bike as I rounded the bends.’

He tugged on her hair, bringing her closer…and closer…and closer until there was a whisper between them.

‘But most of all, I remember how you made me feel back then.’

Unexpected emotion clogged her throat, effectively clouding her sweep-me-into-your-arms fantasy.

She’d wanted to prove the sizzle existed between them, wanted to tease him, wanted to get a reaction out of him. The last thing she’d expected was this serious trip down memory lane from a guy who acted as if they didn’t have a past most of the time.

‘How did I make you feel?’

He was so close his breath feathered her lips, sending a ripple of longing so intense through her it took her breath away.

‘Like I could make all our dreams come true.’

She sighed, wishing he hadn’t pushed her away, wishing he’d said yes when she’d asked him to move away with her all those years ago, wishing he had made her dreams come true.

He was all she’d ever wanted, until her freedom became all important.

She’d thought she’d had it all, convinced he’d move to London and they’d have the life they wanted. Until he’d withdrawn from her, shutting her out emotionally, physically, citing work and study and family as a means not to see her.

She’d persisted, convinced they were meant to be together, captivated by the occasional glimpse of the guy she’d fallen in love with, wary of what he’d become the harder she pushed for them to leave town.

Her dreams had been big, had been big enough for both of them. But Nick wasn’t the dream-maker she’d been foolish once to believe he was.

Acknowledging their attraction was one thing, opening her heart another, and while she wanted him now more than ever she knew nothing had changed.

He still wouldn’t follow her to London even if she were crazy enough to ask.

‘Nick, I don’t think—’

‘Then don’t. Think, that is,’ he murmured, a second before his lips locked on hers in the softest heartbreaking kiss that reached all the way down to her soul.

It lasted less than a few seconds, a fleeting glimpse of tenderness rarely seen from this passionate man, and when he raised his head, brushed her bottom lip with a fingertip and walked away, she was left reeling.

Reeling with the knowledge she still believed in dreams.

And his ability to make all hers come true.

Nick entered the marquee, his gaze immediately drawn to the stunning woman in a white dress chatting to the richest guy in the State.

Brittany looked incredible, a soft, clingy Grecian-style dress fastened on one shoulder with a silver clip, leaving her other deliciously bare, her hair piled up with soft golden streaks falling softly around her face and just enough make-up to enhance her beauty.

Hell. Just looking at her from a distance was making him crazy; what hope did he have up close?

Sure, she looked like a supermodel tonight but he still couldn’t erase the image of her clad in that supersized robe on their wedding night.

He’d lied about the robe being contraception on legs. The minute he’d caught his first glimpse of her, framed in the bathroom doorway with vulnerability written all over her face, he’d wanted to cross the room, haul her into his arms and never let go.

That had been one hell of a night.

Not for the reason he might’ve anticipated, considering she fired his libido as no other woman ever had or probably ever would.

He’d lain awake for hours, listening to the soft sounds of her breathing, wishing things could’ve turned out differently between them, silently chastising himself for being a bloody fool.

He’d thought by getting her to talk about the past, she might relax, learn to trust him again. Instead, she’d fed him some lame excuse about why she’d run away and he’d been the stupid one to blurt out he still cared. Go figure?

Thankfully, the last fortnight had passed in a frenetic blur with finalising details for the new Caribbean hotel and, apart from that slight aberration yesterday when he’d almost made a pathetic declaration of how much he liked having her around, they’d managed to maintain a polite distance.

All business, which was exactly why she’d agreed to accompany him to the Bachelor and Spinsters Ball tonight. A ball the Phant-A-Sea chain was sponsoring, a ball where every billionaire in Australasia would be in attendance, a ball where he’d learn how far his plan to marry Britt had got him.

Hotel occupancy was up fifty per cent, phone calls from potential investors tripling since he’d married. Maybe the old-school tycoons had finally recognised him as a successful, wealthy businessman with one thing on his mind: making his hotels the best in the world.

Tonight would prove how far he’d come, for calling him was one thing, accepting him as one of their own in public another.

Britt glanced up at that moment and their gazes locked, hot, intense, and he strode across the harvesting shed, which looked like a cross between a country-and-western saloon and a high-school disco.

It would be the plantation’s final hurrah, for once Britt had completed her work here he’d sell the place, sever ties to his past once and for all.

He’d prevaricated for the last twelve months, plagued by guilt. This place had been Papa’s pride and joy, built from the ground up with grit, sweat and determination. It had been the only place he’d ever called home but, more than that, it had been a refuge after his mum had abandoned them.

The old farmhouse should’ve repulsed him, should’ve been a constant reminder of what happened when he loved a woman too much.

But he’d deliberately blocked out the few memories of his mum, had filled his head and his heart with new ones, mostly centred on a wizened Italian man with a penchant for ripe tomatoes, coarse wine and sugar in his veins.

Papa had been more than a parent, he’d been his idol. The thought of bringing shame to the family name had stopped him from taking his rebel image too far, Papa’s steadfast support a constant reminder that he could be anybody he chose to be.

But that was the problem.

As long as he held onto the plantation, people would be reminded of his humble beginnings, would still harbour doubts about his ability to mix it with the big boys.

It would kill him to sell, would tear him clean in two, but nothing could take away memories of a father who’d helped mould him into the man he was today.

Papa would’ve understood, would’ve encouraged him to move forward, and that was exactly what he would do, despite the nagging gut feeling he was turning his back on family.

‘Well, if it isn’t the man of the moment. Glad you finally showed up at your own shindig, Mancini.’

To his amazement, Bram Rutger stuck his hand out, something he’d never done despite the many times they’d crossed paths at similar functions in Sydney or Singapore the last few years.

He shook it, vindicated his plan had worked yet despising himself for caring what this pompous old fool thought of him.

‘Business, you know how it is.’

‘That I do, my boy. Something we’ll discuss more of when you return my phone calls. I’m looking to expand my investment portfolio and I think we should talk.’

Bram’s announcement reinforced he’d made a sound business decision in marrying Britt, but his satisfaction evaporated when the old fool slipped an arm around Britt’s waist.

‘And I hear congratulations are in order. You’ve picked a fine woman here.’

Bram squeezed Britt’s waist as Nick’s hands squeezed into fists. ‘I’ve known young Brittany since she was in the cradle, so make sure you take good care of her, you hear?’

Oh, he’d take good care of her, starting with punching the supercilious coot in the nose, but he forced a smile and nodded.

‘Shall do. Now, if you’ll excuse us?’

He held out a hand, biting back a grin when Britt all but bolted out of Bram’s hold. ‘Nice seeing you again, Bram.’

She wiggled her fingers in a teasing wave and Nick growled under his breath as they walked away.

‘You shouldn’t tease the old goat. Might give him a heart attack.’

Her cheeky smile lit up her face. ‘Well, then, his kids will thank me. Apparently he’s worth billions these days.’

‘You’re incorrigible.’

She quirked an eyebrow. ‘This, coming from the guy who used to do very poor impersonations of Bram and his cronies?’

She shook her head. ‘You’ve changed. Become a snob like them.’

‘This, coming from the girl who wouldn’t sit down by Jacaranda River unless I’d spread out a blanket first? From the girl who wouldn’t hop on the back of my bike unless I made sure there wasn’t a dot of grease on the seat? From the girl who—’

‘Okay, okay, I get your point. Sheesh.’

She reached out, smoothed a lapel, her innocuous touch enough to fire his blood and set his heart pounding.

‘Nice tux, by the way. Very debonair.’

‘Glad you noticed.’

Their gazes locked again and this time he didn’t look away.

He’d already got what he came for tonight: vindication he’d made it into the big league, recognition he was more than the blue-collar farm boy he’d once been.

Time to get this party really started.

‘Come with me.’

‘Where?’

‘Does it matter?’

She shook her head, the tendrils framing her face swaying gently and beckoning him to reach out and twist one around his finger, draw her close and hold her all night. But there was plenty of time for that. For now, he’d settle for getting her alone and kissing her senseless.

‘Come on.’

He grabbed her hand and they fought their way through the crowd. He was surprised by the turnout, hundreds of well-dressed revellers who had descended on his property, bringing their own supplies, including tents for camping overnight.

Singles balls were all the rage these days and, while he liked seeing people having fun, a huge part of him was relieved he was no longer a bachelor.

It wasn’t everything it was cracked up to be, especially now he had a fortune behind him, with the women who’d once shunned him for having grease on his hands and dust in his hair clambering for a date—or, worse, a relationship.

Britt had never been like that; she’d liked him regardless and the thought sent a burst of warmth through him, urging him to pick up the pace.

‘Great turnout, huh?’

With her blue eyes glittering with excitement, she looked like a society hostess basking in the success of an event. ‘And the film crew are getting loads of footage I can use in my pitch.’

‘That’s great, though personally I can’t believe there are so many desperadoes out there.’

‘Most people are here to party, not pick up.’

They caught sight of a couple kissing in the back of a ute at the same time and Britt chuckled. ‘Well, most of them.’

‘Get a room,’ he muttered, suddenly annoyed by the sight of the amorous couple doing exactly what he’d like to be doing with the gorgeous woman by his side.

‘What for? If they’re anything like us, a room won’t sweeten the mood.’

He risked a quick glance at her face, wondering if she were serious but, by the cheeky smile tugging at the corners of her glossed mouth, she wasn’t.

‘The room doesn’t matter to us because we have an arrangement. And we’re friends.’

More the pity. Though he planned to change all that, starting tonight.

‘So are those two, by the look of it. Good friends.’ She chuckled and slipped her hand around his elbow, a casual gesture that shouldn’t have sent the blood rushing to his groin. But it did and he could barely focus on anything other than the way she smelt and how she felt tucked in to his side.

Having her stand so close to him, her signature vanilla enveloping him in seductive sweetness, was hard enough to tolerate without her smoky midnight eyes sending him signals he knew were all in his own head.

‘So what did you want to show me?’

‘It’s in here.’

He all but dragged her through the back door into the dimly lit kitchen, knowing this was crazy but unable to stop.