The rented SUV swerved on the dusty, potholed driveway of
the Mancini place and Brittany Lloyd bit back a curse.
Her average driving skills had little to do with the state
of the road or the unwelcome memories assailing her and
everything to do with the naked man bent over a thresher.
Semi-naked, technically, as her gaze riveted to the
tantalising expanse of bronze, broad back glistening in the
scorching Queensland sun.
The muscles shifted, bunched, slid, as he straightened and
thrust hands into back pockets of ripped, faded denim, and
as her greedy gaze strayed to his butt she suddenly wished
she hadn't stayed away so long.
Ten years in London had been a sane choice, a safe choice
considering what she'd been running from, but seeing
this hot guy on her first morning home reinforced no place
on earth bred guys like Jacaranda.
She should know.
She'd fallen in love with one, had given him her heart,
her virginity and her loyalty.
More fool her.
As she righted the car and approached, the guy half turned
and this time the SUV sheered straight off the driveway and
almost straight into a ditch.
The engine stalled, spluttered, died, as her white-knuckled
hands gripped the steering wheel, shock and joy and
mind-numbing lust slamming into her, leaving her powerless
to do anything but watch him approach.
Not a flicker of emotion crossed Nick Mancini's face as
he reached the car, leaned tanned, toned forearms on the
open window and gave her a casual nod.
'Hey, Britt. Long time no see.'
A casual greeting, without rancour or bitterness; then
again, she'd been the one left to pick up the pieces
when he'd ended it.
The greeting and his lack of emotion didn't do justice
to what they'd shared, what they'd given up and
she'd be damned if she showed him anything other than
the same lackadaisical nonchalance despite her
jack-hammering heart and clammy hands.
'Ten years, give or take.'
She wanted him to acknowledge the time they'd spent
apart, wanted him to ask how she'd been, wanted him to
finally explain why he'd opted out.
Instead, he shrugged, her gaze drifting to those bunching
muscles of their own volition, all too aware of how he'd
filled out in the last ten years.
He'd been lean rather than muscular back then and now…
She wrenched her gaze away from his impressive pecs and
focused on his face.
Nick the teenager had been good-looking, cocky and a rebel.
Nick the man was drop-dead gorgeous in a
rough-around-the-edges way, still cocky and, if she read him
right, still out to prove to the world he didn't give a
damn.
By the smug grin lifting the corners of an all too kissable
mouth, she'd read him just right.
'What brings you by?'
'Business.'
Something solid, tangible and guaranteed to keep errant
emotions at bay no matter how much she wanted to ask him
'what the hell happened to us?'
She'd hoped to avoid him, had hoped to do business with
his father but she'd been a fool. This place was in
Nick's veins, of course he'd be here doing a hard
day's work, working longer and tougher and harder than
all his employees.
'Business, huh?'
His caramelised-toffee eyes narrowed and she wished he'd
stop staring at her as if she had a dirt smudge on her nose.
He'd always had the ability to see into her soul and
right now that was the last thing she needed.
She needed to stay focused. Her promotion depended on it.
'I've got a proposition for you.'
He straightened, all six feet two of lean, hard muscle, and
smiled that bad-boy smile she remembered so well, the smile
that had haunted her for months when she'd first arrived
in London, pining away for her first love—the same love who
had turned down her offer to come with her, to build a life
together.
'I just bet you have, Red.'
He opened the car door and she stepped out, wishing she
could hide her blush, knowing it would do nothing for her
freckles and hating herself for caring so damn much.
'No one's called me that in years,' she
muttered, thankful her hair bore more coppery-blonde streaks
these days than the fire-engine red she'd grown up with.
'That's a shame.'
He reached out, twisted a stray strand around his finger.
'They obviously don't know you as well as I do.'
She pulled away quickly before she did something stupid,
such as stand there and let him twist her around his finger
and not just by the hair. 'You don't know me at
all.'
Ignoring the glint in his eyes, which seemed a richer,
deeper toffee than she remembered, she glanced at her watch,
hoping he'd get the hint.
'Is your father here? I need to discuss this with him.'
His eyes clouded, darkened, as pain twisted his mouth.
'Papa died. Guess the news didn't make it all the
way to London.'
'I'm sorry,' she said, suddenly ashamed she
hadn't kept in touch with news from home.
Not that the thought hadn't crossed her mind on occasion
but then, he hadn't been the reason she'd fled
Jacaranda.
'Are you really?'
She noticed the angry lines fanning from the corner of his
mouth, the indentation between his brows, aging him beyond
his twenty-eight years.
He'd never looked at her like this back then. Uh-uh. He
might have been a rebel but he'd never been brooding or
angry, far from it.
A decade earlier he'd only ever looked at her with
adoration and desire, and for a brief moment she wished she
could turn back time.
'Of course I'm sorry. Everyone around here loved
Papa.'
'You're right.'
Swiping a hand across his face, he erased the tenseness.
'Though I'm surprised your old man didn't say
something. You can't ride a Harley in this town without
people lining the roads for a parade.'
His gaze flicked over her and she clenched her hands to stop
from smoothing her Dolce and Gabbana suit. His eyes glowed
with appreciation but she didn't miss the slight
compression of his lips, as if her favourite designer suit
didn't impress him one bit.
'Despite your fancy new clothes, surely you remember how
it is around here?'
He was trying to bait her, just as he always did and, damn
him, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing
exactly how much she remembered, most of her memories
centred on him.
'I've been busy the last ten years so forgive me if
taking a stroll down memory lane hasn't been high on my
list of priorities.'
'Busy, huh?'
She expected him to ask about her career, wanted to show him
how far she'd come, how far they could've made it as
a couple if he'd accompanied her.
Instead, he stood there, a semi-naked god totally at ease
with his surroundings, the sheen of sweat and dust adding to
his rugged appeal rather than diminishing it.
Clamping down on the mental image to run her hands over that
glorious bare chest, she cleared her throat.
'I work twenty-four-seven. Being a senior exec at
London's top advertising company takes up most of my
time.'
'What, no time for play?'
His teasing smile slammed into her, the familiarity of it
making her gasp.
She didn't play, not any more. Her play days had stopped
when she'd hightailed it out of this town and never
looked back.
Work helped her forget… everything.
Work proved how far she'd come.
Work gave her the hard-fought independence she'd clawed
her way to the top for, an independence that guaranteed
she'd never have to look back.
Biting back a pithy retort, she ducked into the car and
grabbed the Manila folder from the passenger seat.
'What I do in my spare time isn't your concern.
I'm here on business.'
'Whatever this business proposition of yours is about,
you'll be dealing with me.'
He fixed her with a probing stare, a potent stare that sent
a ripple of unease through her.
'And just so you know, I'm nothing like my father. I
drive a hard bargain.'
She almost banged her head on the door jamb as his silky
voice slid over her. So much for a quick, clean presentation
to Papa Mancini. The thought of doing business with Nick,
let alone considering whatever bargain he might demand, had
her flustered.
And she never got flustered, not any more. Some of the gang
at work called her the Ice Princess behind her back and she
liked it. Emotions got her nowhere and she'd learned to
control her fiery temper along with the rest of her wayward
emotions during the long, hard graft in the big city.
As she handed him the folder their fingertips touched and
despite the length of time they'd been apart, her heart
jack-knifed. Wretched organ. She shouldn't feel anything
where Nick was concerned, especially not this strange déjà
vu that had her dreaming of stepping closer and running a
palm down his bare chest to see if it felt half as good as
she remembered.
She took a steadying breath, ignoring the host of unwelcome
feelings this man resurrected.
'There's a lot we need to discuss. Why don't we
head inside so you can put on some clothes and we can do
business?'
She'd made a fatal error in judgement, knew it the
second his lips kicked up into a sexy, familiar grin that
never failed to take her breath away.
She shouldn't have mentioned his state of undress,
shouldn't have drawn attention to it, and as if of their
own volition her eyes drifted south, riveted to that
muscular expanse of temptation less than two feet away.
He was so bronze, so broad, so breathtaking and when she
finally dragged her gaze away her knees shook.
'You sure you want me to get dressed?'
Damn him, he'd called her on her faux pas. A gentleman
would've ignored her slip-up. Then again, since when had
Nick been a gentleman?
Jacaranda's answer to James Dean had had girls swooning
and fathers reaching for shotguns since he'd hit puberty
and she was a fool for expecting anything other than
bluntness from the guy who'd once rocked her world.
'Nick, don't.'
She held up a hand, about as effective as a cockatoo trying
to ward off a charging emu.
'Don't what?'
He stared at her hand as if he wanted to grab it and she
quickly let it drop.
'Don't remember the past? Don't admire the
gorgeous woman you've become?'
The heat in his eyes scorched her, captivated her, held her
spellbound.
'Or don't do something as crazy as this?'
Before she could blink, he hauled her into his arms and
kissed her.
The kisses they'd shared as teenagers had been
exploratory, tender and achingly poignant. Yet there was
nothing remotely sweet or gentle about his mouth crushing
hers now.
Their lips clashed in a frantic, hungry union, a fusion of
tongues, a meshing of desire that left her reeling.
She should've been immune to him by now. She
should've pushed him away and laughed it off as a quick
reacquainting peck between friends for old times' sake.
Should've, should've, should've, as she
stood on tiptoes, leaned into him and wrapped her arms
around his neck, hanging on as if her life depended on it.
As he softened the kiss, plying her with a skilled precision
he'd never had as a young man, her resolve to push him
away melted, just as it had ten years earlier when she'd
acted on all the bottled-up feelings she'd harboured for
him for years.
She'd idolised him all through the endless teenage years
and he hadn't glanced in her direction until she'd
turned eighteen, thrown herself at him and been wonderfully
surprised when the bad boy of Jacaranda had returned her
interest.
They'd gone steady for exactly six months before things
had come to a head at home and she'd been forced to flee.
She hadn't told Nick about her humiliation, wanting him
to need her for who she was, not following her out of some
warped sense of pity. So she'd tried to convince him to
run away with her. And she'd failed. Not just failed,
he'd pushed her away with a callousness that had
shattered her heart.
So what the heck was she doing, kissing him like this?
As her common sense belatedly kicked in Nick broke the kiss,
untangling her hands from behind his neck and setting them
firmly at her side before glaring at her, as if she'd
been the one to instigate their clinch in the first place.
'Don't expect me to be sorry for that,' he said,
running a hand through his dark wavy hair, sending it in all
directions.
'I gave up expecting anything from you a long time ago.'
She shrugged, aiming for nonchalant while her insides
churned, and ran a finger along her bottom lip, wondering if
it looked as bruised as it felt.
He'd kissed her… and she'd liked it!
So much for the Ice Princess. Looked as if her hard-fought
emotion-free veneer had melted the minute he'd
lip-locked her.
Nick muttered a curse and turned away from Brittany before
he made another blunder and hauled her right back into his arms.
She felt good, better than he remembered and he had a damn
good memory when it came to this woman.
She'd been the one for him.
And he'd sent her away.
He'd had no choice, but a day hadn't gone by when he
hadn't replayed memories of the red-haired hellion
who'd captured his heart without trying.
Here she was, just as incredible as he remembered.
And he was drawn to her as uncontrollably as ever. For the
spell she'd cast over him had never been simply caused
by her blue eyes, porcelain skin and waist-length auburn
hair that begged a guy to run his fingers through it. Nor
did it have anything to do with her lithe body, with enough
curves to turn a guy's head.
No, Brittany Lloyd possessed a more elusive charm, something
that drew him surer than spicy tomato meatballs.
Class.
Something he'd craved his entire life, something
he'd set about gaining the last few years but she'd
been born with, and no amount of mixing in the right circles
or business success could buy what she had, in spades.
'About this business proposition?' He turned back to
face her, surprised by the vulnerability he glimpsed in her
eyes. Hell, it was just a damn kiss, no big deal.
'All in there.'
She pointed at the Manila folder in his hands, stared at it
as if it were a ticking bomb ready to detonate.
He weighed it in one hand, tapped it against his palm,
gauging her reaction.
'Jeez, why don't you just open it?' She
exploded, just as she used to in the good old days and he
grinned.
'Good to see you've still got that fiery temper
beneath all that polish.'
He looked her up and down, admiring the subtle changes to
her appearance: the gold streaks in her now shoulder-length
hair, the svelte body packed with more curves than a
racetrack, the elegant wardrobe. As a teenager she'd
been pretty. As a woman, she was stunning.
With a confident toss of that luscious hair, she fixed him
with a newly acquired haughty grin.
'Actually, you're the only one who seems to bring it
out in me. Now, back to business?'