Just One More Night. Fiona Brand

Elena’s pink dress, as she bent down to whisper something to Sanchia, drew Nick’s gaze, along with another tempting flash of cleavage.

      With a brisk elegance that underlined the fact that the old Elena was long gone, she repositioned Sanchia next to Gemma. Nick clamped down on his impatience as the ceremony proceeded at a snail’s pace.

      Elena had been avoiding him for the past twenty-four hours, ever since she had arrived in Dolphin Bay. The one time he had managed to get her alone—last night to discuss meeting at the beach villa—she had successfully stonewalled him. Now his temper was on a slow burn. Whether she liked it or not, they would conclude their business this weekend.

      Distantly, he registered that Gabriel was kissing his new bride. With grim patience, Nick waited out the signing of the register in the small, adjacent vestry.

      As Gabriel swung his small daughter up into his arms, Elena’s gaze, unexpectedly misty and soft, connected with his again, long enough for him to register two salient facts. The contact lenses with which she had replaced her trademark glasses were not the regular, transparent type. They were a dark chocolate brown that completely obliterated the usual, cheerful golden brown of her irises.

      More importantly, despite her cool control and her efforts to pretend that he didn’t exist, he was aware in that moment that for Elena, he very palpably did exist.

      Every muscle in his body tightened at the knowledge that despite her refusals to meet with him, despite the fact that every time they did meet they ended up arguing, Elena still wanted him.

      With an effort of will, Nick kept his expression neutral as he signed as a witness to the ceremony. In a few minutes he would walk down the aisle with Elena on his arm. It was the window of opportunity he had planned for when he had arranged to change places with Kyle.

      Negotiation was not his best talent; that was Gabriel’s forte. Nick was more suited to the blunt, laconic cadences of construction sites. A world of black and white, where “yes” meant yes and “no” meant no and not some murky, frustrating shade in between.

      As the music swelled and Elena looped her arm through his, the issue of retrieving an heirloom ring and unraveling the mystery of his father’s link with Elena’s aunt faded.

      With Elena’s delicately enticing perfume filling his nostrils again, Nick acknowledged that the only “yes” he really wanted from Elena was the one she had given him six years ago.

      * * *

      Elena steeled herself against the tiny electrical charge that coursed through her as she settled her palm lightly on Nick’s arm.

      Nick sent her another assessing glance. Despite her intention to be cool and distant and, as she’d done the previous evening, pretend that she didn’t look a whole lot different than she had a month ago, Elena’s pulse rate accelerated. Even though she knew she looked her very best, thanks to the efforts of the beauty spa, she was still adjusting to the changes. Having Nick Messena put her new look under a microscope, and wondering if he liked what he saw, was unexpectedly nerve-racking.

      Nick bent his head close enough that she caught an intriguing whiff of his cologne. “Is that a tattoo on your shoulder?”

      Elena stiffened at the blunt question and the hint of disapproval that went with it. “It’s a transfer. I’m thinking about a tattoo.”

      There was a small tense silence. “You don’t need it.”

      The flat statement made her bristle. “I think I need it and Giorgio thought it looked very good.”

      “Damn,” he said softly. “Who is Giorgio?”

      A small thrill went through her at the sudden, blinding thought that Nick was jealous, although she refused to allow herself to buy into that fantasy.

      From what she knew personally and had read in magazines and tabloids, Nick Messena didn’t have a jealous bone in his body. Most of his liaisons were so brief there was no time for an emotion as deep and powerful as jealousy to form. “Giorgio is...a friend.”

      She caught the barest hint of annoyance in his expression, and a small but satisfying surge of feminine power coursed through her at the decision not to disclose her true relationship with Giorgio. It was absolutely none of Nick’s business that Giorgio was her personal beauty consultant.

      In that moment she remembered Robert Corrado, another very new friend who had the potential to be much more. After just a couple of dates, it was too early to tell if Robert was poised to be the love of her life, but right now he was a touchstone she desperately needed.

      Taking a deep breath, she tried to recall exactly what Robert looked like as they followed Gabriel, Gemma and Sanchia down the aisle.

      She felt Nick’s gaze once again on her profile. “You’ve lost weight.”

      Her jaw clenched at the excruciating conversation opener. It was not the response she had envisaged, but all the same, a small renegade part of her was happy that he had noticed.

      Her new hourglass shape constantly surprised her. The diet, combined with a rigorous exercise regime had produced a totally unexpected body. She still had curves, albeit more streamlined than they used to be, and they were now combined with a tiny waist.

      She was still amazed that the loss of such a small amount of weight had made such a difference. If she had realized how little had stood between her and a totally new body, she would have opted for diet and exercise years ago. “Can’t you come up with a better conversational opener than that?”

      “Maybe I’m out of touch. What am I supposed to say?”

      “According to a gossip columnist you’re not in the least out of touch. If you want to make conversation, you could try concentrating on positives.”

      “I thought that was a positive.” Nick frowned. “Which columnist?”

      Elena drew a swift breath. After her unscheduled meeting with Nick in Auckland she had, by pure chance, read that he had dated a gorgeous model that same night. She said the name.

      His expression cleared. “The story about Melanie.”

      “Melanie. Rhymes with Tiffany.”

      Nick’s gaze sliced back to hers. “She’s a friend of my sister, and it was a family dinner. There was no date. Have you managed to sell the villa yet?”

      “Not yet, but I’ve received an offer, which I’m considering.”

      The muscles beneath her fingers tensed. She caught his flash of annoyance. “Whatever you’ve been offered, I’ll top it by ten percent.”

      Elena stared ahead, keeping her gaze glued to the tulle of Gemma’s veil. “I don’t understand why you want the villa.”

      “It’s beachfront. It’s an investment I won’t lose on, plus it seems to be the only way I can get you to agree to help me search for the ring.”

      “I’ve looked. It’s not there.”

      “Did you check the attic?”

      “I’m working my way through it. I haven’t found anything yet, and I’ve searched through almost everything.”

      Her aunt had been a collector of all sorts of memorabilia. Elena had sorted through all the recent boxes, everything else she had opened lately was going back progressively in time.

      There was a small, grim silence. “If you won’t consider my purchase offer, will you let me have a look through before you sell?”

      Her jaw set. “I can’t see Aunt Katherine putting a valuable piece of jewelry in an attic.”

      “My father noted in a diary that he had given the ring to Katherine. You haven’t found it anywhere else, which means it’s entirely probable that it’s in the house, somewhere.”

      Elena loosened her grip on the small bouquet she was holding. Nick’s frustration that