Marriage: For Business or Pleasure?. Nicola Marsh

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 hardfought emotion-free veneer had melted the minute he’d liplocked 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?’

      Curiosity ate at him. To bring her back here, this precious business deal of hers had to be important. In that case, he wanted to be one hundred per cent appraised of the situation before he started discussing anything with her.

      He raised an eyebrow, rattled the folder and gestured at his bare torso. ‘I don’t do business like this. Where are you staying?’

      To his delight, she blushed, her gaze lingering on his chest a few seconds too long. ‘The Phant-A-Sea in Noosa.’

      Oh, this just got better and better.

      ‘But I don’t expect you to drive all that way just to meet me. We can do this here—’

      ‘I was heading into town after I’d finished up here anyway. Why don’t I meet you there around five? We can discuss this over drinks.’

      ‘That won’t be necessary—’

      ‘But it will.’

      He leaned closer, her awareness of him evident in the widening of her pupils, the tip of her tongue darting out to moisten her bottom lip, and his gut clenched with how badly he still wanted her.

      Maybe he should tell her the truth now and be done with it.

      But then, where was the fun in that?

      ‘Give me some time to clean up, take a look at your proposal and we can discuss it over a Shirley Temple.’

      He scored another direct hit with reference to her favourite drink back then, her lips compressing into an unimpressed line.

      ‘This isn’t some trip down memory lane. This is business.’

      His glance strayed to her lips, lush and pouting, before sweeping back to her eyes, registering the shock of arousal that made a mockery of their business.

      ‘So you keep saying. Business. Ri-i-ight.’

      To his surprise, she laughed. ‘You haven’t changed a bit. Still the charmer.’

      She was wrong, dead wrong.

      He’d changed and, come five o’clock, she’d discover exactly how much.

      Propping on the bonnet, he crossed his ankles. ‘Is it working?’

      ‘Nope, I’m immune to rebel charmers these days.’

      ‘Pity.’

      His glance slid over her, taking in every delicious curve, earning another blush.

      ‘How long are you in town for?’

      ‘For as long as it takes.’

      She’d gone cold again. Retreating back into the business at hand…

      His glance swept the distant cane fields he loved so much, encompassing the sugar cane that was as much a part of him as his Italian heritage, wondering what she’d make of him once she discovered his real business these days.

      Would she be impressed? Probably, though in all fairness what he did or where he came from had never been an issue with her.

      They’d been friends before lovers in the old days, travelling on the same bus to school every day even though she’d attended