“Are you all right?”

Elena cupped Nick’s jaw and tried for a confident smile. “I’m fine.”

One long finger stroked down her cheek, sending a raw shimmer through her. “Then why do I get the feeling that you’re not quite comfortable with this?”

“Probably because I haven’t done this in a while.”

Something flared in his gaze. “How long?”

“Uh—around six years, I guess.”

He said something soft beneath his breath. “Six years ago you slept with me.”

The breath caught in her throat. “I’m surprised you remember.”

“I’m not likely to forget,” he said quietly, “since you were a virgin.”

For a split second she was afraid he might abandon the whole idea of making love, so she took a deep breath and boldly trailed a hand down his chest. “I’m not a virgin now.”

He trapped her hand beneath his, then used it to pull her close so that she found herself half-sprawled across his chest. “Good.”

* * *

Just One More Night is part of The Pearl House series: Business and passion collide when two dynasties forge ties bound by love

Just One More Night
Fiona Brand

www.millsandboon.co.uk

FIONA BRAND lives in the sunny Bay of Islands, New Zealand. Now that both her sons are grown, she continues to love writing books and gardening. After a life-changing time in which she met Christ, she has undertaken study for a bachelor of theology and has become a member of The Order of St Luke, Christ’s healing ministry.

To the Lord, whose “word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.”

—Psalms 119

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

—John 3:16

Many thanks to Stacy Boyd, Allison Carroll and all of the editorial staff who work so hard to help shape and polish each book, and always do a fabulous job.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Excerpt

One

Elena Lyon would never get a man in her life until she surgically removed every last reminder of Nick Messena from hers!

Number one on her purge list was getting rid of the beach villa located in Dolphin Bay, New Zealand, in which she had spent one disastrous, passionate night with Messena.

As she strolled down one of Auckland’s busiest streets, eyes peeled for the real estate agency she had chosen to handle the sale, a large sign emblazoned with the name Messena Construction shimmered into view, seeming to float in the brassy summer heat.

Automatic tension hummed, even though the likelihood that Nick, who spent most of his time overseas, was at the busy construction site was small.

Although, the sudden conviction that he was there, and watching her, was strong enough to stop her in her tracks.

Taking a deep breath, she dismissed the overreaction which was completely at odds with her usual calm precision and girded herself to walk past the brash, noisy work site. Gaze averted from a trio of bare-chested construction workers, Elena decided she couldn’t wait to sell the beach villa. Every time she visited, it seemed to hold whispering echoes of the intense emotions that, six years ago, had been her downfall.

Emotions that hadn’t appeared to affect the dark and dangerously unreliable CEO of Messena Construction in the slightest.

The rich, heady notes of a tango emanating from her handbag distracted Elena from an embarrassingly loud series of whistles and catcalls.

A breeze whipped glossy, dark tendrils loose from her neat French pleat as she retrieved the phone. Pushing her glasses a little higher on the delicate bridge of her nose, she peered at the number glowing on her screen.

Nick Messena.

Her heart slammed once, hard. The sticky heat and background hum of Friday afternoon traffic dissolved and she was abruptly transported back six years....

To the dim heat of what had then been her aunt Katherine’s beach villa, tropical rain pounding on the roof. Nick Messena’s muscular, tanned body sprawled heavily across hers—

Cheeks suddenly overwarm, she checked the phone, which had stopped ringing. A message flashed on the screen. She had voice mail.

Her jaw locked. It had to be a coincidence that Nick had rung this afternoon when she was planning one of her infrequent trips back to Dolphin Bay.

Her fingers tightened on the utilitarian black cell, the perfect no-nonsense match for her handbag. Out of the blue, Nick had started ringing her a week ago at her apartment in Sydney. Unfortunately, she had been off guard enough to actually pick up the first call, then mesmerized enough by the sexy timbre of his voice that she’d been incapable of slamming the phone down.

To make matters worse, somehow, she had ended up agreeing to meet him for dinner, as if the searing hours she’d spent locked in his arms all those years ago had never happened.

Of course, she hadn’t gone, and she hadn’t canceled, either. She had stood him up.

Behaving in such a way, without manners or consideration, had gone against the grain. But the jab of guilt had been swamped by a warming satisfaction that finally, six years on, Messena had gotten a tiny taste of the disappointment she had felt.

The screen continued to flash its message.

Don’t listen. Just delete the message.

The internal directives came a split second too late. Her thumb had already stabbed the button that activated her voice mail.

Nick’s deep, curt voice filled her ear, shooting a hot tingle down her spine and making her stomach clench.

This message was simple, his number and the same arrogant demand he’d left on her answerphone a number of times since their initial conversation: Call me.

For a split second the busy street and the brassy glare of the sun glittering off cars dissolved in a red mist.

After six years? During which time he had utterly ignored her existence and the fact that he had ditched her after just one night.

Like that was going to happen.

Annoyed with herself for being weak enough to listen to the message, she dropped the phone back into her purse and stepped off the curb. No matter how much she had once wanted Nick to call, she had never fallen into the trap of chasing after a man she knew was not interested in her personally.

To her certain knowledge Nick Messena had only ever wanted two things from her. Lately, it was the recovery of a missing ring that Nick had mistakenly decided his father had gifted to her aunt. A scenario that resurrected the scandalous lie that her aunt Katherine—the Messena family’s housekeeper—had been engaged in a steamy affair with Stefano Messena, Nick’s father.

Six years ago, Nick’s needs had been a whole lot simpler: he had wanted sex.

The blast of a car horn jerked her attention back to the busy street. Adrenaline rocketing through her veins, Elena hurried out of the path of a bus and stepped into the air-conditioned coolness of an exclusive mall.

She couldn’t believe how stupid she had been to walk across a busy street without taking careful note of the traffic. Almost as stupid as she’d been six years ago on her birthday when she’d been lonely enough to break every personal rule she’d had and agree to a blind date.

The date, organized by so-called friends, had turned out to be with Messena, the man she’d had a hopeless crush on for most of her teenage years.

At age twenty-two, with a double degree in business and psychology, she should have been wary of such an improbable situation. Messena had been hot and in demand. With her long dark hair and creamy skin, and her legs—her best feature—she had been passable. But with her propensity to be just a little plump, she hadn’t been in Messena’s league.

Despite knowing that, her normal common sense had let her down. She had made the fatal mistake of believing in the heated gleam in Nick’s gaze and the off-the-register passion. She had thought that Messena, once branded a master of seduction by one notorious tabloid, was sincere.

Heart still pumping too fast, she strolled through the rich, soothing interior of the mall, which, as luck would have it, was the one that contained the premises for Coastal Realty.

The receptionist—a lean, elegant redhead—showed her into Evan Cutler’s office.

Cutler, who specialized in waterfront developments and central city apartments, shot to his feet as she stepped through the door. Shadow and light flickered over an expanse of dove-gray carpet, alerting Elena to the fact that Cutler wasn’t the sole occupant of the room.

A second man, large enough to block the sunlight that would otherwise have flooded through a window, turned, his black jacket stretched taut across broad shoulders, his tousled dark hair shot through with lighter streaks that gleamed like hot gold.

A second shot of adrenaline zinged through her veins. “You.”

Nick Messena. Six feet two inches of sleekly muscled male, with a firm jaw and the kind of clean, chiseled cheekbones that still made her mouth water.

He wasn’t male-model perfect. Despite the fact that he was a wealthy businessman, somewhere along the way he had gotten a broken nose and a couple of nicks on one cheekbone. The battered, faintly dangerous look, combined with a dark five-o’clock shadow—and that wicked body—and there was no doubting he was potent. A dry, low-key charm and a reputation with women that scorched, and Nick was officially hot.

Her stomach sank when she noticed the phone in his hand.

Eyes a light, piercing shade of green, clashed with hers. “And you didn’t pick up my call, because...?”

The low, faintly gravelly rasp of his voice, as if he had just rolled out of a tangled, rumpled bed, made her stomach tighten. “I was busy.”

“I noticed. You should check the street before you cross.”

Fiery irritation canceled out her embarrassment and other more disturbing sensations that had coiled in the pit of her stomach. Positioned at the window, Nick would have had a clear view of her walking down the street as he had phoned. “Since when have you been so concerned about my welfare?”

He slipped the phone into his jacket pocket. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve known you and your family most of my life.”

The easy comment, as if their families were on friendly terms and there hadn’t been a scandal, as if he hadn’t slept with her, made her bristle. “I guess if anything happened to me, you might not get what you want.”

The second the words were out Elena felt ashamed. As ruffled and annoyed as she was by Nick, she didn’t for a moment think he was that cold and calculating. If the assertion that her aunt and Stefano Messena had been having an affair when they were killed in a car accident, the same night she and Nick had made love, had hurt the Lyon family, it went without saying it had hurt the Messenas.

Her jaw tightened at Nick’s lightning perusal of her olive-green dress and black cotton jacket, and the way his attention lingered on her one and only vice, her shoes. The clothes were designer labels and expensive, but she was suddenly intensely aware that the dark colors in the middle of summer looked dull and boring. Unlike the shoes, which were strappy and outrageously feminine, the crisp tailoring and straight lines were more about hiding curves than displaying them.

Nick’s gaze rested briefly on her mouth. “And what is it, exactly, that you think I want?”

A question that shouldn’t be loaded, but suddenly was, made her breath hitch in her throat. Although the thought that Nick could possibly have any personal interest in her now was ridiculous.

And she was absolutely not interested in him. Despite the hot looks, GQ style and killer charm, he had a blunt, masculine toughness that had always set her subtly on edge.

Although she could never allow herself to forget that, through some weird alchemy, that same quality had once cut through her defenses like a hot knife through butter. “I already told you I have no idea where your lost jewelry is.”

“But you are on your way back to Dolphin Bay.”

“I have better reasons for going there than looking for your mythical lost ring.” She lifted her chin, abruptly certain that Nick’s search for the ring, something that the female members of his family could have done, was a ploy and that he had another, shadowy, agenda. Although what that agenda could be, she had no clue. “More to the point, how did you find out I would be here?”

“You haven’t been returning my calls, so I rang Zane.”

Her annoyance level increased another notch that Nick had intruded even further into her life by calling his cousin, and her boss, Zane Atraeus. “Zane is in Florida.”

Nick’s expression didn’t alter. “Like I said, you haven’t returned my calls, and you didn’t turn up for our...appointment in Sydney. You left me no choice.”

Elena’s cheeks warmed at his blunt reference to the fact that she had failed to meet him for what had sounded more like a date than a business meeting at one of Sydney’s most expensive restaurants.

She had never in her life missed an appointment, or even been late for one, but the idea that Nick’s father had paid her aunt off with jewelry, the standard currency for a mistress, had been deeply insulting. “I told you over the phone, I don’t believe your father gave Aunt Katherine anything. Why would he?”

His expression was oddly neutral. “They were having an affair.”

She made an effort to control the automatic fury that gripped her at Nick’s stubborn belief that her aunt had conducted a sneaky, underhanded affair with her employer.

Quite apart from the fact that her aunt had considered Nick’s mother, Luisa Messena, to be her friend, she had been a woman of strong morals. And there was one powerful, abiding reason her aunt would never have gotten involved with Stefano, or any man.

Thirty years ago Katherine Lyon had fallen in love, completely, irrevocably, and he had died.

In the Lyon family the legend of Katherine’s unrequited love was well respected. Lyons were not known for being either passionate or tempestuous. They were more the steady-as-you-go type of people who tended to choose solid careers and marry sensibly. In days gone by they had been admirable servants and thrifty farmers. Unrequited love, or love lost in any form was a novelty.

Elena didn’t know who Aunt Katherine’s lover had been because her aunt had point-blank refused to talk about him. All she knew was that her aunt, an exceptionally beautiful woman, had remained determinedly single and had stated she would never love again.

Elena’s fingers tightened on the strap of her handbag. “No. They were not having an affair. Lyon women are not, and never have been, the playthings of wealthy men.”

Cutler cleared his throat. “I see you two have met.”

Elena turned her gaze on the real estate agent, who was a small, balding man with a precise manner. There were no confusing shades with Cutler, which was why she had chosen him. He was factual and efficient, attributes she could relate to in her own career as a personal assistant.

Although, it seemed the instant she had any contact with Nick Messena, her usual calm, methodical process evaporated and she found herself plunged into the kind of passionate emotional excess that was distinctly un-Lyon-like. “We’re acquainted.”

Nick’s brows jerked together. “I seem to remember it was a little more than that.”

Elena gave up the attempt to avoid the confrontation Nick was angling for and glared back. “If you were a gentleman, you wouldn’t mention the past.”

“As I recall from a previous conversation, I’m no gentleman.”

Elena blushed at his reference to the accusation she had flung at him during a chance meeting in Dolphin Bay, a couple of months after their one night together. That he was arrogant and ruthless and emotionally incapable of sustaining a relationship. “I don’t see why I should help drag the Lyon name through the mud one more time just because you want to get your hands on some clunky old piece of jewelry you’ve managed to lose.”

His brows jerked together. “I didn’t lose anything, and you already know that the missing piece of jewelry is a diamond ring.”

And knowing the Messena family and their extreme wealth, the diamond would be large, breathtakingly expensive and probably old. “Aunt Katherine would have zero interest in a diamond ring. In case you didn’t notice, she was something of a feminist and she almost never wore jewelry. Besides, if she was having a secret affair with your father, what possible interest would she have in wearing an expensive ring that proclaimed that fact?”

Nick’s gaze cooled perceptibly. “Granted. Nevertheless, the ring is gone.”

Cutler cleared his throat and gestured that she take a seat. “Mr. Messena has expressed interest in the villa you’ve inherited in Dolphin Bay. He proposed a swap with one of his new waterfront apartments here in Auckland, which is why I invited him to this meeting.”

Elena suppressed her knee-jerk desire to say that, as keen as she was to sell, there was no way she would part with the villa to a Messena. “That’s very interesting,” she said smoothly. “But at the moment I’m keeping my options open.”

Still terminally on edge at Nick’s brooding presence, Elena debated stalking out of the office in protest at the way her meeting with Cutler had been hijacked.

In the end, feeling a little sorry for Cutler, she sat in one of the comfortable leather seats he had indicated. She soothed herself with the thought that if Nick Messena, the quintessential entrepreneur and businessman, wanted to make her an offer, then she should hear it, even if only for the pleasure of saying no.

Instead of sitting in the other available chair, Nick propped himself on the edge of Cutler’s desk. The casual lounging position had the effect of making him look even larger and more muscular as he loomed over her. “It’s a good deal. The apartments are in the Viaduct and they’re selling fast.”

The Viaduct was the waterfront area just off the central heart of the city, which overlooked the marina. It was both picturesque and filled with wonderful restaurants and cafés. As an area, it was at the top of her wish list because it would be so easy to rent out the apartment. A trade would eliminate the need to take out a mortgage to afford a waterfront apartment, something the money from selling the villa wouldn’t cover completely.

Nick’s gaze skimmed her hair, making her aware that, during her dash across the road, silky wisps had escaped to trail and cling to her cheeks and neck. “I’ll consider a straight swap.”

Elena stiffened and wondered if Nick was reading her mind. A swap would mean she wouldn’t have to go into debt, which was tempting. “The villa has four bedrooms. I’d want at least two in an apartment.”

He shrugged. “I’ll throw in a third bedroom, a dedicated parking space, and access to the pool and fitness center.”

Three bedrooms. Elena blinked as a rosy future without the encumbrance of a mortgage opened up. She caught the calculating gleam in Nick’s eye and realized the deal was too good. There could be only one reason for that. It had strings.

He was deliberately dangling the property because he wanted her to help him find the missing ring, which he no doubt thought, since she didn’t personally have it, must still be in the old villa somewhere.

Over her dead body.

Elena swallowed the desire to grasp at what was an exceptionally good real estate deal.

She couldn’t do it if it involved selling out in any way to a Messena. Maybe it was a subtle point, but after the damage done to her aunt’s reputation, even if it was years in the past, and after her own seduction, she was determined to make a stand.

Lyon property was not for sale to a Messena, just like Lyon women were not for sale. She met Nick’s gaze squarely. “No.”

Cutler’s disbelief was not mirrored on Nick’s face. His gaze was riveted on her, as if in that moment he found her completely, utterly fascinating.

Another small heated tingle shot down her spine and lodged in her stomach.

As if, in some perverse way, he had liked it that she had said no.

Two

Elena dragged her gaze from the magnetic power of Nick’s and fought the crazy urge to stay and continue sparring with him.

Pushing to her feet, she bid Cutler good day, picked up her handbag and stepped out the door. Nick was close enough behind her that the sudden overpowering sense that she was being pursued sent another hot, forbidden thrill zinging through her.

The door snapped closed. Nick’s firm tread confirmed that he was in pursuit and the faint, heady whiff of his cologne made her stomach clench. Clamping down on the wimpy feeling that she was prey and Nick was a large, disgruntled predator, Elena lengthened her stride and walked briskly past the receptionist out into the mall.

She had just stepped out of air-conditioned coolness into the humid heat of the street when a large tanned hand curled briefly around her upper arm. “What I don’t get is why you’re still so angry.”

Elena spun and faced Nick, although that was a mistake because she was suddenly close enough that she could see a pulse jumping along the line of his jaw.

She tilted her chin to meet his gaze, unbearably aware that while she was quite tall at five foot eight, Nick was several inches taller and broad enough that he actually made her feel feminine and fragile. “You shouldn’t have crashed my meeting with Cutler or tried to pressure me when you knew ahead of time how I felt.”

There was an odd, vibrating pause. “I’m sorry if I hurt you six years ago, but after what happened that night it couldn’t be any other way.”

His words, the fact that he obviously thought she had fallen for him six years ago, dropped into a pool of silence that seemed to expand and spread around them, blotting out the street noise. She dragged her gaze from the taut planes of his cheekbones, the inky crescents of his lashes. “Are you referring to the accident, or the fact that you were already involved with someone else called Tiffany?” A girlfriend he’d apparently had stashed away in Dubai.

Nick frowned. “The relationship with Tiffany was already ending.”

Elena found herself staring at the V of bronzed flesh bared by the pale peach T-shirt Nick was wearing beneath his black jacket. Peach. It was a feminine color, but on Nick the color looked sexy and hot, emphasizing the tough, stubbled line of his jaw and the cool gleam of his eyes. “I read about Tiffany in an article that was published a whole month later.”

She would never forget because the statement that Nick Messena and his gorgeous model girlfriend were in love had finally convinced her that a relationship with him had never been viable.

“You shouldn’t believe anything printed in a tabloid. We broke up as soon as I got back to Dubai.”

Elena ruthlessly suppressed the sudden, wild, improbable notion that Nick had ended his relationship with Tiffany because of her.

That was the kind of flawed thinking that had seen her climbing into bed with him in the first place. “That still didn’t make it all right to sleep with me when you had no intention of ever following up.”

A hint of color rimmed Nick’s cheekbones. “No, it didn’t. If you’ll recall, I did apologize.”

Her jaw tightened. As if it had all been a gigantic mistake. “So why, exactly, did you finish with Tiffany?”

She shouldn’t have the slightest interest. Nick Messena meant nothing to her—absolutely nothing—but suddenly she desperately needed to know.

He dragged long, tanned fingers through his hair, his expression just a little bad-tempered and terminally, broodingly sexy. “How would I know why?” he growled. “Men don’t know that stuff. It ended, like it always does.”

She blinked at his statement that his relationships always ended. For reasons she didn’t want to go into, there was something profoundly depressing in that thought.

She stared at his wide mouth and the fuller bottom lip, which was decorated with a small, jagged scar. She couldn’t remember the scar being there six years ago. It suggested he had since been involved in a fight.

Probably a brawl on one of his construction sites.

Against all good sense, the heady tension she had so far failed to defuse tightened another notch. Feeling, as she was, unsettled by memories of the past, distinctly vulnerable and on edge from the blast of Nick’s potent sexuality, it was not a good idea to imagine Nick Messena in warrior mode.

She dragged her gaze from his mouth and the vivid memory of what it had felt like to be kissed by Nick. “Maybe you go about things in the wrong way?”

He stared at her, transfixed. “How, exactly, should I ‘go about’ things?”

She took a deep breath and tried to ignore the piercing power of his gaze. “Conversation is not a bad starter.” That had been something that had been distinctly lacking in their night together.

“I talk.”

The gravelly irritation in his voice, the way his gaze lingered on her mouth, made her suddenly intensely aware that he, too, was remembering that night.

She could feel her cheeks warming all over again that she had actually offered Nick advice about improving his relationships. Advice had so far failed to be her forte, despite the psychology classes she had passed.

The heat that rose off the sidewalk and floated in the air seemed to increase in intensity, opening up every pore. Perspiration trickled down the groove of her spine and between her breasts. She longed to shrug out of the overlarge jacket, but she would rather die of heatstroke than take off one item of clothing in Nick’s presence. “Women need more than sex. They need to be appreciated and...liked.”

They needed to be loved.

He glanced down the street as if he was looking for someone. “I like women.”

A muscular black four-wheel-drive vehicle braked to a halt in a restricted parking zone a few steps away; a horn blared. Nick lifted a hand at the driver. “That’s my Jeep. If you want, I can give you a ride.”

The words, the unconscious innuendo, sent another small, sensual dart through her. Climb into a vehicle with tinted windows with Nick Messena? Never again. “I don’t need a ride.”

His mouth quirked. “Just like you don’t need my apartment or, I’m guessing, anything else I’ve got to offer.”

Reaching out a finger, he gently relocated her glasses, which had once again slipped, back onto the bridge of her nose. “Why do you wear these things?”

She blinked at the small, intimate gesture. “You know I’m shortsighted.”

“You should get contacts.”

“Why?” But the moment she asked the question she realized what had prompted the suggestion. Fiery outrage poured through her. “So I can get a man?”

He frowned. “That wasn’t what I meant, but last I heard there’s nothing wrong with that...yet.”

Her chin jerked up another notch. “I’m curious, what else should I change? My clothes? My shoes? How about my hair?”

“Don’t change the shoes,” he said on a soft growl. “Your hair is fine. It’s gorgeous.” He touched a loose strand with one finger. “I just don’t like whatever it is you do with it.”

Elena tried not to respond to the ripple of sensation that flowed out from that small touch, or to love it that he thought her hair was gorgeous. It would take more than a bit of judicious flattery to change the fact that she was hurt—and now more than a little bit mad. “It’s called a French pleat.” She drew a swift breath. “What else is wrong?”

He muttered something short and indistinct that she didn’t quite catch. “There’s no point asking me this stuff. I’m not exactly an expert.”

“Meaning that I need expert help.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “How did we get onto this? It’s starting to remind me of a conversation with my sisters. And before you say it, no, I can categorically say I have never thought of you as a sister.”

His gaze, as it once again dropped to her mouth, carried the same fascinated gleam she had noticed in Cutler’s office. Her breath stopped in her throat at the heart-pounding thought that he was actually considering kissing her. Despite all of her deficiencies.

A horn blast from a delivery vehicle that wanted the restricted parking place jerked her attention away from the tough line of Nick’s jaw.

A split second later the passenger door of the Jeep popped open. Nick ignored the waiting vehicle. “Damn, I did hurt you,” he said softly.

Elena tried to suppress a small stab of panic that, after six years of stoically burying the past, she had clearly lost control to the point that she had revealed her vulnerability to Nick.

Pinning a bright smile on her face, she attempted to smooth out the moment by checking her watch, as if she was in a hurry. “It was a blind date. Everyone knows they never turn out.”

“It wasn’t a blind date for me.”

The flat tone of Nick’s voice jerked her gaze back to his.

Nick’s expression was oddly taut. “Six years ago I happened to overhear that a friend of yours had organized a blind date for you with Geoffrey Smale. I told Smale to get lost and took his place. I knew you were the girl I was taking out, and I slept with you for one reason—because I liked you.”

* * *

Broodingly, Nick climbed into the passenger-side seat of the Jeep. He shot an apologetic glance at his younger brother, Kyle, as he fastened his seat belt.

Kyle, who had a military background and a wholly unexpected genius for financial investment, accelerated away from the curb. “She looked familiar. New girl?”

“No.” Yes.

Nick frowned at the surge of desire that that thought initiated. The kind of edgy tension he hadn’t felt in a very long time—six long years to be exact. “That’s Elena Lyon, from Dolphin Bay. She works for the Atraeus Group.”

Kyle’s expression cleared as he stopped for a set of lights. “Elena. That explains it. Zane’s PA. And Katherine’s niece.” He sent Nick an assessing look. “Didn’t think she would be your type.”

Nick found himself frowning at the blunt message. Kyle knew he was the one who had found their father’s car, which had slid off the road in bad weather, then rolled.

His stomach tightened on a raft of memories. Memories that had faded with time, but that were still edged with grief and guilt.

If he hadn’t been in bed with Elena, captivated by the same irresistible obsession that had been at the heart of his father’s supposed betrayal, with another Lyon woman, he might have reached the crash site in time to make a difference.

The coroner’s report had claimed that both his father and Katherine had survived the impact for a time. If he had left Elena at her door that night and driven home, there was a slim possibility he might have saved them.

Nick stared broodingly at the line of traffic backed up for a set of lights. Kyle was right. He shouldn’t be thinking about Elena.

The trouble was, lately, after the discovery of a diary and the stunning possibility that his father had not been having an affair with Katherine, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Elena. “So...what is my type?”

Kyle looked wary. “Uh—they’re usually blonde.”

With long legs and confidence to burn. The exact opposite of Elena, with her dark eyes, her vulnerability and enticing, sultry curves.

Feeling in need of air, Nick activated the electric window. “I don’t always date blondes.”

“Hey, I won’t judge you.”

Although, for a while, it had been blondes or nothing, because dating dark-haired girls had cut too close to the bone. For a couple of years the memory of his night with Elena had been too viscerally tied into his grief and the gnawing guilt that he had failed to save his father.

Kyle sent him the kind of neutral, male look that said he’d noted Nick’s interest in Elena, but wasn’t going to probe any further. It was the kind of unspoken acceptance that short-circuited the need for a conversation, and which suited Nick.

His feelings for Elena were clear-cut enough. He wanted her back in his bed, but he wasn’t prepared to think beyond that point.

Kyle turned into the underground parking building of the Messena building. “Any success locating the ring?”

Nick unfastened his seat belt as Kyle pulled into a space. “I’ve been asked that question a lot lately.”

By his mother, his older brother, Gabriel and a selection of great-aunts and -uncles who were concerned about the loss of an important heirloom piece. Last but not least, the insurance assessor who, while engaged in a revaluing exercise, had discovered the ring was missing.

Climbing out of the Jeep, Nick slammed the door. “I’m beginning to feel like Frodo Baggins.”

Kyle extracted his briefcase, locked the vehicle and tossed him the keys. “If that’s the little guy off Lord of the Rings, he had prettier eyes.”

“He also had friends who helped him.”

Kyle grinned good-naturedly. “Cool. Just don’t expect me to be one of them. My detective skills are zero. ”

Nick tapped in the security PIN to access the elevator. “Anyone ever tell you you’re irritating?”

“My last blonde girlfriend.”

Nick hit the floor number that would take them to Gabriel’s suite of offices and a discussion about diversifying his business interests. “I don’t recall your last girlfriend.”

Of all the Messena clan, Kyle was the quietest and the hardest to read. Maybe because of his time in Special Forces, or the fact that he had lost his wife and child to the horror of a terror attack, he had grown to be perceptibly different to them all.

“That was because I was on an overseas posting.”

“She was foreign?”

“No. A military brat.”

“What happened?”

He shrugged, his expression cagey. “We both moved on.”

Nick studied Kyle’s clean profile. With his obdurate jaw and the short, crisp cut of his hair, even in a sleek business suit he still managed to look dangerous. “So it wasn’t serious.”

“No.”

Kyle’s clear-cut indifference about his last casual relationship struck an odd chord with Nick. Kyle had cared about his wife and child, to the point that he hadn’t cared about anyone since.

Nick hadn’t lost a wife and child, not even close, but it was also true that for years, ever since their father had died, and the night with Elena, he had not been able to form a relationship.

The elevator doors slid open. Moving on automatic pilot, Nick strolled with Kyle through the familiar, hushed and expensive interior of the bank.

Normally, his social life was neatly compartmentalized and didn’t impinge on the long hours he worked. But lately his social life had ground to a halt.

Dispassionately he examined the intensity of his focus on Elena, which, according to his PA, had made him irritable and terminally bad-tempered. He had considered dating, but every time he picked up the phone he found himself replacing it without making the call.

The blunt fact was that finding out that the past was not set in stone had been like opening up a Pandora’s box. In that moment a raft of thoughts and emotions had hit him like a kick in the chest. Among them the stubborn, visceral need to reclaim Elena.

He couldn’t fathom the need, and despite every effort, he hadn’t been able to reason it away. It was just there.

The thought of making love with Elena made every muscle in his body tighten. The response, in itself, was singular. Usually when he finished a relationship it was over, his approach to dating and sex as cut-and-dried as his approach to contracting and completing a business deal.

But for some reason those few hours with Elena had stuck in his mind. Maybe the explanation was simply that what they’d shared had been over almost before it had begun. There hadn’t been a cooling-off period when the usual frustrations over his commitment to his business kicked in.

But as much as he wanted Elena, bed would have to wait. His first priority had to be to obtain answers and closure. Although every time he got close to Elena the concept of closure crashed and burned.

Despite the buttoned-down clothing and schoolmarm hair, there had always been something irresistibly, tantalizingly sensual about Elena. She had probably noticed he’d been having trouble keeping his hands off her.

It was no wonder she had practically run from him in Cutler’s office.

* * *

Nick had liked her.

A surge of delighted warmth shimmered through Elena as she strolled through a small park.

Six years ago Nick had cared enough to step in and protect her from a date that would have been uncomfortable, at best. More probably it would have ended in an embarrassing struggle, because Geoffrey Smale had a reputation for not taking no for an answer.

Feeling distinctly unsettled and on edge at this new view of the past, Elena made a beeline for the nearest park bench and sat down.

For six years she had been mad at Nick. Now she didn’t know quite what to feel, except that, lurking beneath all of the confusion, being discarded by him all those years ago still hurt.

The problem was that as a teenager she’d had a thing for him. Summers spent in Dolphin Bay, visiting her aunt and watching a bronzed, muscular Nick surfing, had definitely contributed to the fascination.

Walking away from the night they’d spent together would have been easier if he had been a complete stranger, but he hadn’t been. Because of her summers with her aunt at the original Lyon homestead on the beach, and because of Katherine’s work for his family as a housekeeper, Elena had felt connected to Nick.

Too restless to sit, she checked her watch and strolled back in the direction of the Atraeus Hotel, where she was staying.

As she approached a set of exclusive boutiques a glass door swung open, and a sleek woman wearing a kingfisher-blue dress that showed off her perfect golden tan stepped out onto the street.

The door closed on a waft of some gorgeous perfume, and in the process Elena’s reflection—that of a slightly overweight woman dressed in a plain dress and jacket, and wearing glasses—flashed back at her.

Even her handbag looked heavy and just a little boring. The only things that looked right were her shoes, which were pretty but didn’t really go with the rest of her outfit.

Not just a victim, a fashion victim.

Nick’s words came back to haunt her.

He didn’t like her glasses or the way she did her hair. He hadn’t mentioned her clothes, but she was seeing them through his eyes, and she was ready to admit that they were just as clunky, just as boring as the glasses and her hair.

As much as she resented his opinion, he was right. Something had to change. She had to change.

She could no longer immerse herself in work and avoid the fact that another birthday had just flown by. She was twenty-eight. Two more years and she would be thirty.

If she wasn’t careful she would be thirty and alone.

Or she could change her life so that she would be thirty and immersed in a passionate love relationship.

Feeling electrified, as if she was standing on the edge of a precipice, about to take a perilous leap into the unknown, she studied the elegant writing on the glass frontage of the store. A tingling sense of fate taking a hand gripped her.

It wasn’t a store, exactly. It was a very exclusive and expensive health and beauty spa. The kind of place she was routinely around because her employer, the Atraeus Group, numbered a few very high-quality spa facilities among its resort properties. Of course, she had never personally utilized any of those spa facilities.

But that was the old Elena.

Her jaw firmed. She had made a decision to change. By the time she was finished, she would be, if not as pretty, at least as sleek and stylish and confident as the woman in the blue dress.

The idea gained momentum. She would no longer allow herself to feel inadequate and excluded, which would mean inner as well as outward change.

She could walk in those doors now if she wanted. She had the money. After years of saving her very good salary, she had more than enough to pay for a makeover.

Feeling a little dizzy at the notion that she didn’t have to stay as she was, that she had the power to change herself, she stepped up to the exquisite white-and-gold portal. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door wide and stepped inside.

* * *

After an initial hour-long consultation with a stylist called Giorgio, during which he had casually ticked almost every box on the interview form he had used, Elena signed on for every treatment recommended.

First up was weight loss and detox, which included a week in a secluded health spa. That was followed by a comprehensive fitness program and an introduction to her new personal trainer. A series of beauty and pamper treatments, and a comprehensive hair, makeup and wardrobe makeover completed her program.

The initial week at their spa facility would cost a staggering amount, but she was desperate.

According to Giorgio she wasn’t desperate; she was worth it.

Elena wasn’t about to split hairs. As long as the spa could carry out its promise and transform her, she was happy to pay.

Her heart sped up at the changes she was about to make. Hope flooded her.

The next time she saw Nick Messena, things would be different. She would be different.

Three

One month later, Nick Messena watched, green gaze cool, as Elena Lyon walked with measured elegance down the aisle toward him, every step precisely, perfectly timed with the beat of the Wedding March.

Mellow afternoon sunlight poured through stained glass windows, illuminating the startling changes she had made, from her long, stylishly cut, midnight-dark hair to the tips of her outrageously sexy pink high heels. Her bridesmaid’s dress, a sophisticated confection of pink lace and silk that he privately thought was just a little too revealing, clung to lush, gentle curves and a mouthwateringly tiny waist.

As the bride reached the altar, Elena’s gaze rested briefly on Kyle who was Gabriel’s groomsman, then locked with his. With grim satisfaction, he noted that she hadn’t realized he had changed roles with Kyle and taken over as Gabriel’s best man. If she had, he was certain she would have very quickly and efficiently organized someone else to take her place as maid of honor.

Dragging her gaze free, Elena briskly took charge of the flower girl, Gabriel and Gemma’s daughter Sanchia, who had just finished tossing rose petals. Nick’s brows jerked together as he took stock of some of the changes he had barely had time to register at the prewedding dinner the previous evening. For the first time he noticed a tiny, discreet sparkle to one side of Elena’s delicate nose. A piercing.

Every muscle in his body tightened at the small, exotic touch. His elusive ex-lover had lost weight, cut her hair and ditched the dull, shapeless clothing she had worn like a uniform. In the space of a few weeks, Elena had morphed from softly curved, bespectacled and repressively buttoned-down, into an exotically hot and sensuous swan.

Jaw clamped, Nick transferred his attention to the bride, Gemma O’Neill, as she stood beside his brother.

As the ceremony proceeded, Elena kept her attention fixed on the priest. Fascinated by her intention to utterly ignore him, Nick took the opportunity to study the newly sculpted contours of Elena’s cheekbones, her shell-like lobes decorated with pink pearls and tiny pink jewels.

The sexily ruffled haircut seemed to sum up the changes Elena had made: less, but a whole lot more.

As Nick handed the ring to Gabriel, Elena’s dark gaze clashed with his for a pulse-pounding moment. The starry, romantic softness he glimpsed died an instant death, replaced by the familiar professional blandness that made his jaw tighten.

The cool neutrality was distinctly at odds with the way Elena had used to look at him. It was light-years away from the ingenuous passion that had burned him from the inside out when they had made love.

A delicate, sophisticated perfume wafted around him. The tantalizing scent, like Elena’s designer wardrobe, her new, sleek body shape and the ultramodern haircut—all clearly the product of a ruthless makeover artist—set him even more sensually on edge.

Gabriel turned to take the hand of the woman he had pledged to marry.

A flash of 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 he wasn’t getting what he wanted was palpable. Against all the odds, she had to fight a knee-jerk impulse to cave and offer to help him.

Determinedly, she crushed the old overgenerous Elena: the doormat.

According to Giorgio her fatal weakness was that she liked to please men. The reason she had rushed around and done so much for her Atraeus bosses was that it satisfied her need to be needed. She was substituting pleasing powerful men for a genuine love relationship in which she was entitled to receive care and nurturing.

The discovery had been life altering. On the strength of it, she intended to quit her job as a PA, because she figured that the temptation to revert to her old habit of rushing to please would be so ingrained it would be hard to resist. Instead, she planned to branch out in a new, more creative direction. Now that she’d come this far, she couldn’t go back to being the old, downtrodden Elena.

Aware that Nick was waiting for an answer she crushed the impulse to say an outright yes. “I don’t think you’ll find anything, but since you’re so insistent, I’m willing for you to come and have a look through the house for yourself.”

“When? I’m flying out early tomorrow morning and I won’t be back for a month.”

In which time, if she accepted the offer she was considering, the villa could be sold. She frowned at the way Nick had neatly cornered her. “I suppose I could spare a couple of hours tonight. If I help you sort through the final trunks, one hour should do it.”

“Done.” Nick lifted a hand in brief acknowledgment of an elderly man Elena recognized as Mario Atraeus. Seated next to him was a gorgeous brunette, Eva Atraeus, Mario’s adopted daughter.

Elena’s hand tightened on Nick’s arm in a weird, instant reflex. Nick’s gaze clashed with hers. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She had just remembered a photograph she stumbled across a couple of months ago in a glossy women’s magazine of Nick partnering Eva at a charity function. They had looked perfect together. Nick with his strong masculine good looks, Eva, with her olive skin and tawny hair, looking like an exotic flower by his side.

The music swelled to a crescendo as Gabriel and Gemma, with Sanchia in tow, stopped to greet an elderly matriarch of the Messena clan instead of leaving the church.

Pressed forward by people behind, Elena found herself impelled onto the front steps of the church, into a shower of confetti and rice.

A dark-haired young man wearing a checked shirt loomed out of the waiting crowd. He lifted a large camera and began snapping them as if they were the married couple. Embarrassment clutched at Elena. It wasn’t the official photographer, which meant he was probably a journalist. “He’s making a mistake.”

Another wave of confetti had Nick tucking her in closer against his side. “A reporter making a mistake? It won’t be the first time.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“Not particularly.”

A cluster of guests exiting the church jostled Elena, so that she found herself plastered against Nick’s chest.

“I said I wasn’t going to do this,” he muttered.

A split second later his head dipped and his mouth came down on hers.

Four

Instead of pulling away as she should have, Elena froze, an odd feminine delight flowing through her at the softness of his mouth, the faint abrasion of his jaw. Nick’s hands settled at her waist, steadying her against him as he angled his jaw and deepened the kiss.

She registered that Nick was aroused. For a dizzying moment time seemed to slow, stop, then an eruption of applause, a raft of excited comments and the motorized click of the reporter’s camera brought her back to her senses.

Nick lifted his head. “We need to move.”

His arm closed around her waist, urging her off the steps. At that moment Gemma and Gabriel appeared in the doors of the church, and the attention of the reporter and the guests shifted.

Someone clapped Nick on the shoulder. “For a minute there I thought I was attending the wrong wedding, but as soon as I recognized you I knew you couldn’t be the groom.”

Relieved by the distraction, Elena freed herself from Nick’s hold and the haze of unscripted passion.

Nick half turned to shake hands with a large, tanned man wearing a sleek suit teamed with an Akubra hat, the Australian equivalent of a cowboy. “You know me, Nate. Married to the job.”

Elena noticed that the young guy in the checked shirt who had been snapping photos had sidled close and seemed to be listening. Before she could decide whether he was lingering with deliberate intent or if it was sheer coincidence, Nick introduced her to Nate Cavendish.

As soon as Elena heard the name she recognized Cavendish as an Australian cattleman with a legendary reputation as one of the richest and most elusive bachelors in Australia.

Feeling flustered and unsettled, her mind still locked on Nick’s statement that he was married to the job, she shook Nate’s hand.

Nate gave her a curious look as if he found her familiar but couldn’t quite place her. Not surprising, since she had bumped into him at Atraeus parties a couple of times in the past when she had been the “old” Elena. “You must be Nick’s new girl.”

“No,” she said blandly. “I’m not that interested. Too busy shopping around.”

Nick’s gaze touched on hers, promising retribution. “It’s what you might call an interesting arrangement.”

Nate shook his head. “Sounds like she’s got you on your knees.”

Nick shrugged, his expression cooling as he noticed the journalist. “Another one bites the dust.”

“That’s for sure.” Nate tipped his hat at Elena and walked toward the guests clustered around Gabriel and Gemma.

Nick’s gaze was glacially cold as he watched the reporter jog toward a car and drive away at speed.

Elena’s stomach sank. After working years for the Atraeus family, she had an instinct about the press. The only reason the reporter was leaving was because he had a story.

Nick’s palm landed in the small of her back. He moved her out of the way of the crowd as Gemma and Gabriel strolled toward their waiting limousine. But the effect that one small touch had on Elena was far from casual, zapping her straight back to the unsettling heat of the kiss.

Nick’s brows jerked together as she instantly moved away from his touch. A split second later a vibrating sound distracted him.

Sliding his phone out of his pocket, he stepped a couple of paces away to answer the call.

While he conducted a discussion about closing some deal on a resort purchase, Elena struggled to compose herself as she watched the bridal car leave.

A second limousine slid into place. The one that would transport her, Nick and Kyle to the Dolphin Bay Resort for the wedding photographs.

Her stomach churned at the thought. There was no quick exit today. She would have to share the intimate space of the limousine with Nick then, sit with him at the reception.

Too late to wish she hadn’t allowed that kiss or the conversation that had followed. Before today she would have said she didn’t have a flirtatious bone in her body. But sometime between the altar and the church gate she had learned to flirt.

Because she was still fatally attracted to Nick.

Elena drew a breath and let it out slowly.

She should never have allowed Nick to kiss her.

Her only excuse was that she had been so distracted by Gemma finally getting her happy-ever-after ending that she had dropped her guard.

But Nick had just reminded her of exactly why she couldn’t afford him in her life.

Nick Messena, like Nate Cavendish, was not husband material for one simple reason: no woman could ever compete with the excitement and challenge of his business.

Nick terminated his conversation and turned back to her, his gaze settling on her, narrowed and intent. “Looks like our ride is here.”

Elena’s heart thumped once, hard, as Nick’s words spun her back to their conversation on the sidewalk in Auckland. The breath locked in her throat as she finally allowed the knowledge that Nick was genuinely attracted to her to sink in. More, that he had been attracted to her six years ago, before she had changed her appearance.

The knowledge that he had wanted her even when she had been a little overweight and frumpy was difficult to process. She was absolutely not like the normal run of his girlfriends. It meant that he liked her for herself.

The sudden blinding thought that, if she wanted, she could end the empty years of fruitless and boring dating and make love with Nick sent heat flooding through her.

Nick was making no bones about the fact that he wanted her—

“Are you good to go?”

Elena drew a deep breath and tried to slide back into her professional PA mode. But with Nick looming over her, a smudge of lipstick at the corner of his mouth, it was difficult to focus. “I am, but you’re not.”

Extracting a handkerchief from a small, secret pocket at the waist of her dress, she handed it to him. “You have lipstick on your mouth.”

Taking the handkerchief, he wiped his mouth. “An occupational hazard at weddings.”

When he attempted to give the handkerchief back, she forced a smile. “Keep it. I don’t want it back.”

The last thing she needed was a keepsake to remind her that she had been on the verge of making a second mistake.

Slipping the handkerchief into his trousers’ pocket, he jerked his head in the direction of the limousine. “If you’re ready, looks like the official photo shoot is about to begin.” He sent her a quick, rueful grin. “Don’t know about you, but it’s not exactly my favorite pastime.”

Elena dragged her gaze from Nick’s and the killer charm that she absolutely did not want to be ensnared by. “I have no problem with having my photo taken.”

Not since she had taken one of the intensive courses offered at the health spa. She had been styled and made up by professionals and taught how to angle her face and smile. After two intimidating hours beneath glaring lights, a camera pointed at her face, she had finally conquered her fear of the lens.

* * *

A good thirty minutes later, after posing for endless photographs while the guests sipped champagne and circulated in the grounds of the Dolphin Bay Resort, Elena found herself seated next to Nick at the reception.

Held in a large room, which had been festooned with white roses, glossy dark green foliage and trailing, fragrant jasmine, the wedding was the culmination of a romantic dream.

A further hour of speeches, champagne and exquisite food later, the orchestra struck a chord. Growing more tense by the second, Elena watched as Gabriel and Gemma took the floor. According to tradition she and Nick were up next.

Nick held out one large, tanned and scarred hand. “I think that’s our cue.”

Elena took his hand, tensing at the tingling heat of his touch, the faint abrasion of calluses gained on construction sites and while indulging his other passion: sailing.

One hand settled at her waist, drawing her in close at the first sweeping step of a waltz. Elena’s breath hitched in her throat as her breasts brushed his chest. Stiffening slightly, she pulled back, although it was hard to enjoy dancing, which she loved, when maintaining a rigid distance.

Nick sent her a neutral glance. “You should relax.”

Another couple who had just joined the general surge onto the floor danced too close and jostled her.

Nick frowned. “And that’s why.” With easy strength he pulled her closer.

Feeling a little breathless, Elena stared at the tough line of Nick’s jaw and decided to stay there.

“That’s better.”

As Nick twirled her past Gabriel and Gemma, Elena tried to relax. Another hour and she could leave. Tension hit her again at that thought because she would be leaving with Nick, a scenario that ran a little too close to what had taken place six years ago. The music switched to a slower, steamier waltz.

Instead of releasing her, Nick continued to dance, keeping her close. “How long have you known Gemma?”

Heart pounding with the curious, humming excitement of being so close to Nick, Elena forced herself to concentrate on answering his question. “Since I started coming to Dolphin Bay for my vacations when I was seventeen.”

“I remember seeing you on the beach.”

Elena could feel her cheeks warming at the memory of just how much time she used to spend watching Nick on his surfboard or messing around on boats. “I used to read on the beach a lot.”

“But not anymore?”

She steeled herself against the curiosity of his gaze, his sudden unnerving focus. “These days, I have other things to occupy my time.”

He lifted a brow. “Let me guess—a gym membership.”

“Fitness is important.”

“So, what’s behind the sudden transformation?”

Elena stiffened against the urge to blurt out that he had been the trigger. “I simply wanted to make the best of myself.”

They danced beneath a huge, central chandelier, the light flowing across the strong planes and angles of Nick’s face, highlighting the various nicks and scars.

He tucked her in a little closer for a turn. “I liked the color your eyes used to be. They were a pretty sherry brown, you shouldn’t have changed that.”

Elena blinked at the complete unexpectedness of his comment. “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

No one else had, including herself. A little breathlessly she made a mental note to go back to clear contacts.

“And what about these?” he growled. His thumb brushed over one lobe then swept upward, tracing the curve of her ear, initiating a white-hot shimmer of heat.

He hooked coiling strands of hair behind one ear to further investigate, his breath washing over the curve of her neck, disarming her even further. “How many piercings?”

Despite her intense concentration on staying in step, Elena wobbled. When she corrected, she was close enough to Nick that she was now pressed lightly against his chest and his thighs brushed hers with every step. “One didn’t seem to be enough, so I got three. On my lobes, that is.”

His gaze sharpened. “There are piercings...elsewhere?”

Her heart thumped at the sudden intensity of his expression, the melting heat in his eyes. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Just one. A navel piercing.”

He was silent for a long, drawn-out moment, in which time the air seemed to thicken as the music took on a slower, slumberous rhythm. A tango.

Nick’s hand tightened on her waist, drawing her infinitesimally closer. “Anything else I should know?”

She drew a quick, shallow breath as the heat from his big body closed around her. The passionate music, which she loved, throbbed, heightening her senses. Her nostrils seemed filled with his scent. The heat from his hand at her waist, his palm locked against hers, burned as if they were locked into some kind of electrical current.

She squashed the insane urge to sway a little closer. Wrong man, wrong place and a totally wrong time to road test this new direction in her life.

The whole point was to change her life, not repeat her old mistake.

Although, the heady thought that she could repeat it, if she wanted, made her mouth go dry. She hadn’t missed the heat in Nick’s gaze, or when he’d pulled her close, that he was semiaroused. “Only if you were my lover, which you’re not.”

“You’ve got a guy.”

She frowned at the flat statement, the slight tightening of his hold. As if in some small way Nick considered that she belonged to him, which was ridiculous. “I date.” Her chin came up. “I’m seeing someone at the moment.”

His gaze narrowed with a mixture of disbelief and displeasure. “Who?”

A small startled thrill shot through her at the sudden notion that Nick didn’t like it one little bit that there was a man in her life, even if the dating was still on a superficial level.

A little drunk on the rush of power that, in a room teeming with beautiful women, she was the center of his attention, she touched her tongue to her top lip. It was a gesture she became aware was an unconscious tease as his focus switched to her mouth.

Abruptly embarrassed, she closed her mouth and stared over Nick’s shoulder at another pair of dancers whirling past. “You won’t know him.”

“Let me guess,” he muttered. “Giorgio.”

Elena blushed at the mistaken conclusion. A conclusion Nick had arrived at because she had deliberately failed to clarify who, exactly, Giorgio was. “Uh—actually, his name is Robert. Robert Corrado.”

There was a stark silence. “You have two guys?”

She wasn’t sure if the two tentative pecks on the mouth she had allowed, and which had been devoid of anything like the electrifying pleasure she had experienced when Nick kissed her, qualified Robert to be her guy. “Just the one.”

Nick’s gaze bored into hers, narrowed and glittering. “So Giorgio’s past history?”

Elena tried to dampen down the addictive little charge of excitement that went through her at Nick’s obvious displeasure. “Giorgio’s my beauty consultant.”

Nick muttered something short and succinct under his breath. Another slow, gliding turn and they were outside on a shadowy patio with the light of the setting sun glowing through palm fronds and gleaming off a limpid pool.

Nick relinquished his hold, his jaw set, his gaze brooding and distinctly irritable. “Is Corrado the one you got the piercings for?”

The question, as if he had every right to expect an answer, made her world tilt again.

She had speculated before, but now she knew.

Nick was jealous.

Five

Elena dragged her gaze from Nick’s and looked out past the pool and the palms to the ocean. Anything to stop the crazy pull of attraction and the dangerous knowledge that Nick really did want her.

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