Tropical Temptation

May 2020

Exotic Affairs

June 2020

Exotic Temptation

July 2020

Exotic Seduction

August 2020

Exotic Passion

September 2020

Exotic Propositions

October 2020

Exotic Love

November 2020

Exotic Dreams

December 2020

Exotic Scandal

About the Authors

FIONA BRAND lives in the sunny Bay of Islands, New Zealand. Now that both of 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.

JOANNA NEIL had her future planned. She enjoyed her work as an infant teacher and didn’t envisage any changes to her way of life. But then she discovered Mills & Boon. She was surprised to find how absorbing and interesting they were and read them on a regular basis. The more she read, the more she had the overwhelming desire to write one. Encouraged by her family, she persevered until her first book was accepted, and after several books were published, she decided to write full time.

KIM LAWRENCE was encouraged by her husband to write when the unsocial hours of nursing didn’t look attractive! He told her she could do anything she set her mind to, so Kim tried her hand at writing. Always a keen Mills & Boon reader, it seemed natural for her to write a romance novel – now she can’t imagine doing anything else. She is a keen gardener and cook and enjoys running on the beach with her Jack Russell. Kim lives in Wales.

Tropical Temptation: Exotic Seduction

Just One More Night

Fiona Brand

Temptation in Paradise

Joanna Neil

A Secret Until Now

Kim Lawrence

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90799-0

TROPICAL TEMPTATION: EXOTIC SEDUCTION

Just One More Night © 2014 Fiona Gillibrand Temptation in Paradise © 2015 Joanna Neil A Secret Until Now © 2014 Kim Lawrence

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Just One More Night

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Epilogue

Temptation in Paradise

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A Secret Until Now

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

Just One More Night

Fiona Brand

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.

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.

The fact that he had been attracted to her before she had lost weight—that he actually liked her simply for who she was—was bad enough. But his brooding temper, as if the one night they had shared had somehow given him rights, was an undertow she wasn’t sure she could resist. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Robert doesn’t care for piercings.”

He definitely didn’t know about the one she had gotten in her navel, or the pretty jeweled studs she had bought to go with her new selection of bikinis.

“So you didn’t get the piercings for him.”

The under note of satisfaction in Nick’s voice, as if she had gotten the piercings for him, ruffled her even further. “I didn’t get the piercings for anyone.”

But even as she said the words, her heart plummeted. She had tried to convince herself that the piercings were just a part of the process of change, a signpost that declared that she wasn’t thirty—yet. But the stark reality was that she had gotten them because they were pretty and sexy and practically screamed that she was available. She had gotten them for Nick.

“You haven’t slept with Corrado.”

Annoyed at the way Nick had dismissed Robert, Elena stepped farther out onto the patio, neatly evading his gaze. “That’s none of your business. Robert’s a nice man.” He was safe and controllable, as different from Nick as a tame tabby from a prowling tiger. “He’s definitely not fixated on piercings.”

“Ouch. That puts me in my place.” Nick dragged at his tie. Strolling to the wrought iron railing that enclosed part of the patio, he pulled the tie off altogether, folded it and shoved it into his pocket.

Drawn to join him, even though she knew it was a mistake, Elena averted her gaze from the slice of brown flesh revealed by the buttons he had unfastened.

The balmy evening seemed to get hotter as she became aware that Nick was studying the studs in her ear and the tiny glimpse of the butterfly transfer. “I’m guessing from the pink earring that there’s a pink jewel in your navel?”

The accuracy of his guess made her stiffen. The old adage “give him an inch and he’ll take a mile” came back to haunt her. “You shouldn’t flirt with me.”

“Why not? It makes a change from arguing, and after tonight we may never see each other again.”

Elena froze. The attraction that shimmered through her, keeping her breathless and on edge, winked out. She stared at the strong line of his jaw, the sexy hollows of his cheekbones, aware that, somehow, she had been silly enough, vulnerable enough, to allow Nick to slide through her defenses. To start buying into the notion that just because he found her attractive it meant he had changed.

The day Nick Messena changed his stripes she would grow wings and fly.

Lifting her chin, she met his gaze squarely. “If you find the ring.” The instant the words were out, she wished she could recall them. They had sounded needy, as if she was looking for a way to hang on to him.

Nick glanced out over the pool, the sun turning the tawny streaks in his dark hair molten. “You make it sound like a quest. I’m not that romantic.”

No, his focus was always relentlessly practical, which was what made him so successful in business.

Swallowing a sudden ache in her throat, Elena did what she should have done in the first place: she turned on her heel and walked back to the reception. As she strolled, Nick’s presence behind her made her tense. By the time she reached her table he was close enough that he held her chair as she sat down.

He dropped into the seat beside her and poured ice water into her glass before filling his own.

Elena picked up the glass. The nice manners, which would have been soothing in another man, unsettled her even further. “If Aunt Katherine did receive the ring, then I guess all the gossip was true.”

Nick sat back in his seat. “I don’t want it to be true, either,” he said quietly.

For a split second she was caught and held by the somberness of his expression.

A set of memories from her summers on the beach at Dolphin Bay flickered, of Nick yachting with his father. It had usually been just the two of them, sailing, making repairs and cleaning the boat after a day out.

One thing had always been very obvious: that Nick had loved his father. Suddenly, his real agenda was very clear to Elena. He wasn’t just searching for a valuable heirloom. He was doing something much more important: he was trying to make sense of the past. “You don’t want to find the ring, do you?”

“Not if it meant an affair.”

“You think they weren’t having an affair?”

“I’m hoping there’s another reason they spent time together.”

Her stomach tightened at the knowledge that Nick was trying to clear his father, a process that would also clear her aunt. That despite his reputation there were depths to Nick that were honorable and true and likable.

That she and Nick shared something in common.

Elena watched as Nick drank, the muscles of his throat working smoothly. At that moment Gemma signaled to her.

Relieved at the interruption, Elena rose from her seat. She felt unsettled, electrified. Every time she thought she had Nick figured out, something changed, the ground shifting under her feet.

After a quick hug, Gemma stepped back. Almost instantly, she tossed the bouquet. Surprised, Elena caught the fragrant, trailing bunch of white roses, orchids and orange blossom.

Feeling embattled, she dipped her head and inhaled the delicious fragrance. Her throat closed up. After years of brisk practicality as a PA, she was on the verge of losing control and crying on the spot because she realized just how much she wanted what Gemma had: a happy ending with a man who truly, honorably loved her. “You should have given it to someone else.”

Gemma frowned. “No way. You’re my best friend and, just look at you, you’re gorgeous. Men will be falling all over you.” She gave her another hug. “I won’t be happy until you’re married. Who’s that guy you’re seeing in Sydney?”

Elena carefully avoided Gemma’s gaze on the pretext that she was examining the faintly crushed flowers. “Robert.”

Gemma grinned and hooked her arm through Gabriel’s, snuggling into his side. “Then marry him. But only if you’re in love.”

Elena forced a smile. “Great idea. First he has to propose.”

Elena walked back to her seat, clutching the bouquet. She was acutely aware that Nick, who was standing talking with a group of friends, had watched the exchange.

Gray-haired Marge Hamilton, an old character in Dolphin Bay, with a legendary reputation for gossip in a town that abounded with it, made a beeline for her. “Caught the bouquet I see. Clever girl.”

“Actually, it was given to me—”

Marge’s gaze narrowed, but there was a pleased glint in the speculation. “You’ll be next down the aisle and, I must say, it’s about time.”

Elena’s discomfort escalated. Nick was close enough that he could hear every word. But as embarrassing as the conversation was, she would never forget that, despite Marge’s love of gossip, she had been fiercely supportive of her aunt when the scandal had erupted.

Elena dredged up a smile. “As a matter of fact, I’m working on it.”

Marge’s gaze swiveled to her left hand. A small frown formed when she noted the third finger was bare. “Sounds like you have someone in mind. What’s his name, dear?”

Elena’s fingers tightened on the bouquet as she tried to make herself say Robert’s name, but somehow she just couldn’t seem to get it out. Something snapped at the base of the bouquet. There was a small clunk as a small plastic horseshoe, included for luck, dropped to the floor. “He’s…from Sydney.”

“Not that hot young Atraeus boy?” Marge sent a disapproving glance at Zane, who had flown in from Florida and happened to be leaning on the bar, a beer in his hand.

“Zane? He’s my boss. No, his name is—”

Marge frowned. “At one point we thought you actually might snaffle one of those Atraeus boys. Although, any one of them is a wild handful.”

Elena could feel herself stiffening at the idea that she was hunting for a husband in her workplace and, worse, the suggestion that the whole of Dolphin Bay was speculating on whether or not she could actually succeed. “I work for the Atraeus Group. It would be highly unprofessional to mix business—”

Nick’s arm curved around her waist as casually as if they were a couple. His breath feathered her cheek, sending heat flooding through her.

“Were you about to say ‘with pleasure’?”

Marge blinked as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was witnessing. “I can see why you didn’t want to say his name, dear. A little premature to announce it at a family wedding.”

With surprising nimbleness she extracted a gleaming smartphone from her evening bag and snapped a picture. Beaming, she hurried off.

Elena disengaged herself from Nick’s hold. “I was about to say that it would be unprofessional to mix business with a personal relationship.”

“Last I heard, personal relationships should be about pleasure.”

“Commitment would be the quality I’d be looking for.”

She noted Marge sharing the photo with one of her cronies. “The story will be all over town before the sun sets.”

“That fast?”

“You better believe it. And, unfortunately, she has the picture to prove it.”

“I must admit I didn’t expect her to have a phone with a camera.” Nick looked abashed.

Infuriatingly, it only made him look sexier. Elena had to steel herself against the almost irresistible impulse to smile back and forgive him, and forget that he hadn’t responded to her probe about commitment. “Never underestimate a woman with a lilac rinse and a double string of pearls.”

“Damn. Sorry, babe, it’ll be a five-minute wonder—”

“Approximately the length of time your relationships last?” But, despite her knee-jerk attempt to freeze him out, Elena melted inside at the casual way Nick had called her “babe,” as if they were intimately attached. As if she really were his girl.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to recall every magazine article or gossip columnist’s piece she had ever read about Nick. And every one of the gorgeous girls with whom he’d been photographed.

Nick’s expression sobered. “Okay, I guess I deserved that.”

Elena set the gorgeous bouquet down on the table. “So, why did you do it?”

Nick’s gaze was laced with impatience. “You should ignore the gossips. They’ve had me married off a dozen times. I’m still single.”

Elena pulled out her chair and sat down. She couldn’t quite dredge up a light smile or a quip for the simple reason that a small, tender part of her didn’t want there to be any gossip about her and Nick. The night she had spent with Nick, as disastrous as it was, had been an intensely private experience.

She didn’t know if she would ever feel anything like it again. In six years she hadn’t had so much as a glimmer of the searing, shimmering heat that had gripped her while she’d been in Nick’s arms.

If people gossiped about them now, assuming they were sleeping together, that night would be sullied.

Nick frowned. “Is this about Robert?”

Elena almost made the mistake of saying who? “Robert isn’t possessive.” He hadn’t had time to be, yet.

“A New Age guy.”

She tried to focus on couples slow dancing to another dreamy waltz as Nick took the chair beside her. “What’s so wrong with that?”

“Nothing, I guess, just so long as that’s what you really want.”

Elena’s chest squeezed tight at the wording, which seemed to suggest that she had some kind of choice, between Robert and Nick.

Somehow, within the space of a few short hours the situation between them had gotten out of hand. She didn’t think she could afford to be around Nick much longer. They needed to resolve the issue of the ring, and whatever else it was he was looking for, tonight.

She pushed to her feet again, so fast that her chair threatened to tip over.

Nick said something curt beneath his breath as he rose to his feet and caught the chair in one smooth movement. In the process, her shoulder bumped his chest and the top of her head brushed his jaw.

He reached out to steady her, his fingers leaving an imprint of heat on her upper arm. Elena stiffened at her response to his touch, light as it was. She instantly moved away, disengaging.

Blinking a little at the strobing lights on the dance floor, and because her new contacts were starting to make her eyes feel dry and itchy, she collected the pink, beaded purse that went with her dress. “If you want to look for the ring, I’m ready now. The sooner we get this over and done with the better.”

She was still clearly vulnerable when it came to Nick, but that just meant she had to work harder at being immune.

As she strolled with Nick out of the lavish resort, she tried to fill her mind with all of the positive, romantic things she could plan to do with Robert.

Intimate, candlelit dinners, walks on the beach, romantic nights spent together in the large bed she had recently installed in her Sydney apartment.

Unfortunately, every time she tried to picture Robert in her bed, tangled in her very expensive silk sheets, his features changed, becoming a little more hawkish and battered, his jaw solid, his gaze piercing.

Annoyed with the heated tension that reverberated through her at the thought of Nick naked and sprawled in her bed, she banished the disruptive image.

Six

Tension coursed through Nick as he walked through the resort foyer and down the front steps. Outside the sun had set, leaving a golden glow in the west. The air was still and balmy, the cool of evening infusing the air with a soft dampness.

“My car’s this way.” He indicated the resort’s staff parking lot.

Elena paused beside his Jeep, which was parked in the manager’s space. “No towing service in Dolphin Bay?”

“Not for a Messena.”

She waited while he unlocked the Jeep. “I keep forgetting you’re related to the Atraeus family. Nothing like a bit of nepotism.”

He controlled the automatic desire to flirt back and held the door while Elena climbed in. As she did so, the flimsy skirt of her dress shimmied back, revealing elegant, shapely legs and the ultra-sexy high heels.

He found himself relaxing for the first time since Elena’s pronouncement that she had a boyfriend. Although the hot pulse of jealousy that Elena had not only been ignoring his calls, but that sometime in the past few weeks she had started dating someone else, was still on a slow burn.

Robert Corrado. Grimly, he noted the name.

It was familiar, which meant he probably moved in business circles. Given that Elena was Zane’s PA, she had probably met him in conjunction with her work for the Atraeus Group.

The thought that Corrado could be a businessman, and very likely wealthy, didn’t please Nick. He would call his personnel manager and get him to run a check on Corrado first thing in the morning.

Jaw taut, he swung into the cab. The door closed with a thunk, and Elena’s delicate, tantalizing perfume scented the air, making the enclosed space seem even smaller and more intimate.

The drive to the villa, with its steep bush-clad gullies and winding road, took a good fifteen minutes despite the fact that the property was literally next door to the resort, tucked into a small private curve of Dolphin Bay.

Security lights flicked on as he turned into the cypress-lined gravel drive. He checked out the for-sale sign and noted that it didn’t have a Sold sticker across it yet.

Satisfaction eased some of his tension. He didn’t need another property, and with its links to his father’s past he shouldn’t want this one. His offer to Elena had been a tactic, pure and simple, a sweetener to give him the opening he needed to research the past.

Although, once he had decided to make the purchase, the desire to own the property had taken on a life of its own.

On thinking it through, he had decided that his motives were impractical and self-centered. In buying the villa he hoped to somehow soothe over the past and cement a link with Elena.

Whichever way he looked at it, the whole concept was flawed. It presupposed that he wanted a relationship.

The second he brought the Jeep to a halt, Elena sent him a bright professional smile and unfastened her seat belt. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

With crisp movements, she opened her door and stepped out onto the drive.

Jaw tightening at the unsubtle hint that, far from being irresistibly attracted, Elena couldn’t wait to get rid of him, Nick locked the Jeep.

He padded behind Elena, studying the smooth walls glowing a soft, inviting honey, the palms and lush plantings.

Elena was being difficult about the property, but he was certain he could bring her around. With the deal he was negotiating to buy a majority share in the Dolphin Bay Resort, in partnership with the Atraeus Group, it made sense to add the property to the resort’s portfolio.

As Elena unlocked the front door, the sense of stepping back in time was so powerful that he almost reached out to pull her close. It was a blunt reminder that almost everything about a liaison with Elena had been wrong from the beginning, and six years on, nothing had changed.

The tabloids exaggerated his love life. Mostly he just dated because he liked female company and he liked to relax. If he wanted to take things further, it was a considered move with nothing left to chance, including the possibility that he might be drawn into any kind of commitment.

With Elena the situation had always been frustratingly different; she was different. For a start, she had never set out to attract him.

Six years ago he had muscled in on her blind date because he had overheard a conversation in a café and gotten annoyed that her friend had set her up with a guy who could quite possibly be dangerous.

But, if he was honest, that had only been an excuse. Elena had been on the periphery of his life for years. She was obviously naive and tantalizingly sweet, and the idea that some other guy could date Elena and maybe make love to her had quite simply ticked him off.

She had been a virgin.

The moment he had logged that fact was still burned indelibly into his mind.

The maelstrom of emotions that had hit him had been fierce, but tempered by caution. At that point he’d had no room in his life for a relationship. His business had come first—he had been traveling constantly and working crazy hours. Elena had needed love, commitment, marriage, and he hadn’t been in a position to offer her any of those things.

The accident and his father’s death had slammed the lid on any further contact, but years later the pull of the attraction was just as powerful, just as frustrating.

Despite applying his usual logic—that no matter how hot the sex, a committed relationship didn’t fit with his life—he still wanted Elena.

The fact that Elena wanted him despite all of the barriers she kept throwing up made every muscle in his body tighten. They were going to make love. He knew it, and he was certain, at some underlying level, so did she.

And now he was beginning to wonder if one night was going to be enough.

Elena stepped inside the villa and flicked on the hall light. Nick, tall and broad-shouldered behind her, instantly made the airy hall seem claustrophobic and cramped, triggering a vivid set of memories.

Nick closing the door six years ago and pulling her into his arms. The long passionate kiss, as if he couldn’t get enough of her….

Elena’s stomach tightened at the vivid replay. With one brisk step she reached the next series of light switches and flicked every one of them.

They didn’t require that much light, since the boxes they needed to search were in the attic. She didn’t care. With tension zinging through her, and Nick making no bones about the fact that he wouldn’t be averse to repeating their one night together, she wasn’t taking any risks.

The blazing lights illuminated the small sunroom to the left, the larger sitting room to the right and the stairs directly ahead.

Sending Nick a smile she was aware was overbright and strained, she started up the stairs. “Help yourself to a drink in the kitchen. I’ll change and be right back.”

There were four bedrooms upstairs. The doors to each were open, allowing air to circulate. Elena stepped inside the master bedroom she had claimed as her own. A room her aunt had refused to use and which was, incidentally, the same room she and Nick had shared six years ago.

With white walls and dramatic, midnight-dark floorboards, the bedroom was decorated in the typical Medinian style, with a four-poster dominating. Once a starkly romantic but empty testament to her aunt’s lost love, Elena had worked hard to inject a little warmth.

Now, with its lush, piled cushions and rich pomegranate-red coverlet picked out in gold, the bed glowed like a warm, exotic nest. A lavish slice of paradise in an otherwise very simply furnished house.

Closing the door behind her, she began working on the line of silk-covered buttons that fastened the pink dress, her fingers fumbling in their haste.

As she hung the lavish cascade of silk and lace in her closet, her reflection, captured by an antique oval mirror on a stand, distracted her. In pink lingerie and high heels, her hair falling in soft waves around her face, jewels gleaming at her lobes and her navel, she looked like nothing so much as a high-priced courtesan.

Not a good thought to have when she was committed to spending the next two hours with Nick.

Dragging her gaze from an image she was still struggling to adjust to, she pulled on a summer dress in a rich shade of red.

Unfortunately the thin straps revealed the butterfly transfer on her shoulder. Maybe it was ridiculous, but she didn’t want Nick to see the full extent of the fake tattoo. With all of the changes she had made, the addition of a tattoo now seemed like overkill and just a little desperate.

Unfastening the gorgeous pink heels, she slipped on a pair of comfortable red sandals that made the best of her spray-on tan, shrugged into a thin, black cardigan and walked downstairs.

When she entered the sitting room, she saw Nick’s jacket tossed over the back of a chair. The French doors that led out to the garden were open, warm light spilling out onto a small patio.

As she flicked on another lamp, Nick stepped in out of the darkness, the scents of salt and sea flowing in with him. He half turned, locking the door behind him, and the simple, intimate motion of closing out the night made her heart squeeze tight.

With his jaw dark and stubbled, his shirt open at the throat, he looked rumpled and sexy and heartbreakingly like the young man she had used to daydream about on the beach.

Although the instant his cool, green gaze connected with hers that impression evaporated. “Are you ready?”

“Absolutely. This way.” She started back up the stairs, her heart thumping faster as she registered Nick’s tread behind her.

As she passed her bedroom, she noted that in her rush to get downstairs she had forgotten to close the door. The full weight of her decision to invite the only man she had a passionate past with to the scene of her seduction, hit home.

If she had been thinking straight she would have asked someone to come with them. A third person would have canceled out the tension and the angst.

Relieved when Nick didn’t appear to notice her room or the exotic makeover she’d given the bed, she ascended another small flight of stairs. Pushing the door open into a small, airless attic, she switched on the light. Nick ducked underneath the low lintel and stepped inside.

He stared at the conglomeration of old furniture, trunks and boxes. “Did Katherine ever throw anything away?”

“Not that I’ve noticed. I suppose that if the ring is anywhere on the property, it’ll be here.”

As always when she thought of her aunt, Elena felt a sentimental softness and warmth. She knew Katherine had adored all of her nieces and nephews, but she and Elena had shared a special bond. She had often thought that had been because Katherine hadn’t had children of her own.

Feeling stifled by the stale air and oppressive heat, Elena walked to one end of the room to open a window. The sound of a corresponding click and a cooling flow of air told her that Nick had opened the window at the other end.

“Where do we start?” Nick picked up an ancient book, a dusty tome on Medinian history.

“Everything on that side of the room has been searched and sorted.” She indicated a stack of trunks. “This is where we need to start.”

“Cool. Sea trunks.” Nick bent down to study one of the old leather trunks with their distinctive Medinian labeling. “When did these come out?”

“Probably in 1944. That’s when the Lyon family immigrated to New Zealand.”

“During the war, about the same time my family landed. I wonder if they traveled on the same ship.”

“It’s possible,” Elena muttered. “Although, since your family owned the ships it was unlikely they would have socialized.”

Nick flipped a trunk open. Another wave of dust rose in the air. “Let me get this right. My grandparents would have traveled first-class so they wouldn’t have spoken to your relatives?”

Still feeling overheated, Elena ignored her longing to discard her cardigan. “The Lyons were market gardeners and domestic servants. They would have been on the lower decks.”

With a muffled imprecation, Nick shrugged out of his tightly fitted waistcoat. Tossing it over the back of a chair, he unfastened another button on his shirt, revealing more brown, tanned skin.

Dragging her gaze from the way the shirt clung across his chest, Elena concentrated on her trunk, which was filled with yellowed, fragile magazines and newspapers.

Nick, by some painful coincidence, had opened a trunk filled with ancient women’s foundation garments. He held up a pair of king-size knickers in heavy, serviceable cotton. “And the fact that some of them settled here in Dolphin Bay was just a coincidence, right?”

The tension sawing at her nerves morphed into annoyance. She had never paid any particular attention to her family’s history of settlement, especially since her parents lived in Auckland. But now that Nick was pointing it out, the link seemed obvious. “Okay, so maybe they did meet.”

Nick extracted a corset that appeared to rely on a network of small steel girders to control the hefty curves of one of her ancestors. “It was a little more than that. Pretty sure Katherine’s grandparents worked for mine.”

Elena vowed to burn the trunk, contents and all, at the earliest possible moment. “I suppose they could have been offered jobs.”

He closed the lid on the evidence that past Lyon women had been sturdy, buxom specimens and pulled the lid off a tea chest. “So, maybe the Messena family aren’t all monsters.”

Feeling increasingly overheated and smothered by the cardigan, Elena discreetly undid the buttons and let it flap open. The neckline of her dress was scooped, revealing a hint of cleavage, but she would have to live with that. “I didn’t say you were. Aunt Katherine liked working for your family.”

The echoing silence that greeted her quiet comment, was a reminder of the cold rift that still existed between their families—the abyss that separated their lifestyles— and made her mood plummet.

Although she was fiercely glad she had ruined the camaraderie that had been building. Stuck in the confined space with Nick, the past linking them at every turn, she had needed the reminder.

Elena opened the trunk nearest her. A cloud of dust made her nose itch and her eyes feel even more irritated. She blinked to ease the burning sensation.

Too late to wish she’d taken the time to remove her colored contacts before she’d rejoined Nick.

Nick dumped an ancient bedpan, which looked like it had come out of the ark, on the floor. When she glanced at him, he caught her eye and lifted a brow, and the cool tension evaporated.

Suddenly irrationally happy, Elena tried to concentrate on her trunk, which appeared to be filled with items that might be found in a torturer’s toolbox. She held up a pair of shackles that looked like restraints of some kind.

“Know what you’re thinking.” Nick grinned as he straightened, ducking his head to avoid the sloping ceiling. “They’re not bondage.” He closed the box of books he’d finished sorting through. “They’re a piece of Medinian kitchen equipment, designed to hang hams in the pantry. We’ve got a set at home.”

Elena replaced the shackles and tried not to melt at Nick’s easy grin. She couldn’t afford to slip back into the old addictive attraction. With just minutes to go before he was out of her life, now was not the time to soften.

She glanced at her watch, although her eyes were now watering enough that she had difficulty reading the dial.

“Are those contacts bothering you?”

“They’re driving me nuts. I’ll take them out when I go downstairs.”

Once Nick was gone.

Nick closed the lid on the box with a snap that echoed through the night.

There was a moment of heavy silence in which the tension that coiled between them pulled almost suffocatingly tight.

“Damn,” he said softly. “Why are you so intent on resisting me?”

Seven

The words seemed to reverberate through the room.

Elena glared at Nick. “What I don’t get is why you want me?”

“I’ve wanted you for six years.”

“I’ve barely seen you in six years.”

Nick frowned as a gust of wind hit the side of the house. “I’ve been busy.”

Building up a fortune and dating a long line of beautiful girls who never seemed to hold his interest for long…and avoiding her like the plague because she would have reminded him of that night.

And in that moment Elena acknowledged a truth she had been avoiding for weeks.

Now, just when she was on the point of getting free and clear, and at absolutely the wrong time—while they were alone together—it dawned on her that Nick was just as fatally attracted as she.

Outside it had started to rain, large droplets exploding on the roof.

Elena rubbed at her eyes, which was exactly the wrong thing to do, as one of the contacts dropped out. Muttering beneath her breath, she began to search, although with the dim lighting and with both eyes stinging, she didn’t expect to find it.

Sound exploded as the rain turned tropically heavy. Moist air swirled through the open window.

She was suddenly aware that Nick was close beside her.

“Sit down, before the other one drops out.”

“No. I need to find the lens, although it’s probably lost forever.” Added to that, her eyes were still watering, which meant her mascara was running.

Swiping at the damp skin beneath her eyes, Elena continued to search the dusty floorboards.

Something glittered, but when she reached for it, it turned out to be a loose bead. At that moment the wind gusted, flinging the window wide. Jumping to her feet, she grabbed at the latch and jammed it closed.

A corresponding bang informed her that Nick had closed the other window. As she double-checked the latch, Nick loomed behind her, reflected in the glass.

“Don’t you ever listen?” The low, impatient timbre of his voice cut through the heavy drumming on the roof. His hands closed around her arms, burning through the thin, damp cotton of her cardigan. “You need to sit down.”

Obediently, Elena sat on an ancient chair. Nick crouched in front of her, but even so he loomed large, his shoulders broad, his bronzed skin gleaming through the transparent dampness of his shirt. The piercing lightness of his eyes pinned her. “Hold still while I get the other lens out for you.”

Elena inhaled, her nostrils filling with his heat and scent. Her stomach clenched on the now-familiar jolt of sensual tension. “I don’t need help. All I need is a few minutes in the bathroom—”

Cupping her jaw with one large hand, he peered into her eyes. “And some drops.”

Nick was close enough that she could study the translucence of his irises, the intriguing scar on his nose to her heart’s content. “How would you know?” But she was suddenly close enough to see.

“I’ve worn contacts for years. Hold still.”

As Nick bent close, his breath mingled with hers. She swallowed and tried not to remember the softness and heat of the kiss they’d shared on the steps of the church.

With a deft movement he secured the second contact on the tip of his forefinger.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small container of eyedrops and a tiny lens case. Setting the drops on the top of a nearby trunk he placed the lens gently in the case and snapped it closed.

Before he could bulldoze her into letting him put the drops in, Elena picked up the small plastic bottle and inserted a droplet of the cooling solution in each eye. The relief was instant. Blinking, she waited for her vision to clear.

Nick pressed the folded handkerchief she had given him earlier in the day into her hand. “It’s almost clean.”

“Thank you.” Elena dabbed in the corners and beneath both eyes, then, feeling self-conscious, peeled out of the damp cardigan. “What else have you got in those pockets?”

“Don’t ask.”

Acutely aware that if Nick had another item in his pockets, it was probably a condom, Elena peered into a dusty mirror propped against the wall.

For a disorienting moment she was surprised by the way she looked, the tousled hair and exotic curve of her cheekbones, the pale lushness of her mouth.

She had definitely made outward changes, but inside she wasn’t nearly as confident as that image would suggest.

Although according to Giorgio, that would change once she resurrected her sex life.

The thought that she could resume her sex life, here, now, if she wanted, made her heart pound and put her even more on edge.

An hour later, they emptied the final trunk. “That’s it.” Relief filled Elena as she closed the lid. “If the ring isn’t here, then Katherine didn’t receive it. I’ve already been through everything else.”

“You searched all of the desks and bureaus downstairs?”

Elena wiped her hands off on a cloth. “Every cupboard and drawer.”

Absently, she picked up a photo album, which she’d decided to take downstairs.

Picking up the cloth, she wiped the cover of the album. Glancing at the first page of photos, her interest was piqued. Unusually, many of the photos were of the Messena family.

She was aware of Nick’s gaze fixing on the album. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind disparate pieces of information fused into a conclusion she should have arrived at a long time ago. Nick had taken a special interest in any photo album he had come across.

As she tucked the album under her arm and bent to retrieve her damp cardigan, a small bundle of letters dropped out from between the pages. Bending, she picked them up. The envelopes were plain, although of very good parchment, a rich cream that seemed to glow in the stark light. They were tied together with a white satin ribbon that shimmered with a pearlized sheen.

Her throat closed up. Love letters.

The top envelope was addressed to her aunt. Heart beating just a little faster, because she knew without doubt that she had found a remnant of the relationship her aunt had kept secret until she died, Elena turned the small bundle over.

The name Carlos Messena leaped out at her, and the final piece in the puzzle of just why her aunt and Stefano Messena had been personally linked fell into place. “Mystery solved,” she said softly.

Nick tossed the cloth he’d used to wipe his hands with over the back of a broken chair. Stepping over a pile of old newspapers that were destined for the fire, he took the letters.

“Uncle Carlos,” he said quietly, satisfaction edging his voice. “My father was the first son, he was the second. Carlos died on active duty overseas around thirty years ago. So that’s why Dad gave Katherine the ring. It was traditionally given to the brides of the second son in the family. If Katherine and Carlos had married, it would have been hers.”

With careful movements, he untied the faded ribbon and fanned the letters out on the top of a trunk, checking the dates on each letter.

Holding her breath, because to read the personal exchanges, even now, seemed an invasion of privacy, Elena picked up the first letter. It was written in a strong, slanting hand, and she was instantly drawn into the clear narrative of a love affair that had ended almost before it had begun, after just one night together.

Empathy held her in thrall as she was drawn into the brief affair that had ended abruptly when Carlos, a naval officer, had shipped out.

Elena refolded the letter and replaced it back in its envelope. Nick passed her the contents of the envelope he had just opened. On plainer, cheaper paper, it was written in a different hand. There was no love letter, but in some ways the content was even more personal: a short note, a black-and-white snapshot of a toddler, a birth certificate and adoption papers for a baby named Michael Carlos.

The mystery of Stefano’s relationship with Katherine was finally solved: he had been helping her find the child she had adopted out. A Messena child.

Nick studied the address on the final envelope. “Emilia Ambrosi.” He shook his head. “She’s a distant cousin of the Pearl House Ambrosis. I could be wrong, but as far as I know she still lives on Medinos.” He let out a breath. “Medinos was the one place we didn’t look.”

Elena dragged her attention from the sparse details of the Messena child. “You knew Aunt Katherine had had a baby?”

“It seemed possible, but we had no proof.”

Feeling stunned at the secret her aunt had kept, she handed Nick the note, the snapshot and the birth certificate.

Gathering up the letters, she tied them together with the ribbon and braced herself for the fact that Nick would be gone in a matter of minutes.

She should be happy they had solved the mystery and found closure. Her aunt had tragically lost Carlos, but she had at least experienced the heights—she had been loved. They hadn’t found the ring but, at a guess, Katherine had sent it to her son, who was probably a resident on Medinos.

Elena made her way downstairs to the second level. Placing the album and the sadly rumpled cardigan on a side dresser in the hall, she washed her hands and face, then waited out in the hall while Nick did the same.

Curious to see if Aunt Katherine had included any further shots of her small son in the album, she flipped to the first page. Unexpectedly, it was dotted with snapshots of the Messena children when they had been babies.

Nick’s gaze touched on hers as he exited the bathroom, and the awareness that had vibrated between them in the attic sprang to life again.

She closed the album with a faint snap. “You must have suspected all along that a Medinian engagement ring, a family heirloom, was a strange gift for a mistress.”

With his waistcoat hanging open, his shirt unfastened partway down his chest, the sleeves rolled up over muscular forearms, Nick looked tough and masculine and faintly dissolute in the narrow confines of the hall. “It wouldn’t be my choice.”

The thought that Nick obviously gave gifts to women he loved and appreciated ignited a familiar coal of old hurt and anger. After their night together she hadn’t rated so much as a phone call.

“What would you choose? Roses? Dinner? A tropical holiday?”

She seemed to remember reading an exposé from a former PA of Nick’s and her claims that she had organized a number of tropical holidays for some of his shorter, more fiery flings.

His expression turned wary. “I don’t normally send gifts. Not when—”

“Great strategy.” She smiled brightly. “Why encourage the current woman when there’s always another one queuing up?”

There was a moment of heavy silence during which the humid, overwarm night seemed to close in, isolating them in the dimly lit hall.

Nick frowned. “Last I heard there is no queue.”

Probably because he was never in one place long enough for the queue to form. Nick was more a girl-in-every-port kind of guy.

Elena found herself blurting out a piece of advice he probably didn’t want to hear. “Maybe if you slowed down and stayed in one place for long enough there would be.”

And suddenly Nick was so close she could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the clean scents of soap and aftershave, and an electrifying whiff of fresh sweat generated by the stuffy, overheated attic.

She stared at a pulse beating along the strong column of his throat. Sweat shouldn’t be sexy, she thought a little desperately, but it suddenly, very palpably, was.

Nick’s hand landed on the wall beside her head, subtly fencing her in. “With my schedule, commitment has never been viable.”

“Then maybe you should take control of your schedule. Not,” she amended hastily, “that I have any interest in a committed relationship with you. I have—Robert.”

She didn’t, not really, and the small lie made her go hot all over. But suddenly it seemed very important that she should have someone, that she shouldn’t look like a total loser in the relationship stakes.

Nick’s brows jerked together. “I’m glad we’re clear on that point.”

“Totally. Crystal clear.” But her heart pounded at the edge in Nick’s voice, as if he hadn’t been entirely happy at her mention of Robert. Or that she had nixed the whole idea of a relationship with him.

Nick cupped her jaw, the heat of his fingers warm and slightly rough against her skin. “So this is just friendship?”

He dipped his head, slowly enough that she could avoid the kiss if she wanted.

A shaft of heat burned through her as he touched his mouth to hers. She could move away. One step and she could end the dizzying delight that was sweeping through her that maybe, just maybe, they had turned some kind of corner when they had uncovered the reason behind his father’s relationship with her aunt.

That now that the past was resolved, a relationship between them wasn’t so impossible.

Heart pounding as the kiss deepened, she lifted up on her toes, one hand curving over Nick’s broad shoulder as she hung on. The tingling heat that flooded her, the notion that they could have a future, were all achingly addictive. She couldn’t remember feeling so alive.

Except, maybe, six years ago.

That thought should have stopped her in her tracks. But the gap of time, the emotional desert she’d trudged through, after Nick, had taught her a salutary lesson.

She needed to be loved, and she absolutely did not want to remain alone. So far the search for a husband had proved anticlimactic. Good character and an appealing outward appearance just didn’t seem to generate the “in love” part of the equation. Bluntly put, so far there had been no chemistry.

On the other hand, while Nick failed every sensible requirement, with him there was nothing but chemistry.

If she could have the chemistry and the committed relationship with Nick, she would be…happy.

His mouth lifted. He released her jaw as if he was reluctant to do so, as if he hadn’t wanted the kiss to end, either.

Drawing a shaky breath, Elena relinquished her grip on Nick’s shoulder.

A relationship with Nick? Maybe even with a view to marriage?

It was a major shift in her thinking. She didn’t know if Nick could be anything to her beyond a fatal attraction. All she knew was that with his gaze fixed on hers and the unsettling awareness sizzling between them, the possibility seemed to float in the air.

That, and the knowledge that she was about to lose him in approximately two minutes.

She drew a swift breath. If she wanted Nick, she would have to take a risk. She would have to fight for him.

The fingers of her free hand curled into one of the lapels of his waistcoat where it hung open, her thumb automatically sweeping over the small button.

Surprise at the small possessive gesture flared in his gaze and was quickly replaced by a heat that took her breath. “I have to leave early in the morning.”

She did her best to conceal her shock at how quickly he had cut to the chase and assumed that they would spend the night together, and the instant stab of hurt evoked by his blunt pronouncement that he had to leave. She had already known he was flying out on business. “Yes.”

“You don’t mind?”

She did, like crazy, but she wasn’t about to let him know that. She had decided to take the risk of trying for a relationship with Nick. That meant she had to toughen up because a measure of hurt would naturally be involved.

She forced a smile. “I’m only here for a few days myself, then I need to be back in Sydney.”

He wound a finger in her hair, the touch featherlight, and she tried not to love it too much. “For the record, my dating is usually on a casual basis. Most of it happens around yachting events when I’m racing.”

That wasn’t news to Elena. Her current Atraeus boss was a sailor, which meant there were quite often yachting magazines lying around in the office. Nick’s name occasionally leaped out from the pages. “Which is quite often.”

His breath wafted against her cheek, damp and warm and faintly scented with the champagne they’d drunk at the wedding. “Granted.”

She inhaled and tried to drag her gaze from the slice of brown flesh and sprinkling of dark hair visible in the opening of his shirt. “But there have been a lot of women.”

The album, which had been tucked under her arm, slipped and fell to the floor, as if to punctuate her statement.

His hands closed on the bare skin of her arms, his palms warm and faintly abrasive, sending darting rivulets of fire shimmering through her. “According to the tabloids. But we both know how reliable they are as a source of information.”

Nick bent his head, bringing his mouth closer to hers. “If you don’t want me to stay the night, just say so, and I’ll leave you alone.”

As he drew her close, she gripped the lapels of his shirt, preserving a small distance. Despite committing to a night with him, caution was kicking in. She needed more. “Why me?”

“For the same reason it’s always been. I’m attracted to you. I like you.”

A month ago, on a street in Auckland, he had said he liked her. It wasn’t enough, but coupled with the chemistry that vibrated between them and the fact that the rift between their families would now be healed, a relationship suddenly seemed viable.

Cupping Nick’s stubbled jaw, she lifted up on her toes and kissed him. A split second later she found herself in his arms. With a heady sense of inevitability, she looped her arms around his neck, heat clenching low in her belly as she fitted herself even more closely against the hard angles and planes of his body.

After all the years of being calmly, methodically organized, of never losing her cool, there was something exhilarating about abandoning herself to a passionate interlude with Nick.

“That’s better.” He smiled, a glimpse of the uncomplicated charm that had always entrapped her, the kind of charm that made little kids flock around him and old ladies sit and chat. Except this time it was all for her and enticingly softer.

As Nick’s mouth settled on hers, the reason he was so successful with women hit her. Despite the hard muscle and the wickedly hot exterior, he possessed a bedrock niceness that made women melt.

It was there in the way he noticed small things, like the color of her eyes and the fact that she was wearing contacts, the way he had rescued her from the blind date six years ago when he didn’t have to get involved.

Her feet lost contact with the floor; the light of the hall faded to dim shadows as they stepped into a bedroom.

With a sense of inevitability, Elena noted the wide soft bed, with its lush piled cushions and rich red coverlet.

A lavish, traditional Medinian marriage bed, arrayed for a wedding. The room she had whimsically decorated.

The same room in which Nick had made love to her the last time.

Eight

Fitful moonlight shafted through a thick bridal veil of gauze festooning a tall sash window as Elena was set down on marble-smooth floorboards.

Nick shrugged out of his shirt, revealing sleekly powerful shoulders, a broad chest and washboard abs.

His mouth captured hers as he locked her against the furnace heat of his body. The hot shock of skin on skin momentarily made her head swim, but for all that, the kiss and the muscled hardness of his chest felt, oddly, like coming home.

Lifting up on her toes, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back. She felt the zipper of her dress glide down, the sudden looseness. Seconds later, she shrugged out of the straps and let the flimsy cotton float to the floor. Another long, drugging kiss and her bra was gone.

Bending, Nick took one breast into his mouth and for long aching minutes the night seemed to slow, stop, as heat and sensation coiled tight.

She heard his rapid intake of breath. A split second later she found herself deposited on the silken-soft bed.

Feeling a little self-conscious and exposed, Elena slipped beneath the red coverlet, unexpected emotion catching in her throat as she watched Nick peel out of his trousers. She was used to seeing him in a modern setting as masculine, muscled and hot, but cloaked in moonlight and shadows, his bronzed skin gleaming in the glow of light from the hall, he was unexpectedly, fiercely beautiful, reminding her of paintings of Medinian warriors of old.

Dimly, she registered a rustling sound, like paper or foil. The bed depressed as Nick pulled the coverlet aside and came down beside her. The heat of his body sent a raw quiver through her as he pulled her close.

His gaze locked with hers, the softness she had noted in the hall giving her the reassurance she suddenly desperately needed.

He propped himself on one elbow, a frown creasing his brow. “Are you all right?”

She cupped his jaw and tried for a confident smile. “I’m fine.”

One long finger stroked down her cheek. “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 guess, given what happened that night, you’re not likely to forget.”

“If the accident hadn’t happened, I would still have remembered,” he said quietly, “since you were a virgin.”

For a split second she felt his indecision, the streak of masculine honor that had once been ingrained in Medinian culture. Abruptly afraid that he might abandon the whole idea of making love, that she might lose this chance to get him back in her life, she took a deep breath and boldly trailed a hand down his chest. “I’m not a virgin now.”

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

He rolled, taking her with him so that he was on top, his heavy weight pressing her down into the feather-soft mattress. Dipping his head, he kissed her mouth, her throat, and finally took one breast in his mouth.

Elena tensed, palms sliding across his shoulders, the sleek muscles of his back, as rivulets of fire seemed to spread out from that one point, culminating in a restless, aching throb.

He shifted his attention to her other breast, and in that moment heat and pleasure coiled and condensed, exploding into aching, shimmering pleasure as the night spun away.

Nick muttered something short and flat. Moments later his weight pressed her more deeply into the bed. She felt him between her legs, and relief flowed through her as slowly, achingly, he entered her.

The faint drag of what could only be a condom made her eyes fly open. The sound she had registered earlier suddenly made sense. Nick had sheathed himself, which meant he’d had the condom in his pocket.

The realization was like a cold dash of water. She shouldn’t think about the condom. She shouldn’t allow it to matter, but it did, because it meant he had been prepared to have sex with someone, not necessarily her.

Nick was oddly still, his expression taut as if he had gauged every one of the emotions that had just flitted across her face. “Something’s wrong. Do you want me to stop?” A muscle pulsed along the side of his jaw. “Yes, or no?”

The words were quietly delivered, without any trace of frustration or need—just a simple question. Although she could see the effort it was costing him in the corded muscles of neck and shoulders.

The blunt, male way he had presented her with the choice brought her back to her original reason for making love: because she wanted another chance with him.

At the thought of losing him, contrarily, she wanted him with a fierce, no-holds-barred need that rocked her.

For every reason that shouldn’t matter—because he was too elusive, too spoiled by the women he had dated and way too dangerous for her heart—he was the last man she could afford in her life.

And yet he was the only man to whom she had ever been truly, passionately attracted.

There was no logic to what she felt, no reason why he should smell and taste and feel right when no one else had ever come close.

Unless somehow, despite the frustration and anger and sheer loneliness of the past few years, she had somehow fallen for him, and he was The One.

She clamped down on the moment of shocked awareness. This was where she had gone wrong the first time with Nick—she had wanted too much, expected too much.

Every feminine instinct she had informed her that applying any form of pressure at this point would scare Nick off, and she couldn’t afford that. Framing his face with her hands, she drew his mouth to hers, distracting him from discovering that she might have done the one thing that seemed to scare men the most and fallen for him. “The answer is no, I don’t want you to stop.”

She promised herself she wouldn’t cry as relief registered in his gaze and gently, slowly, he began to move.

There was a moment of utter stillness when he was fully sheathed and they were finally, truly one, and then he undid her completely by softly kissing her mouth.

His thumb brushed away a trickle of moisture that had somehow escaped one eye, then he pulled her closer still, holding her with exquisite care and tenderness as if he truly did love her. A heated, stirring pleasure that was still shatteringly familiar despite the passage of years, gripped her as they began to move.

Locked together in the deep well of the night, the angst and hurt of the past dissolved. Nothing mattered but the way Nick held her, the way he made her feel, as the coiling, burning intensity finally peaked and the night spun away.

In the early hours of the morning, Elena woke, curled in against the furnace heat of Nick’s body. His arm was curved around her waist, keeping her close, as if even in sleep he couldn’t bear to be parted from her.

A surge of pure joy went through her. She had taken the risk, and it was working. Nick had been tender and sweet, and the passion had, if anything, been even hotter, even more intense.

She was convinced that this time they really had a chance.

The false start six years ago had muddied the waters, but the hurts of the past shrank to insignificance compared with the happiness and pleasure ahead.

She smiled as she sank back into sleep. All was forgiven. She couldn’t let the past matter when they were on the verge of discovering the once-in-a-lifetime love she was certain was their destiny.

A chiming sound pulled Elena out of a deep, dreamless sleep. She rolled, automatically reaching for Nick. The pillow where his head had lain was still indented and warm, but that side of the large, voluminous bed was empty.

Moonlight flowed through the window, illuminating the fact that Nick was pulling on clothes with the kind of quick efficiency that denoted he was in a hurry. Silvery light gleamed over one cheekbone and the strong line of his jaw as he glanced at his watch.

The bronzed gleam of broad shoulders and the strong line of his back disappeared as he shrugged into his shirt.

His gaze touched on hers as he buttoned the shirt with quick efficiency. “I have to leave now, otherwise I’ll miss my flight out.”

Elena jackknifed, dragging the sheet with her and wrapping it around her breasts. The memory of Nick explaining his schedule the previous evening flooded back. “The flight to Sydney.”

The side of the bed depressed as he pulled on socks and shoes. “I have a series of business meetings I can’t cancel. They’re important.”

“Of course.” More important than exploring the passion they had found together, or the spellbinding sense that they were on the verge of discovering something special.

She drew an impeded breath and killed the idea of suggesting that, since she lived in Sydney and was due back soon, maybe she could go with him. It was too soon to put that kind of pressure on their relationship.

She needed to remember one of the rules Giorgio had given her about dating: that men liked to feel as if they were the hunter, even if that wasn’t strictly the case.

She forced one of her professional smiles. “Of course. I understand completely.”

His gaze was oddly neutral as he collected his phone from the bedside table and shoved it into his pocket. A trickle of unease made her stomach tighten.

As if he had already distanced himself from what they had done.

Bending, he picked something up from the floor. When he straightened, she recognized the packet of love letters. “I’ll return these.”

“No problem. I’m sure your mother will be relieved to know that Stefano was helping Katherine find her adopted child.”

Another lightning glance at his watch, then Nick leaned across the bed and kissed her, the caress perfunctory. “Thanks. It was…special.”

Elena froze. The awkwardness of the moment expanded when she failed to respond, but she had quite suddenly reached the end of her resources.

She recognized this part. Nick had gotten what he wanted: closure for the scandal that had hurt his family and another night of convenient passion. Now he was trying to step away from any suggestion of a relationship by leaving as quickly as possible.

Her fingers tightened on the beautiful sheets as Nick strode from the room. She heard his step on the stairs, then the sound of the front door quietly closing. A few seconds later, the rumble of the Jeep’s engine broke the stillness of early morning.

She blinked back the burning heat behind her eyes and resolved not to cry. She could see why Nick’s relationships ended so easily. He had concluded a night of passion in the same way he conducted his business affairs: briefly and with his gaze fixed on the next goal.

The full folly of returning to the scene of her last mistake and sleeping with Nick again settled in. Dragging the silk sheet with her, she wrapped it around herself and walked to the freestanding oval mirror. The moonlight was incredibly flattering. She was actually, finally, attractive in the way she had longed to be.

Although that hadn’t seemed to matter to Nick. It hadn’t tipped the balance and made him fall for her.

Which, she realized, was exactly what she had secretly hoped when she had started on the whole process of improving her appearance.

Admitting that pleasing Nick had been her motivation to change was painful, but if she wanted to move on she had to be honest.

She had been stuck in relationship limbo for years. Just when she was on the verge of forming a positive, rewarding romantic friendship with a nice man, she had thrown herself at Nick again.

Hitching the sheet up, she walked to the window and dragged the thick drape of white gauze back. A pale glow in the east indicated that the sun would soon be up. She needed to shower, get dressed and make a plan.

She had made the mistake of allowing Nick to get to her, again.

But the fledgling love affair that had dogged her for six years was finally finished. There would be no replays.

She was finally over Nick Messena.

Nick grimly suppressed a yawn as he sipped an espresso during his flight to Sydney.

Kyle, who was with him to represent the bank’s interests in the partnership deal he was negotiating with the Atraeus Group, turned a page of his newspaper. “Did you find the ring?”

Nick took another sip of coffee and waited for the caffeine to kick in. “Not yet.”

Briefly he filled Kyle in on the love letters and the adoption papers they had found, and that he had stopped by and spoken to their mother before he had left Dolphin Bay.

That had been a priority. The stark relief on Luisa Messena’s face had told him just how much she had been holding out for the information.

There was a small vibrating silence, which finally broke through the grim flatness that had gripped Nick ever since he had driven away from Dolphin Bay.

Kyle put his newspaper down. “You and Elena looked like you were getting on. Last I heard, she wasn’t returning your calls—”

“We found some common ground.”

“Something’s happened.” Kyle’s gaze had taken on the spooky, penetrating look that was a legacy of his time in the SAS, New Zealand’s Special Forces. Something about Kyle’s calm neutrality inspired respect and actual fear in the high-powered financial magicians he dealt with on a daily basis. When he turned up with the scary eyes the deal usually got done in minutes.

Kyle shook his head. “You slept with her again.”

Nick’s fingers tightened on his coffee cup. “I shouldn’t have confided in you six years ago.”

Kyle shrugged. “Dad had just died. You were understandably emotional.”

Nick finished his coffee and set his cup down on the seat tray with a click. “According to the family, I have the emotions of a block of stone.”

“Whatever. You’ve slept with Elena Lyon twice. That’s…complicated.”

Wrong word, Nick thought. There had been nothing complicated about what they had done or how he had felt.

He had been caught up in the same visceral hit of attraction that had captured him the night his father had died. An attraction that had become inextricably bound up with loss and grief, and what he had believed was his father’s betrayal.

With the knowledge that his father and Katherine had not been involved, he should have been able to view Elena in the same way he viewed other past lovers. As an attractive, smart woman who was in his life for a period of time.

But the realization that Elena hadn’t ever slept with anyone but him had sounded the kind of warning bells he couldn’t ignore.

His reaction had been knee-jerk. As addictive as those hours with Elena had been, after years of carefully avoiding emotional entanglements and commitment, he’d found he couldn’t do a sudden, convenient U-turn.

As much as he had wanted to spend more time with her or, even more crazily, take her with him, the whole idea of being that close to someone again had made him break out in a cold sweat.

Kyle signaled to a flight attendant that he wanted a refill for his coffee. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool, but you might need to take a look at this.”

Nick took the tabloid newspaper Kyle had been reading and stared at the piece written about Gabriel and Gemma’s wedding. The details of the ceremony were correct, but it wasn’t his brother and his new bride in the grainy black-and-white wedding photos.

Someone had made a mistake and inserted a photo of himself and Elena kissing on the steps of the church. It was flanked by a shot of him helping Elena into the limousine when they were on their way to have the official photos taken. A third snap as they had left the reception together rounded out the article. Apparently they were now on their way to a secret honeymoon destination.

A trolley halted beside his seat. A pretty flight attendant offered to take his cup. Absently, Nick handed it to her, barely noticing her smile or the fact that she was blonde, leggy and gorgeous.

According to the tabloids, according to Elena, the flight attendant was his type.

Although not anymore.

Now, it seemed, he had a thing for brunettes. Fiery brunettes with hourglass figures and issues.

Just as the flight attendant was about to move on, she glanced at the newspaper and sent him a brilliant smile. “I thought I recognized you. Congratulations on your marriage.”

“Uh—I’m not actually married.”

She looked confused. “That’s not you?”

“It’s him,” Kyle supplied unhelpfully. “They’ve split up already.”

There was a moment of shocked silence. The flight attendant dredged up a brilliant, professional smile that was cold enough to freeze water. “Would you like me to get you anything more, sir?”

The words, like marriage guidance or an actual heart, hung in the air.

“He’s happy,” Kyle supplied, along with the killer smile that usually made women go weak at the knees. “We have everything we need.”

The attendant gave Kyle a stunned look, then walked quickly off, her trolley rattling.

Nick folded the newspaper and gave it back to Kyle. “Thanks for making her think that I ditched my wife of just a few hours because I decided to turn gay.”

Kyle disappeared behind his paper again. “Look on the bright side. At least now she thinks I’m the villain.”

Broodingly, Nick returned to thinking about the second night he had spent with Elena. Another passion-filled encounter that was proving to be just as frustratingly memorable and addictive as the first.

He hadn’t been able to resist her and the result was that Elena had gotten hurt.

Nick retrieved an envelope from his briefcase and stared at the faded copy of the birth certificate and the photograph of the toddler he had brought with him.

He had found the reason his father had been in the car with Katherine the night they had both died. Not because Stefano Messena had been having an affair, but for a reason that fitted with his character. His father had been helping Katherine locate her baby.

The reason he had passed the ring to Katherine was because it, and a sizable chunk of the Messena fortune, belonged to his long-lost cousin. His birth year was the same as Nick’s, which would mean Michael Ambrosi would be his age: twenty-nine.

An image of his father the last time he had seen him alive flashed through Nick’s mind. His chest went tight at the vivid picture of Stefano Messena tying down a sail on his yacht, his expression relaxed as he enjoyed the methodical process. It was the picture of a man who liked to do everything right.

For the first time he examined the fact that he hadn’t been able to let anyone close since his father had died.

Intellectually, he knew what his real problem was, or had been. He had known it the moment he saw the love letters and birth certificate hidden in Katherine Lyon’s photo album.

Because he and his father had been so close, no matter how hard he’d tried he hadn’t been able to disconnect and move on. He’d stayed locked in a stubborn mind-set of grief and denial. The last thing he had wanted was to immerse himself in another relationship.

His mother and his sisters had probed and poked at his inability to “open up.” The words dysfunction and avoidance had figured largely in those conversations.

Nick had stepped around the whole issue. Maybe it was a male thing, but he figured that when he felt like becoming involved in a relationship, he would.

But something had changed in him in the instant he had discovered the possibility that Stefano Messena hadn’t cheated on or betrayed anyone.

Emotion had grabbed at his stomach, his chest, powerful enough that for long seconds he hadn’t been able to breathe.

His fingers tightened on the birth certificate.

Grimly he allowed himself to remember that night. The time spent waiting for the ambulance, even though he’d known it had been too late. The hurt and anger that had gripped him at the way his father had died.

He knew now that his father had just been unlucky. The heavy rain had made the road slippery. He’d probably been driving so late because he wanted to get home.

Home to the wife and family he loved.

He slipped the birth certificate and the photograph back into the briefcase. The moment felt oddly symbolic.

Nick didn’t personally care about the ring, which, in any case, rightfully belonged to Michael Ambrosi. He had what he wanted: he had his father back.

When they landed in Sydney the press was waiting in the arrivals lounge.

Nick groaned and put on his game face.

Kyle grinned. “Want me to take point?”

“Just promise not to speak.”

“Name, rank and serial number only. Scout’s honor.”

“That would have meant more about an hour ago on the flight.”

The questions, all centered on Elena, were predictable. Nick’s reactions were not.

Instead of staying doggedly neutral, cold anger gripped him every time a journalist directed another intrusive or smutty question at him.

By the time he reached the taxi rank he was close to decking a couple of the tabloid hacks.

When they reached the Atraeus offices thirty minutes later, his normally nonexistent temper had cooled. But his lack of control pointed up a change in himself he hadn’t expected.

Usually when he walked away from a liaison he felt detached, his focus firmly on his next work project.

Right at that moment, he was having trouble concentrating on anything but Elena.

What she was doing and how she was feeling about him was coming close to obsessing him.

The thought that she might actually get a tattoo or, worse, go back to the mysterious Robert, suddenly seemed a far more riveting issue than the resort package that would take his business portfolio to a new level.

As they stepped into an elevator, Nick took out his cell and put through a call to his PA, instigating a security check on Corrado. And, more importantly, requesting a full rundown on all of Corrado’s business interests and a photo.

He hung up as the elevator doors opened up on the floor occupied by the Atraeus offices.

Constantine Atraeus, who was dealing with the negotiation himself, walked out and shook hands.

Constantine was both family and a friend. In his early thirties, he was incredibly wealthy, with a reputation for getting what he wanted. Although the powerful business persona was offset by a gorgeous, fascinatingly opinionated wife, Sienna, and now a cute young daughter.

Minutes later, with the deal on the table, Nick should have been over the moon. Instead, he found it difficult to focus. Kyle kept sending him questioning glances because it was taking him so long to read the paperwork.

A slim brunette with silky dark hair strolled into the room. Constantine’s new legal brief. Apparently the last one had bitten the dust because he had tried to put a prenup on Sienna Atraeus. Sienna had seen him to the door, personally.

Nick forced himself to finish the clause he was reading, even though he knew he was going to have to go over it again because he hadn’t understood a word.

The problem, he realized, was the legal brief. For a searing moment he had thought she was Elena, even though a second glance confirmed that she didn’t look like Elena at all.

His gaze narrowed as he tracked her departure. His pulse was racing, his heart pounding as his inability to concentrate became clear.

He wanted Elena.

He wanted her back, in his arms and in his bed, which was a problem given that he had walked out on her that morning for the second time. If she ever spoke to him again, that in itself would be a miracle.

It had been difficult enough getting her to trust him the last time. The process had been slow and laborious. From the first phone call, it had taken weeks.

She had stood him up, refused his calls and done everything in her power to avoid him. He had managed to get close to her only through the good luck that his brother had gotten married to Elena’s best friend.

If he wanted Elena back, he was going to have to engineer a situation that would give him the time he needed to convince her to give him another chance.

Two of his Atraeus cousins had employed kidnapping as a method of securing that quality time, although Nick didn’t seriously think a kidnap situation would repair the rift with Elena. Both Constantine and Lucas had had long-standing relationships with their chosen brides, with the added bonus that love had been a powerful factor in each relationship.

It was a factor Nick could not rely on. He was certain that after a second one-night stand, Elena would no longer view him as a relationship prospect.

For a split second disorientation gripped him. He could kick himself for the mistake he’d made. He’d had Elena back in his arms, and then let her go.

He had further complicated the situation by leaving the field clear for Corrado.

If he wanted Elena back he was going to have to move fast. Normal dating strategies wouldn’t work; he was going to have to use the kind of logic he employed with business strategies.

With this new deal they would have a vital link in common: the Atraeus Group. He wouldn’t exactly be her boss, but it would bring her into his orbit.

He’d had two chances with Elena and had blown them both.

He didn’t know if he could create a third, but he had an edge he could exploit.

Try as she might, Elena couldn’t hide the fact that she couldn’t resist him.

Nine

Master of Seduction Meets His Match.

Elena stared in horror at the tabloid coverage of the wedding. She hadn’t read many of the words; it was the image of the bride and groom that riveted her attention.

Someone had made a terrible mistake. A photo of her and Nick on the steps had been used instead of one of Gemma and Gabriel. The black-and-white print made her bridesmaid’s dress look pale enough to be a bridal gown, and Nick looked the part with his morning suit. The shower of confetti and rice added the final touch.

There was nothing either scandalous or libelous about the brief article. If the photograph had been the correct one, it would have been perfectly nice, if boring, coverage of a high-end society wedding.

Acute embarrassment gripped her as she imagined the moment Nick saw the article and the photo, which portrayed the exact opposite of what he had wanted.

As wonderful as the night had been, something had gone wrong. They had been finished the moment Nick had walked out of the bedroom without a backward look.

She hadn’t tried to cling to him, but that didn’t alter the fact that watching Nick walk away a second time had hurt.

Or that in a single night she had been willing to sacrifice almost every part of her life to be with him, if only he had truly wanted her.

Elena snapped the paper closed. She could not be a victim again. She had changed her external appearance and now she needed to work hard at changing her actual life.

First up, she would take the new corporate position Constantine Atraeus had suggested she consider. With her executive PA skills, the psychology papers she had done at university and her recent experience of health and beauty spas, she was uniquely suited to reinvigorate the Atraeus spas.

She would be an executive, which suited her.

She was tired of catering to the whims of the megawealthy Atraeus bosses, who had appreciated her skills but who never really noticed her as a person.

A hum of excited possibility gave the future a rosy glow. She would probably need her own personal assistant, although that was a leap.

Two brief calls later, and her life was officially transformed.

Zane wasn’t happy, since he had just gotten used to her taking care of every possible detail of his working day and travel arrangements. However, he was pragmatic. Since Elena had lost weight, his fiancée, Lilah, hadn’t been entirely happy with her as a PA, much as she liked Elena. It was nothing personal, it was just that Lilah had a protective streak when it came to Zane.

“She might relax more after the wedding,” Zane explained.

Elena hung up, a little dazed. She would never have believed it, but apparently she was now too pretty to be a PA.

She walked across to her hotel mirror and stared at her reflection. She looked pale and washed-out, but if Zane Atraeus said she was too pretty, then she was too pretty.

Nick had said she was beautiful.

She could feel herself melting inside at the memory of the way he had said those words, the deep timbre of his voice.

Jaw firming, she banished a memory that could only be termed needy and self-destructive.

Instead of going weak at the knees at any little hint of male appreciation from Nick, she needed to form an action plan. She needed rules.

Rule number one had to be: Do not get sucked back into Nick Messena’s bed.

Rule number two was a repeat of the first.

She would make the rest up as she went along.

Critically, she studied the suit she was wearing. It was pink. She was over pink. The suit was also too feminine, too pretty.

She needed to edit her wardrobe and get rid of the ruffles and lace, anything that might possibly hint that she had once been a pushover.

From now on, red was going to be her favorite color.

She would also make a note to encourage Robert a little more. If she was in a proper relationship, it stood to reason that she would not be so vulnerable to a wolf like Nick Messena.

One month later, Elena opened her eyes as pads soaked in some delicately perfumed, astringent solution were removed from her now-refreshed eyes.

Yasmin, the head beauty therapist at the Atraeus Spa she had spent the past three weeks overhauling, smiled at her. “You can sit up now, and I’ll start your nails. Can’t have you looking anything less than perfectly groomed for your date. What was his name again?”

“Robert.”

There was a small, polite silence. “Sounds like a ball of fire.”

“He’s steady and reliable. He’s an accountant.”

Yasmin wrinkled her pretty nose. “I’ve never dated one of those.”

Elena reflected on the string of very pleasant dates she’d had with Robert. “He has a nice sense of humor.”

Yasmin gave her a soothing smile as she selected a bottle of orchid-red nail polish and held it up. “That’s important.”

Elena nodded her approval of a color that normally she wouldn’t have gone near. But with her transformation, suddenly reds and scarlets seemed to be her colors. Idly, she wondered what Nick would think of the nail polish.

She frowned and banished the thought.

Yasmin picked up one of Elena’s hands and set to work on her cuticles. “So, tell me, what does Robert look like?”

Elena shifted her mind away from its stubborn propensity to dwell on Nick, and forced herself to concentrate on Robert. “He has green eyes and dark blond hair—”

Yasmin set one hand down and picked the other up. “Sounds a little like Nick Messena.”

Except that Robert didn’t have quite that piercing shade of green to his eyes, or the hot gold streaks in his hair. “Superficially.”

“Well, if he looks anything like Nick Messena, he’s got to be sexy.”

“I wouldn’t say Robert was sexy…exactly.”

“What then?”

Elena watched as Yasmin perfectly and precisely painted a nail. “He’s…nice. Clean-cut and extremely well-groomed. Medium build. He’s definitely not pushy or ruthless.”

Every attribute was the exact opposite of Nick’s casual, hunky, killer charm. She had checked weeks ago before she had made the decision for a first date with Robert. After all, what was the point of repeating her mistake? She wanted a man who would be good for her. A man who would commit.

Yasmin painted another nail. “He sounds close to perfect.”

“If there was a textbook definition for the perfect date, Robert would be it.”

“Talking about perfect men, I saw a photo of Nick Messena in a magazine the other day.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe how hot he is. That broken nose… It shouldn’t look good, but it is to die for.”

Elena’s jaw tightened against a fierce surge of jealousy. Swallowing, she tried to put a lid on the kind of primitive, unreasoning emotion that made her want to find the magazine Yasmin had been mooning over and confiscate it.

Jealousy meant she hadn’t quite gotten Messena out of her system. It meant she still cared. “Why is it that a broken nose makes a guy more attractive?”

“Because he fights. Perfect men look like they’re fresh out of the wrapper. Untried under pressure.” She grinned. “I must admit, I like a guy who doesn’t mind getting sweaty.”

Elena blinked at the sudden image of Nick years ago when she’d walked past a construction site and glimpsed him with his shirt off, covered in dust and grease smears, a hard hat on his head. “I think we should talk about something else.”

“Sure.” Yasmin sent her a patient you’re-the-client look.

The following day, after another pleasant date with Robert during which she had partnered him to one of his company dinners, Elena was packed and ready to fly back to New Zealand. She would spend a couple of days in Auckland, then travel on to Dolphin Bay where she was poised to add a new level of service to the resort business: a pamper weekend that included a relationship seminar she had designed herself.

Her stomach tightened a little as the taxi driver put her luggage into the trunk. Just because she was on her way back to Dolphin Bay didn’t mean she would run into Nick. Chances were, he wouldn’t even be in the country.

And even if he was, she had successfully avoided him for years. She could avoid him again.

He would get Elena back; it was just a matter of time.

Despite the fact that she had hung up on him again.

Broodingly, Nick placed his phone on the gleaming mahogany surface of his desk.

Not a good sign.

A familiar surge of frustration tightened every muscle in his body as he rose from his office chair, ignoring the cup of coffee steaming gently on his desk. Prowling to the French doors, he looked out over Dolphin Bay.

A heat haze hung on the horizon, melding sea and sky. Closer in, a small number of expensive yachts and launches floated on moorings, including his own yacht, Saraband.

Stepping out on the patio, he looked down over his new domain. He now owned a 51-percent share of the resort chain. It was a new turn in his business plan, but one that made sense with his close ties to the Atraeus family and their meshing interests.

Gripping the gleaming chrome rail, he surveyed the terraced levels of the resort complex. His eye was naturally drawn to gleaming turquoise pools below dotted with swimmers and fringed with cooling palms. Though it was the peaked roof of the villa in the adjacent curve of the bay that held his attention.

A hot flash of the night he’d spent with Elena blotted out the lavish tropical scene. The heat of the memory was followed by a replay of the hollow sensation that had gripped him when he had walked out of the villa just before sunrise.

His mother and his two sisters had read him the riot act about his dating regime a number of times.

He now no longer had the excuse of his father’s so-called betrayal. As one of his sisters had pointed out, he was out of excuses. It was time he confronted his own reluctance to surrender to a relationship.

A tap on his office door jerked him out of his reverie. The door popped opened. Jenna, his new ultra-efficient PA, waved the file he had requested and placed it on his desk.

As he stepped back into the office, she sent him one of the bright, professional smiles that had begun to put his teeth on edge.

She paused at the door, her expression open and confident. “A group of us are going into town for lunch. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.”

Nick dragged his gaze from the lure of the file, which he’d been waiting on. Absently he turned down the offer. Jenna was five-ten, slim and curvy in all the right places. He would have to be stone-cold dead not to notice that she was gorgeous in a quirky, cute way that would obsess a lot of men.

Although not him.

He should find her attractive. A couple of months ago, he would have. The red-haired receptionist in the lobby was also pretty, and a couple of the waitresses in the resort restaurant were stunning. The place was overrun with beautiful, available women, if only he was interested.

Opening the file, he began to skim read. Zane had given him a heads-up that a pamper weekend the Dolphin Bay Resort was scheduled to run in the next few days was Elena’s pet project.

He was aware that she had quit her job as a PA and was now heading up a new department, developing the lucrative spa side of the resort business. The pamper weekend and seminar, designed for burned-out career women, was a pilot program she had designed and was entitled What Women Really Want: How to Get the Best Out of Your Life and Relationships.

His door opened again, but this time it was his twin sisters, Sophie and Francesca, who were home for a week’s holiday.

They were identical twins, both gorgeous and outgoing with dark hair and dark eyes. Sophie tended to be calm and deceptively slow-moving with a legendary obsession with shoes, while Francesca was more flamboyant with a definite edge to her character.

Sophie, sleek in white jeans and a white tank, smiled. “We’ve come to take you out to lunch.”

Francesca, looking exotic in a dress that was a rich shade of turquoise, made a beeline for his desk and perched on the edge, swinging one elegantly clad foot. “Mom’s worried about you.” She leaned over and filched his coffee. “Apparently you’ve gone cold turkey on dating for three months, and you’re not sailing, either. She thinks you’re sickening for something.”

With the ease of long practice, he retrieved his coffee. “You’ll have to try another tack. First of all, Mom isn’t likely to worry when I’m doing exactly what she wants by not dating. And I’ve gone without dating for longer periods than three months before.”

Sophie circled his desk and dropped into his chair. “When you were building your business and didn’t have time for the fairer sex.”

“News flash,” Nick growled. “I’m still building the business.”

Sophie picked up the file he’d dropped on the desk when he’d rescued his coffee and idly perused it. “But you have slowed down. Haven’t you got some hotshot executive shark cutting deals and intimidating all of your subcontractors?”

Nick controlled the urge to remove the file from Sophie’s grasp. “I’ve got a team of sharks. Ben Sabin is one of them.”

Sophie looked arrested. “But you knew who I was talking about.”

Nick frowned at Sophie’s response to Ben Sabin, who had a reputation for being as tough on relationships as he was troubleshooting his jobs. He made a mental note to have a word with Sabin and make sure that he understood that Nick’s sisters, both of them, were off-limits.

Francesca pushed off the edge of the desk, the movement impatient but graceful. “So what’s up? Mom thinks you’ve fallen for someone and it isn’t working out.”

Nick dragged at his tie, suddenly feeling harassed and on edge. He should be used to the inquisition. His family was large and gregarious. They poked and pried into each other’s lives, not because they were curious but because they genuinely cared.

As prying as his mother and his sisters could be, in an odd way he usually loved that they hassled him. He knew that if he ever got seriously messed with by a woman, they would be as territorial as a pack of wolves protecting their young.

Sophie frowned at the file. “Elena Lyon? Didn’t you used to date her?”

Francesca’s gaze sharpened. She strolled around the desk and peered at the file. “It was a blind date, only Nick wasn’t blind. He set it up.”

Nick frowned. “How do you know this stuff?”

Francesca looked surprised. “I used to study with Tara Smith who waited tables at the Dolphin Bay Coffee Shop. She overheard you telling Smale to find someone else to date and that if you ever heard he was trying to date Elena Lyon again, the next conversation would be outside, on the sidewalk.” Francesca smiled. “Pretty sure that’s verbatim. Tara’s now a qualified accountant—she doesn’t make mistakes.”

Nick felt like pounding his head on the solid mahogany door of his office, but that would be a sign of weakness—something he couldn’t afford around his sisters.

A small frown pleated Sophie’s brow. “Elena was Gemma’s bridesmaid, the girl in the picture when the tabloids mistakenly put the wrong photo in the paper.”

Francesca went oddly still. “That would be the series of photos that fooled everyone into thinking Nick had gotten married.”

There was a heavy silence as if a conclusion that only women could achieve had just been reached.

Sophie’s expression morphed back to calm and serene. Nick groaned inside. He didn’t know how they had connected the dots, but both of his twin sisters now knew exactly how interested he was in Elena Lyon.

Nick controlled another powerful urge to retrieve the file. If he did that, the inquisition would worsen.

Sophie turned another page, brow pleated, reminding him of nothing so much as a very glamorous, earnest female version of Sherlock Holmes. “Elena was the maid of honor at Gabriel’s wedding.” There was a significant pause. “Now she’s coming back to Dolphin Bay for a weekend.”

Francesca’s gaze snapped to his. “Did she plan this?”

Nick’s brows jerked together at the implication that Elena was scheming to trap him, when as of ten minutes ago she was still refusing to take his calls. “There is nothing planned about it. She doesn’t know I’m here.”

That was a mistake.

Nick pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to think, but something about the twin’s double act interfered with normal brain function.

Francesca’s look of horror sealed his fate. Five minutes ago he had been an object of careful examination and pity, but now he was a predator. It was strange how the conversations usually went that way.

Francesca fixed him with a fiery gaze. “If you’re letting her come here and she doesn’t know you own the hotel, well, that’s…predatory.”

Sophie ignored Francesca’s outrage as she placed the file back on the desk and eyed him with the trademark calm authority that thirty years from now would probably be scaring grandkids. “Do you want her?”

In the quiet of the room the bald question was oddly shocking.

Nick’s jaw clenched. As family inquisitions went, this one was over. “There is no relationship. Elena works for the Atraeus Group. She’s coming to Dolphin Bay to work.”

As far as he was concerned, technically, the relationship he was angling for would begin after Elena arrived.

An hour later, after a fraught lunch spent sidestepping further questions and a raft of romantic advice, Nick made it back to his desk.

Opening the file he’d been attempting to read earlier, he studied the letter that had come with the pamper weekend program. He would recognize Elena’s elegant slanting signature anywhere.

Unfastening the pale pink sheet from the file fastener, he lifted it to his nostrils. The faint exotic scent of lilies assailed him, laced with a musky under note that set him sensually on edge.

Loosening his tie, he sat back in his seat and studied Elena’s pamper weekend package. Though designed for women, men were welcome to attend.

He flicked through the pages until he arrived at a quiz. Gaze sharpening, he studied a sheet of multiple-choice questions entitled The Love Test.

The stated object of the quiz, one of the few elements of the package aimed at men, was to find out if the man in a woman’s life knew how to really and truly love and appreciate her.

He flicked through the pages, twenty questions in all that ignored the more commonly perceived signs of a good relationship, such as flowers, gifts and dating. Instead the quiz wound through a psychological minefield, dealing with issues such as emotional honesty, the ability to understand a woman’s needs, and with commitment.

As far as Nick could make out, the quiz didn’t focus on what a man could aspire to romantically so much as highlight the age-old masculine traits that would make him stumble.

The question on when a relationship should be consummated was a case in point. For most men the answer to that question was simple. Sex was a priority, because in a man’s mind until he had made a woman his completely, there was an element of uncertainty that didn’t sit well with the male psyche.

Setting the test sheets down, he turned to the answers, frowning as he read through. The questions he had taken a guess at were all wrong.

As far as he could make out, no ordinary man could hope to score well. It would take an intellectual studying psychology or some kind of New Age paragon.

Like Robert Corrado.

His jaw tightened. From the few comments Elena had made, if Robert took the test, he would pass with flying colors. From the research Nick had done on Corrado, he was inclined to agree.

His fingers tightened on the page, crumpling it. As highly as he was certain Robert would score, he didn’t think he was the kind of man to make a woman like Elena happy. She would be bored with him in a matter of months. Elena needed a man who wouldn’t be intimidated by her formidable strength of character, her passionate intensity.

Nick was that man.

The moment was defining.

He straightened out the page of answers and reattached it to the file. Over the years, commitment had not been a part of any of his relationships.

But now, with the expansion of his business, and several highly paid executives taking the lion’s share of the work, he didn’t have quite so much to do.

He had time on his hands. And, as luck or fate would have it, once again Elena Lyon was in his equation.

And he was on the brink of losing her to another man.

In that moment, an internal tension he hadn’t known existed relaxed, and the focused, masculine drive to attain and hold on to the woman he wanted, that had been missing for so many years, settled smoothly into place.

Six years had passed. Years in which Elena had been single and free, prey to any male who cared to claim her.

But not anymore.

Elena was his. He had hurt her—twice—but there was no way he was going to tamely stand aside and give Corrado a chance at her.

His resolve firmly in place, he checked the answer sheets to find the highest-scoring answers for each question. His frown increased as he read. Out of a possible score of sixty, with a couple of lucky guesses thrown in, he might have made five points. If that wasn’t bad enough, the grading system, at odds with the smooth New Age language, was punitive. Thirty points, a pass in any man’s language, was considered to be “indifferent.” Ten points was “extremely poor.” At five points he balanced on the cusp of “disastrous” and “a relationship mistake of catastrophic proportions.”

Irritation coursed through him. There was no possibility that any red-blooded male could score well. But information was power and if he wasn’t mistaken, he had just been given the key to getting Elena back.

The pamper weekend and the seminar provided the window of opportunity he needed.

Setting the sheet of answers back on top of the file, he walked through to the next office. He offered Alex Ridley, the hotel manager, a well-earned few days off, during which time he would manage the resort. An hour later, he had cleared his schedule for those three days.

Elena wouldn’t be happy when she arrived and found him in residence, but he would cope with that hurdle when they got to it.

After the way he had messed up, he was well aware that negotiation wouldn’t work. With the skills Elena had honed during her years as a personal assistant to his Atraeus cousins, she would ruthlessly cut him off. Desperate measures were required.

Picking up the quiz, he broodingly read through the questions again.

He didn’t know if he would ever be in a position to do the quiz, but at this juncture he needed to be prepared for any eventuality. Picking up a pen, he systematically ticked the correct answer for each question. The 100-percent score entitled him to encircle the grade that assured him he was A Perfect Relationship Partner.

It was cheating.

But as far as he was concerned, when it came to getting Elena back, all was fair in love and war.

Ten

Elena crossed Dolphin Bay’s county line just minutes short of midnight. The Dolphin Bay sign was briefly illuminated in the wash of headlights as she changed down for a curve and braked. The familiar arching entrance to the Messena Estate loomed, and her heart beat a brief, unwelcome tattoo in her chest.

She had to stop thinking about Nick. By now he would be thousands of miles away, probably on some sand-blasted site in Dubai and doing what was closest to his heart: making millions.

A tight corner loomed. She slowed even further as she drove through a bush reserve, the road slick with recent rain and the moonlight blocked by large, dripping ponga ferns arching over the road.

The massive plastered gateposts of the resort glowed softly ahead. Relieved, she turned onto the smoothly sealed resort road and accelerated, climbing steadily. The lush rainforest gave way to reveal a breathtaking expanse of moonlit sea. Nestled amidst bush-clad hills and framed by the shimmering backdrop of the Pacific Ocean, the resort glittered, patently luxurious and very, very private.

Minutes later, she drew up outside a security gate.

The resort boasted a conference center, a world-class private golf course, a marina and a helipad. They catered to the luxury end of the market and were open for business 24/7, but for security reasons—mostly centered around the extremely wealthy clientele who stayed there and their privacy needs—the gates were locked from midnight until six in the morning.

Guest were issued key cards in advance, but weirdly, her key card envelope, which had been couriered to her, had been empty. Since she didn’t yet have a card, on arrival she had to ring the reception desk so they could dispatch someone to unlock the gate and let her in. It all seemed unacceptably low-tech to Elena. She had already sent a very short email to the manager informing him that he needed to lift his game in this respect.

Once she checked in, apparently she would be issued a key card and could come and go as she pleased.

Jaw locked, she pushed the door open, climbed out into the balmy night and took a moment to stretch the kinks out. Just a few yards away, water lapped on honey-colored sand, the soothing rhythm underpinned by an onshore breeze flowing through the pohutukawa trees that overhung parts of the beach. During daylight hours, the stunning red blooms would provide a brilliant contrast to the intense blue of sea and sky.

She examined the fortresslike wrought iron gates, searching for the intercom. A small red light winked off to one side. Seconds later a receptionist with a smooth, warm voice answered her and assured her that someone would unlock the gate for her shortly.

Tiredness washed through Elena as she strolled across the short patch of perfectly mown grass that separated the driveway from the beach. Peeling out of her strappy red high heels, she stepped down onto the sand.

It was close on high tide. Letting her shoes dangle from her fingers, she walked a few steps until she was ankle deep in the creamy wash of the waves, drawn by the sheer romantic beauty of the moon suspended over the water.

The throaty rumble of an engine broke the soothing moment. Reluctantly, she retraced her steps. Powerful headlights speared the murky darkness, pinning her. The SUV, which was black and glossy with expensive, chunky lines, came to a smooth halt behind the wrought iron gates, the engine idling.

The driver didn’t immediately climb out. Frustrated, she attempted to identify who it was behind the wheel, but the glaring halogen headlights had killed her night vision. A peculiar sense of premonition tightened low in her belly.

The door swung open. A broad-shouldered figure swung smoothly out from behind the wheel and the premonition coalesced into knowledge.

Despite the fact that she was braced for the reaction, her stomach plunged. Dressed in faded jeans and designer trainers, a soft muscle T-shirt molding the contours of his chest and leaving tanned biceps bare, Nick looked as tall, dark and dangerous as the last time she had seen him, naked and in her bed.

She went hot, then cold, then hot again. A weird pastiche of emotions seized her: embarrassment, dismay, a familiar sharp awareness, a jolt of old fury.

He gave her a lightning-fast once-over, making her aware of the messy strands of hair blowing around her cheeks and her sand-covered feet. Despite the fact that she was dressed for work in a tailored gray suit, she suddenly felt underdressed.

“Nick.” She reached for the smooth professionalism that went with the suit, the elegant shoes and her new executive status. “This is a surprise.”

And his presence threw some light on the resort’s failure to supply her with a key card. Obviously, for some reason of his own, Nick had wanted another conversation.

His gaze, between the bars, was considering. “Not my fault. You didn’t return my calls.”

Two phone calls, four weeks and two days out? After she had been dumped—for the second time—by a man who had a reputation for running through women?

She held on to her temper with difficulty. “Sorry. I’ve been a little busy lately.”

“You’ve cut your hair.”

“It was time for a change.”

A whole lot of changes. The feathery, pixie cut went well with her new executive job. Plus, the new, sharper style made her feel that she was moving on emotionally.

His gaze was distant as he depressed a remote for the gate and she wondered if she’d imagined the initial flash of masculine interest.

With careful precision, she deposited the red shoes on the passenger seat of her car. “What are you doing here?”

The weird sense of premonition that had gripped her was back. In none of her contacts with the Dolphin Bay Resort had Nick’s name been mentioned. He wasn’t listed on the website or in any of the correspondence she’d received from the resort when she had set up the seminar. “Tell me you’re a guest.”

Although, he couldn’t be a guest. His family’s enormous luxury house was just up the road and guests didn’t open gates.

His gaze connected with hers, sending chills zinging down her spine again, and the brief fantasy that this was just as much of a surprise to Nick as it was to her evaporated. He had been expecting her.

“I’m not a guest. Haven’t you heard? As of two days ago, I’m a part owner of the Dolphin Bay Resort.”

Elena parked her car outside the reception area. She was now officially in shock.

Although maybe she should have seen this coming. She knew Nick had been working on some deal at Gabriel and Gemma’s wedding. She just hadn’t put it together with the news that the Atraeus family were shifting shares around within the family.

She had assumed that an Atraeus would take over the New Zealand side of the resort business. She had forgotten that Nick Messena was an Atraeus on his mother’s side.

Nick insisted on helping her with her bags, then waited while she checked in at the reception desk. The owner of the smooth voice was a tall redhead with a spectacular figure and a pleasant manner. Once Elena had signed the register and obtained a site map of the resort, she looped the strap of her handbag over her shoulder, picked up her briefcase and reached for her overnight suitcase. Nick beat her to it.

“I’ll show you to your cottage.”

“I have a map. I can find my own way.”

“It’s no problem. All part of the service.”

Briefly, she considered trying to wrestle the case back then, gave up on the notion and reluctantly followed Nick as he stepped back out into the night. The resort wasn’t a high-rise complex—it comprised a number of layers of apartments and cottages, each set in their own lushly landscaped areas to preserve privacy. Her cottage was located in sector C. According to the map, it couldn’t be more than one hundred yards away.

As she strolled, she kept an eye on the curving path, which had narrowed, meaning that she had to move closer to Nick.

In her eagerness to keep distance between them, one of her heels slipped off the edge and sank into a thick layer of shells. His hand landed in the small of her back, steadying her. She stiffened, moving away from the heat of his palm, careful not to stumble again.

He indicated a branching pathway and an attractive hardwood building nestled among palms. A tinkling fountain was positioned to one side.

Seconds later, relieved, she slid her key card into the lock and opened her door. Soft light automatically filled the small, inviting hallway. She set her handbag and her briefcase down on the exquisite hardwood floors and turned to collect her case.

Moonlight glinted on the tough line of Nick’s jaw. “Now that you’re here,’ he said with a smooth confidence that set her teeth on edge, “we can finally talk.”

“It’s late. And this conversation was over a long time ago.” If memory served her correctly, it had involved three words and the last one had been “special.”

His jaw tightened, the first kink in his composure she’d seen so far, and suddenly the ball was back in her part of the court.

He set the case down. “I know I behaved badly last month, but I was hoping we could—”

“What, Nick?” She checked her watch, anything to take her mind off the riveting notion that Nick was working up to doing the one thing she had wanted when she had woken up after their night together. He was on the verge of suggesting they spend some time together.

The luminous dial indicated it was almost one in the morning.

He stepped a little closer. The wash of golden light from the porch of her cottage gleamed off his mouthwatering cheekbones. “Since you’re here for the weekend I was hoping we could spend some time together.” Startled that he had actually said the words, she dragged her gaze from the odd diffidence of his. It occurred to her that he seemed sorry that he had hurt her. As if he really did want—

She forced herself to edit that line of thought. This was Nick. She would not be fooled again.

Taking a deep breath, she dismissed the old, automatic desire to soften, to do exactly what he wanted. “I can’t think why.”

“Because I want another chance with you.”

The words were flatly stated, and they sent an electrifying thrill through her. For a split second she was riveted to the spot, quite frankly stunned, then she pulled herself up short. “When did you decide this?”

“A month ago.”

She blinked. “I don’t believe you.”

He shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth.

Did he actually want to kiss her?

She should be furious, but for the first time in years, armed by hurt, she felt in control of her emotions and entirely capable of resisting him.

Heart pounding, high on an addictive, giddy sense of victory, she held her ground. “I don’t understand why.”

“This is why.” He stepped closer, filling the doorway, his gaze fastened on hers and, like a switch flicking on, her whole body was suddenly alive and humming.

Nick’s breath wafted against her cheek, warm and laced with the faintest hint of coffee. After a month of misery and platonic dating, the thought of kissing Nick Messena should leave her utterly cold. Unfortunately, it didn’t.

“Thanks for carrying my bag.” With a deliberate motion, Elena took a half step back into the hall, closed the door and leaned back on it. Her heart was pounding out of control. She felt weird and slightly feverish, and there it was. Her problem.

Nick Messena, unfortunately, still qualified as a fatal attraction. Close to irresistible and very, very bad for her.

Just like the last time, he was making no bones about the fact that he wanted her, and that in itself was very seductive.

But touching Nick Messena, kissing him—doing anything at all with him—was crazy. He was the boyfriend no self-respecting woman should allow herself to have…except in her fantasies.

She touched her lips, which felt sensitive and tender, even though she hadn’t been kissed.

So, okay…Nick Messena still affected her, but she was almost certain that for him there was little or no emotion involved.

He was all about the chase. Commitment was not his middle name.

But after what had happened the last time they had met, it was definitely hers.

Nick’s pulse settled into a steady beat as he walked to his own cottage, which was situated next door to Elena’s.

The encounter hadn’t gone well, but he had been braced for that.

He’d made love to her and left her—twice. He was going to have a tough time reclaiming her trust.

His pulse picked up a notch as he glimpsed Elena, just visible through the wide glass doors in her sitting room, easing slim, delicately arched feet out of her shoes.

With the addition of the red shoes, the gray suit, which could have been dull and businesslike, was cutting-edge and outrageously sexy.

He watched as she walked into the kitchenette, her stride measured, her spine straight, before she finally disappeared from view. It was an award-winning act, but no amount of control could completely repress the sleek, feminine sway to her hips or the fire he knew was stored behind those guarded eyes.

The red shoes said it all. The passion was still there.

He had made a mistake in leaving her. He should have kept her with him, but it was too late to turn the clock back now.

On the plus side, he finally had her back in his territory. He had three days, and the clock was ticking.

Unlocking his door, he stepped inside and walked through to his shower. Now all he had to do was convince her that the chemistry that exploded between them was worth another try. She hadn’t let him kiss her, but it had been close.

Satisfaction eased some of his tension as he peeled out of his clothing and stepped beneath twin jets of cool water.

The night hadn’t been a complete washout.

Despite the fact that she had closed the door in his face, he was certain that Elena Lyon still wanted him.

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