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‘I already do.’
‘What?’
Thankfully, some of her old Ice Princess skills kicked in and prevented her jaw from hitting the floor.
‘Though technically, that’s not entirely right.’
Scanning his face, looking for a clue to what this was all about, she came up lacking.
‘I don’t understand.’
As he nodded to someone over her shoulder and held up a finger to indicate a minute he leaned down, his breath fanning her ear and sending ripples of heat through her. ‘I don’t just work here, I own the place.’
This time, as he strode away, she was sure her jaw did hit the floor.
Nick stared out of his office window on the fifth floor of the Phant-A-Sea, blind to the exquisite view of Noosa beach stretching into national park to the far right.
He’d loved this view when he’d first built the hotel, experienced a sense of immense satisfaction every time he’d sat behind this desk and stared out of the window.
Not today.
Today, whether his eyes were open or shut, all he could see was Britt’s brilliant blue eyes wide with shock as he dropped his bombshell.
He’d expected to feel powerful, proud, even smug, when he told her the truth. So why the let-down, as if he should’ve come clean from the start?
What kind of game was he playing anyway? He didn’t have time for them, not these days. On the verge of opening the fifth Phant-A-Sea hotel on Pink Sand Beach in the Bahamas and trying to build clientele here, he didn’t have enough hours in the day.
That was why he was selling the farm. At least, that was his excuse and he was sticking to it.
He loved that place, had loved it from the first time Papa handed him a piece of sugar cane to gnaw on as a toddler, and it was as much a part of him as his love of the sea.
But that was part of the problem.
No one around these parts took him seriously as long as he was still connected to it, as long as every time they saw him they saw the rebel farm boy he used to be.
While the Phant-A-Sea was doing big business, he wanted to expand, diversify, take his business to the next level and to do so he needed investors.
If he didn’t have the respect and backing of local investors because of his heritage, what hope did he have with the overseas moneymen?
Throw in the constant rumours about his reputation, labelling him as some Casanova playboy who couldn’t possibly be serious about business while playing the field, and he was facing an uphill battle.
Not that it daunted him. He’d fought his way to where he was today, had earned an MBA at night while slogging on the farm trying to make a go of it during the days, had worked damn hard to ensure a thriving cane plantation and the biggest, brightest hotel Noosa had seen in years.
He’d fight now too, would show the investors he wasn’t some cocky upstart who’d lucked into the hotel business.
Yet the fact he had to part with a piece of his history, a piece of his soul, to prove himself cut deep.
There had to be something else he could do…
Suddenly, he sat bolt upright, a ludicrous, crazy, just plain loco idea shimmering at the edge of his consciousness.
He shoved it away, ignored it.
It didn’t bear thinking about, wasn’t worth entertaining for one second.
Yet the more he tried to condemn the idea, the harder it came, gnawing at him, demanding to be recognised as a valid solution to his problem.
Slamming his silver ballpoint onto the desk, he pushed away and strode to the window, planting his palms on the sill and dropping his head forward until it hit the glass with a dull thud.
Questo è pazzia.
Papa had used the phrase often and it now echoed in his head, ‘this is crazy, this is crazy’, making him feel the same way when he’d been caught sneaking a smoke at ten, stealing a kiss from a worker’s wife at twelve and losing his virginity to a farmhand’s sister at fourteen.
Hell, there’d be no way he’d be contemplating something as crazy as this if Papa were alive. The old man had been his conscience in more ways than one.
But Papa wasn’t around any more and he owed it to him, to himself, to make the Mancini name one to be reckoned with, to bring recognition for a lifetime’s hard work.
Contraccambio. Quid pro quo.
Britt wanted something from him, he wanted something in return.
But would she go for his proposal?
A simple business proposition, something she understood only too well if she’d travelled all this way for the sake of a promotion.
Yet what he had in mind was so…so…
Brilliant.
The businessman in him couldn’t fault his proposition, whereas the carefree guy who’d fallen for a red-headed vixen the second he’d first laid eyes on her all those years ago knew that executing his plan wouldn’t be simple at all.
Chapter Three
BRITTANY gritted her teeth and rapped at Nick’s door.
She’d been summoned.
Of all the nerve…if her promotion weren’t so important she would’ve told him exactly where he could shove his summons.
But the promotion was all that mattered, why she was here, determined to keep a smile on her face and a lid on her curiosity no matter how much she wanted to know how Nick the bad boy had become Nick the billionaire.
The way he’d toyed with her, had dropped the information he was now a hotelier, rankled too, as if it had been one big game to him.
Well, screw him. And his four world-class hotels.
At least she’d come to this meeting prepared. After he’d dropped his little bombshell in the hotel bar she’d hightailed it back to her room and done a quick Internet search on the Phant-A-Sea chain.
What she’d discovered had blown her away.
Nick’s hotels were luxury all the way, five-star elegance and beyond. Their breathtaking bedrooms were a signature feature, but all the reviews out there agreed that these classy hotels delivered on their promisethey were a fantasy experience all the way.
She’d been intrigued by the mention of a Caesar room, a Casino Royale room and a Cinderella room, wishing there were pictures to go with the tempting descriptions.
Then again, if she played her cards right, maybe she’d get a first hand look at some of the rooms?
The thought of stepping inside the Jungle Safari room with Nick acting as tour guide brought a scorching blush to her cheeks and she pressed her hands against them, desperately trying to cool them before he opened the door and caught her on the back foot again.
The door swung open and she immediately squared her shoulders, ready for battle.
She’d left home at eighteen, travelled to the other side of the world, lived in a strange city and made a success of her life without using a penny of her father’s money.
Making this deal happen with Nick should be a walk in Hyde Park, regardless of the games he seemed determined to play.
‘Right on time.’
He stepped aside and gestured her into the room, a huge suite converted into an office, complete with monstrous mahogany desk, leather director’s chair and a matching black leather lounge suite designed to make whoever set foot in the giant room at home.
She ignored the comfy-looking sofa and settled for the solitary chair opposite his desk, her back ramrod straight. She wasn’t here to get cosy and comfortable, she was here to seal this deal.
Clasping her hands in her lap, she fixed him with a businesslike stare.
‘Let’s get down to it, shall we? You know what I want. You’ve had time to study the figures in my presentation. What’s your answer?’
To her chagrin he grinned, a wide, self-assured grin of a fat cat toying with a baby mouse.
‘It’s killing you, isn’t it?’
In an instant she knew what he was referring to. He used to tease her about being a nosy busybody all the time, so he’d know how much his bombshell was burning her up with curiosity.
As if she’d give him the satisfaction of knowing it.
Keeping her expression carefully blank, she shrugged. ‘You’re not the only one who’s changed. What you’ve done in the last ten years, why you chose not to tell me the truth out at the farm, that’s your business.’
She leaned forward, tapped her presentation folder sitting in prime position in the middle of his desk.
‘And this is mine, so let’s cut to the chase. Are you willing to make this deal or not?’
‘That depends on you.’
He sat, leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head, stretching the fine cotton of his business shirt tight against his chest, drawing her attention, tempting her to stare, to linger, to envision what he looked like without it.
Not that she had to try too hard. She’d had an up close and personal look earlier that day and a glimpse of that entire bronze, hard chest was burned into her memory bank no matter how many times she hit the mental delete button.
She shook her head to clear it. ‘Of course I want this deal to happen. It’s why I’m here.’
The only reason I’m here, hung unsaid between them as she matched his steady stare, not blinking, not moving a muscle.
To her surprise he broke the deadlock first by reaching for the folder and pushing it towards her with one finger.
‘I’m not interested in your money.’
That got her attention.
‘Pardon?’
He tapped the folder. ‘What your company’s offering in here, the remuneration for use of the farm. I’m not interested.’
Her hopes sank faster than her first attempt at rowing on the Thames as she struggled to come up with a new twist on her pitch, something, anything, to convince him to agree to this deal.
‘But I do have something else in mind.’
She didn’t like the hint of subterfuge in his smoother-than-caramel tone, the gleam of devilry in his toffee eyes.
‘Like what?’
He pushed away from the desk, came around and squatted down next to her, way too close, way too overpowering, way too much.
‘I’ll agree to your precious deal if you agree to mine.’
His silky smooth tone sent a shiver of dread creeping across the nape of her neck, for she had no doubt whatever demands he made she’d be forced to agree.
Hanging onto her cool by a thread, she tossed her hair over her right shoulder and fixed him with her best intimidating glare.
‘Go on, then. State your terms.’
Placing a finger under her chin, he tipped it up, his slight touch sending unexpected heat spiralling through her and slashing a serious hole in her concentration.
‘It’s quite simple. I hold onto the farm for now, give you complete access for however long you need it, on one condition.’
She leaned forward, drawn towards him against her will, his finger less of a guide than her own stupid attraction when it came to this man.
‘Spit it out.’
With his lips a hair’s breadth from hers, he murmured, ‘You become my wife.’
With their lips so close, so tantalisingly close, and the ever-present heat shimmering between them like an invisible thread binding them despite time apart, it took a few seconds for his words to penetrate.
When they did, she jerked back, shock rendering her speechless.
Her mouth opened, closed, as her mind spun with confusion. She could’ve sworn he’d just proposed…
‘You heard me.’
He straightened, and while half of her wanted to clobber him for the ludicrous statement he’d just made, the other half irrationally missed his proximity.
He perched on the desk, towering over her.
‘Marry me. That’s my condition.’
