About Nicola’s Modern Heat™, TWO-WEEK MISTRESS:
‘Funny, witty and sensually enticing, TWO-WEEK MISTRESS by Nicola Marsh left me laughing at the antics of her characters while enjoying the sensuality of this novel.’
—www.cataromance.com
About BIG-SHOT BACHELOR, also from Modern Heat™:
‘Nicola Marsh writes a down-to-earth romance that will appeal to everyone…’
—www.cataromance.com
About INHERITED: BABY, from Mills & Boon® Romance:
‘Awe-inspiring characters combined with an incredible story, INHERITED: BABY by Nicola Marsh tells the story of a woman’s inspirational spirit to live her life her way, who is able to succeed in getting the man of her dreams…’
—www.cataromance.com
‘Nick, don’t.’
‘Don’t what? Don’t remember the past? Don’t admire the gorgeous woman you’ve become?’
The heat in his eyes scorched her, captivated her, held her spellbound.
‘Or don’t do something as crazy as this?’
Before she could blink, he hauled her into his arms and kissed her.
The kisses they’d shared as teenagers had been exploratory, tender and achingly poignant. Yet there was nothing remotely sweet or gentle about his mouth crushing hers now.
Their lips clashed in a frantic, hungry union, a fusion of tongues, a meshing of desire that left her reeling.
She should have been immune to him by now. She should have pushed him away and laughed it off as a quick reacquainting peck between friends for old times’ sake.
Should have, should have, should have…As she stood on tiptoes, leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his neck, her resolve to push him away meltedjust as it had ten years earlier, when she’d acted on all the bottled-up feelings she’d harboured for him for years.
Nicola Marsh has always had a passion for writing and reading. As a youngster, she devoured books when she should have been sleeping, and later kept a diary which could be an epic in itself! These days, when she’s not enjoying life with her husband and sons in her home city of Melbourne, she’s at her computer, creating the romances she loves, in her dream job. Visit Nicola’s website at www.nicolamarsh.com for the latest news of her books.
Nicola also writes for Mills & Boon® Romance.
Marriage:
For Business
Or Pleasure?
BY
Nicola Marsh
With thanks to Laurie Schnebly, for being a great
teacher and for getting me to ask my characters why?
Chapter One
THE rented SUV swerved on the dusty, potholed driveway of the Mancini place and Brittany Lloyd bit back a curse.
Her average driving skills had little to do with the state of the road or the unwelcome memories assailing her and everything to do with the naked man bent over a thresher.
Semi-naked, technically, as her gaze riveted to the tantalising expanse of bronze, broad back glistening in the scorching Queensland sun.
The muscles shifted, bunched, slid, as he straightened and thrust hands into back pockets of ripped, faded denim, and as her greedy gaze strayed to his butt she suddenly wished she hadn’t stayed away so long.
Ten years in London had been a sane choice, a safe choice considering what she’d been running from, but seeing this hot guy on her first morning home reinforced no place on earth bred guys like Jacaranda.
She should know.
She’d fallen in love with one, had given him her heart, her virginity and her loyalty.
More fool her.
As she righted the car and approached, the guy half turned and this time the SUV sheered straight off the driveway and almost straight into a ditch.
The engine stalled, spluttered, died, as her white-knuckled hands gripped the steering wheel, shock and joy and mindnumbing lust slamming into her, leaving her powerless to do anything but watch him approach.
Not a flicker of emotion crossed Nick Mancini’s face as he reached the car, leaned tanned, toned forearms on the open window and gave her a casual nod.
‘Hey, Britt. Long time no see.’
A casual greeting, without rancour or bitterness; then again, she’d been the one left to pick up the pieces when he’d ended it.
The greeting and his lack of emotion didn’t do justice to what they’d shared, what they’d given up and she’d be damned if she showed him anything other than the same lackadaisical nonchalance despite her jack-hammering heart and clammy hands.
‘Ten years, give or take.’
She wanted him to acknowledge the time they’d spent apart, wanted him to ask how she’d been, wanted him to finally explain why he’d opted out.
Instead, he shrugged, her gaze drifting to those bunching muscles of their own volition, all too aware of how he’d filled out in the last ten years.
He’d been lean rather than muscular back then and now…She wrenched her gaze away from his impressive pecs and focused on his face.
Nick the teenager had been good-looking, cocky and a rebel.
Nick the man was drop-dead gorgeous in a rough-around-the-edges way, still cocky and, if she read him right, still out to prove to the world he didn’t give a damn.
By the smug grin lifting the corners of an all too kissable mouth, she’d read him just right.
‘What brings you by?’
‘Business.’
Something solid, tangible and guaranteed to keep errant emotions at bay no matter how much she wanted to ask him ‘what the hell happened to us?’
She’d hoped to avoid him, had hoped to do business with his father but she’d been a fool. This place was in Nick’s veins, of course he’d be here doing a hard day’s work, working longer and tougher and harder than all his employees.
‘Business, huh?’
His caramelised-toffee eyes narrowed and she wished he’d stop staring at her as if she had a dirt smudge on her nose. He’d always had the ability to see into her soul and right now that was the last thing she needed.
She needed to stay focused. Her promotion depended on it.
‘I’ve got a proposition for you.’
He straightened, all six feet two of lean, hard muscle, and smiled that bad-boy smile she remembered so well, the smile that had haunted her for months when she’d first arrived in London, pining away for her first lovethe same love who had turned down her offer to come with her, to build a life together.
‘I just bet you have, Red.’
He opened the car door and she stepped out, wishing she could hide her blush, knowing it would do nothing for her freckles and hating herself for caring so damn much.
‘No one’s called me that in years,’ she muttered,