Marriage: For Business or Pleasure?

‘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.