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He waited, captured by the deepening blue, by the emotions shifting like jacaranda blossoms floating on a spring breeze.
He didn't want to feel—certainly didn't want to feel like this, damn it—but when she looked at him with remembrance clouding her eyes and a softening around her lush mouth all he could think about was how incredible she used to feel in his arms.
He didn't want to rehash the past, to taint this deal with emotion, but he couldn't resist asking, 'What do you remember?'
Her tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip, a simple, unaffected gesture that shot straight to his groin; nothing unaffected about his visceral reaction.
‘How we used to lie under that jacaranda tree down by the creek and stare up at the clouds and see who could make the craziest shape.'
Her mouth softened more and he stiffened, shocked by how much he wanted to ravage those lips.
‘I remember the times you took me into Noosa on the back of your bike and how we'd picnic in Noosaville rather than mix with the hob-knobs on Hasting Street.'
She gave up moistening her bottom lip in favour of worrying it and he clamped down on a groan.
‘I remember how you'd look at me with stars in your eyes, as if I was the only woman for you.'
She didn't glance away as he expected her to, didn't push him away when he swept her into his arms and crushed his mouth on hers.
She tasted of lime and sugar, tart and sweet, and he knew she'd been guzzling sugar-cane juice as she used to. She'd been addicted to the stuff back then, like he'd been addicted to her.
He could never get enough of Britt and it looked as if nothing had changed as his tongue swept into her mouth, taunting, challenging, savouring her passionate response as she clung to him, her fingers tangling in his buttons as he pulled her flush against him.
This deal was supposed to be purely business, but as their kiss deepened to the point of no return he knew he was kidding himself.
What he felt around Britt, how his blood fired when she was in his arms, had nothing to do with business and everything to do with earth-shattering pleasure.
Chapter Seven
The moment Nick eased off the pressure to kiss his way across her cheek, Brittany froze.
This was where taking a trip down memory lane got her.
In the arms of the devil himself.
He'd proposed the most ludicrous deal she'd ever heard and what had she done?
Remembered how he’d once been her world.
Let him kiss her.
Had responded to him.
She didn't understand. Business was business, but what he'd proposed was…was…absolutely insane.
Marry Nick Mancini in exchange for her dream?
She couldn't entertain the thought for a second, let alone acknowledge the tiny voice that reminded her she'd do anything to achieve her goal. But marriage to Nick didn't fall into the category of anything.
It fell into the category of certifiable lunacy.
Nick eased away, his glib smile at odds with the surprising tenderness in his eyes. 'I guess that proves being my wife wouldn't be all bad.'
She summoned her temper, needing it to anchor her threadbare control that wavered the moment he mentioned the physical benefits of a possible marriage.
'If you think I'd ever agree to your proposal, you're mad.'
He shrugged, and stepped away. 'Hey, I'm not the one who wants a promotion. Ball's in your court, Red.'
