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Her eyes widened as the pen in her right hand started rapping a frenetic rhythm against the folder in front of her.
Amazing how the mention of their pending marriage could change her from cool career-woman to nervous.
'I'm not sure how long I'll be here. I have loads to do then I need to head out to the farm and—‘
'Perfect. We can discuss our plans over dinner.'
She opened her mouth to refuse and he raised an eyebrow, daring her to disagree.
'Not having second thoughts, are you? Because if you are, I might have to expedite the sale of the farm and—'
'Fine, I'll see you there.'
The coolness in her tone belied the angry flush creeping up her neck as he marvelled again at how damn important this promotion must be for her to go through with this.
Marrying for convenience occurred occasionally in the business world, but never in his wildest dreams had he thought he'd do it, let alone to the only woman he would've ever contemplated walking down the aisle with once upon a time.
'Glad that's settled.' He stood and looked down at her elaborate hairdo, his fingers itching to tug the pins out and send the whole thing tumbling around her shoulders.
As if sensing his thoughts again, she tilted back on the chair and glared at him. 'Was there anything else, because you're hovering over me and I don’t like it.’
With a smile designed to provoke a response, he ducked down to murmur in her ear. 'I'll cook, but I hope you remember how much I love dessert.'
As the pen picked up tempo again he chuckled, snatched a hairpin from her updo and laid it on the stack of paperwork in front of her, before heading for the door.
Chapter Eleven
'Ibrought dessert.'
Britt held out the store-bought lemon meringue pie, wishing Nick would take the damn thing before it tumbled from her shaking hands. This dinner was supposed to set her mind at rest, a pre-wedding get-together to discuss plans and take the edge off her nerves.
So far, it wasn't working.
'Thanks, looks delicious.' His gaze flicked over her, appreciation lighting his eyes, and she had the distinct feeling he wasn't talking about the pie.
She'd spent an hour deciding what to wear, aiming for casual, yet wanting to make him look twice. After five changes, she'd finally decided on caramel suede pants sitting low on her hips and a chocolate rib top that fitted like a second skin. The warm tones highlighted her hair and skin to perfection—or so some stylist had told her at a boutique in Notting Hill.
In London, she'd taken her appearance for granted, spending a small fortune on clothes and accessories to fit the image of a top marketing consultant. She dressed to impress. Her excuse for wanting to look her best tonight.
Yeah, right.
'What's for dinner?' She headed for the stove in an attempt to escape Nick's intense stare.
'Antipasto for starters, then home-made ravioli filled with asparagus and leeks, smothered in a four-cheese herb sauce for main.'
He picked up a ladle, lifted a pot lid, and stirred, the delicious aroma of melted cheese and garlic filling the kitchen and making her mouth water.
'You make your own pasta?' She raised an eyebrow, beyond impressed. How did the guy find time to run a hotel, do stuff around the farm and be a whiz in the kitchen?
He cocked a hip and shrugged, deliciously smug and modest at the same time. 'What can I say? I'm good with my hands.’
Her cheeks burned when he eyeballed her, daring her to disagree, before sprinkling fresh chopped parsley into the pot, sending her a cheeky grin that notched up the heat in the kitchen.
Either that or she was taking a lot longer to acclimatise to the Jacaranda humidity than expected.
'I'm impressed. Is there anything you can't do?'
'No, though I guess I'm better at some things than others.' He winked and turned back to the stove, his attention riveted to the pot while the embarrassing blush in her cheeks intensified.
