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And he'd sent her away.
He'd had no choice, but not a day went by without him replaying memories of the red-haired hellion who'd captured his heart without trying.
So having Britt here, after all this time…he could hardly comprehend it. The kicker? He’d lost control around her all over again.
Ten years ago, the spell she'd cast over him hadn’t been a result of her blue eyes, porcelain skin, and waist-length auburn hair that begged a guy to run his fingers through it. Nor did it have anything to do with her lithe body, with enough curves to turn a guy's head.
No, Brittany Lloyd possessed a more elusive charm that he craved more than spicy tomato meatballs.
Class.
Something he'd craved his entire life, something he'd set about gaining the last few years, but she'd been born with, and no amount of mixing in the right circles or business success could buy what she had.
That kiss had been a mistake and gave her the upper hand in whatever ‘business’ she’d come here for. He needed to refocus and try to forget the way she’d responded to him, the soft moan she made when his tongue touched hers, her eagerness in pressing against him…
He cleared his throat and turned back to face her, surprised by the vulnerability in her eyes. Hell, it was just a damn kiss, no big deal. Maybe if he kept repeating it in his head, he might start to believe it.
‘So what’s this business proposition you have for me?’
‘It’s all in there.'
She pointed at the folder in his hand—crumpled considering it had been wedged between their bodies—staring at it like it was a ticking bomb ready to detonate. What the hell was inside? Rather than open the folder, he tapped it against his other palm, taking his time, gauging her reaction.
‘Why don't you just open it?' She yelled, just as she used to in the good old days and he grinned.
'Good to see you've still got that fiery temper beneath all that polish.'
He looked her up and down, admiring the subtle changes to her appearance: the gold streaks in her now shoulder-length hair, the svelte body packed with more curves than a racetrack, the elegant wardrobe. As a teenager she'd been pretty. As a woman, she was stunning.
With a confident toss of that luscious hair, she fixed him with a newly acquired haughty glare.
‘You're the only one who seems to bring it out in me. Now, back to business?'
Curiosity ate at him. This precious business deal must be important to bring her back here, and he needed to be one hundred per cent appraised of the situation before he started discussing anything with her.
He raised an eyebrow, rattled the folder, and gestured at his bare torso. 'I don't do business like this. Where are you staying?'
To his delight, she blushed, her gaze lingering on his chest a few seconds too long. 'The FantaSea in Noosa.'
This got better and better.
'But I don't expect you to drive all that way to meet me. We can do this here—'
'I was heading into town after I'd finished here anyway. Why don't I meet you there around five? We can discuss your business proposal over drinks.'
'That won't be necessary—'
'But it will.'
He leaned closer, her awareness of him evident in the widening of her pupils, the tip of her tongue darting out to moisten her bottom lip, and his gut clenched with how badly he still wanted her.
Maybe he should tell her the truth now and be done with it.
But where was the fun in that?
'Give me some time to clean up, take a look at your proposal, and we can discuss it over a Shirley Temple.'
He scored another direct hit with reference to her favourite drink back then, her lips compressing into an unimpressed line.
