Ally Blake - Untamed Billionaires - Marriage - For Business or Pleasure? / Getting Red-Hot with the Rogue / One Night with the Rebel Billionaire

He waited for her to speak, continued polishing the chrome, an action he found soothing. He rarely got time to lavish on his bike these days and this was the first opportunity he’d had to work on his baby in months.

Even with her forget-me-not eyes clouded with worry, tendrils of hair escaping her ponytail and draping her face in golden copper and that worried action which drew attention to her lush mouth like it always had, she looked incredible, like his greatest fantasy come to life.

Which she was, not that he’d ever told her. He’d had his chance ten years earlier and she’d made it more than clear what she’d thought of his rebuff back then.

‘You blow this chance, Mancini, you’ll never get another one. This is it, you and me, together. So what will it be?’

His answer had been pretty clear. He’d given her one last kiss, a bruising, harsh kiss to say goodbye to the best thing that could’ve happened to him, pushed her away and said, ‘There is no us, Red. And there never will be.’

She hadn’t cried and he’d admired her for it. She hadn’t clung or tried to change his mind. She’d sent him a pitying look, shook her long red mane, held her head high and walked out on him, leaving him with an ache in the vicinity of his heart. An ache that had returned tenfold despite all his self talk what they’d shared back then was nothing more than a teenage fling.

Slamming a door on pointless memories, he stood, tucked the polishing cloth in his back pocket and leaned against the bike.

‘You made it.’

For a second, he wished he hadn’t sounded so flippant as her eyes clouded with wariness.

‘Yeah, thanks for agreeing to meet me.’

The hint of vulnerability in her voice, in her expression, stunned him. The Brittany Lloyd he knew would never show weakness in front of anybody, least of all him.

‘Let’s pull up a seat.’ He pointed to the outer perimeter of the machinery shed, where a few old-fashioned plastic garden chairs lay scattered. ‘Have you given any more thought to my proposal?’

Stupid question. As if she would’ve thought of anything else since she’d stormed out of his office yesterday.

She ignored his question and said, ‘I want to talk about my father.’

No way .

If there was one topic of conversation off-limits, that was it.

Darby Lloyd was an out and out bastard. He’d controlled everything and everyone in this district, had set out to ruin Papa. Until Nick had given him what he wanted.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, ‘I don’t have much to say on that topic.’

‘Not many people do. But I want to know something. Did he ever approach you about me back when we were dating? Did he try to interfere?’

His blood chilled. There was no way he’d ever tell her the truth about her father. Besides, it wasn’t as if Darby were the cause of their break-up. It’d been much easier to blame their disintegrated relationship on her wanting to escape Jacaranda for the bright lights of a big city. That way, he could live with himself and what he’d done.

To help justify their break-up he’d told himself women were fickle. His aunt had run off to Melbourne with a salesman, his godmother had absconded with the butcher to Bunbury, his mum had abandoned her family and Britt had followed suit, hightailing it to London as soon as she hit eighteen.

Britt might have invited him along for the ride but he’d known that was due to the teenage fantasy she’d built in her head, the one where she saw him as some fancy Prince Charming riding his white horse to save her.

The problem with fantasies was they weren’t true and he’d been forced to burst her bubble before he did something silly—such as trust her as he’d trusted his mother.

‘What did he do? Tell me.’

She clicked her fingers in front of his face and as he looked into her luminous blue eyes a small part of him wished he’d indulged her fantasy.

Where would they be today if he had? Happily married with a brood of ruffians? Sharing confidences and dreams? Spending every night wrapped in each other’s arms, recreating the magic, the passion, that haunted him to this day? He could’ve had one hell of a life.

But he’d made his choices, his sacrifices, and, considering the successful hotelier he’d become, life wasn’t all bad.

‘Just thinking of the good old days,’he said, trying to distract her. He didn’t want to talk about her father, not now, not ever.

‘Good old days?’

She gaped at him and he clamped down on a grin. ‘Which ones? The ones where you tied my plaits to the bus seat, or the ones where you plucked my lunch right out of my hands, or the ones where you threw my pet rock collection into the river?’

He smiled at the memories, remembering how he’d used to tease her mercilessly and how she’d given as good as she’d got. She’d been a little firebrand back then, her red hair a definite symbol of a quick-fire temper. And a symbol of a simmering passion he’d been lucky enough to unleash.

Man, had she pushed his buttons back then and he hoped to God he’d grown out of it, whatever it was.

He didn’t have time for emotions in this marriage. It was business, pure and simple. He had more important matters to consider, such as building his profile with investors, expanding into new cities and upping profit margins.

‘You loved every minute of it. Remember that time I put a toad in your bag?’

She rolled her eyes, a smile twitching at the corners of her glossed lips. ‘Oh yeah, I really loved that. Not!’

‘How about the garlic I rubbed into your Spandau Ballet T-shirt?’

Her lips twitched more. ‘You were a jerk.’

‘What about the shed incident?’

‘Which one?’

Her lips curved into a small, secretive smile and he clenched his hands into fists and thrust them into his pockets to prevent them reaching for her.

‘The time you had me shovelling manure or the time you opened your mouth and poured the verbal variety on me so I’d fall into your arms?’

‘Ouch!’ He clutched at his heart. ‘You haven’t changed a bit, Red. That hurt.’

‘And you haven’t changed a bit either, still shovelling it in the hope to distract me. Now, can we get back to the topic of my father?’

She was onto him. Always had been, seeing right through his tough-guy act, reducing him to a love-struck schmuck around her.

Correction, lust-struck schmuck .

Big difference there. He’d never loved Brittany. Liked her, lusted after her but he’d never dared love her.

He didn’t do love.

Love equalled loss and loneliness and pain, emotions he could do without.

Folding his arms, he leaned back in the rickety chair. If he couldn’t deflect her attention, he’d have to give her some snippet of the truth to placate her before they tackled more important matters, like the question of their impending nuptials.

‘You know how much your dad hated any guy who came near you. Why dredge all this up now?’

She gnawed at her bottom lip, fiddled with the edge of her short skirt. He’d never seen her this nervous before.

Well, maybe on one other occasion, the night she’d asked him to go away with her, the night he’d made the final break.

Until yesterday, he’d convinced himself he’d made the right decision. Women were unpredictable, erratic creatures who couldn’t be depended on. Then Brittany Lloyd walked back into his life, making him re-evaluate his choice and think a whole lot of ‘what-ifs’.

What if he’d gone away with her?

What if they’d made a life together?

What if they fell in love and lived happily ever after?

Yeah, like happy-ever-afters ever happened in the real world.