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

‘I said I was fine,’ she snapped, rubbing the bridge of her nose before mustering an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry. I’m used to having my team around me in London. It’s harder trying to get a cohesive unit together so quickly here.’

‘Why the rush?’

He knew she’d see right through his innocuous question, knew she’d understand what he was really asking was ‘how long are you sticking around?’

With her gaze firmly fixed on her laptop screen, she said, ‘Deadlines. I’m sure you understand.’

Placing a hand on her arm, he leaned across to murmur in her ear. ‘How long, Red?’

She stared at his hand as if it were a tiger snake before finally raising her eyes to his.

‘I don’t know. This pitch is big. Huge. The MD didn’t set an exact timeline but he knows I’m a fast worker. As long as I deliver, it’s up to me.’

He wanted to push the issue, wanted to discuss how long they’d have to make this marriage as real as it could get, but now wasn’t the time or place.

Squeezing her arm, he released her and glanced at his watch. ‘I do have an appointment, but we should get together later to discuss our other business.’

Her eyes widened as the pen in her right hand started rapping a frenetic rhythm against the Manila folder in front of her.

Amazing how the mention of their pending marriage could change her from uber-cool career-woman to nervous Nelly.

‘I’m not sure how long I’ll be here. I have loads to do, then I need to head out to the farm—’

‘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 a fair bit 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, 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, glared at him. ‘Was there anything else, because you’re hovering?’

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 and laid it on the stack of paperwork in front of her, before heading for the door.

‘I brought dessert.’

Brittany 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 no doubt 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 trousers 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 Harrods.

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, was used to it. That was 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, 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 a regular Neil Perry.’

‘Who?’

‘Australia’s equivalent to Jamie Oliver,’ he said, 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 bubbling away while an embarrassing blush crept into her cheeks.

Oh, yeah, she remembered exactly how good he was at some things, which was why she grabbed the cutlery off the sideboard, trying to remember the difference between left and right as she struggled to place knives, forks and spoons in their right place.

She’d been insane to agree to his marriage proposal, absolutely stark, raving mad to think she could remain businesslike for the length of their marriage—yet another thing they had to decide tonight. For she was in little doubt this platonic union would have a time limit.

He’d asked as much earlier and she’d had no idea how to respond, didn’t want to think beyond this pitch and what she had to do to secure her promotion.

Marriage to Nick, a business deal. And business deals had set time frames, both parties aware of how long the proposed business would take right from the start.

So why the sudden pang in the vicinity of her heart?

Once the table was set, she picked up the pasta bowls and took them to the stove.

‘We’ve got a lot to talk about tonight.’

He held up a hand. ‘Not on an empty stomach. Let’s eat first.’

‘Fine with me.’

But it wasn’t fine, none of this was, and while they made polite small talk over his fabulous pasta she couldn’t forget the real reason she was here: to set the boundaries of their marriage.

An event she’d dreamed of ten years ago, had planned in her head to the nth degree: strolling towards her incredible groom under the shade of their favourite jacaranda tree down by the river, him in a casual suit with his shirt collar open, the wind ruffling his too-long-to-be-neat hair, her in a flowing ivory silk minidress made for strolling down by the river after she’d married the man of her dreams.

Somehow, the quick, impersonal ceremony in front of a minister they would now go through didn’t have the same ring to it.

There went her heart again, squeezing tight, hurting enough to show, no matter how much she pretended this was all business, she knew, deep down, she was selling her soul.

Nick tried not to stare at Brittany, he really did, but it was like trying not to look at the sun glistening on Jacaranda River first thing in the morning or the moon rising over a glittering Noosa at night.

Perfectly natural occurrences where a person’s gaze was riveted by beauty, unable to do otherwise and that was exactly how he felt now, taking in her slight frown, pursed lips and thoughtful expression as she tapped a pen against the pad in her hands.

‘We’re forgetting something,’ she said, screwing her eyes up as if trying to see the missing info.