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

But what if she wanted more?

If she did, Nick Mancini sure wasn’t the guy to give it to her. His life was poles apart from hers.

His business was here, hers was in London.

His heritage was here, she’d always craved to escape family here.

He didn’t want a real marriage, a small part of her did.

Huh?

Where had that last bit come from?

Sighing, she took a comforting sip of the creamy hot chocolate, savouring the mini marshmallows melting on her tongue.

Unfortunately, as fabulous as her life in London was, there was one thing lacking and that was a real, steady relationship. Not some casual fling, not some short-term dating and not some modern equivalent of ‘being involved’—meeting once a week for a regular meal and sex. She’d tried these options and found them infinitely depressing.

No man had come close to matching what she’d felt for Nick, had once had with Nick.

And therein lay her problem.

‘Just great,’ she muttered, hitting the delete key on several joke emails and wishing she could erase her feelings for Nick as easily.

She’d been back a few days and had already reverted to her old ways: thinking about him constantly, wondering what he thought of her, hoping he felt half of what she did.

Pathetic.

The last email in her inbox effectively distracted her from the Nick problem. Her boss had given her leeway to complete this job, so why send her an email with ‘Tight Timeline’ in the subject header?

Clicking on the email, she quickly scanned the contents.

TO: BrittanyLloyd@Sell.London.com

FROM: DavidWaterson@Sell.London.com

SUBJECT: Tight Timeline

Hi Brittany,

How’s my number one marketing guru enjoying her trip Down Under? Working hard, I hope.

I know we left your timeline fairly open for this pitch, but there’s a change in plans.

Looks like Sell is expanding the NY office sooner than we thought and they want me to head it up ASAP, which means my job here needs to be filled within three months.

To be fair to all prospective candidates, we’d need your pitch presented in eight weeks.

Hope this is viable. If not, contact me.

We’re expecting big things from you, don’t let us down.

David

Brittany rubbed a weary hand across her eyes and quickly reread the email.

Eight weeks.

Two brief months to collate information, take pictures and perfect her pitch. Oh, and throw in a snap wedding.

What was she thinking?

But if the wedding didn’t happen, she wouldn’t have access to the farm, and no access meant no chance at the promotion anyway.

Her hands were tied. So why did it feel as if her insides were following suit?

Off the record, David had virtually assured her the MD role if she presented a killer pitch. She should be doing cartwheels.

Instead, the longer she stared at her boss’s email, the more aware she became of exactly how far away London was from Noosa…and her soon-to-be husband who resided there.

‘THIS place has changed so much.’

Brittany’s head swivelled from side to side as she strolled up Hastings Street, Noosa’s main thoroughfare, with Nick.

‘Boutiques, cafés, restaurants, five-star hotels. We almost rival London in the trendy stakes, huh?’

‘Almost.’

London had a vibe all of its own and she loved it, and coming home to find Noosa had turned hip and cosmopolitan was a nice surprise.

Nick laid a hand on her arm and she stopped, more startled by his touch than the mini-city’s transformation. ‘There is one thing we didn’t discuss the other night.’

Just one? She could think of several, including how platonic this marriage would be, where they would live, how long they’d keep up the pretence. And that was just for starters.

‘What’s that?’

‘How long you’re sticking around for.’

She had to tell him the truth, had to tell him they had eight weeks to make it look as if they had a pretend marriage for real.

Shrugging, she pointed to the tapas bar they’d stopped outside.

‘All depends on how long the job takes. Fancy a snack? I’m starving.’

‘Okay.’

He led her into the bar, to a cosy table in the furthest corner, and ordered for them before turning that penetrating dark gaze back on her.

‘So are we talking two months? Four? Longer?’

‘You’re really hung up on this timeline thing, aren’t you?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I wouldn’t call it a hang-up. An honest answer will do.’

Hating the little white lie she had to tell, she said, ‘As long as it takes. I have the workers in place, so once we’re married I can really get stuck in.’

She picked at an olive from a tray that had been placed in front of them. ‘I guess you want to know what happens after I’m done.’

To her surprise, he shook his head. ‘Not really. I’m more concerned with the here and now, and solidifying my reputation with investors.’

She could leave well enough alone. In fact, she’d rather be discussing anything than their cold, calculating marriage scheduled for the morning. But if she left in two months as planned, where would that leave Nick and his precious reputation?

‘So when I leave…’

She trailed off, not wanting to voice her doubts out loud. The way she saw it, she was getting the better end of this deal: full access to the farm to nail her promotion then she walked, back to her old life, leaving Nick to fend off curiosity about why his marriage fell apart so quickly and the possible financial fallout from his investors.

‘When you leave, I act like nothing is wrong. We’ll have a modern marriage, where we spend several months of the year together and have highly successful careers on different continents. Business people understand that.’

‘But—’

‘It’s nobody’s concern but ours,’ he said, his tone cool and confident, at odds with the banked heat in his enigmatic gaze. ‘This is going to work. Trust me.’

He placed a hand over hers before she could blink and rather than pulling away, the sane thing to do, she turned hers over and curled her fingers through his.

With a squeeze, he smiled and her heart flip-flopped in predictable fashion.

‘That’s my girl. So, you ready for tomorrow?’

‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’

She’d found a dress in a high-end boutique, shoes to match and had booked a hairdresser appointment.

Did a simple outfit constitute ready? A smart up-do? In reality, she’d never be ready to walk down the aisle with the only guy she’d ever really loved, knowing their marriage was fake.

‘About the honeymoon…’

She snapped her gaze to his, not liking the naughty twinkle in his one little bit. ‘A honeymoon isn’t part of the deal.’

She all but yanked her hand out of his on the pretext of reaching for her water glass. He shrugged, a roguish smile playing about his mouth, and in that moment she wished she could take it back.

She’d always been a sucker for that smile, from the first moment he’d squatted to pick up her books strewn in the dirt when she’d tumbled off the bus the day they’d met.

He’d smiled his way into her life, her heart, and she’d be damned if she sat here and let him do it all over again.

‘Okay, no honeymoon.’

‘Good.’

She folded her arms, glared at him. With little effect if his growing grin was any indication.

‘But we do need to have a wedding night.’

‘No way—’

‘This marriage has to look real. I’m a prominent businessman in the area and if we don’t go away, we’d have to do something special for our wedding night, otherwise people would talk.’

He had a point, damn him.