JUST ONE MORE NIGHT (9 page)

Sophie frowned at the file. “Elena Lyon? Didn’t you used to date her?”

Francesca’s gaze sharpened. She strolled around the desk and peered at the file. “It was a blind date, only Nick wasn’t blind. He set it up.”

Nick frowned. “How do you
know
this stuff?”

Francesca looked surprised. “I used to study with Tara Smith who waited tables at the Dolphin Bay Coffee Shop. She overheard you telling Smale to find someone else to date and that if you ever heard he was trying to date Elena Lyon again, the next conversation would be outside, on the sidewalk.” Francesca smiled. “Pretty sure that’s verbatim. Tara’s now a qualified accountant—she doesn’t make mistakes.”

Nick felt like pounding his head on the solid mahogany door of his office, but that would be a sign of weakness—something he couldn’t afford around his sisters.

A small frown pleated Sophie’s brow. “Elena was Gemma’s bridesmaid, the girl in the picture when the tabloids mistakenly put the wrong photo in the paper.”

Francesca went oddly still. “That would be the series of photos that fooled everyone into thinking Nick had gotten married.”

There was a heavy silence as if a conclusion that only women could achieve had just been reached.

Sophie’s expression morphed back to calm and serene. Nick groaned inside. He didn’t know how they had connected the dots, but both of his twin sisters now knew exactly how interested he was in Elena Lyon.

Nick controlled another powerful urge to retrieve the file. If he did that, the inquisition would worsen.

Sophie turned another page, brow pleated, reminding him of nothing so much as a very glamorous, earnest female version of Sherlock Holmes. “Elena was the maid of honor at Gabriel’s wedding.” There was a significant pause. “Now she’s coming back to Dolphin Bay for a weekend.”

Francesca’s gaze snapped to his. “Did she plan this?”

Nick’s brows jerked together at the implication that Elena was scheming to trap him, when as of ten minutes ago she was still refusing to take his calls. “There is nothing planned about it. She doesn’t know I’m here.”

That was a mistake.

Nick pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to think, but something about the twin’s double act interfered with normal brain function.

Francesca’s look of horror sealed his fate. Five minutes ago he had been an object of careful examination and pity, but now he was a predator. It was strange how the conversations usually went that way.

Francesca fixed him with a fiery gaze. “If you’re letting her come here and she doesn’t know you own the hotel, well, that’s...predatory.”

Sophie ignored Francesca’s outrage as she placed the file back on the desk and eyed him with the trademark calm authority that thirty years from now would probably be scaring grandkids. “Do you want her?”

In the quiet of the room the bald question was oddly shocking.

Nick’s jaw clenched. As family inquisitions went, this one was over. “There is no relationship. Elena works for the Atraeus Group. She’s coming to Dolphin Bay to work.”

As far as he was concerned, technically, the relationship he was angling for would begin
after
Elena arrived.

* * *

An hour later, after a fraught lunch spent sidestepping further questions and a raft of romantic advice, Nick made it back to his desk.

Opening the file he’d been attempting to read earlier, he studied the letter that had come with the pamper weekend program. He would recognize Elena’s elegant slanting signature anywhere.

Unfastening the pale pink sheet from the file fastener, he lifted it to his nostrils. The faint exotic scent of lilies assailed him, laced with a musky under note that set him sensually on edge.

Loosening his tie, he sat back in his seat and studied Elena’s pamper weekend package. Though designed for women, men were welcome to attend.

He flicked through the pages until he arrived at a quiz. Gaze sharpening, he studied a sheet of multiple-choice questions entitled The Love Test.

The stated object of the quiz, one of the few elements of the package aimed at men, was to find out if the man in a woman’s life knew how to really and truly love and appreciate her.

He flicked through the pages, twenty questions in all that ignored the more commonly perceived signs of a good relationship, such as flowers, gifts and dating. Instead the quiz wound through a psychological minefield, dealing with issues such as emotional honesty, the ability to understand a woman’s needs, and with commitment.

As far as Nick could make out, the quiz didn’t focus on what a man could aspire to romantically so much as highlight the age-old masculine traits that would make him stumble.

The question on when a relationship should be consummated was a case in point. For most men the answer to that question was simple. Sex was a priority, because in a man’s mind until he had made a woman his completely, there was an element of uncertainty that didn’t sit well with the male psyche.

Setting the test sheets down, he turned to the answers, frowning as he read through. The questions he had taken a guess at were all wrong.

As far as he could make out, no ordinary man could hope to score well. It would take an intellectual studying psychology or some kind of New Age paragon.

Like Robert Corrado.

His jaw tightened. From the few comments Elena had made, if Robert took the test, he would pass with flying colors. From the research Nick had done on Corrado, he was inclined to agree.

His fingers tightened on the page, crumpling it. As highly as he was certain Robert would score, he didn’t think he was the kind of man to make a woman like Elena happy. She would be bored with him in a matter of months. Elena needed a man who wouldn’t be intimidated by her formidable strength of character, her passionate intensity.

Nick was that man.

The moment was defining.

He straightened out the page of answers and reattached it to the file. Over the years, commitment had not been a part of any of his relationships.

But now, with the expansion of his business, and several highly paid executives taking the lion’s share of the work, he didn’t have quite so much to do.

He had time on his hands. And, as luck or fate would have it, once again Elena Lyon was in his equation.

And he was on the brink of losing her to another man.

In that moment, an internal tension he hadn’t known existed relaxed, and the focused, masculine drive to attain and hold on to the woman he wanted, that had been missing for so many years, settled smoothly into place.

Six years had passed. Years in which Elena had been single and free, prey to any male who cared to claim her.

But not anymore.

Elena was his. He had hurt her—twice—but there was no way he was going to tamely stand aside and give Corrado a chance at her.

His resolve firmly in place, he checked the answer sheets to find the highest-scoring answers for each question. His frown increased as he read. Out of a possible score of sixty, with a couple of lucky guesses thrown in, he might have made five points. If that wasn’t bad enough, the grading system, at odds with the smooth New Age language, was punitive. Thirty points, a pass in any man’s language, was considered to be “indifferent.” Ten points was “extremely poor.” At five points he balanced on the cusp of “disastrous” and “a relationship mistake of catastrophic proportions.”

Irritation coursed through him. There was no possibility that any red-blooded male could score well. But information was power and if he wasn’t mistaken, he had just been given the key to getting Elena back.

The pamper weekend and the seminar provided the window of opportunity he needed.

Setting the sheet of answers back on top of the file, he walked through to the next office. He offered Alex Ridley, the hotel manager, a well-earned few days off, during which time he would manage the resort. An hour later, he had cleared his schedule for those three days.

Elena wouldn’t be happy when she arrived and found him in residence, but he would cope with that hurdle when they got to it.

After the way he had messed up, he was well aware that negotiation wouldn’t work. With the skills Elena had honed during her years as a personal assistant to his Atraeus cousins, she would ruthlessly cut him off. Desperate measures were required.

Picking up the quiz, he broodingly read through the questions again.

He didn’t know if he would ever be in a position to do the quiz, but at this juncture he needed to be prepared for any eventuality. Picking up a pen, he systematically ticked the correct answer for each question. The 100-percent score entitled him to encircle the grade that assured him he was A Perfect Relationship Partner.

It was cheating.

But as far as he was concerned, when it came to getting Elena back, all was fair in love and war.

Ten

E
lena crossed Dolphin Bay’s county line just minutes short of midnight. The Dolphin Bay sign was briefly illuminated in the wash of headlights as she changed down for a curve and braked. The familiar arching entrance to the Messena Estate loomed, and her heart beat a brief, unwelcome tattoo in her chest.

She had to stop thinking about Nick. By now he would be thousands of miles away, probably on some sand-blasted site in Dubai and doing what was closest to his heart: making millions.

A tight corner loomed. She slowed even further as she drove through a bush reserve, the road slick with recent rain and the moonlight blocked by large, dripping ponga ferns arching over the road.

The massive plastered gateposts of the resort glowed softly ahead. Relieved, she turned onto the smoothly sealed resort road and accelerated, climbing steadily. The lush rainforest gave way to reveal a breathtaking expanse of moonlit sea. Nestled amidst bush-clad hills and framed by the shimmering backdrop of the Pacific Ocean, the resort glittered, patently luxurious and very, very private.

Minutes later, she drew up outside a security gate.

The resort boasted a conference center, a world-class private golf course, a marina and a helipad. They catered to the luxury end of the market and were open for business 24/7, but for security reasons—mostly centered around the extremely wealthy clientele who stayed there and their privacy needs—the gates were locked from midnight until six in the morning.

Guest were issued key cards in advance, but weirdly, her key card envelope, which had been couriered to her, had been empty. Since she didn’t yet have a card, on arrival she had to ring the reception desk so they could dispatch someone to unlock the gate and let her in. It all seemed unacceptably low-tech to Elena. She had already sent a very short email to the manager informing him that he needed to lift his game in this respect.

Once she checked in, apparently she would be issued a key card and could come and go as she pleased.

Jaw locked, she pushed the door open, climbed out into the balmy night and took a moment to stretch the kinks out. Just a few yards away, water lapped on honey-colored sand, the soothing rhythm underpinned by an onshore breeze flowing through the pohutukawa trees that overhung parts of the beach. During daylight hours, the stunning red blooms would provide a brilliant contrast to the intense blue of sea and sky.

She examined the fortresslike wrought iron gates, searching for the intercom. A small red light winked off to one side. Seconds later a receptionist with a smooth, warm voice answered her and assured her that someone would unlock the gate for her shortly.

Tiredness washed through Elena as she strolled across the short patch of perfectly mown grass that separated the driveway from the beach. Peeling out of her strappy red high heels, she stepped down onto the sand.

It was close on high tide. Letting her shoes dangle from her fingers, she walked a few steps until she was ankle deep in the creamy wash of the waves, drawn by the sheer romantic beauty of the moon suspended over the water.

The throaty rumble of an engine broke the soothing moment. Reluctantly, she retraced her steps. Powerful headlights speared the murky darkness, pinning her. The SUV, which was black and glossy with expensive, chunky lines, came to a smooth halt behind the wrought iron gates, the engine idling.

The driver didn’t immediately climb out. Frustrated, she attempted to identify who it was behind the wheel, but the glaring halogen headlights had killed her night vision. A peculiar sense of premonition tightened low in her belly.

The door swung open. A broad-shouldered figure swung smoothly out from behind the wheel and the premonition coalesced into knowledge.

Despite the fact that she was braced for the reaction, her stomach plunged. Dressed in faded jeans and designer trainers, a soft muscle T-shirt molding the contours of his chest and leaving tanned biceps bare, Nick looked as tall, dark and dangerous as the last time she had seen him,
naked and in her bed.

She went hot, then cold, then hot again. A weird pastiche of emotions seized her: embarrassment, dismay, a familiar sharp awareness, a jolt of old fury.

He gave her a lightning-fast once-over, making her aware of the messy strands of hair blowing around her cheeks and her sand-covered feet. Despite the fact that she was dressed for work in a tailored gray suit, she suddenly felt underdressed.

“Nick.” She reached for the smooth professionalism that went with the suit, the elegant shoes and her new executive status. “This is a surprise.”

And his presence threw some light on the resort’s failure to supply her with a key card. Obviously, for some reason of his own, Nick had wanted another conversation.

His gaze, between the bars, was considering. “Not my fault. You didn’t return my calls.”

Two phone calls, four weeks and two days out? After she had been dumped—
for the second time
—by a man who had a reputation for running through women?

She held on to her temper with difficulty. “Sorry. I’ve been a little busy lately.”

“You’ve cut your hair.”

“It was time for a change.”

A whole lot of changes. The feathery, pixie cut went well with her new executive job. Plus, the new, sharper style made her feel that she was moving on emotionally.

His gaze was distant as he depressed a remote for the gate and she wondered if she’d imagined the initial flash of masculine interest.

With careful precision, she deposited the red shoes on the passenger seat of her car. “What are you doing here?”

The weird sense of premonition that had gripped her was back. In none of her contacts with the Dolphin Bay Resort had Nick’s name been mentioned. He wasn’t listed on the website or in any of the correspondence she’d received from the resort when she had set up the seminar. “Tell me you’re a guest.”

Although, he couldn’t be a guest. His family’s enormous luxury house was just up the road and guests didn’t open gates.

His gaze connected with hers, sending chills zinging down her spine again, and the brief fantasy that this was just as much of a surprise to Nick as it was to her evaporated. He had been expecting her.

“I’m not a guest. Haven’t you heard? As of two days ago, I’m a part owner of the Dolphin Bay Resort.”

* * *

Elena parked her car outside the reception area. She was now officially in shock.

Although maybe she should have seen this coming. She knew Nick had been working on some deal at Gabriel and Gemma’s wedding. She just hadn’t put it together with the news that the Atraeus family were shifting shares around within the family.

She had assumed that an Atraeus would take over the New Zealand side of the resort business. She had forgotten that Nick Messena was an Atraeus on his mother’s side.

Nick insisted on helping her with her bags, then waited while she checked in at the reception desk. The owner of the smooth voice was a tall redhead with a spectacular figure and a pleasant manner. Once Elena had signed the register and obtained a site map of the resort, she looped the strap of her handbag over her shoulder, picked up her briefcase and reached for her overnight suitcase. Nick beat her to it.

“I’ll show you to your cottage.”

“I have a map. I can find my own way.”

“It’s no problem. All part of the service.”

Briefly, she considered trying to wrestle the case back then, gave up on the notion and reluctantly followed Nick as he stepped back out into the night. The resort wasn’t a high-rise complex—it comprised a number of layers of apartments and cottages, each set in their own lushly landscaped areas to preserve privacy. Her cottage was located in sector C. According to the map, it couldn’t be more than one hundred yards away.

As she strolled, she kept an eye on the curving path, which had narrowed, meaning that she had to move closer to Nick.

In her eagerness to keep distance between them, one of her heels slipped off the edge and sank into a thick layer of shells. His hand landed in the small of her back, steadying her. She stiffened, moving away from the heat of his palm, careful not to stumble again.

He indicated a branching pathway and an attractive hardwood building nestled among palms. A tinkling fountain was positioned to one side.

Seconds later, relieved, she slid her key card into the lock and opened her door. Soft light automatically filled the small, inviting hallway. She set her handbag and her briefcase down on the exquisite hardwood floors and turned to collect her case.

Moonlight glinted on the tough line of Nick’s jaw. “Now that you’re here,’ he said with a smooth confidence that set her teeth on edge, “we can finally talk.”

“It’s late. And this conversation was over a long time ago.” If memory served her correctly, it had involved three words and the last one had been “special.”

His jaw tightened, the first kink in his composure she’d seen so far, and suddenly the ball was back in her part of the court.

He set the case down. “I know I behaved badly last month, but I was hoping we could—”

“What, Nick?” She checked her watch, anything to take her mind off the riveting notion that Nick was working up to doing the one thing she had wanted when she had woken up after their night together. He was on the verge of suggesting they spend some time together.

The luminous dial indicated it was almost one in the morning.

He stepped a little closer. The wash of golden light from the porch of her cottage gleamed off his mouthwatering cheekbones. “Since you’re here for the weekend I was hoping we could spend some time together.” Startled that he had actually said the words, she dragged her gaze from the odd diffidence of his. It occurred to her that he seemed sorry that he had hurt her. As if he really did want—

She forced herself to edit that line of thought. This was Nick. She would not be fooled again.

Taking a deep breath, she dismissed the old, automatic desire to soften, to do exactly what
he
wanted. “I can’t think why.”

“Because I want another chance with you.”

The words were flatly stated, and they sent an electrifying thrill through her. For a split second she was riveted to the spot, quite frankly stunned, then she pulled herself up short. “When did you decide this?”

“A month ago.”

She blinked. “I don’t believe you.”

He shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth.

Did he actually want to kiss her?

She should be furious, but for the first time in years, armed by hurt, she felt in control of her emotions and entirely capable of resisting him.

Heart pounding, high on an addictive, giddy sense of victory, she held her ground. “I don’t understand why.”

“This is why.” He stepped closer, filling the doorway, his gaze fastened on hers and, like a switch flicking on, her whole body was suddenly alive and humming.

Nick’s breath wafted against her cheek, warm and laced with the faintest hint of coffee. After a month of misery and platonic dating, the thought of kissing Nick Messena should leave her utterly cold. Unfortunately, it didn’t.

“Thanks for carrying my bag.” With a deliberate motion, Elena took a half step back into the hall, closed the door and leaned back on it. Her heart was pounding out of control. She felt weird and slightly feverish, and there it was. Her problem.

Nick Messena, unfortunately, still qualified as a fatal attraction. Close to irresistible and very, very bad for her.

Just like the last time, he was making no bones about the fact that he wanted her, and that in itself was very seductive.

But touching Nick Messena, kissing him—doing anything at all with him—was crazy. He was the boyfriend no self-respecting woman should allow herself to have...except in her fantasies.

She touched her lips, which felt sensitive and tender, even though she hadn’t been kissed.

So, okay...Nick Messena still affected her, but she was almost certain that for him there was little or no emotion involved.

He was all about the chase. Commitment was not his middle name.

But after what had happened the last time they had met, it was definitely hers.

* * *

Nick’s pulse settled into a steady beat as he walked to his own cottage, which was situated next door to Elena’s.

The encounter hadn’t gone well, but he had been braced for that.

He’d made love to her and left her—twice. He was going to have a tough time reclaiming her trust.

His pulse picked up a notch as he glimpsed Elena, just visible through the wide glass doors in her sitting room, easing slim, delicately arched feet out of her shoes.

With the addition of the red shoes, the gray suit, which could have been dull and businesslike, was cutting-edge and outrageously sexy.

He watched as she walked into the kitchenette, her stride measured, her spine straight, before she finally disappeared from view. It was an award-winning act, but no amount of control could completely repress the sleek, feminine sway to her hips or the fire he knew was stored behind those guarded eyes.

The red shoes said it all. The passion was still there.

He had made a mistake in leaving her. He should have kept her with him, but it was too late to turn the clock back now.

On the plus side, he finally had her back in his territory. He had three days, and the clock was ticking.

Unlocking his door, he stepped inside and walked through to his shower. Now all he had to do was convince her that the chemistry that exploded between them was worth another try. She hadn’t let him kiss her, but it had been close.

Satisfaction eased some of his tension as he peeled out of his clothing and stepped beneath twin jets of cool water.

The night hadn’t been a complete washout.

Despite the fact that she had closed the door in his face, he was certain that Elena Lyon still wanted him.