Time to prove their marriage was real in every way.

  He had no intention of letting her walk away thinking otherwise.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Unwelcome déjà vu washed over Britt as she stood outside her father's room.

  She'd been a fool to come here, especially after everything that had happened, but something Nick had said about her father niggled.

  They'd been discussing Darby and she'd clammed up, not interested in rehashing anything her father had done or said when Nick visited him.

  But something Nick said at the time had registered and made her think. Nick said Darby was a nasty old coot but her father must love her enough to give her money to start a new life in London.

  In that moment, the emotional blinkers blinding her lifted a fraction. Considering why she'd fled home and headed for the opposite side of the world to escape, when she’d learned the truth recently about Darby funding her lifestyle, she'd assumed her father had given her the money to control as always.

  Never once had she contemplated any other reason. But the more she thought about it, the more it didn't make sense.

  If Darby truly hated her back then as she believed, why would he cushion her? Why not see her fail and hope she'd come running home rather than give her money to prop her up?

  She had to know why he'd done it.

  Clenching and unclenching her hands, she rolled her shoulders, and stretched her neck from side to side like a prize fighter about to enter a boxing ring.

  After a few deep breaths, she knocked and entered Darby’s room, striding across to the bed where her father lay.

  He looked so old and tired she felt a sudden rush of pity, until his ferocious glare settled on her and she remembered all the awful things he’d done and said.

  ‘I thought I told you to—'

  'Why did you do it, Dad?'

  His upper lip curled. 'Trust Mancini to tell you about our bargain—‘

  'Not that. The money. Why did you give me that money and pretend it was Mum's?'

  She'd never seen her dad anything but aloof, cold, and angry after her mother left, hadn't seen him blink when the news of her death had reached them, and for the first time in forever she saw uncertainty cloud his eyes, contorting his expression into confusion.

  He didn't respond and his gnarled hands wrung beneath the bedcovers.

  'Dad? Tell me. You owe me that much.'

  She expected him to say, 'I owe you nothing' in a classic gruff Darby response, so she almost keeled over when he pushed into sitting and beckoned her closer.

  'The only reason I let you go to Brisbane for that vacation is because I couldn't stand the sight of you cowering anymore.' He stared at the coverlet, his frown deepening. 'Then when you didn't come back and sent that email that you were in London and weren't coming back, I was worried.'

  'You'd have to care to worry,' she said, hating the flare of hope she'd finally get some answers to questions that had plagued her for years.

  'I cared.' His shocking declaration came out a whisper and she almost slapped her ears to ensure she'd heard right.

  'You call abusing me caring? All those put-downs and shoves and—' She inhaled and exhaled several times, trying to keep a check on her temper. A futile effort, as years of resentment bubbled up. 'You were my dad, you should've loved me. Instead, you were a monster. What did I do wrong? Why did you treat me like that? Tell me, damn you!'

  To her amazement, tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes and trickled down his wrinkled cheeks unchecked, the sorrow in his gaze wrenching a soul-deep response she didn't want to acknowledge.

  He opened his mouth, closed it, before shaking his head. 'None of it was your fault.'

  His low groan of pain had her darting an anxious glance at the heart-monitor machine but the blood-pressure numbers weren't rising and the spiky lines remained unchanged.

  'I was a monster. What I did was unforgivable.'

  'Then why?'

  He took a deep breath and knuckled his eyes before fixing them on her.

  'Because looking at you was like looking at the young version of your mother I fell in love with. Because seeing you every day reminded me of what she'd been like and what she'd become when she ran out and got herself killed. Because it hurt right here—' he thumped his heart and this time the machine gave an alarming beep '—every time I looked at you and wished you were her.'

  She had her answers but they did little to erase the years of bitterness as she belatedly realised nothing he could say or do would make up for what he'd put her through.

  His trembling hand snaked towards her, palm up, begging. She stared at it, expecting to feel repulsed or worse, fearful, remembering the last time he'd extended the same hand had been to hit her.

  None of those feelings materialised as pity trickled through her, pity for the weakened, frightened man he'd have to be to extend the hand of friendship to her after all these years, after all he'd done.

  Sadness clogged her throat as she placed her hand in his briefly, squeezing once before snatching it back. It was more than he deserved but in that one, fleeting touch, some of her residual anger receded.

  'I'm so sorry for everything,’ he said, flexing the fingers on the hand she'd clasped as if not quite believing she'd done it.

  Needing to escape before she broke down, she managed a brisk nod.

  If only an apology could change the damage Darby had done.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Britt stepped into the Crusoe Suite, the air whooshing from her lungs as she realised what Nick had done.

  Every detail of the incredible room—the sheer ivory chiffon draping the open-air French doors leading to a stunning horizon pool, the raised alabaster king-sized bed, the countless tea-lights shimmering in the dusk, the heady scent of frangipani lingering in the air—indicated Nick remembered.

  He remembered.

  Her gaze lingered on the picnic blanket spread in the middle of the spacious room: the feast of chocolate-dipped strawberries, double-roasted almonds, and petit fours, with a bottle of chilled Moscato in an ice bucket.

  All her favourites, in her ultimate fantasy room.

  When had she told him? Their first date? Their second? Their tenth? Irrelevant, considering he'd remembered her island fantasy and recreated it to perfection in this breathtaking suite.

  'I'm glad you came.'

  Like something out of a movie, Nick stepped into view, brushing chiffon aside to enter the suite. If the room was gorgeous and the view sublime, Nick was out of this world.

  Wearing formal black trousers and a crisp white shirt open at the neck, his hair ruffled by the ocean breeze, he padded barefoot towards her, every step accelerating her heart rate towards cardiac arrest.

  'I had to say goodbye,' she managed on a squeak as he swept her into his arms, strode to the picnic blanket, and gently deposited her, nuzzling her neck in the process.

  'Shh…' He brushed a soft kiss against her lips, a kiss to fuel dreams, a kiss laden with promise. 'No talk of goodbyes. We have the whole night and I intend to make every second count.'

  If his kiss rendered her speechless, the clear intent in his eyes clammed her up because there was little doubt once they'd eaten he'd be feasting on her.

  'Here, drink this.' He handed her a wine glass, his knowing smile telling her he knew exactly how he’d flummoxed her.

  After several unladylike gulps, she cleared her throat and managed to speak. 'This must be the most popular suite in the hotel.'

  His eyes glittered as he shook his head. 'It's never been booked.'

  'I don't understand.'

  'This room is never available. It's never been used.'

  'But—'

  'Tonight's the first.' Raising his glass in her direction, he said, 'Rather fitting.'

  He couldn't possibly mean…he wasn't implying…

  'Are you saying—?'

  Swooping in for another stolen kiss, he whispered against her lips, 'This is your room, Red. Your fantasy. Surely you know I could never share it with anyone else?'

  Her heart swelled with love for this amazing man. She loved him with everything she had but she couldn't silence the doubt demons perched on her shoulder, whispering in her ears what she'd be giving up, what she'd be risking if she stayed now.

  While she'd taken the first tentative step towards forgiving her father, everything she'd been through with him had moulded her into the woman she'd become today: a strong, independent woman too scared to rely on anyone else, a woman wary of loving too much.

  This room might be her fantasy, but could she say the same about her marriage?

  It had started as a pretence, built on shaky foundations, something transient and intangible that could vanish as easily as any dreams she once had for the two of them.

  'Why did you build a room like this when you had no idea I'd ever see it?'

  He shrugged, his expression bashful. 'I've built my dreams from nothing. And when you have nothing, hope is a powerful motivator.'

  She shook her head, confused. 'You hoped I'd come back?'

  ‘I counted on it.'

  His confident smile set her pulse racing.

  'I used to come into this suite for some time out.' He pushed to his feet and gestured at the room. 'Did some of my best thinking here.'

  Confused, she said, ‘But I only came back for work and we married out of mutual benefit for our businesses. How could you have known I'd ever get to see this?'

  'You would've come back, Red. It's fate.'

  She refrained from snorting, just. ’I don't believe in it.'

  She made her own luck, ever since she'd had the sense to flee home and relocate to London. Fate had dealt her a bum hand in the paternal stakes and she'd lost faith in it a long time ago.

  Smiling, he held out his hand to her. 'It's the Italian in me. We believe in higher powers.'

  So did she at that moment as she placed her hand in his and he tugged her to her feet.

  'I also believe in us,’ he said, holding her close.

  She wanted to lose herself in the fantasy, but logic wouldn't be denied. She had to leave tomorrow and wanted to make sure he knew where things stood with their marriage.

  'You didn't believe in us ten years ago,’ she said, struggling to hide her bitterness. ‘Not enough to make us work.'

  He swore under his breath and hugged her tighter. 'I was young, idealistic, and an idiot. Let me prove to you how much you mean to me.'

  'You don't have to—'

  He crushed his mouth to hers, eradicating her protests, her rationale, her reason.

  She shivered with longing as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping inside her mouth to touch hers, his hands tugging on the sash holding her wrap dress together.

  It slithered to the floor in a hiss of silk, leaving her flesh bare to his exploring hands. They skimmed her skin, his fingers trailing up her thighs, lingering at the edge of her panties before delving beneath.

  She melted against him, clung to him, her need for Nick astonishing in its all-consuming power.

  She couldn't think when he grazed her clitoris, didn't want to think when he thumbed it, circled it, backing her slowly towards the bed without breaking tempo.

  'Step up, sweetheart,' he murmured, guiding her like a maestro when they hit the dais before gently laying her on the bed, playing her body with his mouth and his tongue and his fingers until she could've sung encore arias all night.

  He kept her on the edge, tormenting her with pleasure as she arched her back, thrust her hips up, desperate for him, begging for release.

  'Nick, please…'

  'We have all night.' He kissed her, swallowing her plea, toying with her until mind-numbing need made her incoherent.

  After a torturous eternity he picked up tempo, his thumb circling her clitoris with perfect pressure, and on the next stroke spasms rocked her body, wave after wave of intense, mindless pleasure drenching her.

  Before she could catch her breath he'd whipped off his pants, sheathed himself, and thrust inside her. Hard, insistent, demanding everything she could give.

  Spent and listless with satisfaction, Britt watched as Nick drove into her, again and again, smooth and unrelenting.

  She reignited, tensed, and climaxed at the same time he did, their cries mingling on the night air before fading away to contented silence.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Britt had gone.

  Nick knew it the second he woke, not needing to open his eyes to see that she’d left. She was a part of him, always had been.

  He hadn't been kidding when he'd told her about this room and his hopes she'd come back. Everyone returned home to their roots at some stage and he'd counted on it. She’d always been the only woman for him, and now she was his wife and they loved each other, nothing would stop them.

  Then why was he lying here alone, and she was winging her way to the other side of the world again?

  He'd let her get away once. Porca miseria. Never again.

  But he couldn't control her, couldn't hold her back anymore than let her go. He understood her drive, her ambition, because the same need for success pounded through his veins.

  So why the crazy feeling she'd left for good?

  They hadn't resolved anything last night. He'd planned to talk, but his good intentions had crashed and burned around the time he'd been unable to keep his hands off her.

  From there, all bets had been off as they'd pleasured each other repeatedly all night long, finally falling asleep around five a.m.

  He didn't need to glance at his watch to know it had to be around nine now, the brightness of a cloudless Noosa sky indicative of the late hour.

  He got out of bed and pulled on his pants, hopping and cursing alternately when his foot snagged on a sheet and he pitched off the dais.

  Britt couldn't have got much of a head start and he needed to see her, needed to make sure she understood the depth of his feelings before she boarded that plane.

  Shrugging into his shirt and caring little for the buttons, he strode to the door, his hand stilling on the knob as a glint of metal on the hallway table caught his eye.

  The streaming sun reflected off the object, scattering prismatic shards of golden diamonds against the pristine walls. As he moved a fraction to the left and realised what the object was, his heart stopped.

  It couldn't be.

  He swept the ring into his palm, and juggled it like a hot coal, fury warring with disbelief.

  Britt had taken off her wedding band and left it behind.

  Which could only mean one thing.

  She wanted out.

  Santo cielo.

  Shoving the ring deep in his pocket to eradicate the painful reminder of how much she didn't want him no matter what they shared, he yanked the door open.

  He wasn't losing her without a fight.

  Not this time.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Britt fiddled with her empty ring finger the entire twenty-four-hour flight to London.

  Had she done the right thing?

  With the skin rubbed raw where the wedding band had resided, she forced herself to stop tracing the faint tan line, folding her arms and tucking her hands safely out of fiddling reach.

  A good thing too, because once she stopped touching the skin where the ring had been she might be tempted to rub her forehead to erase the big fat C branded there.

  C for coward, because she was, a spineless, quivering, coward for yanking the wedding band off in a fit of madness and bolting into the early-morning light while Nick slept.

  Last night had changed everything.

  She didn't trust words, she needed actions, and Nick had proved to her how much he wanted this marriage for real, how much he loved her.

  Building that room for her with no knowledge she’d ever see it…that was love. And his eyes…the way he looked at her…that depth of emotion can’t be faked.

  Then with every silken caress, with every murmured endearment, with every soul-reaching kiss, he'd shown her he loved her.

  He’d left her no option but to run.

  She couldn't have left if they'd woken together and he'd asked her to stay and the realisation terrified her. She prided herself on being an independent career woman, yet she’d fallen so completely in love she no longer had control over her actions.

  Nick sleeping in had provided her a final window of escape and she'd taken it.

  She fled. She had to.

  Nick didn’t know the truth about her father, about why her financial debt to Darby weighed so heavily on her, about how much the people who loved you could hurt you.

  Telling Nick the truth would've been the brave thing to do, but thinking about discussing that horrific period in her life made her tremble.

  She didn't want Nick’s pity or his sympathy. She couldn't rely on his love because one day it would no longer be there.

  She'd nearly lost herself before. This time she knew if she let herself fall further, there'd be no coming back.

  She didn't want Nick dragged into her sordid family life, didn't want to tell him the whole truth.

  That was her past.

  She needed to wipe it clean before she could concentrate on her future.

  Courtesy of a minor catastrophe with the new FantaSea project in the Bahamas, Nick spent three weeks stewing over his wife's disappearance.

  He tried calling; she didn't return his calls.

  He tried emailing and texting; she sent him a brief response about how busy she was in her new position, how she didn't have a spare moment, how she'd get in touch soon, yada, yada, yada.

  A crock, all of it.

  How long did it take to tack an 'I love you' at the end of an email? A quick text message saying 'I miss you'?

  While his wife might be industriously breaking through the glass ceiling, he'd had three long weeks to replay, rehash, and remember every moment of their marriage, culminating in their last night together.

  If she didn't understand the depth of his love for her after that night she never would, and he had every intention to pack his bags, head back to Noosa, bury his nose in business, and forget their short-lived marriage.