with newspapers and magazines so they could dance body to body to their favourite crooning country singer.
The memories were so real, so poignant that her eyes misted over and she blinked, caught up in the magic of the past when she should be focused on the future.
Her future as Managing Director of Sell depended on it.
Come five o’clock, she’d make sure Nick Mancini with his sexy smile and flashing dimples and hot body knew exactly the type of businesswoman he was dealing with.
Brittany sipped at her sugar-cane juice as she glanced around the Phant-A-Sea’s bar.
She’d stayed in some gorgeous hotels around the world but this one was something else. From its sandstone-tiled entrance to its pristine whitewashed exterior, from its cascading waterfalls to the stunning umbrella-shaped poincianas lush with flamboyant crimson flowers, it beckoned a weary traveller to come in and stay awhile.
As for her beautiful room with its king-size bed and six-hundred-thread-count sheets, double shower, Jacuzzi and locally made lavender toiletries, she could happily stay there for ever.
But this wasn’t a pleasure trip, far from it.
She needed to seal this deal with Nick. It would give her confidence an added boost to face the other nemesis this journey: her father.
They hadn’t spoken in ten years.
But she was here, he now lived in an exclusive special accommodation for the elderly and, as she wouldn’t be back, she needed to put the past to rest, say a proper goodbye this time.
She’d taken up yoga in London, was a convert to karma, and wanted to ensure hers was good rather than being dogged the rest of her life for not doing the right thing when she had the opportunity.
Swirling the lime wedge in her juice around and around, she mulled over her dad’s anger, his need to control, his escalating abuse before she’d left.
He’d always been domineering but when she’d turned eighteen he’d gone into overdrive. She’d escaped, hadn’t looked back, but there wasn’t a day went by when she hadn’t wondered how different her life would’ve been if she’d stuck around.
Would she and Nick have married? Would they have a brood of gorgeous, curly dark-haired, dimpled kids?
Swallowing the lump of regret clogging her throat, she glanced up, and the lump expanded to Ayers Rock proportions.
Farm-boy Nick in faded, torn denim and sweat-glistening chest was hot.
Executive Nick in an ebony pinstriped designer suit, crisp white shirt accentuating his tan and a silk amethyst tie was something else entirely.
She froze as he strode towards her, all long legs and designer outfit and dimpled smile.
‘Hope you haven’t been waiting long.’
He ducked his head to plant a quick kiss on her cheek and her senses reeled as she caught the faintest whiff of his familiar woody deodorant mingled with the sweetness of harvested cane.
Memories slammed into her: snuggling in the crook of his arm under their jacaranda tree, lying on top of him along the river bank, nuzzling his neck as they made love…She gulped a lungful of air, several, to ease her breathlessness.
His scent was so evocative, so rich in memories she struggled to remember what he’d just asked her.
Casting a curious glance her way, he sat opposite, his knees in close proximity to hers, and she surreptitiously sidled back to avoid accidental contact.
That was all she needed. As if she hadn’t made enough of a fool of herself already.
‘What do you think of the hotel?’
She managed to unglue her tongue from the roof of her mouth, take a quick sip of her juice before answering. ‘It’s gorgeous. There was nothing like it ten years ago.’
His proud grin baffled her as much as seeing him in a suit. ‘Phant-A-Sea was built five years ago. Business is booming.’
Taking in the subtle lighting, the understated elegance, she nodded.
‘I’m not surprised. I’ve travelled extensively for business the last six years or so, but haven’t stayed in anything quite like this before.’
The mention of business cleared the sensual fog that had enveloped her the moment he’d strutted into the bar, and she glanced at his empty hands.
‘Where’s my proposal? Did you take a look at it?’
He shook his head, gestured to a waiter who scurried over as if the prime minister had beckoned.
‘I prefer to hear this pitch from you first, then go over the details later.’
‘Is that why you’re in a suit?’ she blurted, wishing she hadn’t asked when his gaze raked over her own change of clothes. The dove-grey skirt suit was another favourite, never failed to give her a confidence boost and with Nick’s steamy stare sliding over her she needed every ounce of confidence she could get.
Before he could respond, the waiter said, ‘The usual, Mr Mancini?’
‘Yes, thanks, Kyoshi.’
Confused, she flicked her gaze between the two. Nick hadn’t as much as glanced at the waiter’s name tag, and along with ‘the usual’ it was obvious he frequented this place.
Strange, considering thriving, cosmopolitan Noosa was a good ninety-minute drive from the plantation and she hadn’t pegged Nick for the bar-hopping type.
Then again, she’d been away a decade, people changed, so what did she know?
‘You like?’
He glanced down at his suit, leaving her no option but to do the same, and she gulped at the way his chest filled out the shirt, how the fine material of the suit jacket hugged his shoulders.
‘I’ve never seen you in one.’
His eyes glittered with a satisfaction she didn’t understand as he pinned her with a stare that had her squirming.
‘Times change.’
She gripped her glass so tight she wouldn’t have been at all surprised if it cracked and she forced her hand to relax and place it on the table by her elbow.
‘They do. So let’s get down to business.’
Leaning back, he placed an outstretched arm on the back of his chair, the simple action pulling his shirt taut across the muscular chest she’d seen in all its glory earlier that day and she instantly wished for a drink refill to cool her down.
‘I have to say I’m intrigued. This business must be pretty damn special to drag you back here from the bright lights of London.’
Special? How could she begin to explain to him what this promotion meant? The long hours she’d put in over the years? The overnight jaunts to godforsaken places, going the extra
