JUST ONE MORE NIGHT by Fiona Brand

through Nick’s mind. His chest went tight at the vivid picture of Stefano Messena tying down a sail on his yacht, his expression relaxed as he enjoyed the methodical process. It was the picture of a man who liked to do everything right.
    For the first time he examined the fact that he hadn’t been able to let anyone close since his father had died.
    Intellectually, he knew what his real problem was, or had been. He had known it the moment he saw the love letters and birth certificate hidden in Katherine Lyon’s photo album.
    Because he and his father had been so close, no matter how hard he’d tried he hadn’t been able to disconnect and move on. He’d stayed locked in a stubborn mind-set of grief and denial. The last thing he had wanted was to immerse himself in another relationship.
    His mother and his sisters had probed and poked at his inability to “open up.” The words dysfunction and avoidance had figured largely in those conversations.
    Nick had stepped around the whole issue. Maybe it was a male thing, but he figured that when he felt like becoming involved in a relationship, he would.
    But something had changed in him in the instant he had discovered the possibility that Stefano Messena hadn’t cheated on or betrayed anyone.
    Emotion had grabbed at his stomach, his chest, powerful enough that for long seconds he hadn’t been able to breathe.
    His fingers tightened on the birth certificate.
    Grimly he allowed himself to remember that night. The time spent waiting for the ambulance, even though he’d known it had been too late. The hurt and anger that had gripped him at the way his father had died.
    He knew now that his father had just been unlucky. The heavy rain had made the road slippery. He’d probably been driving so late because he wanted to get home.
    Home to the wife and family he loved.
    He slipped the birth certificate and the photograph back into the briefcase. The moment felt oddly symbolic.
    Nick didn’t personally care about the ring, which, in any case, rightfully belonged to Michael Ambrosi. He had what he wanted: he had his father back.
    * * *
    When they landed in Sydney the press was waiting in the arrivals lounge.
    Nick groaned and put on his game face.
    Kyle grinned. “Want me to take point?”
    “Just promise not to speak.”
    “Name, rank and serial number only. Scout’s honor.”
    “That would have meant more about an hour ago on the flight.”
    The questions, all centered on Elena, were predictable. Nick’s reactions were not.
    Instead of staying doggedly neutral, cold anger gripped him every time a journalist directed another intrusive or smutty question at him.
    By the time he reached the taxi rank he was close to decking a couple of the tabloid hacks.
    When they reached the Atraeus offices thirty minutes later, his normally nonexistent temper had cooled. But his lack of control pointed up a change in himself he hadn’t expected.
    Usually when he walked away from a liaison he felt detached, his focus firmly on his next work project.
    Right at that moment, he was having trouble concentrating on anything but Elena.
    What she was doing and how she was feeling about him was coming close to obsessing him.
    The thought that she might actually get a tattoo or, worse, go back to the mysterious Robert, suddenly seemed a far more riveting issue than the resort package that would take his business portfolio to a new level.
    As they stepped into an elevator, Nick took out his cell and put through a call to his PA, instigating a security check on Corrado. And, more importantly, requesting a full rundown on all of Corrado’s business interests and a photo.
    He hung up as the elevator doors opened up on the floor occupied by the Atraeus offices.
    Constantine Atraeus, who was dealing with the negotiation himself, walked out and shook hands.
    Constantine was both family and a friend. In his early thirties, he was incredibly wealthy, with a reputation for getting what he wanted. Although