Читать книгу Millionaire's Wedding Revenge / Stranded with the Tempting Stranger: Millionaire's Wedding Revenge - Brenda Jackson - Страница 8

Two

Megan stepped past the liveried doorman and into the cool lobby of the Garrison Grand.

The change was a welcome respite from the heat outside. She’d dressed for the hot weather in a lime-green sheath dress with a short matching jacket, her feet encased in strappy sandals.

A couple of men sent appreciative looks her way.

She knew that as a tall redhead in heels, she was hard to overlook—even if she wore her hair tied back and constrained, as it was today.

What she wasn’t used to, she thought, as she looked around at the hotel guests in the lobby, was the cool sophistication of Stephen’s world.

She’d almost forgotten what this world was like, having spent the past few years variously wiping baby food off her shirt, reading nursery rhymes and teaching Jade how to use the potty.

Now though, as she surveyed the women with lithe tanned bodies dressed in halter tops or less, and the men projecting a chic style in khakis and designer shirts, she knew she had to gird herself for today’s meeting.

Glancing to her left, she noticed Stephen walking toward her from across the lobby.

She watched as he was waylaid by an employee, then as his progress was halted again by someone who appeared to be a familiar hotel guest.

When he finally approached, she said, “I thought I was meeting one of your executives.”

“Change of plans,” he said, cupping her elbow and gently steering her with a subtle pressure.

He slanted her a look. “That is, unless you mind it’s me.”

“No,” she responded automatically. Since she had been the one to call their relationship strictly professional, she had no choice but to stick to the script. “Of course I don’t care.”

Of course I care. Just being in the same room with him was enough to make her tense and jittery.

As it was, little shock waves coursed through her from the casual contact of his hand at her elbow.

They walked across the majestic soaring lobby toward the elevators. One end of the lobby led to the street, and the other end, with columns alternating with billowing white curtains, opened onto the Garrison Grand’s private beach. The smell of surf and sand wafted in.

She hadn’t been able to stop herself over the years from reading the occasional news article about Stephen and the Garrison Grand. The hotel had kept a fantastic reputation while she and Stephen had been dating, but it had surpassed itself since then, becoming the it place for the rich and famous who flocked to South Beach.

Walking through the lobby now, she could understand why. Stephen seemed to keep everything new and cutting edge.

“I’m looking to redesign some of the meeting rooms on the second floor,” Stephen said. “Then we can talk about other changes—what else needs to be revamped and updated.”

His deep voice buffeted her like the warm jets of a hot tub.

This is not going to work, she thought. How could she stand to work with him when she couldn’t even think straight?

Yet, she had no choice. After Stephen had left her office yesterday, she’d gone to see Conrad. The meeting had confirmed everything Stephen had said: everyone else in the office was too busy with other projects to be the lead person on the Garrison Grand, and they were looking to her to be a team player.

Now, as Stephen called the elevator and they rode up together, she felt the air between them fairly crackle with tension.

When they stepped out on the second floor, they walked down a hallway with recessed lighting along either side of its carpeted floor.

He gave her a quick tour of the business center and various conference rooms. They ended up at the end of the hall, where Stephen opened a set of double doors and ushered her inside the last empty conference room.

As she walked past him, she was careful not to brush against him. She didn’t think she could stand it.

This conference room contained a long, rectangular, glass-topped table that looked as if it could seat twenty. Like the others, the decor was modern, with high-backed office chairs and all the proper business amenities: phones, a flat-screen television with a DVD player, and a projection screen that appeared as if it was normally hidden behind a wooden wall panel.

“I find it hard to believe,” she observed after looking around and turning back to Stephen, “that anyone can work in paradise’s playground.”

It was a thought that had increasingly hit her during their brief tour.

A smile slashed across Stephen’s face. “I do,” he said, then added drily, “That’s why you can’t see the beach from this room or the others.”

She walked farther into the room, trailing her fingertips along the top of the table before setting her purse down, putting together the thoughts and ideas that had been formulating since the beginning of their tour.

He watched her.

“Very modern,” she mused.

“Very,” he agreed, “but I’m not looking for merely modern. I want different—unique—and that means changing to stay ahead of our competitors.”

She turned to face him. “Are you thinking of the Hotel Victoria?”

“Just back in town, and you’ve heard of it already,” he quipped.

She lifted her shoulders. “I’m an interior designer. Of course I’m interested in news of a hotel opening.”

“Well, don’t be too impressed,” he advised. “Jordan Jefferies is an imitator, not an innovator, and I’m more than ready for a fight.”

Stephen’s comments reminded her of everything she knew about him from four years ago. He was still strong-willed, powerful and competitive.

Seeking to change the direction of the conversation, she said, “The conference rooms are different from the rest of the hotel. They don’t have the same white theme—”

His lips quirked. “We were looking for something a little more professional for the business rooms. White is the ultimate indulgence.”

“Decadent luxury,” she agreed.

It was what his celebrity guests came for. She could only imagine what his cleaning bill amounted to for the hotel. She knew most of the guest rooms were decorated in white, with splashes of color lent mostly by fresh flowers and marble accents.

But then again, given the room rate at the Garrison Grand, she could well imagine Stephen seeing healthy profits.

She thought about the suite at the hotel that Stephen kept for his personal use. It had also been done in white, she recollected. But unlike the other suites in the hotel, the room rate there had been a night of passion in Stephen’s bed.

She felt herself heat at the thought.

“What are you thinking?” he said, and she jumped.

“I was just mulling the possibilities,” she said quickly, trying to cover her lapse. “It occurred to me to do a takeoff on the decor in the rest of the hotel. White and dark blue. White leather, midnight-blue velvet. Different textures, different fabrics.”

She spoke rapidly, sketching her idea for him, the thoughts spilling from her. “White to echo the calming relaxation of the rest of the hotel, midnight-blue for business. Navy is a business color, but we’ll subtly undermine it by casting it in sinful velvet and giving it a unique hue.”

His long-ago familiar lopsided smile appeared. “Tell me more.”

It was easy to think sinful in his presence, she wanted to tell him.

Her heart beat rapidly.

There was a time, four years ago, when they’d been so hot for each other, they’d have abandoned their business meeting to sneak away upstairs and have frantic sex in his hotel suite, kissing and holding hands in the elevator as soon as the doors closed.

Or he’d have locked the door, and taken her right here.

Not anymore.

And she shouldn’t be having such lascivious thoughts about a client, she reminded herself. Particularly him. She was mommy material now.

She glanced around. “We’ll replace the wood paneling with sound-soak material to help with the acoustics and lighting. It comes in an off-white color, but with a suede finish, so it’ll blend with the decor.”

He smiled. “Sounds good.”

“It’ll sound even better when I’ve had time to draw up plans,” she responded as she walked back toward him. “We’ll need to move the business center, too. It should be convenient but less obtrusive. Right now, from what I saw, it has too much glass, in my opinion.”

“I’m liking it even more,” he replied.

“Aren’t you lucky, then, that you got me before Jordan Jefferies did?” she joked, then could have bitten off her tongue as Stephen’s eyes darkened.

She watched as his gaze traveled over her. “Yeah, I got you,” he drawled before he met her gaze. “The question is, when will I have you again?”

Her stomach flipped. “Never.”

“Never is a long time, sweetheart.”

“I thought we agreed to keep this relationship strictly professional.”

“We did?” he murmured.

“That would put sexual innuendo on the wrong side of the line,” she informed him.

“How about dinner?” he asked, his voice flippant even as his look heated her all over. “Would having dinner together be on the wrong side of the line?”

“Mo—” She stopped to clear the catch in her throat. “Most definitely.”

“Too bad,” he murmured.

Yes, too bad. Then she caught herself.

No, not too bad. He was lying, cheating vermin, and she’d be three kinds of fool to fall under the spell of his seductive charm—again. What was wrong with her?

He looked at her hair. “Why is your hair up?”

“It’s hot.”

Outside. It’s hot outside. But she felt as if she was burning up right in here.

Before she could stop him, he reached up, and with an efficient move, released the barrette holding her hair in place.

A cascade of dark red hair followed.

“Much better,” he remarked. “I always liked it better down.”

“Stop it.” She didn’t know whom she was angrier with, him for putting the moves on her, or herself for her breathless reaction.

“It was good four years ago,” he stated.

“Yes, and it’s over now.”

“Easily rectified. Have dinner with me.”

Stephen being Stephen, it was more a command than a request.

“I can’t. I need to go—”

She clamped her mouth shut. He’d gotten her so discombobulated, she’d almost said she had to go relieve the babysitter. It was an excuse that came effortlessly to her lips. She’d grown accustomed to using it over the past three years.

“You have to go, what?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she responded. “When I have something down on paper for this project, I’ll call you.”

Then she grabbed her purse and brushed past him in her haste to get out of the room.

Stephen stood looking out his office window, his suit jacket hanging open and bunched above the hands shoved in his pockets. He had a rare moment for calm introspection.

He’d come on strong with Megan earlier. Maybe too strong, he admitted to himself now.

She’d reacted like a deer caught in headlights. It was far different from the way she’d reacted to his pursuit four years ago. Then she’d flatly refused to go out with him, but the unaccustomed taste of rejection had simply spiked his interest.

He’d made up reasons to show up at Garrison, Inc. headquarters, even recruiting Parker so he would know when Megan was due to show up there.

He’d engaged her in casual conversation, and eventually discovered they’d both been captains of their high school swim teams and they were both football fans, though she followed her hometown Indianapolis Colts while he was a Miami Dolphins fan.

More importantly, he’d liked the fact she was ambitious without taking herself too seriously. It was something he could relate to.

He’d discovered she’d left her home in Indiana and come down to Florida because of the career opportunities in the interior design field. She dealt with the aesthetics of workplace and hospitality environments, while his aim was to make his hotel the premier accommodation in Miami by focusing on cutting-edge design.

To his chagrin, he’d also discovered his reputation as a player had preceded him and Megan was understandably wary.

“Why won’t you go out with me?” he’d asked her one day, bestowing one of his trademark killer smiles. He’d found from experience that the direct approach often worked best. “It’s been rumored I’m actually a reasonable dinner partner, decent arm candy and even a fairly good kisser.”

Her lips had twitched. “Yes, and that’s not all apparently. I know about your reputation.”

“Rumors of my prowess have been exaggerated,” he parried, not averse to shamelessly self-serving comments.

She laughed. “Can I quote you? It’s rare to hear a guy like you argue for once that his image has outstripped the reality. Still, I noticed you didn’t say greatly exaggerated.”

“A guy like me?” he repeated, pretending to look wounded.

“Mmm-hmm. Exactly like you,” she said archly, turning back to her work.

Still, he’d eventually caught her at a weak moment one day and coaxed her into having an overdue lunch with him at a corner bistro. She’d relented, and their affair had taken off from there.

Yet, back then she’d never had that apprehensive quality around him that she’d exhibited earlier today.

People changed, of course, but he wondered what could have triggered it in this case.

Still, he didn’t intend to let the pressure off Megan.

He wanted her—sooner rather than later.