Читать книгу The Magnate's Marriage Merger - Joanne Rock - Страница 9

Two

Doing his damnedest not to be distracted by the sight of Lydia’s long legs as she sat on the opposite side of the room, Ian paid close attention in the Foxfire meeting, appreciating the favor Jeremy Singer had done by letting Ian step in at the last minute. Having worked with the resort developer on a handful of other projects over the years, Ian understood the man’s style and expectations, so he would offer whatever insights he could on the job site. Since launching his own resort development company on a smaller, more exacting scale than his grandfather’s global McNeill Resorts Corporation, Ian wasn’t normally in the business of overseeing other people’s buildings when he was in a position to design his own. Yet he did enjoy having a hand in specialty public spaces like the foodie-centered resort Singer planned for the revamped Foxfire.

One of the drawbacks of running his own business was less day-to-day focus on his clients’ concerns, building restrictions and the inevitable permit nightmares. Being on-site now and again gave him renewed awareness of the obstacles in his work. So this brief stint at one of Jeremy Singer’s buildings was no hardship.

And the payoff promised to be far greater than the sacrifice of his time.

Ian’s gaze slid to Lydia’s profile as the meeting broke up. She remained in her seat on the opposite side of the room, speaking to a woman in charge of indoor air quality on the job site. The room was full of people who would only play a limited role in the renovation, but Ian had wanted to attend the meeting and get up to speed as quickly as possible. The enclosed courtyard was crowded, too, ensuring Lydia couldn’t walk out the door before he caught up with her.

Her turquoise dress skimmed her slight curves and was accented by a belt with a thin tortoiseshell buckle emphasizing a trim waist. The hem ended just above her knee, showcasing her legs in high-heeled gold sandals. Her straight dark hair slid over one arm as she turned, still in conversation with the other woman, her dimple flashing once as they continued their animated talk. Clearly, the two of them knew each other, but then again, they moved in a small world of elite professionals.

Would Lydia try to leave without speaking to him privately? He didn’t think so. She was not a woman to mince words. And while he’d caught her off guard—clearly—by showing up here without her knowledge, she’d had two hours during the meeting to consider her course of action. She would confront him directly.

The idea tantalized far more than it should have. She’d walked away from him. Worse, she’d meddled in his affairs without his knowledge. Even that, he might have forgiven. But how could she extend her vengeance to his family? She’d matched his brother Cameron to an oblivious stranger. The meeting—and Cameron’s impulsive proposal in the middle of a private airport—had been caught on film by a dance magazine that was doing a special on the ballerina and would-be bride. The episode put their older brother, Quinn, in the awkward position of trying to smooth things over in the media to placate the woman’s furious and embarrassed father.

Lydia had been responsible for all of that, and Ian wasn’t about to forget it. Even if things had worked out in the end when Quinn fell hard for the ballerina himself. The two were now engaged. Happy.

Ian exchanged pleasantries with the site manager as the rest of the group filed out through the glass doors and back into the main building, leaving him and Lydia alone in the interior courtyard. A water feature gurgled in the space as yet untouched by the remodel.

The babble of water over a short rock wall softened the impact of the sudden silence. Shoving to his feet, Ian stalked around the wrought iron table to where Lydia sat, gathering her things and tucking a silver pen into the sleeve inside her leather tote bag.

“I need to speak with you privately,” she informed him, slinging the tote onto one shoulder as she met his gaze.

He’d forgotten how green her eyes were. He remembered staring into those jade depths while the two of them stood in a languid pool off the Pacific on a beach in Rangiroa, just north of Tahiti. He’d thought then that her eyes matched the color of the water—not really emerald green or aqua that day, but a brilliant green.

He’d thought a whole lot of foolish things then, though. A mistake he would not be repeating.

“I figured you might.” He inclined his head. “My car is outside.”

For the briefest moment, she nipped her lower lip. Uncertain? Or unwilling?

Or tempted? Ah...

“We might as well work while we talk,” he explained. He didn’t want her to think he planned to cart her off and ravish her at the first opportunity, the way he once would have after a tedious two-hour meeting. “Traffic should be reasonable at this hour. We can drive over to Singer’s inspiration hotels and take a look around.”

“Of course.” She pivoted on her heel and preceded him toward the exit. “Thank you.”

His eyes dipped to the gentle sway of her hips in the turquoise silk, the hint of thigh visible in the short slit at the back of her skirt. He didn’t recognize the dress, but the thighs were a different story. He and Lydia had been crazy about each other, tearing one another’s clothes off at the slightest opportunity. One time, they’d barely made it to an outdoor shower stall on their way up to his villa from the beach.

Now her hair had grown longer, reaching to the middle of her back. Last year, it had been cut in a razor-sharp line across the middle of her shoulder blades. Today, it draped lower, the ends trimmed in a V that seemed to point to the sweet curve of her lovely ass.

He reached around her to open the door for her, leading them into the Miami sun, grown considerably warmer over the last two hours. Once outside, he flicked open the top button on his shirt beneath his tie, knowing full well this noontime excursion wasn’t going to be all about work and knowing with even more certainty that his rising temperature had more to do with the woman in step beside him than the sun above him.

“This way.” He pointed toward the valet at the next hotel over, grateful the attendant behind the small stand noticed Ian and sent one of the younger workers into the parking garage with a set of keys.

No doubt his rented convertible BMW would be driven out soon enough. He ushered Lydia to one side of the street while they waited, his hand brushing the small of her back just long enough to feel the gentle glide of silk on his fingertips and the warmth of her body underneath.

The South Beach scenery—palm trees, exotic cars, brilliant blue water and beach bodies parading to and from the shore on the other side of the street—was nothing to him. Lydia had his undivided attention.

“You just happened to be in Miami?” She turned on him suddenly, the frustration that had been banked earlier finding fresh heat now that they were alone. “On a job that has nothing to do with McNeill Resorts or your personal development company?”

He caught a hint of her fragrance, something tropical that stood out from the scent of the hibiscus hedge behind her.

“I am here to see you.” He saw no need to hide his intentions. “Although even I didn’t realize until recently how much unfinished business remained between us.”

“So pick up the phone.” She bit out the words with careful articulation, though her voice remained quiet. “There was no need to fly fifteen hundred miles to ambush me on my project.”

“Our project,” he reminded her, letting the “ambush” remark slide. “And I saw no sense in calling you when you purposely went into hiding after we left Rangiroa.” He’d been furious that she’d blocked him in every way possible, giving him no access to her unless he wanted to be truly obnoxious about seeing her. He refused to be that guy who wouldn’t give up on a woman who wanted nothing to do with him.

“You knew how I felt about public scandals.” She hugged her arms around herself for a moment, eliciting an unwelcome twinge of empathy from him.

With a very famous father and a mother who was unrepentant about going after his billions, Lydia had received way too much media attention as a child and straight through her teen years. Her parents were the kind of media spectacle that the tabloids cashed in on again and again. In Lydia’s eyes, all her mother had done was to destroy Lydia’s relationships with her father’s family.

“You had no reason to believe I would ever make our affair public.” He spotted the silver Z4 rolling out of the parking garage and pointed out the vehicle to her. “You know me better than that.”

“I only thought I knew you, Ian.”

She didn’t need to say any more than that for him to hear the damning accusation behind the words as they headed toward the car.

Tipping the valet service, Ian grudgingly allowed one of the other attendants to close Lydia’s door behind her, not surprised the thin veneer of civility between them was already wearing thin. He’d cared deeply about her and he was sure she’d once felt the same about him. The raw hurt of tearing things apart had left them both full of resentments, it seemed.

Indulging those bitter emotions wasn’t going to get him what he wanted, however. His objective remained to find out what she was doing messing with his life and his family’s welfare through her so-called matchmaking efforts.

“Do you mind having the top down?” he asked. They’d shared a Jeep with no top to roam around the French Polynesian island a year ago, but the stiff-shouldered woman in his passenger seat today bore little resemblance to the laughing, tanned lover of those days.

“It’s fine.” She reached into the leather tote at her feet and retrieved a dark elastic hair band that she used to twist her hair into a tail and then a loop so the pieces were all tucked away somehow. “Maybe having some fresh air blowing around this conversation will help us keep our tempers.”

He pulled out of the hotel parking area and onto Ocean Drive.

“Either that or the Miami heat will only fire things up more.” The question was would it result in hot frustration? Or hotter lust?

Seeing her arranging her long, dark hair had already affected him, and he knew his brain had stored away the image to return to later.

In slow motion.

“I prefer to think optimistically.” She leaned back in her seat as he slowly drove north through heavy traffic that still didn’t come close to the gridlock that plagued this city in the evenings. “So where are we going?” She swiveled in her seat. “There are more of the traditional art deco buildings to the south of us, I think.”

“That may be, but I’ve got a spot in mind that will give us the lay of the land first.” He needed to get her alone. Somewhere private where he could focus his full attention on the conversation.

“The lay of the land?” She shielded her eyes and peered ahead of them. “Florida isn’t exactly famous for its high ground.”

“That’s what penthouses are for.” He steered into the right lane where the street began to widen even as the traffic didn’t seem to lessen.

“A penthouse?” She shifted to face him in her seat, her eyes narrowing. “You can’t be serious.”

“You’ll like this, trust me.”

“Not your penthouse?” she pressed.

Was that a hint of nervousness in her voice? Either she didn’t trust him or she didn’t trust herself. He tucked that intriguing thought away.

“I took the penthouse suite at the Setai.” He pointed to the luxury hotel looming just ahead of them. “It comes with access to a private rooftop pool. We can speak up there and take in the whole art deco district at the same time.”

“You’re in the penthouse at the Setai?” She turned her attention to the front of the hotel as he steered the BMW toward the waiting valet. “One of the ten most expensive suites in the known world?”

“Is it?” He didn’t usually indulge in that kind of extravagance when he traveled, but then, this wasn’t his usual brand of business trip. “Then it’s a property that will appeal to the designer in you.”

He wondered if she would have agreed if it weren’t for the private valet and concierge service already giving them the red carpet treatment as the car pulled up. Lydia’s attention was on the attendant who opened her door. Another attendant offered to help with her tote as he discreetly asked what she might require.

That alone made the suite pay for itself, because in the end, Lydia got on the private elevator with Ian and headed to the fortieth floor where they could be alone.

* * *

Lydia, you have lost your mind.

She’d been so distracted by the gracious service as she entered the famous hotel that she’d somehow ended up speeding her way toward Ian McNeill’s private penthouse suite. She wished it was as simple as the designer in her taking a professional interest in a world-class luxury space, the way Ian had suggested. But she feared that it was more complex than that. Ian had swept her right back into his world today, imposing his will on her work environment, and then staking a claim on her private time, too.

Yes, she’d wanted to speak to him privately. But damn it, that didn’t necessitate a trip to a hotel suite with a one-night price tag as high—higher—than what many people paid for an automobile.

“Ian.” She took a deep breath before turning to face him.

Just then, the elevator doors swished open, revealing the most gorgeous, Asian-inspired decor imaginable, framed by views of the sparkling sapphire Atlantic out of window after window.

“Wow.” Her words dried up.

As a student of architectural design, she did indeed find a lot to savor about the rooms, the layout and the exquisite care taken to render every surface beautiful. She’d read about this suite before in an effort to keep up-to-date on the world’s premiere properties, so she’d seen photos of the Steinway in the foyer and—oddly—recalled reading about the absolute black granite in the shower. She guessed the penthouse was close to ten thousand square feet with the double living rooms, a full dining room for ten people and multiple bedrooms. As she walked around the space in admiring silence, her eyes lit on the private terrace overlooking the beach below.

Ian had gotten ahead of her somehow. No doubt she’d been lost in her own thoughts as she’d circled the living areas of the penthouse. But she spotted him in the lounge area of the terrace, speaking to waitstaff who’d set up silver trays in a serving area under a small cabana. White silk had been woven and draped through a pergola, creating a wide swath of shade over the seating.

In all of this exotic, breathtaking space, Ian himself still seemed to be the most appealing focal point. In his crisp blue suit custom-tailored to his athletic frame, he drew the eye like nothing else. His whole family was far too attractive, truth be told. She’d seen photos of his Brazilian mother, who’d left Ian’s daredevil father long ago. They’d made a glamorous couple together. Liam McNeill had the dark hair and striking blue eyes of his Scots roots, resulting in three sons who all followed a Gerard Butler mold, although Ian had a darker complexion than the others.

If the gene pool hadn’t been kind enough there, Ian was also relentlessly athletic. He’d sailed, surfed and swum regularly while they worked on the hotel property in French Polynesia, and the results of his efforts were obvious even when he was wearing a suit. When he was naked...

Blinking away that thought, she forced her feet forward, refocusing her gaze on the glass half wall surrounding the huge terrace forty stories up. She breathed in the salty scent of the sea that wafted on the breeze while Ian excused the servers.

Soon, she felt his presence beside her more than she heard him. He moved quietly, a man in tune with his surroundings and comfortable enough in his own skin that he never needed to make a noisy entrance. Damn, but she didn’t want to remember things that she’d liked about him.

“You were right,” she admitted, relaxing slightly as she stared out at the limitless blue of the ocean. “In bringing me here, I mean. It’s stunning. Although calling this space a penthouse hardly does justice to how special it is.”

“I enjoyed seeing your reaction to it.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ian’s posture ease. One elbow came up beside hers on the half wall as he joined her at the railing. “Being on the design end of so many projects—and experiencing all the headaches that entails—makes it easy to forget why we enjoy what we do. Then, you see a place like this where they got everything right. It’s a reminder that not every project is about a bottom line.”

She hesitated. “Yes. Except how many people will ever get to enjoy it?”

“Not enough,” he agreed easily. “But if we’re inspired, we’ll do a better job with properties like Foxfire. And that’s an attainable vacation for a lot of people.” Turning from the view, he gestured toward the cabana where the food trays waited.

A few minutes later, she had settled herself on a long, U-shaped couch that wrapped around a granite coffee table under the shade of white silk, a plate of fresh fruit and cheese balanced on one knee. Ian poured them each a glass of prosecco even though she’d already helped herself to a bottle of water.

She’d forgotten how extravagantly he lived. While her father had been extremely wealthy, her mother hadn’t always been. After suing Lydia’s father’s estate, she’d eventually taken great joy in overspending once her settlement came through, but by then, Lydia had moved on to her own life. Her father had left her a small amount that she had put toward the purchase of her Manhattan apartment, but his legally recognized children had inherited his true wealth. Besides, Lydia had spent her childhood perpetually worried that her mother would squander their every last cent on frivolous things, so Lydia maintained a practical outlook on finances, careful never to live above her means.

Still, who wouldn’t enjoy a day like this?

“You mentioned you wanted to speak to me privately after today’s meeting,” Ian reminded her as he handed her the sparkling prosecco in a cut crystal glass. A single strawberry rested at the bottom. “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She sipped at the bubbles and set the drink aside. “Ian, I can’t work with you on this project.”

He’d removed his jacket to expose the gray silk shirt beneath. His muscles stretched the fabric as he moved, reminding her of the honed body beneath.

“You’re a professional. I’m a professional. I think we can put aside personal differences for the sake of the project.” His expression gave away nothing.

Old hurts threatened to rise to the surface, but she kept a tight rein on those feelings.

“Don’t you think you’re diminishing what we once meant to each other to call our breakup a ‘personal difference’?” Her chest squeezed at all that she’d lost afterward.

One eyebrow lifted as he met her gaze. “No more than you diminished what we meant to one another by playing matchmaker for me afterward, Mallory West.”