The Magnate's Marriage Merger. Joanne Rock
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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