by Joanne Rock
She wanted to spend her time helping the cause dear to her heart by raising money for women who really needed it. That meant no more wallowing in regrets over how things had turned out between her and Ian. She’d find some other way to protect her business, even if he revealed her identity as Mallory West to the powerful Vitaly Koslov.
“I did. I’m emailing you a list as soon as I lock down a few more contacts for you. I want to be sure you don’t have any trouble getting into any of the events. There are a few European royals in town this month, so invitations are in high demand.” She paused. “Although I’m sure Ian McNeill would get the red carpet treatment at all of these places.”
Thinking back to that over-the-top penthouse suite at the Setai, Lydia didn’t doubt it. He moved in the circles Lydia’s mother had never managed to penetrate. And although there’d been a time when Lydia didn’t care about acceptance into that kind of elite, she’d begun to see the benefits if only for the sake of Moms’ Connection.
“I’m sure he does. But since he won’t be attending any of these functions with me, I will wait for you to work your magic on my behalf. Just do whatever you can with my father’s name.” She refused to feel guilty about that since her father had been a committed philanthropist. He would have applauded Lydia’s efforts, she felt certain.
Not for the first time, she wished she’d had more time with him growing up, but she’d been her mother’s bargaining chip from the day of her birth, withheld from her dad whenever her mother was unhappy with him.
Which meant she didn’t see him often. And when she did, her mother was close at hand, making sure to take her share of the billionaire’s attention.
Finishing up her business with Kinley, Lydia ended the video call and closed her laptop. She was staying at the Calypso Hotel close to the Foxfire, in a small room with an ocean view. The suite needed updating desperately, but as she padded across the black-and-white tile floor to the sliding glass door overlooking the water, she admired the same view that Ian had in his gargantuan spread just twenty blocks away. Her surroundings indoors might pale in comparison, but with the ocean waves lapping the shore below, providing a soothing music despite the stressful day, she too could enjoy the most priceless kind of beauty.
Breathing in the soft, salty air, she tried to let the Atlantic work its magic. But deep down, she knew she hadn’t escaped Ian McNeill’s marriage offer simply by walking out of his suite. He’d allowed her to leave, no doubt so she could mull over the idea—rage against it—and slowly realize how thoroughly he had her back against the wall.
Revealing her as the woman behind Mallory West threatened to derail all her hard work with Moms’ Connection, turning her life back into another scandal-ridden media circus when she’d worked so hard to put the antics of her mother behind her. Furthermore, even if she managed to keep the matchmaking business afloat and somehow turn a profit in spite of all the media attention, she would have Vitaly Koslov to contend with, a powerful business mogul with the power to bankrupt her on every front.
Right now, she could afford to live in Manhattan and run a business she enjoyed. Losing a civil suit to Koslov might ruin her financially for years to come. All she had to do to avoid those consequences was put herself in Ian McNeill’s hands for one year. She simply had to wed the man who’d left her heart with the deepest scars.
Just seeing him for one day had threatened to rip those old wounds open again. She couldn’t possibly go through with it.
So, turning to enter her hotel room and slip between the sheets for the night, Lydia knew she’d have to refuse him when he asked her again. Because not for a moment did she think he’d dropped the idea of a temporary union between them.
Ian McNeill wasn’t a man to take marriage lightly. Even the cold-blooded, contractual kind.
* * *
Nodding a greeting to the desk attendant at the Calypso Hotel shortly before dawn, Ian checked his watch as he took up a spot near the main elevators. It was one of South Beach’s aging art deco–era properties. Standing on the huge tile inlay featuring a gold starburst design, Ian pulled his phone from his pocket to check his stocks for the day, but in reality all he could think about was Lydia.
It was a risk to surprise her. But when she’d ended their conversation prematurely the day before, she must have known he would find a time to renew their discussion. Sooner rather than later.
She was a woman of habit and that would serve him well now. He hoped. He remembered how much she had enjoyed swimming first thing in the morning when they were working together in the islands of Tahiti. He’d accused her of being a mermaid with her daily need to return to the sea, but even when he’d been bleary-eyed from working late the night before, he never missed a chance to swim with her. For safety purposes, he’d told her, and not just because he enjoyed the occasional chance to slide a hand beneath her bikini top or wind the wet rope of her hair around his hand and angle her sea-salty lips for his kiss.
When the elevator sounded its dull chime, he slowly looked up. The doors opened and Lydia strode into view. His gaze fell on her long, shapely legs, the hem of her black mesh tunic revealing a hint of thigh.
“Ian?” Her voice tugged his attention higher, pulling his focus to her green eyes and creamy skin devoid of makeup.
With her hair scraped back into a ponytail, she looked every inch the part of his earthy, warmhearted lover from last summer. He had to remember that she hadn’t been the woman he thought, that he’d been wrong about her, or he might have swept her up into his arms and ridden the elevator back up to her hotel room to remind her how good they were together in at least one respect.
Sex. Raw, sensual, mind-blowing sex.
His pulse ramped up at the steamy memories, so much so that he had to shut down those thoughts and focus on the present or his plan would be doomed before he even started.
“Hope you don’t mind if I join you.” Ian tucked his phone back into the pocket of the cargo shorts he’d slid on over his swim trunks.
She halted in front of him abruptly. Then, eyes sliding to the desk attendant, she stepped closer. Probably she did it to minimize the chance of being overheard.
Ian liked the opportunity to breathe in the scent of her—the lavender fragrance of the detergent she washed her clothes in and a subtle perfume more complex than that.
“What on earth are you doing here?” She glanced over her shoulder. “You realize most of the consultants working on the Foxfire are staying in this hotel? What will they say if someone sees us together at this hour?”
“They’ll think we had a whole lot more fun last night than they did.”
Last night, he’d paced the floor of his penthouse suite for far too long, thinking through every aspect of a contract marriage and what details he should include in the paperwork.
In the end, she would sign. But she wasn’t going to like him forcing her hand, and that bothered him more than it should have.
“And that doesn’t concern you? I happen to enjoy a hard-earned reputation as a professional.” Her clipped words and the high color in her cheeks told him he’d gotten under her skin in record time.
“If you don’t want anyone to see us together, we might as well hit the beach. Take refuge in the water.” His hand itched to touch her. To rest on the small of her back and steer her out the door, across the street and onto the soft sand. But he had to be careful not to push or she could dig her heels in about his suggestion and delay the whole thing.
Now that he’d made up his mind and seen the benefits of a union between the two of them, he couldn’t think of one damn reason why he should delay.
After narrowing her green eyes at him for an instant, she pivoted on her wedge sandals and strode toward the exit.
He caught up to her in two long steps, holding the door wide for her before as they headed out onto Ocean Drive, which
was strangely quiet in the predawn dark. There were more joggers on the beach than bathers; a few runners kicked up sand as they pounded past them.
“It’ll be quieter down here.” He pointed out a stretch of the shore where no beach loungers had been set up yet, a spot free from any hotel guests.
In fact, he’d claimed the location for them earlier when he’d ordered a cabana and sunrise breakfast. Lydia apparently didn’t notice his preparations, however, instead appearing too absorbed in her frustrated march toward the water, her feet churning through the sand at breakneck pace.
The horizon was starting to smudge from inky black to purple as she reached the shoreline and kicked off her shoes. Then she yanked the black mesh cover-up off and over her head. Mesmerized by her silhouette as his eyes adjusted to the light, Ian watched as she ran into the surf and made a shallow dive under an oncoming wave.
He retrieved her clothes and put them in the cabana where he removed his own shorts and tee, stacking them off to one side out of the way of a server still setting up a tea cart full of trays for their breakfast.
Then Ian sprinted into the ocean after Lydia, seized with memories of other times they’d done this. They’d had plenty of games they played in the water, from him grabbing an ankle and tracing the long line of her leg up to the juncture of her thighs to races of every kind. He didn’t think she’d appreciate the former, so he settled for the latter, pacing her as she executed perfect butterfly strokes through the salty water.
With the horizon turning lavender now, he could see her better. Her creamy skin glinted in the soft light each time her arm broke the surface. Only when they were far from the shore did she stop short to tread water.
“You’re insane,” she accused softly, even though she seemed significantly calmer than when she’d been on her march toward the water. With her dark hair plastered to her head and the long ponytail floating around her shoulders, she looked so beautiful and so damn familiar that it hurt.
“To swim in a dark ocean before the sun rises? Or to brave your wrath and swim beside you when I know you’re angry?”
Her huff of frustration rippled the water in front of her. “To propose marriage when we have so much...unhappy history. So much frustration between us. It’s crazy and you know it.” She swatted aside a drifting clump of seaweed.
“I’m a practical man, Lydia. And by now, I’m sure you’ve had enough time to realize how practical my suggestion is.” He’d wanted her to have cooling off time yesterday, but he guessed she’d been awake as long as he had last night, thinking about the possibilities.
“Practical?” She rose up on her toes to move out of the way of a swell coming toward them. “Ian, we aren’t some royal couple needing to secure the family line or keep the castle in the clan. Marriage isn’t supposed to be a line item in a business deal.”
“And it won’t be.” He took her hand before the next swell rolled over them. “Come this way so you can touch the bottom.”
Even that simple touch—his grip wrapped around her fingers in the cool water—sent a flash of undeniable heat through him. Judging from how fast she pulled back, he would guess she felt it, too.
“I’m fine,” she argued despite the goose bumps along her arm.
“You’re cold.” He pointed to the shore where their server had left a small hurricane lamp burning on the table. “You see the cabana? I ordered some breakfast for us. Let’s dry off and talk about this reasonably before the next wave drags you under.”
“We’re having breakfast there?” She shook her head slowly, but began swimming toward shore. “I have the feeling you could have had the free buffet at the Setai.”
He laughed.
“Maybe so. But my hotel lacks your company. A situation I hope to change once you agree to my proposal.”
She stopped swimming. But they were so close to the shore now, they were able to stand and walk side by side the rest of the way. She’d stopped arguing, which he took as a positive sign. So he kept his peace for now, shortening his stride to stay beside her as they moved closer and closer to their destination. The all-white tent was closed on three sides but open to the water, the domed roof making it look like something out of Arabian Nights.
She nibbled her bottom lip, then released it slowly before shooting a sideways glance his way. “You’re really serious about this.”
“You doubted it?” He passed her a towel from the stack an attendant left near their clothes.
“Not really.” She squeezed the water out of her long ponytail and let it drip onto the sand. “I guess I hoped maybe you were just trying to scare me with the threat of Koslov’s lawsuit. Make me regret what I’d done by interfering in your romantic life with the matches I suggested.”
She’d sent him suggestions for dates with a reality TV star renowned for her diva-ish behavior and an ex-girlfriend she knew he disliked for using his name to get ahead in her career for long after they’d broken up.
“No.” Moving to the sideboard where the food had been set up, he poured them both coffee. “Although I won’t deny I let myself imagine all kinds of inventive sensual blackmail once I found out you were the woman behind Mallory West.”
She clutched the towel tighter to her lovely body as he set the mugs on the bistro-size table. When she said nothing, he waited another moment to continue, letting his words sink in. He wasn’t going to pretend that he wasn’t attracted.
Or that he wouldn’t act on it.
“But after we had the chance to speak yesterday, I realized you were under an incredible amount of stress at that time, and I regret not being there for you.” It made his chest go tight thinking about her alone and losing their child. Their child. He had to swallow down the lump in his throat before he could continue. “No matter what else happened between us, you should have known you could contact me.”
He hadn’t forgiven her for keeping the baby a secret in the first place, but he hated that she’d been through that by herself.
She sank into her chair at the table, stirring sugar into the coffee he’d placed in front of her. She made no protest when he set a plate of food before her, the stoneware loaded down with fruits and cheeses he knew she liked. The scent of eggs and bacon wafted from the warming trays as he prepared a plate for himself and a smaller, second one for her.
“So you didn’t suggest marriage as a punishment.” She gave him a lopsided smile and slid her arms into the black mesh bathing suit cover-up.
“Far from it.” He pulled on his linen button-down shirt and took the seat across from her, letting his knee brush hers under the table and seeing the jolt of awareness in her eyes. “I think a marriage between us could have all kinds of added benefits.”
Five
A shock of heat radiated out from that one spot where their legs brushed, seizing Lydia’s attention faster than any words. How easy it would be to heed that impulse, to fall under the spell of simmering attraction until she was powerless to resist it. Of course, it didn’t help that she remembered so many other times when she’d allowed this very sensation to carry her away, pulling her into his arms to answer the hunger only he could fill.
Urging herself to be stronger than that, she shifted her legs away from him under the table, crossing one knee over the other to put herself farther out of his reach.
“I’m not sure it’s fair of you to resort to underhanded tactics to convince me we should try this crazy scheme of yours.” Taking a sip of her coffee, she focused on the pink sun rising past the horizon, bathing them both in warm light.
The beach was still quiet at this early hour with a smattering of tourists more focused on the famed nightlife than the joys of the early morning. About twenty yards away, a fisherman cast a line and waited to see what was biting, his chair half in the surf. A few interested birds stalked him, sensing the possibility of an easy meal.
“Underhanded?” Ian straightened, as if rearing back from an undeserved slight. But then a smile curved his sculpted lips, sliding right past her boundaries. “Under the table, maybe. But hardly underhanded.”
“You know what I mean.” She stabbed a half strawberry with her fork and ignored all the nerve endings urging her to listen to him, to let him woo her back where her body would love to be. “If we can’t hash out terms logically, it’s not a good idea to start wielding seduction as a weapon.”
“Lydia,” he began, his tone gently chiding. “Seduction was a very rewarding part of our relationship. I’d never want it to be anything but a pleasure.”
He didn’t move any closer as he spoke, but somehow the air thickened around them as if he’d grazed against her again. Hearing the word pleasure on his lips wasn’t good for her defenses.
“Then let’s keep it out of the negotiations.” She spoke through gritted teeth, she realized, and forced herself to take a breath.
“Of course.” He finished his eggs and moved his plate aside, leaning his elbows on the table.
The breeze off the water blew through his dark wavy hair, which was beginning to dry. He was impossibly handsome with his deeply bronzed skin and blue eyes.
“Good.” Relaxing a little, she hoped she could still reason with him. “Then we can discuss alternatives to the marriage plan.”
“The only alternative is me revealing Mallory West’s identity to the world, Vitaly Koslov included.” Ian lifted the coffee carafe to pour her more.
Her stomach cramped. He was perfectly serious. Ian might be the peacemaker within the McNeill family, brokering middle ground between his conservative older brother and his playboy, techno-genius younger sibling, but that didn’t mean Ian himself ever gave ground. More often than not, the other McNeills let themselves be guided by Ian’s position.
