The Magnate's Marriage Merger

by Joanne Rock

So she watched the petals of the peach-colored lilies tremble in her bouquet while the justice of the peace made their temporary marriage official. She’d barely had time to think since agreeing to all this, from moving into the luxury penthouse suite of Ian’s hotel to explaining her upcoming nuptials to Kinley and doing her job for the Foxfire after Ian had officially disclosed their relationship to Jeremy Singer. Since that last heated kiss on the beach, Ian hadn’t pressed for further physical intimacy, which didn’t surprise her since they’d agreed she would set the pace.

  And yet, had he thought about those electric moments in the cabana as often as she had? Knowing that another kiss awaited them today—their wedding day—only added to the butterflies in her stomach as the judge made their marriage official. This time, however, things wouldn’t spiral out of control the way they had at the beach. For one thing, she was prepared this time.

  For another, there were witnesses, for crying out loud. Strangers, perhaps, but legal witnesses nevertheless.

  As Lydia peered up into Ian’s blue eyes and the rest of the world seemed to disappear, she acknowledged that he had the power to make her completely forget herself. It was why she’d need to be very careful during the next twelve months or she would lose her heart to him all over again. Because no matter how much her body responded to the chemistry they generated, her head understood that Ian would always put the McNeills—the family and the business bearing their name—before her.

  Ian was impeccably dressed in a custom-tailored H. Huntsman two-button gray silk suit, a white shirt with an ivory silk tie and a pocket square that took the outfit to another level of formal. She had to admit his tailor was correct in suggesting the outfits—their wedding photo snapped by the secretary out front was bound to be beautiful. For a wistful moment, Lydia wished she had Kinley with her to share what was normally a momentous occasion in a woman’s life. But in the end, she’d thought it was best to simply keep the nuptials quiet until the marriage was a fait accompli since Lydia’s mother would have been the first to insinuate herself into the media coverage.

  “And now for the presentation of the rings,” the justice of the peace announced, startling Lydia from her reverie and inducing a moment of panic.

  Ian had said he’d take care of that. Had he remembered?

  But he was already producing platinum bands. One was plain and masculine with some kind of etching. The other had a square yellow diamond in a cushion-cut setting that made her gasp out loud. The clerk continued, prompting them to repeat after him the standard vows from the simplest ceremony offered. Lydia repeated the words, hoping she wasn’t making a colossal mistake, as she slid Ian’s ring onto his finger and accepted the gorgeous canary sparkler on her own hand.

  “I now declare you man and wife,” the justice of the peace intoned, closing the black leather book he read from and shuffling it to one side of the polished oak desk behind him. “You may kiss your bride.”

  Lydia couldn’t have said which idea provided the greater shock to her system. That she was now Ian’s wife? Or that his lips were about to covers hers again?

  She saw the glow of possessive fire in her groom’s eyes—or maybe she just felt the answering fire in her blood. Either way, her heart rate increased to double-time and the silk bodice of her gown seemed to shrink, cutting off her air as she held her breath for a suspended moment.

  When Ian dipped closer, however, he merely brushed his lips along her cheek and whispered in her ear.

  “I’m banking the real kiss for later,” he promised, the deep timbre of his voice smoking over her skin and calling to mind heated scenarios she felt sure no proper bride would be dreaming about at the altar.

  Or, in this case, at the courthouse desk.

  Off-kilter from that whispered vow and her new marital status, Lydia smiled woodenly for another photo as Ian finished their business and took copies of their paperwork. They didn’t speak again until they left the courtroom and their words wouldn’t be overheard.

  “Congratulations, Mrs. McNeill,” Ian told her as he took her hand and led her from the building out into the heat of a Miami afternoon.

  They’d traveled inland and north of the city for the courthouse visit, but Lydia hadn’t paid much attention to their surroundings that morning when they’d parked the car. She’d been too nervous. Now she felt even more on edge thinking about Ian’s plan to bank that kiss.

  She lowered her nose to the bouquet of lilies and roses and inhaled the fresh fragrance to soothe her nerves.

  “Congratulations to us both. We’ve fooled the world into thinking we are in love for the sake of our personal objectives.” She hadn’t meant to taint the day with the bitterness she felt since it would be easier to simply coast along like none of this was getting to her.

  But something about the dress and the beautiful diamond now on her hand—all the trappings of a real wedding—had gotten under her skin.

  “We’ve merely set aside our differences to help one another.” He waved over a dark luxury SUV that was not the vehicle they’d arrived in. “Let’s celebrate the occasion, shall we?”

  Lydia’s silk kitten heels skidded on the pavement as she halted. Ian slowed his step to take her elbow. Steady her.

  “What do you mean?” She kept her eye on the SUV as it pulled up to the curb beside them, the tinted windows dark enough to prevent her from seeing inside. “I have an online meeting with an overseas supplier this afternoon.”

  She needed to regain her equilibrium. Work would help with that.

  “I remember.” Ian gave a nod toward the SUV and at his signal, a liveried driver stepped from the vehicle. “I’ve got a conference room prepared for you. I was hoping to sit in on some of it since I think this group has some architectural salvage pieces that could be incorporated into the courtyard design.”

  The driver opened the rear door of the SUV, revealing champagne-colored bucket seats as a blast of air-conditioning cooled Lydia’s skin. A passing vehicle honked its horn at them as someone shouted “Congratulations, newlyweds!”

  “You see?” Ian’s hand slid around her waist to nudge her gently forward. “Everyone else wants us to seize the day. You can work for two hours while we are in the air and by the time you’re done we’ll be almost ready to land. Tonight, we can toast our marriage while the sun sets over the Pacific.”

  She didn’t budge. The last time she’d been in the Pacific with him, she’d ended up pregnant.

  “You know I wouldn’t want to go back there—”

  “Of course.” He shook his head, lowering his voice for her ears only. “I wouldn’t take you to Rangiroa. But we can be in Costa Rica in a couple of hours. We could have a decadent dinner overlooking the water, then return in the morning.”

  Lydia wondered far more about what could happen in the time between that decadent dinner and the flight home in the morning. Yet she was relieved to know Ian hadn’t tried to resurrect the magic of last spring in the Polynesian islands when she’d fallen head over heels. Too many memories in that part of the world.

  “I was not expecting anything like this. I don’t have anything packed.” She should probably have just said no outright. But the gesture was thoughtful even if it was more over-the-top than something she would have chosen.

  “Taken care of. And if we are going to spend a year in close proximity, I think it would benefit us to try and find our footing as friends.” He nodded at the driver again, chasing the attendant back to the front of the vehicle without a word.

  “Friends.” She tested the idea, unable to imagine such a tepid term for the relationship they’d once shared. But since that was in the past, perhaps he had a point. “This seems highly romantic for friendship.”

  “We just wed, Lydia. The illusion of a quick honeymoon will only cement our story for the rest of the world—our families included.”

 
“So it’s also for show.” She nodded thoughtfully. She knew Ian would honor their agreement. There would be separate rooms. He would let her make the next move. She trusted in this implicitly because she knew his sense of honor.

  It was that damnable kiss that had her rattled.

  “And I think you’ll enjoy being out of town when the news breaks about our nuptials,” he reminded her.

  Oddly, that won her over more than anything else he might have said. The thought of being in the papers—for any reason—made her skin crawl after growing up with her attention-seeking mother. As a bonus, she would have every reason in the world to ignore calls from her mom about her marriage for a little while longer.

  “Deal.” Lydia slid onto her seat inside the SUV and told herself the time together could be put to good use anyhow. She would speak to him about setting boundaries and house rules for living together over the next year once they settled into dinner.

  Or, better yet, she would keep that topic for their after-dinner conversation. Because as the SUV whisked them away toward the nearest private airport, she knew she needed to figure out a way to fill that mysterious void of time between their meal and the return flight home.

  Ian might be entitled to one more kiss, but she planned to make certain it didn’t lead to a wedding night.

  * * *

  “I thought you weren’t concerned with the terms of Gramps’s will.” Cameron McNeill scolded during a teleconference Ian was holding on board the chartered Gulfstream currently flying Lydia and him to Costa Rica for the night.

  Ian had been sitting in the jet’s small conference room with Lydia when his phone went berserk with repeated texts from both his brothers. Excusing himself from the online meeting with the overseas supplier to let Lydia handle it, Ian had taken a seat in the lounge and put his feet up before he dialed Quinn’s office in New York, hoping to speak to his older—more coolheaded—sibling first.

  But apparently Quinn only found out about the secret wedding because Cameron had barged into his office with an eight-by-ten printer blow-up of the photo taken at the Dade County clerk’s office. Who leaked the information was anyone’s guess since neither Ian nor Lydia was particularly well-known outside their social and professional circles, but clearly someone had keyed in on the McNeill name and publicized Ian’s hasty marriage. The article Cameron had found was on a New York gossip blog, but the story was making the rounds in other places, fueled in part—Ian would guess—by how knockout beautiful Lydia looked in that ivory gown. She had a Mona Lisa smile in the photo, but there was something unmistakably mischievous in her bright green eyes.

  No wonder the tabloids couldn’t post the story fast enough.

  “I didn’t marry her just because of the will,” Ian argued. “We had a prior relationship. Although I will admit, our grandfather’s heart attack gave his terms a new sense of urgency.”

  Both his brothers were in Quinn’s office in the Financial District back in New York. Quinn rested one hip on the window seat with a view of midtown behind him while Cameron paced the large office with the restless energy of a caged animal. Tall and rangy, he almost didn’t fit in the frame captured by the webcam as he stalked back and forth in front of the antique bookshelves. Ian adjusted the angle on the fold-down screen above his seat to cut the glare from a nearby window as the plane began its descent.

  He’d far rather be staring at his bride right now, but Lydia sat behind a partition in a separate section of the plane intended for teleconferencing on a big screen.

  “You both told me Gramps was bluffing,” Cameron reminded them. “You said he would back off on this. And now Ian tied the knot in secret and Quinn’s getting married in two weeks.” Cameron flung himself into the leather chair behind Quinn’s oversize desk, wheeling the seat back a few feet. “I’m beginning to think it’s you two who are bluffing.”

  “Our point, Cameron,” Quinn interjected, loosening his gray silk tie, “was that you shouldn’t marry for Gramps’s sake. If you meet the right woman, that’s one thing.” He turned toward the camera—and Ian. “And I’m assuming this was a serious relationship for Ian to make him think of marrying.”

  Talking down Cameron’s bluster was far easier than working his way around Quinn’s canny gaze. The oldest of the three, Quinn had taken on the parenting role early when their mother divorced their father and the three McNeill sons split the year between the two of them. In Rio, with their mother, they were well supervised. The rest of the time, if their thrill-seeking, globe-trotting father, Liam, was in charge, Quinn proved a more reliable guardian for the three of them.

  “Of course.” Ian’s reasons for marrying Lydia were complex enough that he wasn’t entirely certain he could pick through them all himself. But he regretted walking out of her life without a fight last spring. He should have stayed. Should have been there for her when she miscarried their child. Now? He might have torched the old feelings for her, but he could damn well build on what they’d had before. He was comfortable with a marriage built on a legal foundation. He understood the terms and knew what was expected—unlike last time when he’d fallen too far too fast.

  When both Quinn and Cameron stared at him expectantly, Ian realized he needed to offer up some kind of explanation. Not easy to do when he’d agreed not to reveal the secret of Mallory West.

  “Lydia and I met last year when I was supervising the hotel project in Rangiroa.” He clicked on his seat belt when he heard the chime overhead from the pilot and saw the sign go on. His gaze went to the conference room door, but it was still closed so Lydia must be buckling in for the descent in there. “We had a strong connection, but we wanted to see if it was because we met in a tropical paradise or if the bond could withstand the real world. Turns out, we’re very good for each other.”

  Quinn frowned. Cameron’s eyes widened.

  “You dated for a year without telling anyone about her?” Cam asked, spearing his fingers through his dark hair.

  “No.” Ian should have thought through his response more before having this conversation but he wanted it done, and after the constant texts, he’d realized the McNeills weren’t going to let a secret wedding stand without an inquisition. “We had our ups and downs, but we reconnected on the South Beach project and felt drawn to be together. We agreed we didn’t want to detract from Quinn and Sofia’s wedding so we thought we’d marry quietly. It didn’t occur to me that filing for a license would flag any media interest.”

  “Wrong on that count, dude.” Cameron reached for the eight-by-ten photo of the courthouse wedding and waved it. “This sucker was making the rounds half an hour after you did the deal.”

  Ian gritted his teeth. “Quinn, please extend my apologies to Sofia if my awkward timing for the marriage upset her. We hoped to wait until after your wedding to announce ours. But if that’s all, gentleman, I’m about ten minutes away from touching down in Costa Rica for my honeymoon.”

  “Sofia doesn’t mind sharing the spotlight as a bride, only as a ballerina.” The grin on Quinn’s face was a new expression that they’d only started to see when the New York City Ballet dancer had entered his life.

  Sometimes it still took Ian a second to reconcile that expression with his ever-serious older brother. He envied their complete devotion to one another. A kind of happiness Ian knew he’d never find in his temporary contract marriage.

  There would be other rewards, however. For both of them.

  Cameron elbowed Quinn. “Tell him why we really called, man.”

  Instantly on alert, Ian straightened, the fine leather in the chair squeaking as he moved.

  “Is it Gramps? Is he okay?” He’d been worried about Malcolm McNeill’s transition from Shanghai to New York, a trip that had been delayed twice because of his doctor’s concerns and the need to travel with good medical equipment.

  “He’s fine,” Quinn assured
him. “But he contacted us today after your wedding photo circulated online. He wants to meet with all of us.”

  Ian’s gut knotted. Tightened. “Of course. How soon?”

  “No immediate rush. He wouldn’t want to disrupt the honeymoon.” Quinn rose from his spot at the window ledge and flipped a page on the desk calendar. “Three days from now, maybe? I’ll be in New York then and so will Cam, right?” He glanced up at their youngest brother.

  “Sure thing,” Cam answered as the plane broke through the cloud cover and the Costa Rican mountains became visible in a wavy carpet of dark green below.

  “I’ll be there.” Ian’s honeymoon would be over by then. “Any idea what he wants?”

  “No.” Quinn shook his head, brow furrowed. “But I would bring Lydia with you. She’s part of the family now.”

  Ian nodded as he disconnected the call, hating the hollow feeling in his chest. He’d had good reasons for this marriage, but they weren’t anything his grandfather was going to understand or approve. Even now, his new wife tended to business just on the other side of that partition. He couldn’t hear her conversation, but he knew she would be bargaining for the best price on the decor and artwork she hoped to secure for the Foxfire. But soon, they would be alone and they could figure out what this marriage meant for their future.

  His arrangement with Lydia was strictly between the two of them. She understood what was at stake and so did he. No complicated emotions meant they wouldn’t crash and burn like they had last year. As for her other terms?

  A McNeill knew that everything was open for negotiation. And he still had one kiss to bargain with.

  Seven

  Mrs. Lydia McNeill.

  Seated inside her dressing room at their private villa in Costa Rica late that afternoon, Lydia read the engraved luggage tag on the buttery leather suitcase tucked under a bamboo shelf of the walk-in closet off the bathroom of her suite.

  None of this felt real. Not the suite at the Honeymoon House. Not the flight on a Gulfstream jet that she’d boarded with only a few minutes’ notice. And certainly not her new name.