The Magnate's Marriage Merger Page 8

  Her eyes wandered over the wardrobe selections some unnamed staffer of Ian’s had chosen for her. There was a silk tropical print maxi dress with coral-colored hibiscus flowers on a white background. A teal-colored pair of gauzy palazzo pants with a white sequined crepe halter top. A silver evening gown that looked like something a fairy princess would wear with gossamer-thin layers of vaguely iridescent fabric. Designer everything, of course. There were other clothes stacked neatly on the bamboo shelves, as well. Italian-made underthings. A nightgown so soft and sheer it was perfect for a bride with its combination of innocence and sensuality.

  Except she wasn’t a bride in the real sense. And she would not be putting that gorgeous nightdress on her body tonight.

  “Lydia?” Ian called from the other side of the bathroom door. “Can I get you anything?”

  Her stomach did a fluttery flip at the sound of his voice so close in this piece of paradise. No doubt he wanted to make sure the clothes fit before the dinner they would share on the open-air patio. He’d seemed pleased to show her their accommodations for the night, stressing the way the separate bedrooms fit her requirements but also gave them a chance to celebrate a new peace between them.

  Except she didn’t feel one bit peaceful about this marriage. If anything, the tropical retreat on the country’s western coast only emphasized all the ways today fell short of what she’d once hoped to share with him. If not for the need to hide the true identity of Mallory West, she never would have said yes to this arrangement. But she needed to protect her matchmaking business and the important income it gave to a cause that meant so much to her, to women who inspired her with their strength and determination to be good mothers no matter what obstacles life handed them. Her mother had afforded parenthood by making herself and her daughter tabloid spectacles. Worse, she’d put her energy into fueling that drama rather than showing up at science fairs or even Lydia’s high school graduation, which had unfortunately coincided with a face-lift.

  Small wonder Lydia felt called to champion single moms who genuinely adored motherhood.

  “No. I’ll be out in a moment,” she called, forcing herself to her feet. The dressing area was as luxe as some women’s living rooms with a comfortable leather chair, plenty of mirrors and soft ambient lighting. But she could hardly afford to languish here, staring at her married name on a luggage tag.

  Pulling on the silk maxi dress, Lydia let the fabric fall over the soft, imported lace slip that was too beautiful not to wear. She’d never spend her hard-earned dollars as a decorator on something so extravagant, but a woman would have to be blind not to appreciate the careful stitchwork that went into such a delicate design.

  “There’s no rush. The sun set won’t set for another half hour,” he called. After a moment, Lydia could hear the sound of his footsteps as he retreated deeper into the resort villa.

  Leaving her to remember how many sunsets they’d watched together last spring when they’d been falling in love.

  Twelve.

  She’d marked them on a calendar, because that was the kind of silly nonsense young women indulged in when they fell in love. They drew hearts around meaningful days in a date book and scribbled effusive prose punctuated with too many exclamation marks in diaries. Lydia had been guilty on all counts.

  Emerging from the dressing area, she stepped into her bedroom where she’d left all the windows open to the fresh air. A white-faced capuchin monkey sat on the low stone wall behind her hammock, munching on a piece of mango. Beyond the terrace, she could see the path down to the ocean, hear the gentle rush of waves to the sand.

  Any other time, she would have loved an impromptu trip like this to an exotic destination. Travel was her favorite thing about her job since she couldn’t afford it otherwise. But tonight, she was getting ready to face her new husband over the dinner table, and that made her too nervous to fully enjoy the surroundings.

  “Wish me luck,” she called to the monkey before it hopped off the wall and into the pink glow of the coming sunset.

  Then, leaving her bedroom, she climbed the stairs to the third story of their private villa and the open-air deck where a local restaurant had set up the catered meal.

  “You look incredible.” Ian greeted her near the outdoor stairs, offering his arm to escort her past the lone table in the middle of the wooden deck overlooking the ocean. “I hope you found the clothing options as appealing as I do.”

  His blue eyes never left hers as he spoke, yet her whole body responded to his words, a tingling sensation skipping along her skin. She couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked in a dark suit with a white linen shirt open at the neck. Formal, but with a touch of the reprobate about him.

  And now he was her husband.

  “Thank you.” Clearing her throat, she thought it better not to linger on how well Ian McNeill wore a suit. “The whole place is beautiful.” She gestured to the view overlooking the water, the elegant table for two set with a crisp white cloth and laden with silver dishes, bright tropical flowers in vases and seven wax tapers flickering in a candelabra. “I thought it was nice of your local chef to text us his menu suggestions beforehand.”

  She’d received a message from the chef on the plane, offering a selection of dishes made from the freshest ingredients his culinary staff obtained that morning.

  “Were you brave enough to order the grilled octopus he recommended?” Ian teased, drawing her to the edge of the deck to watch the pink sun slip lower on the horizon. His hand lingered at her waist even after they reached the wooden railing, his fingers separated from her skin by the thinnest silk.

  Her heartbeat sped faster and she concentrated on the fragrant angel’s trumpet flowers spilling over the railing at their feet, sending their heady perfume into the air to mingle with the salty brine of the ocean. Monkeys and birds called to one another as they hastened to their homes before dark fell. Better to think about monkeys and birds than the way Ian’s touch affected her.

  “I went with the Thai coconut shrimp and pineapple. The preparation sounded suitably tropical.” The breeze blew a strand of hair across her chin.

  Before she could fix it, Ian reached to skim it aside and tuck it behind one ear, his touch slow and warm. Deliberate.

  Oh. So. Inviting.

  “There’s fresh mango salsa if you’re ready for hors d’oeuvres.” His voice rumbled low, vibrating along her sensitive skin. “Are you hungry, Lydia?”

  Her gaze flashed up to his. Did he know how hard she struggled with the temptation he presented? Was he teasing her again?

  But his blue eyes appeared concerned, not intent on seduction. Perhaps she shouldn’t rush to judge him.

  “I wouldn’t mind a drink while the sun sets.” Her mouth was dry and her heart felt more than a little bruised to undergo the trappings of marriage without the feelings that should go along with it. “Maybe we should have our toast now.”

  “Certainly.” He excused himself to pour the champagne from a bucket chilling on a stand near their table. “I hope you don’t mind, but we’ll be serving ourselves tonight. The honeymoon suite service is...discreet in that way.”

  “Of course.” She tensed, crossing her arms. “That way, if we decide we have to tear each other’s clothes off before dessert, we’ll have complete privacy to do so.”

  Ian finished pouring the champagne, but she could see his shoulders stiffen underneath the impeccably tailored suit jacket.

  “I guess we would. But since you’ve been very clear about your expectations in this marriage, I realize that’s not going to happen tonight.” He stalked toward her, a champagne flute in each hand. “And that’s another reason I thought it would be best for the waitstaff not to be around. I want to protect your privacy and respect your wishes about all things.”

  Somehow that consideration made her heart beat faster still. The sea
breeze tickled the silk of her dress against her thighs and toyed with the spaghetti straps on her shoulders, a phantom lover’s touch. She needed a dose of reality back in this faux honeymoon.

  “You say that.” She tugged the flute from his hands with a bit more force than necessary, her emotions getting the better of her as a few bubbles slid over the side of the glass. “And yet you persist in pretending that this is a real marriage with a flight to Costa Rica and a sunset meal in a villa called the Honeymoon House. I can’t help but feel the weight of very different expectations.”

  “Lydia.” He set his glass on the railing then guided hers there, too. “We need to present the world with a believable marriage or our agreement isn’t worth anything.” He folded both of her hands in his, turning her to face him. “I spoke to my brothers on the flight here and they informed me that news of our nuptials has already been leaked. Believe me when I tell you, the world is watching what happens next.”

  “Leaked?” She tried to imagine how that could happen. “Why? Who would care about our marriage?” Panic tightened in her chest as she thought of all the horrible ways the tabloids could ratchet up interest in a story. She’d been the object of media interest far too often in her life. “What are they saying?”

  “Only that we married. Someone in the district court offices must have leaked the news directly since my brothers had a copy of the wedding photo within thirty minutes of the ceremony.”

  “If they aren’t saying anything ugly yet, they will soon.” She needed to sit. Or maybe walk. She didn’t know what she needed, but she felt all the makings of a full-blown panic attack coming on. “Excuse me.”

  Pulling away from his touch, she paced the deck.

  “There is nothing ugly to say,” Ian assured her, watching her progress but not following her, which she appreciated.

  “Then they make something up. That’s how the tabloids sell their sordid work.” She recalled old headlines from her past—stories about her mother. Stories about her. “Did you know there was a whole year where the media sold papers on the idea that my mother was part of a religious cult that cast a spell on my father?” They’d taken a laughable photo of her mother in a Halloween costume and used it for weeks on end. “Then, there was a whole other year where they used zoom lenses to snap photos of her stomach to analyze it for a baby bump. And one extremely hellish year when I was photographed and accused of having a baby bump. At sixteen.”

  She didn’t mention the stories that suggested her mother had pimped her out to rich men for a fat payday. Or the fact that she’d been treated for an eating disorder after being accused of looking pregnant as a vulnerable teenager.

  Feeling a wealth of old resentment threaten to wash over her like a rogue wave, Lydia took the wooden stairs leading away from the third-floor deck all the way down to the beach. Vaguely, she heard Ian call out to her, and his footsteps as he followed her. She didn’t stop, though. She couldn’t get enough air into her lungs no matter how deeply she breathed. Kicking off her jeweled sandals, she let her toes sink into the powdery sand as she hurried down to the water’s edge.

  By the time Ian reached her side, she had the hem of her long silk maxi dress in one hand, the fabric hiked up to her knees so she could stand in the rolling surf. The warm water soothed her, lapping gently along her calves and beading up on her skin slick with the coconut oil lotion supplied as a resort amenity. Somehow the feel of the water against her skin took her heart rate down a notch, and she tipped her face into the soft sea breeze.

  Ian removed his socks and shoes at the water’s edge, preparing to join her. She thought about telling him not to bother—that she was okay—but then she wondered why she needed to pretend she was fine when she so often wasn’t.

  She’d denied herself comfort in life many times out of the need to look like she had her life together and a deep-seated desire to avoid scandal. But no matter what she did, she was a favorite target of the tabloid media. She could live the most pristine, blameless life possible and they’d still find some way to make a tawdry tale out of her.

  And right now, as she watched Ian stride toward her with his broad shoulders that looked like they could take on the problems of the world, she had to wonder why she kept denying herself pleasure for the sake of a good reputation she would never achieve.

  Ian McNeill was her husband. He was the most generous, amazing lover she’d ever had. And he’d made it very clear that he still wanted her.

  As long as she could separate pleasure from a deep emotional commitment, couldn’t she at least indulge herself for a little while?

  * * *

  Ian had almost reached Lydia’s side when she sent him a look that sizzled over him like a lover’s tongue.

  The sensation was so tangible he had to halt his forward progress through the shallow surf. No way had he read her expression correctly. He was mixing up his own emotions with hers—seeing what he wanted to see in her bright green eyes. His heart slugged harder in his chest, urging him toward her, while he fought the need with all his might.

  She’d just shared some hurtful memories he never knew about, so no way in hell was she thinking what he was thinking.

  Get it together.

  “Lydia.” He forced an even tone into his voice, reminding himself that good men didn’t confuse compassion with sex. “I’m so sorry you went through that as a teen.”

  He reached for her, cupping her cheek in one hand even as he maintained a bit of space between them. Her eyes slid closed at his touch, her cheek tilting into his palm in a way that urged him to give more physical comfort.

  Reigniting the war within.

  Gritting his teeth against all the ways he wanted to surround her body with his—protect her, pleasure her—Ian shifted closer to slide an arm around her waist. He drew her against him, fitting her to his side, resting his cheek on top of her silky hair. The scent of coconut drifted up from her skin. His mouth watered.

  “I promise you,” he assured her, stroking along the soft skin of her upper arm while he stared out to sea, “if anyone dares to initiate a story about you that isn’t true, I will sue their company into bankruptcy.”

  “They will say I married you for money.” She pulled back to look him in the eye. “The same way my mother pursued my father.”

  “We both know nothing could be further from the truth.” He’d tried to include a financial settlement in their contract, but she’d refused. Had she done so because she anticipated that kind of negative press?

  “Your family will have their doubts about my intentions in this marriage. As will all of Manhattan. I received a famously small settlement from my father upon his death.” She knotted the silk of her skirt at one knee so she didn’t need to hold on to the fabric to keep it out of the water. “There will be questions about my motives for marrying you and the press speculation will only fuel the fire.”

  He’d seen that trick with a skirt hem in Rangiroa a few times, and he liked this side of her that was a little messier.

  “My family has faith in my judgment.” He’d already told them to stand down where she was concerned. “And that means they will trust you.”

  When she didn’t answer right away, he noticed that she was staring out at the horizon where the sun was sliding the rest of the way into the sea. She’d told him once that she liked to make a wish on it before it disappeared.

  “I wish you could trust me to make you happy for the next twelve months.” He got the words out just before the final glowing orange arc vanished.

  The sky glowed pink and purple in the aftermath, the ocean reflecting the colors in watery ripples while a heron and a pair of white ibis flew overhead.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good thing to wish for.” She turned to face him, her exposed skin reflecting the sunset hues.

  “No?”

  “No,�
�� she told him flatly. “Investing too much in this marriage will only make things all the more complicated when our year together is done.” She folded her arms across her chest and stared down into the water where they stood. “We both need to remember this is a business arrangement. Nothing more.”

  “One thing doesn’t have to preclude the other, does it?” He turned his attention to her arm, where the strap of her dress flirted with the edge of her shoulder. “We can be happy and respect the business arrangement, too.”

  Maybe this time together would help cure him of his preoccupation with her. He’d barely dated since they’d split.

  “I’ve been thinking about that.” She glanced down at the water where the gentle swell of the tide lapped at her ankles. She lifted one foot and skimmed it over the surface in a slow arc in front of her. “About the benefits of marriage.”

  His throat dried up. He stayed very still to keep from touching her the way he wanted to, convincing her with his hands and his mouth how beneficial this relationship could be for both of them. He’d promised her she could set the pace with any kind of physical relationship and he wouldn’t earn her trust anytime soon if he took that power out of her hands.

  But the temptation to draw her into the water—into his arms—was so strong he could barely breathe.

  “Like Costa Rican vacations?” He tried for a light tone but failed, his whole body fueled with a biological imperative to take his bride to his bed.

  “This is definitely a treat.” She quit her game of drawing her toes through the water, turning to face him in air that felt suddenly too still. “But I was thinking more along the lines of how—” she bit her lip for a second before pressing on “—satisfying we both found our previous relationship.”

  Blood pounded through his temples for a split second before surging south.

  “Meaning you’re reconsidering the idea of separate bedrooms?” He kept his eyes on hers in the growing dimness despite the flickering tiki torches dotting the sand near Honeymoon House. “We need to be very clear about this point, Lydia, since it’s your move next.”