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“So?” she asked. “What do you think?”
That was easily enough answered. Sean was still fairly sure she needed medication.
And yet … He draped one arm over the back of his chair and studied her.
Warm night, cold wine and a beautiful woman sitting across the table from him. In Sean’s world, that sounded just about perfect. His gaze swept up and down Melinda Stanford, from the thick black waves of her hair to the blue-green stones glittering at her ears to the dip in the neckline of her dress, to the shine of her manicured nails. She was gorgeous. No doubt. But she was also complicated. And maybe crazy.
Still. Didn’t mean he couldn’t consider her proposal. In fact, he’d spent the last few hours doing just that.
Her grandfather, Walter Stanford, had shut down every deal the Kings had proposed over the last few months. Walter hadn’t been interested, no matter how high their offers had gone. Either the old man seriously didn’t need the money or he was as crazy as his granddaughter. But as soon as that thought entered his head, Sean discounted it. The old man wasn’t a loon.
He was crafty.
Walter knew what he wanted and wasn’t willing to settle for less. How the hell could a King of all people resent that? The King family did the same thing. They never took no for an answer and never gave up on something they wanted.
Sean smiled to realize that he and ol’ Walter would probably get along great.
“What’s so funny?”
“What?”
“You’re smiling,” she pointed out, managing to look both gorgeous and offended. “I asked what was so funny?”
She was insulted, Sean realized and he couldn’t really blame her. No doubt she thought he was laughing silently at her well-presented offer. And as he considered the fact that it was so well-presented, he had to wonder if he was the first man to receive this weird proposal.
“How many times have you tried this?” he asked, leaning toward her so he could keep his voice down. Tables on the patio were few and the other diners sparse, but it paid to be careful.
She frowned slightly. “You’re the first.”
“Why? Why pick me?”
“I told you. I checked you out.”
“Yes,” he said, “but you’d already decided that I would be the lucky winner or you wouldn’t have bothered doing your research.”
She chewed at her bottom lip, and he wondered if it was nerves or just a habit. Then she reached for her wineglass and took a long sip. She set the glass down again before saying, “I knew my grandfather was talking to you. He kept me posted on the negotiations between him and your family. He told me that you had taken over from Lucas and not long after that I saw a picture of you, okay? And you looked … nice.”
“Nice?” he repeated, appalled at the idea. “Old maid schoolteachers are ‘nice.’ Puppies are ‘nice.’ Ice cream on a hot day is ‘nice.’ Men, especially Kings, are not nice.”
“Yeah,” she muttered, “I’m getting that.”
He’d never been called nice in his life. Funny. Handsome. Smart. And by some, he admitted, cold. Closed off. But never “nice.” What picture of him could have possibly given her that impression?
“Where’d you see this photo?”
“It was in one of those celebrity magazines they sell at the grocery store.” She flushed when she said it, almost as if embarrassed to admit she read the damn things. But millions did, Sean knew.
“You were at a football game with one of your brothers—”
Sean nodded. “Lucas,” he provided, remembering that shot of him and his brother at a pre-season game. If his secretary hadn’t shown it to him, he would have been unaware of it. He never paid attention to the photographers who were always ready to take pictures of the King family. It was just part of being who he was. Nodding, he said, “We hit the first pre-season game together every year.”
“Well, in the picture, you were laughing and you looked friendly.”
“Better than nice, but just barely,” he admitted. He had an easygoing attitude to most of life, he supposed, which worked well in business, since his opponents were never ready for him to turn on them. But as far as women were concerned, most of those he knew would never think of describing him as nice, for God’s sake.
Nice was … nice. He wasn’t. Not at the heart of him. And usually it didn’t take long for people to pick up on that.
She shrugged a little. “The point is, you looked like a man I could talk to about all of this. When I found out you were coming to Tesoro personally, I decided to take a stand.”
“By lying to your grandfather.”
“Not a lie,” she argued quickly. “We actually will be married. So it’s more of a colorful representation of the truth.”
He fought back a smile. Seems Melinda Stanford had her own rules to play by. Well, Sean could admire anyone who set out to do something and didn’t let anything get in the way. He could even take a step back and see that from her point of view, he actually was the perfect temporary husband. The question was, could he see it from his point of view?
Their dinner arrived before he could say anything else and, for a few minutes, they each focused on their meals. The food was excellent, the atmosphere even better and the beautiful woman across from him was just the capper.
He’d rarely met a woman who didn’t find it necessary to fill every silence with some kind of inane chatter. He found himself relaxing. The silence stretching out between them was companionable somehow, as if they were already a team.
He frowned to himself at that thought, since he hadn’t decided a damn thing yet.
“You’ve lived here your whole life,” he said into the quiet.
“Since I was five, yes.” She turned her head to look out over the water. The tide was out, and a handful of couples strolled the beach in the moonlight. “It’s a lovely island. The town is small, but the hotel is a big draw. Most people prefer coming here because Grandfather’s never allowed the cruise ships to stop. So, our guests tend to be very wealthy and very into their privacy. But they spend plenty of money in the village and the shops usually make enough money to last them through the off-season.”
“I know.” He gave her a quick grin. “The Kings do research, too.”
“Then you already know that Tesoro is the perfect spot for the resort you want to build,” she said, setting her fork and knife down.
“Agreed.” It was more than perfect. Like it had been designed specifically for the plans Rico had in mind. Rico’s hotel in Mexico was top-of-the-line, modern, beautiful and plush. But for the resort on Tesoro, things would be different. Rico wanted to go with island elegance. To make this the most talked-about destination spot in the world.
And with King Construction behind the building and design, it would be. Sean was itching to get started. The plans were already drawn up, the equipment ready to ship to the island. All they needed was the old man’s go-ahead and things could start rolling.
“It would be good for Tesoro, too,” she told him. “We have a small construction company on the island, you know. My grandfather started it twenty years ago. They do all the building and would be a big help to your company.”
“Uh-huh.” He knew that, too. Of course the Kings would bring in some of their own men because they’d worked with them for years and trusted them. But using island labor would not only move things along quicker, it would make for good relations with the locals.
It would all be perfect—if he didn’t mind getting married to accomplish it.
Melinda’s eyes shone in the candlelight and her smile curved her lips just to the point where he thought about leaning over the table to have a taste. Her teeth chewed at her bottom lip again and he felt an answering tug inside him. Sean was tight and hard and going to damn well embarrass himself if he had to stand up anytime soon.
“Are you listening to me?”
“What?” He grinned, grateful for the distraction. “Sure. Construction. Can’t get enough of that.”
She frowned and huffed out a breath. “I’m just saying that this could be a good deal for all of us, Sean. You get the land, the island gets a hotel that will create jobs and bring in money to the locals—”
“And you get your trust fund.”
“Yes.” She picked up her wineglass and took the last sip. When she’d finished, she asked, “Well. What do you say? Do we have a deal? Will you marry me?”
Those four words sent an instinctive chill down his spine, but Sean ignored it. Sure, he had vowed to never again make the mistake of getting married. But this was different.
The first time he had said “I do,” he got screwed, in more ways than one. This time, he would get something out of the deal beyond a quickie divorce. This time, he would be the one in charge. The one to say when it was over. The one to walk away.
And this time, his heart wouldn’t be involved.
Nodding, he held out one hand to her. “I think you’ve got a deal.”
That smile of hers widened and nearly took his breath away. She took his hand and, just like their first touch hours ago, the instant their palms met, there was a quick flash of heat that seemed to zing straight up his arm to bounce around his chest like a crazed ping-pong ball. Sean had been hoping to hell he had imagined that sizzle between them. But if anything, it was stronger this time around. Damn it. If she felt it, she didn’t show it, so neither did Sean. He willed his body into submission and fought against an attraction that was more powerful than he’d expected.
“There’s just one more thing,” she said as she pulled her hand free of his.
Sean laughed. “You’ve already swept me off my feet,” he said wryly. “What’s left?”
“No sex.”
Well, that got his attention. He stared at her for a long minute until she finally shifted her gaze from his nervously.
This was an entirely new experience for Sean. Most women were downright eager to get close to him. Hell, he usually had to fend off women trying to fling themselves into his bed. He’d turned down a lovely woman only an hour ago in the hotel bar. But her blond hair and brown eyes hadn’t done a thing for him since he had been too preoccupied with thoughts of Melinda Stanford.
The woman who wanted to marry him—just not sleep with him.
He stared her down and she didn’t flinch. That steady blue gaze never wavered.
What was going on? He wasn’t imagining the sizzle of heat that leapt between them whenever they touched. He hadn’t missed the flash of something interested in her eyes. And he for damn sure wasn’t wrong about his own desire for the woman who had turned this trip upside down inside of a few hours. If he’d met her somewhere else, he would have tried to seduce her into a long weekend—and he had no doubt he would have succeeded.
So what was the problem?
“No sex.”
“That’s right.” She took a long breath and looked back into his eyes. “Why complicate things? This is a business arrangement, after all. It’s not a real marriage, so I don’t see why we should …”
“Have sex,” he finished for her, astonishment clear in his voice.
“Exactly.”
“This just gets better and better,” he murmured.
“It’s only for two months,” she pointed out, managing to sound both impatient and pained all at the same time. “Surely that won’t kill you.”
“I think I can manage to hang on,” he said, though silently he admitted that it wouldn’t be a party. He already wanted her and he’d only known her for a few hours. Being married to her, with her all the time … how much worse was this going to get over two months?
Maybe he should just make a call to Rico and find out if he was willing to put his hotel somewhere else. A moment later, though, he dismissed the idea. It was Tesoro or not at all. The island was perfect for their needs, damn it.
The island had a mystique with people. The hotel was old-school deluxe, but it was small and couldn’t support many guests. Since the island was privately held, anyone wanting to do business on Tesoro had to go through Walter Stanford. And he was a man who liked his privacy.
Which would be perfect for the exclusive resort the Kings were planning. The mega-wealthy would come here to play on the beach and enjoy the high life away from throngs of tourists and, most especially, paparazzi.
It was all perfect.
Except for the whole marriage thing.
“And,” she said, dragging his attention back to her.
“There’s more?” he asked with a short laugh. “What else is there? Got a dungeon you want to shut me up in? Or maybe you want me living on bread and water for a couple months?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.
“Oh, I’m being ridiculous.” He shook his head and gave her an almost admiring glance. “You want us to be married. Living together. Putting on a ‘colorful truth’ for your grandfather—but none of the fun stuff.”
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and he knew for a fact that she was feeling what he was. So just how long would she last with this little celibacy rule? As that thought wandered through his mind, Sean smiled to himself. This, he thought, could get very interesting.
“This isn’t about fun—”
“Clearly,” he agreed.
Her lips thinned and her mouth worked as if words were trying to get out, but she refused to let them. Finally, though, she took a breath and said patiently, “It’s a small island, Sean. So you won’t be able to sleep with anyone else, either. My grandfather would find out and this whole thing would be over before it began.”
Sean stiffened at the insinuation. Sitting up straight, he laid both hands on the tabletop and leaned in toward her. Even riding that quick whip of anger, he kept his voice down. His gaze bored into hers as he said, “I. Don’t. Cheat. When I give my word, I keep it.”
Their gazes locked for several long seconds before she finally nodded. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to be clear about everything.”
He leaned back in his chair, gritting his teeth against the bubble of frustration inside him. “Fine. We’re clear.”
“And we still have a deal?”
He looked into those blue eyes of hers again and told himself this was surely a mistake. He felt it right down to his bones. But damned if Sean could see another way for him to get what he wanted.
“Yeah,” he said. “We have a deal.”
He couldn’t believe he was going to do this. Couldn’t believe he was going to get married. Again. And this one wouldn’t be any more real than the first one.
At least this time though, he’d know going in that the marriage would mean nothing.
Three
Walter Stanford was somewhere in his seventies, but his sharp blue eyes didn’t miss much. He was tall, with snowy white hair, a hard jaw and the bearing of a much younger man. He stood behind the wide desk in his library and looked at Sean with a cool, dispassionate eye.
Sean met the older man stare for stare, never blinking. He knew how to run a negotiation and knew all too well that the first man who spoke, lost power. So he kept quiet and waited for the older man to say something.
Walter Stanford’s suite took up half of the entire top floor of the hotel, with Melinda’s private quarters in the other half. It was old-world elegant, again with just a touch of shabbiness. As if the place had seen better times. Sean had to wonder if the old man was as wealthy as rumor suggested.
He had noticed a couple of telltale water marks on the ceiling, proof of a leaky roof that hadn’t been fixed in time. And there were other things too. Nothing over the top, he thought, just tiny warning flags. Scars on the wood floors, chipped molding, window casements where the plaster had crumbled.
Of course, none of that proved anything. All it might mean was that Walter Stanford was simply too busy or too uninterested to make the dozens of minor repairs buildings always required. Or, he thought, it could mean that the old man needed this hotel deal far more than he wanted the Kings to know.
Sean smiled to himself, but kept his expression carefully neutral.
