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“More coffee, miss?” A slim blonde waitress in a black tee and cargo shorts paused by her table, juggling an armful of menus and a coffeepot.
“No, thank you.” Lydia switched off the screen on her tablet by habit, accustomed to protecting her privacy at all times. “I’m almost finished anytime you want to bring the check.” She should be early for her first meeting, even if she hadn’t done a lot of design homework to prep for it.
Singer Associates, the firm that had hired her to overhaul the interior of the landmark Foxfire Hotel, had been good to her over the years. The firm had hired her for the job where she’d met Ian McNeill, she recalled. Perhaps that had been the only time where a Singer Associates job had a snag attached, since her disastrous affair with Ian had broken her heart in more ways than one.
But that certainly hadn’t been Jeremy Singer’s fault.
Stuffing in one last bite of the almond brioche French toast, Lydia promised herself to arrive earlier for breakfast tomorrow so she could people watch on Ocean Drive. Most of her potential matchmaking clientele fled to the Hamptons or Europe this time of year, not Miami. But there were always interesting international travelers in South Beach, no matter the season. Not to mention the fresh-faced models who were a dime a dozen on this stretch of beach. And wealthy men were always interested in models and actresses. It couldn’t hurt to keep her ears and eyes open for prospects as long as she was in town.
Retrieving her leather tote from the chair beside her, Lydia paid her bill and dialed her assistant back in New York as she walked south on Ocean Drive toward the Foxfire Hotel.
Traffic crawled by as tourists snapped photos of the historic art deco buildings in the area. The cotton candy colors of the stucco walls wouldn’t work as well anywhere but at the beach. Here, the pinks and yellows blended with the colorful sunrises and sunsets, while the strong, geometric lines balanced the soft colors. The Foxfire Hotel had lost some of its early grandeur in misguided attempts to update the property, with subsequent owners covering up the decorative spandrels and fluting around doors and windows. Her contract with Singer Associates—the new owner—had assured her those details would be recovered and honored wherever possible.
“Good morning, Lydia.” Her assistant, Kinley, answered the call with her usual morning enthusiasm. The younger woman was at her desk shortly after dawn, a feat made easier by the fact that she sublet rooms in Lydia’s Manhattan apartment for a nominal fee. “Did you need anything for your morning meeting?”
“No. I’m all set, thanks. But it occurred to me that I could collect some contacts while I’m down here for our second business.” Pausing outside the Foxfire, she knew Kinley would understand her meaning and her desire to be discreet. “I wondered if you could see who we know is in South Beach this month and maybe wrangle some fun party invites for me?”
“Are we ready to dive back into the dating world?” Kinley asked. In the background, Lydia heard her turn down the brain-tuning music that her assistant used while she was working.
“I think we’ve lain low for long enough.” Lydia had quit working with the bigger dating agency when Kinley had paired a prominent client with a ballerina who was unaware she’d landed on a list of potential brides.
The snafu hadn’t been Kinley’s fault; it was caused by the ballerina’s matchmaker, who’d listed her client in the wrong database. The incident had made the New York social pages, implicating “Mallory West” as potentially responsible. Instead of drawing attention to herself and her business, Lydia had simply withdrawn from the matchmaking world, mostly because the prominent client had actually been Ian McNeill’s younger brother, Cameron. Lydia hadn’t wanted to draw the attention of her former lover just when she’d finally been starting to heal from their breakup.
And from the loss of the pregnancy she’d never told him about. The punch to her gut still happened when she thought about it. But the ache had dulled to a more manageably sized hurt.
“Music to my ears.” Kinley’s grin was obvious in her tone of voice. “I’ve been keeping our files up-to-date for just this moment so we’d be ready to go when you gave the okay.”
“Excellent. Look for some South Beach parties then.” She checked her watch. “I’ll touch base with you after the meeting.”
“Got it. Good luck.” Kinley disconnected the call.
Lydia entered the building, her eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden darkness. The hotel had been closed since the property had changed hands, and was a construction site. Lights were on in the lobby, but some remodeling efforts were already underway with the space torn down to the studs.
“Right this way, ma’am.” An older man dressed in crisp blue jeans and wearing a yellow construction hat gestured her toward the back of the lobby where plywood had been laid over the sawdust on the floor. “You must be here for the new owner’s meeting.” At her nod, he extended a hand. “I’m Rick, the foreman.”
She quickened her step, approaching to shake his hand and blinking at the bright white light dangling from an orange electric cord thrown over a nearby exposed rafter.
“Nice to meet you.” She’d learned early in her career to make friends with the site supervisor wherever possible since that person usually had a better handle on the job than whatever upper level manager was put on the project.
“We’ve got you set up at a table in the courtyard.” He gestured to two glass doors in the back leading to a broad space of smooth pavers and manicured landscaping open to natural sunlight. “Just through there.”
“Great.” She straightened the strap on her leather tote and smoothed a hand over her turquoise sheath dress. She wished she’d found a restroom before she left the News Café so she could have touched up her lipstick and checked her hair; she hadn’t expected the conditions at the Foxfire to still be so rough. “It’s a beautiful day to enjoy the outdoors.”
“For another hour, maybe.” Rick chuckled to himself. “You New Yorkers all like the heat until you’re here for a few days in the summer.”
Yes, well. There might be a smidge of truth to that. She’d probably be melting this afternoon. Thanking him, Lydia pushed through the glass door on the right, her eye already picking out a wicker chair off to one side of a large wrought iron table. She was glad to be early so she could pull over the wicker seat and save herself from sitting on wrought iron for however long this meeting lasted.
A small water feature burbled quietly in the open-air courtyard, sending up a soft spray of mist as it tumbled over smooth rocks and landed in a scenic pool surrounded by exotic plantings. Dwarf palms mingled with a few taller species that attracted a pair of squawking green parrots. High up, at the top of the building, a retractable canopy over part of the space dimmed the sun a bit without blocking it completely.
“Lydia.” She turned her head sharply to one side to find the source of the familiar baritone.
She hadn’t heard that voice in over a year. It couldn’t be...
“Ian?” She felt that breathless punch to her gut again, harder than it had been this morning when she’d thought of her lost pregnancy.
Ian McNeill stood in the far corner of the room beside a Mexican-style tea cart laden with silver ice buckets and cold, bottled drinks, his strong arms crossed over his chest. His slightly bronzed skin that hinted at his Brazilian mother’s heritage made his blue eyes all the more striking. His dark hair was short at the sides and longer on top, still damp from a morning shower. He was impeccably groomed in his crisp dark suit, gray shirt and blue tie.
Ian McNeill. The lover who’d broken her heart. The man who’d kept his profile on a matchmaker’s site while he dated her, prompting her to go into the matchmaking business just so she could try her hand at sending horrible dating prospects his way. She’d outgrown the foolish need for vengeance after she’d lost their baby. So it had been an accident when she’d paired Ian’s brother with that famous ballerina.
How much did Ian know about any of that?
“Nice to see you, Lydia,” he said smoothly, approaching her with the languid grace of a lifelong athlete. “A real pleasure to be working with you again.”
His eyes held hers captive for a long moment while she debated what he meant by “pleasure.” The word choice hadn’t been an accident. Ian was the most methodical man she’d ever met.
“I didn’t know—” She faltered, trying to make sense of how she could have taken a job where Ian McNeill played any role. “That is, Jeremy Singer never told me—”
“He and I agreed to exchange peer review services on a couple of random properties—a recent idea we had to keep our project managers on their toes and revitalize the work environment.” Ian brought a bottled water to the table and set it down before tugging over the wicker chair for her. “I was pleased to hear you were in line for this job, especially since you and I work so well together.”
He held the chair for her. Waiting.
Her heart thrummed a crazy beat in her chest. She could not take a job where she’d be working under Ian.
Oh, God.
She couldn’t even think about being under Ian without heat clawing its way up her face.
And, of course, those blue eyes of his didn’t miss her blush. He seemed to track its progress avidly as the heat flooded up her neck and spilled onto her cheeks, pounding with a heartbeat all its own.
When the barest hint of a smile curved his full, sculpted lips, Lydia knew he wasn’t here by accident. It had all been by design. She wasn’t sure how she knew. But something in Ian’s expression assured her it was true.
She opened her mouth to argue. To tell him they wouldn’t be working together under any conditions. But just then the glass doors opened again and the job engineer strode into the room with Rick, the foreman she’d met briefly. Behind them, two other women she didn’t know appeared deep in conversation about the history of the Foxfire, comparing notes about the size of the original starburst sign that hung on the front facade.
Lydia’s gaze flicked to Ian, but the opportunity to tell him what she thought about his maneuvering was lost. She’d have to get through this meeting and speak to Jeremy Singer herself since she couldn’t afford to walk off a job.
But there was no way she could work with the man who’d betrayed her.
Even if he affected her now as much as ever.
Two (#ua790a28e-2042-517b-bd75-6206af3abb56)
Doing his damnedest not to be distracted by the sight of Lydia’s long legs as she sat on the opposite side of the room, Ian paid close attention in the Foxfire meeting, appreciating the favor Jeremy Singer had done by letting Ian step in at the last minute. Having worked with the resort developer on a handful of other projects over the years, Ian understood the man’s style and expectations, so he would offer whatever insights he could on the job site. Since launching his own resort development company on a smaller, more exacting scale than his grandfather’s global McNeill Resorts Corporation, Ian wasn’t normally in the business of overseeing other people’s buildings when he was in a position to design his own. Yet he did enjoy having a hand in specialty public spaces like the foodie-centered resort Singer planned for the revamped Foxfire.
One of the drawbacks of running his own business was less day-to-day focus on his clients’ concerns, building restrictions and the inevitable permit nightmares. Being on-site now and again gave him renewed awareness of the obstacles in his work. So this brief stint at one of Jeremy Singer’s buildings was no hardship.
And the payoff promised to be far greater than the sacrifice of his time.
Ian’s gaze slid to Lydia’s profile as the meeting broke up. She remained in her seat on the opposite side of the room, speaking to a woman in charge of indoor air quality on the job site. The room was full of people who would only play a limited role in the renovation, but Ian had wanted to attend the meeting and get up to speed as quickly as possible. The enclosed courtyard was crowded, too, ensuring Lydia couldn’t walk out the door before he caught up with her.
Her turquoise dress skimmed her slight curves and was accented by a belt with a thin tortoiseshell buckle emphasizing a trim waist. The hem ended just above her knee, showcasing her legs in high-heeled gold sandals. Her straight dark hair slid over one arm as she turned, still in conversation with the other woman, her dimple flashing once as they continued their animated talk. Clearly, the two of them knew each other, but then again, they moved in a small world of elite professionals.
Would Lydia try to leave without speaking to him privately? He didn’t think so. She was not a woman to mince words. And while he’d caught her off guard—clearly—by showing up here without her knowledge, she’d had two hours during the meeting to consider her course of action. She would confront him directly.
The idea tantalized far more than it should have. She’d walked away from him. Worse, she’d meddled in his affairs without his knowledge. Even that, he might have forgiven. But how could she extend her vengeance to his family? She’d matched his brother Cameron to an oblivious stranger. The meeting—and Cameron’s impulsive proposal in the middle of a private airport—had been caught on film by a dance magazine that was doing a special on the ballerina and would-be bride. The episode put their older brother, Quinn, in the awkward position of trying to smooth things over in the media to placate the woman’s furious and embarrassed father.
Lydia had been responsible for all of that, and Ian wasn’t about to forget it. Even if things had worked out in the end when Quinn fell hard for the ballerina himself. The two were now engaged. Happy.
Ian exchanged pleasantries with the site manager as the rest of the group filed out through the glass doors and back into the main building, leaving him and Lydia alone in the interior courtyard. A water feature gurgled in the space as yet untouched by the remodel.
The babble of water over a short rock wall softened the impact of the sudden silence. Shoving to his feet, Ian stalked around the wrought iron table to where Lydia sat, gathering her things and tucking a silver pen into the sleeve inside her leather tote bag.
“I need to speak with you privately,” she informed him, slinging the tote onto one shoulder as she met his gaze.
He’d forgotten how green her eyes were. He remembered staring into those jade depths while the two of them stood in a languid pool off the Pacific on a beach in Rangiroa, just north of Tahiti. He’d thought then that her eyes matched the color of the water—not really emerald green or aqua that day, but a brilliant green.
He’d thought a whole lot of foolish things then, though. A mistake he would not be repeating.
“I figured you might.” He inclined his head. “My car is outside.”
For the briefest moment, she nipped her lower lip. Uncertain? Or unwilling?
Or tempted? Ah...
“We might as well work while we talk,” he explained. He didn’t want her to think he planned to cart her off and ravish her at the first opportunity, the way he once would have after a tedious two-hour meeting. “Traffic should be reasonable at this hour. We can drive over to Singer’s inspiration hotels and take a look around.”
“Of course.” She pivoted on her heel and preceded him toward the exit. “Thank you.”
His eyes dipped to the gentle sway of her hips in the turquoise silk, the hint of thigh visible in the short slit at the back of her skirt. He didn’t recognize the dress, but the thighs were a different story. He and Lydia had been crazy about each other, tearing one another’s clothes off at the slightest opportunity. One time, they’d barely made it to an outdoor shower stall on their way up to his villa from the beach.
Now her hair had grown longer, reaching to the middle of her back. Last year, it had been cut in a razor-sharp line across the middle of her shoulder blades. Today, it draped lower, the ends trimmed in a V that seemed to point to the sweet curve of her lovely ass.
He reached around her to open the door for her, leading them into the Miami sun, grown considerably warmer over the last two hours. Once outside, he flicked open the top button on his shirt beneath his tie, knowing full well this noontime excursion wasn’t going to be all about work and knowing with even more certainty that his rising temperature had more to do with the woman in step beside him than the sun above him.
“This way.” He pointed toward the valet at the next hotel over, grateful the attendant behind the small stand noticed Ian and sent one of the younger workers into the parking garage with a set of keys.
No doubt his rented convertible BMW would be driven out soon enough. He ushered Lydia to one side of the street while they waited, his hand brushing the small of her back just long enough to feel the gentle glide of silk on his fingertips and the warmth of her body underneath.
The South Beach scenery—palm trees, exotic cars, brilliant blue water and beach bodies parading to and from the shore on the other side of the street—was nothing to him. Lydia had his undivided attention.
“You just happened to be in Miami?” She turned on him suddenly, the frustration that had been banked earlier finding fresh heat now that they were alone. “On a job that has nothing to do with McNeill Resorts or your personal development company?”
He caught a hint of her fragrance, something tropical that stood out from the scent of the hibiscus hedge behind her.
“I am here to see you.” He saw no need to hide his intentions. “Although even I didn’t realize until recently how much unfinished business remained between us.”
“So pick up the phone.” She bit out the words with careful articulation, though her voice remained quiet. “There was no need to fly fifteen hundred miles to ambush me on my project.”
“Our project,” he reminded her, letting the “ambush” remark slide. “And I saw no sense in calling you when you purposely went into hiding after we left Rangiroa.” He’d been furious that she’d blocked him in every way possible, giving him no access to her unless he wanted to be truly obnoxious about seeing her. He refused to be that guy who wouldn’t give up on a woman who wanted nothing to do with him.
“You knew how I felt about public scandals.” She hugged her arms around herself for a moment, eliciting an unwelcome twinge of empathy from him.
With a very famous father and a mother who was unrepentant about going after his billions, Lydia had received way too much media attention as a child and straight through her teen years. Her parents were the kind of media spectacle that the tabloids cashed in on again and again. In Lydia’s eyes, all her mother had done was to destroy Lydia’s relationships with her father’s family.
“You had no reason to believe I would ever make our affair public.” He spotted the silver Z4 rolling out of the parking garage and pointed out the vehicle to her. “You know me better than that.”
“I only thought I knew you, Ian.”
She didn’t need to say any more than that for him to hear the damning accusation behind the words as they headed toward the car.
Tipping the valet service, Ian grudgingly allowed one of the other attendants to close Lydia’s door behind her, not surprised the thin veneer of civility between them was already wearing thin. He’d cared deeply about her and he was sure she’d once felt the same about him. The raw hurt of tearing things apart had left them both full of resentments, it seemed.
Indulging 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.
