Millionaire's Wedding Revenge / Stranded with the Tempting Stranger: Millionaire's Wedding Revenge

Glancing to her left, she noticed Stephen walking toward her from across the lobby.

She watched as he was waylaid by an employee, then as his progress was halted again by someone who appeared to be a familiar hotel guest.

When he finally approached, she said, “I thought I was meeting one of your executives.”

“Change of plans,” he said, cupping her elbow and gently steering her with a subtle pressure.

He slanted her a look. “That is, unless you mind it’s me.”

“No,” she responded automatically. Since she had been the one to call their relationship strictly professional, she had no choice but to stick to the script. “Of course I don’t care.”

Of course I care. Just being in the same room with him was enough to make her tense and jittery.

As it was, little shock waves coursed through her from the casual contact of his hand at her elbow.

They walked across the majestic soaring lobby toward the elevators. One end of the lobby led to the street, and the other end, with columns alternating with billowing white curtains, opened onto the Garrison Grand’s private beach. The smell of surf and sand wafted in.

She hadn’t been able to stop herself over the years from reading the occasional news article about Stephen and the Garrison Grand. The hotel had kept a fantastic reputation while she and Stephen had been dating, but it had surpassed itself since then, becoming the it place for the rich and famous who flocked to South Beach.

Walking through the lobby now, she could understand why. Stephen seemed to keep everything new and cutting edge.

“I’m looking to redesign some of the meeting rooms on the second floor,” Stephen said. “Then we can talk about other changes—what else needs to be revamped and updated.”

His deep voice buffeted her like the warm jets of a hot tub.

This is not going to work, she thought. How could she stand to work with him when she couldn’t even think straight?

Yet, she had no choice. After Stephen had left her office yesterday, she’d gone to see Conrad. The meeting had confirmed everything Stephen had said: everyone else in the office was too busy with other projects to be the lead person on the Garrison Grand, and they were looking to her to be a team player.

Now, as Stephen called the elevator and they rode up together, she felt the air between them fairly crackle with tension.

When they stepped out on the second floor, they walked down a hallway with recessed lighting along either side of its carpeted floor.

He gave her a quick tour of the business center and various conference rooms. They ended up at the end of the hall, where Stephen opened a set of double doors and ushered her inside the last empty conference room.

As she walked past him, she was careful not to brush against him. She didn’t think she could stand it.

This conference room contained a long, rectangular, glass-topped table that looked as if it could seat twenty. Like the others, the decor was modern, with high-backed office chairs and all the proper business amenities: phones, a flat-screen television with a DVD player, and a projection screen that appeared as if it was normally hidden behind a wooden wall panel.

“I find it hard to believe,” she observed after looking around and turning back to Stephen, “that anyone can work in paradise’s playground.”

It was a thought that had increasingly hit her during their brief tour.

A smile slashed across Stephen’s face. “I do,” he said, then added drily, “That’s why you can’t see the beach from this room or the others.”

She walked farther into the room, trailing her fingertips along the top of the table before setting her purse down, putting together the thoughts and ideas that had been formulating since the beginning of their tour.

He watched her.

“Very modern,” she mused.

“Very,” he agreed, “but I’m not looking for merely modern. I want different—unique—and that means changing to stay ahead of our competitors.”

She turned to face him. “Are you thinking of the Hotel Victoria?”

“Just back in town, and you’ve heard of it already,” he quipped.

She lifted her shoulders. “I’m an interior designer. Of course I’m interested in news of a hotel opening.”

“Well, don’t be too impressed,” he advised. “Jordan Jefferies is an imitator, not an innovator, and I’m more than ready for a fight.”

Stephen’s comments reminded her of everything she knew about him from four years ago. He was still strong-willed, powerful and competitive.

Seeking to change the direction of the conversation, she said, “The conference rooms are different from the rest of the hotel. They don’t have the same white theme—”

His lips quirked. “We were looking for something a little more professional for the business rooms. White is the ultimate indulgence.”

“Decadent luxury,” she agreed.

It was what his celebrity guests came for. She could only imagine what his cleaning bill amounted to for the hotel. She knew most of the guest rooms were decorated in white, with splashes of color lent mostly by fresh flowers and marble accents.

But then again, given the room rate at the Garrison Grand, she could well imagine Stephen seeing healthy profits.

She thought about the suite at the hotel that Stephen kept for his personal use. It had also been done in white, she recollected. But unlike the other suites in the hotel, the room rate there had been a night of passion in Stephen’s bed.

She felt herself heat at the thought.

“What are you thinking?” he said, and she jumped.

“I was just mulling the possibilities,” she said quickly, trying to cover her lapse. “It occurred to me to do a takeoff on the decor in the rest of the hotel. White and dark blue. White leather, midnight-blue velvet. Different textures, different fabrics.”

She spoke rapidly, sketching her idea for him, the thoughts spilling from her. “White to echo the calming relaxation of the rest of the hotel, midnight-blue for business. Navy is a business color, but we’ll subtly undermine it by casting it in sinful velvet and giving it a unique hue.”

His long-ago familiar lopsided smile appeared. “Tell me more.”

It was easy to think sinful in his presence, she wanted to tell him.

Her heart beat rapidly.

There was a time, four years ago, when they’d been so hot for each other, they’d have abandoned their business meeting to sneak away upstairs and have frantic sex in his hotel suite, kissing and holding hands in the elevator as soon as the doors closed.

Or he’d have locked the door, and taken her right here.

Not anymore.

And she shouldn’t be having such lascivious thoughts about a client, she reminded herself. Particularly him. She was mommy material now.

She glanced around. “We’ll replace the wood paneling with sound-soak material to help with the acoustics and lighting. It comes in an off-white color, but with a suede finish, so it’ll blend with the decor.”

He smiled. “Sounds good.”

“It’ll sound even better when I’ve had time to draw up plans,” she responded as she walked back toward him. “We’ll need to move the business center, too. It should be convenient but less obtrusive. Right now, from what I saw, it has too much glass, in my opinion.”

“I’m liking it even more,” he replied.

“Aren’t you lucky, then, that you got me before Jordan Jefferies did?” she joked, then could have bitten off her tongue as Stephen’s eyes darkened.

She watched as his gaze traveled over her. “Yeah, I got you,” he drawled before he met her gaze. “The question is, when will I have you again?”

Her stomach flipped. “Never.”

“Never is a long time, sweetheart.”

“I thought we agreed to keep this relationship strictly professional.”

“We did?” he murmured.

“That would put sexual innuendo on the wrong side of the line,” she informed him.

“How about dinner?” he asked, his voice flippant even as his look heated her all over. “Would having dinner together be on the wrong side of the line?”

“Mo—” She stopped to clear the catch in her throat. “Most definitely.”

“Too bad,” he murmured.

Yes, too bad. Then she caught herself.

No, not too bad. He was lying, cheating vermin, and she’d be three kinds of fool to fall under the spell of his seductive charm—again. What was wrong with her?

He looked at her hair. “Why is your hair up?”

“It’s hot.”

Outside. It’s hot outside. But she felt as if she was burning up right in here.

Before she could stop him, he reached up, and with an efficient move, released the barrette holding her hair in place.

A cascade of dark red hair followed.

“Much better,” he remarked. “I always liked it better down.”

“Stop it.” She didn’t know whom she was angrier with, him for putting the moves on her, or herself for her breathless reaction.

“It was good four years ago,” he stated.

“Yes, and it’s over now.”

“Easily rectified. Have dinner with me.”

Stephen being Stephen, it was more a command than a request.

“I can’t. I need to go—”

She clamped her mouth shut. He’d gotten her so discombobulated, she’d almost said she had to go relieve the babysitter. It was an excuse that came effortlessly to her lips. She’d grown accustomed to using it over the past three years.

“You have to go, what?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she responded. “When I have something down on paper for this project, I’ll call you.”

Then she grabbed her purse and brushed past him in her haste to get out of the room.

Stephen stood looking out his office window, his suit jacket hanging open and bunched above the hands shoved in his pockets. He had a rare moment for calm introspection.

He’d come on strong with Megan earlier. Maybe too strong, he admitted to himself now.

She’d reacted like a deer caught in headlights. It was far different from the way she’d reacted to his pursuit four years ago. Then she’d flatly refused to go out with him, but the unaccustomed taste of rejection had simply spiked his interest.

He’d made up reasons to show up at Garrison, Inc. headquarters, even recruiting Parker so he would know when Megan was due to show up there.

He’d engaged her in casual conversation, and eventually discovered they’d both been captains of their high school swim teams and they were both football fans, though she followed her hometown Indianapolis Colts while he was a Miami Dolphins fan.

More importantly, he’d liked the fact she was ambitious without taking herself too seriously. It was something he could relate to.

He’d discovered she’d left her home in Indiana and come down to Florida because of the career opportunities in the interior design field. She dealt with the aesthetics of workplace and hospitality environments, while his aim was to make his hotel the premier accommodation in Miami by focusing on cutting-edge design.

To his chagrin, he’d also discovered his reputation as a player had preceded him and Megan was understandably wary.

“Why won’t you go out with me?” he’d asked her one day, bestowing one of his trademark killer smiles. He’d found from experience that the direct approach often worked best. “It’s been rumored I’m actually a reasonable dinner partner, decent arm candy and even a fairly good kisser.”

Her lips had twitched. “Yes, and that’s not all apparently. I know about your reputation.”

“Rumors of my prowess have been exaggerated,” he parried, not averse to shamelessly self-serving comments.

She laughed. “Can I quote you? It’s rare to hear a guy like you argue for once that his image has outstripped the reality. Still, I noticed you didn’t say greatly exaggerated.”

“A guy like me?” he repeated, pretending to look wounded.

“Mmm-hmm. Exactly like you,” she said archly, turning back to her work.

Still, he’d eventually caught her at a weak moment one day and coaxed her into having an overdue lunch with him at a corner bistro. She’d relented, and their affair had taken off from there.

Yet, back then she’d never had that apprehensive quality around him that she’d exhibited earlier today.

People changed, of course, but he wondered what could have triggered it in this case.

Still, he didn’t intend to let the pressure off Megan.

He wanted her—sooner rather than later.

Three

When Stephen showed up at her office two days later, Megan was prepared to act as if their encounter in the Garrison Grand’s conference room had never happened.

She gritted her teeth now as she led the way down the hall to Elkind, Ross’s storage rooms, where they kept fabrics, carpets and wall coverings.

She was determined to keep this an all-business relationship even if it killed her.

She could feel his presence behind her—authoritative, confident, all male—and wished now she’d worn something more severe than a wrap dress and heels to work today.

They stepped into the secluded and very empty storage room, and Megan couldn’t help thinking that there were some requirements of her job that she could easily do without right now.

Stephen looked around at the shelves surrounding them. They were all piled high with materials.

“So this is what things really look like around here,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “I was beginning to think, judging from your austere office, that this was a place where even a paper clip wouldn’t dare to be out of place.”

“I haven’t had a chance to settle in yet,” she responded.

Let him think what he liked, she thought. She didn’t want him getting any hints of her life as it was now.

She walked toward the back of the room to search for the samples she was looking for, and he followed, then stopped beside her. In his dark pinstripe suit, he pulled off the look of restrained power effortlessly.

Retrieving a small chip from a cardboard box, she said, “This is a sample of the type of wall covering I’d like to use in the conference rooms.”

As he took the chip from her, their hands brushed, sending awareness shooting through her.

“As you can see,” she went on, determined to ignore the sensation, “it’s not quite white, but close enough, I think.”

“Right,” he muttered, but his eyes were focused on her, not the sample in his hand.

She scooted over to another shelf. “And these are examples of the fabrics I’d like to use. This is the white leather—” she tapped a bolt of fabric “—and this is the midnight velvet.”

She watched him feel the leather, his tanned hands dark against the lightness of the fabric, and an erotic charge went through her.

Cursing her wayward mind, and seeking to distract both him and herself, she yanked the bolt of velvet fabric forward with more force than necessary.

“As you can see, the color has a depth and a richness to it that make it more than merely navy-blue. It’s plush, and at the same time, fairly easy to clean thanks to the wonders of new industrial processes.”

He reached out and touched the fabric, his hand slowly stroking over it.

She nearly gulped. It was impossible, she belatedly realized, to have this conversation without a sexual subtext.

“You’re right,” he said, gazing directly at her. “It’s…sinful.”

She could see amusement lurking in his eyes. Damn him. He knew exactly the effect this conversation was having on her.

The sudden ring of a phone made her jump and broke the spell.

Stephen arched a brow.

“We keep a phone in the supply room,” she explained, hurrying over to a nearby cabinet, “in case anyone needs to be reached while they’re working.”

While they’re being seduced by the look in a client’s eyes.

Picking up the phone, she said, “Hello?”

“Megan, it’s Tiffany.”

What a time for her babysitter to call! Maybe it hadn’t been such a great idea to tell her secretary to forward any important calls. She cast an involuntary look at Stephen from the corner of her eyes.

“Is anything wrong?” she asked.

“Just checking in.”

She groaned inwardly. “Thanks. That’s thoughtful.”

“Jade wants to go to the park,” Tiffany continued, “so we might not be here when you arrive home. I didn’t want you to worry, so I thought I’d call now. If we don’t beat you back, we’ll be on the way.”

“That’s fine.”

“We might stop for some ice cream.”

“Just remember what she’s allergic to,” she responded in a lowered voice.

“Will do.”

When she hung up, Stephen asked, “Is everything okay? I heard you mention the word allergic.”

She thought frantically, even as she struggled to appear composed.

“Ah, it’s a client I’m taking to lunch,” she fibbed. “I was just reminding my secretary to bear in mind what the client is allergic to when making reservations.” She waved her hand around. “You know, ah, ethnic cuisine and all.”

“Right.”

She cleared her throat. Time to get out of the pressure cooker that the storage room had turned into. “If you follow me back to my office, we can consider the layout of the Garrison Grand redesign in greater detail.”

What was Megan hiding? She’d appeared furtive when speaking on the phone in the storage room earlier in the day.

Stephen stared out the window of his office, his fingers steepled, his feet crossed on his desk.

He knew she wasn’t married. She didn’t wear a ring, and he figured Megan would be one to change her surname when she got married.

Maybe there was a boyfriend in the picture.

His lips thinned at the thought of Megan with another man. Still, her reaction to his asking for a date hadn’t been to say she was seeing someone. She’d been about to say something, but he was fairly sure it wasn’t that. She would have finished her thought otherwise, because a steady boyfriend would have afforded her an easy excuse to turn him down.

Still, he wondered how many lovers she’d had since their breakup. He’d hardly been celibate himself. They’re were plenty of beautiful women in South Beach who were only too happy to hook up with the wealthy and good-looking owner of one of the trendiest places in town.

But none of those relationships had gone as deep as the one with Megan. When his mind had slipped its leash and he’d compared those women to her, they’d come up short.

He thought back to Megan’s accusation. No one leaves a Garrison.

Yeah, it had irked him to be dumped. Particularly since, as far as he was concerned, their relationship had been just fine. The sex had been great, and she’d challenged and fascinated him out of bed, too.

She was the one woman he’d actually given thought to settling down with.

“You look severe.”

He looked at his open office door and noticed his new sister-in-law, Anna, holding on to the doorjamb.

He pushed away from his desk and lowered his feet.

Anna walked into the room. “What were you thinking? I could practically see the storm clouds.”

“Nothing,” he said, standing. “What brings you to the Garrison Grand?”

He kept his personal life private, including the particulars of his short-lived affair with Megan.

Still, now he knew Anna and Megan were friends, he figured his new sister-in-law could be useful to him. He wasn’t averse to doing some subtle digging.

“Parker and I are having dinner at the Opalesce Room,” Anna responded.

He flashed a smile that more than one woman had characterized as devilish. “Come to invite me along?”

Anna laughed. “Hardly. Parker and I are still honeymooners.”

“Yeah, how can any of us forget?”

The change in his brother had been extraordinary. The guy actually seemed to be in love, which—given the train wreck their own parents’ marriage had been until their father had died—was some feat. It also spoke volumes about the woman before him.

His parents’ marriage had been marred by Bonita Garrison’s drinking. Still, after John Garrison’s sudden death from a heart attack, everyone had been shocked to learn he’d fathered a love child.

“Actually,” Anna went on, “since your brother is going to be late, I thought I’d stop by on the off chance that Megan might be around. I know she’s working on the business center renovation.”

“She came by yesterday.” He didn’t add she’d hightailed it out of there after his thwarted pass.

Anna looked momentarily disappointed, then shrugged. “Oh, well. I suppose I’ll catch up with her soon.” After a moment, she added impetuously, “I’m glad you hired her.”

“Yeah,” he said, coming around his desk, “I didn’t know until you mentioned it that you were close friends with one of Miami’s best up-and-coming designers.”

“In fact,” Anna admitted, “I have Megan to thank for my start at Garrison, Inc. four years ago. She’d gotten to know people in the HR department while she worked on renovations at Garrison headquarters.”

“So she said. What are friends for?” he remarked flippantly as he made his way to a side cabinet that held a small refrigerator and beverages.

Recently he’d suspected Anna of corporate espionage, but he’d been proved wrong. Someone, though, was leaking secrets to the damn Jefferies brothers. Last month, editorial coverage and a photo spread in Luxury Traveler that he’d been working hard to negotiate for the Garrison Grand had somehow fallen through, and the magazine had instead—by strange coincidence—decided to profile Jordan Jefferies’s soon-to-be-opened Hotel Victoria.

Fortunately, Parker had asked the family’s private investigator, Ace Martin, to ferret out the traitor. It didn’t help matters, though, that one of his younger twin sisters had just decided to get herself engaged to Emilio Jefferies.

“Drink?” he offered.

“No, thanks. Parker should be here any minute.”

Stephen poured himself some bottled water. After watching his mother drink herself silly, he was careful with the heavy stuff.

“Anyway, I’m glad you hired Megan after I mentioned her for the project here at the hotel,” Anna continued. “I’m glad I was able to return the favor she did for me.”

“I’m sure she can’t thank you enough,” he responded tongue-in-cheek, thinking of Megan’s reaction when he’d shown up in her office.

“I also convinced her to take over the cute little house I was leasing in Coral Gables.”

He turned back toward Anna, and took a sip of his drink. “You don’t say?”

Parker appeared in the doorway behind his wife, and Anna turned.

“Great, you’re not as late as I thought you’d be,” Anna said.

Parker gave his wife a quick kiss.

“Leave it for dessert,” Stephen said to no one in particular.

Parker flashed him a grin, and Anna looked embarrassed.

Stephen raised his glass in salute. “Enjoy your meal.”

Thanks to Anna, he had more important matters to attend to, starting with calling over to HR at Garrison headquarters and finding out his sister-in-law’s old address.

Four

He scanned the house numbers, and when he found the modest little home in Coral Gables, he pulled up at the curb and parked his Aston Martin convertible.

As Stephen strode up the well-kept front lawn, he scanned the home’s facade. It was hard to tell if anyone was home.

The house was painted white, with light blue shutters and trim providing vivid contrast. Flower boxes spilled over from the front windows, and some small bushes dotted the lawn before them.

He pocketed his sunglasses before finding and ringing the doorbell.

It was a late Saturday afternoon, and the temperature hovered modestly in the mideighties. Megan could be anywhere, he thought. She could be out running errands or seeing friends. If she wasn’t home, his plan was to try another time.