The Spanish Tycoon's Takeover

She blinked. ‘So that we can have their room ready, of course.’

One of those megawatt smiles slammed into him.

‘And so we can make a fuss.’

Her laugh! It could wrap around a man and make him want—Nonsense!

‘No fuss will be necessary.’

Her smile only widened. ‘That’s what you think.’ Her blonde hair bounced about her shoulders and down her back, crackling with life and energy, as she gestured to the woman behind the counter. ‘This is Tina, and we’re both determined to make your stay here as enjoyable as we can.’

He nodded at the other woman.

‘Now, tell me what you would most like? We’ve organised afternoon tea in the Drawing Room if you’d like refreshments. Tea, coffee, lamingtons—which are an Australian speciality—and chocolate chip cookies because...’ She shrugged. ‘We were expecting Luis, and what little boy can resist those, right?’

Xavier stared at the woman, dumbfounded. He’d just bought her motel. He wasn’t dropping in for tea!

She must have misread his expression, because he received another blast of warmth from that spectacular smile of hers. ‘We knew you’d probably be exhausted, and thought you might want a little pick-me-up before you took a tour of the place.’

‘We would prefer it if you simply showed us to our rooms.’

Her smile slipped, but only for a second. For that second, though, he felt like the worst of heels.

‘Of course.’

‘You can send refreshments to our rooms.’

A wall came down in her eyes then, though nothing else in her expression changed, and he bit back something rude. He’d meant his words to come out as sign of appreciation for the refreshments she’d organised, not as a command.

He glanced around, resisting the urge to roll his shoulders. ‘Where is your bellboy or a porter?’

Her laugh feathered across his skin. ‘Ah, that would be me.’

Before he could say anything she took one of the suitcases that Reyes had placed on the floor and started up the stairs.

‘Your rooms are right this way. I’ve made sure you have the very best rooms Aggie’s Retreat has to offer.’ A twinkle lit her eyes as she glanced back over her shoulder to Xavier. ‘I fear, however, that it’ll be a little more rustic than you’re used to.’

In two strides he was at her side and had relieved her of the suitcase. It was all he could do not to scowl at her. ‘You think I will find fault with my quarters?’

‘Absolutely not.’ There was a hint of mischief in her eyes. ‘I expect the motel to charm your socks off!’

A quaint expression, perhaps, but her optimism was misplaced. He kept silent on that point, however.

She led them to the very end of the first floor corridor, and he refused to notice the provocative sway of her hips. Had she deliberately placed them in the rooms furthest from reception?

She flung open a door to her right. ‘This is the Windsor Suite. Our best room, and yours for the duration, Xavier.’

He’d seen pictures of all the rooms, of course. But this wasn’t a suite. There were no separate bedroom and living quarters. The sleeping area was merely separated from the living area by a step, and the most ludicrous wooden railing that stretched from one side of the room to the other. A sliding glass door gave on to a balcony overlooking the rear of the motel. It was decorated with what he suspected were fake wrought-iron railings and fretwork. Still, it would do for now.

‘Opposite we have Luis and Paula’s room—the Westminster Suite—for when they arrive.’

She opened the door for his inspection. It was large, like his, and contained two double beds. Rather than a balcony it had a sunroom that overlooked the front of the motel. Reyes’s room—the Cambridge Suite—was next to it.

‘I hope you’ll be very comfortable. I’ll send up refreshments shortly. If there’s anything you need, just ring down to Reception.’

‘Thank you.’ He nodded. ‘Today we will settle in. Tomorrow we will get to work.’

By the time he was through there wouldn’t be a trace of the black-hearted Aggie Stephens left in this godforsaken motor inn. He couldn’t wait to get started. He would turn Aggie’s Retreat into a haven of such beauty and opulence that his grandfather’s name would be linked with innovation and luxury forever.

He would do his grandfather’s memory proud. He would turn this into a place that Lorenzo would have loved—an establishment worthy of him. Once that was done maybe the scalding ache that had taken up residence in his chest since Lorenzo’s death would finally go away.

CHAPTER TWO

XAVIER SET A deliberately ruthless pace the following morning. He wanted to gauge Wynne’s measure before he set about incorporating the changes that would turn this two-bit motor inn into one of the most extravagantly luxurious hotels in the Ramos Corporation’s portfolio.

His grandfather deserved the best.

In his final days Lorenzo had confided in Xavier—had confessed that for the past fifty-five years this was where his heart had dwelled. He’d smiled at Xavier with such sadness it had been all Xavier could do not to throw his head back and howl.

Don’t make the same mistakes I made.

He’d made his grandson promise. Xavier had pressed his hand to his heart and had sworn he wouldn’t. That promise had brought his grandfather a measure of peace. For himself, Xavier had sworn to find a way to pay fitting tribute to the only person who had truly loved him.

No expense would be spared.

Nor would recalcitrant employees.

Xavier had ordered Wynne to dance attendance on him at eight a.m., but she’d cheerfully informed him that that was impossible—she had breakfasts to take care of. The earliest she’d be free would be nine o’clock, once Tina’s shift started.

To her credit, she’d arrived in the motel’s conference room—located next to his suite—at nine on the dot. As he’d demanded his own breakfast at six-thirty he knew she must have been up for at least three and a half hours, but she’d tripped in as fresh and perky as if she’d only just started her day. He wasn’t quite sure why, but it had annoyed him.

‘Tell me the deal with your breakfasts,’ he ordered now, without preamble.

She gestured to a chair. ‘May I sit?’ Her eyes danced. ‘Or am I to stand in front of the headmaster as I’m grilled to within an inch of my life?’

He blinked.

She didn’t wait for his invitation, but took the seat opposite. She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. ‘Good morning, Xavier. I hope you had a good night’s sleep.’

She didn’t exactly slouch, but she didn’t sit straight up to attention like most of his employees did either. He couldn’t say why, but that irritated him too.

As if she’d sensed his mood, she let a frown crease the smooth skin of her forehead. ‘Jet lag?’

‘Absolutely not.’ He lifted his chin and stared down his nose. ‘I spent two nights in Sydney before travelling north. That is more than enough time for a body to adjust to a new time zone.’

She pursed her lips and paused before speaking again. ‘You didn’t work your way up from the bottom of the industry, did you?’

He wasn’t sure what she was implying, but the criticism implicit in her words made his eyes narrow. ‘You might want to be very careful what you say next, Miss Stephens.’

Instead of seeing her pale and straighten, he could’ve sworn the corners of her lips twitched.

‘Would it help if I told you my middle name is Antonia?’

What on earth was she babbling about?

‘You see, whenever I was in trouble my grandmother would call me Wynne Antonia Stephens.’ She uttered her full name in deep, ominous tones. ‘It occurs to me that you have the same aplomb to carry that off. Mind you, your “Miss Stephens” was suitably crushing. Though I should probably tell you that I prefer Ms.’

He leant towards her and the faint scent of coffee, bacon...and jasmine drifted across to him. ‘What nonsense—you aren’t the slightest bit crushed.’

She opened her eyes wide. ‘Believe me, on the inside I’m utterly pulverised.’

It was all he could do to catch the smile that tried to slip free. She bit back a smile of her own and he suddenly found that his former irritation had drained away.

She clapped her hands together lightly. ‘Now, you wanted to know about breakfasts...’

He listened as she told him that guests who wanted breakfast needed to place their order and put it into the box on the reception desk by seven p.m. of the day before. Guests could choose to eat in the motel’s drawing room or have room service. The menu was limited, but adequate. And it appeared that Wynne herself was the cook.

He made a note to inform Reyes of the system—if they wanted breakfast they would have to place their orders in a timely fashion.

‘You have help.’

It wasn’t a question. Someone had brought his tray up to his room this morning, and it hadn’t been Wynne.

‘I have a girl who comes in for three or four hours in the mornings when I need her.’

‘What qualifications does she have?’

She blinked and very slowly straightened. ‘What qualifications does she need? She delivers trays to the rooms and washes dishes.’

Her legs remained crossed, her hands remained folded in her lap, but Wynne Antonia Stephens was no longer relaxed.

He thought of the way she’d almost made him laugh a minute ago. If Lorenzo were to be believed, Aggie Stephens’s charm had been lethal. Her granddaughter had obviously inherited it. However, while Lorenzo might have proved a pushover, his grandson was a very different proposition.

‘She’s hardworking, reliable and honest. In my eyes that makes her a model employee.’

‘And are you?’

‘A model employee?’ She sat back. ‘Hard to tell. I’ve been running this place for the last seven years. I’ve been the Chief rather than an Indian.’

Her eyes danced, but he refused to be beguiled by them again.

‘I have no doubts whatsoever, though, that I’ve been a model boss.’

He didn’t so much as crack a smile. ‘I meant are you hardworking, reliable and honest?’

He watched the merriment fade from her eyes. He hadn’t noticed how green they were till now, but perhaps it was simply a trick of the over-abundance of light pouring in at the windows.

‘Are you impugning my character, Mr Ramos? Now that is something I’ll take exception to.’

The Mr Ramos stung. He retaliated with, ‘I did not appreciate being manipulated into employing you.’

‘Ah...’

The martial light in her eyes faded. It was an unusual green—not emerald or sage. It shone with a softer and truer light—like jade.

‘So that’s why you’re itching for a fight?’

The unadorned truth of her words found their target. Being here—finally—in this ludicrous second-rate motel, with its ridiculous charm, had torn the scabs off the anger and outrage that had been simmering since his grandfather’s death. Now that he was here he wanted to smash something...or someone!

But Wynne—though she was that woman’s granddaughter—hadn’t even been born when Aggie had broken Lorenzo’s heart, when she’d manipulated him and made him suffer. Xavier’s heart might burn with the injustice and heartbreak Lorenzo had suffered, but in all likelihood Wynne had no idea what had happened fifty-five years ago. He couldn’t blame her for it, or hold her responsible. And it would be outrageous to punish her for it.

He straightened too, resisting the softening that coursed through him. Wynne needed to understand that he was in charge now. And the sooner he made that clear the better.

‘I’m planning to make changes here.’

‘Of course you are. It’s not like the place doesn’t need it.’

‘I have no intention of fighting you every step of the way or pandering to your sentimentality. You either do the job I’ve employed you to do or you hand your resignation in now.’

Her chin shot up, but it wasn’t the sudden frost in her eyes that Xavier noticed so much as the luscious curve of her bottom lip. He gazed at it, and the longer he stared the harder and sharper the hunger that sliced through him. If he kissed her, would that ice melt in the heat?

Her sharp, ‘Yes, sir!’ hauled him back.

The flush on her cheeks and the way she avoided eye contact told him he’d been staring...and that it had made her uncomfortable.

He didn’t want Wynne comfortable—he wanted her poised to carry out his every demand with flattering speed. He suspected if he gave the woman an inch she’d take a mile. But this was business, and he didn’t want her feeling uncomfortable on a personal level.

‘Do you have any other questions about how we run breakfast?’

‘I’d like to create a breakfast room, where guests can help themselves to a buffet breakfast.’

‘That would be lovely.’ Her eyes said otherwise. ‘But we don’t have the equipment or the staff.’

‘Yet.’

That perked her up.

He let her savour it. By the end of the day, when she’d had a taste of the wholesale changes he meant to make, he fully expected her unqualified resignation.

‘The motel does not serve lunch or dinner?’

‘No.’

Good. That meant he would have her full attention for the rest of the day. He started to rise.

‘Well...’ She grimaced. ‘Not as a general rule.’

He sat again. ‘Explain.’

‘We get a lot of repeat business at Aggie’s Retreat.’

‘Yes?’

‘That means we get to know our guests as...as individuals.’

She uttered that sentence as if it explained everything.

He stared at her. ‘And?’

‘So, for example, I know that Sandra Clark from up Cairns way would walk across hot coals for a halfway decent salmon cake, and that the favourite dish of Godfrey Trent from Sydney is crumbed cutlets.’

He gaped at her. ‘You cook their favourite meals?’

‘I charge through the nose for it.’

‘How much?’

She told him and he shook his head. ‘That’s nothing compared to the majority of hotel restaurant rates.’

‘But it’s far more expensive than the Thai restaurant down the road or the tavern on the corner. I make a seventy per cent profit and the motel gets its guests’ undying gratitude and loyalty. That sounds like a win-win, if you ask me.’

It made sound financial sense—except this wasn’t the way the Ramos Corporation ran its hotels! ‘What are you running here—a guesthouse? Because it certainly isn’t a hotel.’

She suddenly smiled—one of those smiles. ‘That’s the perfect description. We’re a home away from home. It’s why our guests keep coming back.’ Her smile widened. ‘That and the fact that our rooms are so clean.’

‘Which is just as well, as your rooms don’t have anything else to recommend them.’

‘Ouch. That’s a little harsh. She’s getting a little tired around the edges, I’ll admit, but Aggie’s Retreat still has charm.’

‘She’s shabby. And the charm is wearing thin.’ He stabbed a finger to the table. ‘I want a tour of the entire building. Now.’

‘Rooms Three, Eight and Twelve won’t be vacated until after ten, but the rest of the motel is at your disposal.’

He did his best to run her ragged for the next two hours, but she kept perfect pace with him. In any other circumstances he’d have been impressed, but not here. In fact the more time he spent in her company the more he realised she would have to go.

He couldn’t fire her—he wouldn’t stoop to that—but he’d be more than happy to accept her resignation once she handed it in. And he knew exactly how to achieve that.

He turned to her, cutting her off in mid-sentence as she told him some unpalatable truth or other about the building’s ancient plumbing system. ‘Wynne, I think it is time you learned the real reason I have bought Aggie’s Retreat.’

‘Excellent!’ She rubbed her hands together. ‘I’ve been wondering how long it would take you to put me out of my misery.’

His lips tightened. ‘You do not look as if you are in any state of misery.’ It looked as if misery were completely alien to this woman’s existence. Unlike Lorenzo’s. And unlike Xavier’s own.

He pushed that last thought aside. He had no intention of descending into self-pity. Camilla might have proved as false as any woman could, but he had Luis. He would never regret his son. He’d come here to lay the ghosts of the past to rest—his grandfather’s past and perhaps his own too. He would create a hotel that would do his grandfather proud. Maybe then both of them would have earned some peace.

Wynne tossed her head, and all her glorious hair bounced about her shoulders. Her smile only grew wider.

Dios, that smile!

‘Allay my curiosity then.’

For no reason at all, his heart started to pound.

Those clear green eyes surveyed him, alive with curiosity and energy. ‘After all, Aggie’s Retreat isn’t the kind of property the Ramos chain generally shows interest in.’

‘That’s because my interest in this establishment is personal.’

Her eyebrows lifted. ‘Personal?’

She rubbed her hands together again, and for a moment all he could imagine was the feel of those hands on his bare flesh. Heat flooded him with a speed that had him sucking in a breath. He couldn’t recall the last time thoughts of a woman, desire for a woman, had interfered with his work.

‘Ooh, it sounds like there’s a story here! I’m on the edge of my seat.’

No! He refused to want this woman.

He made his voice sharp. ‘This story...it is not for your personal edification. I have no desire whatsoever to provide you with entertainment or amusement!’

The light in those lovely green eyes snapped off. ‘No, of course not. I’m sorry.’

But even though she’d apologised, he had a feeling she’d prefer to stab him through the heart with something sharp and deadly. He could hardly blame her. She’d done nothing to deserve his rebuke. Her natural effervescence, however—her sense of fun, her attempts to be generous and pleasant—chafed at him. He didn’t want her to be so congenial...so willing to approve of him...so attractive.

He didn’t want to like her!

‘The “story” as you so quaintly put it, is sordid and unpleasant, and it does your grandmother no credit!’

His teeth ground together. He had no right to tar Wynne with the same brush. If he were honest, he had no desire to hurt her either. He just wanted her...gone.

‘This has something to do with Aggie?’

Her overly polite tone made him clench his teeth harder. He had no one to blame for that but himself.

Tell her the story, tell her what you mean to do, and then accept her resignation. Wish her well and then you’ll never have to see her again.

Before he could start, however, she broke in. ‘It might be better to take this back to the conference room, don’t you think?’

He grew aware, then, of the rattling of the housekeeping cart in the hallway, and the fact that he and Wynne were wedged in the bathroom of the smallest room Aggie’s Retreat had to offer. It was a room Wynne didn’t currently use, due to an issue with the plumbing—the explanation of which he’d cut short.

He gestured for her to precede him out of the room. When they reached the conference room she stood aside to let him enter first. She didn’t take a seat until he ordered her to sit. Her sudden deference had him grinding his back molars so hard he’d need dental work by the time he returned to Spain.

Her face, when she turned to him, was smooth and opaque and so formally courteous he had to bite back another rebuke. What reprimand could he utter? She was simply behaving in the manner that he wanted her to—that he’d ordered her to. The fact that he hated it was not her fault.

Aggie’s past sins were not Wynne’s fault either. Even if she had unknowingly profited from them.

‘You were about to explain why you’d purchased Aggie’s Retreat.’

Straight to the point. That, at least, he could appreciate.

‘Did you know that Aggie won this establishment in a card game?’

‘So that was the truth, then?’ Luscious lips lifted as if they were unused to such rigorous restraint. They were garnered back under house arrest a moment later. ‘I always thought it was a story my grandmother spun for dramatic impact. She was fond of a tall tale.’

‘It was the truth.’

‘I see.’

If she had any curiosity, she didn’t show it. Xavier swallowed back the acid that burned his throat. ‘My grandfather—Lorenzo Ramos—was the other card player. It was his hotel.’

‘Ah.’ She stared at him for a long moment. ‘Was he in love with Aggie?’

His stomach clenched. ‘Why do you say this?’

‘When you’re next in the foyer, look at the portrait on the wall behind the check-in desk. It’s of Aggie when she was a young woman. She was very beautiful...and a free spirit in a time when that was unusual. She had a lot of admirers.’

Admirers? His grandfather hadn’t simply been an admirer. He’d loved Aggie. And Aggie had taken advantage of that. She’d taken Lorenzo’s heart and had run it through with her deceitful, conniving ways before tossing it aside as if it were...as if it were nothing!

And in his desolation and wretchedness Lorenzo had buckled to family pressure and married the coldest woman Xavier had ever met—his grandmother. Lorenzo’s heartbreak had led to the biggest mistake of his life, while Aggie had lived it up with her ill-gotten gains. Was there no justice in this world?

The smooth skin of Wynne’s forehead creased. ‘Has your grandfather held a grudge all these years? Because she bested him in a card game?’

She clasped her hands on the table, and the incredulity in her eyes burned through him.

‘Or is his grievance because he didn’t win her heart?’

‘He held a grudge because your grandmother cheated in that game of cards.’ Xavier shot out of his chair to pace the length of the room. ‘This motel should’ve been under the Ramos Corporation’s aegis all these years.’ He pointed a finger at her. ‘She manipulated him, made him fall in love with her, and then she...she cheated him.’

He paced some more.

When she remained silent, he spun back. ‘Are you not going to say something?’

She lifted one slender shoulder. He couldn’t blame her for feeling at a loss. ‘Your grandfather told you all this?’

‘On his deathbed.’

She stared, a frown gathering in her eyes. ‘Xavier, when did your grandfather die?’

He had to breathe deeply in through his nose and then let the breath out through his mouth before he could answer her. ‘Not quite five weeks ago.’

For the briefest of moments her gaze softened. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

He nodded. ‘Thank you.’

A long silence ensued. All the while he was aware of her scrutiny. It was all he could do to feign indifference beneath it.

Finally she broke the quiet. ‘So... He asked you to...?’

Xavier lifted his chin. ‘Before he died he made me promise to buy the motel back.’

He had the penny piece and the Queen of Hearts card that Lorenzo had given him. He’d sworn to place them into Aggie’s hand himself. Apparently Aggie would know what they signified. He didn’t want to meet the woman who had caused his grandfather so much grief. But he had promised.

None of this is Wynne’s fault.

He took his seat again, biting back a sigh. ‘I am sorry if this gives you pain. I am sorry to be the one to reveal to you such an ugly truth about your grandmother.’

He waited for an outburst—protestations. Instead her gaze was removed from his as she stared down at the hands she’d pulled into her lap. From across the table he couldn’t tell if they were clenched or not.

‘You have nothing to say to this?’

‘Um... Congratulations? You’ve won?’

He stiffened. ‘I do not appreciate your flippancy.’

Her gaze lifted to his. She bit her lip, but it wasn’t pain that threaded through those extraordinary eyes. It might almost be...pity!

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Xavier. You expect me to believe the ravings of a dying man? Seriously?’