The Magnate's Takeover: The Magnate's Takeover

Libby found herself forcing another smile then as she turned to her oh-so-handsome host. “Didn’t you promise me a glass of red wine, David?”

The garnet-colored wine, French and positively ancient by her standards, was far and away the best that Libby had ever drunk. She sipped it cautiously, dreading a repeat performance of the night before, while David showed her the other rooms in this incredible place. The bathrooms alone were worth a hefty admission price.

Dinner arrived almost magically, wheeled into the suite on two shiny silver carts before being placed on the dining room table by two smartly outfitted waiters who gave the impression they were auditioning for a play, or perhaps a silent movie as neither one of them made so much as a sound above the clink of a water glass or the soft thud of a piece of heavy silver on the tabletop.

There were four different entrées to choose from, including a buttery salmon, a gorgeous filet mignon, lamb in an exotic mint sauce and roasted chicken with truffles that Libby ultimately couldn’t resist. She was almost tempted to ask for a doggie bag in which to carry home the rejected dishes that the waiters promptly and silently wheeled away.

“Oh, what a terrible waste,” she said with a sigh as she watched them turn a corner on their way to the elevator.

“Don’t worry,” David told her as he prepared to cut into his steak. “When that food gets back to the kitchen, it’ll be devoured within a matter of seconds. The chef is working with a small staff prior to the opening while he refines the menu. I had him send up four choices because I didn’t know what you might like. Feel perfectly free to be a critic. How’s the chicken?”

“To die for,” she said, reveling in her very first bite. “And the vegetables actually look edible which doesn’t often happen where I come from.”

She tried a petite, buttery carrot dusted with parsley and some other herb she couldn’t identify, then rolled her eyes in delight. “Who knew a lowly carrot could taste so good? You know, David, your boss must weigh a ton if he eats like this every single day.”

“Well, he works out a lot, I’m told,” he said before taking another sip of wine and another bite of his filet. “I’d like to hear more about your photography, if you don’t mind discussing it.”

She didn’t mind at all. It was probably her favorite subject and she was quite capable of going on endlessly about it, which she proceeded to do. But every time she politely—and curiously—attempted to change the subject and to inquire about him, David smoothly and affably turned the conversation back to cameras and lenses.

After dinner, they returned to the living room with its glorious window wall, where Libby avoided another painful glance at the shabby motel below. It was nearly midnight when she finally said, “I really should be getting back to Haven View. The man I left in charge, my uncle Doug, is almost eighty years old and really needs his rest.”

David’s left eyebrow quirked. “And you assume, I suppose, that your uncle has been overrun with demanding guests all the while you’ve been here?”

Libby had to hand it to him. The guy really did try to suppress his laughter even though he didn’t quite succeed. She appreciated his sense of humor despite this particular, rather hurtful and annoying subject matter.

“You never know,” she said with a little shrug of her shoulders before she stood up and extended her hand. “It was a truly lovely dinner, David. Thank you.”

He stepped forward, smoothly brushing her hand aside as his arms reached out to encircle her. He gathered her close, kissed the top of her head, then her forehead, then the bridge of her nose. “I’ve wanted to do this all evening, Libby,” he said, his breath warm and fragrant as expensive French wine on her face.

Libby felt like whimpering, “What took you so long?” But then David’s mouth covered hers, and speech was suddenly and completely out of the question. She couldn’t even think, but only inhale his wonderful scent and savor the rich remnants of wine on his lips. A tiny moan mounted in her throat, threatening to break loose and inform him just how much she craved his touch.

He leaned back slightly, used his thumb to angle her face up to meet his gaze. Those lovely hazel eyes of his had deepened to a dark and passionate green. “Stay here with me tonight. Don’t go back to that dump.”

Something clicked in her head, and Libby blinked hard as her eyes began to focus again. She could feel her mouth flattening to a hard, thin line. Then she straightened up even as she took a step back, out of his arms.

“I don’t want to be rude,” she said, “especially after that divine dinner, and also because I truly like you, David. I like you enormously. But I won’t have my aunt’s lifetime endeavor trashed or made fun of. Not by you. Not by anyone.” She paused a second, her eyes still locked on his. “I hope that’s clear.”

He nodded. “Got it,” he said. He sounded absolutely sincere if not somewhat taken aback by her rather unexpected challenge. “I won’t do it again.”

“Good.” Libby smiled. “I’m glad you understand.” Then she lifted her chin and tapped a finger to her lips. “Now kiss me goodnight again. Please.”

Women rarely stood up to him, either professionally or privately. It was such a rarity, in fact, that David couldn’t remember the last time it had happened. Hell, men rarely stood up to him these days. His little Libby was a tigress in peach silk. He smiled in the darkness at the memory of her fierce, flashing eyes, her stiffened spine and her delicate but formidable chin. More power to her, in fact. She’d had every right to put him in his place after he’d spoken disparagingly of her motel, wreck that it was.

He cursed himself now for deceiving this wonderful woman from the get-go. Had he ever had a more stupid, more self-defeating, almost suicidal idea? He was going to have to make it all right, but at the moment he didn’t have a clue how to do it. All he knew was that he didn’t want to lose her. Well, hell. He didn’t even have her yet, but Lord how he wanted her.

He turned over in bed, pummeled the pillow once more with his fist, and eyed the bedside clock. It was two-fifteen. He’d be likely to wake her if he called her right now. With any luck, however, she’d be awake also, just across the highway, tossing and turning and thinking about him. Yeah. He should be so lucky.

Well, maybe he was. She answered her phone on the second ring.

David skipped the usual telephone introductions and niceties and immediately said, “Let’s do something fun tomorrow.”

A soft, sexy murmur came through the distance. “Like what?” she purred.

“I don’t know. Let’s just go somewhere, anywhere. We’ll just hold hands and wander. We’ll be kids on our very first date.”

She laughed, and the sound was practically delicious. “I’ll have you know,” she said, “I sprained my ankle on my very first date.”

“No problem. I’ll carry you.” David smiled in the darkness, imagining her in his arms. “Where should we go?” he asked her. “What about the zoo?”

“Been there.”

“The art museum?”

She let out a long sigh. “Been there, too.”

“How about the Arch?”

“Done that.”

David, at a loss now, said, “Well, pick someplace. Anyplace. It doesn’t have to be in St. Louis.”

She was quiet a moment and then she said, “I know. Let’s go to Hannibal.”

“Hannibal?” David scratched his head. “You mean Hannibal, as in Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn?”

“Uh-huh. That’s exactly what I mean. I haven’t been there since I was a kid, and it’s only an hour and a half or so away. I’ll even drive if you’d like.”

“Wait. I’ve got a better idea. Can you be ready to go by ten tomorrow morning?”

“Sure. I’m pretty sure I can get all my work out of the way by ten. Definitely by ten-thirty.”

“Great. I’ll send someone to pick you up then. Sleep well, darlin’. I’ll see you at ten-thirty.”

Then he closed his phone and, like a contented little boy who’d just had his warm milk and chocolate-chip cookies, David at long last drifted off to sleep.

On her side of the highway, Libby finally slept well, too.

Four

Early the next morning Libby taped a sign to the office door. Closed for renovations. She wasn’t kidding herself that half a dozen or more cars would suddenly be turning into the motel’s drive in search of accommodations, but the sign made her feel better anyway knowing her aunt Elizabeth would approve of properly informing the public. Libby was sure she could count on Doug to pass along the news when he visited her in the rehab facility.

The crew of young ponytailed painters from the Marquis had returned bright and early. Two of the cabins were already finished with their fresh coats of cream and deep green paint and they didn’t look all that bad in Libby’s admittedly biased opinion. After admiring them, she called a roofing company to arrange for an inspection of the damage she’d seen from the penthouse the night before. It wouldn’t do any good to have brand-new décor, she figured, only to have it ruined by a leaky roof.

What else hadn’t she considered? Libby wondered, when she’d budgeted her fifty-thousand-dollar gift? At the moment, she didn’t even want to think about all the structural problems she might have breezily overlooked while concentrating on the place’s worn and outdated décor. Strange and horrible visions of wood rot and mildew and termites began to tumble around in her brain, threatening yet another headache, something she certainly didn’t need this morning.

She looked at her watch and realized she had a little less than half an hour before she’d be swept off to the Marquis once again. Libby sighed, silently acknowledging that her time would be better spent here, going over and adjusting renovation plans, than in Hannibal where she merely intended to have fun with a gorgeous guy.

It had been several years since she’d had the least bit of interest in a man, and now—faced with her fifty-thousand-dollar motel makeover challenge—along came David, who actually made her heart flutter while he gave her the impression that his own heart might be fluttering a little bit, too. How was that for terrible timing?

She showered, dressed and was ready to go without a moment to spare when the hotel’s black limousine pulled into the drive. Jeff, the young man who had driven the limo the night before, opened the rear door for her. She thanked him, and then once he was settled up in front behind the wheel, she asked him, “How do you like working at the Marquis?”

“I love it,” he said, his chin jutting over his shoulder in her direction. “It’s a great place. Well, I guess you already know that.”

“I do,” Libby responded. “It’s a beautiful building. Mr. Halstrom certainly hired the right architect.”

“For sure. That Japanese team is tops.”

Libby frowned. She had no idea that David was affiliated with an overseas company. He’d never mentioned it, and she had simply assumed he was a one-man operation, and a local one at that. It was probably a naive assumption in this day and age when everything and everyone seemed to operate on a global basis.

And then she wondered if David’s permanent residence was in Japan, and, if so, just how soon he would be returning there. But then she decided she didn’t want to know the answer to that particular question, at least not right now when she was looking so forward to their day in Hannibal, not to mention the night that might follow it.

Well, a girl could hope, couldn’t she? She sank back into the luxurious leather upholstery. She didn’t want to think about anything except the day ahead and the pleasure it might bring.

What she’d never anticipated, though, and never would have in a million years, was that David would have a helicopter on the roof of the Marquis, waiting to whisk them north along the Mississippi River.

“I’ve never been in a helicopter,” she said more than a bit nervously as David boosted her inside it.

The rotors overhead were beginning to whirl and roar so he had to shout back. “Well, I’ve never been to Hannibal, Libby, so I guess that makes us even.” He settled himself inside, then held her hand tightly as they lifted off into the bright blue sky. It wasn’t much more than a minute or two before the big hotel appeared as just a shiny speck in the distance behind them.

The trip that would normally have taken them an hour and a half by car took them a mere thirty minutes in the air. The river town was busy, apparently preparing for a Huckleberry Finn festival, but since it was a weekday the tourists weren’t exactly overrunning the place as they might have on a weekend. By a little past one o’clock, Libby and David had visited Mark Twain’s boyhood home, ogled Tom Sawyer’s whitewashed fence and done a quick, fun trek through the museum, all the while holding hands like a couple of goofy kids. Like Tom and Becky, Libby thought.

For lunch they ordered hot dogs and fries from a street vendor, then carried their goodies down to the riverbank where they sat for an hour talking, watching as the Mighty Mississippi rolled by. As before, it was mostly Libby who talked up a storm while David listened and tended to deflect most of her questions back to her.

“Where were you born?” she asked him.

“Texas,” he answered, raising his hand to dab a bit of mustard from a corner of her mouth. “What about you?”

“Here,” she said. “Missouri.” Then Libby spent a while talking about her parents’ deaths, growing up at the Haven View and her aunt Elizabeth and Doug. As far as life stories went, hers wasn’t very exotic. It wasn’t even very interesting.

“Why did you want to be an architect?” she asked.

His answer was barely more than a shrug, followed by, “Why did you decide to be a photographer?”

Of course, having been asked about her favorite subject, she went into the whole story about her very first camera, her work at the St. Louis newspaper, and on and on.

She snapped pictures all the while—of the wharf, of the riverbank and the river—but hard as she tried, she wasn’t able to capture David’s face in a single frame. The man had an uncanny knack of turning, bending or lifting his hand at the exact moment she took the shot. She was almost beginning to believe he had some sort of camera phobia, and she so desperately wanted a picture of him, especially since he might be going to Japan at any time and she’d never see him again.

The mere thought of his leaving nearly made her queasy. She excused herself to return to Main Street for a bathroom visit. And then, smart little cookie that she was, she slipped a telephoto lens onto her camera while walking toward town, slowly turned and managed to get some really incredible shots of the man she’d left behind on the riverbank.

The gorgeous autumn day had turned cold late that afternoon, and by the time they climbed out of the helicopter on the roof of the Marquis, Libby was shivering.

“I know just how to warm you up,” David said, punching a number on his phone and telling whoever responded to have the hot tub in the penthouse ready in half an hour.

Then he led her to an elevator whose door swooshed open moments later just a few steps outside the cozy and dark little bar on the mezzanine.

“Two brandies, Tom. The good stuff,” he said, holding up two fingers in the direction of the bartender who appeared to be presiding over an empty room.

“Right away, Mr.…”

“Thanks,” David said, cutting him off as he led Libby to a banquette in the corner where a candle glowed in the center of table.

She scooted into the lush leather seat. David slid in next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “You’ll be warm in just one minute, darlin’. I promise.”

She’d already warmed up considerably just from the heat of his body so close to hers. The subsequent brandy, in a huge crystal snifter, was hardly a match for her companion’s warmth, she thought. And then Libby cautioned herself not to become too accustomed to the man or his warmth since it probably wouldn’t be long before he was warming some other woman on the other side of the planet.

“I had more fun today than I’ve had in a long, long time,” she said, lifting the brandy glass toward him. “Here’s to my gracious and most gallant host.”

The clink of the crystal when their glasses touched was a bit of music all on its own.

“Here’s to Tom and Becky and Huck,” he said. “And here’s to you, Libby. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a good time. Not even when I was a kid.” He put the snifter down, and then his brow furrowed as he gathered in a long, deep breath.

It was one of those moments when a tiny little uhoh sounded inside her head. Furrows and long, deep breaths were rarely, if ever, followed by good news. Furrows and long, deep breaths usually, almost always, meant trouble.

“Libby,” he said softly, his eyes locking on to hers. “There’s something that I…”

His cell phone let out a sharp little bleep just then. David cursed as he wrenched it from his pocket and very nearly broke it open in order to respond. “What?” he growled. After listening for a minute or so, he pressed a button to put the caller on hold. “I have to take this infernal call, Libby. I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“Go ahead.” Libby swirled the remaining brandy in her glass. The candlelight turned its color to a dark and lovely honey. “Take your time, David. I truly don’t mind.”

He kissed her forehead before he slid out of the booth, then walked—well, the man stalked, if truth be told—to the far end of the bar to continue the conversation. From her vantage point, and judging from his body language, it looked as if he were bestowing some very bad news on the person at the other end of the connection.

For the moment, Libby was just thankful it wasn’t her.

David felt his mood darkening. Damn. He’d just had one of the best days of his entire life, but then business interrupted in the form of a threatened lawsuit by an irate guest in his London hotel, and his nervous Nellie of a British attorney felt obliged to alert him, personally, posthaste. David told the hysterical attorney if he ever called him again, he’d have him chained in the Tower of London, then drawn and quartered in front of Buckingham Palace with CNN given the exclusive rights to broadcast it live.

And now, to make matters worse, he’d be damned if he could locate something for Libby to wear in the hot tub. The little complimentary garments should have been stowed in a drawer in the penthouse spa, but it appeared as if someone—some soon-to-be former employee—had decided to stash hotel brochures, postcards and stationery there instead.

“It’s all right, David,” Libby said from her perch on the edge of the hot tub. “I can wear my bra and panties. It’s not a problem. I’ve done it before.”

The vision of her clad only in scanty silks, see-through no doubt, beside some big gorilla in a hot tub didn’t do a lot to lighten his current mood. He’d summon his assistant, Jeff, in a moment, no doubt ruining another of the man’s dinners. But meanwhile he continued to search like a madman, cursing, slamming drawers and cabinet doors, and all the while berating himself for losing the opportunity to confess to Libby and tell her just who he really was. That, he well knew, was at the heart of his current furor.

Earlier, downstairs in the darkness of the bar, the words had been right there on his tongue, and he’d been ready to get down on his knees if he had to in order for her to forgive him. He wanted her that much. He was going to tell her now, even before their time in the hot tub. What sense was there in prolonging it? Hell. It wasn’t as if he were going to confess to her that he was an axe murderer.

She would forgive him, wouldn’t she? She had to, otherwise…

Just behind him then, Libby cleared her throat and uttered a whispery little ta-da.

He turned to see a vision of absolute delight, Libby clad only in feminine briefs and a snow-white lacey bra. Considering how great she looked when fully clothed, David couldn’t even find words to describe her now. She grinned, and then pointed to the bubbling hot tub as she gave a pert little salute.

“Permission to come aboard, sir?”

David sighed inwardly. Whatever he’d intended to confess to her had suddenly flown right out of his head. And he had to admit that, even if he’d remembered, this was not the time to risk a confrontation. He might have been considered a liar under the circumstances, but he wasn’t a downright fool.

“Permission granted,” he said, quickly shrugging out of his own shirt and jeans, to join her in the warm caress of the water.

Settled chin deep in the wonderfully warm tub, feeling David’s lean body right beside hers, Libby’s eyes began to drift closed and she nearly fell asleep. How very strange, she thought, to feel so completely at ease with a man she’d only known for a mere two days. It wasn’t like her to feel so relaxed with anyone, even after knowing them for months.

“I could stay right here for an entire week,” she said, letting go of a soft and wistful sigh. “Maybe even a month.”

He chuckled. “I don’t know if I’d care to see you turn into a wrinkled, waterlogged prune, darlin’. I have to admit I like you just the way you are.”

She turned her head toward him, gazing up at his face where the sexy smile lines had reappeared.

“Do you?”

Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, and even she could hear the longing in her tone. She couldn’t help it. She adored this man, and she wanted him with every fiber of her being. If their coming together was fated to be only a brief affair before he went back to Japan, well, then, so be it. Sayonara to her dreams of the future. Libby decided to simply live in the present for now. Let the future take care of itself.

Perhaps it was the buoyancy of the water, but David drew her into his arms so effortlessly that Libby felt lighter than a feather. His lips were warm on hers, tender and wonderfully slow and sensuous. The touch of his tongue on hers was tender and exquisite. It seemed, just then, as if they had all the time in the world to explore and discover and make love to each other.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered. “But I already knew that from the first moment I saw you.”

His hand moved to her breast, cupping it, a perfect fit for his smooth wet palm, a perfect distance to her nipple for his thumb to circle and explore. Libby gave a little shudder, and leaned her head back onto the rim of the tub as he covered her neck with languid kisses.

He murmured against her skin. “I’ve wanted this…I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you clinging to that silly lamppost like a fallen angel.”

“Emphasis on fallen,” she said with a little sigh, then blew a puff of air upward to dislodge a damp stray curl from her forehead.

“No.” His hand eased from her breast and then smoothed slowly, thrillingly down, over her hip to her inner thigh. “Emphasis on want. I want you, Libby. All of you. Now.”

There was a great whoosh of water, and then she was high in his arms, clinging to his hard, wet neck as he carried her down a dimly lit hallway and into the bedroom where only the night before she’d watched the traffic flow like a river of jewels out the western window. He put her gently on the bed and left her for a brief moment to open a drawer, tear open a little square package, then returned to gather her into his arms.

“Tell me how to please you,” he said, his fingertips drifting up and down her arm, setting off little shock waves of desire all over her. Then his hand strayed to her leg and the shock waves increased. “Anything you want. Anywhere.”

Libby pressed closer to the hard length of his body, placing the palm of her hand to his cheek and tracing the now barely visible smile lines with her thumb. “Everything about you pleases me,” she said. “I just want you. All of you.”

They made slow, sensuous love while the diamond and ruby traffic lights flickered far below. In Libby’s experience—which admittedly wasn’t vast or all that recent—men tended to go for the gusto, returning to the lady’s pleasure only after crossing the finish line alone. David, however, was in no rush at all. His every touch was leisurely, languid and absolutely divine. He seemed to have infinite pleasure in giving her pleasure.