The Magnate's Marriage Merger

That alone made the suite pay for itself, because in the end, Lydia got on the private elevator with Ian and headed to the fortieth floor where they could be alone.

* * *

Lydia, you have lost your mind.

She’d been so distracted by the gracious service as she entered the famous hotel that she’d somehow ended up speeding her way toward Ian McNeill’s private penthouse suite. She wished it was as simple as the designer in her taking a professional interest in a world-class luxury space, the way Ian had suggested. But she feared that it was more complex than that. Ian had swept her right back into his world today, imposing his will on her work environment, and then staking a claim on her private time, too.

Yes, she’d wanted to speak to him privately. But damn it, that didn’t necessitate a trip to a hotel suite with a one-night price tag as high—higher—than what many people paid for an automobile.

“Ian.” She took a deep breath before turning to face him.

Just then, the elevator doors swished open, revealing the most gorgeous, Asian-inspired decor imaginable, framed by views of the sparkling sapphire Atlantic out of window after window.

“Wow.” Her words dried up.

As a student of architectural design, she did indeed find a lot to savor about the rooms, the layout and the exquisite care taken to render every surface beautiful. She’d read about this suite before in an effort to keep up-to-date on the world’s premiere properties, so she’d seen photos of the Steinway in the foyer and—oddly—recalled reading about the absolute black granite in the shower. She guessed the penthouse was close to ten thousand square feet with the double living rooms, a full dining room for ten people and multiple bedrooms. As she walked around the space in admiring silence, her eyes lit on the private terrace overlooking the beach below.

Ian had gotten ahead of her somehow. No doubt she’d been lost in her own thoughts as she’d circled the living areas of the penthouse. But she spotted him in the lounge area of the terrace, speaking to waitstaff who’d set up silver trays in a serving area under a small cabana. White silk had been woven and draped through a pergola, creating a wide swath of shade over the seating.

In all of this exotic, breathtaking space, Ian himself still seemed to be the most appealing focal point. In his crisp blue suit custom-tailored to his athletic frame, he drew the eye like nothing else. His whole family was far too attractive, truth be told. She’d seen photos of his Brazilian mother, who’d left Ian’s daredevil father long ago. They’d made a glamorous couple together. Liam McNeill had the dark hair and striking blue eyes of his Scots roots, resulting in three sons who all followed a Gerard Butler mold, although Ian had a darker complexion than the others.

If the gene pool hadn’t been kind enough there, Ian was also relentlessly athletic. He’d sailed, surfed and swum regularly while they worked on the hotel property in French Polynesia, and the results of his efforts were obvious even when he was wearing a suit. When he was naked...

Blinking away that thought, she forced her feet forward, refocusing her gaze on the glass half wall surrounding the huge terrace forty stories up. She breathed in the salty scent of the sea that wafted on the breeze while Ian excused the servers.

Soon, she felt his presence beside her more than she heard him. He moved quietly, a man in tune with his surroundings and comfortable enough in his own skin that he never needed to make a noisy entrance. Damn, but she didn’t want to remember things that she’d liked about him.

“You were right,” she admitted, relaxing slightly as she stared out at the limitless blue of the ocean. “In bringing me here, I mean. It’s stunning. Although calling this space a penthouse hardly does justice to how special it is.”

“I enjoyed seeing your reaction to it.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ian’s posture ease. One elbow came up beside hers on the half wall as he joined her at the railing. “Being on the design end of so many projects—and experiencing all the headaches that entails—makes it easy to forget why we enjoy what we do. Then, you see a place like this where they got everything right. It’s a reminder that not every project is about a bottom line.”

She hesitated. “Yes. Except how many people will ever get to enjoy it?”

“Not enough,” he agreed easily. “But if we’re inspired, we’ll do a better job with properties like Foxfire. And that’s an attainable vacation for a lot of people.” Turning from the view, he gestured toward the cabana where the food trays waited.

A few minutes later, she had settled herself on a long, U-shaped couch that wrapped around a granite coffee table under the shade of white silk, a plate of fresh fruit and cheese balanced on one knee. Ian poured them each a glass of prosecco even though she’d already helped herself to a bottle of water.

She’d forgotten how extravagantly he lived. While her father had been extremely wealthy, her mother hadn’t always been. After suing Lydia’s father’s estate, she’d eventually taken great joy in overspending once her settlement came through, but by then, Lydia had moved on to her own life. Her father had left her a small amount that she had put toward the purchase of her Manhattan apartment, but his legally recognized children had inherited his true wealth. Besides, Lydia had spent her childhood perpetually worried that her mother would squander their every last cent on frivolous things, so Lydia maintained a practical outlook on finances, careful never to live above her means.

Still, who wouldn’t enjoy a day like this?

“You mentioned you wanted to speak to me privately after today’s meeting,” Ian reminded her as he handed her the sparkling prosecco in a cut crystal glass. A single strawberry rested at the bottom. “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She sipped at the bubbles and set the drink aside. “Ian, I can’t work with you on this project.”

He’d removed his jacket to expose the gray silk shirt beneath. His muscles stretched the fabric as he moved, reminding her of the honed body beneath.

“You’re a professional. I’m a professional. I think we can put aside personal differences for the sake of the project.” His expression gave away nothing.

Old hurts threatened to rise to the surface, but she kept a tight rein on those feelings.

“Don’t you think you’re diminishing what we once meant to each other to call our breakup a ‘personal difference’?” Her chest squeezed at all that she’d lost afterward.

One eyebrow lifted as he met her gaze. “No more than you diminished what we meant to one another by playing matchmaker for me afterward, Mallory West.”

Three (#ua790a28e-2042-517b-bd75-6206af3abb56)

He knew.

Lydia felt her skin chill despite the bright South Beach sun warming the thin canopy of silk overhead. For a long moment, she only heard the swoosh of waves far below the rooftop terrace, the cry of a few circling gulls and her own pounding heart.

“That’s what this is about?” she managed finally, shoving off the deep couch cushions to pace the lounge area near the hot tub. “You found a way to play a role in the same design project as me so you could confront me with this?”

“You don’t deny it then?”

“I played a childish game of revenge after we broke up, Ian. You caught me. But it hardly did any damage when you never actually went on a date with any of those women.” She’d started her matchmaking career out of spite. She wasn’t proud of it, but she had been in a very dark place emotionally.

“No. But I also didn’t post my profile on that matchmaking site, as I tried to tell you from the start. My grandfather’s assistant ran the photo and the profile after Grandad twisted my arm about marriage.” Ian unfolded himself from his place on the couch to stand, though he did not approach her. “So my grandfather personally reviewed your suggestions that I date...those women.” His jaw flexed with annoyance.

She’d sent ridiculous dating suggestions to the manager of Ian’s profile. She’d been furious to discover he had an active profile on a popular dating website while she’d been falling in love with him. And his refusal to understand why she was upset, his infuriatingly calm insistence that it meant nothing, had shredded her.

She’d been tired and overly emotional at the time, but she’d credited it to her broken heart and deep feelings for him. Only a week later, she’d discovered she was pregnant.

“I was hurt by your cavalier dismissal of my concerns.” She moved toward the glass half wall, taking comfort from the sight of the ocean and the relentless roll of incoming waves. “It was petty of me.”

“My grandfather was the one who was disappointed.” Ian stalked closer, his broad shoulders blocking her view of the water. “But your temporary anger with me doesn’t explain why you deceived my younger brother into thinking he was meeting a potential bride, only to have the woman turn out to be completely unaware of his existence.” Cool fire flashed in Ian’s eyes as he studied her. “It’s one thing to lash out at me. But my family?” He shook his head slowly. “No.”

“That was an accident.” Her temples throbbed with the start of a tension headache as this meeting quickly spiraled out of control. “A genuine accident. Although it didn’t help that Cameron signed a waiver saying he didn’t care if the matches had been vetted—”

“He clicked a button online to agree to that. Hardly the same as signing something.”

“But my assistant explained to him—”

“An assistant who impersonated you, by the way.”

Which was something Lydia regretted tremendously. But she’d handed off Cameron McNeill as a client because she hadn’t been ready to face Ian’s brother with her emotions still raw where Ian was concerned. By the time she’d realized the error in Cameron’s match, it was too late to fix it. Jumping in to deal with the aftermath would have meant facing Ian in person—and she hadn’t been ready for that at a time when she’d only just started to recover emotionally from the miscarriage.

“I am sorry about that.” She pivoted to face him head-on. “I really weighed the options for getting involved after I realized what had happened. But would you really have wanted me to step in when Quinn and Sofia had already announced an engagement? I didn’t want to undermine whatever was happening between them by drawing even more attention to the mismatch with Cameron.” She’d followed the courtship of Sofia Koslov and Quinn McNeill closely and it had been obvious to her from the photos of them together that they were crazy about each other. “And yes, I was trying to protect my identity. My work had become very important to me by then.”

“Very important or very lucrative?”

“Both.” She refused to be cowed by him. Straightening to her full height she narrowed her gaze. “I put one hundred percent of the profits after expenses from matchmaking toward a very worthy cause.”

“Moms’ Connection.”

His quick reply unsettled her. How much did he know about her life in the past year? Her shoulders tensed even tighter.

“How did you know that?”