by Anna Argent
"What is it?"
He pulled off a bite of muffin and popped it into his mouth. "My dream. Or my nightmare, depending. That's why I want your opinion."
"How am I supposed to know which it will be if you don't?"
He gave her a lopsided grin. "Have I made you curious enough to come with me yet?"
Hanna laughed, loving the way he could sweep her away from her worries and give her a mystery to ponder. "Do I have a choice?"
"Not really. Grab the food and come on. I promise you won't be disappointed."
Deep down she was starting to wonder if a day spent with him could ever be disappointing.
Just like that, she pulled herself back in and put up her guard. Nate was charming and sexy and sweet, but she couldn't forget that this was just a fling. Men like him didn't have more than that with women like her. It was best she remembered that.
They ate and drank coffee on the way into town. He hit one particularly deep rut in the road, and her coffee sloshed through the small hole and splattered on the leather seat.
He saw it and laughed. "Anyone ever tell you you're hard on upholstery?"
She took his good-natured ribbing in stride. "Rex doesn't complain."
"I'm not sure that beast has any upholstery left to complain about. He's all bare threads and rust."
"And I love every bit of it." She wiped off the coffee with a spare napkin. "Where is this mysterious dream-slash-nightmare of yours?"
"It's right up ahead, set high on a cliff overlooking the lake." He pointed to a rolling hill ahead of them. "Look through the trees that way and you might be able to catch a glimpse."
She tried to see where he was taking her, but all she saw was hills, trees, rocks and maybe a blur of something pale in the distance. It could have been a limestone rock face she'd seen a lot of in this area, but it was gone too fast for her to be sure.
They turned off the main road onto a wide, paved driveway. The asphalt had seen better days, but it had been repaired recently—at least within the past few years. Stout oaks lined the drive, which slithered back and forth like a snake as it moved up the hill.
The area had been cleared and planted with grass, but it had been so long since it had been mowed, it looked more like pasture than lawn. Small trees and bushes dotted the field, creating darker pools of green in the waving grass.
Nate took a tight turn, and finally, she saw why she was here.
The building wasn't huge by today's standards, but it was probably the biggest structure for miles in any direction. Smooth, sloping curves melded seamlessly with tall, proud lines in a glorious example of Art Nouveau architecture.
High, arched windows were topped with intricate stained-glass motifs of swooping leaves and bright, curling flowers. Double front doors echoed those motifs, but were even more intricate.
The building was three stories tall, made of what looked like limestone blocks. Her pale face was adorned with Juliette balconies outside of every room above the ground floor. The ornate wrought iron railings were in disrepair, but they more than made up for the rust and blistering paint in the sheer craftsmanship of them. Intricate grapevines wound up, forming the frame, while big, flat leaves connected the structure together. Curling tendrils that had once graced the ironwork had broken off in several places, leaving twisted knots of metal to litter the ground beneath.
Her name was emblazoned above the front doors in gold foiled letters, tarnished, but still proud: THE OPHELIA GRAND HOTEL.
"Wow," was all Hanna could say.
"I know. She's a beauty, isn't she?"
"How did this get here? I mean, who builds a place like this in a place like this?"
Nate nodded in understanding. "The original owner was a little eccentric and a lot wealthy. His young wife died in childbirth, and he wanted a way to honor her memory. He came out here in the thirties to heal and grieve, and ended up on this spot. The story was that he stood on top of this ridge, overlooking the river below, screaming at God for the injustice of his wife's death. Fishermen below heard his shouts and were sure he was insane. No one knows exactly what happened up here, but when he came down, he was a changed man. Calm, driven, relentless in his pursuit to leave behind the perfect monument for his wife."
Hanna looked at the hotel with a different perspective. She could see now the attention to detail in every block of stone and pane of glass. Even the downspouts were a thing of beauty, depicting women holding pitchers that would overflow with water in a rain.
"Want to see inside?" Nate asked. "The view from the back is amazing."
"If it's anything like the view from out here, I'm in."
He dug into his pocket for a set of keys and led the way.
As she neared the building, she could see more signs of age. The stones were pitted and stained in places. The curling fronds of wrought iron holding up the railing on the wide steps leading to the front door wobbled under her grip. There were several broken panes of glass, though someone had covered the more expensive panels with clear plexiglass to protect them from vandals with rocks. Sadly, even that was scratched and fogging with age, obscuring the beauty it protected.
Nate had to jiggle the key to get it to turn, and when it did, the front door needed a hard shove to get it to open.
"How do you have the keys? Does your family own this place?" she asked.
"Oh hell, no. Grace Construction wouldn't touch this place with a ten-foot backhoe. Not unless it was to tear it down."
Even the idea of that made her scone slosh around dangerously in her gut. "Anyone who would destroy such a thing of beauty needs to be whipped."
"I don't necessarily disagree, but you should reserve judgment until you've seen the whole place." He led the way inside, stepping carefully as if worried the floor might collapse beneath him.
As soon as her eyes adjusted to the relative darkness of the hotel lobby, she understood why he was worried.
The place was a beautiful, tragic wreck—like an old Hollywood starlet left dead and bloody on the side of the road.
Everywhere Hanna looked was filled with the most elaborate, ornate woodwork she'd ever seen. A grand, two-story bas-relief graced the wall behind the front desk, but sections of it were missing, like puzzle pieces. The rest of it had been painted in garish carnival colors, and whoever had done it couldn't even paint inside the lines.
The front desk itself was made from slabs of onyx. Several cracks had formed along the surface, and one corner had been chipped off and lay on the floor, discarded. Heavy drapes covered the wall of windows opposite the entrance, and they were littered with a scattering of holes. All the furniture here was still arranged as if expecting guests to arrive at any moment. It was period or a good replica of the Art Nouveau style, but it all needed some help. The upholstery was threadbare, torn and chewed by mice. The wood finish was scuffed and dull. Some of the pieces had broken legs or missing ornamentation.
The floors were tiled, with a central mosaic done in what looked like chips of gemstones that formed stylized tulips and vines. The grout was cracked and some of the stones were missing. The rest of the floor was in bad shape, with plenty of chipped tiles and sections that had been replaced with modern stuff off the shelf of the closest home improvement store.
Grand, gilded chandeliers were mounted from the towering ceilings and delicate sconces hugged the walls. The wallpaper behind them was peeling and discolored, but it was too new to be original anyway.
On the far side of the lobby was a pair of doors in front of the elevator, with a detailed openwork depicting peacocks on each. The tarnished metalwork was eight feet high, and bent in several places as if bumped repeatedly by luggage carts. One of the doors hung loose on a hinge, but Hanna could see the glory of what it had once been when new and shiny.
Nate gave her several minutes to take it all in before he asked. "What do you think?"
So many things. Her hands itched to get at the place. The need to return it to its former glory burned in her
chest like a hot coal.
"She's on life support, but she can be fixed with enough time, love and money."
He nodded. "The rest of it is more of the same. The rooms were renovated in the nineties, but the work was shoddy. They stripped out a lot of the original fixtures and replaced them with the same stuff you find at the average Holiday Inn."
"Tell me they didn't throw all the original fixtures away."
"There are some in the basement, but most of them are in bad shape."
"Can I see?" she asked.
"Sure."
He grabbed a flashlight out of the truck and gave her the grand tour.
The Ophelia was barely hanging on to her identity. The outside and lobby had retained their original grace and detail, but the rooms had been all but gutted. Standing inside each unit, it was hard to remember that just beyond the walls was a glowing sliver of the past, just begging for a breath of life.
Nate pushed open the curtains in one of the rooms along the back wall of the hotel.
The view was beyond anything she could have imagined in this part of the country. She could see for miles—rolling green mountains, brilliant blue skies, the deep crevice where the river had been dammed and turned into a lake decades ago. The silver surface of it snaked through the hills, winding a glistening, serpentine path through the forest.
"A dozen rooms have this view. Six more on the first floor have it to a lesser extent. There used to be elaborate gardens here, but they've all grown up wild and weedy. The patio is in decent shape, though."
They finished the tour in the basement, taking note of what was left from the remodel. There were a few tubs still intact, but all the sinks were missing. A lot of light fixtures, lamps and desks still remained, but they were almost all in need of repair.
She looked around at the cavernous space, letting the cool air sink into her overheated skin.
"So?" he asked. "What do you think? Dream or nightmare?"
"I'm honestly not sure. Is the owner wanting to hire you to oversee the restoration?"
"No, I'm thinking about buying her."
Hanna had to sit down. Even the thought of that was as overwhelming as it was exciting. "Buying?"
"There aren't many people interested in the old place. The owners could sell the land for condos tomorrow, but that's not what they want. They don't want anyone to tear her down. That's the only reason I have a shot. They're giving me a few weeks to make a bid before they put her on the market."
"And I thought the Yellow Rose was ambitious."
"Come on. Let's get you some air. You look like you could use it."
They went back out into the hot sunshine. Hanna tipped her face up and breathed in the fresh air. As the smell of old wood and moth balls emptied from her lungs, all she wanted was to go back in and take another breath.
So much history there. So many memories. She could almost feel them screaming at her for a chance to live again.
She sat down on the carved stone steps. Nate lowered himself beside her.
"I'm crazy, aren't I?" he asked. "It's too big a job for one man."
"It is that, but we're talking about something rare here. A slice of local history. How often does the chance to restore something like this come around?"
"I can't be overly emotional about it, though. If I am, I'm likely to lose my life's savings."
"Okay. That's smart," she agreed. "We're still talking about a prime piece of real estate in an area that is a tourist magnet. You run a motel. Do you have trouble keeping it full?"
"Never—at least not from April, when the fishing starts to get good, until October, after the fall cave festival is over."
"Could the town use another hotel?"
"I could buy three more and keep them booked between Memorial Day and Labor Day."
"Would the people who come to the lake be willing and able to foot the bill for a place like this? I mean, I don't want to insult your lovely motel, but this is a different level of guest altogether."
"Definitely. And I've spent a lot of time thinking and researching. We get millions of visitors from all over the country to this area. There are a few nicer hotels, and they're always full. Besides, fully restored, she'd be her own tourist attraction."
"No question about that. But how long will that take?"
"I'd have to hire a crew, of course, but even with full-time help, it would take at least twenty-four months to get through the outside, the lobby and public areas, and half of the rooms. Any fewer rooms than that and I can't book enough guests to afford to pay a hotel staff to keep the place running."
"It's a huge decision," she said, still reeling at the sheer scope of the work that had to be done.
"That's why I wanted your opinion. You're one of the few people I know who don't automatically want to throw away something because it's old. You see the value in restoration over remodeling, so if you say she's a lost cause, then I'll know to walk away."
She blinked at him, stunned that he would put so much faith in her. "You haven't known me long enough to trust my opinion that much. It's too big a decision."
He took her hand in his, twining his fingers between hers. He felt so strong and solid, so capable and steady. If he didn't know what the right thing to do was, how could she?
The trust he put in her was humbling. She owed it to him to give him the best advice she could.
"Have you run the numbers?" she asked. "Figured out either what a hotel like this can pull in or what it will be worth if you sell it completely restored?"
"I wouldn't sell," he said. "I might hire a manager to run the place—one who knows more about high-end hotels than me—but if I restore her, I'd keep her."
"I don't think I could stand to part with something I put that much of myself in, either."
"But to answer your question, yes, the numbers work out as long as I stay within a budget for the restoration. And a timeline. I don't have the cash to buy her outright, so I'd have to make loan payments."
"Have you got the loan nailed down?"
"If I finish the Yellow Rose before this place goes on the market, then I'll use the proceeds from that for the down payment."
"How long do you have to decide?"
"I've been thinking about it for months. The owner has been keeping it off the market for me to get my ducks in a row, but he's getting antsy. There are other people out there who would want a shot at her."
But none of them would love her the way Nate did. Hanna could see it in his face, hear it in his tone when he talked about the hotel. To him, this was a labor of love as much as it was a business decision.
"I'd do it," she said in a small, uncertain voice. She didn't want to sway his opinion too much, because he knew the numbers better than she did and she'd never run so much as a doggie daycare, much less a hotel. But he'd asked her opinion, and she owed him at least that much for all he'd done for her.
"I'd do it," she said again, louder, more confident. "How many chances like this are you going to get? And if things go sideways, you can always sell the land to one of those condo developers, right?"
"It would break my heart, but yeah, if push came to shove, I could at least repay the loan that way."
"If you don't take the chance, you'll always wonder what if." She hadn't known him for years, but she knew at least that much about him. "And if someone came in and tore her down without you trying to save her, you'd never forgive yourself."
"That's definitely true."
"And in the end, it's just money, right? I've lost my shirt and lived to tell the tale. More than once." She gave him a sideways grin. "Which is why you probably shouldn't be taking advice from me. I'm not exactly the best example of business done right."
"What happened?" he asked.
"Jack." She shook her head. "It's a long, boring story, but the moral is that you should never get in business with the same person you get in bed with."
"The voice of reason, huh?"
"The voice of experience. A
nd now that you and I have crossed that line, you really shouldn't trust my opinion about your business. You'll never know if I'm just telling you what you want to hear or giving you advice that serves me better than it does you."
He stroked her face with a single finger. "I'm a better judge of character than that. Besides, you're not telling me anything I don't already know. It's just good to hear it from the lips of someone else."
Hanna only hoped that he wouldn't look back on this moment one day and wished that she'd stopped him from making a huge mistake.
Chapter Twenty-three
Nate wasn't ready to let Hanna go yet. The day was coming to an end, but he wanted to spend more time with her.
They lingered over a leisurely dinner at a steakhouse several towns away. He'd eaten his fill, but a deep hunger still remained.
He wanted Hanna. He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted a woman before. She was like a drug in his veins, both potent and intense, addicting him to her presence.
He took the long way back to the Yellow Rose, following the winding roads he'd been traveling all his life. He didn't need signs to point the way, or stars to guide him. This was home, and he knew these curves as well as he did those of the woman sitting next to him.
He could still remember the smooth texture of her skin, damp and heated from sex. He'd spent hours learning her body, touching her and finding every sweet spot she possessed. It had been his own personal treasure hunt to search for those secret, hidden nerve endings that made her breath hitch when he caressed them with his fingertips or tongue.
He was getting hard just thinking about it, and knew that neither his mind nor his body would rest until he'd had her again.
Warm summer air flowed through the cab of the truck as they meandered through the low mountains. Outside bugs hummed and chirped their mating songs, harmonizing with the throaty croak of frogs nearby. The sky was clear and filled with stars, but none shone half as bright as Hanna's eyes.
She curled her fingers between his, and they held hands like high schoolers out on their first date. And like a high schooler, Nate's blood was running hot, his skin fevered with the need to possess her.