The Spanish Tycoon's Takeover

by Michelle Douglas

  Except he looked far too controlled and forbidding to do anything so unpremeditated.

  Resisting the urge to run a finger around the collar of her blouse, she forced herself forward and made her smile broad. After all this was the new owner of Aggie’s Retreat. He deserved a welcome fit for royalty.

  ‘You must be Mr Ramos.’

  He took her outstretched hand without hesitation, and this close to him she felt her pulse kick and her heart crash. He was the most disconcerting combination of hot and cold she’d ever come across. Despite the forbidding remoteness in his eyes, he had the whole simmering Mediterranean smoky sex appeal thing down pat.

  ‘Call me Xavier.’

  The words fired out of him, clipped and curt—an order rather than a request. Her spine stiffened, until she reminded herself that he’d only flown in from Spain two days ago. Jet lag probably had him desperately discombobulated. And he was her boss. He could issue orders with gay abandon and she would simply have to bite her tongue and pretend that she wanted nothing more than to do his bidding.

  She willed her body to relax. For the staff’s sake.

  ‘I’m Wynne Stephens. It’s lovely to finally meet you in person.’

  He inclined his head and his hair gleamed as dark as the sea at midnight—jet-black. She’d never seen hair so dark. It looked thick and soft, and the tips of her fingers started to tingle.

  His eyes were just as dark as his hair. The heat from his hand burned against her palm. But despite their darkness and depth his eyes remained cool. His lips had barely moved upwards into a smile, and she must have been watching too many B-grade movies recently, because she could swear she imagined a hint of cruelty about his mouth.

  Those dark eyes scanned her face and she felt as if every secret she’d ever had was being pulled out for his examination and judgement. Heat travelled up her arm and she realised her hand was still clasped in his. She tugged it free, working overtime to hold fast to her composure.

  ‘You have a very attractive...’

  Movement in the doorway captured her attention—the chauffeur, struggling in with a variety of luggage. Should she go and help him?

  ‘Ms Stephens?’

  ‘Oh!’ She swung back to him. ‘You must call me Wynne.’

  His lips thinned. ‘I have a very attractive...?’

  She choked back a laugh. Nothing like leaving a sentence hanging! ‘Accent.’ It was even better in person than on the phone.

  One eyebrow lifted with devastating irony. ‘Really?’

  She stared up at him and the derision in his eyes made heat rush into her face. Oh, he couldn’t think that she...

  No way! He was attractive, but...

  Suddenly the images flashing through Wynne’s mind became just a little too vivid.

  She shook her head to dispel them, to try and get back on track. ‘Xavier, I’d like to welcome you to Aggie’s Retreat.’

  He didn’t answer, just continued to stare at her with those pitiless eyes.

  She lifted her chin, pushed her shoulders back. ‘I sincerely hope the motel brings you as much joy and pleasure as it has over the years to my grandmother and myself.’

  Those lips cracked open into a ruthless smile that had her suppressing a shiver.

  ‘Don’t worry, Wynne, it already has.’

  * * *

  Wynne glanced past him and some of the tension in Xavier’s jaw eased. The wholeheartedness of her smile, its warmth, had taken him completely off-guard. He’d not expected her to be so...generous.

  She’d not wanted to sell the motel—her reluctance had threaded through their every email and telephone exchange. It was no doubt why she’d made being manager one of the stipulations of the sale. His fists clenched. That still angered him, but it could be dealt with easily enough over the coming weeks. And it would be.

  He’d arrived here today expecting tears...had readied himself for hostility. Instead...

  He fought back a frown. Instead he’d been welcomed with a warmth that had made him want to turn around and return to Spain. She made him feel... He swallowed. For a moment she’d made him feel the same way his grandfather had always made him feel—truly welcome.

  A dark weariness threatened to descend over him—an all too familiar grief that he’d wrestled with for the past four weeks and two days. It would be weak to give in to it, but it rose up within him now with renewed force as he glanced into Wynne Stephens’s face. He wanted to accept the welcome she offered. He wanted to embrace it and hold it tight.

  It was a lie, though. She didn’t know him. She didn’t care for him. But that didn’t make the need gaping through him go away.

  Dios! His hand clenched into a fist. He’d readied himself for a fight—a dirty fight—and she’d pulled the carpet out from under him. She’d welcomed him to Aggie’s Retreat as if she’d meant it. The woman was a witch! Just like her grandmother.

  He stiffened, forcing up a wall between himself and his new manager. He always built a wall between himself and bewitching women. It kept things simple.

  With a Herculean effort he kept the frown from his face, refusing to reveal his surprise, refusing to reveal how she’d thrown him. He’d seen her photograph. He’d known that she was attractive. But attractive women were everywhere. In his world beautiful women were everywhere. What Wynne Stephens’s photograph hadn’t revealed was the life and animation that filled the woman, threaded through her with a vibrancy that made what she looked like a secondary consideration. He hadn’t expected that.

  If she wasn’t a Stephens...

  He pushed the thought aside. He had no intention of punishing Wynne for her grandmother’s crimes, but a part of him couldn’t resist glorying in the knowledge that the world had come full circle—that a Ramos now had a Stephens under his thumb.

  He hoped his grandfather was looking down and laughing with the pleasure of it. He hoped it would allow his grandfather finally to find peace.

  Don’t make the same mistakes I made.

  I won’t, he swore silently.

  He realised the silence in the foyer had grown too long and uncomfortable. Not that he cared too much about that. It suited him to make others uncomfortable. It made them pause for thought before lying or double-crossing him.

  He gestured behind him. ‘This is Reyes, my driver.’

  Wynne welcomed him to Australia too, her words accompanied with one of those big smiles. Xavier made sure to survey it only from the corner of his eyes. He had to meet her gaze head-on, though, when she turned it back to him.

  ‘I thought from your correspondence that your son and his nanny would be accompanying you too.’

  ‘They will be arriving later.’

  She stared at him as if waiting for more. ‘Later...today?’

  ‘No.’

  She stared some more, as if waiting for him to continue, but he refused to gratify her curiosity. He’d left Luis in Sydney, under the eagle eye of his nanny Paula. He’d given them free rein to sightsee for the next few days. He hadn’t wanted to bring Luis here to witness any potential unpleasantness. And, while the welcome hadn’t been unpleasant, he had no doubt that the next few days would be.

  ‘Right. Well...make sure to let us know when to expect them.’

  ‘Why?’

  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.’