by Jaci Burton
"Thank you for this, but there's nowhere in town that we need to get this dressed up for."
He pulled her toward him and slid her arm inside his. "We're not eating in town."
Her gaze shot to his. "We're not? Then where--"
She heard a buzzing sound in the distance, growing louder as if it were headed right for the motel. Mitch walked her out of the house and through the entry as the roar grew louder.
"Wait here," he said. "I don't want your hair to get windblown when it lands."
"You're joking, right?"
He wasn't. The deafening noise landed right in her parking lot, its blades gradually slowing, then stopping.
"Cool, Mrs. Mason!" Heath said, coming around the desk to dash outside.
Speechless, Greta could only stare at Mitch, who smiled at her.
"Ready to have dinner?"
"Where?"
"You'll see."
He took her hand and led her to the helicopter. They'd drawn a small crowd, who gaped at the copter and at them as they moved toward it.
"I've never been in a helicopter." Or on an airplane, or anything that flew. Yet strangely she wasn't nervous at all, just shocked.
"You'll love it." He waited at the door while she climbed in and took her seat, then instructed her how to belt in and put the earphones over her head so they could hear and talk to each other on the ride.
Once they were settled, Mitch communicated to the pilot they were ready to go, and the engine roared to life. Greta grabbed Mitch's hand.
"Don't be nervous. It'll be fine," he said, his voice soothing over the microphone. He slid his thumb over hers, then drew lazy circles over her skin until she was so distracted by his touch she forgot all about being hoisted into the air. All she could do was stare at Mitch, into his incredible eyes, look at his lips, and wonder how this could be happening to her when this morning she'd been in shorts and a T-shirt with sand between her bare toes.
After the first ten minutes or so she relaxed and looked out the window, miles of ocean and sand sweeping by as they flew over it. She had no idea where they were or where they were going, and wasn't sure she cared. This was the experience of a lifetime and she intended to enjoy it, thanks to Mitch.
Thirty minutes later her stomach leaped as they began to descend. She saw lights, lots of them, and the darkness that could only be miles and miles of ocean.
"Where are we, Mitch?"
"Miami."
Her gaze shot to his. "Really?"
The helicopter headed toward a large building right on the beach, but didn't land on the beach, instead hovered over the building, then descended slowly before coming to rest apparently on top of the building. They waited for the blades to stop moving, then unbuckled and Mitch helped her out and toward a doorway where a man dressed in black pants and red coat held the door open for them.
"Evening, Mr. Magruder."
"Hello, Sam."
"Everything is in place as you requested."
"Thank you."
Inside the door was a carpeted hallway that led to a golden-doored elevator. Very ritzy, and obviously a swanky hotel. They rode the elevator down to the main level, which opened onto polished cream marbled flooring. Her heels clacked on the surface as they walked through the lobby, where everyone greeted Mitch with nods and smiles.
"You've been here before?"
His lips lifted in a half smile. "Often."
"You must like the food here."
"It's excellent."
They were stopped halfway down the stairs by a woman dressed in a crisp dark pantsuit. Her nametag said "Paula" and "Manager".
"Oh, Mr. Magruder, we're so happy you're dining with us tonight. Everything has been arranged as you requested."
"Thank you, Paula. As usual, the place looks in tip-top shape."
Paula practically beamed a smile.
Then it hit her as they walked away. She turned to him as they continued their stroll down the stairs and onto a walkway toward the beach. "This is one of your hotels."
"Uh huh."
She paused then, turned around to face the multistory resort with its towering facade overlooking the ocean. It had to have over a thousand rooms, with wide balconies, a swimming pool near the beach, a restaurant poolside, and that was all she had seen so far.
"It's beautiful, Mitch."
"Thanks. I'll give you the grand tour after dinner."
Dinner, apparently, was going to be served on the beach. They took a walk to the right and down a pier, then toward a bungalow, approachable by stepping stones so she didn't get sand in her shoes. A wood overhang and thick drapes closed on three sides so their only view would be of the ocean. Torches were lit outside the tent and the area was closed off by a wall of tall burnished wooden gates on all sides.
Utter privacy. Their own beach.
"Your guests must pay a premium to use this facility."
He led her to the candlelit table and held out a chair for her. "That they do, but many like having a private dinner and a late night swim without having to share the ocean with anyone else. They can even stay the night in here," he said, motioning to the plump sofa with jeweled pillows. "That opens into a bed."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
She could well imagine how much fun a couple could have in this cozy little bungalow. Dinner, a swim, then unfold the bed and enjoy some loving magic right there on the beach with the waves crashing against the shore. She shivered.
"You cold?"
"Not at all."
A waiter appeared with a bottle of wine, held it out to Mitch, who nodded and waited while two glasses were filled. Once Mitch tasted and approved the wine, the waiter delivered menus for them. Greta and Mitch both ordered seafood and the waiter disappeared.
Greta took a sip of the wine, then exhaled. "This is wonderful."
"Thank you. My wine stewards do an excellent job selecting only the best wines."
"I think you just like only the best, period."
"I build luxury hotels. My clientele expect a certain level of service, from the rooms to the food to the selection of wines."
"And from the looks of things, they get it. You've done very well for yourself, Mitch. I never would have thought the lanky surfer I knew all those years ago would turn out to be such a connoisseur."
He shrugged. "You can be anything you choose to be, if you set your mind to it."
She took a long swallow of wine. "As long as nothing gets in the way of you achieving your goals."
He nodded. "That happens. You just can't let those drawbacks defeat you."
"Sometimes you have no choice but to settle."
"Sometimes you settle when you don't have to."
She knew he referred to her, to her circumstances, to the motel, but she chose to ignore him. She was going to enjoy her dinner without discussing his offer to buy the Crystal Sands. "How many hotels do you own?"
"Twenty-four in the U.S., twelve abroad."
"Wow. I had no idea."
"We're always looking to expand. Divesting the sporting goods company last year gave me more capital to work with. There are always untapped markets out there prime for expansion or development. A savvy businessperson knows when to capitalize on those markets."
She knew she wasn't going to be able to avoid the topic. "Ft Lincoln Beach, for example."
"Yes. It's a perfect vacation spot with a ton of room for growth. All it needs is a great resort area. You build a super hotel on the beach, suddenly you'll get a water park, great restaurants, and the people will follow. Your town will explode and everyone will benefit."
"And I'm the one standing in the way of everyone's good fortune."
He tipped his glass to his lips and took a sip, then smiled. "I didn't say that."
"You intimated it."
"I didn't invite you to dinner tonight to twist your arm."
"It wouldn't matter if you did. I'm not selling my motel to you, no matter how pretty this dress is
."
He laughed. "Good for you. I'd hate to think you were that easy."
Now it was her turn to laugh, and it felt good. She didn't really feel any pressure from Mitch, only from herself. Maybe she was standing in the way of progress for her town, but she couldn't help but think he was overexaggerating the growth explosion building one hotel would cause for Ft Lincoln Beach. Sure, it might bring in a little additional revenue for retailers and restaurateurs in town. But an explosion? Unlikely.
Either way, she wasn't selling. Her decision was made. The motel was her legacy from her father. Selling it would be like giving up her memories of him, like insulting his last gift to her. She'd never, ever do that.
They ate dinner--which was incredible--in companionable silence. By the time they were finished eating, the first bottle of wine had been emptied and replaced with another, and Mitch refilled their glasses.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" She stared at the full goblet.
"Do you get out much?" he replied, deftly avoiding her question.
She snapped her gaze to his. "Me? Uh, no. I never go out."
"Why not?"
She shrugged. "I manage the motel. I have the kids. I'm busy."
"No one should be too busy to have a life, Greta."
"Easy for you to say. You don't have the responsibilities I do."
"Don't I? Granted, I don't have the kids, but my schedule gets pretty full."
"You have...people."
"So do you."
He wasn't making this easy, and she wasn't a whiner. She decided not to say anything at all.
"Your mother could babysit. So can Don and Suz. You're entitled to have a date now and then."
"Yes."
"But you choose not to? Are you punishing yourself?"
She narrowed her gaze. "You don't know anything about me, Mitch."
"I know a little. I'd like to know more. You're divorced, you own and manage a motel virtually by yourself. You have two wonderful kids. Why don't you fill in the gaps for me?"
"There are no gaps. That's pretty much it."
"So why no social life?"
God, he was persistent. "I told you. I'm busy."
"So you're just not interested in men anymore? What did he do to you?"
That one cut a little too close. "I like men just fine. I'm just not interested in jumping on that merry-go-round again. It wasn't fun the first ride."
"Not all men are like your ex."
She sighed. "What did my kids tell you?"
"That he didn't like to spend any time with them, wasn't around much and when he was he liked to monopolize yours."
She stared down at her wine glass. "I really hate that man."
"I do, too. Your children are way too worldly for their age."
She lifted her gaze to his. "And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for a lot of things."
"Probably a lot of things that weren't your fault."
"I married him."
"Was he like that when you did?"
"No."
"Then you didn't do it." Mitch leaned back in his chair and sipped his wine. "So what changed him?"
"He had a high pressure job and he hung out with the wrong kind of people who introduced him to the wrong things."
"Like drugs."
She nodded. "He wasn't good at saying no. And he always liked to party. Every weekend. It was part of my attraction to him. He was so full of life and energy."
"That's an attractive quality."
"In the beginning, but not when you're ready to settle down and raise a family. I needed stability at a time when he was least stable. He couldn't handle the responsibility. Drugs and alcohol became his answer. He buckled under the pressure of a mortgage, kids, and the death of my father. I was always the strong one, and I fell apart when my dad died. He couldn't pick up the slack."
"Which meant as he weakened, you had to grow stronger."
"I don't know about that."
"I do. I don't know many women who could handle what you have, Greta. You've done a remarkable job."
How could he say that? She was barely making ends meet. There wasn't a day that went by that she didn't feel like she'd failed her kids.
"Your children adore you."
"They're loyal, and protective."
"They love you. I see it on their faces. But they want more time with you."
Tears stung her eyes. She wasn't going to do this. Not now, not with Mitch. "I give them all I have."
He reached across the table and caressed her cheek. "You're an amazing woman."
She sucked in a breath, refusing to lose it. "Let's talk about something else."
"Okay."
The waiter came and cleared their plates, then brought dessert.
"More food? Are you kidding?"
"You have to try this."
"I can't. I'm so full now."
"Come on. Just a bite." He lifted his spoon and brought it to her lips. She opened her mouth and he slid the chocolate decadence onto her tongue. The ice cream and raspberries burst with flavor on her taste buds.
"Oh, God, that's sinful."
He grinned. "Told you."
Emotional crisis averted, Greta polished off another glass of wine until she finally relaxed, letting all her tensions melt away with every glass of this marvelous liquid. She was surprised when she heard the strains of music from outside the tent.
"Is that a band out there?"
He shook his head. "Piped in through speakers on the building. I don't want my guests' privacy interrupted. Everything within the small compound here is secluded, away from the view of the other hotel guests."
"In case your clients who stay here want to strip off their clothes and go skinny dipping?"
He leaned back in his chair and loosened his tie, casting one very hot look in her direction. "Is that what you'd like to do?"
She couldn't believe she'd said that. "No. Of course not."
He stood and held out his hand. "Come on."
Her throat had gone dry. "What?"
"Stand up."
She did. "Mitch, I--"
He pulled her into his arms and her heart did a wild dance. She hadn't been this close to a man since Cody, and that experience hadn't been pleasant. And it had been a long, long time ago. No man had touched her since. She hadn't allowed it, hadn't wanted it.
Until now. She also hadn't opened up to anyone about her and Cody like she had with Mitch. There was something about him that allowed her to feel like she could.
And being with him...well, this was more than pleasant. It made her dizzy, her body coming alive at being so close to a man who looked incredible, smelled so good, wasn't stoned or drunk and smiled at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world.
So what was wrong with indulging in the fantasy just a little?
A lot was wrong with it. She was a realist. And Mitch was not the kind of guy she should have on her radar. She shouldn't have any man there.
"Mitch, I--" she said again, not knowing how to finish the sentence.
"Shhh, I just want to hold you in my arms and dance with you."
"Dance?"
"Yeah." He tilted his head. "Hear the music?"
She did. Soft, sexy R&B music filtered through the outside speakers. She used to love to dance. Another thing she hadn't done in a very long time.
"Allow yourself to have a good time, Greta. There's no crime in that."
He was right. She placed her hand in his. When he wound his arm around her back and tugged her against him, she realized it had been way too long since she'd been held by a man.
Or had anything else done to her by a man.
She vibrated all over at the thought.
Mitch had beautiful eyes. And his mouth--full lips, white straight teeth. She wanted to kiss him, to feel someone's lips on hers again, to know that exhilarating, heart pounding feeling of desire, to melt in someone's arms until you couldn't breathe.
And when something hard b
rushed against her hip, her gaze shot to his. He smiled down at her, and her head spun.
Too much wine.
Too much man.
She was in way over her head.
Chapter Six
Greta stood motionless, her feet rooted to the floor of the cabana. Mitch didn't seem to mind, just swayed back and forth, their bodies connected, not asking her for any more than she was willing to give.
Finally, she found her feet and followed him. He led her around the table. The cabana wasn't large, and between the table and chairs and the sofa--correction--bed that loomed in the corner, they had to stay close and dance in small steps. But still, it was magical. The music and the man who held her, the scent of salt breezing in from the ocean, the flicker of torches dancing along the edges of the sand outside, was all a sensual assault that overwhelmed her.
Part of her wanted to fight it, but another part of her realized that was stupid. Mitch was an attractive man, and she was a grown woman who'd had too little fun in her life. He'd offered her an amazing night. She'd be foolish to turn tail and run. He wasn't offering her forever, or even a relationship. As long as she kept her wits about her and realized he was trying to seduce the motel out from under her, she could accept the fun and keep the motel.
She knew exactly what Mitch was up to. But she could still enjoy being with him, without giving him everything he wanted.
"Let's take a walk."
He held her hand while she slipped off her shoes. He took off his jacket, his shoes and socks, rolled up his sleeves and pants legs, and they stepped out onto the sand. Mitch led her down to the water's edge where the breeze blew stronger, whipping her hair, salt stinging her skin and the waves teasing her toes.
She loved it. This was her home, the water as much a part of her as her own skin. The moon cast a silver glow over the dark water, lending its depths a mysterious quality that had always compelled her.
She stopped and turned to the sea. "I used to stand at the water's edge at night when I was a kid, and could swear all the mermaids and mermen came out in the dark when we couldn't see them."
Mitch slid his hand in hers. "I looked for ghostly pirate ships on foggy nights and imagined stowing away and sailing to the ends of the earth."
She laughed. "The endless dreams of children. How sad that we have to grow up and face reality."
He looked down at her. "Do we?"
"I hardly think there are mermaids or pirate ships out there."
"No, but there are new dreams to believe in. The problem with adults is that so many give up on having dreams."