"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."

Tags: Jaci Burton Unwrapped and Unraveled Erotic
Source: readsnovelonline.net