30DaystoSyn (32 page)

“What do you think I intend to do once we
get up to my suite, love?” he asked as he finished his dessert and lifted the
napkin to his lips. He looked at her over the crisply starched black linen.

“Rape, ravage and pillage me,” she said,
her voice a bit higher than normal.

He smiled, folded his napkin and laid it
beside his plate. “And will you be terribly disappointed if none of those
things are on my agenda for tonight?”

“For tonight?” she echoed.

“Oh, I’ll get around to them because they
sound intriguing.” He almost laughed when she groaned.

“I feel like a sacrificial lamb,” she said.

“There’s no need to.” He signaled the
waiter and a busboy hurried over to clear the table.

“Your usual after-dinner drink, Mr.
McGregor?” the wine steward asked as he came over as well.

“Not tonight, Drummond.”

“And the lady?”

She shook her head. “Nothing for me, thank
you.”

“Very well, madam. Sir,” the wine steward
said with a bow. “Enjoy your evening.”

“I intend to,” he said, fusing his eyes
with hers. He waited until they were alone before he spoke again. “Oh, I almost
forgot. I have something for you.”

He pushed his chair back from the table and
rose. She sat perfectly still as he moved behind her. The moment he lowered the
necklace over her head, she gasped, her head dipping as she stared at the
pendant he was clasping around her neck. It fell lovingly between her breasts
and she put up a hand to touch it.

He bent down to put his lips to her ear.
“Don’t say you can’t accept it,” he whispered. “And don’t say it’s too
expensive. I designed it myself and had it crafted in Dubai especially for
you.”

The necklace was the most beautiful piece
of jewelry she’d ever beheld. A heart-shaped dark-red ruby with flashes of
black shading hung from an intricately filigreed white-gold bail. Surrounding
the ruby was a row of diamonds. The platinum Byzantine chain holding the
pendant glittered in the light of the candles.

“The ruby is a symbol of passion and
desire, of an inner fire that will never go out,” he told her. “It shines light
on the dark places in your soul and encourages you to follow your dreams. It
teaches you how precious you are.” He put his hands on her shoulders and
caressed her gently. “Now you have my heart. Guard it well for I will never
give it to anyone else.”

She craned her head around and looked up at
him as he straightened. His gaze was red hot.

“Shall we go?” he asked quietly. At her
nod, he pulled out her chair then put a hand to the small of her back to usher
her from the room. The heat from his palm scorched her through the silk of her
dress.

People surreptitiously watched them. Heads
were put together when they passed. Men smiled knowingly at them. Women gave
her envious glowers. The young men sitting with their older companions gave the
Kiwi wistful looks.

He ushered her down a dim corridor that
dog-legged sharply to the left. Beyond was a sumptuous staircase right out of
Victorian England. It curved upward with breathtaking beauty.

“No elevators?” she asked.

“There are but if you could see them they’d
ruin the ambience. Besides, climbing the stairs takes you back to a more
licentious time. A time when libertines corrupted innocent young women and
innocent young women went eagerly to their deflowering.” As they walked he
reached down to take her hand in his, brought it to his lips for a moment.

“You would have been right at home in that
era, wouldn’t you?”

“I could well have been Heathcliff,” he
replied. They started up the stairs.

“The wild gypsy boy who became a wealthy
self-made man then took his revenge on those who wronged him,” she said.

“Except I’m the wild Māori boy who
inherited his Paheka father’s enormous estate then helped those who had his
back when he was growing up,” he countered.

“Paheka?”

“A white New Zealander,” he explained.

The climb up the gently curving staircase
with its black runner covering the highly polished oak treads was like stepping
back in time. Arriving on the landing, she was struck by the lushness of the
scattered settees done in scarlet-red damask and the beautiful silver-colored
lamps with cut-crystal shades that adorned oak occasional tables.

“You spared no expense did you?” she asked.

He glanced down at her with a twinkle in
his eye. “Someone did a bang-up job of it, I reckon.”

“He did, indeed,” she agreed.

“As I told you, the private suites are on
the fourth through sixth floors.”

“Which floor are you on, Mr. McGregor?”

“The seventh,” he said.

“Well, of course you are. We’ve got to
climb five more floors?” she asked.

“Don’t you think I’m worth it?” he
countered.

“You’d darn well better be,” she said with
a humph. She stopped. “Wait.”

“For what?” he asked.

She bent over to remove her high heels.

He laughed. “Smart girl,” he complimented
her.

“How many members do you have?” she asked.

“There is a cut-off of forty. At present we
have thirty-nine and a waiting list of over two hundred vying for that coveted
spot.”

She whistled. “You said the members had to
purchase the suites. How much do they go for?”

“Fourth floor is two hundred and fifty
thousand. The higher up you go, the more expensive the suite,” he told her.

“Mother Mary,” she said. “And how many
suites are on each floor?”

“Thirteen.”

“And you are on the most expensive floor.”

“I am,” he said smugly.

She looked over at him as they climbed. “Do
the members know who owns the club?”

“Of course, but should they reveal his
name, they will be expelled from the club and none of them want that.”

She stopped as they reached the fifth
floor. “I really need to join a gym,” she said.

“I’ll get you a membership wherever you
like,” he said. “Ready?”

She sighed, not looking forward to climbing
the other two stairways. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Be warned, Kiwi.” She said. “When we reach
that last set of stairs, you are going to pick me up and carry me the rest of
the way.”

“Your wish is my command, milady,” he said
with a grin.

They passed no one on their way up to the
sixth floor. It was eerily quiet on each landing—each space identical to the
one below it. When they neared the last stairway, he stopped.

He turned to face her, reached out to put
his hands to her cheeks and leaned down to give her a soft, lingering kiss.
Easing back, he locked his eyes with hers.

“It’s not too late,” he said quietly. “If
you don’t want this tell me now.”

“And if I don’t?” she asked, searching his
face.

“We’ll end it and go our separate ways. I’m
not a piker. I’ll pay you for all the nights up through this one. Your time is
worth—”

“Stop talking,” she said. She raised her
chin. “I’m not a piker, either. I made a deal with you and I intend to see it
through.”

He stared at her a long moment. “You’re
sure?”

“I’m positive.”

“Fair enough,” he said and reached down to
sweep her into his arms. He barely gave her time to wrap her arms around his
neck before he was striding purposefully up the stairs carrying her as
effortlessly as if she’d been a small child.

Gaining the seventh floor landing, he
stopped so she could take in the sight before her.

“Mother Mary!” she exclaimed, looking up at
the glass ceiling above which rested the swimming pool he had mentioned
earlier. So stunned by the unexpectedness of what she was seeing she almost
dropped the heels she was carrying by their straps.

The seventh floor landing looked nothing
like the ones preceding it. For one thing it was a smaller space—no more than
ten by twelve—and there was only one double-wide door set at the end of the
landing under the bubbling water. The walls were covered in the same black
wallpaper with the silver tribal design and the carpet was the same as well.
But there were no couches here. No tables. No lamps. The only decoration was a
floor-to-ceiling ornately framed mirror that reflected the water. The landing
was lit by the underwater lights in the pool that gave it an eerie bluish cast.
It felt as though they were actually standing under the water.

“Neat, huh?” he asked.

“Amazing,” she breathed.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, baby girl,” he
said, carrying her toward the double black doors.

“Do you own this entire floor?” she asked.

“Woman, you know the answer to that,” he
said. He stopped at the door.

“You’re going to have to put me down to
open it,” she said.

“Wanna bet?” he inquired. He moved as close
to the door as he could. “Place your hand on the entry panel.”

She looked at him. “Is that why she scanned
my palm?”

He nodded. “Place your hand on it.”

She put her palm to the scanner and the
double doors slid silently open. He carried her into a small alcove that had to
be directly under the waterfall for the glass ceiling had cascading water
flowing over it. The walls of the alcove were papered in a sea-foam green silk
that undulated in the light from the water above them. On an oak table in the
middle of the alcove was a large arrangement of gardenias in a beautiful
dark-green vase. The floor was done in lush celadon green marble.

“I’m not a Goth,” he said, “or a Westie so
I’m not into jet black. This is my home away from home so I wanted it to be
just as light and airy as where I normally hang my hat. It harkens back to my
ocean heritage.”

There were several doors off the alcove,
all a rich, gleaming oak-paneled portal and each was closed.

“I have an office through there,” he said,
turning to show her the door behind which lay that room. “I have a guest
bedroom over there.” He turned again, shifting her against him. “That door
leads to the kitchen and breakfast room. No formal dining area here. I don’t
entertain. Through there is the great room—complete with a fireplace and bar
and seventy-inch flat screen.” He shifted her again.

“You
can
put me down, you know,” she
told him.

“Not yet,” he said and started toward the
door he hadn’t named yet. He stopped and she saw there was another handprint
scanner beside the door.

“Why?” she asked.

“I like my privacy,” he replied. “No one
goes in there that I don’t want to. Not even the maid. Just me and you.”

She melted at those words and reached out
to lay her hand on the scanner. The oaken door swung open.

What was beyond was astounding. “Oh, Kiwi,”
she whispered, her eyes going automatically to the ceiling.

The room was spectacular but the ceiling.

The ceiling!

This time the shoes fell out of her hand
and hit the floor with a thud.

“If you’re up on the roof,” she heard him
say, “you can’t see this because that portion of the roof lies behind a door to
which only the janitor has access.”

Above her was a gigantic saltwater aquarium
through which swam the most unusual, exotic and gorgeous marine life she’d ever
had the pleasure of viewing. The jewel tones of the angelfish, the pastel
shades of the anthias, the bright red of the hawkfish, the startling yellow of
the butterfly fish, and the neon fuschia of the basslets were so effervescent,
so beautiful it was breathtaking. There were so many varieties, such myriad
colors and sizes. Around the perimeter of the room was the beach area of the
underwater wonderland with magnificent stands of coral and exotic sea plants.

“The sand is kept back by a low glass wall.
If you look closely you can see it. I wanted to be able to lie on the bed or in
the bathtub and see the fish swimming without having to look up through sand.”

“That is just… It is…” She looked at him.
“I have no words.”

“What do you think of the rest of the
room?” he asked.

She wasn’t sure she had words for it,
either.

The floor was an intricate parquetry of
what looked to be weathered teak, stained and varnished to a high gleam. The
walls were also teak upon which hung magnificent seascapes. Two loveseats
covered in dark-green fabric faced one another on a side wall and between them
was a cocktail table made from a large lobster trap. Scattered on the loveseats
were pillows made from yachting signal flags. In the center of the room was a
gorgeous king-size bed with the headboard and footboard fashioned from sculpted
driftwood. The duvet was soft creamy beige edged in a darker caramel color like
beach sand. At the end of the room, facing the foot of the bed, were two
massive oak armoires flanking a flat-screen television. To either side of what
she suspected was the bathroom were two floor-to-ceiling glass-fronted cases filled
with all manner of nautical paraphernalia from sextants to glass buoy floats to
replicas of lighthouses and figureheads—all interspersed with seashells, coral
and sponges. A five-foot-tall round glass cylinder was packed full of every
color of sea glass imaginable and lit from behind with a row of pin lights. The
most remarkable things in the room were in one corner. A large ship wheel on a
turn indicator stand had been placed in front of a skull-and-crossbones Jolly
Roger pirate flag.

“My God, Kiwi,” she said. “I am in awe of
this room and of your imagination to have created it.”

“It’s a tribute to my ocean roots,” he
said.

Their eyes met.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He carried her to his bed and sat down with
her in his lap. His arms encircled her as he held her gently to his chest.

“You are sure?” he asked one last time.

“Yes, Synjyn,” she said, using his name to
reassure him, to impress upon him the seriousness and honesty of her answer. “I
am sure.”