Mitch knew her well enough to understand her or anything. So she fell into her typical lure-’em-in-and-close-the-deal mode with a flutter of her lashes.
“Are you? What do you see this resort offering?” she asked off-handedly.
“Offering? What any resort offers, of course. First-class luxury accommodations. Relaxation and pampering. The perfect getaway.”
“I can get luxury and pampering at my father’s hotels for half the price,” she pointed out.
His eyes flashed at the mention of her father. Uh-oh, not a good sign. But instead of commenting, he just pointed out the window.
“Not with this lavish view, prime location or decadent opulence. Lakeside is top of the line. Luxurious suites, each with its own fireplace and bar. Three-hundred-count Egyptian sheets and down comforters, one-of-a-kind artwork and a stunning view from every room. We have the hottest golf course, three four-star restaurants, a ballroom, spa, designer shops.”
Belle pressed her lips together to hide the smile brought on by his fervent recital of his resort’s brochure. He sounded like a momma defending her baby against the crime of mediocrity. Good, that meant he was heavily invested in making Lakeside the biggest success possible.
“Let’s cut to the chase, hmm?” she said once she was sure she could keep the triumph from her tone. “To really make your resort stand out, to make it a certifiable success, you need a hook. If you want the wealthy southern California clientele to flock here like flaming moths you’re going to need to offer something a little more exotic than nice sheets, a golf course and hot stone massages.”
“Moths to a flame,” he corrected.
“Exactly,” she agreed with a wink. “And like those moths, the wealthy and famous will swarm here. With the right incentive, of course.”
“What do you have in mind?” he asked, sounding reluctantly intrigued. His gaze fell to the papers in her lap.
She tapped one red-tipped fingernail on the file and smiled.
“To use that Disney analogy again, I’m talking about a theme park for adults. Wealthy adults. Or better yet, famous wealthy adults. Ones who are looking for a grown-up park to play in.”
Belle leaned forward to put the file on his desk. Mitch’s gaze dropped to her cleavage. From the heat in his eyes, the way they went dark and intense, she figured her Twisted Knickers leather-and-lace demi-bra had just paid off.
“You want to make this resort a standout, you need to cater to the rich and famous. If you want them lining up to get in here, you need to offer them the one thing they want more than anything else. The one thing they’d pay almost any price for.”
Keeping his eyes locked on hers, Mitch used one finger to pull the file toward him. He didn’t flip it open, but sat there with his hand over it as if considering whether it was even worth the effort.
“And that is?” he finally asked.
“Sex, of course.”
MITCH’S JAW dropped. This was a multimillion dollar venture, prime real estate, and he had everything on the line—his money, his company and, even more important, his reputation.
“You’re suggesting I turn my luxury resort into a sex club?”
He didn’t know why the idea surprised him. Everything about Belle made him think of sex. It always had. From her husky voice to her bedroom eyes and on down that gorgeous body to her suckable toes.
But he’d screwed up his career once because he’d been obsessed with her. Blinded by the dream of having it all, he’d tossed aside his own plans to accommodate her and her father’s wishes, and ended up with nothing. It’d taken him three years to rebuild his reputation, another two to regain lost ground. He wasn’t about to screw up again.
“Actually, I doubt you’d be able to pull off the sex club,” she replied with a long look that made it clear she’d love to see him try. “There are some fabulous ones around that make good money, of course, but that’s not quite the niche I had in mind.”
It took physical effort to keep himself from asking her just how familiar she was with these fabulous sex clubs. He managed, just barely, to smother the biting jealousy that clawed at his gut when he imagined her hitting those clubs with another man. Or, given the clubs, other men.
Dammit, six years ago, that ugly green monster had goaded him into proposing marriage instead of taking her up on the wild sexual affair she’d offered. He hated—not just disliked, but viciously rip-the-head-off-whoever-it-was hated—the idea of some other man touching Belle. She was the only woman in the world to inspire him to want to brand her. To make her his and his alone, in every way possible. For a man who considered himself evolved beyond caveman idiocy, it had been a blow to the ego. Not enough of a blow to stun the jealousy monster, though.
To distract himself from the images, and from the memory of her lush, lace-clad breasts, clearly visible when she’d leaned across to hand him the file, Mitch tilted his head in question.
“What exactly are you proposing?”
“Private sex,” she said in the same tone she’d use to share a national secret.
“Huh?” He didn’t get it. The rooms had locks. There were no video cameras around.
“The paparazzi and gossip hounds have declared open season on celebrities. They have no degree of privacy anymore. Not only actors and musicians, but any big name in the industry. Before you relocated here, you were based in New York, right?” At his nod, she continued, “You probably see it, or would if you paid attention, on the east coast. But it’s nothing like the insanity here in southern California.”
“What does that have to do with sex? Or, how did you put it? Private sex?”
Belle arched one brow. “Everything. Haven’t you ever wanted some hot, wild getaway sex at a luxury resort?”
Hell, yeah. He wanted it now, as a matter of fact. Mitch did a quick mental tally of how many bedrooms were complete here at the resort. He could do Belle in fourteen hot, wild ways without using the same room twice. Even more if they went vertical. And that wasn’t even counting the private cottages scattered around the resort grounds.
“Your rich and famous are welcome to come have sex here,” he told her. “We’re an equal-opportunity resort in that regard.”
Her look made him laugh. Like a crack in her perfect image, she went from glossy sex kitten to cute and adorable in the wrinkle of her nose.
“I’m glad to know you have no restrictions on sex,” she responded, her tone husky and blatantly interested. “I hope that applies to your personal life as well as your resort?”
“The only restriction I follow is to avoid trouble.” His grin fell away as he remembered that Belle was pure trouble, inside and out.
She tut-tutted. “Safe sex? How boring is that? The only time those two words belong together is in reference to health precautions.”
Images of swings, leather and handcuffs—without the cushy fur lining—flashed through
