The Millionaire's Christmas Wife. Susan Crosby

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      “Technically, they can’t.”

      “So you plan to be married until the deal is done, then end it? Not exactly a fine example of character.”

      “Where is it written that only married men have good character? I want The Trails. I know what I can do with it. And what qualifies me is my personal need and expectation not only to provide a family-friendly environment, but one with a bigger scope, one that keeps up with ever-changing interests, to challenge families to play together, to be active together. They’re not lofty goals. They’re possible. If I have to pretend that I’m married in order to prove what I can do, then that’s what I’ll do.”

      “What if they find out you aren’t?”

      “How could they? Only you and I would know the truth. If we don’t tell anyone else, how could they possibly find out?”

      She broke off a piece of roll, buttered it but didn’t take a bite as she mulled over his words. “Okay, I get it. How many investors do you think it’s going to take?”

      “One.”

      “Seriously?”

      “I don’t want more than one, someone who’s got pockets deep enough not to need returns for several years. I could never please or pay off a group of investors. At best I could only get myself a small percentage by putting the deal together and working it. That’s not what I want, not what I’ve worked for, saved for.”

      “You’re looking for a fifty-fifty relationship?”

      “In an ideal world, I’d do fifty-one/forty-nine so that I could always have the final say. The chances of getting someone to agree to it are slim.”

      She set her fork on her empty plate and took a sip of her wine. He could see the wheels turning in her head.

      She lifted her glass to him. “Well, the project looks incredible to me. For the most part.”

      He smiled at that. “For the most part?”

      She shrugged. “I’m concerned about the hotel.”

      Something in her tone intrigued him. “Max and I hired James Madigan. He’s an architect who specializes in hotels.”

      “Yes, I know who he is.”

      The way she said it implied not only that she knew him, but she didn’t approve. “You object to his plan?”

      “Since you asked, yes. Don’t get me wrong. He’s great at doing hotel chains—you know, keeping with a tradition already established—but he’s not good at fresh design. This plan he did for you is okay, but it needs to be more rustic, more suited to the environment. And the interior design is…well, it’s like a lot of other resort hotels. There aren’t any surprises.”

      “Should there be?” He found himself unexpectedly turned on by the focused businesswoman. He generally liked women who were daring and adventurous, like him. Bold. Had even married one—not that it had worked out. He’d figured Denise for being time-and-detail oriented, without much give, but packaged in a supersexy body that he hadn’t stopped thinking about—the primary reason he’d kept his distance this month. He hadn’t needed distractions. But then he couldn’t get her out of his head—

      “I certainly like being surprised when I travel,” she said. “I imagine the views at this resort are spectacular, given the location in the Sierras. They need to be taken advantage of better.” She tapped the stack of paperwork. “The guest rooms are doing that fairly well, but the common rooms aren’t. Not fully. If I—”

      She stopped herself, smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to take over.”

      He considered her in a new light. He’d known she was intelligent, but he hadn’t seen fire in her eyes, not like this. “There’s no time to change the plans,” he said. “Ten days…”

      “Yes, there is. It doesn’t have to be perfect, just the core idea with a reasonable estimate of costs, right?”

      “True.” Their server took away their salad plates, replacing them with their entrées—salmon for her, rib-eye steak for him. “But we’re talking an immediate turnaround. If I don’t have a plan to show, I can’t interest anyone in the project.”

      “It can be done.”

      “How?”

      She didn’t answer right away. After a long, increasingly tense moment, she said, “You don’t know who I am, do you? I thought maybe you’d come to me with this proposition because you knew, but you don’t.”

      He focused on her, confused. A month ago he’d spent a whole evening staring into her face, holding her close. She was beautiful, but not recognizable beyond the time they’d spent together. “Should I?”

      “If I tell you that most of my life people called me Deni?”

      It took a few seconds to make the connection. Deni Watson. He could even picture her—the way she used to be. Blond hair, worn short and wild. A size zero, or two or four. He didn’t know how to measure such things. Best friends with Dani something or other. Deni and Dani, their names always linked in the tabloid headlines. Daughter of Lionel Watson, hotel magnate, owner of the luxurious Watson Hotels chain founded by his late father years ago.

      Deni Watson, young, headstrong and beautiful. And bad girl extraordinaire.

       Chapter Two

      Denise knew the moment he registered who she was. She continued to eat her salmon, even as his gaze never wavered except to probe deeper.

      “I guess you do know hotels,” he said. “I don’t pay much attention to the gossip magazines, but I do recall a lot of speculation when you disappeared from the scene. How long ago was that?”

      “Five years.” She lifted her glass of chardonnay in a toast to creative journalists everywhere. “Apparently I either had a disfiguring car accident or a prince’s secret baby.”

      “Or a very long stint in rehab,” he said.

      “That was my personal favorite. I certainly partied now and then, but I didn’t make a fool of myself, except once. A moment that haunted me for years.”

      “Why did you go into hiding?” he asked. “I’m assuming that’s what you did, anyway, since you changed your hair color and put on some weight.”

      “Some?” She’d gained more than twenty-five pounds.

      “Enough to put you at a healthy weight now,” he said, studying her. “And you’re right. Most people probably wouldn’t recognize you.”

      “Interest in me may have faded, but I still pop up in where-are-they-now articles and video segments. But you asked why I left my old life. The short answer is that I had something to prove, and I needed to do it without the power of my father’s name behind my success.”

      “To prove to him?”

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