The Hotel Baron's Mistress, The Hotel Baron Series, Book 1

---

A chance meeting between a reformed playboy turned hotel baron and an unjustly accused businesswoman leads to a mistaken identity, a dream job, a reckless affair, a surprise baby and in the end, true love.

Garrison Alexander Stark would rather be lucky than good. That knowledge had kept him walking a very fine line between right and wrong all the thirty-five years of his life. As he stepped into the French café, just around the corner from his family’s flagship hotel, he looked at the deceptively beautiful blonde woman sitting at one of the small marble top tables and smiled. It was the smile of a predator sighting prey.   

Opportunities like this didn’t come along very often, and when they did, it was best to take full advantage. After all, it wasn’t every day you got the chance to get even with your best friend’s enemy. 

Daisy Miller almost looked, well, innocent, but Alex knew better. She had the seduction acumen of a blonde Angelina Jolie. If a happily married man should get caught in her web, he was all but helpless to break free of her bonds.

Not only had Daisy tried to seduce Peter Crawley, she’d tried to extort money from him by threatening to tell his wife a much different story about what happened between them. With that ugly turn, Peter fired her. She promptly hired an attorney and tried to sue him for sexual harassment. Peter was convicted in the court of public opinion even though the court of law hadn’t believed Daisy’s outrageous claims. 

Nonetheless, it hadn’t stopped women from boycotting Davis & Crawley restaurants throughout the Portland area after deciding that Daisy was the poster child for sexual harassment everywhere. 

Maybe it was time to settle the score. And wasn’t he just in the mood to stir things up? A plan was quickly formulating. If he could get her to admit anything that might help Peter, it could not only save Peter’s reputation, it might save his troubled marriage. 

The woman was really quite beautiful. More beautiful than the photo he’d found of her on the career-networking site, Exec4Hire. If she made a habit out of trying to seduce the wrong kind of men, he’d give her a dose of her own medicine. 

***

Sophisticated Sophia Loren lookalike meets The Great Outdoors to escape a false accusation made by the one person in the world with whom she has fallen in love.

Maria Medici was the queen bee of her own little hive. 

Stepping into the lobby of the once world famous hotel she managed near the Spanish Steps in Rome, she watched the blur of bodies moving in every direction. Their voices softly echoed off the domed ceiling and marble floor, creating a low hum. Over zealous tour directors held up colored flags and tried to catch the attention of their patrons, many of whom had never been to Europe before, but had now experienced twelve countries in as many days.

“Check out time,” Maria muttered, shaking her head at the chaos. This would not do. Thick lines of impatient travelers, with large quantities of luggage, waited to turn in their keys and settle their accounts. The mob of bodies made her lobby look like a train station and the fact her staff wasn’t able to expedite the process was more than a little troublesome. She couldn’t wait for her weekly meeting to address this concern. It was time to take action and show the staff how it was done.

Walking gracefully toward the front desk on her signature four-inch stilettos, the sea of people parted to let the gorgeous Sophia Loren look alike in an emerald silk suit pass. Making her way behind the large marble topped front desk, she quickly opened another check out station, her fingers gracefully dancing over the keyboard of her computer. Within minutes, her efficiency got the line moving. 

Smiling and cordial, she made sure each guest felt special if just for a moment. Eventually, the hum of activity began to die down. Maria momentarily glanced at her watch as the next guest stepped up to her. It was a little after one in the afternoon. Not bad.

“Am I keeping you from something?” A deep, definitely male voice asked.

Looking up, Maria drew in a deep breath, her eyes growing wide. She was staring, but couldn’t help it. This American, who had to be thirty years younger than every other guest she’d met that morning, was gorgeous. His crooked smile and vivid blue eyes were filled with devilish amusement as he registered her startled reaction. 

“No, mi scusi,” she apologized. “I was making sure we helped our guests in a timely manner. Have you been waiting long?”

“Not long enough to miss my plane home, but long enough,” he said, his tone scolding. “Spencer Whitlow, checking out.”

“I’m so sorry, signore. We will have you on your way momentarily.” She liked blond haired men especially if the hair was wavy and thick. She wondered if it would be soft to the touch.

Leaning close, he repeated, “W H I T L O W,” his lips carefully pronouncing each letter before forming a lethal smile.

“Yes…si,” she replied, reluctantly pulling her eyes back to her computer and entering his name to pull up his account. How had she missed him…for an entire week? Signore Spencer Whitlow must have walked through the lobby at least a dozen times, but she’d never laid eyes on him. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. A man this handsome no doubt left a path of destruction and heartache in his wake. 

Having already taken a ride on that particular roller coaster of emotion, she didn’t need another turn.

Just when she would have looked up and asked him about his stay, the notes on Mr. Whitlow’s account jumped out at her. Seventeen notes equated to seventeen complaints. 

He’d gotten into trouble after all. She scanned the notes quickly. No one had complained about him, but he’d complained about everyone from the restaurant personnel to the front desk staff, housekeeping and maintenance. 

This handsome, blond haired man with the devilish smile must be absolutely insane. No one could have that many complaints. It was enough to make her forget that his deep blue eyes were the exact color of the Mediterranean Sea. 

She could just assist him with his check out and hope he would never return, but it wasn’t in her nature to walk away from anything. “Signore Whitlow, I’m Maria Medici, the hotel manager of the Villa Roma. I see from the notes on your account that there were some difficulties with your stay. I don’t want to delay you when you are obviously in a rush, but if there is anything you would like to tell me, I’d gladly listen.”

He shrugged, but she simply waited, surveying him from his polished cowboy boots and worn jeans to the beat up chocolate colored leather jacket that molded itself to his broad shoulders.

“Well now, I don’t want to make a fuss, but since you asked so politely, I must admit that my stay was well…I’m sorry to say, horrible,” he used his southern drawl to make the unpleasant words last longer.

“That is very distressing for me to hear. Was there a specific problem or several small problems?” she asked, feeling imminent dread.

He glanced around, looking at the crowd, “I don’t want to make a big scene in front of everyone. If you weren’t so busy, I’d ask to take you back to my room and show you a few things...” 

“I have the time if you do,” she replied curtly and signaled to the concierge, who wasn’t helping anyone. He took over her station as she stepped from behind the desk. 

Despite her initial attraction to this American, she had a feeling dealing with this man wouldn’t be easy. It would take a lot time and effort. Time she didn’t have and effort she didn’t want to exert. All her energy was tied up elsewhere and with good reason. As they walked toward the elevators, Maria noticed how formidable Signore Whitlow was. His very presence seemed to dominate the space around them.

He was making observations as well. As they waited for the elevator, he asked, “Has anyone ever told you that your shoes are ridiculous? You could break an ankle in those things.” 

Her ability to wear the most outrageous of footwear held to her body with the tiniest of straps on the highest of heels was legendary. Maria’s fashion sense was beyond reproach. Italian designer clothing was her only indulgence. 

Against her better judgment, she looked down at his cowboy boots and then up to his eyes and lifted her chin defiantly, 

“Thank you signore for your concern, but I think I prefer my shoes to your boots made of dead serpents.”

He glanced down at his feet, and laughed. “Touché.” 

Neither of them spoke as they rode to the eighth floor. Maria used her master key to unlock the double-doors to his suite and then waited for him to enter. 

He held out his hand, indicating she should go ahead. Immediately, she noticed the palazzo was unusually dark. Seeing the reason, she groaned. 

With foreign tourism declining, specifically American tourism, she was left with no alternative but to take drastic measures to bolster business any way she could. 

Her day manager and second in command, Marco, had suggested having large banners made to drape over the side of the building to announce weekend romance packages. He’d assured her that none of the banners would cover any of the guestroom windows. She had trusted him, taken him at his word.

But now, seeing the large white banners, which fully obscured every one of Signore Whitlow’s windows and his view of the Spanish Steps, she knew her wishes had been ignored. 

“Signore Whitlow, my apologies. This was not supposed to happen. You should have been able to enjoy your view for the duration of your stay,” she announced evenly, but on the inside, she was seething. “I will make sure your bill is compensated for this oversight.”

“Ma’am,” he drawled, “I’m afraid you’ve seen only one of the problems.”

“Signore?” she asked, wondering what else could possibly be wrong with one of the best suites in the hotel.

“You need to step into the bathroom,” he suggested.

“What seems to be the problem?”

“You’ll see,” he said and led the way.

Her skin tingled with anger. How could her staff have allowed any of this to happen? Why hadn’t they alerted her earlier? 

Quietly, she followed Signore Whitlow into the large, full bath. Once inside the vibrant blue and white tiled space, he pointed to the shower, “I really hated to bother your gentlemen in maintenance, but I had to call them four times and each time they claimed they’d fixed the problem.”

“What is the problem?” she asked, already knowing with a sinking feeling what the answer would be.

“The shower doesn’t seem to be working.”

Moving around him, she twisted the nozzle and inadvertently brushed against the sleeve of his soft leather jacket. It was the texture of warm chocolate under her fingertips.

“Here,” he said, brushing her hand out of the way and turning the nozzle himself. “You might want to get out of the way—”

A stream of highly pressurized, cold water hit her face. Screaming in surprise, she jumped back and rammed into Signore Whitlow. He steadied her with one hand and turned off the water with the other.

“Sorry about that ma’am.”

“It’s fine,” she replied as cold water streamed off her face and hair. The wall of mirrors showed the complete damage. Drenched with the burst of cold water, her mascara ran down her cheeks leaving coal-black streaks. Her green silk suit had darkened, the moisture completely saturating the delicate fabric. Dripping strands of her long, sable hair clung to her face like seaweed.

Small chuckles emanated from behind her as Signore Whitlow’s image appeared next to hers in the mirror, his smile a lazy half grin as he asked, “Did I mention the shower seemed to have a water pressure issue?” 

Reaching for the nearest towel, she blotted her face. Her ruined makeup ravaged the pristine white cotton. “No,” she replied, “you were not that specific.”

Ignoring the laughter at her expense, she said, “Signore Whitlow, I will offer you a complete refund for your stay. On behalf of the Villa Roma, I apologize that your experience wasn’t more pleasant…”

His smile disappeared, his head shaking in disbelief. “Lady, are you crazy?”

“Scusi?” she asked, not understanding.

“You’re going to give me seven nights for free because I gave you a little guff?”

Taken aback, Maria stared at the man. She was giving him a very generous thing and he was criticizing her? 

“Wouldn’t a refund make you feel better about the Villa Roma?”

“Definitely not. I’d think you were stupid for losing 3,500 Euros in revenue.”

“3,672 Euro,” she replied flatly. 

“Well, at least you can do the math.”

“Are you trying to offend me, Signore?” 

He took a step toward her and slowly shook his head. “What if money didn’t make this situation better for me. What if I told you that when I look into your pretty green eyes, I find my anger and displeasure for this hotel disappearing? Would you consider a different kind of compensation?” 

Maria lifted her chin, anger pulsing in her blood. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Let me spell it out for you, money doesn’t matter to me. But maybe, just maybe if you let me kiss you, I’d forgive a lot. Your hotel could keep all of the money I’ve spent here. I’ll even say good things. Tell everyone I know that the management was very accommodating.”

“How do you say in your country? Are you trying to blackmail me?” she asked, wondering if she had enough room to maneuver a well-placed kick with the sharp heel of her stiletto.

“Well now, I’m not really sure. You’re beautiful. It’s like I’m looking at a young Sophia Loren. Your pouty lips are just begging to be kissed. I’d like to kiss you. I’d like to kiss every part of you.”

And to her embarrassment, she would have liked nothing more than to be kissed by this man, this stranger she had only just met. Trying to hide her feelings, she reached out to slap the self-satisfied look off his too-handsome face. Bringing her hand back to gain momentum, he anticipated the move and seized her wrist mid-strike.

“Easy…” Soft blue eyes met hers as his face leaned close, his lips scarcely an inch from hers. “Kiss me because you want to, not because it will help you out of this.”

Despite her anger, she was aware of everything at once, the sound of water dripping in the background, the heavy lidded, sexy eyes watching her and the close proximity of his lips. His hand encircled her waist and pulled her closer. Just as his lips were about to brush hers, her brain awakened with a vengeance.

She pushed him away with two hands straight to his chest. Aware that she was alone in a hotel room with a stranger, she stepped back, stood a little taller and growled, “Get out of my hotel.”

Spencer Whitlow smiled and stepped back. “Well, you passed that part of the test with not quite flying colors.”

“Test?” she asked. “How dare you! You…you beast!”

“You need to thicken your skin, not cave in.” He added in warning, “Don’t let people take advantage of you, Miss Medici. And don’t come to hotel rooms with strangers, especially men. It’s dangerous and not at all good for your reputation. The manager of a hotel should know better.” 

It took her a moment to understand the meaning of his American euphemisms. When she did, the inference infuriated her. Folding her arms to keep from doing something she might regret, she said, “My reputation is above reproach and my hotel is none of your business.” 

“I’ve decided to make it my business. I actually care about saving this old, dilapidated tourist pit. No wonder you don’t have any money for fixin’ up the place, you give it all away. You cater to every American tourist who’s ever eaten spaghetti out of a can.”

“How dare you!” Maria yelled, her anger bubbling to the surface and threatening to boil over. 

“Really, have you tried you’re restaurant lately? It’s horrible.”

She knew the restaurant was horrible. It was on her list of priorities, but with the financial issues she was facing, she didn’t have the time or money for a full redesign of the menu. Folding her arms, she said, “The only thing that is horrible in this hotel is you, Signore.”

Stepping close, Spencer looked down, meeting her glare. “Miss Medici, I might just be the best friend you have in the world. Unlike all the other male guests who take one look at you and want to take you to bed, I’ll look right in the eye and tell you the truth. I know it isn’t easy to hear.”

“I should thank you?” she asked, incredulously.

He smiled. “You should hire me.”

“Hire you? I don’t know you from anyone.”

“I know, that’s part of the problem. There is no better way to get to know me than to put me on staff and let me do my magic.”

“Magic? Yes, well…thank you so much for your advice, Signore Whitlow, but no thank you. The Villa Roma will be just fine…without you.”

“Someday I fear you will regret that you did not accept my offer, but as you wish,” he said with a sardonic smile and sauntered toward the door. Pausing, he offered, “Arrivederci, Signorina Medici, until we meet again.” 

Watching him walk away, she hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she heard the door close behind the handsome American. Then it was just her, dripping and alone in a strange man’s hotel room with an odd sense of foreboding.