The Billionaire's Bride

by Jackie Braun

  “I’m sorry, Marnie.”

  “It was three years ago.” J.T. hadn’t asked how, but she supplied the information anyway. “It was an accident. He went through the ice trying to save some snowmobilers. And he did. Save them, I mean.”

  “I’m sure you miss him.”

  Miss him? Oh, yes, she did. He was her first love and Noah’s father. For those two reasons alone, she would love Hal forever. But something had changed, something fundamental. Thinking back, she realized that it had begun, appropriately enough for her, in a dressing room in a Yuma department store and had continued after she arrived in Mexico. Suddenly she knew what it was.

  “Hal was a good man, but I’ve learned that life has a way of moving forward, even when we try to stay put.”

  He walked to where she sat at his table and placed one big hand on her shoulder. The pressure was comforting, as were his words when he told her, “It takes strength and courage to move forward.”

  Marnie wiped her hands on a towel and then placed one over his, giving it a squeeze. It also took courage to dream, she realized, and that’s exactly what she was doing. Then she glanced up at J.T., returned his warm smile and a question niggled: Was starting a new business her only dream?

  “I can make the rice,” she offered hastily.

  She felt pretty confident she could manage that since it came with a little packet of seasonings and the directions were printed clearly on the side of the box.

  “Let me get out the fire extinguisher first.” The remark earned J.T. a black look.

  Wisely he slipped out the door to put a couple of steaks he’d marinated on the grill before she could respond.

  When the meat and rice were done, they sat down at the table in his kitchen. The sun was setting and the room seemed gloomy until Marnie lit the scented candle J.T. kept on the stove to chase away cooking odors. She set it in the center of the table, surrounding it with the shells she’d collected on the beach earlier in the day.

  J.T. smiled as he watched her. It was such a fussy, female thing and yet he’d always appreciated those touches. Indeed, they were one of the few things he actually missed about being married to Terri.

  “Care for some wine?” he asked.

  “Maybe just a little.”

  He opted for Chianti instead of merlot and chose Sarah Vaughn’s bluesy tunes instead of classic Motown. The setting was intimate but homey, and it made J.T. realize how much he’d missed simple dinners with a woman, with a family. He recalled sitting around the table with his sister and parents when he was a kid. He and Anne would bicker over music while his folks discussed their work days or debated politics.

  Nothing had been that pure or simple since he’d made his first million. For all his money, J.T. knew there were some things it couldn’t buy. Happiness was the obvious, if cliché, one. But companionship, real companionship, rated right up there, too.

  Perhaps he’d spent too much time in the sun, but something seemed to be happening here: Something solid or at least the beginning of something that could grow into much more with care, nurturing and a little old-fashioned hard work. Of course, he’d have to level with Marnie, throw off the mantle of secrecy before anything could develop fully. Was he prepared to do that?

  “Why don’t you open the wine? It needs to breathe,” he said.

  And so do I, J.T. thought, as he stood and walked to the stove on the pretext of retrieving the pepper mill.

  What if he was wrong? They’d known each other mere days, after all. He and Terri had dated a couple of years before tying the knot and he’d still been far off the mark when it came to gauging her true feelings.

  He would keep quiet for now, he decided. He’d never been one to rush into things and, besides, nothing might come of this affair, if it could be called that when Marnie had made it clear she didn’t plan to sleep with him.

  He returned to the table, intending to keep the conversation light, but the words that slipped out were: “What are we doing?”

  “Having dinner.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  She had picked up her fork. Now she set it aside. “I know. I’m not sure. Do we have to know?”

  When he opened his mouth to speak, she held up one hand. “Let me finish, please. I’ve spent the past three years never straying from the beaten path, believing I couldn’t stray because I have a s-…I have responsibilities. For the first time in a long time, I’m not interested in following that well-worn road before me. I came to Mexico to get away from people who think of me as Poor Marnie LaRue, and I decided to stay in Mexico to make plans for my future. New plans. Bigger plans. You have to have dreams,” she said, and he swore she was trying to convince herself as well as him with her impassioned speech.

  “You’re an unexpected…” Her voice trailed away.

  “Bonus?” he supplied.

  A smile bloomed on her otherwise serious face. “I was going to say complication, but that, too. Can we be friends?”

  The statement made sense, but J.T. couldn’t help himself, he winced.

  “That’s just what a guy wants to hear,” he muttered, finding that he was as amused by her words as he was put out. How was it possible that Marnie managed to inspire both emotions in him at the same time? Exasperating, that’s what she was. “Next you’ll be telling me I’m special.”

  “You are.”

  “So, we’re going to be really good friends for the next couple weeks?”

  She nodded.

  “And then?”

  Marnie blinked slowly and said, “I guess we’ll go our separate ways.”

  The words were no less than what he’d expected her to say, and they seemed to validate his decision to hold his tongue. Yet, J.T. found himself wanting to convince her otherwise.

  He didn’t sleep much that night. He’d tossed and turned, vivid dreams of a scantily clad Marnie mocking his libido. A mere hour after sunrise the next morning, he decided to walk over to her place and rouse her from sleep as well. She was the cause of his insomnia, so it was only fair that she pay. He wasn’t a complete ogre, though. He did bring coffee—an entire insulated carafe full of Starbucks’ Breakfast Blend.

  But when he arrived at Marnie’s door and raised his hand to knock, he spied her through the window. She was up already and seated at the table, the burned down nub of a fat candle acting as a centerpiece. She wore a lacey tank top over a stingy pair of shorts. The pale, soft fabric told him the outfit served as pajamas. But it wasn’t the way she filled them out that gave him pause. It was the fact that from the neck up, she looked all business as she sat furiously writing down something, bottom lip caught in her teeth, and a pair of small, dark rectangular glasses balanced on her nose.

  Wheels were turning, gears shifting in that pretty head of hers. He could almost hear them. His stomach clenched, familiar suspicions lurching forward. What was she up to?

  He knocked, determined to find out.

  Marnie glanced up at the sound, caught sight of him in the window and motioned for him to come inside.

  “I’m surprised to find you up,” he said.

  “Couldn’t sleep.” She pulled off the glasses and set them aside. “I’ve been up for hours.”

  “Thinking of me?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

  She regarded him with an absent smile. “Business, actually.”

  He frowned. Business? She’d told him she tended bar at her family’s tavern. Surely that didn’t require a predawn planning session while on vacation several thousand miles away.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  He wanted to confront her, but he shook his head instead, biding his time.

  He held out the carafe of coffee. “If you’ve got a couple of cups, I brought something to fill them with.”

  The promise of caffeine had Marnie grinning. In short order, she hunted up two mugs and rejoined him at the table.

  “So, what is this business that has you up and out of bed at such an u
ngodly hour?” he asked nonchalantly.

  Over the rim of his mug, J.T. tried to decipher her handwriting, but the woman’s penmanship left something to be desired, especially since he was trying to read it upside down.

  She gathered up the notes and turned the pages over, resting her mug on top of them as if it were a paperweight.

  “It’s just an idea I’ve been kicking around.”

  Was it his imagination, or did she seem evasive all of a sudden?

  “Mind if I take a look?”

  “Yes!” Her tone was sharp, but then she smiled as if to lessen the sting. “I mean, it’s just some notes. They won’t make any sense to you. They barely make sense to me. This may very well wind up being a pipedream.”

  “Ah.”

  “This coffee tastes great, by the way.”

  She lifted her mug for another sip, effectively changing the subject. He decided to let it drop for now.

  “First cup is always the best,” he agreed.

  “I was planning to go out for a walk on the beach after I finished up here. Care to join me?”

  “Make it a jog and you’ve got a deal.”

  “I don’t care for running,” she replied.

  “Well, if you don’t think you can keep up…?”

  Her eyes narrowed in challenge. “I’ll set the pace.”

  “Of course,” he said dryly as their relationship seemed to slip back onto familiar footing.

  They jogged up the beach for a little more than a mile before Marnie finally admitted she needed to rest. And J.T., bless his heart, had been gentleman enough to pretend it was for his benefit that he suggested walking on the way back.

  She had another handful of seashells by the time they reached his house. She set them on the patio table and settled into one of the chairs.

  “It’s a gorgeous day,” she said, tilting her face up for the sun’s kiss.

  Marnie couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this happy, this full of hope for the future. She thought about the notes she’d made, the plans she intended to put into motion as soon as she returned to Chance Harbor. She’d downplayed it as a pipedream when J.T. had asked about it that morning. It had still seemed too fragile to expose to scrutiny, but it had bumped around in her head throughout their run, seeming to grow bigger with each passing minute until finally she could no longer contain it.

  “I’m going to start my own business,” she blurted out, apropos of nothing. She shook her head and stole a sheepish glance at J.T. “I can’t believe I just said it out loud. I’ve hardly whispered it to myself in three long years.”

  “You’d be surprised how often people tell me similar things,” he replied. And although the words seemed teasing, his tone was oddly serious when he said carefully, “So, what kind of business are you thinking of starting?”

  “Mail-order fashions for women.”

  She hadn’t talked about it to anyone in so long that it surprised her that the exuberance was still there, bubbling to the surface as she spoke.

  “I plan to start small, offering just women’s clothes and later branch out into men’s and children’s fashions. Far down the line, I was thinking about home furnishings and accent pieces. I’d like it to be a little upscale, but not so far out of reach that people glance at the catalog and then toss it in the trash once they catch a glimpse of the prices.”

  “It takes a lot of money to start a business,” he remarked mildly, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

  “Tell me about it. That’s been one of my biggest stumbling blocks.”

  “But it’s not now?”

  “Yes and no. My parents were just telling me the other day about some loan programs for women entrepreneurs, but since I’ve been in Mexico I realized that, if all else fails, I do have another funding source I might be able to tap for some cash.”

  She said the words hesitantly, unaware of J.T.’s frown.

  Hal’s insurance money. The sum wasn’t a fortune, but it represented a nice little nest egg. She had stashed it away into a savings account, drawing interest. It was to be Noah’s college fund. Was she really considering raiding it to follow her dream?

  If need be—yes, she realized. If the business tanked and she lost her shirt, she would remortgage her house when Noah turned eighteen so that she could send him to whatever university he wanted to attend. In the meantime, however, it would do him good to see his mother wanting something more and working doggedly to achieve it.

  You have to follow your dreams.

  Hal had told her that, and it had taken Marnie awhile to realize that her late husband’s dream had been far less grand than what she had wanted for him, or for the pair of them. His dream had been Marnie and Noah and the small bungalow on Superior. He hadn’t wanted a more prestigious job or even a college diploma.

  She accepted that now, just as she accepted that she wanted much, much more. More than she could even fully comprehend at the moment. That didn’t make her greedy. It made her ambitious.

  “Where would you get cash like that?” J.T. inquired, breaking into her thoughts.

  She couldn’t confide in him about the insurance money. It seemed too, well, selfish. So, she winked and told him instead, “I’ve got a sugar daddy in mind.”

  J.T. had watched the emotions play over Marnie’s lovely face. There had been wonder and excitement brimming in those slow-blinking eyes until something that seemed suspiciously like guilt had settled in their place.

  Sugar daddy? She’d said it jokingly, but it nonetheless made him wonder: Did she think he might be that un-plumbed resource to which she had previously referred?

  The possibility disappointed J.T. deeply, even though he’d lost count of the number of times people—friends, family, strangers even—had approached him about backing some business proposition or another. The interest-free loans he’d made to people over the years didn’t bother him much, even though only a handful had ever been repaid. He could afford to throw money at their endeavors, dubious or otherwise. But that didn’t mean he didn’t sometimes resent like hell being the Bank of J.T.

  He waited, held his breath actually, expecting Marnie to ask for a loan. Had she had finally put it all together? He had told her his last name that evening in Ensenada.

  J.T. Lundy. It wasn’t particularly difficult to extrapolate out from that to Jonathon Thomas Lundy, president and founder of Tracker Operating Systems and one of the world’s wealthiest businessmen.

  Or, if she hadn’t figured out his actual identity, maybe she just assumed that based on the quality furnishings in his vacation home, he could afford to pony up a tidy little sum for her venture.

  But the only question she asked was, “What are you making for breakfast?”

  “Breakfast?”

  “I’m thinking eggs, sausage, the works. I’m famished after all of that exercise.”

  “Kitchen’s right in there,” he said, pointing over his shoulder and feeling ridiculously relieved that the only thing she was seeking at the moment was food.

  She smiled, letting loose the full wattage of her considerable charm. “But you are the better cook.”

  And J.T., whose signature appeared on the paychecks of tens of thousands of workers and who had hired help at his Silicon Valley mansion to see to his every need, found himself getting up to do Marnie LaRue’s bidding.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “YOU’RE a regular Julia Child in the kitchen, J.T.,” Marnie said as she pushed away from the table and settled back in her chair, stuffed and content.

  It was nice having someone wait on her for a change, but that wasn’t the only reason for her satisfied smile. She’d also gotten out of doing the dishes. Again. He’d cleared the table and was up to his elbows in soapy water even before she’d drained the last of her coffee. Even with a striped dish towel draped negligently over one shoulder and performing what many a chauvinist still considered “woman’s work,” he looked downright masculine and unaccountably sexy.

  “Thanks,�
� he muttered, but he was smiling.

  Before their meal, he’d seemed distracted, on edge even. But now he appeared relaxed once more. Maybe she had just imagined that for a while there he’d seemed so distant.

  “So, where did you learn to cook?”

  “My mother. She taught both my sister and me the basics.” He chuckled then. “Said she didn’t want me to starve to death after I moved out of the house.”

  “Let me guess. You lived on pizza instead?”

  “Have you been talking to my mother?”

  “No, I have a brother, remember. He lived on fast food and frozen dinners until he decided to put his limited culinary skills to work. My mom insisted we both learn the basics as well.”

  “What happened to you?”

  She sent him a black look. “I can boil water and operate a microwave.”

  “Talented.”

  “I’m going to be the bigger person and ignore your sarcasm,” she sniffed. “So, do you see your parents often?”

  “Not so much now. Work keeps me pretty busy.”

  “Not to mention on the road. Your job must take you all over the place.”

  “Yeah.” J.T. coughed and when he spoke again, he’d changed the subject. “You know, this day’s too nice to spend indoors. Sometimes in April it can still be chilly and rainy down here.”

  She glanced out the window. No rain on the horizon this day. The sun was shining in a cloudless blue sky, so it was warm despite a stiff breeze that churned in off the ocean.

  “What do you want to do today?” she asked.

  He pulled the dish towel off his shoulder and wiped his hands. “I was thinking about taking another road trip, if you’re up for one that is?”

  “I might be so inclined.” She grinned. “Do you have a destination in mind?”

  “I was thinking about heading south this time. To El Rosario and then maybe inland to Catavina. It’s rugged and dry there. Lots of cacti and rock formations and even some cave paintings. I thought you might like to bring along your camera and take some pictures.”