She was so tired of only living half a life. Being Jenny's mother was a joy and her career brought her a great deal of pleasure. But there was a part of her that had been ignored for far too long. She needed to feel like a woman again. It was as if the deeply sensual and sexual part of her nature had been locked away with her divorce papers, vanished along with the man who had once been her husband and lover.
Maybe Jake was right. Maybe the only way to break free of the past was to burn it away in a blaze of passion. Give in to the lure of sultry night breezes and soft whispers and ancient promises of pleasure. She wasn't a girl any longer. She knew that life was seldom easy and often unfair. She'd left the last of her illusions behind the day her father died and she became yesterday's news, forgotten the moment her gold card was cancelled and her bank accounts picked clean by hungry creditors.
Still she had managed to hold her head high and forge a new life for herself and her little girl. A life based on respect and honesty and hard work. She'd learned how to function on her own, how to rely upon nobody but herself. And she would teach Jenny to be self-reliant if it was the last thing she ever did.
But there were still too many questions left unresolved. Too many emotions tugging at her heart, keeping her rooted in the past when she longed to run free. Was she mad to believe that she could offer herself up to the inferno and walk away unscathed?
#
Sunday morning she rose before the alarm and threw herself into her chores with single-minded determination. Breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea, all went off without a hitch. Compliments flowed as freely as champagne at the open bar near the pool.
But not even the fact that the franchise with Tropicale now seemed within her grasp was enough to cool the fire inside that grew hotter as ten o'clock approached.
Sandy and Val greeted her as she entered the bar.
"Will you look at that dress!" Sandy fanned herself. "Talk about hot." She turned to Val. "Can you believe this is the same flour-speckled wretch who was slaving away in the galley all day?"
"The wonders of makeup," said Megan forcing a smile. Val stepped closer to Megan as her sister drifted off into the crowd gathered around the piano. "Are you seeing him tonight?"
Megan's smile faltered. "Excuse me?"
Val touched her arm lightly. "Don't look at me like that, Megan. I was only teasing."
"Sorry," said Megan. "It's been a long day."
"He's standing near the bar," Val said, a half-smile on her face. "What I wouldn't give for five minutes alone in a dark room with that gorgeous specimen...."
He was dressed all in black. It seemed to Megan as if the darker forces of the night were gathered in his eyes as his gaze met hers. The thundering of her heart all but drowned out the soft music and the low buzz of conversation.
The corner of his mouth quirked upward. She knew that smile intimately. Half invitation, half wry amusement. The same odd combination that had kept her off-balance throughout their marriage.
Maybe this wasn't such a terrific idea after all. They'd been divorced for years. She'd made a life without him. She didn't need him. She didn't love him. But, dear God, how very much she wanted him.
She stepped outside, seeking the cover of darkness. He was next to her in an instant. "We need to talk."
She nodded. "Yes."
He slipped a large hand under her elbow and led her toward a pair of deck chairs in the corner. If she'd expected him to claim the adjacent chair, she was sorely mistaken. His thigh brushed hers as he sat down next to her and it was all she could do to keep from running for her life.
A hot flush rose up from her breasts, over her throat, and across her cheeks.
"We have some unfinished business, Megan."
"I know."
At the very least he'd expected a coy laugh or polite demurral. He got neither. Those beautiful green eyes of hers met his head-on. There was a flinty strength in the set of her chin that had nothing to do with the spoiled-little-rich-girl behavior he'd known during their marriage. She knew what he was about and she'd made her decision.
She lowered her eyes and looked away for a moment, an odd note of submission in a woman as fiercely independent as his ex-wife now seemed to be. Again he caught that look of vulnerability, the sense that all was not as it seemed. Her lashes fluttered briefly against the curve of her cheekbones and when she met his eyes again he knew exactly what she had decided.
"What are your plans for tomorrow?"
"Sleeping late." She didn't trust her voice to say more.
"We dock around eleven tomorrow morning for the beach party." He looked into her eyes. "You'll meet me at the gangway at eleven-thirty."
"I don't think--"
He placed a finger against her lips and she shivered at his touch. This was her one chance, maybe her only chance, to relegate Jake to memory.
"Don't think," he whispered. "Thinking always got us in trouble." He brushed her chin with his hand. "Be there, Megan. Give us one day for old times' sake."
Their gazes locked. Once again his eyes held a challenge. One day, she thought. Twenty-four hours to put the past to rest and get on with it.
Maybe the way to reclaim her soul was to give him her body. Maybe if she discovered once and for all that he was only a man, no different than any other man, she would finally be free.
Chapter Four
"Do you know what time it is, Megan?" Ingrid's voice, heavy with sleep, crackled through the phone line.
"Late," said Megan apologetically. "You know I wouldn't call if it wasn't important."
"You already told me you aced the assignment," Ingrid said through a yawn. "Don't tell me they've offered us the franchise already."
"It's nothing to do with business," she said. "Jake's here."
There was a long silence from Ingrid. Then: "Jake as in Jake-your-ex-husband?"
"That's the one."
"You're kidding me, aren't you?"
"He's here, Ingrid. He works on the ship."
"Omigod. How...what is he--?"
"I don't know. All I know is that he's here in the flesh." The gorgeous, incredible, dangerous flesh.
"The ship's not that big. Where has he been hiding?"
"He hasn't been hiding. I met him the first night."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"I had other things to think about, Ingrid." Winning the franchise, for one.
"Did you tell him about Jenny?"
"Absolutely not!"
"Don't you think you should?"
"Jenny is none of his business," Megan said firmly. "She belongs to me."
"He's her father."
"Only biologically."
"That's usually more than enough to qualify."
"Not in this case."
"Look," said Ingrid, "we're doing fine without the Tropicale franchise. If you want to take the next plane home I'll understand."
"Why would I take the next plane home?" Megan asked, bristling. "Let him go home." Wherever that might be.
"I'm here to work."
"You've done your work." Ingrid paused a beat. "You're not thinking of--"
"What if I am?"
"You've got it all wrong, Megan. You have a fling with someone new, not with your ex-husband."
"I know what I'm doing."
"I don't think you do."
"Is Jenny okay?"
"You're changing the subject."
"Is she okay?"
"She's asleep."
"Don't tell her about Jake."
"Of course not!" Ingrid sounded horrified. "That's none of my business."
Megan laughed out loud. "That's the first time I've ever heard you say that, Ingrid."
"Be careful," Ingrid said, her voice filled with concern. "Don't think ex-husbands can't break your heart just as easily the second time around."
"Trust me," said Megan. "My heart is safe."
She hung up the telephone, her words ringing in her ears.
Standing out there in the moo
nlight, it had made perfect sense. Fight fire with fire. The way to break Jake's sensual hold over her life was to give into temptation and finally write finish to a marriage that should never have been.
But what about Jenny? She owed it to Jake to tell him that he had a beautiful five year old daughter. But she also owed it to her daughter to keep her safe from heartache. She'd loved her own father with her whole heart and he'd taken that love and used it against her to further his own purposes. No one would ever do that to Jenny.
Her hand went to the four-leaf clover charm that dangled at the base of her throat. Jenny had saved up her allowance for months in order to buy that charm for Megan and it meant more to her than the pearl chokers and trips to Paris that had been part and parcel of her own girlhood. "You're the best mommy in the whole world," Jenny had said, flinging her arms around Megan's neck.
Not yet, thought Megan, eyes filling with tears, but I'm working on it.
#
"McLean did a damn good job," said Ian Macmillan. "I didn't know The Moveable Feast would finish that strong."
"I agree," said Jake. They were in his office, holding their late night meeting. "She bested Celia Briscoe. Walters will have to go some."
"Did you see the way she had the crew eating out of her hand? Even Crowley gave one hundred percent."
Jake grunted something noncommittal. Last night he'd exposed too much to his associate. He wasn't about to make that mistake again. The truth was, Megan had dazzled everybody with her abilities. He found it difficult to equate the spoiled brat he'd been married to with the accomplished woman he'd watched perform tonight. Ian was waxing enthusiastic about the innovative way Megan had decorated the al fresco dining area. Jake nodded and kept his attention focused on the spreadsheets on his desk.
She'd always been beautiful. Now she was accomplished as well. He wanted to know what had brought about the change.
"Look," he said, stifling a fake yawn. "Why don't we call it a night and pick it up again same time tomorrow?"
"You forget something?" Macmillan said. "We're meeting Haines and Ogilvie on La Mirada tomorrow morning for an update."
Jake swore softly. "Count me out."
"The hell I will. We've come this far, Lockwood. Don't blow it now."
They both knew that, unlike Jake's other enterprises, the Tropicale corporation was a volatile mixture of personalities. All it would take was the touch of a match to blow it all sky high.
"Damn it to hell," he swore, flinging his pen against the wall. "I'll be there. But let's make it early."
Macmillan beat a quick exit. Smart man. Jake's moods were legendary.
As president of Tropicale, he couldn't reneg on his associates. Businesses weren't built that way. Even rebels couldn't get away with shortchanging their partners. He'd worked long and hard to build a company that would reflect the way he believed a business should be run--blowing off the meeting with Haines and the other money men wasn't part of it.
But, damn it, neither was giving up his one chance to burn Megan from his memory forever.
He reached for the room phone. He could call her and let her know. Maybe re-schedule their rendezvous for the next day in St. Denis. He put the phone back down. Not good enough. He needed to see her, smell her, touch her.
So walk down to her suite and tell her.
He paced the room like a caged wildcat. That was the simplest, easiest way to remedy it.
Yeah, but what if someone sees you standing in front of her door?
He'd not only blow her reputation, he'd undermine Tropicale as well. His eye was caught and held by the ornate carving on the paneled wall behind his bed. A grin tilted the ends of his mouth.
There was another way, however, and no one would ever know.
#
Candlelight. Wine. A bubblebath.
Megan sank deeper into the marble tub. Jasmine-scented bubbles tickled the underside of her chin while soft music floated in from the bedroom.
Why did people take showers, she mused, raising a lazy arm toward the ceiling and watching drops of water slide back down her arm. Showers were so impersonal, so quick.
Bubble baths, however, were intimate, time-consuming, decadent and sensual--everything you could possibly want. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so deeply relaxed.
Of course, the fact that she was luxuriating in a bathtub built for two hadn't escaped her.
"Who needs company?" she said, leaning back and floating to the other side of the tub. All you needed was a good imagination and a stockpile of romantic fantasies and a woman could get along just fine.
She chuckled as she thought of the beautifully produced book of lore she'd found on the night stand next to her bed. Tropicale had obligingly gathered up all of the romantic stories extant about the Sea Goddess and offered them up for delectable bedside reading.
Apparently the hidden corridors and passageways that linked various suites had seen more traffic over the years than Interstate 80. Her own suite had once been occupied by a European princess who'd carried on a steamy liaison with a sultan who'd commandeered three cabins aft.
She could imagine the excitement of it all, heart pounding in anticipation, knowing that any second the secret panel would slide open and you'd be swept up into your lover's arms and--
What was that sound? She sat up straight in the tub. There it was again. A soft rat-tat-tat. She reached for the king-sized bath sheet draped over the warming rack and stepped from the tub. Creaking pipes, more than likely. She padded into the hallway, leaving wet footprints behind. It would be great fun to think the ghost of some romantic fool still walked the passageways, but she was far too much of a realist to entertain that notion for long.
"Megan."
She jumped, clutching the towel to her breasts.
"Megan, open up."
Cautiously, she stepped closer to the outer wall. "Who's there?"
"We need to talk." It was Jake.
"I don't know how to open walls. Why don't you knock on the door like a normal person?"
"There's a latch at two o'clock on the sunburst carving in the middle of the left panel."
She hesitated. What was the difference, really, if he came in through the wall, the window, or the door? She flipped the latch then stepped back. The wood creaked then she watched as part of the wall slid open and Jake stepped into the room.
"You always did know how to make an entrance," she said as he slid the wall closed behind him. "Did you ever consider using the phone?"
He was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. "Some things have to be done in person."
"Jake!" Her voice was sharp. "Don't look at me like that."
"Can't help it, Meggie. I wasn't expecting to see so much of you."
She followed his line of vision then pulled the towel up toward the base of her throat. "And I wasn't expecting to see you at all."
His gaze travelled the length of her body. She could almost feel the sizzle against her wet skin. She was tempted to make a dash for the bathroom and slam shut the door behind her but she stood her ground.
"You interrupted my bath," she said, meeting his eyes.
"Don't let me stop you." He looked altogether too pleased with himself.
"You've already done that." Again she adjusted the towel. "What do you want, Jake?"
He was finding it tough to think. Her skin glistened in the low light of the hallway, droplets of water slithering over the tops of her breasts, disappearing into the shadowy cleavage barely covered by the towel. He wanted to follow their progress with his tongue.
"About tomorrow," he said. "I have to cancel."
"Fine," said Megan, her tone bright and false. "No problem."
"You don't understand. I have to meet somebody in town."
"I'm sure you do," she said smoothly. "Don't let me stop you."
"Damn it, Megan. It's business." He stopped short of telling her he was one of Tropicale's major partners.
"You don't
have to explain anything to me, Jake." She turned away from him, her soft fall of hair obscuring her face.
He reached for her arm. Her skin was soft beneath his hand. Silky. Warm as a tropical breeze.
Megan met his eyes. It was only a hand on her arm yet that simple touch was her undoing.
"You planned this." It was a statement of fact. Not an accusation.
"No," he said. "Not this."
His words reached her as if from a great distance. She felt as if the power of the ocean was gathered inside her chest, its relentless roar drowning out the little voice that tried to tell her it wasn't too late to stop this madness.
He moved closer...or did she? Not that it mattered. Somehow her back was pressed against the cool wood paneling, her breasts crushed against the warm wall of his chest, her fingers laced behind his neck.
She felt poised on top of a giant rollercoaster, ready to swoop down to earth then rush up again with nothing holding her safely in the seat. It was a feeling of reckless excitement, coupled with the sweetness of familiarity that made her feel more alive than she had for a very long time.
A sense of inevitability filled the room like a third presence.
He placed his hands low on her hips, guiding her even closer to him. He nuzzled the base of her throat; his tongue flicked across the sensitive spot, causing her mind to spiral upward like a helium-filled balloon. Nothing in her life had ever seemed as good, as right, as being in his arms at this moment.
His hands moved along her shoulders, thumbs meeting at the soft hollow of her throat. She shivered with delight as his mouth slanted over hers.
It was an act of possession.
To hell with sanity, to hell with past bitterness. She wanted him more than she'd wanted anything in her life.
This was coming home.
A wild ride into the unknown with the only man she'd ever loved.
"Megan?" His voice was half growl, half caress.
She nodded. With one sure move he swept her up into his arms. The towel slipped away from her body and she reached for it.
Her Bad Boy Billionaire Lover (Billionaire Lovers) Page 5
