Her Bad Boy Billionaire Lover (Billionaire Lovers)

by Barbara Bretton

  "I wish you were coming with us," Val said as she and Megan parted company in town. "Tropicale is flying us over to Freeport to visit the casinos."

  "Sounds terrific," Megan said, "but I thought I'd do a little sightseeing right here."

  Val shrugged. "To each her own." She hurried off to catch up with her sister and the rest of the group who were boarding the jitney bus that would take them to the tiny airport.

  Megan watched as the bus rattled down the street, then disappeared around the corner, leaving her alone.

  But not really.

  She sensed his presence as strongly as she had the first night aboard ship. A bone-deep awareness of the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the way she held her head. The awareness was almost painful

  "You're late," he said, stepping out from the shadows.

  "Not very."

  "Having second thoughts?"

  "No," she said as he approached, all male swagger and splendor. His jeans were faded. His smile was bright. "Are you?"

  He took her arm, the pressure of his fingers blatantly possessive. "Ask me again in a few hours."

  Suddenly the thought of spending more than a few minutes alone with her ex-husband seemed an exercise in insanity. Forty-eight hours ago Jake had been nothing more than a memory, a part of Megan's past that she could summon up at will or relegate to the farthest corner of her mind. But there was no way she could dismiss the man next to her. He commanded attention. She saw it in the glances of the women strolling past, in the way other men moved aside to make way for him as they started down the narrow cobblestone street.

  In her own acquiescence to the force of his will.

  A ripple of anticipation ran up her spine. This is why you're here, she reminded herself as Jake led her up a narrow path that wound its way up a steep hill lined with bougainvillea and gardenias. She wanted the passion between them to blaze hotter than the sun overhead, then burn itself out once and for all.

  They picked their way over the uneven road toward El Cielo, a 16th century fort on the eastern side of the tiny island. Jake seemed to know the island by heart, from the twisting roads to the history of the fort.

  "How did you learn so much about La Mirada?" she asked.

  "I lived here for a few months after we divorced."

  "A bit off the beaten path, isn't it?"

  "That's what I was looking for."

  "I remember," she said softly. Don't ask me to be like your father, Meggie...there's more to life than the bottom line and stock options when you retire.... She cleared her throat. "Still planning to sail around the world?"

  "Someday," he said, meeting her eyes. "When I find the right person to sail with me."

  His meaning was unmistakable. For once she didn't avoid it. "I was never part of your dream."

  "You could have been."

  She said nothing. There were other dreams, as well, dreams he knew nothing about. We have a daughter, Jake...a little girl with your eyes and your laugh and the same reckless love of life.... She cast about for a more neutral topic. "Where did you live?"

  "A beach house near the fort. Moody electricity, no hot water." His grin was bemused. "But a great view of the ocean."

  They made their way up a narrow, hilly street that wound along the edge of a cliff. Megan felt like she was strolling down a charming side street in Madrid or Barcelona. The curlicue trims and cornices of the tiny stucco bungalows were painted a dazzling white and gleamed in the sun. Fire engine red geraniums overflowed the window boxes, a vivid touch of color against the pale facades.

  She didn't have to try very hard to imagine him living in one of those bungalows, spending his days on the sandy beach and his nights in the arms of a woman who asked for no more than he was willing to give. He'd never lived by the rules. Nine-to-five and three-piece suits were as foreign to Jake as astral projection.

  Her father had been only too happy to point out the benefits to be gained by marrying the daughter of one of the richest businessmen in Florida. "Jake isn't one for the long haul," Darrin McLean had said. "If you were the daughter of a plumber, don't think he would've swept you off to Las Vegas the way he did."

  What a joke that was. When all was said and done, it was her father who'd thrown her to the wolves.

  She brushed aside the memory. What difference did it make anyway? She and Jake were divorced. They would remain divorced. With a little luck, once this weekend was over the last hold he had over her would finally be broken and she could take the first step toward finding a man who would love her and need her and cherish her--all of the things Jake could never do.

  Men like Jake were meant to be enjoyed, then chalked up to one of life's more interesting experiences.

  She hadn't understood that at nineteen.

  Now she did and it made all the difference.

  Ten minutes later they reached a daunting set of stone steps.

  She peered up the staircase. "I don't suppose there's an elevator hidden away some place."

  "No escalators either. Got the stamina?"

  "We'll find out." She straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. "Lead the way, Lockwood."

  The twentieth century dropped away from them as they climbed the stairs, taking them back in time to the age of Columbus and the dawn of colonization in the New World.

  "My God," she breathed as they entered the stone fortress. "I had no idea...."

  "Incredible, isn't it?"

  The greyish-brown stone walls were rough to the touch, slightly damp against the palm of her hand. Bricks, faded with time, outlined the doors and windows. "It's so cool in here," she murmured. "So peaceful." So private.

  There were no guardrails at the uppermost point and Megan held her breath as Jake stood on the narrow ledge, arms folded across his chest, head thrown back against the wind, as if defying some ancient god to accept his challenge. One hundred forty feet below them, the waves pounded against the walls of the fortress, a reminder of the awesome power of nature unleashed.

  "You haven't changed at all," she whispered into the wind. Still wild and reckless and filled with more passion for life than any ten people she'd ever known. He didn't give a damn about the future. He lived for the moment, collecting sensations the way other people collected stamps.

  The wind whistled around the curves of the tower, whipping her hair against her cheeks in a tangle that matched her emotions. She rummaged in her bag for a clip or rubber band, grateful for the diversion.

  Jake sat down next to her on the narrow battlement. "What's wrong? I thought you were enjoying the view."

  That was putting it mildly. "Too much hair," she said instead, gathering the silky mass into a ponytail and holding it back with one hand. "One day I'm going to go out and get a buzz cut."

  "Let me."

  Before she could protest, he leaned over and, placing his hands on either temple, pinned her auburn hair back with his long fingers. His index fingers rested on the tiny pulse that beat on either side of her forehead.

  The look in his eyes was dark, compelling. She wanted to look away, to prove to him that his power over her was only as strong as she allowed it to be, but even she knew the folly of that idea.

  There was no place to hide.

  #

  Her pulse beat pounded beneath his fingertips. He cradled her head in his hands. She raised her smoky green eyes to meet his. He recognized the invitation.

  "Megan?"

  She nodded.

  He moved closer.

  She tilted her head.

  He bent low.

  Her lips parted.

  He--

  "'Scuse me, but you-all look to be Americans, right?"

  The intruder wore a plaid cotton shirt, cut-offs, and sandals. A big black camera, complete with zoom lens, dangled from a strap slung around his neck. The fact that he didn't kill the poor guy was a testament to Jake's self-control.

  "Say, I don't mean to butt in, but my wife and I got ourselves a bit of a proble
m." The man pointed toward a tiny blonde woman in a demure pink pants outfit who stood by the guardhouse. "You are Americans, right?"

  "One of us is," Jake said.

  "Sue and me are on our honeymoon and we'd appreciate it if you'd snap a picture of us over there. We'd be much obliged."

  Jake looked to Megan who nodded.

  "You got it," said Jake with reluctant grace.

  The guy handed the camera to Jake. "It's all set," he said as he positioned himself next to his blushing bride. "All you gotta do is push the button."

  The pair broke into enormous grins and Jake snapped three quick shots. They were so happy it hurt to look at them. Megan tried to remember if she'd ever been that happy in her entire life.

  Last night, a voice whispered. Last night in his arms....

  There was something terribly innocent about new love, a certain fragile beauty that rarely withstood the onslaught of the outside world. Most couples managed to find something deeper, a love more resilient to the ravages of time. Sometimes she wondered if, given time, she and Jake might have managed a miracle of their own.

  "Ma'am?"

  She glanced up to find the young bride smiling at her. "If you give us your camera, we'll take pictures of you and your husband."

  "Good idea," her groom said. "What's a honeymoon without snapshots?"

  The right words just wouldn't come to her. How did you tell a starry-eyed young couple with rice in their hair that this man was your ex-husband and the only thing you had in common with him was a physical compatibility that defied logic. They'd find out soon enough that marriage wasn't all moonlight and roses.

  To her amazement, Jake seemed to understand. "Come on," he said. "One picture for posterity."

  He sat next to her on the ledge and put his arm around her shoulders.

  "Smile pretty," he said. "It'll make the kids happy."

  Sitting in the brilliant sunshine in the ageless serenity of El Cielo, she had no trouble smiling pretty for the kids.

  "Now you just give me your address," said the bride to Megan, "and I'll make sure to send you two a copy the minute Kevin and I get home."

  Megan scribbled her work address on a slip of paper. "That's just the most adorable little pendant," the bride said, gesturing toward the four-leaf clover. "Where did you get it?"

  Megan froze for an instant. "A good friend," she said, as Jenny seemed to materialize between her and Jake.

  The bride smiled and pocketed Megan's address. "Now you can count on these pictures."

  "Be happy," Megan said, impulsively hugging the surprised young woman. "Take good care of each other."

  The newlyweds left and once more Megan and Jake were alone.

  Jake fingered the four-leaf clover pendant. "Since when do you travel without diamonds?"

  Megan shrugged, feeling the pull of home. "No one travels with their good jewelry these days, Jake."

  "That little bride had her good jewelry on." He laughed, but there was no malice in it. "Her diamond was even smaller than the one I gave you."

  "They're so young," Megan said softly. "I don't think we were ever that young."

  "You were," Jake said.

  She shook her head. "Not like that."

  "You were wide-eyed and innocent," Jake said. "I'd never seen anyone like you before."

  She lifted her chin. "You don't stay innocent long in Palm Beach, Jake."

  "You did."

  Her body heated at the memory. "It seems so long ago."

  She tried to remember how it had felt to be young and hopeful but that particular memory eluded her. To her amazement Jake seemed to sense her mood.

  "Come with me." He reached for her hand then led her across the slippery, mossy bricks to the garito, one of the guardhouses that overlooked the surrounding moat. She smelled salt and dampness and she could easily imagine the hundreds of Spanish guards who had stood in this same spot, watching the sea for signs of the invading British or Dutch navies.

  She also was painfully aware of Jake's warmth. They were both silent, listening to the Atlantic crashing against the rocks below. She placed her bare elbows on the rough brick ledge and rested her chin in her hands. She inhaled deeply of the clean ocean air and the intoxicating scent of Jake's skin, slightly musky and very male. A vibrating current of electricity was humming through her body.

  He took his time. She shivered as he drew his hands up her bare arms, across her tanned shoulders, then up her throat and to her mouth. He drew one finger across her moist, slightly-open lips and, on impulse, she caught it between her strong white teeth and bit lightly down on the flesh.

  He laughed and leaned forward, his hard mouth slanting down across hers. His lips demanded a response and she met his demands. He held her gently by the hips while she wrapped her arms around his neck and allowed herself the exquisite luxury of plunging her fingers into his thick hair.

  She gasped as his tongue entered her willing mouth. Eager and demanding, he drew responses from her that she hadn't known she was capable of. Palms flat, he traced the curve of her hips, in to her waist and up and around her full breasts that strained against the thin cotton of her sundress. She trembled under his touch and was aware of her nipples hardening against the feel of his palms.

  He whispered something against her throat in a voice so soft she wondered if she had imagined it.

  Her eyes fluttered open as he burned kisses along the curve of breasts. He put a hand on either side of her face, thumbs pressing lightly against her cheekbones. "Alone at last." His words were dark with promise.

  "They were sweet," Megan said. "I--"

  He kissed her quiet, his body moving against hers in a way that made her blood run hot. His hand slid down her side, easing her skirt up.

  She thought she would die from anticipation. It had been so long since she'd felt like this, so long since she'd felt like a woman that she was helpless against the desire building inside her. "Jake," she managed. "We can't..." She gasped as his fingers slid inside the leg of her lacy panties. "There's no room to--someone might see us."

  "We can do it standing up," he said. "And I don't give a damn if someone sees us." He'd always found danger exciting. Once they'd made love in the back row of an empty movie theatre, Megan astride him, her body tight around his erection, until they came together in a shuddering and silent climax that left them hungry for more.

  He grasped her by the hips, his fingers pressing into the curve of her buttocks. "Wrap your legs around me and I'll--"

  She glanced about, both nervous and excited. "Do you see anyone?"

  "There's no one here, Meggie. No one but us."

  He found her moist center with his fingertips, separating her, caressing her, stroking her deeper and deeper, until she came in a long, shuddering wave of sensation.

  He held her against him as she rode out the storm.

  She couldn't have felt more exposed if she'd stood there naked in the tropical sunlight. But it didn't matter. He'd stripped her bare even though she hadn't removed an item of clothing, tearing away her defenses until she found herself powerless before her need.

  "Mommy! Somebody's in there!" A high-pitched voice at the opening to the garito made them jump. A small red haired girl with curious blue eyes peered in at them.

  Megan stifled a small shriek and pulled away from Jake, pushing her skirt back into place.

  An older woman grabbed the child by the wrist. She glanced quickly from Jake to Megan, then blushed furiously. "Amy, come over here and leave the people alone."

  "But, Mommy--"

  "Amy, now! They're on their honeymoon and they want to be alone."

  The spell was broken.

  "That's the second time," he said as they went down the worn stairs to the ground level. "What the hell's going on?"

  "Pheromones," said Megan. "They're in the air. Can you imagine how the newlyweds feel if they knew we were divorced?"

  "I guess we can let them have their illusions," he said as they crossed the w
ide expanse of manicured grass that led back to the road.

  She understood all about illusions. Happily-ever-after was an illusion.

  But those kisses in the garito, the electricity that had flowed between them--

  No.

  They had been very real.

  And if she wasn't careful those kisses would be her undoing.

  Chapter Six

  "This isn't going to work," Jake said as they reached the main street. "Half the damn island was in there."

  Megan looked at him, eyes wide and curious. He still hadn't grown accustomed to that look of vulnerability. It made her more accessible, less the arrogant girl he'd first loved. It made her more of a woman...and a hell of a lot more dangerous than he'd ever imagined.

  Suddenly the whole damn thing seemed insane. Those interruptions back in the garito had been masterfully timed, pulling him back to reality. Jake had never had difficulty separating sex from emotions, but last night with Megan he'd found it impossible. He'd known the sex would be explosive, but this deeper sense of connection between them was something he hadn't expected or wanted.

  She was supposed to be the bitch-goddess he'd married. The Palm Beach deb who dabbled in catering while someone back home did all the hard work.

  She wasn't supposed to be a flesh and blood woman with insecurities and look of sadness that made him long to tell her he'd take care of her.

  So tell her the truth, Lockwood. Tell her he owned the Sea Goddess and Tropicale and houses that put her father's Palm Beach palace to shame. This was the moment he'd been working toward since the day she'd left him and slipped back into the life she'd known and loved long before he'd come onto the scene.

  But where in hell was the sense of exhilaration, the sheer burst of satisfaction he'd figured would be part of the mix?

  Abruptly he wheeled to the left and propelled her along a cobbled pathway that wound its way through the alley that bisected the shopping district. The damp stones were covered with moss and the smells of earth and heat rose up from the ground and surrounded them.