Her Bad Boy Billionaire Lover (Billionai)

chapter Three



"Briscoe's going to be hard to beat," said Ian Macmillan, one of Jake's partners in Tropicale.

Jake looked up at him. "I wasn't that impressed."

The two men were seated in the office adjacent to the bridge. It was very late but given the charade they were playing--posing as members of the crew--this was the only time they had for executive business.

"Briscoe's the old pro of the group, best credentials this side of the Cordon Bleu." Macmillan laughed tiredly. "But she isn't what you'd call easy on the eyes, is she?"

Jake, who had been studying a spreadsheet of projections for the next fiscal year, grunted. "This isn't a beauty contest."

"Maybe it should be. Did you see that babe with the big green eyes?" He glanced down at the brochure Jake had kept on top of the stack of papers on the desk. "Megan McLean will have to go some to come up with something tastier than her own sweet self."

Jake looked up. "What was that?"

"McLean," said Ian, oblivious to Jake's tone. "Don't tell me you missed her." He held out his hand at shoulder height. "About this big." His hands described a curvy shape in the air. "Everything where it should be. Woman's got the best pair of--"

Macmillan never had a chance. Jake was on him before he finished the sentence and was about to deliver the right hook he'd perfected in the outback when a purser entered the office and pulled him off the younger man.

"What the hell's your problem?" Ian barked, rubbing his throat where Jake had grabbed him.

Jake glowered at him. "Say another word about her and, so help me, I'll--"

"I get the message," said Ian, "but the question is, why?" He forced a nervous grin. "Don't tell me you staked your claim already."

"None of your goddamn business."

"What's the deal, Lockwood--we got a conflict of interest case building here?"

"Just stay away from her, that's all. She's not your type."

Macmillan laughed, then rubbed his jaw again. "I haven't met one yet who isn't."

"Congratulations," Jake said, putting a sarcastic spin to the word. "Then this one's a first."

"I don't take orders from you, Lockwood. We're partners, remember?"

Jake knew he'd gone overboard but the feelings Megan had roused in him refused to be quieted. The thought of another man putting his hands on her made him want to punch first and ask questions later. Primitive, maybe, but effective.

"I'm wound pretty tight these days," he said by way of apology. "The Sea Goddess is the only woman in my life."

"You gotta get out more, Lockwood," said Ian with a relieved laugh. "I know a sweet little blonde who--"

Jake was no longer listening. He'd come close to screwing up royally and the near-miss rocked him.

The thing was, he wasn't supposed to feel this way. He'd expected to want her. Desire had been a major force in their relationship and there'd been no reason to imagine its power wouldn't make itself known again.

He knew how to handle those chemical urges, how to enjoy sex but avoid involvement. What he hadn't been prepared for were these other emotions, equally strong, that were tangled up in his desire for Megan.

Anger, for one, and regret. Both of which were understandable considering the way the marriage had ended. So much left unsaid between them. So many dreams destroyed. What surprised him was the irrational sense of hope that had flared to life in the darkness.

Another man might call it love. Jake called it ridiculous.

Only one woman had ever managed to breathe life into all the hidden recesses of his soul and he'd managed to drive her away with his selfish pursuit of his own goals. Love was a thing of the past, an artifact like an arrowhead or an old tombstone.

What he was dealing with now was lust, pure and simple. Despite everything, he'd never quite gotten her out of his system and, he expected, she felt the same attraction to him.

And there was only one way to deal with it.

They needed to come together in a blaze of heat and desire, and burn away the last vestiges of their marriage. He had to find out that she was only a woman and not the elusive goddess time and fantasy had transformed her into.

Ignoring Ian's curious look, he excused himself then left the office.

"Damn it to hell," he swore as he made his way toward the dining room. He didn't want a second chance. He only wanted to put finish to whatever mysterious force it was that still tied him to her.

Why else would he be feeling guilty, pretending to be one of the crew? The idea had been for the partners in Tropicale to blend in with the other passengers, so they could hear first-hand what the passengers thought of the cruise. A clever idea and one that was extremely workable, given the more intimate size of the Sea Goddess when compared to a traditional cruise ship.

Yeah, it was a great idea--or, at least, it had been until he'd found himself looking into Megan's eyes and everything they'd had and lost came rushing back in on him like the tide....



#



He hadn't wanted to marry.

Only a fool would tie himself down with a wife and family when the future beckoned, all promise and glitter. He liked his freedom. He liked taking what he wanted from life, caution be damned.

Yet from that first moment on the beach when she'd looked up at him with those lazy green eyes and turned his soul to flame, he had known there were some things you didn't do with a girl like Megan McLean.

She'd been sweet in his arms and yielding, and he had little doubt he would have been able to part those shapely thighs of hers and bury himself inside her willing body.

But, damn it, it wouldn't be enough. It always had been with other women on other days, but this time he knew the rules were different. The moment he saw the flash of fire in her eyes, he'd wanted to toss her over his shoulder like one of his caveman ancestors and cart her off to his lair.

He wanted to own her. To possess her. To brand her with his touch and smell and heat until she belonged to him and him alone. The thought of another man burying himself inside her warmth made him realize he could be capable of murder.

They'd flown through the night to get to the chapel on the Las Vegas strip. Hidden beneath a blanket in the rear of the plane, he'd touched her in ways that made her shudder and it had taken a supreme act of will to keep from having her right then and there. The need in him had been that great--the dark wet heat of her body that intoxicating. He'd taken his fingers, still moist and hot from her, then rubbed them across her lips, urging her to taste herself, to know how good and sweet she would be when he found her with his mouth and tongue.

They rode in silence to the chapel, caught up by the enormity of it all. He bought a bouquet of white roses from a sleepy clerk in the lobby. A simple gesture and an obvious one. She was used to diamonds.

"Oh, Jake," she whispered, burying her face in the blossoms. "They're so beautiful."

He wasn't a man ruled by convention. He wasn't marrying because he needed society's imprimatur on the way she made him feel; he was marrying because there was no other way to make her his own.

"I don't care where we live," she'd whispered later on as the door to their hotel room closed behind them. "Wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do--I don't need anything but you."



#



"You were wrong, Meggie," he said, staring out at the ocean, silvered by moonlight. She'd needed all the trappings of wealth and position that she'd known as Darrin McLean's only child.

He should have left her there on the beach where he'd found her, daddy's little girl still as pure as the day she was born.

She'd made him want things a man shouldn't want: family, security, a house with a picket fence. To get where he wanted to be, you had to be willing to give up the things other men took for granted--and Megan hadn't been the kind of girl who'd wait around for things to get better. She was used to money and the things it could buy. Living hand-to-mouth wasn't her style.

Which was exactly what her old man had told him the first time they met. "Six months tops," Darrin McLean said, with a look at his Rolex. "My daughter needs more than someone like you could give her."

In his mind he saw his sister, dying by inches in that parched cabin on that barren land, her beauty held hostage to responsibility. To poverty. Putting all of her dreams on hold while she tended house for the drunk they had called a father and pretended she had all the time in the world to be happy.

Jake liked to tell himself that was the only reason he hadn't gone after her when she left, but the truth was more complex--and a hell of a lot more painful. She hadn't believed in his dreams and that fact hurt him more deeply than any left hook that had ever met his jaw.



#



Megan double-locked the door to her suite that night. She wasn't sure if she was locking Jake out or herself in. Not that it mattered. Either way she was in trouble.

She tossed her evening bag down on the bed and draped the shawl over the back of the boudoir chair. It slithered to the floor in a puddle of lace and she kicked it away with the pointed toe of her fancy shoe. Reaching back she tugged at the zip of her dress.

The zip refused to give. She tugged again, hard, and was rewarded with the sound of tearing fabric. "Damn," she said, suddenly close to tears. "Damn. Damn. Damn."

She stepped out of the dress and inspected the damage. The zipper had pulled away from the bodice and a long diagonal rip angled toward the waist. It was the last of her good dresses, the elegant designer costumes from the days when names like Dior and Versace had been as familiar as old friends.

"Okay," she said out loud, taking measure of the damage. "This isn't so bad. A good dressmaker could fix it." Good dressmakers cost good money, that annoying little voice inside intoned. She sank onto the bed and crushed the garment in her hands.

It was his fault. All of it. She never had trouble with zippers. Seeing Jake again after so long had turned her into a mass of nerves, incapable even of undressing herself without courting disaster. He had no business being there. Five years ago when Megan was alone with a brand new baby and the rubble of her father's business empire falling down around her shoulders--then she would have welcomed him back into her life.

She'd been terrified and alone, wishing with all her heart that she hadn't walked out on him the first moment things got tough. Jenny was a good baby but Megan was little more than a baby herself in all the things that mattered. She needed a knight on a white charger to ride into her life and make everything right again, the way it used to be. The way it should be.

She'd called everywhere and everyone she could think of as she tried to find him, but Jake had vanished without a trace. She could barely manage to scrape up enough money to pay the telephone bill, much less hire a detective to track him down.

And when you came down to it, what difference would it have made? It didn't matter if he was in Paris or Cairo or Sydney. The last thing he wanted was a ready-made family and a mansion filled with bills.

"Oh, you'd love this, wouldn't you," she said as she remembered the dangerous glitter in her ex-husband's eyes. Arrogant, spoiled Megan McLean brought to her knees. Forced to live like the common folk. She could just imagine what Jake would say if he knew she'd been living one step ahead of the bill collectors for so long that she could barely remember there was any other way.

What a wonderful joke it would be. She was sure Jake would appreciate the irony of the situation. She'd run back to the security and luxury of her father's house, only to discover that everything she'd believed in, everything she relied upon, was built on a foundation of empty promises and deceit.

Darrin McLean had kept her jewelry box filled and her wardrobe up to date, but when it came to keeping her safe from harm by securing her future--well, that was another story.

A framed photo of Jenny smiled at her from the nightstand. "You deserve better than that," she whispered.

Jenny deserved a father but Megan would be damned if it would be Jake Lockwood.



#



Megan awoke the next morning with new resolve. She was there on business and not even her ex-husband would deter her from the pursuit of her goal. The Sea Goddess was a big ship. There had to be room on it for both of them. She would stick to the kitchen while Jake could have the piano bar all to himself. With a little luck and some clever planning, they'd never have to see each other again.

"Morning, Meggie." He was lounging in front of the dining room, looking tall, dark, and impossibly male. "Oversleep?"

"Shut up," she said, a sweet smile on her face.

"They stop serving in ten minutes."

"How kind of you to give me an update."

"Must be tough traveling without a maid and butler."

"I manage," she said through clenched teeth.

She swept past him into the dining room. To her dismay he fell into step beside her. "Still not a morning person."

"How observant." She poured herself a cup of coffee from the silver urn on the sideboard. The aroma was rich and fragrant. Kona blend. Celia Briscoe was going to be tough to beat.

"The cranberry muffins are even better than the coffee," Jake said with a grin. "Makes you wonder what she'll whip up for lunch."

"Heartburn," said Megan. "With a double portion for you."

Jake was still laughing as he left the dining room. He had no idea how close he'd come to death by butter knife. He'd always had the ability to punch holes in her defenses, making her conceits look foolish even to herself. At nineteen that had been nothing more than annoying. The notion that she was anything but perfect hadn't occurred to her yet. At twenty-five, however, it was a different story. She knew how it felt to fall behind in her bills, to be vulnerable to the needs of a child, to realize that no matter how hard or how well you worked, it might not be enough.

She'd come here with one goal: to nail the catering contract with Tropicale. No matter what Ingrid said, they needed this contract to keep The Moveable Feast in the black. Pretending to be rich was harder than she'd imagined. Maintaining the illusion around Jake would be difficult, but she would do it. She had no other choice.

After breakfast she changed into a bikini and joined Val and Sandy on deck. The sun was hot. The sea breeze was cool. The company was agreeable. She should have known it was too good to be true.

"G'day, ladies."

Val and Sandy snapped to attention. Megan sniffed and sank lower in her deck chair. Amazing how thick his Aussie accent got when attractive women were involved.

He towered over her, his muscular body throwing her into shadow. "G'day, Meggie."

She stretched languorously, as if she hadn't a care in the world, as if she spent every day basking in the sun. "Move, would you, Jake. You're blocking my sun."

Val, God bless her, didn't miss a beat. "Here," she said, patting the end of her deck chair. "Sit with me."

Jake favored the woman with one of his patented bad-boy grins. Megan could almost hear the hormone levels rising.

"You'll make room for me, won't you, Meggie?"

She ignored him.

He nudged her with his knee. "Shove over."

"The hell I will."

Sandy and Val stared at the two of them in open-mouthed fascination as Jake unceremoniously sat down next to her.

"Maybe we should find someplace else to sit," Sandy said with a glance toward her sister.

"You've got to be kidding," said Val, looking from Megan to Jake then back again. "I'm not leaving until I find out what's going on."

Jake's grin widened. "You want to tell them, Meggie, or should I?"

She considered the wisdom of diving overboard and swimming back to Miami. "Jake and I were married a long time ago. It was a mercifully brief experience."

"You two were married?" Val asked, turning toward Jake.

"I threw her over my shoulder and dragged her off to Vegas to get married."

The two travel agents practically swooned.

"How romantic," Sandy said, turning toward Megan. "Sounds like something from a romance novel."

"He was looking for a green card," Megan snapped. "He would have married anyone with a pulse." An outright lie, but she was beyond caring. Let him worry about it. Their eyes locked. She saw the challenge in his eyes and met that challenge with one of her own. After a moment he shrugged.

"It was fun while it lasted," he said to the two women. He turned to Meggie. "Even you have to admit that."

"No," she said. "It was many things but fun wasn't one of them." Exciting. Heartbreaking. All things in between. But not fun. The differences between them had seen to that.

He engaged Val and Sandy in small talk while Megan lay back in her chair, closed her eyes, and feigned indifference to the whole thing. She'd never survive the next four days if she didn't get a grip on her emotions and regain her focus.

Jake wasn't important.

Their daughter was.

It was as simple as that.

She refused to be drawn into the conversation despite Jake's best attempts and didn't relax until he went off to do whatever it was he did on the Sea Goddess besides play the piano and flirt with female guests.

"Excuse me for saying so," Val declared as soon as Jake was out of earshot, "but that is exactly what I've been looking for all my life."

"Be my guest," Megan shot back. "As far as I know he's footloose and fancy-free."

Val leaned forward. "You wouldn't mind?"

She waved her hand in the air. "I haven't seen Jake since the day I walked out on him. If you want a shipboard wedding, it's fine with me. I'll be your maid of honor."

"I don't know about the wedding," Val said, "but I sure wouldn't mind a wedding night."



#



One hour after they arrived in Las Vegas, Megan and Jake were married at Sweet Sue's Wedding Chapel. Two strangers stood up for them as part of the $150 matrimonial package that included a room for the happy couple.

The Silver Dollar Hotel catered to people with big dreams and small budgets. Positioned between the Little House of Matrimony and Sweet Sue's, it offered king-size water beds, complimentary pink champagne, and a place to be alone.

"Room 775." The bellman swung open the door and ushered them into the room. "Champagne's on ice, the bathroom's through that door, and you got a great view of the Strip."

Megan turned away as Jake reached into his pocket for some change. She tried not to notice the stained carpeting or the threadbare bedspread or the faint but unmistakable smell of cigar smoke in the air. All her life she'd dreamed about her wedding night. The room would be lit by fat pink candles that smelled of gardenias. Soft music, Dom Perignon, a wide bed with sheets of the finest percale with lace-trimmed hems.

She'd never imagined anything like this...this wreck of a place. It doesn't matter, she told herself. All that mattered was Jake.

She could have had the wedding of her dreams if she'd waited. Sooner or later her father would come around and see Jake as the diamond in the rough he clearly was.

But Jake was a proud man and an impatient one and she'd known beyond a doubt that she had to grab hold of him before he disappeared on his way to some new adventure and her chance for happiness would disappear with him.

The door closed behind the bellman. She held her breath as Jake crossed the room toward her. Desire, fierce and sweet, rose up inside her and she turned toward him and for a moment she forgot the carpet and the bedspread and the fact that they didn't have a chance in the world to make their marriage work and she went to him for the first time as his wife.

"I can't give you the things you're used to," he said as he swept her into his arms.

"I don't care," she said. "You're all that I want.."

Afterward they lay together in the afterglow of lovemaking. Megan had never felt closer to anyone in her life. The act of joining their bodies had also joined their souls and she longed to know everything about the man who was now her husband.

"You know everything there is to know about me," she said, propping herself up on her elbows and looking at him. "All I know is that you're twenty-five years old, from Australia, and never been married."

He pulled her down until she lay across his chest. "That's all you need to know." His big rough hands caressed the small of her back, cupped her buttocks.

"But I want to know all about your family, Jake." She giggled as she tried to squirm out of his grasp but he held her fast. "I'm a Lockwood now, too."

His grip on her tightened. An older, more experienced woman might have recognized the signs but Megan was too young and too besotted to care.

"I have an older sister in Queensland."

She waited. "And--?"

"My parents are dead," he snapped. "I never knew my mother. I might as well have never met my father." Two years dead that month and unlamented.

"Oh, Jake." Her voice went soft and her eyes brimmed with tears. "You must miss him so much--"

"I don't want to talk about them." He lifted her hips until she was poised over him. "I don't want to talk at all."

It was hard to keep her mind on anything but his power and heat. "Wh-what's your sister's name?"

"Shut up, Meggie."

"But she's my family too."

"Quiet."

"But I--"

He lowered her slowly, steadily, onto his erection and she melted around him. There would be plenty of time to learn all about his family...a lifetime.



#



Somehow she made it through lunch. Celia Briscoe served up a magnificent southwestern feast and Megan had to work hard to hang onto her self-confidence. To her surprise Jake was seated at the head table. His rumbling laugh, sensual and unmistakable, awakened another set of memories that she would rather leave buried. Once he met her eyes across the dining room and she felt as if he held her in his arms.

She'd fallen for his charm years ago, but now the last thing she wanted was to be diverted from the task at hand: securing a permanent position for The Moveable Feast. She'd worked too hard for too many years to allow it to slip away in a haze of sexual passion.

Desire--that was all that it was. She was certain of it. If she'd lived six years without chocolate, no doubt she'd be entertaining fantasies of a Hershey bar that were every bit as voluptuous and enticing as her fantasies about Jake had been.

Logic, however, didn't render those fantasies any less potent. She found herself replaying their moonlight encounter again and again until she was weak with longing.

She glanced again across the room. A petite blonde fluttered around him like a pheromone-crazed butterfly. Maybe she hadn't been that far off the mark when she'd wondered if he'd been hired as the resident Adonis. She had to admit he added a certain rough-hewn male sex appeal to the exquisitely appointed yacht. With his movie star good looks and renegade soul, he could probably have any woman he wanted just by crooking his little finger.

But he wants you.

Last night he'd made it crystal clear that she still had the power to make him want her. They both recognized that not even time had diminished the primal attraction between them. Try as she might to banish the memory of his kisses, she could still taste him on her lips. Sweet and dangerous and impossible to resist.

She pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. Val, Sandy, and her other luncheon companions looked up at her. "I think I'll go back to my cabin and do some work on my menu plan."

The moment she closed the cabin door behind her, she dialed Ingrid's number. She needed to connect with home, to be reminded of everything that was really important in her life.

"Details!" Ingrid demanded the second Megan said hello. "Tell me about the suite, the weather, the men...."

Megan laughed, feeling her real world move back into focus. "Gorgeous, perfect...interesting."

"You can do better than that."

"Is Jenny there?"

"She's playing Barbies with Stace."

"I'm dying to hear her voice."

"Give me some juicy details then I'll let you speak to your daughter."

Jenny's father works on the ship, Ingrid. I feel like I'm nineteen years old again and it scares the hell out of me. "You wouldn't believe this suite," she said instead. "Mahogany paneling, gilt faucets, a mirror over the bed--"

"A what!?"

"Just seeing if you were paying attention, Ingrid."

"Too bad," Ingrid shot back. "If you remember, I told you to have fun."

"And if you remember, I told you I'm here on business."

"Only until tomorrow night. Monday and Tuesday are pure R & R. If you don't come home with a tan and a smile on your face, you're no partner of mine."

"I'll be smiling if I come back with a contract."

"There's more to life than business."

"I know," said Megan, remembering the way Jake had looked in the moonlight. She launched into a lively description of her cabin, right down to the paneled wall near the bathroom that supposedly concealed a secret passageway that linked various suites.

"How wonderfully decadent," Ingrid said. She named the billionaire who had first owned the yacht. "No wonder he always looked so tired. The man never slept."

"This phone call is costing us a small fortune," Megan said. "Let me say hi to Jenny and I'll hang up."

A moment later her daughter's sweet voice curled itself inside Megan's ear. "We're having pizza tonight. Can I have pepperoni on mine?"

"That's up to Ingrid, sweetheart."

"And ice cream for dessert?"

"Ask Ingrid," Megan said with a laugh. "She's in charge while I'm away."

Jenny chattered on about the class trip she'd taken today and Megan found her eyes filling with homesick tears as Jenny described the glass-bottom boat and all the wonders she'd seen beneath the sea. Megan could just imagine her little girl's round cheeks all pink from the sun, her big golden-brown eyes glittering with excitement. Jenny was a small, volatile bundle of energy and enthusiasm, so much her father's daughter that at times it almost hurt Megan to look at her.

If only I could be sure I was doing the right thing for you, Jenny, she thought, but I'm as new at this as you are. There were times she felt as if she were running just one step ahead of her little girl, trying desperately to pave the way for her.

"Do you have your four-leaf clover, mommy?" Jenny asked in her piping voice.

"Absolutely," Megan said solemnly, touching the charm that hung from the chain around her neck. "I'll keep it with me every second."

"It'll bring you good luck."

"I have you," said Megan, wishing she could envelop her daughter in a bear hug. "How much luck does one mommy need?" Her marriage may have been a failure, but out of that painful interlude had come something truly precious, this little girl who meant everything to her.

"Don't forget to send me postcards, Mommy."

"I promise," Megan said. "A postcard from every port."

"Send me a postcard, too," said Ingrid as she returned to the phone. "Tell me you enjoyed at least one moonlight kiss."

"Not interested," she said lightly. She had found out last night what dangers lurked in moonlight kisses.

"If I weren't eight months pregnant, I'd trade places with you."

"You wouldn't trade places with anyone and you know it, Ingrid."

The stab of envy, sharp and unexpected, lingered on after they'd said goodbye. For all of Ingrid's grumbling about her second pregnancy, one fact was very clear: Ingrid loved her children and her husband, and was lucky enough to be loved in return.

Neither Megan's privileged childhood nor promising future could compare with that.

She set up her laptop computer on the lacquered desk, and spent a few hours poring over the plans for floral arrangements and table designs. She would have loved the opportunity to acquaint herself with the galley below deck but it was off-limits until tomorrow morning when she began her "audition." Celia Briscoe had outdone herself today and Megan could feel the pressure building. She massaged her temples, wishing she'd remembered to bring Advil with her. It had been too easy, she thought, resting her head on the desk as the ship rocked gently. The anger between her and Jake had flared to life again with the quick intensity of a brushfire. So had the sexual attraction; it burned away the barriers between them with its ferocious heat. Like a force of nature, that chemistry between them had been there from the first. Divorce hadn't dampened the fire--and neither had time.

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.