Her Bad Boy Billionaire Lover (Billionai)

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 moonlight, 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.

"No," he said. "You won't need that."

She was naked in his arms, her mind emptied of all but the sensual feel of his body against hers, of his strength and warmth. She looped her arms around his neck and pressed her face against his. The smell of his skin, the faint shadow of his beard against the strong curve of his jaw--she closed her eyes against a dizzying rush of sensation that threatened to steal away what remained of her sanity.



#



She was lighter than a dream in his arms as he carried her to the bedroom yet the power she had over him was absolute. Her body was still warm from her bath, her skin moist and fragrant. He laid her down on the bed, her mane of auburn hair fanned across the pillow like living fire. She reached for the ivory satin duvet but he swept it to the floor with one swift movement of his hand.

"Jake," she whispered, "this isn't fair...."

He kicked off his shoes then reached for the button on his fly. "I'll make it fair."

A wildfire raged inside his gut as he stripped off his clothes then joined her on the bed. It would be easy to part her thighs and bury himself inside her, taking what she offered again and again until the flames were nothing more than embers. He wanted it fast and he wanted it now, a furious mating of male and female, but there was something about the look in her wide green eyes, the rapid sound of her breathing in the quiet room, that made him reconsider.

He leaned up on one elbow and let his gaze travel the length of her body. She was as slim as he'd remembered, as firm and sweet, but there was something different. A certain lushness, a womanly roundness to her curves that reminded him she wasn't a girl any longer.

Slowly he brought his hand to rest on the curve of her hip. His palm registered her warmth, the silky feel of her skin, the way she trembled slightly at his touch. Not with fear, he knew. With need. The same need that sent heat flowing through his veins.

She reached for him but he shook his head.

"Not yet," he said, his voice gruff with desire. "Not if you want it to last."

She laughed low in her throat. He wondered how many other men had heard her laugh like that. A primitive rage battled with lust. He hated the other men who had known her body. He wanted to burn their memory from her brain, brand her with his mouth, his hands, until she regretted the day she'd walked out the door.

Swiftly he moved to the foot of the bed.

"Every part of you," he said, encircling her ankle with his hand. "Every inch...."

Her back arched and she moaned as he drew his tongue along the rise of her instep. Slow and hot and wet enough to remind her that she was a flesh-and-blood woman and that he was a hungry man.

"Turn over," he said, his hands moving toward her knees. He felt her stiffen with alarm and he pressed his mouth to the inside of her knee. "Trust me, sweetheart...."

She shouldn't. He was a stranger to her. She knew nothing about the last six years of his life and, dear God, there was so much about her that he couldn't even imagine.

But his hands were so strong and warm against the tender flesh at the tops of her thighs and it had been so long since she'd felt like a woman.

She moved as if in a dream. The percale sheets felt cool against her belly and breasts and she pressed her face into the pillow, her pulse hammering in her ears, all but drowning out her soft inarticulate cries.

He was a magic man, a conjurer of fantasies. He brought her to aching life each place he touched. Calves...the backs of her knees...the rounded swell of her buttocks.

"Lift up, Meggie," he whispered, his mouth pressed against her shoulder. "Slide this pillow under you."

She felt wickedly sensual, wild with desire, as his lips found the sensitive base of her spine.

"Oh God," she moaned, "Jake...."

He slid his hands beneath her thighs then found her with his fingertips. His touch was light at first, an insinuation. She moved restlessly against him, her blood sounding a call older than the stars.

Her heat, her smell, the sound of her cries were pushing him to the end of madness.

He rolled her onto her back. "Hang on, Meggie. This is one ride we're taking together."

But first there was something he needed to take care of. For both of them.

Moments later she opened her thighs for him. Her excitement matched his own. He lowered himself slowly, testing his self-control, until he was poised against her heat. Her fingernails raked his buttocks. "Now...." Her voice was high, her tone urgent. "Now...now...now...."

She welcomed him, drawing him more deeply into her body than he would have imagined possible. She was tight and hot, her muscles working in tiny, mind-shattering contractions around him.

He was gathering speed, climbing faster and faster, moving inexorably toward the release his body demanded.

"Open your eyes, Meggie. I want to watch you when it happens."

She knew it was wrong, that it was dangerous, that nothing would ever be the same again, but a thrill of dark pleasure rippled through her body at his words. At that moment she would have done anything he asked. He was her only reality, her only safety.

She let her hands slide along the sinewy muscles of his arms, feeling his veins, rich with blood, beneath her fingertips.

"Ride with me, Meggie," he urged. "We're almost there...."

The fire grew hotter. She could see the flames. Feel them urging her toward the inferno.

She wrapped her legs around his hips as he pinned her arms over her head. Sweet bondage...then even sweeter release.

Megan shuddered around him. He was part of her, could feel what she felt, even as his own climax exploded. Her pleasure was deep, shattering--he saw it in the startled look in her wide green eyes, the high color in her cheeks, the way her full lips parted. Nothing in his life, no experience, no fantasy, came close to the primitive thrill he found watching the woman he'd once loved find paradise in his arms.