Her Bad Boy Billionaire Lover (Billionai)

chapter Five



Jake was the first to break the silence. "We always were good together."

She couldn't deny it. Not with her body flushed and damp with passion, with him still inside her, and the smell of their lovemaking in the air. "Were you surprised?"

He moved against her, his laughter low. "Gratified."

"This doesn't mean anything, Jake," she warned. "It was just this once."

"For old times' sake."

"Something like that."

"Nothing more?"

"I don't still love you," she said bluntly, "if that's what you're implying."

"Love's never had much of anything to do with what happens between us."

His words stung and she found herself blinking away sudden and embarrassing tears. "Then we both understand what this is about."

"Settling old scores?"

She looked at him. I did love you once, Jake. I was just too young and selfish to know what it meant. "Putting the past behind us," she said after a moment.

"Some people might say it's the same thing."

There was something in the tone of his voice, a certain ironic spin that sent a small frisson of alarm up her spine. "I know the difference between sexual chemistry and love, Jake."

An odd smile crossed his face. "And this was--?"

"Sex," she said, her tone sharp. "Animal magnetism. Anything you want to call it."

He moved away from her until they were no longer joined then leaned back against the headboard. "Good," he said after a moment. "I'm glad we understand each other."

"Good," she repeated, tugging the sheet up under her chin. "Not that there was ever any doubt."

"Just because two people are great in the sack is no reason to pretend they can make a marriage work."

"Only a fool would think that."

"That's where we went wrong the last time. We should have had an affair."

"Marriage was a ridiculous idea," said Megan, feeling unreasonably sad. "Everyone said so."

He met her eyes. "Especially your father."

"I don't want to talk about my father."

He rubbed the cheek she'd slapped during their first encounter on deck. "I seem to remember something to that effect."

"I'm sorry," she said stiffly. "I shouldn't have hit you."

"So what's your old man up to these days?"

"I said I don't want to talk about him."

"He must hate seeing his little princess out there mingling with the commoners."

"Jake--" Her voice held a warning.

He ignored it. "Come on, Meggie. I'd be lying if I pretended I gave a damn about the man. I bet he still hates me as much as I--"

"He's dead." The words hung there in the air between them.

"I get the message," he said, not getting it at all. "I'll back off."

She forced herself to meet his eyes. "My father is dead, Jake."

His expression didn't change but she heard his slow intake of breath. "When did he--"

"Five and a half years ago."

"Heart attack?"

Dangerous territory. "He drowned."

"Darrin McLean? Your dad won a silver medal at the '56 Olympics."

Holding the sheet to her breasts, she swung her legs from the bed. "I don't want to talk about this anymore." She started for the bathroom.

He reached across the bed and grabbed her wrist. "Megan...."

She tried to pull away from him but he held her fast. "Don't tell me you're sorry because I won't believe you. You hated my father."

"And he hated me." His grip on her wrist tightened. "I am sorry, Meggie. For you. Your old man was an arrogant, selfish bastard but he had one redeeming feature: he loved you more than anything in the world."

She thought she would die from the pain that gripped her heart. There was one thing Darrin McLean had loved more than his daughter and that was his own comfort. But she would rather walk barefoot on hot coals than tell Jake the truth.

Tears burned behind her lids and she looked away.

"Meggie?" His voice was uncharacteristically gentle. "I don't want to hurt you."

She shook her head. "You didn't. It's just--" She stopped. All she could offer him was a lie because the truth was still too devastating for her to comprehend.

Clumsily he stroked her hair. "He was a tough act to live up to," he said. "I would've sold my soul to be able to take care of you the way he did."

"He was my hero," she said, voice breaking. "I thought he would live forever."

He was quiet, thinking of the despair she must have felt when McLean died. "You should've called me. You shouldn't have gone through it alone."

She said nothing but the look on her face spoke volumes. "I guess a piano player wouldn't have fit in with that crowd, would it, Meggie?"

"I didn't say that."

"No," he admitted, "you didn't. But you're not denying it." He could imagine the scene after McLean's death; his cronies must have gathered around Megan like vultures around a corpse.

She straightened her shoulders, tilted that stubborn chin. "What could you have done for me if I had called you, Jake? It's not like you'd know how to handle the situation."

Now's the time, Lockwood. The piano player owned the company and the yacht and more fabulous things than she'd ever dreamed of. If he was looking for shock value, she'd handed him the opportunity of a lifetime.

But the words wouldn't come. There was something about the look in her eyes, the oddly affecting set of her mouth that kept him from knocking her back with the truth.

She drew the sheet more tightly around her. "We were idiots to think going to bed together would make a difference."

He stroked her wrist with his thumb. "Maybe we didn't do it right."

She laughed despite herself. "It doesn't get much more right than that, Jake."

"Maybe it wasn't as good as we thought it was."

"Sleight-of-hand."

"An illusion?"

He released his grip on her wrist. She didn't move away. Rising from the bed he drew her into his arms.

Megan knew it was as crazy as it was dangerous. That this was the last place she should be.

That she couldn't turn away from him. Not for anything on earth.

"God, Meggie...." His large thumbs moved across her nipples and she bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying out as her nipples grew taut at his touch. He lowered his head. His dark hair was cool and silky against her skin, his mouth hot as he encircled her nipple.

She arched against him, fingers threaded through his hair. Before they had come together in heat. The heat was still there, and the passion, but there was something else between them now. Something she couldn't put a name to but recognized in the way her body responded to him, in the way she wished this moment never had to end.

Suddenly it struck her as a terrible waste that she knew so little about the man who had been her husband. He'd seemed dangerous to her at nineteen, as wildly powerful as a force of nature and just as unpredictable. He was filled with ideas, crazy schemes to make a million dollars. She'd never wanted for anything in her life and his ambition made her feel as if she should apologize for having the good fortune to be born rich.

What a shame it was that understanding had come too late to do them any good.

Not that it mattered. This wasn't about renewal. It was about putting the past behind her and building a new life, a life with a man who would be a husband to her--and a father to Jenny.

Two things Jake Lockwood could never be.



#



Megan opened her eyes to find herself alone in bed.

"Jake?" She raised up on one elbow and smothered a yawn.

"Don't get up." He stood near the open porthole, naked except for a pair of jeans that rode low on his hips. "It's not even dawn yet."

The sight of him, splendid and male, in the shadowy blue light of the bedroom awoke in her a hunger so sharp and intense she found it difficult to breathe. "Wh-where are you going?"

"Topside. We dock in two hours."

"A dawn piano recital?"

He slipped into his shirt. "I do more than play piano."

"A regular jack-of-all-trades," she observed sleepily.

"You do what you have to do," he said, reaching for his shirt. "You have a problem with that?"

"No," she said, meeting his eyes. "I admire it."

He sat down on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes. "I didn't think you admired much of anything about me, Meggie."

She touched his arm. "What's wrong? Last night was so--"

"Last night was last night," he said, standing up again. "We'd both be smart to keep things in perspective."

"My perspective is fine," she snapped. "We were looking for great sex and we found it"

"You know," he said, "I was wrong. You haven't changed. You're still the same sharp-tongued--"

She threw her pillow at him. "Shut up! I don't care what you think of me. Your opinion doesn't matter."

She was naked. Angry. Wild-eyed.

Naked.

He stopped in the doorway, blood heating in his veins.

"Jake...." Part warning, part invitation.

"Shut up," he said, striding toward her. "Don't say anything."

She was in his arms in a heartbeat. Passionate. Warm. Demanding. She knew what he wanted before he did. He backed her up against the wall. Her hands found the zipper on his fly. She wrapped her legs around his hips and he plunged into her aching body with an urgency that bordered on brutal. She loved every second of it.

Their lovemaking was fierce. It wasn't about tenderness. It wasn't about desire.

It was about something that shouldn't be happening, something they were powerless to stop. It was about the girl she'd been and the man he was and all the failed dreams that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.

"What are we going to do?" she asked as he dressed for the second time that morning. "This is--"

"Incredible," he said, zipping his pants.

"And out of control."

"That's the point, Megan. We have two more days to let it run its course before we're back in Miami."

"What if it hasn't run its course?" The words were out before she could stop them.

"It will have. We're wrong for each other, Meggie. Always have been. Always will be."

"I know," she whispered. "I know."

She wondered what he would say if he knew they had a child. A beautiful little girl with his eyes and his laugh and his passion for life.

They might be wrong for each other, but they had done something terribly right when they'd created Jenny.

"...meet me this afternoon in front of La Playa Real."

She blinked. "What?"

"This afternoon," he repeated. "We don't sail until eight o'clock."

"I thought you had a meeting." Ostensibly that was why he'd made his dramatic entrance through the secret panel in the hallway.

"I do, but I'll bail out early."

"I don't want you to lose your job, Jake." She wasn't being altruistic. She simply didn't want it on her conscience.

"Don't worry about my job." He bent down and kissed her thoroughly. "The clock's ticking, Megan. Let's make the most of it."



#



Megan swore she wasn't going to meet him. God knew, she had every reason not to. What had happened between them was beyond explanation. Six long years had vanished at the first intoxicating feel of skin against skin and Megan had responded like one possessed, but that was no reason to think it had to happen a second time.

She didn't want to feel this way. She'd wanted to discover that his magic had disappeared along with their marriage, discover that she could live without magic and warm kisses and dreams she no longer believed could come true.

But La Mirada was far from reality. The island was a verdant swell of land southwest of Nassau, one of those lushly beautiful places that seemed designed strictly to put people in the mood for romance.

Bougainvillea bloomed everywhere you looked. Beach roses vied with gardenias for room. The houses were pastel confections of lemon and mint and sky blue with wrought-iron grille-work and window boxes overflowing with geraniums. It was easy to forget there was a real world out there.

Back home she might be able to convince herself she was happy with the status quo, but there in that lush Caribbean paradise it was hard to imagine being satisfied with anything less than the splendor she'd found last night in his arms.

"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 problem." 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 wide 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.