Her Bad Boy Billionaire Lover (Billionai)

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.

"Where are we going?" Megan asked as they exited the alleyway and started up a steep hill.

"Some place where we won't be interrupted."

"Jake, I--"

He pulled her into his arms then claimed her mouth with his. She was hot and sweet and he wanted to take her right there in the blazing sun, lay her down on the damp grass and bury himself inside her body. He told her exactly that and she swayed toward him, moth to a flame.

"There's a small marina over the hill where we can rent a rowboat," he said when he was able to form a coherent sentence again.

She nodded, her beautiful face flushed with desire that matched his. She'd never learned the fine art of dissembling--not about sex. From the very beginning she'd accepted the sensual side of her nature with enthusiasm and his fists clenched involuntarily at the thought of another man learning the sweet secrets of her body. The secrets he'd unlocked for her a long time ago.

They crested the hill and, as if on cue, the marinas appeared below them, a small perfect jewel set against the sapphire brilliance of the ocean. Two small schooners, waited proudly in the tranquil waters. A nest of rowboats, their deep green color faded from the unrelenting tropical sunshine, bobbed impatiently, tugging at the ropes that held them fast to the end of the dock.

"Wait here," he said. "I'll get us a boat."



#



Megan stood to one side of the narrow dock as Jake charmed the young girl in charge into renting out one of the disreputable-looking rowboats.

Minutes later he helped her into a boat and, manning the oars, he guided the vessel out onto the lake. She watched as the muscles of his chest and shoulders flexed with each stroke. He rowed the way he did everything else, with power and assurance, and they quickly left the marina behind.

The air was sultry, heady with the scent of exotic flowers and expectations. It occurred to her that this was dangerous, that nothing good could come from living your fantasies, but the thought vanished as quickly as it had come. This was exactly what she needed, to immerse herself in dreams, to give herself up to sensation without regard for the world she'd left behind when she boarded the Sea Goddess a few short days ago.

His voice broke into her thoughts. "Over there," he said. "The other side of the cove."

She saw a tiny white-washed stucco house, surrounded by a wild mass of exotic flowers and greenery that led down to the shore. It had an air of rakish charm, not unlike the charm of the man who'd once been her husband. Curious, she glanced back at Jake.

"I lived there," he said.

"When?"

"Right after we divorced."

"Alone?" The words were in the air before she could stop them.

He met her eyes. "Some of the time."

She hated herself for the stab of jealousy his answer evoked. "What made you leave? This island is paradise." Exactly the type of hedonistic wonderland he would have loved.

"Even paradise gets boring after a while."

She should have known better than to ask. There was nothing of forever about Jake Lockwood and there never had been. Still it pleased her to know he hadn't found his elusive happy ending here in the arms of another woman.

He crossed the oars and leaned forward. "Feel like seeing how the other half lived?"

She bristled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Claws in, Meggie." He gestured toward the bungalow. "I'm talking about a guided tour."

"You still rent it?"

"Let's just say I have access."

"Spare me the explanation, please." She didn't want to hear about some wealthy older woman with a seven-figure bank account and a penchant for sexy piano players.

"I wasn't about to give you one."

She had a biting retort at the ready when a sound like rushing water caught her attention. "How seaworthy is this thing?"

He glanced down at a small leak near his right foot. "That's nothing to worry about."

She gestured toward the mini-geyser behind him.

He looked over his shoulder. "Minor annoyance."

"That minor annoyance is getting bigger, Jake. You'd better start bailing water."

His scowl was something to behold. "We don't need to bail water," he said. "We're fine." She did notice, however, that he was rowing again with renewed vigor.

"The water's up to my ankles," she said, pointing toward her wet feet in her strappy red sandals. "We're not going to make it to shore."

"We'll make it," he said through clenched teeth.

"We must be two hundred yards away," she persisted. "The only way we're going to make it is if we swim."

He looked as if he'd like to toss her overboard. "We're not swimming. We'll get there in this boat."

"I don't think so." The water was approaching her calves. "The only way this boat is going to make it is if we tow it ashore."

"Maybe if you'd quit complaining and start bailing water we'd be in better shape."

"You know what?" said Megan, rising to her feet. "I think I'd rather bail out than bail water." And with that she dived into the water and headed toward land.

The water was warm, delightfully silky against her skin. She couldn't remember the last time she'd done anything so spontaneous, so crazy, and the sensation of freedom was intoxicating.

"Come on in, Jake," she called as she floated lazily on her back. "The captain doesn't have to go down with his ship."

He ignored her and kept on rowing.

She laughed, the sound bouncing off the water. "Oh, the stubborn male ego," she said, swimming toward him. "You never were good at admitting you were wrong."

"I'm not wrong." His words were clipped. Megan couldn't suppress a grin. "There's nothing wrong with this damn rowboat."

"Right," said Megan as she swam parallel. "You'll just ignore the fact that you're sinking faster than the Titanic."

He grunted something rude and kept on rowing. "I'll reach land before you will."

She glided along next to him. "I don't think so."

"Bet me."

"I'd hate to take your hard-earned money."

"Shut up," he growled as the rowboat listed to starboard.

"Getting hot under the collar, Lockwood?" She grabbed hold of the side of the boat and grinned up at him. "I think you need to cool off."

"Do it and you're a dead woman."

She arched her brows. "Is that a dare, mighty Mr. Lockwood?"

"Don't push it, Megan," he warned.

"I think it's a dare," she said, "and you know how I feel about dares."

"Try it and I'll--"

Megan was pleasantly surprised to find how easy it was to overturn a rowboat with an ex-husband in it. He even made quite a satisfying splash when he hit the water. The fact that he was going to be mad as hell when he surfaced didn't even dampen her enthusiasm. Treading water, she waited for him to appear. And waited. And waited some more.

"This isn't funny, Jake," she said, glancing around. No response. "I'm not laughing."

Still nothing.

"You can swim," she murmured, dog-paddling around the perimeter of the rapidly sinking rowboat. "I know you can swim." She stopped, treading water in place. "Can't you?"

A terrible thought struck her. Had she ever seen him swim even once during their marriage? God knew she'd enjoyed the sight of him in his swim trunks but for the life of her she couldn't remember ever seeing those trunks put to use.

She took a deep breath then dived beneath the surface. The salt water stung her eyes and she could barely see a foot ahead of her. Her heart thundered painfully inside her chest as she kicked hard, propelling herself toward bottom.

Two minutes later, her lungs bursting, Megan rose to the surface.

"Took you long enough," said a familiar voice.

Gasping for air, she turned in the direction of the sound. "Jake?"

"Who else."

"I thought something terrible had happened to you."

"You should've thought of that before you sank the damn boat."

He struck out from the boat, his muscular arms cutting through the water with frightening efficiency. "You rat," she muttered. "You swim like a damn fish."

His laughter floated back toward her, deep and full and unquestionably male. She was a strong swimmer but no match for him. He reached shore before she did, then waited for her, jeans plastered to his legs, his shirt molded to his powerful torso in a way that was quite remarkable.

Her knees scraped the sand and she scrambled to her feet. Her red and white cotton sundress had seemed a perfectly demure choice when she'd plucked it from her closet this morning. Unfortunately she hadn't taken an impromptu swim into account. She had only to look at Jake, with his magnificent body backlit by the sun, to know how revealing her outfit must be. Feeling awkward and more than a little self-conscious, she fought the urge to dive back into the water and swim for the safety of the open seas.



#



She was self-conscious. Who would've believed it? Beautiful, arrogant Megan McLean who had spent her entire life basking in the glow of approval from everyone she met. He could see it in the way she ducked her head as she made her way from the water, in the slope of her shoulders and sway of her hips. She wasn't daring him to look at her, the way she would have years ago. Instead she seemed as if she'd rather he didn't look at her at all. Was it possible she'd forgotten how incredible she was?

Her breasts were clearly visible through the wet cotton bodice of her dress. Her nipples pushed against the fabric, hard and asking to be sucked. Her skirt hugged her belly and hips, the heavy folds outlining her thighs, hinting at what lay hidden between them. She looked lush, juicy, tempting as hell. And so vulnerable it damn near broke his heart.

To his surprise he found he didn't just want her, he wanted to know what had brought about the change. He wondered what had happened in the six years since their divorce to soften the sharp edges of her personality, to make her less an ice princess and more a flesh and blood woman. He knew it shouldn't matter. The facts of her life were none of his business. Who she'd slept with, who'd made her laugh or cry.

He wondered what she'd say if he asked her to throw caution to the winds and sail off with him. The idea had a certain appeal. There was nothing tying her down. At least nothing she'd mentioned. Her partner could take care of the business. Knowing Megan her involvement was more window-dressing than anything else.

He'd learned a lot about the rich since the days of their marriage. People who were born to luxuries like yachts and limousines and trust funds didn't look at the world the same way as people who had to work for those luxuries did. When they went to work it was more to be in step with current sensibilities than it was to earn a living.

Megan was who she was. That wasn't going to change. He understood that. And now he could finally afford her.

Tonight, he thought. Tonight he'd tell her about the Tropicale, about what he'd done with his past and his plans for the future. He'd tell her that what had started out as a way to settle old scores had turned into something even more dangerous.

But as she walked toward him something gripped him, a sensation so strong, so overpowering that he wanted to turn back the clock and try to make things right....



#



They had driven up from Miami to retrieve the last of her things from the pink palace where she'd lived with her father. Jake had been braced for another fight, but McLean was out of town on business and he had found himself almost disappointed.

"It's better this way," Megan had said as she tossed silk blouses and gold necklaces into a leather suitcase. "Daddy just needs time to get used to the idea that I'm married." She'd turned to him, a smile on her beautiful lips. "He's really a wonderful man, Jake. I know you two will be friends." Her smile widened. "Daddy wants to help us...he even said he'd buy us a little house in the neighborhood so we can all be together."

Something inside Jake snapped. "You're not daddy's little girl anymore," he'd said, turning the suitcase upside down on the bed. "You're my wife."

"Jake!" She'd sounded surprised. A touch fearful. "What on earth--?"

"Leave it," he said, scattering the expensive clothes across the floor. "You don't need this shit."

She scrambled around, gathering up hundred dollar blouses and fifty dollar bras. "These are my things. I'm not going anywhere without them."

"The hell you're not."

"These clothes belong to me."

"They belong to your old man."

"They're mine."

"You don't get it," he said, in amazement. He wanted to wring her lovely neck. "I'll buy you new clothes."

The look on her face spoke volumes. There was a hell of a big difference between Kmart dresses and Donna Karan originals. Even he knew that.

"Isn't that foolish, Jake, when I already have so many wonderful things?"

His gaze travelled the room. The furniture probably cost more than he'd made in his life. Heavy silk drapes. Antique dressing table. Cozy family pictures in silver frames. He thought of the station in Queensland where he'd grown up, of the pallet where he'd slept in the kitchen because there wasn't a room for him in the crowded house.

Who the hell was he to tell her to leave her belongings behind when he couldn't afford to buy her even one of those fancy outfits that filled her closet. McLean had told Jake what he thought of their chances. The bastard's words ate at his gut like a cancer. Six months at the most...you can't expect a girl like Megan to live hand-to-mouth....

McLean didn't think Jake knew what poverty could do to a woman, but he did. He'd watched his sister Angie die a little every day as she cooked and cleaned and dreamed away her life in that shack they'd called home.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Jake?" Megan's feathery brows were knotted in a frown.

"Come here." His voice was rough. His emotions were running high.

She knew what he was about. "Not here!" Her laugh was nervous and delighted both, as he crossed the room to where she stood. "Someone might see us."

He kicked shut the door. "Nobody will see us."

She giggled as he pulled her into his arms. "I can't do it in my old room, Jake. It's--"

"Exciting." He cupped her breasts. "The word you're looking for is 'exciting.'"

She moaned as he moved against her. "What if Daddy comes home?"

"Shut up," he said, claiming her mouth. He didn't want to hear about daddy or the servants, about fancy clothes and privileged lives. He wanted to claim her in the oldest way possible. The most primitive. And he took her, fast and hot and hard, in the room where she'd grown up, surrounded by all the things he'd never be able to provide for her. Not in a million years.

When she cried out his name, a high fierce cry of ecstasy, he'd almost believed they could make it work.



#



We should've talked to each other, he thought as she made her way toward him with the grace that was as much a part of her as her auburn hair and sharp intellect. Making love had been easy. Maybe too easy. Perfectly mated physically they'd paid no attention to the other puzzle pieces that made up the whole of a marriage.

"Jake." Megan stopped a few feet from him. Her green eyes were wide and questioning. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because you're beautiful," he said, unable to stop the words. "And because I was wondering how life would have been if you weren't."

"We never would have married, for starters."

The cynicism in her voice took him by surprise and he said so.

"I don't know why you're surprised," she said. "Sexual chemistry is what our marriage was all about, wasn't it? I think I was in some kind of erotic haze from the moment we met until the moment--" She stopped abruptly and looked away.

He finished it for her. "Until the moment you walked out."

"That about says it all." She met his eyes once again. "We were never very good at conversation, were we?"

"No, Meggie," he said. "Not very good at all."

They'd used sex to get closer...and to stay further apart. Substituting sex for intimacy had been so easy, so natural, that it had never occurred to either one of them that there was more to marriage than what happened between the sheets.

"You know, you're a lot...nicer than I remembered."

He grinned. "And you're a lot more perceptive."

She tilted her head to one side. "Do you hear that?"

He listened. "Birds singing?"

"Conversation, Lockwood. We're having a real live conversation. Can you believe it?"

"Too bad we didn't think of it six years ago."

"Yes," said Megan, her eyes glistening. "Too bad."

She shivered despite the hot sun and wrapped her arms across her chest. There is so much I need to say to you, Jake, and I don't know how to begin....

"Come on," he said. "We'd better get these clothes dry before we head back to the yacht."

She gripped his forearm. "The ship! How on earth will we get back there, Jake? What if they sail without us?"

"They won't sail without us."

"How can you be so sure?"

He flashed the piratical grin that had first won her heart. "They need me, Meggie. Can't have a cruise without a piano player. International law." You blew it again, Lockwood. You had the perfect chance to tell her the truth and you were too goddamn yellow to take advantage of it.

He took her hand and led her toward the cottage. "There's a laundry room off the kitchen," he said as he unlocked the door. "We'll toss these things in the dryer. While they're drying I'll make a few calls and see if I can scare us up another rowboat."

He ushered Megan into the cool, dimly lit front room. She glanced about, taking note of the pale stucco walls, the spare furniture, the total absence of sound. "What makes you think the phone is hooked up?"

"Positive thinking." He lifted the receiver of the wall unit in the kitchen. "See?" He punched in a few numbers. "It's working."

She arched a brow in his general direction but said nothing. The past few days had been one unbelievable turn of events after another. It wouldn't surprise her if the leaky rowboat appeared on the shore, all repaired and ready to go.

The kitchen was stripped to the bare essentials. Tiny refrigerator. Tiny stove. A small porcelain sink with a window that looked out over the scruffy backyard. Bracing her elbows on the sill, she gazed out through the dusty glass and tried to imagine Jake living in this place.

So this was where he'd been when her father died, when she was alone and pregnant and so deeply in debt she couldn't pay her doctor's bills. He'd been living in a tumble-down cottage on some godforsaken island in the middle of nowhere. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

I know how it feels now, Jake. I know all about living hand-to-mouth, about worrying how I'm going to pay the bills, about things like need and ambition and being responsible for someone who's too young and too immature to be responsible for herself.

She chuckled softly. Only difference was Jenny was five years old while Megan had been nineteen.

Once again Jake was speaking Spanish. She caught the words "rowboat" and "trouble," but he spoke so rapidly that her high school Spanish couldn't keep pace. The laundry room was right off the kitchen. She wrinkled her nose at the age of the big washer and dryer but beggars couldn't be choosers.

If she went back to the Sea Goddess looking like something caught in a fisherman's net, she could kiss her contract with Tropicale goodbye. She'd had more than her fill of being the object of the gossip mongers when her father died. She wasn't about to go through that again.

Quickly she stripped off her sundress and tossed it into the dryer. She hesitated for a moment over her panties but then decided the time was long past for false modesty and they joined the sundress.

"I can get us a rowboat from a guy a mile up the road," Jake said, his footsteps growing louder as he approached the laundry room. "You stay here and I'll--"

He stopped in the doorway, mesmerized by the sight of her naked. It wasn't like he hadn't seen her that way before. He had. Many times and in many places. And each time he'd experienced the same flare of desire in the center of his gut. This time, however, it was different. The desire was there but it was tempered with a feeling so intense, so unexpected, that he found himself struggling for composure.

Maybe he was crazy but for a second he seemed to see beyond her beauty, beyond their past, straight inside her vulnerable and lonely heart.

"There are some t shirts in the bedroom," he said, turning away.

"Your clothes," she said. "Let me dry them."

"The sun can do that." He started for the door. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

He was gone before she could say another word.



#



It didn't take long for Megan's sundress to dry. She slipped it back on, wincing at the wrinkled skirt, then managed to arrange her mane of hair into a fairly presentable French braid. She wandered through the cottage, poking her head into closets and cupboards while she tried to imagine how it had been when Jake lived there.

Actually the cottage wasn't much smaller than the house she and Jenny lived in now. Strange to think there'd been a time when she would have turned up her nose at anything less than 5000 square feet. She could have been happy here, living with Jake, working toward the future. Too bad she hadn't realized it six years ago when they still had a chance.

She stepped outside then followed the path down to the beach. The air was warm, heavy with the scent of flowers and the sharp, salty tang of the sea. A stab of longing pierced her heart as she thought of Jenny. Oh, sweetheart, what am I doing to you? It had all seemed so clear, so logical, before today.

She sat by the water's edge, arms wrapped about her knees, her thoughts tangled. Jenny wanted a father desperately. And no one knew better than Megan how important a father's love could be. Jake wasn't the same man he'd been during their marriage. The man she'd married wouldn't have been caught dead playing piano on some other man's yacht. He would have been off tilting at windmills, dreaming crazy dreams that could never come true.

And those dreams hadn't come true. Not a one of them. He wasn't rich or famous or powerful. He wasn't any of the things he'd wanted to be back when they were married and yet he acted as if everything he had ever wanted was his for the taking. He had changed. No doubt about it.

But had he changed enough to be the kind of father Jenny deserved or would he someday break their little girl's heart the way Darrin McLean had broken hers? Jenny deserved a hero but Megan knew heroes were as elusive as happy endings.



#



Francois and his wife Claudine were the kind of neighbors who wouldn't take no for an answer. All Jake wanted was their rowboat. He ended up with the rowboat, a bottle of champagne, a bag of plums, and half a dozen white orchids.

And Francois and Claudine.

"You don't have to do this," he told them as they loaded everything into their Land Rover. "I'll row myself back."

"Nonsense," said Francois, his accent a blend of French, Spanish, and boarding school English. "It has been too long since we saw you."

"And aeons since we've seen you with a young lady." Claudine dimpled, her lined face still lovely despite the years. "La Mirada is a quiet port of call, Jake. Surely you know we feast on the romances of others."

Claudine and Francois caught him up on local gossip as the Land Rover bumped over the dirt road that led to his cottage. Jake heard only part of it. He was too busy berating himself for letting these two incurable romantics know that he had a woman with him.

Still he had to admit there was something infectious about their enthusiasm and zest for life that reminded him of all the things he'd liked about living on La Mirada. Warm company. Great food. The Disney World beauty of the island. All the good things in life that he wanted to recover when he set sail on his boat. He was ambitious enough to enjoy the day-to-day combat of business, but a part of him was still a kid from Queensland, longing to see the world.

Francois angled his vehicle onto the sandy strip that passed for a driveway then turned off the ignition. "The parking brake," Claudine reminded him.

Francois grumbled but he complied. "Old woman, mind your own business."

"You are my business," Claudine said. "No one else would have you."

The affection between the husband and wife was obvious in every word and gesture that passed between them. Jake found himself wondering how it would have been for him and Megan if they'd managed to make a go of their own marriage but he couldn't bring the picture to life. The sex he could imagine in vivid detail. But the ordinary give and take that made up the fabric of a marriage was as alien to him as the concept of happily ever after.

He helped Francois unfasten the rowboat from the trailer hitched to the rear of the Land Rover. He intended to drag the boat down to the water but Francois insisted on holding up his end of the endeavor. Claudine gathered together the wine and fruit and cheese and followed behind.

"Maybe you'd better wait here," Jake said as he slid the rowboat into the water. It had occurred to him that Megan might be stark naked and not in the mood for greeting unexpected visitors. "I'll see where Megan is."

"Megan's right here."

They all turned to see his beautiful ex-wife gliding toward them across the scruffy lawn.

He met her eyes. "Francois and Claudine gave me a lift in their Rover." He gestured toward the rowboat Francois had tied to a stake in the ground. "And a rowboat."

Megan offered her best smile to the elderly couple. "I'm Megan McLean," she said, as Claudine kissed her on each cheek. "Thank you for helping us out."

Claudine beamed her approval. "And thank you, my dear, for gracing our little island. It's been a very long time since our handsome neighbor had a suitable companion and I--"

"You must excuse my beloved wife." Francois stepped forward and kissed Megan's hand. "She sometimes speaks before she thinks."

"Listen," said Jake, feeling the way he had in the sinking rowboat, "Claudine and Francois brought champagne but it's after three. We should be getting back to the dock."

Megan's smile faded. "I thought the Sea Goddess didn't sail until eight o'clock."

Claudine clapped her hands together sharply. "None of this talk about leaving. We won't hear of it until we've toasted to Jake's success."

Megan curiosity was piqued. "Jake's success?" She didn't mean to appear judgmental but playing piano on a yacht hardly called for a bottle of Perrier et Jouet.

"My dear, of course," said Claudine, linking her arm through Megan's. "When we first met him we certainly never thought he would come so far. His wife had just left him and--"

"Claudine," said Jake, his tone grim, "Megan is my ex-wife."

The poor woman's face turned lobster red. "Mon Dieu, how I wish you had told me so."

Megan laughed out loud. "Let's get some glasses from the kitchen, Claudine, and you can tell me all the terrible things Jake told you about his ex-wife."

"But there were no terrible things," said Claudine. "He was heartbroken and--"

"The champagne glasses," said Francois, shaking his head at his wife's volubility.

Jake was heartbroken? The thought intrigued Megan as she and Claudine headed toward the kitchen. Angry she would have believed. Out for blood. Sorry he'd ever gotten involved in the first place. But heartbroken? Not in a million years.

"About what you said out there," Megan began as she swung open the cupboards and took down four glasses for the champagne. "Was Jake--"

"Foolish talk from an old woman." Claudine mustered up a smile. "I spoke out of turn. You must forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive," said Megan.

Claudine looked at her curiously. "You're even prettier than I'd imagined you to be."

"Thank you." This was the oddest conversation Megan had ever had.

"You and Jake would have made beautiful children together."

Jenny's adorable face seemed to materialize right there in front of Megan. "Well, I--I mean, maybe we...." Her words trailed off guiltily. She was relieved when Francois and Jake appeared in the doorway.

"The afternoon is waning," said Francois in his quaintly accented English. "We must toast to Jake's success before he leaves for his--"

"This success," Megan said as Jake popped the cork. "I'm curious about--"

"They make too much of nothing," said Jake. He looked downright embarrassed. "Playing piano isn't worth champagne."

"Modesty," said Francois. "With all of his--"

The champagne bottle hit the floor with a crash, followed by a string of oaths from Jake. "Clumsy sod." He brushed at his pants with the back of his hand. "So much for the toasts."

Claudine hurried off to find a towel while Francois bemoaned the loss of one of nature's wonders.

Megan eyed Jake. "I've never known you to be clumsy."

"My hands were wet," he said easily. "It happens."

"Yes," she said, unconvinced. "I imagine it does."

Both breathed a sigh of relief that their secrets would remain secret a little bit longer.

Francois and Claudine had never been much for celebrations that didn't include champagne. A few minutes later they said goodbye. Jake and Megan stood in the yard and watched as the Land Rover bumped its way back toward their side of the cove.

"Life is tough for incurable romantics," said Jake as they turned back toward the cottage.

"They're sweet," said Megan. "Married so long and still in love with each other. They make it look so easy."

"It isn't," said Jake. "Life's been hard for them."

"Yes," Megan persisted, "but they're still together. What is it they know that we--" She stopped. "It's foolish to think about what might have been, isn't it."

"Yeah," he said after a moment. Foolish but impossible to resist.



#



They shared the plums on the beach, watching the play of sunlight on the water and listening to the soft call of brightly-colored birds high in the trees. The bittersweet mood lingered but there was something else at work there, a deeper understanding that ran counter to the ever-present current of sensuality.

"This is wonderful," Megan said as plum juice drizzled down her arm. "I should have served plums for lunch on the Sea Goddess. The contract would be in the bag." This was the decadent, voluptuous island experience everyone took a cruise to find.

He kissed her along the side of her mouth, drawing his tongue along the line of sticky juice. "You did great," he said. "You'll nail the contract."

"Feel free to put in a good word with the boss."

"You really want the franchise, don't you?"

She took a sip of champagne. "Of course I do," she said carefully.

"Somehow I never figured you for a working girl."

"Oh, you know how it is," she said, waving her hand in the air in a careless gesture. "Everyone has to do something."

A flip answer but she didn't dare handle it any other way. Today was for fantasy and she was determined to keep reality at bay for as long as she could.

This was a moment out of time, blessed with an unexpected ease and grace that neither had believed possible between them. He didn't say anything and neither did she. They didn't need to. He gathered her close. Her eyes were bright with tears as she rested her head against his shoulder. For the first time it wasn't heat that brought them together. It was the need to be close, to say with their bodies what they'd never been able to say with words.

He led her to a spot beneath a bower of tropical blooms, a spot where they were safe from prying eyes. Skin to skin. Heart to heart. They made love with passion and with sweetness.

And with the knowledge that they were moving toward something that neither one of them knew how to handle.

"I hate to leave," Megan said as they gathered up their belongings then placed them in the rowboat.

He looked at her, expecting to see the lie behind her words, but it wasn't there. "We could say to hell with the Sea Goddess."

"And do what?" she asked with a laugh. "Row our way around the world?"

"Live dangerously, Meggie. You never know what's around the corner."

A little girl, she thought as he helped her into the rowboat. The daughter I have to tell you about as soon as I find the courage.



#



When they parted company beneath an old mimosa tree in the center of town, Jake drew her into his arms and she went willingly.

"Tonight," Jake said.

Megan nodded, not trusting her voice.

Their kiss was so tender, so sweet, so unlike any they'd shared during their marriage that the last of her defenses crumbled at his feet. Tell him, her heart pleaded. He has the right to know he has a child. And, dear God, Jenny had the right to a father of her own.

She couldn't hide the truth from him any longer. Not if she wanted to look her daughter in the eye when she went home. Tonight when he came to her cabin she would tell him.

Jake vanished into the crowd. As part of the crew, he had things to do before they set sail again but Megan was free to enjoy La Mirada a while longer. She'd noticed a shop at the far end of the street with a sign that boasted the finest selection of post cards in the Caribbean. Jenny adored postcards. Remembering her promise to send one from every port, Megan turned to head back to the store when she bumped smack into Val.

"If you're not all shopped out, why don't you join me?" she offered with a smile. "I'm on the great postcard hunt."

Val didn't return the smile. "Surprised you'd feel like wasting time with a commoner, all things considered."

"A commoner?" Megan's smile faltered. Val was looking at her as if she'd committed a crime. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Val said. "It's just I wouldn't have figured you for the type to sleep her way up the ladder."

Megan's back stiffened. "Would you care to explain that?"

"Oh, come on, honey. He's tall, he's gorgeous, and he owns the company. You could do worse."

"Are you talking about Jake?"

Val nodded, one eyebrow arched. "Your ex and only."

Had the woman lost her mind? "Jake plays the piano, Val. I doubt if he even owns a rowboat."

Val reached into her straw bag and withdrew a folded copy of a St. Thomas newspaper. "Talk about luck," Val said, handing the paper to Megan. "Lie down with a piano player, wake up with a millionaire. It's the other way around for the rest of us mortals."

The story was right there on the front page. Eight column inches extolling the virtues of the Tropicale organization and their iconoclastic owners, Ian Macmillan and Jake Lockwood. If she had any doubts, the big black and white photograph of Jake erased them.

"Your hands are shaking." Val sounded surprised. "You really didn't know."

"No," said Megan over the pain in her chest. "I really didn't."

"At least now you can be sure you'll get the job."

"Not like this," Megan said, crumpling the paper into a ball. "I'd rather die." The taste of betrayal lay bitter on her tongue. Jake, her ex-husband, her renegade lover, had made his dreams come true...those same dreams that Megan had dismissed as the fantasies of a man who'd never amount to anything.

Suddenly it was all clear. The unexpected invitation to apply for the Tropicale contract. The request for Megan, and not Ingrid, to appear.

The seduction.

Her throat tightened and she took a deep breath, willing herself not to cry, not to let anyone see her pain.

She looked at Val. "How long until we set sail?"

Val checked her watch. "A little more than three hours."

"Good," said Megan. She'd be on a plane headed for home before he even knew she was gone.

And she would never, not ever, think of him again.