Her Bad Boy Billionaire Lover (Billionai)

chapter Seven



Jake was in the office working on spec sheets for the Sea Goddess's maiden voyage next month when Ian appeared in the doorway.

"I know I didn't do it," Ian said, "so that leaves you."

"I'm not in the mood for riddles," Jake said, marking his spot in the long column of numbers. "What are you talking about?"

"McLean," he said, a wide grin on his face. "The cute little sheila who got under your skin. She's gone."

"Gone? What the hell do you mean, gone?"

"Gone as in out-of-here," Ian said, obviously enjoying Jake's confusion. "She bolted right before we sailed."

"Bullshit." This was payback time for the fight they'd had over Megan a few nights ago. He wouldn't give the guy the satisfaction.

"Sorry, mate. I saw her with my own eyes." He grinned. "She had a cab waiting on the dock."

Jake kicked back his chair. His pulse rate kicked into overdrive as he ran full-out toward Megan's cabin. She'd be there. No reason why she wouldn't be. Ian was probably laughing his ass off, watching Jake make a fool of himself, but buried deep down inside him was a buzz of apprehension, that maybe, just maybe....

He banged on Megan's door. No answer. The buzz increased. He jiggled the handle. The door swung open and he stepped into the cabin. It took all of a nanosecond to see that she was gone. It took another nanosecond to see that she hadn't bothered to leave a note.

"So Cinderella really did fly the coop?"

He turned to see one of the female travel agents watching him from the doorway. The nametag on her left breast read Val.

"Is that a question or a statement?" He didn't have time for polite conversation.

Val peered into the cabin. "Looks like it's a fact." She eyed him with obvious interest. "Girl must've lost her mind. Most women would consider a guy like you the romantic equivalent of winning the lottery."

"Did she tell you where she was going?"

"Moi?" The travel agent dimpled. "Not hardly."

He returned her smile with a scowl. She didn't take the hint. "What happened? Was there some kind of emergency?"

"Let's just say I made a teensy-tiny mistake." She looked up at him through tangled false lashes. "You're a naughty boy, Jake Lockwood. A girl likes to know when she's sleeping with the boss."



#



Ingrid's house was situated at the far end of a cul de sac in a solid, upper-middle class Miami neighborhood. Sprawling stucco ranch houses stood side by side with two-story English tudors. The lawns were lush and green, the perfect background for enormous beds of multicolored flowers of every variety. As beautiful as it was, it was the kind of neighborhood Megan would have sneered at when she lived in Palm Beach. Today she would consider herself blessed.

"You can pull in the driveway," Megan instructed the cabbie. "Right behind the Volvo." And next to the battered Ford Fiesta she called her own.

"Need help with your bags?" he asked after he unloaded them from the trunk.

She shook her head. "I can manage." She paid the bill, added a tip that made the driver frown, then started up the walk toward the front door. Thank God it was a weekday. Jenny would be in kindergarten until one o'clock. Megan doubted it, but maybe by then she'd have a grip on her emotions.

"What on earth--?" Ingrid, clad in white shorts and a bright red maternity top, stood on the top step and stared at her in disbelief. "You're supposed to be in St. Thomas."

"Are you going to invite me in," Megan asked, stifling a yawn, "or do I have to get pushy about it?"

Ingrid stepped aside and ushered Megan into the cool, dim foyer. A basket of wildflowers rested on a plant stand near the staircase, a note of beauty and grace that described Ingrid perfectly.

"Look at you," said Megan, patting her friend's enormous belly. "You're even bigger than you were on Friday."

"And with good reason." Ingrid absently massaged the small of her back. "The doctor said any day now."

"I thought you had another three weeks."

"So did I but the baby has other ideas."

"So much for modern medicine. Babies still play by their own rules."

Ingrid nodded her agreement. "So what are you doing here, Megan? You're not supposed to be home for two more days."

"Nothing happened." Megan followed her into the sun-splashed kitchen. "I came home early. It's not against the law." Her voice caught on the last word. She prayed her friend didn't notice.

No such luck. Ingrid stopped dead in her tracks, blocking Megan's way. "Your ex?"

She nodded.

"Are you going to tell me about it or do I have to drag it out of you?"

"He owns Tropicale."

Ingrid looked at her, hesitated, then burst out laughing. "That's a good one, Megan. Now let's try the truth."

Megan stepped around her partner's considerable bulk then claimed a chair at the kitchen table. "He owns Tropicale," she repeated. "Lock, stock, and profits."

"I thought you said he was the piano player."

Megan rested her chin in her hands. "Apparently that charade was for my benefit."

"I can't believe this," said Ingrid, settling herself down onto a chair opposite Megan. "Do you suppose that's why The Moveable Feast got the invitation?"

"Bingo, Sherlock. It wasn't our remoulade."

"When did he tell you?"

"He didn't."

"Who did?"

"A travel agent with the hots for him." Megan's laugh was bitter. "Can you believe she accused me of sleeping my way to the top?"

"So what did he say when you confronted him?"

Megan felt her cheeks redden. "I didn't confront him."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"You look like you want me to shut up."

"But you're not going to, are you, Ingrid?"

"Not until I get some answers."

"I'm afraid I'm all out of answers."

Ingrid waited a moment then said, "Did you tell him about Jenny?"

"No." Megan met her partner's eyes. "And I'm glad I didn't."

"It seems to me you don't have the right to complain about Jake when you're as guilty as he is."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Ingrid didn't flinch under Megan's flinty stare. "I think you know exactly what it means. Concealing the existence of a child is a lot more serious than hiding your bank balance."

"He's the one who set this whole thing in motion. Not me."

"I don't want to argue with you, Megan, but it doesn't matter who set it in motion. Jake is Jenny's father and you know where to find him. Do you really think you'll be able to look at your little girl and still keep them apart?"



#



It didn't take long for word to get around the ship that Jake was one of Tropicale's owners. He barricaded himself in his office with a bottle of Scotch and set about getting roaring drunk. Unfortunately he'd never been good at getting drunk. Maybe it was because he was the child of a world-class drunk. Or maybe he'd been cursed with a cast iron stomach. No matter how much he drank, or how quickly, he never quite managed to achieve that state of blissful numbness where all of your problems disappeared, if only temporarily.

There wasn't enough Scotch in the world to erase Megan from his mind. He knew that now for a fact. She was part of him, burned into his soul for eternity. He didn't like it. He'd pay the devil to change it. But there was nothing he could do about it.

"You blew it, mate." He slumped on the couch and took a slug straight from the bottle. He should have told her what he was about right from the start. How tough was it to say, "I own the yacht. I own the company." He didn't blame her for being angry. From her perspective it must have looked like he'd do anything to get her in bed, including lie.

And if he was being honest, he'd have to admit that's exactly what he'd done.

The chemistry between them had been so fierce, so hot, that he'd been powerless before the dark call of his blood. "It's not over yet, Meggie," he said, taking another slug of Scotch. "Not by a long shot."

He'd let her walk out on him once before but this time was different. Whatever he'd done, however he'd hurt her, this time he wasn't going to let her go without a fight.



#



Ingrid's words came back to haunt Megan later that evening.

She was giving Jenny her evening bath and shampoo, grateful to be settled back within the comforting embrace of routine. This was where she belonged. Safe in her tiny rented house with her little girl, with the rest of the world an arm's length away.

"Okay, sweetie, close your eyes while I rinse your hair." She tested the spray against her arm then adjusted the cold water.

Jenny shook her head, sending shampoo bubbles flying. "Not yet."

Megan placed her hands on her hips and summoned up a frown. "I know what you're up to, young lady, and it's not going to work. Bedtime is still seven o'clock." This was an old battle and a familiar one.

Jenny's perfect little features slid into a scowl and for a moment the resemblance to Jake was so intense it stole Megan's breath away. "Courtney can stay up to watch The Simpsons on Thursday and Danielle can watch Dinosaurs."

"We've been through this before, Jenny. Bedtime is seven o'clock in this house. No exceptions."

The little girl pouted while Megan rinsed her hair. Megan ignored her daughter's petulance and whistled one of the songs from Beauty and the Beast as she wrapped the child in a fluffy pink bath towel then helped her out of the tub. It felt so wonderful to be home again that not even Jenny's mood could dim her happiness.

"If you put on your pajamas by yourself, I'll let you have some chocolate milk before you go to sleep."

"I don't want chocolate milk."

"You love chocolate milk."

Jenny fixed her with a look. "Kristin's daddy lets her play Nintendo until ten o'clock." The look sharpened. "If I had a daddy, he'd let me stay up and watch ."

"Well, too bad for you," said Megan in a casual tone of voice. "You have a mommy and she says lights out at seven o'clock."

Jenny thrust her lower lip forward. "I don't like you anymore."

"I'm sorry to hear that but it doesn't change anything, Jenny."

"Daddies let you stay up as late as you want to."

Oh God, Megan groaned inwardly. Why tonight? For almost six years the daddy topic had been of little interest to Jenny and now, tonight, it was suddenly number one on her hit parade.

She sat down on the edge of the bathtub and rested her hands on the little girl's fragile shoulders. "Jenny, look at me." Jenny's gaze drifted to the window, to the door, then finally toward Megan. "Do you remember when we talked about why some families just have a mommy and some families just have a daddy?"

Jenny nodded her head. "Stace has a mommy and a daddy."

"Stace is a lucky little girl," Megan said, trying to keep her emotions in check. Staying with Ingrid and Miguel in their Norman Rockwell household was bound to stir up questions. It came with the territory. "I didn't have a mommy when I was a little girl."

Jenny's golden eyes widened. "Everybody has a mommy."

Megan shook her head. "My mother died when I was a baby."

"But you had a daddy, didn't you?"

"Yes, sweetheart, I had a daddy."

Jenny considered the situation. "Is your daddy staying with my daddy?"

Please, God, Megan begged again. Help me answer this question and I'll never ask you for another thing as long as I live.

She hugged Jenny close. "My daddy died just before you were born, sweetheart. Remember the pictures I showed you of your Grandpa?"

"No," said Jenny, squirming out of Megan's embrace. "Is my daddy dead too?"

You're not listening, God. I need help and I need it fast! "No, honey, your daddy isn't dead."

"Why doesn't he live here?"

Megan took a deep breath. "Remember how Mr. and Mrs. Dodd from next door stopped being married?"

"They got divorced," said Jenny.

"That's what happened to your daddy and me. We got divorced."

"Tiffany has two daddies and one mommy," she persisted. "And she's going to have a little brother but her mommy says she has to wait until Christmas until he's finished." Her eyes lit up with excitement. "Could I have a little brother for Christmas, too?"

"Why don't we talk about it after you put your pajamas on, Jenny?"

"Can I still have chocolate milk before I go to sleep?"

She kissed the top of her daughter's head. "Of course you can."

Jenny threw her little arms around Megan and hugged her. "I missed you, mommy. I don't like it when you go away."

"I missed you too." More than you could ever imagine, Jen.

"Can we have burritos for dinner tomorrow?"

"We sure can."

"Can I have a new Barbie for my birthday?"

"You'll find out on your birthday, honey."

"Am I gonna have a party?"

"Of course you're going to have a party."

"At Aunt Ingrid's?"

"At Aunt Ingrid's."

"Danielle had a clown at her birthday party."

"You'll have a super-duper party, Jenny. And the sooner you go to sleep the quicker the days will pass."

Jenny planted a squishy kiss on Megan's cheek. "You're the best mommy in the whole wide world."

Megan could only wonder how much longer she'd be able to hold onto the title.



#



Everyone agreed the cruise was an unqualified success. The travel agents waxed enthusiastic about the Sea Goddess and all vowed to promote it heavily to prospective vacationers. The consensus was that Megan and The Moveable Feast had provided the most innovative and delicious meals. It was also obvious that signing her up was highly unlikely.

"Good going, mate," Ian said as they watched the passengers disembark in Miami. "We lose our best prospect because you can't keep your trousers zipped. That sweet little Megan McLean was--" He never got to finish his sentence.

Jake hauled off and belted his partner in the jaw. Ian got in a quick shot to Jake's right eye but Jake quickly recovered and landed a left-right combination that knocked Ian on his ass.

Later on Jake blamed it on the fact that he was tired and hung over, but the truth was he'd had a taste for blood that wouldn't be denied. He was filled with anger, and loss, and a score of conflicting emotions, most of which he'd spent a lifetime avoiding. And the best way he could think of to dispel those emotions was by using his fists. Primitive? He wouldn't argue that. But it was still damn effective.

He helped Ian to his feet. "Your jaw's swelling."

Ian touched it and winced. "Second time in five days. Either we start using gloves or I'm going to hire a bodyguard."

"It was nothing personal," Jake offered by way of apology.

Ian looked at him sharply and grinned. "You're going to have one hell of a black eye."

Somehow that prospect made Jake even happier than it made his partner.



#



Try as she might, Megan found it difficult to accept the old boundaries. In less than a week her entire life had been turned on its ear and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't set it right. Oh, it felt wonderful to be home again with Jenny but not even the deep pleasure of motherhood could alter the fact that she wanted more.

Needed more.

She missed his sound and his smell, the warmth of his body against hers at night, the feeling that the one man on earth who was all wrong for her was the only man she would ever love.

That thought was enough to send her under the bedcovers permanently.

She'd loved him once but she didn't any longer. You had to trust a man in order to love him and Megan doubted if she would trust another man again as long as she lived. Her father had been the most important man in her life and he hadn't cared enough about her or the grandchild she'd carried to protect their future. There was no reason to believe that Jake would be any different.

And she wasn't about to risk Jenny's heart--or her own--to find out.



#



Jake rarely spent time in Tropicale's Miami offices but this time he was in no hurry to return to the west coast.

The office assistant knocked then stepped into his office. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lockwood, but Ms. McLean still won't take your calls."

Jake scowled. "What do you mean she won't take my calls?"

Helen tugged at the sleeve of her white blouse. "She doesn't want to talk to you."

"Did you tell her she got the contract?"

Poor Helen shifted position, the toe of her black pump digging deeper into the carpet. "She said she doesn't want the contract."

Jake let out a string of Aussie expletives that turned Helen's cheeks a vivid shade of pink. He considered himself an almost-American but when it came to cursing, there was nothing like the mother tongue. His poor assistant, however, looked as if she was about to faint.

"Sorry, Helen," he said, breaking a pencil in half then tossing it across the room.

Helen nodded, the color in her cheeks fading somewhat. "Maybe you should call her yourself, Mr. Lockwood. You might have more luck."

Jake shook his head. It would take more than luck to budge the stubborn Ms. McLean. When Megan made up her mind to something, a herd of wild elephants couldn't knock her off-course. It was nice to know some things hadn't changed.

"Should I call Celia Briscoe and tell her she got the contract?"

"Hell, no. The Moveable Feast won fair and square."

"If you'll excuse my saying so, Mr. Lockwood, it doesn't matter how the Moveable Feast won the contract if they won't sign on the dotted line."

Leave it to Helen to zero in on the heart of the matter. "They'll sign."

"Ms. McLean won't even talk to you on the phone. I find it hard to believe she'll sign a contract with you."

"She'll sign." He rummaged through a pile of papers on his desk. "Do we have an address on Moveable Feast?"

"They use a post office box." Helen thought for a moment. "But I do seem to remember a street address on one of the waivers we had them sign for the insurance company. That must be their office address."

"Get it for me," Jake barked. "And have three copies of the contract ready in ten minutes."

Helen's eyes widened. "You're going to show up at their kitchen with the contracts?"

"Whatever works."

"There are other caterers, Mr. Lockwood. Ones that you can actually get hold of. Celia Briscoe--"

"Just get the contracts ready. I'll take care of the rest."



#



"I can't believe this." Megan rooted through the back of her car and came up empty again. "What kind of mother would leave her child's birthday present home?"

"A busy one," said Ingrid, massaging the small of her back. "I'm surprised you managed to finish the cake." She sighed loudly. "I wish I could've been more help with the party, but...." Her voice trailed off.

"Good grief, Ingrid. Offering up your house for this shindig is more than any enough."

Ingrid grinned. "You do realize I'll get my own back when you take care of Stace for us while I'm in the hospital."

"Stace is a doll. We love having her around." Megan climbed behind the wheel. "I'll be back as fast as I can. The girl with the pony should be here any minute." She started the engine then checked the rearview mirror. "Tell Miguel I'll be forever in his debt if he'll film Jenny and--"

"Go get the present," said Ingrid. "We'll take care of everything else."



#



"Damn it," Jake swore as he turned down yet another rundown residential street. He'd been driving around for twenty minutes and he had yet to find 56 Tecumseh Avenue. In fact he was beginning to doubt there even was a Tecumseh Avenue.

The address had to be wrong. He looked around at the tiny houses with their parched lawns and old cars crowding the driveways. Megan wouldn't be caught dead driving through a neighborhood like this, much less working here.

He'd noticed a gas station about a mile back. Maybe somebody there would be able to tell him where he'd gone wrong. He was about to make a U-turn when in someone's driveway when he caught a glimpse of a street sign that was hanging by one bolt. T UM EH. Tecumseh. It had to be. He swung a quick right onto the narrow street and peered at the house numbers.

Number 56 was a tiny cottage, not much bigger than the one he owned on La Mirada. Someone had carefully painted it a pale yellow with crisp white trim. Flower boxes, heavy with red blooms, were at each window. A little Ford wagon that had seen better days idled in the driveway. Megan lived here? Not bloody likely.

He braked to a stop in front of the house turned off the engine. Still it wouldn't hurt to check.



#



Jenny's birthday present was in the tool shed, hidden behind the grass catcher, right where Megan had left it. The tool shed was the only place she could be certain Jenny wouldn't look because she might run into spiders.

Megan dusted a fine layer of grass clippings off the brightly-wrapped package, adjusted the bow, then ran back into the house for her sunglasses. She was debating the wisdom of locking the kitchen window when the telephone rang.

"Better come back right away," said Ingrid. "I think I'm in labor."

"Good grief, Ingrid, you're kidding!"

"I never kid about labor. Hurry up, Meg."

She popped on her sunglasses, grabbed the birthday present, then hurried toward the front door as footsteps crunched their way up the walkway. The UPS. woman, maybe. Or a FedEx delivery. She'd ordered some twenty-quart stockpots a few weeks back. It would be nice if the darned things arrived before the big Cooper-Hardison wedding next month. If they didn't, she'd be making clear consomme for three hundred in metal washtubs.

"I'm in a rush," she called out as she swung open the door. "If there's anything for me to sign, I'll--"

She stopped. It wasn't UPS or FedEx or the U. S. Mail.

It was Jake.

And he was looking for a fight.