"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.
Her Bad Boy Billionaire Lover (Billionaire Lovers) Page 8