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 d
oubt 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.
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."
Her Bad Boy Billionaire Lover (Billionaire Lovers) Page 9