The Geek's Bad Boy Billionaire

by Talia Hunter

  “Because of the scattering effect that diffuses blue light?”

  Blake smiled. “Does it make it any more or less beautiful if you know what causes it?’

  Instead of answering, she stared intently at the bright disk as it disappeared behind the horizon. “There, I saw it.”

  “Beautiful,” he murmured. But when she turned he was looking at her, not the sun. His tanned skin looked golden in the final glowing rays of light. His eyes reflected the infinite sky, the rolling waves. He fit so well here, it seemed he could be carved from the sand itself. Had living on this lovely island healed the scars that must have been left by having such a violent, traumatic upbringing?

  “Have you decided what you might like?” William’s voice made her jump.

  Blake turned smoothly and gave their order, while Caylee looked down at the table, embarrassed. Had she been staring at him? What was wrong with her, if a few sips of wine could make her lose her head over a man who was so clearly wrong for her? But it wasn’t just the wine. She’d been acting unlike herself ever since she arrived on the island, letting her body lead her mind into foolish places. No amount of physical attraction could overrule the fact that Blake couldn’t be trusted. Not to mention they’d be parting ways in a couple of days.

  “So,” said Blake, when William had left. “Tell me about your work.”

  “I’ve been working on a proof to deepen our understanding of the Golden Ratio.”

  “The Golden Ratio? Isn’t that something artists use?”

  “That’s right. It’s a simple mathematical relationship that’s found in many great works of art, as well as in architecture and in nature. We naturally find the Golden Ratio pleasing to the eye. For example, people are considered beautiful when their features match the Ratio’s proportions.”

  She couldn’t help but examine his face as she spoke, measuring the dimensions of his eyes, nose, and mouth, and the hard angles of his cheekbones and chin. As she suspected, his proportions were close to perfect. No doubt that was one of the reasons she found him so attractive, but it was only a small part of the mystery. Good looks alone surely wouldn’t make her feel so disarmed by him. “The Golden Ratio can be represented by a single number, Phi, which is 1.6180339, and so on, to an infinite number of decimal places. It’s an irrational number.”

  “An irrational number?” He smiled. “If you were a number you’d be the most rational number there ever was.”

  “And you? What kind of number would you be?” But she already knew. He was Phi, the Golden Number. Lana would say he was one hot number. Caylee’s cheeks flushed at the thought and she turned her face away from him, staring out across the sea. Even with the sun gone, the sky was still spectacular, painted in vivid reds and yellows that were only just starting to be overtaken by the darkness. Blake was right. Knowing that the colors were caused by molecules in the atmosphere scattering the light didn’t make any difference to how stunning it was.

  “Someone once told me that we’re just the sum of our experiences.” His voice was thoughtful. “But I think that’s selling us a bit short.”

  She looked back at him. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have been able to escape your upbringing.”

  He glanced down at the table and Caylee thought he looked uncomfortable. Was he thinking about the things he’d stolen from her? She wanted to ask him about it, but maybe she should wait until after they’d eaten. What Blake had done was so terrible his actions couldn’t be justified or explained. Would he admit his crimes or try to deny them? Would he be ashamed, or angry?

  Blake’s eyes came back up to meet hers, the faded denim blue suddenly piercing. “I’ve thought about you often. I always knew you’d be successful. I expected to see you on the news one day, accepting a Nobel Prize or a Fields Medal.”

  She laughed, a little uncomfortable. When she’d thought about Blake it had been with bitterness. His betrayal had overshadowed everything else between them.

  “No Fields Medal yet,” she said. “And to be honest, my ambitions have become smaller since I met Dr. Partington. Now I’m just hoping I don’t have to give up my research and get a job cleaning toilets.”

  “Funny you should say that, because we happen to have an opening for a toilet cleaner here at the resort. If you give me your resume and references I’d be happy to consider you for the position.”

  She raised one eyebrow, playing along. “Would you consider my experience in dealing with Dr. Partington’s shit to be adequate prior training?”

  He burst out laughing. “You know the funniest part of that joke was hearing you say shit. I don’t remember ever hearing you swear. Even that time I swapped your English essay with one I’d copied out using different-colored crayons.”

  “You knew I wouldn’t have time to redo it so I had to hand in that one.” Caylee gave him a mock glare, squeezing her lips together to keep from grinning. “It was lucky I still got an A, or I’d have been mad.”

  “Maybe your English teacher enjoyed having a little extra color in her life.”

  Blake had certainly added plenty of extra color to Caylee’s life. She hadn’t fully appreciated the way he made her smile until he was gone and the color had drained away. “So after you left, while I was studying, what were you doing? Learning how to build resorts?”

  “Something like that.” His eyes got darker, as though the blue sky had clouded over. He was looking into the past, and she could tell it hurt. All these years she’d spent cursing him, and it never occurred to her to wonder what had happened to him after he left. Had it not gotten better for him?

  Impulsively she reached out and touched her fingers to the back of his hand. “Tell me,” she said simply.

  He hesitated and she was sure he was going to make a joke or change the subject. But after a long, drawn out moment, he asked, “You know I went to live with my uncle?”

  She shook her head. When she’d found the mess he’d made of her room, she’d considered marching over and demanding his parents tell her where he was, but she was too afraid of them. Finally, when weeks had gone past and he didn’t reappear, she’d decided it didn’t matter, that as long as the thief was out of her life she could count herself lucky. She flushed slightly as she remembered savagely hoping he’d been sent to jail where he belonged.

  “My uncle was a loner, never married, no kids, and I’m pretty sure he liked it that way. He lived in Idaho. Far enough away that he barely saw me, only at Christmas, and it would always end with a fight between him and Dad. But all it took was one phone call and he took me in without a second’s hesitation. He worked a full day, then drove for fifteen straight hours to come and get me. That’s the kind of guy he was. A builder living in a tiny rented flat surviving from paycheck to paycheck, and he took in his sister’s bad-attitude eighteen-year-old kid.”

  His hand was stiff under Caylee’s, his voice controlled and his body tense. “Anyway, he was good to me. Didn’t have much, but was tough on me when I deserved it and soft when I needed it. Taught me everything he knew about construction and, when I left school, I started building houses. Wanted to make him proud of me, you know? I borrowed some money, built a house and sold it. Made a profit and just kept going.”

  “But why resorts?”

  Blake gave a soft laugh. “My uncle never got to take a proper holiday in his life. He told me once that he’d always wanted to stay in a fancy resort on a tropical island but could never afford it. So, when I developed my first resort, I made sure the best suite was assigned just for him. So he could live there all year round if he wanted to.”

  “Does he live there?”

  Blake shook his head. Sorrow had leeched into his expression. It was evident in the furrow that cut between his eyebrows and the pulled-down line of his mouth. She’d known his teenage face well, but she couldn’t remember ever seeing him this sad. The sight made her heart ache. Her fingers curled around his hand so she could squeeze it. She knew what he was going to say before he spoke.
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br />   “My uncle died before it was finished.”

  “Oh, Blake, I’m sorry.”

  He took a breath and let it out slowly. His body relaxed slightly with the exhalation, the sadness in his face easing as though he was forcing it away. His eyes were still dark, but the line between his brows smoothed and, when he spoke again, his voice had a purposeful lightness. “What about you? It’s easy to see you love your work, but is there someone special in your life, waiting impatiently for you to come home to him?”

  “No. I’m too busy for that.”

  He raised his eyebrows. His expression was almost back to being teasing, the sorrow banished to somewhere deep inside him. “Too busy? But surely you’ve had relationships?”

  She flushed. “Yes, of course.” Not that it was any of his business. She wasn’t about to tell him that for a long time she hadn’t dated until she realized that, in spite of her rage and hurt, she was secretly hoping Blake would return, sweeping back in to explain how he’d been forced against his will to steal her belongings and disappear. That was also the day she’d finally accepted nothing could ever excuse his betrayal or heal the damage he’d done to her heart.

  She’d forced herself to move on and had started a relationship with a colleague. It had been a mistake. As a fellow mathematician he should have appreciated the importance of her work, but he’d constantly complained about coming second to it. Truth be told, she’d been a little relieved when he’d finally walked out, and she could once again focus all her energy on her research.

  “And you?” she asked, deflecting his interest. “I’m sure there have been more than enough women in your life?”

  Annoyingly, he didn’t seem embarrassed. His lips twitched up as though he found the question amusing. “A few.”

  “Anyone serious?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t do serious. You saw my parents. There’s no way I’ll ever take the chance of ending up as miserable as them. My uncle was single and happy, and I’d rather be like him.”

  “But all marriages aren’t like your parents’.”

  “How many old married couples do you know who are still together and happy?”

  “Only a few,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean marriage won’t work for you and me.” Her face heated as she realized how that had sounded. “I mean, not you and me together. That’s not what I meant.”

  He laughed and shook his head. His eyes had faded back to their normal soft shade of blue. “Sorry to disappoint you, Caylee, but I’m not the marrying type,” he teased. “Not even if you ask me nicely.”

  She had a powerful urge to do something she hadn’t done since she was small—stick her tongue out at him. Luckily, William was hovering behind them with their meals.

  “Salmon, madam?” He put it down in front of her. “And the steak.”

  Caylee waited until William had gone, then picked up her knife and fork. The food smelled good. After they’d eaten, she’d ask Blake the one question burning on her tongue and watch him closely to see how he answered. No matter how charming he was, no matter how hard his life had been, the fact that he’d not only left without a word, but that he’d also stolen Grandma’s ring, was what really mattered. It still hurt that she’d lost the one precious memento she had of her grandmother. He’d known how much the ring meant to her. What else could she believe but that he’d meant to wound her as deeply as he could?

  If Blake had betrayed her once, he could easily do it again. And if there was one thing she’d learned from watching Lana get hurt by the bad boys she was so attracted to, it was never to trust a liar or a thief. Some of the most charming men had been the ones who’d treated her the worst.

  Chapter Nine

  When he looked at Caylee it was as though the years disappeared and it was the eighteen-year-old girl who sat in front of Blake, sipping her wine and remarking how delicious her salmon was. She’d changed, sure. But she still had that indefinable something that had drawn him so strongly when he was a boy. Was it the intelligence in her face? She’d always had a self-assuredness about her, maybe because she’d always known she was smart enough to make a real difference in the world. He hadn’t been joking about expecting her to win a Nobel Prize. She’d always been special, and to a struggling kid like him, she was a warm flame lighting up a freezing night.

  Blake had changed a lot more than she had. He was a long way from being that teenager who always wanted to be around her and didn’t care how long he outstayed his welcome. Back then he hadn’t cared if she was mad at him or angry about something he’d done. At least she was noticing him. Before his uncle showed him differently, he’d thought anger was all he deserved. It was the only attention his parents had ever given him.

  Yeah, that kid was well gone. Thanks to his uncle, Blake would never be a bully again. He smiled to himself. At least, not unless his bullying got Caylee into a dress like the one she was wearing. The woman looked so smoking hot she’d practically popped the eyes of all the guys in the restaurant when she walked in.

  “More wine?” he asked, lifting the bottle and offering it to her. Her glass was almost empty, and so was her plate.

  “Yes, please.”

  She picked up the glass as soon as he finished pouring and took a big gulp. It was an action that seemed a little out of character, almost as though she were nervous or trying to get her courage up for something.

  Her fingers lingered on the stem of the glass when she put it down. Her expression was thoughtful, like she was turning something over in her mind. Did she want to tell him something?

  He took a bite of his dinner and chewed, waiting for her to speak. When she said nothing, he kept eating, letting the silence stretch out. He’d almost finished, and still she hadn’t said whatever it was that was obviously on her mind.

  Finally, Blake put down his knife and fork. “What is it?”

  Caylee looked at him. “Blake…” She hesitated. Her eyes were fixed on his, an intense stare, as though she was trying to see right inside him. “Can we talk about the night you left?”

  Blake’s stomach clenched. That night was the last thing he wanted to talk about. His parents had been angry about his decision to leave. They’d tried to insist he stay in school and finish out the year. They’d both been drinking, of course. His father red-faced and loud, one minute stumbling over his own feet, the next furious and ready with his fists. His mother with her butt glued to her favorite armchair, taking gulps of her sweet, white wine and slurring her words. When they were like that, the slightest thing would set them off, and the last straw had been the sight of Blake’s bag packed and waiting by the front door.

  His father had called him an ungrateful, little shit who didn’t appreciate how good he had it. His mother had sobbed and wailed before she threw her empty wine bottle at him. Blake had slipped out the front door and gone to Caylee’s to wait for his uncle’s car to pull up. He’d needed to say good-bye to her.

  Caylee hadn’t been there. He clearly remembered the pain he’d felt as he walked into her room that night. Usually, being in her room loosened something in his chest. It was as though there was invisible barbed wire in his own house that kept snagging around his heart and stopping his breathing, and it was only when he was near her that the wire unwound. But this time the barbed wire squeezed a little tighter. It was the last time he’d ever be in her room, and he couldn’t believe he wouldn’t have a chance to say good-bye in person. He’d have to leave her a note and try to get down on paper even a small part of what was in his heart. The night before had been so unexpected. It was a crazy, wonderful, incredible miracle that had happened at the worst possible time.

  He’d ripped a piece of paper from one of her school books and agonized over what to write. As much as he wanted to, could he justify trying to keep her in his life? She was going to college, headed toward a brilliant future. He was a human hand grenade, on the run from a toxic past, with nothing to offer. In the end he’d left the decision to her. He’d scrawled
his uncle’s phone number and a few lines explaining why he had to leave. He’d been brutally honest and hoped she’d understand his decision.

  Caylee leaned toward him and he snapped out of the memory. She was wearing a strange, intense expression. He tilted his head forward so he could catch her gentle floral scent over the aroma of the food.

  She cleared her throat.

  “Blake, before you left that night, why did you steal all the money out of my piggy bank and my grandma’s wedding ring?”

  …

  “What?” Blake’s eyes widened and his brows pulled down at the sides.

  The expression of shock seemed genuine. Caylee couldn’t detect any flicker of deceit, but perhaps he was skilled at acting innocent. “You knew how much Grandma’s ring meant to me. You took it to hurt me, didn’t you?”

  “How could you think I’d do something like that?” He shook his head. “Caylee, you knew me better than anyone else in the world. Sure, I was screwed up, but do you really think I’d steal from you?”

  “I don’t know, Blake. That’s why I’m asking.”

  “You don’t know? We hung out together every single day for—”

  “Hung out?” She raised her eyebrows, challenging him. “Is that what you call it? What about all the times you tormented me? Was that just hanging out?”

  His expression had turned dark. “I wasn’t good to you, Caylee. I’m sorry for that. Shit, I’m sorry for everything.”

  His eyes were black. Suddenly he looked like his teenage self. The expression on his face was so familiar to her that she drew in her breath. It was familiar but, at the same time, she knew she’d never properly identified the emotion he wore. It was a look of pain. When he was a teenager, the expression—the pain—had been far more apparent, so strong it seemed part of his normal features. It had been permanently set into his face, as though he’d swum in a lake of hurt and had never been able to get dry. Now that she saw the expression on him as an adult, she realized that the lack of it was what had made him look so different, why it had taken her a while to recognize him when she first saw him. Without that look of pain, he didn’t look like the boy she’d known.