Her Bad Boy Billionaire Lover (Billionai - By Bretton, Barbara Page 0,19

want. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so deeply relaxed.

Of course, the fact that she was luxuriating in a bathtub built for two hadn't escaped her.

"Who needs company?" she said, leaning back and floating to the other side of the tub. All you needed was a good imagination and a stockpile of romantic fantasies and a woman could get along just fine.

She chuckled as she thought of the beautifully produced book of lore she'd found on the night stand next to her bed. Tropicale had obligingly gathered up all of the romantic stories extant about the Sea Goddess and offered them up for delectable bedside reading.

Apparently the hidden corridors and passageways that linked various suites had seen more traffic over the years than Interstate 80. Her own suite had once been occupied by a European princess who'd carried on a steamy liaison with a sultan who'd commandeered three cabins aft.

She could imagine the excitement of it all, heart pounding in anticipation, knowing that any second the secret panel would slide open and you'd be swept up into your lover's arms and--

What was that sound? She sat up straight in the tub. There it was again. A soft rat-tat-tat. She reached for the king-sized bath sheet draped over the warming rack and stepped from the tub. Creaking pipes, more than likely. She padded into the hallway, leaving wet footprints behind. It would be great fun to think the ghost of some romantic fool still walked the passageways, but she was far too much of a realist to entertain that notion for long.

"Megan."

She jumped, clutching the towel to her breasts.

"Megan, open up."

Cautiously, she stepped closer to the outer wall. "Who's there?"

"We need to talk." It was Jake.

"I don't know how to open walls. Why don't you knock on the door like a normal person?"

"There's a latch at two o'clock on the sunburst carving in the middle of the left panel."

She hesitated. What was the difference, really, if he came in through the wall, the window, or the door? She flipped the latch then stepped back. The wood creaked then she watched as part of the wall slid open and Jake stepped into the room.

"You always did know how to make an entrance," she said as he slid the wall closed behind him. "Did you ever consider using the phone?"

He was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. "Some things have to be done in person."

"Jake!" Her voice was sharp. "Don't look at me like that."

"Can't help it, Meggie. I wasn't expecting to see so much of you."

She followed his line of vision then pulled the towel up toward the base of her throat. "And I wasn't expecting to see you at all."

His gaze travelled the length of her body. She could almost feel the sizzle against her wet skin. She was tempted to make a dash for the bathroom and slam shut the door behind her but she stood her ground.

"You interrupted my bath," she said, meeting his eyes.

"Don't let me stop you." He looked altogether too pleased with himself.

"You've already done that." Again she adjusted the towel. "What do you want, Jake?"

He was finding it tough to think. Her skin glistened in the low light of the hallway, droplets of water slithering over the tops of her breasts, disappearing into the shadowy cleavage barely covered by the towel. He wanted to follow their progress with his tongue.

"About tomorrow," he said. "I have to cancel."

"Fine," said Megan, her tone bright and false. "No problem."

"You don't understand. I have to meet somebody in town."

"I'm sure you do," she said smoothly. "Don't let me stop you."

"Damn it, Megan. It's business." He stopped short of telling her he was one of Tropicale's major partners.

"You don't have to explain anything to me, Jake." She turned away from him, her soft fall of hair obscuring her face.

He reached for her arm. Her skin was soft beneath his hand. Silky. Warm as a tropical breeze.

Megan met his eyes. It was only a hand on her arm yet that simple touch was her undoing.

"You planned this." It was a statement of fact. Not an accusation.

"No," he said. "Not this."

His words reached her as if from a great distance. She felt as if the power of the ocean was gathered inside her chest, its relentless roar drowning out the little voice that tried to tell her it wasn't too late to stop this madness.

He moved closer...or did she? Not that it mattered. Somehow her