Her Bad Boy Billionaire Lover (Billionai - By Bretton, Barbara Page 0,25

the world?"

"Someday," he said, meeting her eyes. "When I find the right person to sail with me."

His meaning was unmistakable. For once she didn't avoid it. "I was never part of your dream."

"You could have been."

She said nothing. There were other dreams, as well, dreams he knew nothing about. We have a daughter, Jake...a little girl with your eyes and your laugh and the same reckless love of life.... She cast about for a more neutral topic. "Where did you live?"

"A beach house near the fort. Moody electricity, no hot water." His grin was bemused. "But a great view of the ocean."

They made their way up a narrow, hilly street that wound along the edge of a cliff. Megan felt like she was strolling down a charming side street in Madrid or Barcelona. The curlicue trims and cornices of the tiny stucco bungalows were painted a dazzling white and gleamed in the sun. Fire engine red geraniums overflowed the window boxes, a vivid touch of color against the pale facades.

She didn't have to try very hard to imagine him living in one of those bungalows, spending his days on the sandy beach and his nights in the arms of a woman who asked for no more than he was willing to give. He'd never lived by the rules. Nine-to-five and three-piece suits were as foreign to Jake as astral projection.

Her father had been only too happy to point out the benefits to be gained by marrying the daughter of one of the richest businessmen in Florida. "Jake isn't one for the long haul," Darrin McLean had said. "If you were the daughter of a plumber, don't think he would've swept you off to Las Vegas the way he did."

What a joke that was. When all was said and done, it was her father who'd thrown her to the wolves.

She brushed aside the memory. What difference did it make anyway? She and Jake were divorced. They would remain divorced. With a little luck, once this weekend was over the last hold he had over her would finally be broken and she could take the first step toward finding a man who would love her and need her and cherish her--all of the things Jake could never do.

Men like Jake were meant to be enjoyed, then chalked up to one of life's more interesting experiences.

She hadn't understood that at nineteen.

Now she did and it made all the difference.

Ten minutes later they reached a daunting set of stone steps.

She peered up the staircase. "I don't suppose there's an elevator hidden away some place."

"No escalators either. Got the stamina?"

"We'll find out." She straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. "Lead the way, Lockwood."

The twentieth century dropped away from them as they climbed the stairs, taking them back in time to the age of Columbus and the dawn of colonization in the New World.

"My God," she breathed as they entered the stone fortress. "I had no idea...."

"Incredible, isn't it?"

The greyish-brown stone walls were rough to the touch, slightly damp against the palm of her hand. Bricks, faded with time, outlined the doors and windows. "It's so cool in here," she murmured. "So peaceful." So private.

There were no guardrails at the uppermost point and Megan held her breath as Jake stood on the narrow ledge, arms folded across his chest, head thrown back against the wind, as if defying some ancient god to accept his challenge. One hundred forty feet below them, the waves pounded against the walls of the fortress, a reminder of the awesome power of nature unleashed.

"You haven't changed at all," she whispered into the wind. Still wild and reckless and filled with more passion for life than any ten people she'd ever known. He didn't give a damn about the future. He lived for the moment, collecting sensations the way other people collected stamps.

The wind whistled around the curves of the tower, whipping her hair against her cheeks in a tangle that matched her emotions. She rummaged in her bag for a clip or rubber band, grateful for the diversion.

Jake sat down next to her on the narrow battlement. "What's wrong? I thought you were enjoying the view."

That was putting it mildly. "Too much hair," she said instead, gathering the silky mass into a ponytail and holding it back with one hand. "One day I'm going to go out and get a buzz cut."

"Let me."

Before she could protest, he leaned over and, placing his hands on either temple, pinned her auburn