Her Bad Boy Billionaire Lover (Billionai - By Bretton, Barbara Page 0,30

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