Her Bad Boy Billionaire Lover (Billionai - By Bretton, Barbara Page 0,36

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 doubt 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."

"Gone? What the hell do you mean, gone?"

"Gone as in out-of-here," Ian said, obviously enjoying Jake's confusion. "She bolted right before we sailed."

"Bullshit." This was payback time for the fight they'd had over Megan a few nights ago. He wouldn't give the guy the satisfaction.

"Sorry, mate. I saw her with my own eyes." He grinned. "She had a cab waiting on the dock."

Jake kicked back his chair. His pulse rate kicked into overdrive as he ran full-out toward Megan's cabin. She'd be there. No reason why she wouldn't be. Ian was probably laughing his ass off, watching Jake make a fool of himself, but buried deep down inside him was a buzz of apprehension, that maybe, just maybe....

He banged on Megan's door. No answer. The buzz increased. He jiggled the handle. The door swung open and he stepped into the cabin. It took all of a nanosecond to see that she was gone. It took another nanosecond to see that she hadn't bothered to leave a note.

"So Cinderella really did fly the coop?"

He turned to see one of the female travel agents watching him from the doorway. The nametag on her left breast read Val.

"Is that a question or a statement?" He didn't have time for polite conversation.

Val peered into the cabin. "Looks like it's a fact."