Her Bad Boy Billionaire Lover (Billionai - By Bretton, Barbara Page 0,7

are you doing here, Meggie? Hard to believe Daddy's sending you out to work."

She would rather die than let him know how much this cruise meant to her. "Oh, you know how it is," she said, her tone breezy. "Even debutantes are trying their hand in the job market."

"You're here to work?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised."

"You forget who you're talking to," Jake said. "I'm the guy who taught you to boil water."

"Well, believe it or not, I'm trying for a franchise with Tropicale and if you do anything to sabotage me, I'll--."

"Sabotage?" His expression darkened into a scowl. "What the hell kind of life are you leading these days? Why would I sabotage you?"

She'd cut too close to the bone with that statement, revealing much more than she'd ever intended. Her father's treachery had left scars too deep to share with anyone. Especially not with Jake. She looked at him, memorizing the strong jaw, the powerful shoulders, that sad look in his eyes against the time when he would once again be gone. He was as rootless, as insubstantial as the Caribbean breeze, a perfect lover but no husband at all, and she would be wise to remember that.

But, dear God, he was beautiful. A fine starburst of lines radiated from the outer corners of his eyes and shadowed his smile. He looked rougher than she'd remembered, more dangerous if possible.

That was the difference. He was a man now, not the wild boy she had loved during their marriage. For a moment, she allowed herself to forget the bitterness of their divorce and drink in the masculine splendor of his lean, tanned face. Her fingers ached to trace his high cheekbones, to glide across his mouth, to outline the stubborn angles of his jaw.

Life had been kind to him these six years past and for one fierce instant she despised him for all that she'd lost.

#

He saw the change in her instantly. Color rose to her cheeks and her eyes flashed with fire, but beneath the fire was a vulnerability that stopped him in his tracks. He'd seen that look in her eyes only one time before, when she lay beneath him as a girl on the brink of womanhood.

The level of tension between them escalated sharply and he was reminded of the sudden storm, turning the air electric with its power.

How could he have believed this encounter would be easy. He'd approached this first meeting confident that once he saw her and spoke to her, he'd realize she held no magic for him after all. Wrong, he thought, watching the play of starlight in her eyes. Not only was the magic still there, so was the pain and the anger and the whole messy, complicated history between them.

"Let's get a drink." They needed something else to occupy them, a civilized ritual to help contain the primitive emotions that threatened to veer out of control. "We can talk about old times."

"No, thank you."

The schoolmarm sound of her voice suddenly enraged him. "Grow up, Megan. If you're going to play the businesswoman game, at least play like an adult." They never had been very good at civilized rituals.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I've seen your kind before, playing worker bee while some poor lackey does all the dirty work back at the office."

Her look was scornful but there was something beneath the scorn that drew him closer.

"It's not like that?" he demanded. "You'll have to do some fast talking if you want me to buy that line."

"I don't give a damn what you buy," she snapped. "I know who I am and what I'm doing and I don't particularly care what you think about any of it."

"Spoken like the only daughter of Darrin McLean," he said with a harsh laugh. "I'll bet he's still spoiling his little princess and screwing his competition while they--"

"You bastard!" The sound of the slap bounced off the water and back at them. She began to tremble.

He grabbed her hand and held it fast. "Next time I hit back."

"Go to hell."

"Been there," he said. "Want to hear about it?"

She wanted to slap him again but knew better than to try it.

He glanced down at the ring finger of her left hand.

"I'm not married," she said, noticing the direction of his gaze. "Once was more than enough."

"Neither am I."

She arched a brow. "I don't recall asking."

"You wanted to, Megan." He was back on familiar ground again, teasing, questing, hunting. "Admit it. You're as curious