The Billionaire's Bride Read online

  J.T. read the note for a third time, his reaction remaining identical to the two previous times he’d done so. He wanted to punch something.

  Marnie was gone.

  More than her note confirmed that fact. Her car no longer was parked outside the little shack down the beach, which looked all the more desolate and disreputable now.

  She’d left him. He still couldn’t quite believe it. After last night and all they had shared together, she’d walked out on him that morning without letting him explain, without bothering to wake him and say goodbye. He glanced at the empty coffeepot on the counter. Hell, she’d been in such a hurry to go she hadn’t even had her morning jolt of caffeine first. If that didn’t say it all!

  He went outside and slumped into one of the chairs on the patio. Women had walked out on him before. His wife, in fact, on their fifth wedding anniversary, right after informing him that she and the team of shrewd lawyers she’d hired with his money planned to take him to cleaners.

  He’d felt angry then, hurt and betrayed. But those emotions were nothing compared to what was churning inside of him right now.

  And yet, what had he expected? That Marnie would stay in La Playa de la Pisada until he could leave her? Was his ego such that it demanded he be the one to walk away?

  He sighed. No, either way, parting would have been painful. And necessary.

  But was it? For the first time since his divorce, he questioned his decision to remain single. Terri’s infidelity and duplicity had left him suspicious and unable to trust the women he’d met after her, especially since he believed his bank account had often been the main draw. But sassy, self-sufficient Marnie didn’t know anything about his billions. She didn’t know about his California estate or the other homes he owned in Aspen and Paris. She didn’t know anything about Tracker Operating Systems.

  She didn’t know about those things because J.T. hadn’t told her. He’d had excuses for remaining mum. They’d seemed valid enough at the time despite being self-serving, but ultimately it all boiled down to one thing: He hadn’t trusted her. Well, he decided, stuffing the note into the pocket of his shorts, maybe it was time he trusted his heart.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MARNIE wiped down the mahogany bar that swept along the back wall of the Lighthouse Tavern and then refilled the dishes of beer nuts. It was a light evening, even for a Monday. Only a couple of the regulars had bothered to brave the freezing rain outside to come in for refreshments and a friendly game of pool.

  Brice Battle was racking the balls as his brother Brad selected a cue stick, but even this infamously loud duo seemed subdued.

  “Another round?” Marnie called to them.

  “Sure.” Brice pointed to his brother and grinned gamely. “On him. He’s going to lose. Again.”

  Good-natured ribbing ensued, but Marnie tuned it out. Her thoughts strayed to J.T. and Mexico and that golden stretch of beach that she’d come to consider a small slice of heaven. It had been just over two weeks since she’d returned from her vacation. Since then, she’d resisted the urge to slip back into her old life. Instead she’d begun making changes, upending the status quo with plans for her business.

  She delivered drinks to the Battle brothers and lowered herself into a chair at a nearby table where Bergen, the tavern’s surly cook, sat finishing up a burger.

  “I should be at home, in front of my potbellied stove, warming my toes. This is my last Michigan winter,” he groused, even though technically it was already spring.

  “You say that every year.”

  “This time I mean it.”

  She patted his leathery cheek—knowing full well she was one of the few people who could get away with such a gesture. “And you say that every year, too.”

  “You’re just full of sass since coming back from Mexico,” he commented, swatting her hand when she reached out to steal a fry off his plate.

  “And you missed my smart mouth.”

  Distracting him with a dazzling smile, she not only filched a fry, she dunked it in the small mound of catsup on his plate.

  The scowl mellowed on Bergen’s craggy face. “I did. I’ve worried plenty over you since Hal’s been gone.”

  “I worried about me, too. But I’m better now or at least heading in that direction.”

  “Glad to hear it.” And he actually smiled.

  “Thanks, Bergen.” Unable to help herself, she sniffled.

  “Oh jeez!” He tossed down the last bite of his burger and rose to his feet. To no one in particular, he said, “Say one nice thing and she gets all emotional. Forget I mentioned it.”

  But before he stalked off in the direction of the kitchen, he handed her his hankie.

  Marnie dabbed at her eyes and watched Brice sink a ball into one of the pool table’s corner pockets. Bergen was right. She had some of her sass back. She felt hopeful, ready to take chances again. In fact, hadn’t she already taken a huge gamble when she’d given herself—heart and body—to J.T. that last night in Mexico?

  It dawned on her then, slapping her with as much force as the cue ball that Brice used to send another striped one down a side pocket. Leaving J.T. hadn’t lessened her anxiety. If anything, it had intensified it.

  Where was he now? What was he doing? And, above all, was he safe? She’d lain awake every night of the past two weeks wondering, worrying.

  Math had never been her strong suit, but Marnie could add up this easily enough. She could have J.T. in her life and worry about him, or she could stay away from him and worry about him just as much. Only one side of that equation offered something positive in return for both her and Noah.

  She sucked in a breath as the truth dawned as bright and welcoming as the sun had been on that beach in Mexico. She wanted J.T. in her life no matter what. They’d figure a way around the obstacles. They’d have to.

  “Oh my God!” she hollered.

  At which Brice scratched and swore lavishly.

  “Sorry,” she called, but she was laughing, the wheels of her mind already turning.

  She had to find J.T. before she could convince him he couldn’t live without her. The convincing part would be easy and mutually satisfying, she decided with a grin. Finding him, however, might not be so simple. He no longer would be in Mexico and all she knew was that he lived in California. Of course, she did know his photographer sister lived in San Francisco. She could start there, contacting galleries until she found one that carried Anne Lundy’s work.

  Mason, as a former private investigator, might have some other ideas. The door to the tavern jangled open as she mulled her options, and her brother strode through as if on cue. His wife, Rose, was right behind him, looking as happy and lovely as ever, despite the spitting cold outside.

  Marnie smiled broadly. “This is a surprise. I thought you were heading back to Lansing. The taxpayers might not take too kindly to your taking four-day weekends.”

  “Tell it to the weather. They’re talking about closing the Mac tonight,” Mason said, referring to the five-mile-long suspension bridge that linked Michigan’s two peninsulas.

  She squinted a look out the cloudy windows. “It’s that bad out?”

  “High winds, ice.” Mason shrugged. “What would May on Superior’s shore be without one last blast of winter? We’ll head out in the morning, assuming the weather has cleared. We’ve come to ask you a favor.”

  “Really? How interesting?” And convenient, she decided, since she was about to do the same.

  “I’ve got an important committee meeting in the afternoon that I really don’t want to miss. Rose and I are planning to fly down to Lansing, leave our car here. We were wondering if you could drive us to the airport in Houghton in the morning, maybe pick us back up next weekend?”

  “Of course. And I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “That smile on your face is making me nervous,” he replied. “What is it?”

  But she never got out the words. She glanced up at the television perched in the corne
r and nearly fainted.

  J.T.’s handsome face filled the screen. His cheeks were free of the golden stubble he’d often sported in Mexico and his hair had been trimmed and was neatly combed back from his face. He wore a suit and looked as if he could be a banker or some sort of executive. But it was J.T. No doubt about it.

  “Oh my God!” Marnie cried for the second time that evening. This time, it was fear that had her heart bucking against her ribs. What had happened to make him the lead story on the evening news?

  “Wh—” Mason began only to be shushed into silence.

  “Give me the remote, the remote!” Marnie hollered, flapping her hand toward where it sat on the end of the bar.

  Mason grabbed the remote and tossed it to her. She turned up the volume as she slid bonelessly into a chair.

  “The Justice Department announced today that after reviewing hundreds of documents and internal memos, it is dropping its antitrust lawsuit against Tracker Operating Systems. Company founder and president Jonathan Thomas Lundy had this to say:

  “I’m relieved, of course, but I knew that Tracker had done nothing wrong and ultimately would be vindicated.”

  The rest of his statement was lost to the loud buzzing in Marnie’s ears. Jonathan Thomas Lundy? Founder and president of Tracker Operating Systems?

  Hysterical laughter bubbled to the surface. To think she’d once told him he should consider a career in computers if the bounty-hunting thing didn’t work out.

  Laughter ebbed and she dipped her head to rap it lightly against the top of the table.

  “I’m such a fool.”

  “Do you know him?” Rose asked, coming to sit next to her.

  “No. She doesn’t know Lundy,” Mason scoffed, dropping into the seat on the other side of her. Then, “Do you?”

  “We met in Mexico. I didn’t realize who he was.”

  “That’s nothing to be upset about. A lot of people wouldn’t recognize him,” Rose said.

  “Sure,” Mason piped in. “So you didn’t know who he was. What’s the big deal?”

  “You don’t understand. I didn’t just meet him. I…I slept with him,” Marnie cried softly.

  Mason sucked in a breath and stood.

  “Too much information. Way too much information,” he said, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and walking several paces away.

  “Oh, put your big brother sensibilities on hold for a moment,” Rose admonished. Turning to Marnie, she asked, “Do you love him?”

  “Yes. Before you guys walked in I was sitting here plotting a way to find him. You were going to help me, by the way,” she said, sparing a glance at her brother, whose cheeks were still tinted pink.

  “And I can see why you’d need me,” Mason remarked dryly. “I mean, it would be so hard to track down a man whose name is synonymous with computers.”

  “Hush!” Rose said. Then, to Marnie, “Does he love you?”

  “I thought so, even though he never said the actual words. But apparently not. He didn’t tell me who he was. Friends call me J.T.,” she mimicked. “He never mentioned that those friends head up the Fortune 500.”

  “Maybe those weren’t the friends he was talking about,” Rose said.

  His words came back to Marnie then: I’m just a man. No matter what you hear about me later, remember that I’m just a man.

  Uh-huh, just a man. Just a man worth billions! He obviously hadn’t trusted her with the truth.

  “I feel like such an idiot,” she said.

  By two in the morning, Marnie was past feeling like an idiot and had moved on to heat-seeking-missile mad. Noah was sleeping peacefully as she sat at her computer, with its Tracker Operating System no less, surfing the world wide web. She plugged in J.T.’s full name and with the stroke of a key Google spat back scads of hits. She clicked on the one that had her temper flaring all over again.

  Last month, while the pair of them had cavorted on a beach in Mexico, the readers of one of America’s leading celebrity magazines had dubbed J.T. the World’s Sexiest CEO. In fact, the poll noted, that hunky Jonathan Thomas Lundy had topped the list for the second straight year!

  The snake.

  The cad.

  And was that a Saville Row suit he was wearing in the accompanying photo?

  Just a man, indeed!

  She was still royally ticked off the next morning as she and Noah stood in Houghton’s small airport and waited for Mason and Rose’s flight to board.

  It was not quite nine o’clock and she’d gotten only a few hours of fitful sleep the night before, which is why she had sent Mason in the direction of the airport’s small café and instructed him not to return until he could bring her a cup of freshly brewed coffee, the stronger the better. And God help him if he brought back anything diluted with cream or a flavored nondairy product.

  “Here you are. The perfect cup of coffee.”

  She turned, expecting to find her brother, but it was J.T. Lundy who stood in front of her holding out the white-capped foam cup as if it were a peace offering.

  He looked the same as he had the night before when she’d seen him on the television, except the suit he wore was now a little wrinkled, the perfectly knotted tie pulled loose and his cheeks were shaded with stubble.

  She sucked in a breath, tamping down on the urge to grin and hop into his arms.

  Resting her hands on her hips, she demanded instead, “What kind of beans?”

  “French roast.”

  “Did you add any creamer?”

  “No, ma’am. It’s black. The way God intended a good cup of coffee to be—or so someone once told me.”

  “Hmm. Thank you.”

  She took the cup and walked over to a nearby bank of chairs, where she sat, regal as a queen holding court.

  This wasn’t going well, J.T. decided, smiling uncomfortably at the man, woman and small boy who now regarded him with open curiosity.

  The man held out a hand. “Mason Striker. I’m Marnie’s brother. And this is my wife, Rose.”

  “J.T. Nice to meet you both.”

  “And I’m Noah.” The little boy tugged on his arm. “I’m four. And I think you’re in big trouble.”

  J.T. saw Marnie in the small boy’s slow-blinking eyes. And, God help him, he tumbled for the son just as he had for the mother.

  Squatting down in front of him, J.T. asked, “Why do you think I’m in trouble?”

  “Mom’s doing the thing with her lips. She only does that when I’ve done something really bad.”

  J.T. glanced over and, sure enough, Marnie’s lips were pursed together tighter than the seal on Fort Knox.

  “I see what you mean. What do you suggest I do?”

  “Better ’pologize.”

  “Do you think that will work?”

  The little boy gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment and then said with devastating honesty, “Probably not right away, but it’s a good start.”

  “Well, here goes nothing.”

  “We’ll wait right here,” Rose said, snagging Noah by the hand when he fell into step beside J.T.

  “Good luck,” Mason called. And unless J.T. missed his guess, the man was laughing at him.

  He settled into the seat next to Marnie, who ignored him and sipped the hot beverage.

  “Coffee okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “Surprised to see me?”

  She shrugged, noncommittal, and took another sip.

  “Aren’t you even going to ask me why I’m here?”

  “Not interested, Jonathan.” But after saying that, she turned and jabbed an index finger into the center of his chest.

  “Bounty hunter, my butt!” she hollered loud enough for the dozen or so people milling about the terminal to glance their way. “You couldn’t even track down the truth, pal.”

  She’s not going to make this easy, he realized. But then, this was Marnie LaRue. She’d never make anything easy. She’d never hold back her opinion. She’d speak her mind,
regardless of the consequences.

  And wasn’t that why he was here? J.T. thought. Wasn’t that why he’d spent the past twenty-four hours in various airports waiting out bad weather until he could get to this little speck in the Lower Forty-Eight? And how his heart had squeezed with disbelief and joy when he’d spotted Marnie in the waiting area.

  He’d wanted to believe she’d somehow known he was arriving and had come to the airport to greet him. But the tight clench of her jaw told him otherwise.

  “I found the truth. It took me a while, but I found it.” He reached for the hand that she’d poked him with, holding it firmly when she tried to tug it free.

  “I love you, Marnie LaRue.”

  The words left him exposed, vulnerable. Marnie blinked slowly, but didn’t say a word. In the silence that ensued, J.T. thought he heard Mason mutter, “God help him.”

  “I love you,” he repeated more forcefully this time.

  “You love me?”

  “I do.”

  “The man’s toast,” Mason declared. Marnie glared at her brother before transferring her glacial gaze to J.T.

  “And I’m supposed to believe this after you lied to me about something as basic as your occupation?”

  “Yes. And I’m sorry about misleading you. I wanted to level with you.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “I tried that on the last night.”

  “What about before then?”

  “I guess I liked being anonymous and having you enjoy my company anyway.”

  “Just a man,” she murmured.

  “Yes.”

  “Couldn’t you have at least mentioned that you were just a man who had founded a billion-dollar computer software empire?”

  “Would that fact have made you love me more or less?” he challenged.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “What?”

  “Act all self-righteous. I’ve got the corner on self-righteous right now, Mr. Sexiest CEO.”

  He winced. “Saw that, huh?”

  “Yep. The article I read on-line last night said that that particular title has been bestowed on you twice now. If I hadn’t been in such a funk the past few years, I’m sure I would have put it all together while we were still in Mexico.”