The Billionaire's Bride Page 8

“What else do you have in there?”

  “Sparkling water, wine, cheese and some grapes that I thought you could peel and then feed me as I recline on the blanket with my head pillowed in your lap.”

  “Have you ever sought counseling? That’s a pretty rich fantasy life you have.”

  He only raised his brows in speculation. “We’ll see.”

  He withdrew the bottle of wine from the hamper, along with two glass goblets whose thin stems were threaded through his fingers. Had it just been the night before that they’d shared wine from those glasses on his small patio after the sun had set?

  “Would you like some wine?” he asked. “It’s a nice merlot I picked up at a winery in California.”

  He didn’t mention that he’d bought five cases of the vintage or that the price would have put most people back by a few months worth of wages.

  She divided a glance between the man and the wine.

  “Sparkling water, please. I think I need to keep a clear head tonight.”

  “You can trust me,” he said sounding so sincere that she didn’t doubt that she could.

  And so she admitted, “But I’m not sure I can trust myself.”

  To lighten the mood her confession created, she added, “You know, I didn’t like you when we met.”

  “That came through loud and clear.”

  “I thought you were a jerk.”

  “And I thought you were a pain in the…butt.” He poured water into both goblets and handed one to her. “Beautiful, of course, but a pain in the butt.”

  The compliment warmed Marnie more than it should have given the qualifier he’d added.

  “And I thought you were handsome. Dumb as a post, but handsome.”

  “Dumb?”

  “As a post. Yes.” She sipped from her water. “I’m generalizing here, but in my experience men as good-looking as you are rarely smart, and regardless, they tend to be jerks.”

  “In your experience?”

  “Yes.”

  “And would that experience be vast?”

  She tipped her head to one side. “Proving my point already, are you?”

  “Strike that question. What do you think of me now?”

  “Hmm.” She sipped the water again and mulled her answer. “Well, I think you’re smart.” When he smiled smugly, she added, “Of course, the jury’s still out on the jerk part.”

  “Did you hear that?”

  She glanced around the beach. “No. What?”

  “It was the sound of my ego shattering into unsalvageable bits.”

  “And the universe just got a bit roomier as a result,” she said, clanking her glass against his. Then she grinned. “Your turn. What do you think of me now?”

  In the fire’s glow, J.T. studied her face. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”

  And the tone of his voice was as serious as his gaze was steady.

  “What about me is different from other women?” The words were barely above a whisper.

  “Everything,” he replied just as quietly.

  His gaze strayed to the fire and stayed there for the next several minutes. The silence stretched, but Marnie wasn’t sure how to break it. With one simple word, something fundamental between them seemed to have shifted and fallen into place like the tumblers on a safe’s lock.

  Then, even though a good five minutes had passed, J.T. spoke again, picking up where he left off.

  “The thing that really sets you apart is that you say what you mean. A lot of the women I’ve known—a lot of men, too—haven’t. I like that about you. You speak your mind, no punches pulled.”

  She snorted out a laugh. “A little too often, to hear my family tell it.”

  “It’s a good trait, believe me. Not a lot of people do, especially to me.”

  She wanted to ask what he meant, but he reached for her and at his touch, she was lost.

  Their goblets were set aside hastily, and Marnie was pretty sure her water had spilled into the sand. But before things could get out of hand again, she extricated herself from his arms.

  “Who knew I had this much willpower?” she said on a shaky laugh as she rose to her feet.

  “I was thinking the same thing just before that swim. It’s rare for me to find something—someone—so difficult to resist.”

  The way he was looking up at her had Marnie wanting to drop to her knees. Instead, she pulled her jangling hormones together and stepped clear of the blanket.

  “I think we’d better call it a night. It’s got to be after three and I have a long drive in the morning.”

  He nodded and stood as well. When she reached down for the blanket, intending to help him shake it out and fold it, he stopped her.

  “Leave it. I think I’ll stay out here for a while after you go in. I’m in no mood for going to bed just yet. At least not alone.”

  The walk across the beach to her door was short, but torturous. They stood on the threshold as they had not long before, but there was no teasing banter this time, no desperate groping.

  “One last kiss good-night,” he said.

  But Marnie shook her head. She wound her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, tight against the heart that was already beginning to ache.

  “Better make it goodbye, J.T.”

  Half an hour after the sun rose the following morning, Marnie packed up the car and took her leave. She hadn’t slept at all unless one counted the fitful half-hour doze she’d fallen into just before sunup. But she didn’t want to take the chance of running into J.T. on the beach. Their goodbye the night before had been too perfect to repeat. Anything they said to one another now would only be anticlimactic.

  Still, she’d glanced across the sand to where they’d sat by the fire the night before. Thin spirals of smoke still curled from the charred logs, but the blanket and hamper were gone and so was J.T.

  “Adios,” she whispered, climbing into the car.

  As she pulled the vehicle onto the road, she put “Midnight Train to Georgia” into the CD player, singing the “leaving” part along with the Pips rather than Gladys Knight. She blinked rapidly, blaming the tears that blurred her vision on the brightening skyline.

  J.T. stood at the window in his kitchen and watched her go. He had an extra cup of coffee in one hand, which he now poured down the sink—a perfectly good waste of Starbucks. But then, it didn’t really matter. Marnie was gone.

  She’d left earlier than he’d expected she would, which was why he was up. In fact, he’d never slept. He’d sat on the beach, foolishly hoping she would change her mind and return. The fire hadn’t seemed half as cheerful without her, and the heat it generated was nothing compared to the heat burning inside him. He’d waited until nearly sunup before going inside. Then he’d ground beans and planned to surprise her with coffee. Maybe he could talk her into having breakfast with him, a morning walk to pick up those shells she found so pretty.

  And then what?

  The question had haunted him while he watched the coffee drip into the glass carafe, its robust aroma filling the kitchen. For the first time in years, he didn’t have an answer to a problem.

  Even with Terri, once confronted with her infidelity, he’d formulated a plan. Data in, decision made, plan executed. Oh, it hadn’t been as tidy as that, but the course of action had been obvious, his conclusions easily reached once all of the facts were spread out before him.

  But Marnie confounded him. Nothing about her was easy to compute. Funny, sexy, blunt and in control one minute, then vulnerable and almost shy the next. He hadn’t been feeding her a line the night before when he’d told her he’d never met anyone like her. In one long weekend she’d managed to create more chaos in his well-ordered life than the Justice Department’s investigation.

  It was just as well, he supposed, that she was leaving. She’d been a nice diversion, but she was, well, too diverting, not to mention awfully adept at getting him to lower his guard.

  “Adios,” he called as her car sped a
way.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MARNIE was nearly to the U.S. border, feeling miserable and more than a little sorry for herself, although why exactly, she couldn’t have said. It’s not as if her long weekend could have ended any other way.

  But what if…?

  The question whispered in her head as the miles passed. It seemed her old nemesis had risen again. How many times had she asked that particular question since Hal’s death? This time, however, the question was different. It started the same, but she couldn’t quite finish it. What if…what?

  Restless, that’s what she felt. And she hadn’t felt that way in years. The sensation was as liberating as it was revealing.

  The road sign pointed the direction to the United States border. Marnie turned off, following the exit to Tijuana. Maybe she’d just do a little more sightseeing and souvenir gathering before heading back. Shopping had always proved to be a good way to clear her mind.

  In the second store she browsed through, she spotted a gorgeous printed scarf. The fabric was so soft it felt like silk, but the price tag told her differently. Still, she bought it—bought three, in fact, in a variety of colors and designs. They all went well with the skirt she picked up dirt cheap in a neighboring shop. It wasn’t as well made as she would have liked, but she’d seen something similar in a fashion magazine last month while waiting in the dentist office. The style, she knew, would flatter her. In fact, it would flatter most women, regardless of their body type.

  She paid for her purchases and, instead of heading back to the car, found a little outdoor café where she ordered bottled water and a spicy rice and beans concoction that made her appreciate the beverage.

  After her plate and utensils had been cleared away, she sat there for a moment, sipping the last of the water and enjoying the sunshine. It would be cold in Michigan’s U.P., barely above freezing in the evenings if it had warmed up that much. It would be a while yet before she could wear any of the things she had purchased in Yuma or on her excursion today.

  She pulled the scarves from the bag and ran her hand over the fabric again. The women in Chance Harbor were going to be so envious, she thought with an absent smile. No area stores carried anything quite like these. In fact, those stores didn’t carry much to appeal to any woman who wanted to set trends or follow fashion.

  She rubbed the fabric again and, as if it were the side of a genie’s lamp, the dream of owning her own mail-order fashion business floated before her.

  Was it still possible? Could she make it possible?

  Once upon a time, she’d believed that hard work and sheer determination were all it took to accomplish anything. She hadn’t placed much stock in luck, but now she knew that some things, some circumstances were beyond her control. Good luck, bad luck—both played a role.

  And yet lately she’d begun to think maybe it was time to apply her will so she could make her way. Lately she’d begun to think that maybe her future didn’t have to be dictated by the past or even the present.

  Metaphorically speaking, she’d been trudging along dutifully in her well-worn rut since Hal’s death. Mason called it a holding pattern and, loving pain in the butt that her brother was, he’d done his best to goad her out of it on more than one occasion. All of her friends and family had. But she’d failed to rise to the bait. She simply hadn’t been ready.

  Was she ready now?

  Marnie wanted to be. She wasn’t one to wallow in self-pity and the inertia it often created. She wanted to do something more than exist. She’d been trying to work her way back to the land of the living for quite some time now, but this chance trip to Mexico—and a few hours of stolen passion with a virtual stranger—seemed to have helped her start the journey.

  She wouldn’t, couldn’t think about the passion part now. But the business part, well that was another story. So, she set aside the scarves and rummaged through her purse for a pen and a small pad of paper. For the next hour she made notes, cracking open the door, at least in her mind, to the long-closed Marnie’s Closet.

  When she finished, she realized there was much more she needed to consider. It would take longer than a single afternoon to put all of these ducks in a row, to wrap her mind around the many possibilities and pitfalls that loomed ahead of her. Clearly, she needed more time to ruminate, and she needed peace and quiet, the kind the working mother of a preschooler rarely got to enjoy.

  She knew the perfect place.

  She paid her bill, went in search of a pay phone and placed a couple of calls, one to her parents and one to the tavern in Chance Harbor. She was humming “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” when she got into the car and gunned its engine to life. By the time she was back on the highway she was belting out the lyrics as well.

  South. That’s what the highway sign said, but she knew that more than her direction had changed.

  All the way back to La Playa de la Pisada, Marnie told herself J.T.’s presence on that small sweep of beach had done nothing to sway her decision to return. It was the peace and quiet she needed to really think this plan through. That’s what she craved at this point. Not his touch. Certainly not his kiss.

  Then she pulled up next to the old shack she’d rented once again and saw him rising up out of the water sans swim trunks. He looked like some mythical glistening god and his lack of a tan line told her this was his preferred method of sunbathing. Marnie admitted there was indeed a side benefit to choosing this particular location for her sojourn.

  He didn’t see her, at least not at first. He dried off before wrapping the towel around his hips. And Marnie couldn’t help herself, she blasted the horn. He jumped—nearly out of his skin, and nicely out of his towel for a second or two before he managed to secure it into place again and walk to where she stood leaning again the car door.

  “You’re back.” His expression was unreadable.

  “Yes.”

  Then one side of his mouth crooked up. “Did you forget something?”

  Her gaze slid down his chest before she snapped it back to his face. No, she hadn’t forgotten a thing. It was all exactly as she remembered it, burned onto her corneas, as a matter of fact.

  “I’ve decided to extend my stay.”

  “You don’t say?” His smile was slow and potent. “What made you change your mind?”

  “Oh, this, that—” her gaze dipped fractionally despite her best efforts “—and the other.”

  “How long will you be here?”

  “A couple more weeks. I have some things to sort out and thought this might be a good place to do it. The view is rather inspiring.”

  “More so now,” he agreed. “I planned to leave in a few days.”

  “Oh.”

  It hadn’t dawned on her that he might have to return to wherever it was that he came from.

  “That was the plan anyway,” he added.

  “And will you now?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  He hesitated only a moment before asking, “Do you want me to stay?”

  Marnie blew out a long breath. She wasn’t sure what she wanted when it came to this confounding man. No, that wasn’t true. She wanted J.T. physically. She was adult enough to admit it. But she was also responsible enough not to act on mere impulse, consequences be damned.

  The if-it-feels-good philosophy had never been one she’d lived by. So the fact that she wanted him didn’t change the fact that she barely knew him and they might not see one another again after this brief interlude.

  And, of course, there was the matter of his profession. She couldn’t see herself getting tangled up with someone who chased bail-jumpers and other potentially dangerous degenerates for a living. She had Noah to think about. Her son’s needs would always trump her own.

  “If I say yes, it doesn’t mean I plan to sleep with you.”

  A smile lurked in J.T.’s gaze and he stepped forward, trapping her between his cool wet skin and the hard heated steel of the car. Both were unyielding,
but only one made her want to lean in and sigh.

  “Fair enough. But do I get to try to talk you into it?”

  “Well, if you must.”

  No harm in that, she decided, as he leaned down, nipped her lower lip.

  “I must,” he said, before kissing her in earnest.

  They prepared dinner in J.T.’s kitchen, falling into an easy camaraderie that Marnie found almost as alluring as the sexual sparks they struck off one another. J.T. generously offered to cook their meal after she related the story of how she’d once burned pork chops so badly that Chance Harbor’s volunteer fire department had to be called to her home.

  “Do you still live in this house? Or was it burned beyond rehabilitation?” he teased.

  “No. It’s still standing.”

  “From what I know of you, I’m guessing you live in a sprawling ranch, maybe with a built-in pool tucked into the yard. And all of it is surrounded by a tall privacy fence, of course, so that you could sunbathe in the nude should the mood strike.”

  “That’s a disturbingly detailed fantasy,” she replied as she sat at the table, tearing up greens for a salad. “But highly impractical. In northern Michigan an outdoor pool of any sort would be a labor of love. In my opinion, the season’s too short to make it worth all of the work. But my house does have a nice little yard and a great view of Superior.”

  “No nude sunbathing?”

  “Sorry. And before you ask, I won’t be doing any of that while I’m here, either.”

  He groaned. “Was I at least right about the ranch part?”

  “Nope. Actually, it’s a bungalow. Not big, but big enough. Three bedrooms, one bath. It’s an older home, not many new-builds in Chance Harbor, but we remodeled it, added a fancy tub with jets.”

  “We?”

  She stopped, stared at the shredded lettuce in her hands. Memories beckoned, bittersweet, but no longer quite so painful. “My husband and I,” she said softly.

  “I seem to recall you telling me once that you weren’t married.”

  He had gone still as well and his tone had chilled by several degrees. Marnie barely noticed, caught up as she was in the past.

  “I’m not. Now. Hal…died.” Saying the word no longer made her ache or want to cry. When had that happened? she wondered.