Her Bad Boy Billionaire Lover (Billionaire Lovers) Read online

  Her Bad Boy Billionaire Lover

  A Contemporary Romance Novel

  by

  Barbara Bretton

  (Her Bad Boy Billionaire Lover was previously published by Harlequin American as Renegade Lover)

  Praise for USA Today Bestselling Author Barbara Bretton

  "A monumental talent." -- Affaire de Coeur

  "Very few romance writers create characters as well-developed as Bretton's. Her books pull you in and don't let you leave until the last word is read." -- Booklist (starred review)

  "One of today's best women's fiction authors." -- The Romance Reader

  "Barbara Bretton is a master at touching readers' hearts." --Romance Reviews Today

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 1993, 2012 by Barbara Bretton. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions

  Cover and ebook design by Barbara Bretton

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

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  About the Author

  Prologue

  San Diego

  The need to see her again had grown stronger with the passage of time.

  He hadn't expected that.

  When their marriage broke up and she'd left him for the pleasures her father's money could provide, he had trusted that time, healer of all wounds, would dull her memory until it was just an ache, and not a searing pain.

  Instead she remained along the edges of his consciousness, like the ghost of a painting that shadowed the wall long after the canvas had been put away in some forgotten attic. The pain was gone but the sense of unfinished business remained.

  "Six years," he said out loud, staring at the brochure that rested on his desk. Six years that had seen him climb to the top, his rise fueled as much by anger as ambition.

  By the primal need to prove himself to the one woman he'd ever loved.

  And now he would finally have that chance.

  She was here on board the yacht. The last piece of the puzzle was about to snap into place and when it did he would finally be free of the past.

  Everything about them had been wrong from the start. She'd been too young. He'd been too hungry. He had dreams she couldn't understand; she had expectations he couldn't meet. He'd moved too fast, wanted too much, been unwilling to settle for anything less than all he could get. He'd married her the way another man might claim a prize, as if taking her as his wife would somehow grant him his place in the world.

  Later on he realized she'd been looking for a hero. Someone bigger and bolder than her father, someone who could wrap her in luxury and keep her safely away from real life where people worked hard for their pleasures. But there were no heroes. Not in this world. And if there were, he sure as hell wasn't one of them.

  When she walked out on him she'd been a spoiled little girl, her daddy's pampered darling, a child in every way but one. The passion between them had been hot and demanding, as powerful as a force of nature and even more destructive. He'd never believed in love or the concept of happily-ever-after. He'd never known how it felt to be part of a real family. Yet from the first moment when he looked into her eyes, he knew he had to own her, body and soul.

  Six long years since their divorce and nothing had changed. She was frozen in time, untouched by life or sorrow, still the same girl he'd loved unwisely and too well.

  Yet the face that looked up at him from the glossy brochure was a woman's face. Hauntingly beautiful. Eminently desirable. Shadowed by experiences that were hers alone.

  The face of the stranger who once was his wife.

  There'd been many women since she left him. Accomplished women with ambition to match his. Beautiful women who could stop a man dead in his tracks. But not one of those women had come close to touching his heart the way she had. He would know her in the dark, her scent, the satiny feel of her breasts, the sounds she made in the back of her throat when he--

  "Tomorrow," he said out loud, turning the brochure face down.

  Tomorrow he would see her again and whatever magic it was that she held for him would be dispelled once and for all.

  He needed to start living his life once again.

  Chapter One

  Miami

  Someone was watching her.

  Megan McLean glanced over her shoulder at the laughing crowd milling about on deck. Women in jaunty nautical outfits, men in blazers complete with gold crests on the breast pockets--everyone seemed engrossed in conversation. Not a single pair of eyes was turned toward her.

  The odd feeling receded but didn't quite disappear. She turned toward the woman standing next to her at the railing.

  "Sorry," she said. "You were saying?"

  "You look green," said Sandy, a travel agent from Orlando. "Do you need Dramamine?"

  Megan shook her head. Seasickness was the least of her problems. From the first moment she saw the Sea Goddess, resplendent in the Florida sunshine, she'd been awash in bittersweet memories. How many times had she stood on the deck of a yacht, equally as majestic, and considered the event as commonplace as brushing her teeth?

  Another lifetime, she thought. Another world.

  "It's the strangest thing," she said, casting a second glance over her shoulder as she brushed away the hand of memory. "Ever since we boarded, I've had the feeling someone is watching me."

  "Of course someone's watching you," Sandy said with a laugh. She gestured subtly toward a woman in a white jumpsuit who stood, talking seriously, with a man in his dotage. "Celia Briscoe."

  "From Celia's Cuisine?"

  "The competition is everywhere, Megan. You won't be able to peel a potato without having an audience."

  "Maybe that's it," she said after a moment, although she didn't entirely believe her own words. Professional scrutiny was three parts competition and one part curiosity, more cerebral than visceral. This, however, was something else. Something more personal, more sexual, a sensation that made her acutely aware of the way the sultry breezes caressed her cheek and conjured up fantasies of remote tropical islands made for romance.

  "I don't envy you having to cater meals for this crowd," Sandy went on, adjusting her straw hat to a more rakish angle. "The competition is pretty intense, although I can't figure out why the owners of the Sea Goddess don't just hire themselves some fancy French chef and be done with it."

  "They have," said Megan, "but you can't expect a demi-god to work a sixteen hour shift. The artistes only handle the dinner crowd." Management--whoever they might be--intended to hire an independent firm to prepare breakfast, lunch, and high tea with both flair and attention to detail, American style. This knack for avoiding the obvious had the owners of Tropicale Cruises sitting on the biggest potential goldmine since the heyday of the Queen Mary.

  Sandy gestured toward a silver-haired man near the door to Promenade Deck. "Do you think he's one of the owners?"

  "Could be," said Megan. "He certainly looks like he could afford it."

  Word had it that a group of enterprising businessmen had bought the Sea Goddess, a two hundred and eighty-two fo
ot yacht, from a once-powerful tycoon who was down on his luck and the businessmen had transformed the private yacht into a commercial enterprise. No one knew exactly who the businessmen were, but their brilliant marketing was fast becoming the stuff of legend.

  The Sea Goddess was positioned to provide the ultimate in affordable luxury for travelers who wanted the best but didn't want to go to the Riviera to find it. Yankee grandeur, the Miami newspapers had called it and it seemed to Megan they were right on target with that assessment.

  "Over there," said Sandy, nudging Megan again. "The man in the dark blue polo shirt. Isn't that a Rolex watch he's wearing?"

  "A knock-off," Megan said. "A good one, but not the real thing."

  Sandy eyed her with curiosity. "You sound pretty sure of yourself."

  "I am," said Megan. Once upon a time this had been her world. Gold watches, diamond tennis bracelets, dinner at the Club--they had all been as commonplace to her as Timex watches, costume jewelry, and lunch beneath the Golden Arches were to her now.

  This time, however, she was there to work, not assess the scenery.

  The Moveable Feast, the catering firm Megan and her partner Ingrid owned, had been summoned on this cruise, singled out of a hundred other catering firms in the area. Firms, Megan suspected, that were equally as good as theirs. Not that she was asking any questions. She wanted this contract badly, and she was determined to bring all of her culinary skills to the table in order to make the deal.

  Megan's free-wheeling imagination coupled with her partner's keen business sense had made them a duo to be reckoned with. Five years ago she'd shown up on Ingrid's doorstep, with Jenny in her arms and hope in her heart, to apply for the job of Stace's nanny. Who would have imagined that she would end up with not only a best friend but a business partner?

  They had earned this opportunity through talent and hard work and Megan knew in her bones that securing a place on the staff of the Sea Goddess would move them into the big time. Ingrid said they were doing fine without the Tropicale franchise, but Megan was determined to see it through to even greater success.

  Strange how much she'd taken for granted when she was growing up. Ballet lessons. Horseback riding. Wednesday afternoon lunches at the Club where she'd learned the difference between eating and dining. Her closet had bulged with lacy party dresses and cashmere sweaters and tennis shoes coordinated to match her play suits. Once upon a time she'd believed that was the way life was for everybody...the way life always would be for her.

  Well, she'd learned otherwise and, to her amazement, she'd survived. The very things she'd longed for during her brief marriage, things her sexy but struggling husband couldn't provide, had proved to be unimportant. She could do without lunches at the Club and fancy dresses and all the other luxuries she'd once taken for granted. If only she'd learned that before her marriage broke up, she and Jake might have had a chance.

  Not that it mattered. The only thing that mattered now was nailing the contract with Tropicale and taking another step toward securing the future for her daughter.

  #

  Jake watched her from the uppermost deck.

  Six years since he had held her in his arms.

  Six years since he'd tasted her lips.

  Six years since he'd known the sweet secrets of her body.

  All the places he'd seen, the things he'd done, the women he'd known--vanished, all of them, in the blink of an eye. Every cell and fiber of his body ached for her. Her power over him was stronger and even more demanding than his need to show her that he had succeeded.

  She leaned against the railing, her fiery auburn hair a sleek line against her cheek, as she gazed out at the sun-splashed wake that trailed behind the ship and it was all he could do to keep from pulling her into his arms and having her right there on the deck.

  He wanted to hate her. Everything about her screamed privilege, from her glossy hair to the expensive shoes on her feet. She stood there, head held high, as if she owned the Sea Goddess and everyone on it. Every casual movement was imbued with an arrogant grace, an elegant disdain that told a man he could look but he couldn't touch.

  This wasn't about reunions, he warned himself. This was about putting the past to rest once and for all and getting on with his life.

  He'd come so far since she'd seen him last. No longer struggling to find success, he had accomplished more than even he had dared to dream. He had come to America in search of success and he had found it a thousandfold. Big dreams and a little luck can take even a down-on-his-luck bloke from the Outback straight to the top. He had the respect and admiration of his colleagues. He owned homes in three countries and more cars than he knew what to do with. Everything he touched turned to gold and he was lucky enough to have the time and the inclination to enjoy every bit of it.

  The sailboat of his dreams, built by the best in the business, waited at the marina in Maui. He could do it now, sail off into the endless sunset while his fortune grew bigger and his future more secure. It's what he'd wanted to do since he was old enough to spin a dream and there was nothing to stop him.

  Except Megan.

  Spoiled, selfish, impossibly beautiful Megan. The woman he'd loved and hated and never been able to forget.

  And, damn it, the woman he still wanted more than any woman he'd ever known.

  #

  Dinner was superb as Megan had known it would be. Medallions of veal so tender they melted in her mouth. The use of coriander in the sauce had been subtle and effective, and she made a mental note to try adapting that technique to her own repertoire. Someone had wisely seen to it that the caterers vying for position on the Sea Goddess were seated at separate tables and so she'd found herself actually enjoying herself. Sandy and her sister Val, partners in a travel agency, had a comically adversarial relationship that kept Megan amused from appetizers through dessert.

  "...so if it hadn't been for Val, I would never have taken time to go on vacation." Sandy's husky laugh rang out as they strolled into the lounge for after-dinner drinks.

  "She's married to her work," Val said ruefully.

  Sandy shot her sister a glance sharp as a razor's edge. "Beats being married to Harry."

  Megan said nothing, just smiled absently at the women's good-natured banter. She was glad for their company. The last thing she'd expected was to feel uncomfortable amidst the splendor of the Sea Goddess but there it was. She'd thought it would be easy to fall into the old ways, downing Veuve Clicquot as if it were water, eating caviar and laughing the carefree laugh of a woman who'd never known anything but the best. But the old ways no longer fit and she doubted they ever would again.

  After dinner they strolled the deck for a while then stopped in the lounge for a drink.

  "Over there," said Megan, pointing to a trio of swivel chairs against the starboard wall of windows.

  "God," Val breathed. "That view...."

  The beauty of the moon's crystallized reflection on the calm black sea was so achingly romantic that Megan quickly turned away. Some things were meant to be shared.

  Small candles burned at each table, providing a soft and sensual glow. The dark richness of the brandy, the lush music from the quartet in the far corner of the room--it all conspired to remind her of another time and place when life had seemed so simple.

  Even now, on a yacht headed toward the open sea, light years away from the life she and Jake had once shared, she found her thoughts drawn back to a time that no longer existed. Lazy Sundays in bed and nights of ecstasy beyond a woman's wildest dreams. But there was more than that, much more. There were days when she wondered if maybe, just maybe, they could have made their marriage work. He didn't want to hear about white picket fences and a bouquet of beautiful babies. His background hadn't taught him how to dream those particular dreams.

  "A beautiful boat, Meggie," he'd said to her so many times. "With only the two of us for company...."

  "Or three of us," she'd said, thinking of a baby with his golden eyes.

>   No babies. No children to tie them down to real life. He wasn't father material and never would be.

  She smoothed her hair off her forehead with an impatient gesture. For all she knew Jake was back in Australia or exploring Timbuktu, chasing crocodiles or beautiful blondes--whatever his current pleasure might be. Certainly the last place he'd be was on a cushy cruise with a bunch of overfed, over-eager businessmen.

  No, that had never been Jake's style.

  He'd been her poet, her dark knight in shining armor, the renegade lover of her girlish dreams. "One day we'll sail around the world," he'd promised her. Just the two of them, naked beneath a blanket of stars. His dreams had been as wild and unbridled as his lovemaking, and every bit as seductive.

  With all her heart and soul she'd wanted to believe he could make the facts of their daily life vanish. But she'd been too young, too spoiled, so accustomed to being indulged that she simply didn't know how to believe in him.

  #

  She was nineteen when they met, Darrin McLean's headstrong daughter. Born and raised in the rarified atmosphere of Palm Beach, rubbing shoulders with Whitneys and Posts, she had never seen the other side of life.

  The wild side.

  She'd wanted to kick free the traces of privilege and a long weekend seemed the answer to her prayers. Innocent, petulant, thoroughly spoiled, she'd been more girl than woman, oddly shielded from reality by the cushion of her father's wealth.

  Key West was everything she'd hoped it would be: slightly tacky, somewhat decadent, filled with possibilities.

  Volleyball, however, wasn't one of the possibilities she was interested in pursuing. Instead she'd stretched out on a yellow beach towel, eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the ocean slapping against the shore and the excited laughter of her friends as they played volleyball down the beach.