The Billionaire's Bride

Something didn’t add up. J.T. wasn’t deterred. His company’s logo was a bloodhound—specifically, Tracker, the beloved dog he’d had as a boy. J.T. would figure it out. He was determined to rework the numbers until they did add up.

Marnie spied the lights at the house just up the beach, the place where she assumed J.T. now sat enjoying his evening. Was he renting it, too? If so, he’d gotten the better deal. It didn’t appear to be much larger than the one she was paying for, and it hardly looked more habitable, but it had electricity at this point, whereas she had nothing but a fire in the primitive hearth to roast hot dogs over.

God, she hated hot dogs. But she’d brought them with her in the small cooler she’d packed because they were easy. The perfect multipurpose food. No one knew better than the mother of a finicky four-year-old how quickly boiling water, a bon fire or a gas grill could turn pressed meat into a meal. And Noah loved them.

Truth be told, she wasn’t much of a cook. Never had been. In fact, Hal had prepared most of the meals during their marriage, for which she was eternally grateful. Still, surviving on her own cooking did have one nice side benefit. At least she never had to watch her weight.

She pulled the blackened dog from the fire and sighed. Nope. No calories to worry about here.

Marnie tossed her dinner into the fire, stood up and stretched. She really wasn’t that hungry anyway. Without bothering to locate the flashlight, she stumbled to the home’s only bedroom and felt her way along in the dark until her knee rapped smartly against the bed’s wooden footboard.

With a sigh of exhaustion, she flopped onto the lumpy, unmade mattress still wearing her clothes, too tired to bother to hunt up her toothbrush or take out her gritty-feeling contact lenses.

Sleep. When she didn’t have any of the disruptions or responsibilities of motherhood to intrude, Marnie Striker LaRue was remarkably good at it.

CHAPTER TWO

BRIGHT beams of light stretched through the unadorned window the following morning, rousing Marnie from sleep. She ignored them, or tried to, rolling over and reaching for the covers only to discover the small bed had none.

“So much for sleeping in,” she muttered.

Her eyelids fluttered opened, dried up contacts making her blink rapidly to clear the film over her vision, and then she glanced around the small, sparsely furnished room, perplexed. She had just two thoughts.

Where was she?

And, was there any coffee?

She stumbled to the window and smiled as her memory returned. Just yards away, the ocean rose up in gentle swells before spilling itself on the beach.

La Playa de la Pisada.

She supposed she should find a pay phone. Her cell didn’t work here. She needed to call her folks, check on her son. She knew he was in good care. Actually, she thought with a smile, it was her parents she worried about. Noah could be quite a handful when he wanted to get his own way, which tended to be all of the time.

Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her of the need for food and the fact that she had not eaten dinner the night before. But more than anything, she wanted a hot shower and that first glorious jolt of caffeine.

It was just her rotten luck, Marnie decided, that the electricity was still off and the water coming out of the faucet in the bathroom was a rusty brown color and cold to boot.

Well, no sense complaining about it, especially since she was alone and doing so wouldn’t accomplish anything. She settled for a glass of lukewarm juice and a slice of buttered bread. Then she pulled on the swimsuit she’d brought to Arizona for her parents’ pool and slathered on sunscreen.

As she passed the car parked just outside, she flipped on its stereo, sliding in a CD of Aretha Franklin’s greatest hits before heading down to the beach. A quick dip would clear the cobwebs, especially since the water was bound to be cool. But she’d grown up on Lake Superior, which was hypothermia-inducing even in August. She was no stranger to cold water, but that really wasn’t the main attraction anyway. Give her a beach, a towel and a block of free time, and she could sunbathe with the best of them. She figured she’d earned a couple hours of lazing around before she went into town. It had been ages since she’d last stretched out on sand with nothing more pressing to do than flip over every so often to keep her tan even.

Besides, hadn’t her own mother said she needed a vacation? Marnie planned to make the most of her break from responsibility.

The morning air was cool on her exposed skin, but the sun’s warmth was already promising. She was just spreading her towel out when J.T. startled her by saying, “If you’re planning to go in, I hope you’re a good swimmer. There can be a nasty undertow around here, and I’m not going to jump in and save you.”

As if she would accept his help anyway, she thought sourly, but when she turned to tell him so, the words died on her lips. Forget the sexy, wind-tossed blond hair, stubble of sandy beard and well-muscled arms. What really had her mouth watering was what he held in his hand.

“Is that coffee?”

He drank deeply before replying, apparently having noted the reverence in her tone.

“Yes it is.”

“Black? No sugar or flavored creamer or anything?”

“Why mess with a good thing?” he replied, and she agreed completely.

“You wouldn’t happen to have more of it?”

“An entire pot. Just made it before I came out for my morning walk.” He sipped it again and she swore her mouth began to water. “Ground the beans myself. Starbucks, French roast.”

She couldn’t help it. A soft moan escaped her lips. He raised his eyebrows when he heard it, but he made no comment.

“I don’t suppose you’re feeling…neighborly?”

He smiled, and Marnie told herself it was only the promise of caffeine that had her pulse shooting off like a bottle rocket. Certainly, it wasn’t the more than six feet of gorgeous man standing five yards in front of her, wearing tan cargo shorts and a wrinkled white T-shirt that appeared to be on inside out, as if it had been pulled on hastily.

“Is that a yes?” She tipped her head to one side and offered a slow, sensual smile in return. Two could play his game, she decided.

His gaze lingered on her lips before dipping lower, lower. She almost felt caressed by his thorough, frank appraisal. And she figured she had him.

Marnie didn’t believe in false modesty, so she would be the first to say she looked damned good in this swimsuit, great even. It hid the small tummy she’d gained since Noah, the little pouch that no amount of sit-ups seemed to eradicate. She’d come to grips with that and had decided to work around it. Accentuate the positive, as the saying went. And so she did. The neckline scooped low to show off her full breasts, and the bottom was cut high at the hip to reveal every inch of her long and slender—if a bit pale at this point—legs.

She’d planned to carry this suit and dozens of other flattering ones in her mail-order business in what she now thought of as her other life. And even though she’d purchased it three years ago, this was the first time she’d actually worn it outside the confines of a fitting room or in her bedroom, where she’d taken pleasure in modeling it for her husband just a month before the accident.

J.T.’s voice snapped her back to the present.

“Sorry, I’m not in a generous mood today.”

He didn’t bother to hide his smile after he took another satisfying gulp.

She scowled at him. All that flirting wasted.

“Just today? I got the feeling that was a permanent state for you,” she snapped.

“Why are you here?”

“Again with the questions,” she groused, sliding her feet out of her sandals and dumping her sunglasses onto the towel.

“I haven’t liked any of the answers so far,” he shot back.

“Your problem.”

The breeze tugged at her hair when she turned away from him and started toward the water.

“I meant it about the undertow,” he called after her.

She was hip deep in the chilly water before she replied, “Yes, but did you mean the part about not coming in to save me?”