The Billionaire’s Bidding

Ten

Alex was a perfect gentleman all the way to Kayven Island.

They’d stopped in L.A. for a late dinner. After which, Emma had had a surprisingly restful sleep across the Pacific, arriving at the local Kayven airstrip in the early morning hours.

Partway between Hawaii and Fiji, the island boasted white sand beaches, world-class reefs and turquoise seas dotted with brightly colored sailboats. The McKinley Resort consisted of a main building with traditional hotel rooms, an open-air lounge and a restaurant, along with several dozen bungalows scattered between towering palm trees.

Emma and Alex’s bungalow opened onto a wide, covered patio with three steps down to the beach.

They quickly discovered their PalmPilots didn’t work. Neither did their cell phones. Internet service was only available in the main building, and it was intermittent at best.

So, after an open-air breakfast of pastries and tropical fruit, Alex declared they should chuck their business obligations and rent a catamaran for the day. Inspired by the salt breeze and laid-back atmosphere of the island, Emma wasn’t inclined to argue.

So, at 10:00 a.m., along about the time she usually attended her senior staff meeting, she was dressed in a lilac bikini, skimming over the waves of the South Pacific, the breeze in her hair and the salt spray dampening her skin.

“Dolphins,” Alex called from the stern, and she twisted on the pontoon seat to see a dozen dorsal fins cutting through the green water.

“How do you know they’re not sharks?” For the first time since leaving the dock, Emma cast a suspicious glance at the clear water below her.

Alex pulled the tiller. “Let’s take a closer look.”

“No!” she squealed. What did Alex know about sharks and dolphins? He’d spent his entire life in a city center just like her.

He laughed. “Chicken.”

“I like my legs, thank you very much.”

“They’re dolphins.”

“No offense, but you’re hardly an expert.”

He corrected their course to follow the towering cliffs of the shoreline. After a set of rudimentary instructions on sailing the two person catamaran, the man at the rental shop had provided a map to a snorkeling beach and one of the islands scenic coral reefs.

“I’ve watched the Discovery Channel,” said Alex, his tone tinged with mock offense.

“I rest my case.”

“You’ve got to learn to trust me on something.”

“I’m letting you drive, aren’t I?”

“Letting me?”

She whooped as they crested a particularly big wave, then sang out, “My turn on the way back.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hey, Alex. You’ve got to learn to trust me on something.”

“You can decorate the main floor.”

“The main floor of what?”

“Of my house.”

She turned to stare at him. “We’re decorating your house.”

He stared out over the waves, and she had to fight to keep from ogling his wet, tanned body. His calves were sculpted with muscle, and his pecs were something out of a beach-boy magazine. His face was handsome as ever, but the rakish swirl of his windblown hair left him looking softer, less intimidating than he had in NewYork.

She was suddenly aware that they’d be spending the day on a deserted beach, far away from the problems and constraints of their real lives. She’d sworn up and down, to herself and to Alex, that they were never, ever making love again. Now she found herself questioning that promise, exploring the rationale and trying to remember exactly why it was so important that she keep her hands off him.

“I thought we’d decorate before the party,” he said.

She shook herself out of the fantasy. “Huh?” What party?

“I thought a Garrison-McKinley company party might be a nice idea. Ryan is always after me to soften my image.”

She gave her head a shake. “You want another party? After yesterday? Or was it the day before?”

“Actually, I think this might be our wedding day.”

“Don’t mess with me.”

“I’m not messing with you. The International Date Line takes a funny jog around Kiribati.”

She refused to be impressed by his knowledge. “Well, it’s only noon,” she retorted. “That means we’re not married yet.”

He squinted. “Hmmm. That means there’s time for one last fling.”

Emma made a show of glancing around the empty ocean. “With who?”

Alex waggled his eyebrows.

“In your dreams.” Or in her dreams, depending on how you looked at it.

“Look,” he said. “There’s the point and the bent palm tree.” He abruptly turned the tiller, sending the blue-and-red sail swinging crossways over the catamaran.

Emma shaded her eyes as a sparkling white, crescent-shaped beach came into view. Cliffs towered over it on both sides, and a white, frothy waterfall spilled into the little cove.

“Wow.” She let out a long breath of appreciation. “I don’t think we’re in Manhattan anymore.”

“Screw the cell phones,” said Alex. “The world can live without us for a day.”

Emma laughed and shook off the remaining vestiges of her guilt, while the sail caught a gust of wind, pushing the front of the floats onto the soft sand.

She quickly hopped off the net platform, sinking calf-deep in the warm water, and grabbing the rope as the floats bobbed free again.

Alex joined her and tugged the boat onto the sand and removed their supply sack.

She pulled her messy hair free of the elastic and raked it into a new ponytail. Without the breeze from the moving sailboat, the sun was burning hot. And the water was more than inviting.

“Swim first or snorkel?” asked Alex, reading her thoughts.

“Anything that gets me wet.”

They swam in the cove and snorkeled around the reef for hours. With the swim fins for propulsion, Emma easily maneuvered through the salt water, seeing thousands of fish in every color imaginable, crabs, sea urchins and sea stars, plants and shells, and what seemed like mile upon mile of vibrant coral.

Thirst and hunger finally brought them to the surface. The sun had moved far enough in the sky that they could find shade from one of the cliffs. They spread their blanket out near the waterfall, where the fine spray brought the air temperature down a few degrees.

Emma leaned back and inhaled the scent of the tropical flowers, then she closed her eyes to concentrate on the calls of birds and the low hum of the insects. A sigh slipped out. “Do we really have to go back?”

Alex’s sexy voice was full of promise. “No, we don’t.”

She opened one eye, squinting at him through her sunglasses as he lay down on the blanket, propping himself up on one elbow.

She matched his pose so that she was facing him. “Eventually, we’d starve.”

He pushed his sunglasses up on his forehead, shifting almost imperceptibly forward. “We’d survive on fish and coconuts.”

“You’re going to fish.”

“I’m a versatile guy.”

“How are you going to cook them?”

He moved her sunglasses up on her forehead. “I’ll gather firewood from the forest.”

The mere whisper of his touch spiked her pulse. “And rub two sticks together?”

“If I have to. I didn’t become a billionaire by giving up.”

“I thought you became a billionaire by inheriting lots of money.”

He moved closer. “Yeah. There was that. But it doesn’t mean I’m not a resourceful guy.” His gaze dipped to her cleavage, and a buzz of sexual awareness ran through her.

“Alex.”

“It’s okay.” He reached for the spaghetti strap on her bikini top, running his index finger beneath it, then trailing it down her arm. The fabric peeled away, exposing the barest millimeter of her nipple.

His eyes darkened, and she could feel the sensuality radiating from his very pores. Next, he leaned forward and kissed the tip of her shoulder, his cool lips gentle on her sun-warmed skin.

She knew she should fight it, but the last thing in the world she wanted to do was interrupt a sexy man on a tropical beach, making her feel like she was the most desirable woman in the world.

He left her shoulder to kiss the mound of her breast, trailing his fingertips along the curve of her waist.

She gasped in a breath, and his arm went solidly around her, turning her onto her back, his dark head blocking out the bright sunshine.

“I want you,” he said.

And she wanted him, too. So much that it hurt to breathe. Her chest was tight. Her skin was tingling. And her thigh muscles pulsated with the need for his touch.

“Oh, Alex.”

He bent his head close to hers, kissing the corner of her mouth.

“It’s okay,” he muttered. “It’s after three. We’re married now.”

Before she could smile, he kissed her full on the lips, his broad hand swooping beneath her bottom to pull her against him.

She opened her mouth, tangling with his tongue. And her hands framed his face, pulling herself closer and deeper, trying desperately to fuse her body to his.

The waterfall roared in her ears, and the breeze off the ocean sensitized her skin. She kissed his cheek, his shoulder, the bulge of his bicep, tasting the sea salt, reveling in the flavor of his arousal.

He flicked the clasp of her bikini top, and the purple fabric fell away, exposing her breasts to the heat of the sun and Alex’s avid gaze.

“The pretty one,” he muttered. “The beautiful, sexy, charming sister. I am so glad you stormed into my office that day.”

Emma tried to comprehend his meaning, but the words didn’t make sense. And then he drew her nipple into his mouth, and the entire world stopped making sense. It was Alex. And they were married. And she was falling fast and hard and unconditionally for him.

The rake of his teeth and the swirl of his tongue sent pulses of delight streaking down her body. She arched her spine, tipping her head back, closing her eyes against the rainbow of light taking over her brain.

She had to feel him. She had to touch him. She had to make sure he was experiencing half the intensity she was.

She ran her hands up his arms, resisting the urge to linger, exploring his biceps and strong shoulders. Then she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him tight against her breast, releasing a pent-up moan of desire.

He moved to the other breast, and she trailed her fingertips down his back, shifting her knees and pressing his arousal into the cradle of her thighs.

He drew back. “Whoa. You sure?”

“Yes,” she blurted. “I’m sure. I want you. Whatever. Just tell me what to say.”

He chuckled as he kissed her mouth. “I meant are you sure you want it this fast.”

“Yes. Now. Right now.” She didn’t think she could wait another second.

He sobered, his thumb hooking her bikini bottom and sliding it off over her sweat-slicked skin. Then he made short work of his own trunks, positioning himself over her, staring down at her with tousled hair and dark eyes, like some kind of sea god bent on conquest.

His fingertips trailed down the slight indentation of her belly, and she squirmed beneath him, holding her breath, waiting, anticipating. He stared deep into her eyes and smoothed over her curls, parting her thighs and easing his finger into her body.

She sucked in a breath with the exquisite pulse that came to life deep inside her. She slid her own hand down his body, cupping him, controlling him, pulling him toward her to satisfy her growing impatience.

He swore under his breath.

Then he pushed her hand away and flexed his hips, pressing himself at her entrance, widening her, stretching her, sliding slick and thick and hot inside her, inch after delicious inch as his hands tangled with hers and their mouths fused once more.

Primal passion took over.

The birds called in the treetops, the waterfall cooled the raging fever of their skin, and Alex’s rhythm matched the pulsating waves taking over their gleaming stretch of beach.

He sped up, then slowed down, and she bit her lip, pushing back against his hands, arching her spine and tipping her hips to bring his thrusts faster and harder against her.

Then the world seemed to freeze. Her breathing stopped, and the sun disappeared, the trees went silent and she cried his name as the rainbow sensations washed over her again and again and again.

His own cry was guttural, and the parrots took flight above them, a cacophony of surprise and confusion. Then his weight finally settled, pressing her into the warm sand, his arms, his breath, his heartbeat surrounding her.

By the time they made it back to their bungalow, dusky pink clouds were gathering above the island.

Then, while the maître d’ sat them in the resort’s open-air restaurant, the first fat raindrops plunked on the palm leaves and turned the wooden deck a dark mottled brown. Lightning flashed in the distance, and the growing rainstorm clattered against the restaurant’s thatched roof.

Grateful for the cool air, Emma settled back in the cushioned teak chair, dangling her sandal from her toes while the cool breeze swirled around her cotton print dress. The hurricane lamps on the tables seemed to brighten as the orange ball of the sun disappeared below the horizon.

Emma gazed at the flickering light on Alex’s handsome face, hardly believing they’d so thoroughly consummated their marriage.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

She grinned. “That I’m married to the best-looking man in the room.”

He glanced around. “Okay,” he said slowly. “But the other guys are mostly over sixty.”

A waiter in a pristine white jacket approached. “Mr. and Mrs. Garrison. I am Peter, the restaurant manager. The chef was delighted to hear you would be dining with us tonight. He has asked if he might present some additional entrée suggestions?”

Alex stood up and shook the waiter’s hand. “Good to meet you, Peter. Please, tell the chef we would be delighted to hear his suggestions.”

“Very good.” With a smile and a nod, Peter retreated, only to be replaced by their cocktail waiter.

“Champagne?” Alex raised his eyebrows in Emma’s direction.

“For our wedding night?” she asked with a stupid, sappy grin. But she couldn’t help it. It was still Saturday and, if the expression in Alex’s dark eyes was anything to go by, they were about to spend a glorious night together.

He nodded to Emma, then turned to the waiter. “Cristal Rose? The ninety-six?”

The waiter nodded sharply. “Excellent.” Then he swiftly removed their red and white wineglasses and left the table.

Alex reached for her hands and took a deep breath. “So, you want to talk about this? Or do we just let it happen?”

She let the warmth of his touch penetrate her skin. “The champagne?”

He shook his head, stroking his thumb over her rings. “No. Not the champagne.”

“Let me see.” She tilted her head. “The chef?”

“No. Not the chef.”

“Your inability to steer a catamaran?”

“Hey.”

“You nearly took out those two tourists.”

“Their dive to the left was incredibly sudden.”

“They were scattering in terror.”

Alex paused, then he sobered. “May I assume your redirecting the conversation means you just want to let it happen?”

His words sent a shiver through her, and she leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I’m not even sure what ‘it’ is yet.”

He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “I am,” he said softly.

An unaccountable panic burst through her belly. “Don’t-”

“I won’t. Not tonight.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Garrison,” Peter interrupted. “May I present Chef Olivier.”

Alex released Emma’s hands, and she tucked her hair behind her ears as the wind picked up another notch.

Alex got to his feet. “A pleasure,” he said to Chef Olivier, shaking the man’s hand.

“The pleasure is mine,” the chef replied.

“Are you cold?” Peter inquired of Emma. “Shall we close the shutters?”

“Please, don’t,” said Emma. There was something wildly beautiful about the pounding rain, the distant lightning, and the crazily undulating palm fronds. There was a potent storm brewing out on the Pacific, and a potent storm brewing inside her. Both were frightening, unpredictable and exhilarating all at the same time.