Marooned With A Millionaire

Then once she returned to her life, she could take the experience with her. And on those lonely nights, she would bring out the memories to keep her company.

If Jackson Dunlap could be persuaded to cooperate.

Three

Jack sent up the flares, only two tonight. He’d save the other two for later if these didn’t happen to summon assistance.

“Oh, wow.”

He glanced at Lizzie who watched the cloudy sky with wonder, as if the display of light had been provided for entertainment.

“They’re so pretty,” she said, turning her amazing smile on him. “I remember thinking that very thing while watching Titanic.”

Good, God. “I don’t think we should go there, either, Dorothy.”

“Oh, pooh. It was a nice romantic movie, if you overlooked the ship sinking.”

“That’s my point. I’d rather not discuss sinking ships.”

“I guess you’re right.” As she backed up to the railing, her smile vanished but it didn’t detract from her wholesome looks. With her wispy layered blond hair framing her face, her wide, guileless blue-green eyes, she seemed almost childlike at times. Yet her body shouted woman. Jack’s gaze automatically drifted to her full breasts outlined against the thin fabric, confirming that fact.

Dragging his attention back to her face, Jack tried desperately to ignore her current state of undress, but with her wearing only his shirt and, he suspected, nothing else, his attempts at detachment were futile.

She didn’t seem to notice though, much to Jack’s relief. “Do you think someone will find us?” she asked evenly, but she couldn’t mask the concern in her voice.

“Eventually.”

She seemed doubly disturbed despite the reappearance of her smile. “Maybe in a day or two, right?”

He couldn’t bear to shatter her optimism, or to cause her more anxiety. “Probably.” If someone happened upon them. If the Coast Guard had been notified of their disappearance. If the storm didn’t hinder any kind of rescue. And if they were lucky, they had twenty-four hours left before they had to deal with that.

Determined to provide some hope, he said, “Look, we still have plenty to eat. Of course, you might have to give up your dietary requirements for the time being.”

Her hand came to rest with reverence on her abdomen. “I will do that for Hank’s sake. He needs food.” She wrinkled her nose. “Even if it is some kind of questionable goulash.”

Jack admired her commitment to her child. Admired her ability to look on the sunny side of the situation. If only he could be that sanguine, but unfortunately he was far too jaded in general, in spite of his financial success.

The waves picked up, jarring the boat. Lizzie lost her footing and luckily Jack was close enough to catch her, close enough to smell her feminine scent mixed with sea air as she looped her arms around his neck.

“Whoa there, Dorothy.”

“Sorry. Guess I don’t have my sea legs yet.”

She had great legs, Jack thought, and they were brushing against his at the moment. Even though he was wearing chinos, he could still imagine how her bare skin would feel against his. How she would feel beneath him.

He really should let her go, but what if she fell again? She did, closer against him. “Isn’t good balance required when you’re in a balloon?” he asked, surprised at the grainy quality of his voice, at his body’s swift reaction to her nearness. At his resistance to turn her loose, which had absolutely nothing to do with courtesy.

“Not really,” she said in a wistful tone. “You have very little sense of movement in a hot air balloon. It’s as if you’re standing still, and the whole world is falling away from beneath you.”

Jack experienced that same sensation at the moment. He felt as if something inside him was falling away, namely his opposition to anything that threatened his solitary life, his emotional fortitude. “Sounds great.”

“It is great,” she said on a sigh, her eyes linked with his as solidly as her arms circled his neck. “It’s incredible.”

So was she, Jack decided. Incredible attitude. Incredible eyes, both wise and innocent. Incredible breasts pressed against his chest. And a very incredible mouth. Although it made no sense, he wanted to know that mouth intimately. Soon. Now.

There was no wisdom in his contemplation, no hesitation in the kiss. He simply took it, grabbed for the brass ring, as he’d done most of his life. Success had not come to him without risk, but the way Lizzie responded to his exploration—the slide of his tongue against hers, the way phenomenal heat coursed through his body—this attraction to her was more than risky.

As if he’d literally been burned, Jack pulled her arms from around his neck and placed her hands on the rail to steady her. Unfortunately, he wasn’t feeling all that grounded, and it wasn’t due to his lack of sea legs. “I don’t know why I did that.”

She touched her lips with long slender fingertips. “I know why.”

“Yeah? Mind explaining it to me?”

Her grin came with the force of a gale. “You’re a boy, and I’m a girl. It’s nighttime, and we just enjoyed some fireworks.”

He couldn’t deny that. He also couldn’t deny that he wanted her in a big way, but he couldn’t act on that need. He had to remember she was pregnant and needed much more than he could give, emotionally speaking. He had to remember that in a matter of days she would be gone, and he would be back to his old life, exactly the way he wanted it—alone, with no concerns beyond his own welfare. With no worries of letting anyone down.

“Sorry,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”

With one hand braced on the railing, Lizzie slipped the other down her side, over her hip, and back up to her waist where she planted it, as if displaying her wares. And some nice wares they were. “You’re sounding mighty sure of yourself, Ahab.”

At least he’d sounded that way. “I am. Now let’s go. It’s time for bed.”

“Is it really now?”

He balanced on releasing a very descriptive oath. “Yeah. You can sleep in my bunk, and I’ll take the fold-down sofa.”

“Isn’t your bunk big enough for both of us?” she asked in a raspy, seductive voice.

Not in this lifetime. “I’d probably roll on top of you.”

“What a horrible prospect.”

Did the woman know no shame? Did she know what she was doing to him with every innuendo she uttered? Damn straight she knew. For some bizarre reason, she’d decided to play with him, in every sense of the word. And as bad as he wanted to play, Jack wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

A woman like Lizzie needed stability, not a man who had spent his adulthood recklessly searching for adventure at every turn. She needed something solid and secure, a man who wouldn’t fail her.

His first priority—his only priority—was to keep her safe until they again reached shore. Even if he was having a helluva hard time avoiding the fantasy of making love to her.

Lizzie had never been one to put much stock in fantasies, at least where men were concerned. Yet every night since the day she’d tried to get pregnant, she had fantasized about her baby’s father. She knew only what the fertility clinic had volunteered— German heritage, mid-twenties, just over six—feet tall, brown hair, hazel eyes, a recent college graduate who happened to be very smart. Magna cum laude, in fact. She really liked that part. Not that she hadn’t been proud of her accomplishments. Just because she’d chosen the creative route instead of academics didn’t mean she couldn’t hold her own in the intelligence department. After all, she had been top in her cosmetology class. The best darned aesthetician in the whole school, as a matter of fact. She had a gift for transforming women into what they envisioned themselves to be, at least from a superficial standpoint.

Unfortunately, she’d never been able to physically transform herself, not that she’d really wanted to. She had no use for makeup. Who needed the hassle of flaking mascara and reapplying lipstick on an hourly basis? Maybe she wasn’t anything special in the looks department, but she knew who she was and what she wanted from life. She had scrimped and saved, squirreled away her tips in order to try her hand at the balloon business. With the demise of Bessie, it looked as though it might be a while before she could start over again.

No problem. She would still have her little one. She only hoped that her child would inherit her creativity and his father’s brains. A nice balance.

Lying back on the pillow in Jack’s “bunk”—which happened to be queen-size—she allowed the steady rock of the boat to lull her into bliss, but it did nothing to bring about sleep. Oh, well. She would just try to imagine the man who had fathered her child.

She saw only Jack Dunlap.