Confessions: He's The Rich Boy / He's My Soldier Boy. Lisa Jackson

in thickets of pine and oak. Boathouses, patios, tennis courts and swimming pools flashed by. Every so often a private dock fingered into the clear water.

      “You probably wonder why I’m driving this—” he said, motioning toward the boat, as if suddenly a little self-conscious.

      “It’s yours?”

      “My father’s,” he admitted with a grimace, and then, as if guessing her next question, added, “Even though I didn’t want the Mercedes, this is different. I can use the boat without having to worry about having any strings attached to it.”

      “No price to pay?”

      “Not yet. But it could still happen.” His smile faded. “With my old man you just never know. Everything comes down to dollars and cents with him.” As if hearing the anger in his voice, he glanced at her. “Still want to hang out with me?”

      “Talking about your father doesn’t scare me off.”

      “It should.”

      “I’ve got two older brothers. I don’t scare easily,” she remarked, though her tongue nearly tripped on the lie. Truth to tell, she was frightened even now. Scared of being alone with him, scared of what she might do.

      He laughed and shook his head. “You haven’t come up against dear old Dad.”

      Seemingly convinced that she wasn’t going to change her mind, he slowed the boat and edged the prow into a small cove on the north shore. Nadine’s heart was thumping so loudly, she thought he could hear its uneven beat. What was she doing here, alone, with a boy she barely knew? A rich boy with a bad reputation? He decelerated the speedboat to a crawl, guiding the craft through a thin inlet that opened to a tree-shaded lagoon. “Ever been here?” he asked, and she shook her head.

      She’d never been so close to all the expensive homes on this side of the lake. “Is this on your property?”

      “My father’s.” A line of consternation formed between his brows for a second. “Garreth takes great delight in owning things and people.”

      “Like you?”

      One side of his mouth lifted crookedly. “Well, I’m the one thing he can’t buy. At least not anymore. It frustrates the hell out of him.”

      “And gives you great joy.”

      His white teeth flashed devilishly. “I do like getting his goat.” Taking her hand, he guided her to a stretch of beach where sunlight pierced the canopy of pine boughs and pooled on the glittering sand. “I used to come here as a kid,” he admitted, eyeing the berry vines that were beginning to encroach along the forest’s edge. “But that was a long time ago, when my father could still buy me.”

      “You act as if your father’s an ogre.”

      “Isn’t he?”

      “My dad doesn’t think so.” Nadine sat on a smooth, bleached boulder and wiggled her toes into the warm sand. “In fact, he thinks your father is a prime example of the American dream.”

      “By inheriting a sawmill or two?” Hayden snorted. “He just happened to be the son of a wealthy man.”

      She glanced at him pointedly, but didn’t say a word.

      “I know, ‘like me.’ That’s what you were thinking, so you might as well say it.”

      “It’s just that I don’t see that you have all that much to complain about.”

      “But, then, you don’t know my family, do you?”

      She shook her head, her long hair sweeping across her shoulders. And when she looked up, he was staring at her, his feet planted wide apart, his muscles tense. She felt the undercurrent of electricity in the air, as surely as the breeze causing the branches overhead to sway. The air smelled of water and cut cedar, and over the erratic beat of her heart she heard the muted sounds of birds chirping and the distant roar of motorboats.

      She swallowed against a cotton-dry throat and licked her lips.

      “Do you know why I brought you here?” he asked suddenly.

      Oh, God! She couldn’t breathe. The air was trapped in her lungs.

      “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Since the other day, when you gave me a ride.”

      She could hardly believe her ears and wanted to pinch herself to make sure that she wasn’t dreaming. “You...haven’t called.”

      “I didn’t want to call. I didn’t want to see you again.” He advanced slowly and sat down next to her, his body bare inches away. “I mean, I told myself I didn’t.”

      “Then why did you stop at the dock?” she asked, her blood pulsing wildly.

      “Because I saw you again and I couldn’t help myself.” He dropped his sunglasses into the sand and stared at her with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Intense. Electric. Erotic.

      She licked her lips, and he let out his breath in a whistle through his teeth.

      “Why didn’t you want to see me?”

      Laughing derisively, he touched her arm. Her skin tingled with a heat so intense, she nearly jerked away as his fingers wrapped around her wrist. “Because it’ll only cause trouble.”

      “I thought you liked trouble.”

      His gaze sparked a little. “Some kinds.”

      “But—”

      “But not girl trouble.” His fingers grazed the inside of her wrist. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard all the stories about me—all the dark tales about my past.”

      “I...I don’t believe everything I hear.”

      He gazed at her long and hard, and a warmth curled inside her, gently turning over and causing her skin to tingle.

      “You had a nickname for me.”

      “What?”

      “Prince.”

      “Oh.” She smiled a trifle nervously. “You deserved it.”

      “Yeah, I suppose I did,” he admitted, but he didn’t remove his hand. Like a manacle, the fingers encircling her wrist tightened, only warmly, gently. “What about you?”

      “Me?”

      “Have you been thinking of me?”

      She wanted to lie. She told herself she shouldn’t give him an inkling of what she really felt, and yet she despised women who calculated every thought or speech to manipulate men. She tried to yank her hand away, but couldn’t.

      “Well, have you?”

      “Thought about you? Not a whole lot.” She forced the words over her tongue.

      “Liar.”

      “Why would I lie?” Instinctively she inched up her chin a fraction and found herself staring into eyes so blue, the sky paled in comparison.

      “Because I scare you.”

      “I already told you I don’t scare.”

      His eyebrow lifted an inch and his fingers moved upward to the sensitive skin on her throat. “You’re trembling.”

      “I’m not scared.”

      “What, then?”

      “Cold,” she threw back, refusing to acknowledge that his touch caused her skin to quiver.

      Laughter danced in his eyes. “Today. When it’s over ninety degrees. You’re cold?”

      “Yes—”

      “Could be you’re coming down with something. Chills and a fever,” he said, with a slightly wicked grin.

      “Could