One Night with the Rebel Billionaire. Trish Wylie

she told herself.

      Liar, an inner voice replied.

      The rasp of a zipper invited her to glance back at him. His elbows bent as his hands worked on the belt of his jeans, he asked, ‘You live here?’

      ‘Answering that would hardly be a good move on my part, now would it?’

      ‘I’d say you left the region of good moves when you approached a stranger to begin with, wouldn’t you?’

      When he turned his face towards the ocean the moon lit his face. For a brief moment Roane was struck by how beautiful he was. Not a word normally used to describe men, she knew, but he was. There was no way to tell what colour his hair or eyes were in the restricted light, but she had a sneaking suspicion they’d merely be icing on the cake.

      His face had a symmetry to it that she’d never seen before—almost as if he’d been artificially created. Twinned dark pools that suggested large deep-set eyes, a perfectly straight nose, a mouth—dear heaven, that mouth; full lips practically calling out to be kissed. He even had a square jaw.

      Roane was just the teensiest bit smitten.

      He looked at her and smiled the most sinfully sexy smile. Because he knew, didn’t he? Looking the way he did, how could he fail to know women were smitten by him? Judging by the beast of a motorcycle she’d discovered parked at the top of the wooden walkway down to the beach she’d bet he drove all over the country leaving trails of smitten women behind him. There was an addictive sense of—freedom—to him too; as if he belonged where he stood and nowhere else. Nothing would stop him from going where he wanted when he wanted, from swimming naked on a private beach or seducing a woman in the moonlight…

      He could reach out and haul her to him, press those practised lips to hers, lower her to the soft sand beneath their feet, surround her body with his and—

      Erotic images flashed across her brain, her body aching low inside at the very thought of that kind of an encounter. Just once in her life. She could almost hear the ragged breathing; feel the sweat-slickened skin…

      Roane choked out the words, ‘Please leave.’

      His answer was slow, voice so husky she felt her breasts grow heavy in response. ‘Scared, little girl?’

      Roane frowned at the words. Why did they sound familiar? She didn’t know who he was, but a part of her suddenly felt she should recognize him. ‘Do I know you?’

      ‘No one here knows me.’

      When he turned and bent over to retrieve the rest of his belongings a shadow tracked the line of his spine, disappearing into the slight gape at the back of his jeans. The muscles in his shoulders worked as he moved, large hands reaching out and casually lifting what looked like a shirt and a jacket and boots. No underwear, she noted. And then he was turning to face her again, tucking the items casually against his hips.

      ‘Taking a chance approaching a naked stranger on a beach in the dark, you know that, don’t you, little girl?’

      Why did he keep calling her that? Okay, so compared to him she was little. He had to be six feet two easy; Roane was five feet five. And beside all that defined muscle and inherent strength she was positively sylph-like in comparison. But being called a little girl at the age of twenty-seven should surely have felt patronizing to her. Instead it felt distinctly…sexual…and Roane was certain he knew that.

      ‘I told you, there’ll be a security—’

      ‘No, there won’t.’

      She felt a flicker of panic. ‘You don’t know that.’

      ‘Yes—’ he continued looking at her ‘—I do.’

      Who was this guy? The end of Martha’s Vineyard they were on wasn’t known for a large influx of motorcycle-riding bad boys. Frankly, anyone unfamiliar with the island would never have found the beach to begin with. But the main house on the bluff was certainly rich pickings for thieves. Maybe he’d been checking out the Bryant place? Was that it? Had he been filling in time on the beach while he waited for everyone to go to bed?

      Roane had always had a very active imagination.

      The stranger moved his clothes to the same hand as his boots, before reaching out to her. When she flinched back from it his low voice sounded irritated. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

      ‘I don’t know that.’

      ‘You’re still stood there so you must feel it or self-preservation would have kicked in.’ He beckoned with long fingers. ‘Come here.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘I want to see you.’

      ‘Why?’

      Sighing impatiently, he stepped forwards and lifted her chin with the crook of his forefinger, turning her face to the light while she looked sideways at him with wide eyes. She didn’t move—she couldn’t seem to find the strength to move. It was surreal.

      Trapping her chin between his thumb and forefinger he angled his head and examined her face at a maddeningly leisurely pace; thumb smoothing back and forth almost absent-mindedly. Then he let go—leaving the heated brand of his touch against her skin.

      ‘Grew up some, didn’t you, little girl?’

      Roane blinked at him as he turned away, her feet carrying her forwards as he stepped silently onto the end of the wooden walkway. ‘Who are you?’

      He didn’t look back, his deep voice carrying on the night air. ‘Night, Roane.’

      * * *

      ‘Hey, Jake?’

      Roane jogged across to her friend’s side when she spotted him on the laneway between the main house and the guest quarters the next morning. ‘Wait up.’

      He turned, a broad smile in place when he spotted her. ‘Morning, sunshine.’

      ‘Morning.’ She couldn’t resist stopping for a similar smile in return before falling into step beside him. They’d been friends since they’d been in nappies. And whereas most women were immediately struck by his tall, dark and handsome good looks Roane had long since outgrown the stage of being anywhere in the region of starry eyed. He was like a brother to her.

      ‘Do you have a visitor on the estate? There was someone on the beach on my way home last night.’

      Jake lifted dark brows. ‘Was there?’

      ‘Yeah—it was the weirdest thing.’ She pushed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and skipped over the bigger details, like naked male glory and a soul-deep feminine reaction to that nakedness. There were some things a gal just didn’t discuss with a brother. ‘He seemed to know me.’

      Jake’s chin jerked up a little, his gaze on the guest house. ‘Did he? Well, then—let’s just see if it’s who I think it was, shall we?’

      Roane frowned in confusion as Jake slung a long arm over her shoulders and tugged her close to whisper conspiratorially in her ear, ‘We do have a visitor…’

      Roane kept her hands in her pockets and allowed Jake to steer her up the grassy path and through the open doors of the house that her own home could have fitted inside at least a dozen times. Guests at the Bryant estate were treated to the kind of luxury most folks would be hard-pressed to find in a five star hotel.

      Exquisite views over the ocean from the custom-built, architect-designed house were the first treat. The fact it was nestled in fifteen-odd acres of mature trees and established gardens overlooking a private cove was the next. Then add ten thousand square feet of house with five bedrooms, gourmet kitchen and countless luxury amenities, including master suite with Jacuzzi and great room with cathedral ceilings and two-storey stone fireplace and, well…

      Modern-day European royalty probably lived in less.

      ‘Hello?’ Jake released