The Billion Dollar Pact. Sheri WhiteFeather

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СКАЧАТЬ they had one crazy weekend, wrapped up together in bouts of guilty pleasure.

      His release was strong and convulsive, and Carol absorbed the friction when he came, taking everything he was, everything about him, into her body. Until there was nothing left but the sound of running water.

      * * *

      After the shower, Carol and Jake ordered breakfast and had it delivered to Jake’s room. Carol was grateful that Lena had hired a staff that could be trusted, who wouldn’t sell tidbits to the tabloids or take unauthorized pictures.

      Of course, Jake wasn’t a big-time celebrity. His “Beefcake Bachelor” status wasn’t enough to make him a star. No one followed him around, the way they did Lena and some of her other guests. But thank goodness this weekend was private, either way.

      “Do you want to eat outside?” he asked.

      “Sure. Why not?” Carol thought it sounded nice and relaxing.

      He carried the tray onto the veranda, and they sat across from each other at a glass-topped table. She gazed out at the view. The pool area was vacant, almost eerily quiet.

      “I wonder if anyone else is even up yet,” he said.

      “Some of them are probably hungover from the party.” She cut into her eggs. She’d chosen poached, topped with cheese, tomatoes and pesto. “And the rest of them might just be lazing around like we are.”

      “Yeah.” He was eating a sausage and egg scramble. “We haven’t even gotten dressed yet.”

      She nodded. Both of them were in their robes, and her towel-dried hair was still slightly damp. She’d combed it straight down, though. He’d only run his fingers through his, barely taming his thick dark locks. But his unkempt look was a part of who he was.

      “So,” she said, still curious to know about his youthful rebellions, “what did you get caught doing when you were young?”

      He made a face. “I stole things. Mostly video games and DVDs and stuff like that. Sometimes I would nab a bottle of booze, just for the hell of it.” He frowned at his food. “But my biggest thrill was lifting trinkets for the girls I liked. I’d have them show me what they wanted, then I’d go back on my own to steal it. That’s what I got popped for. Taking this little diamond necklace from a department store.”

      She studied him in the balcony light, the way the shade played over his face. “The store pressed charges?”

      “Yep. I was arrested for shoplifting.”

      “And now you buy women pricey gifts to make amends for what you did?”

      He glanced up from his plate. “I never really thought about it that way, but I suppose I do.” He paused, fork in hand. “Or maybe it just makes me feel good, being able to afford to give them pretty things.”

      Like the jewelry he’d given her, she thought.

      “I started stealing about six months after my family died,” he said. “I was so freaked out in foster care I could barely stand it. I needed something that made me feel alive. That gave me a sense of purpose, even if I knew it was wrong. I was fifteen when I got busted, so it had been going on for a while before I got caught.”

      Carol questioned him further, piecing his past together in her mind. “Did Garrett and Max know what you were doing?”

      “Yes, but they didn’t say anything to me about it. They had enough problems of their own.”

      “What happened after you got arrested?”

      “I was put on probation. But I stopped stealing. Not because I got busted, but because my caseworker said that if I didn’t get my act together, I would be moved to a group home, where the setting would be much more restrictive. And I didn’t want to go someplace where I would be separated from Garrett and Max.”

      She sipped her orange juice. “So in a sense, they saved you? Just by being there?”

      “They definitely did. We had our heritage in common, too, which also helped us stay together. We were placed in Native American foster homes, and there weren’t all that many, compared to nonnative ones. The only way we were likely to be separated or never see each other again was if I screwed up and went to a group home.” Jake had a thoughtful expression. “Soon after that, Max came up with the idea for us to band together. To work toward becoming megarich someday.”

      Carol considered the situation. “Max came from a really poor environment, didn’t he?”

      “Poor. Abusive. The works. He had all kinds of motivation to want to be rich and respected. So did Garrett, with how badly he wanted to keep a roof over his mother’s head and keep her well. But me...? There was nothing I wanted, except my family back. But then I figured there was nothing wrong with having fancy houses and fast cars.” He looked directly across the table at her, flirtation alive in his eyes. “And beautiful women, of course.”

      Heat unfurled in her loins. “Yes, of course.”

      “Sex was always an outlet for me. I was fifteen the first time it happened.”

      “The same year you got caught shoplifting?”

      He nodded. “I was already sleeping with the girl I nabbed the necklace for. She was my first. What a rush that was, having a girl want me like that.”

      Carol wasn’t surprised that he was having sex at such a young age. She had waited until college, with her first serious boyfriend. “And you’ve had lots of lovers since.”

      “Being rich helps.”

      “Your money doesn’t matter to me,” she told him. “That’s not why I’m here with you.”

      “I know. But mostly women want to date me because I’m rich, even the ones who are trying to heal me. But you won’t try to do that because you’re already broken, too.”

      She didn’t know whether to be offended by his assessment of her or impressed that he knew enough to call himself broken. To combat her uncertainty, she said, “You and I aren’t going to be together long enough for me to try to do anything, except get through this weekend without those condoms running out.”

      He grinned and topped off his orange juice. “Touché, Miss Lawrence.” When she furrowed her brow, he stopped smiling, the abrupt change hardening his handsome features. “Come on, Carol. Don’t be upset because I said you were messed up, too.”

      “Did I say I was upset?”

      “No, but I can tell it bothered you.”

      She gazed out at the pool. It was still vacant, the water rippling on its own, the chaise longues and chairs empty. Suddenly the entire island seemed lonely, even the parts she couldn’t see. “Your opinion of me is confusing.”

      “Why? Because you think that you’re handling being orphaned better than I am? No one gets by unscathed. No one,” he reiterated softy. “Not even you.”

       Seven

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