Page 15 of Secret Bet

Chapter5

Tonight,Belle Jordan pretended she was someone else. Peter Morgan walked beside her down the dock. The salt mixed with his scent and her lips begged for a taste. He would be sweeter than icecream.

She swallowed and glanced away from him. None of this made anysense as part of her life. Her shoulders tightened as they inched closer to the USS Destiny. The fantasy nonsense would never beherlife.

Without waiting for his hand, she hopped onto his yacht, which could compete in a boat show as the most ostentatious one that existed. She then turned around to see if he took the rail or followed her. She pressed her lips together. His strong musclesagainst her skin would crush her, in agoodway.

He jumped and landed nexttoher.

Her heart pounded. The rich man now in front of her was some illusion. She sniffed the air and the smell of oak struck her. The smell tickled her nose, reminding her of a home she'd never had. She massaged her neck and went toward the aft. He went toward what must be the ship's command. She crossedher arms. The waters were still andwarmhere.

None of this required her to figure anything out or do anything. She hugged her stomach. The motors under her feet buzzed as theyflippedon.

Peter stepped outside and joined her. His massive wall of muscles made no sense for someone like him. Rich men were supposed to get fat and not make her body experience shots of electricalsurges.

He pointed to the deck chairs. She ticked her head and saw no reason to disagree with him and headed toward the chairs. As he neared her, goose bumps spread again. It seemed to be her usual reaction as she ached to touch him. The moon was high in the sky now. She licked her lips as the salt air moistened her face. Her mouth quivered for a kiss as he came to standbesideher.

Neitherof them said anything. She massaged her arms to stop the goose bumps. Nothing worked. The warmth she felt tonight seemed to fuel an internal fire. Something surged in the airaroundher.

Then a servant came and placed a tray, a bottle of champagne and two flutes on the table between thechairs.

She sighed and turned to the moon. This might be the universe laughing at her for prayingearlier. She’d not be desperate and let moments where she wanted to beg for his attention play out. She’d stamped out her attraction to him. Tomorrow would be easier. This one night might stay lodged in herdreams.

She stared into Peter's brown eyes. The chocolate-colored hues were like a mask, and she had no idea what he felt inside. Her skin tingled. She'd never be this close to someonelike him ever again. She traced her neckline and leaned closertohim.

"What's it like growing up as one of America's oldest dynasties? Did your dad keep you locked in your room to ensure that you knew how to keep thebooks?"

As if he were mimicking her, he rubbed his neck andnodded. "Yeah."

“What?” She blinked. "Sorry."

She lowered her hand to her side. She'd beenrude and hadn't meant anything by it. The vision of a young boy locked in his room with a book and a pencil waftedthroughher.

She fixed her hair behind her ear. "I was being sarcastic. It's a badhabit."

"You hit a direct target." He shrugged and placed his hands in his pocket. "I was being honest. Dad quizzed me on how to read balance sheets and ensured I had a plan to earn amillion dollars before I was ten that he executed to prove my successes or failures of mind. The daily updates as I stood next to his desk made my kneesknock."

Her father had made her feel that way once when she brought a D home on her report card and then said she'd fix it with the teacher. The lecture of responsibility had hit her hard in the gut. She reached for the flute of champagneand sipped like it gave herspace.

"Wow. That sucks. My lemonade stand taught me the value of a dollar, but it wasn't something held overmyhead."

He massaged his temples and closed his eyes. She tilted her head to ask what he thought. Then he picked up his glass and didthesame.

"The lemonade stand is a way of ensuring poor people stay poor. At least that's what dear olddadsaid.”

“How?”

“It teaches hard work under the sun and not using your brains, at least in my father’s estimation. It keeps poor people attached to a nickel oradime.”

He clinked his glass with hers. The vibration echoed in her heart. "I don't think I'dlikehim."

“Many would agree. Others still fear him, even after his death.” He sipped his drink and stared at thedark waters and the fading shoreline. "And most people say I'm justlikehim."

If he believed that, then she should let that echo in her heart serve as a reminder to not fantasize with Peter Morgan. Her fingers ached to reach out and hug him. She held still. Instead she sipped her drink and stared at his stiff body posture. "Areyou?"

He gulped his drink. "Maybe."

Whateverit was that bothered him must be big. She sipped her drink and stepped close. Their arms briefly brushed against each other, and his masculine scent invaded the taste ofchampagne.

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