The Billionaire's Forbidden Desire (2 page)

“You think my stalkers are hiding behind there,”—she gestured at a nearby palm tree—“waiting to pounce?” She’d been having stalker issues for years. “I doubt they’re still interested now that I’m too…” She waved a hand, unwilling to say the rest—
too damaged to be in the spotlight
.

“Not just the stalkers. You’ve been kind of blue lately.”

She forced a carefree laugh. Sweet of him to be concerned, and most people wouldn’t have unexpected it from a man built like a tank. A couple of long, jagged scars marred his left cheek. She was sure they were from a knife or something, even though he hadn’t ever talked about it.
Too rough a story for a pretty girl like you
, he’d said.

“I’m not going to swim out to sea if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said.

He pursed his mouth, and she knew what he was thinking:
It should’ve been me
.

He’d said that to her when she’d opened her eyes in the hospital, and every time the doctors had wheeled her into surgery to put her back together. He’d only stopped because she’d asked him to.

It shouldn’t have been anybody.

But she could tell he was still feeling it from the way his eyes darkened every time he thought she wasn’t looking. She gave him a serene smile and made a gentle shooing motion.

“All right,” he finally said. “But if you’re not back in an hour, I’m coming looking for you.”

“I promise.” She watched until he vanished into the vacation rental, then started walking down the beach. Sun-warmed sand tickled her toes. She took off her flat, sling-back sandals and carried them in one hand.

The sea-salted air was refreshing, but the change of scenery hadn’t eased the pain in her heart.
Four years
. Everyone had told her that was enough time to accept the possibility of never achieving her dream, but they weren’t the ones who’d worked tirelessly since the age of five. Fourteen years of relentless, bone-cracking work, and then an accident at nineteen had derailed everything she’d been working for.

Life isn’t fair
. She’d heard that a lot as well.

The knot in her chest grew bigger.

She’d sought out the best surgeons in the world, done all the rehab. She’d pushed herself hard, determined to get back on the ice, healthier and stronger than ever before. Kept her weight under control; every extra ounce helped gravity pull her down. Only the most nutritious food, carefully calibrated to create optimal health and an optimal bodyweight for figure skating, ended up in her belly.

Twenty-three wasn’t young in her sport. Actually it was sort of on the old side, what with new teenage sensations popping up every season, but she knew she could do it if her shoulder and hip would just cooperate.

She closed her eyes. It’d been so long, but her muscles still remembered what it was like to fly across a rink at full speed. She didn’t believe in slowing down or hesitating before executing her elements: a powerful takeoff on the outside edge as her free foot’s toe-pick hit the ice, pulling in her limbs and rotating in the air: one…two…three. Then a perfect landing on one foot for a split-second as she launched herself into the air again for a triple loop—three tight revolutions. And before she knew it her blade would be gliding across the ice again, creating a smooth, clean line, the combination jump completed as she transitioned into another element of her program.

But now…now her reality was different. Her body might remember, but it could no longer perform any of her key jumps with the consistency she needed. She could deal with the aching shoulder, but her hip couldn’t seem to handle loops at all. The surgeries and endless physical therapy just hadn’t been able to fix all the damage.

And there was absolutely no one she could talk to. Her father didn’t really understand what it meant to her, even though he’d had no problem forking over the money for her training, and her mother was too busy being a trophy wife. Her figure skating friends were single-mindedly focused on getting ready for the Olympic season. They were also avoiding her—she could tell. Not that she blamed them. Athletes were superstitious, and it probably made them feel uncomfortable to be around her, a former star who was now just a has-been. She would’ve felt the same if the situation had been reversed.

And Libby Grudin… Her best friend commiserated, but she also saw the accident as an opportunity for Sophia to live her life.

“There’s something so…
cloistered
about being twenty-three and never having been on a date,” Libby had said. “Look at you. You’re gorgeous! It’s about time you get out and experience the world. Do the kind of stuff women our age do.”

Sophia sighed and resumed her walk. Maybe Libby had a point. On the other hand, nothing had made Sophia feel alive like being on the ice. Every beat and strain of the music would reverberate through her, and it was like her soul was free.

To be free again like that
…

She stopped walking and leaped vertically in the air, rotated a couple of times and landed on one foot, her arms outstretched and her free leg raised behind her. So long as she landed on her uninjured side it wasn’t so bad…except that wasn’t her landing foot. She dropped her shoes and tried it again. Then again. And again. Sweat beaded on her skin, blood pumping through her body.

She tried a small, single-rotation jump on her bad side, keeping it low.
No problem
.

Encouraged, she tried for a double, getting some air under her. When she came down, a numbing pain shot from her hip through her entire body. The sand seemed to shift underneath, and she crumpled with a cry.

Until a strong hand caught her.

She gasped, clutching at the hard, muscled arm and trying to get her balance. Then looked up at the owner of the heroic limb. He stared back at her, his eyes hidden behind a pair of reflective sunglasses.

Her skin tingled like she was only a second away from competing, her heart knocking against her ribs. She licked her lips and studied the stranger. A few days’ growth of beard couldn’t hide the clean, bold lines of a face that ought to be on glossy magazine covers. The clothes on him had exceptional stitching and material, although they weren’t fresh. She could tell that the body was lean under the shirt, his shoulders broad and hips narrow. The rolled up sleeves revealed forearms carved with muscle.

“Who are you?” she rasped, her throat dry. “Are you lost?” This was a private beach. The real estate agent had sworn she’d be the only one there.

“Lost…?” He rolled the word on his tongue.

She frowned. Maybe he didn’t speak English. After all, they were in Mexico…

“Um, no español,” she said, suddenly flustered.

“‘No español’ is fine. I’m not lost,” he said in perfect English, his diction precise.

His deep voice washed over her like the summer sun, and she leaned a tiny bit closer. Maybe…just maybe the warmth it generated could thaw the cold knot in her chest.

Suddenly he shook his head and gave a short laugh. There was a hint of harsh derision underneath. “Or maybe I am. I walked for quite a while.”

Embarrassed, she pulled away from him. As he dropped his hand, cold seeped through her despite the tropical sun. She shivered and cleared her throat. “Thanks for the help.”

“You’re welcome.”

Then it finally registered in her frazzled brain that he smelled like alcohol. For the first time she noticed a half-full bottle clutched in his other hand.

She tilted her head. Being short, she was used to looking up at people, but for some reason, he seemed taller than most. “Have you been drinking?” she asked almost stupidly. She’d never seen anybody indulge this early. Her parents might’ve had their issues, but substance abuse wasn’t one of them.

He cocked an eyebrow, and she got an impression of arrogance. “What if I have?”

“Just…” She frowned, not sure what to say or why she felt so defensive. Even though they weren’t standing close, the skin around her spine was prickling like tiny needles were being pressed against her. “Isn’t it a little early?”

“It’s never too early to drink when the occasion calls for it.” He flashed her a roguish smile, a dimple popping on his cheek.

She blinked at how unexpected that was. How could a hard and unyielding man like him have something as innocuous as a dimple?

“You should try it some time. In fact, why not now?” He shoved the bottle at her. “Here.”

“Uh…” She stared, unsure what to do with it. People never offered her drinks. They gave her water, tonics and smoothies and various green concoctions—things designed to make her body healthy.

He smirked. “Are you underage? Worried about what your parents might say?”

That stung, especially the crack about her parents. She could shoot heroin and they wouldn’t say anything. They’d just give more money to Chad and ask him to deal with it.

“No and no. I’m twenty-three.” Far too old to care about what her parents would think anymore.

She took the bottle from him. She’d never, ever touched alcohol—¬¬it wasn’t good for performance—but what the heck.
It’s just a sip
. She would never compete again. Why should she sacrifice anymore? Why should she be this perfect girl who did everything she was supposed to do?

She took a fast swig. Fire exploded in her nose and mouth. She choked, her eyes watering, her throat hot and smoky.

He laughed, and she frowned at him. “Ugh! What is this stuff?”

“Scotch. First time drinking it?”

She nodded before she could catch herself.

“Figures.” He chuckled.

There was something bleak in his laugh. Nothing about him indicated he was a bum or an alcoholic. The watch on his wrist was fairly new and expensive, and there was a vitality to him that said he didn’t indulge in vices that could hurt his health. So what could make somebody like him drink so early?

Probably something as bad as what she was going through.

His belly growled, dragging her attention back to the present.

“When was the last time you ate?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Don’t remember. It’s not important.”

Not important?
Hunger was a nasty companion, always gnawing at your gut. She knew because she’d been hungry for years in order to keep her weight down. She ate better during the off-season, but even then she’d never allowed herself to really cut loose. “Can you make it back to your hotel?”

His eyes swept around their surroundings. “Probably.”

She worried her lower lip. “Want to have dinner at my place?” She almost smacked herself as soon as she asked. It wasn’t like her to be so impulsive, especially with men she didn’t know very well.

“Depends.”

That wasn’t the response she’d expected. “On what?”

“On whether you’re going to serve rabbit food.”

She choked back a laugh. The stuff she generally ate would probably be considered rabbit food by this man’s standards. But why should she continue to live on salads? Her competitive career was officially over. She didn’t have to diet anymore.

“No,” she said, making up her mind. “No rabbit food.” She could do whatever she wanted.

“Well then.” His dimple showed again. “I’ll take you up on it.”

She nodded, picking up her shoes. “I’m Sophia.”

“Dane.”

They walked to the vacation rental in silence. He didn’t try to touch her or stay too close to her, although her whole body was sizzling with electric excitement.

She wasn’t sure why she was so hyperaware of him. Was it because he didn’t treat her like she was made of eggshells? Everyone, including Chad, tiptoed around her. It was actually nice to be with a person who didn’t know her history and treated her normally.

Like she wasn’t damaged.

It didn’t take long before they reached the rental house. It was a two-story structure with panorama windows and yawning decks that faced the beach. The modern design showed off its clean and minimalist lines.

Dane stopped in front of the door. “You sure about this?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if I’m a serial killer?”

She laughed. “I’ll take my chances.”

Right on cue, the glass door to the house opened. Chad stood at the threshold, glaring at both of them. The muscles in his arms bulged as he crossed them.

Dane let out a low whistle. “I take back my previous assessment. You’re not dumb.”

Chad eyed him. “What the heck is this thing?”

She rolled her eyes. “He is a person, not a ‘thing.’ We met on the beach. He helped me, so don’t be mad.”

“Helped you with what?”

“She was jumping and spinning and almost fell,” Dane said before she could give Chad some made-up story.

Chad’s face softened. “Aw, Sophia.”

“I was just having fun, running around in the sand, and lost my balance. It’s nice out here,” she said quickly. He’d seen her do her vertical leaps, and she didn’t want him to feel sorry for her. She was sick of people feeling sorry for her.

Dane’s gaze bored into her. Her mouth dried, but thankfully he didn’t contradict her, and she let herself relax as much as she could. Inside she felt like someone had tightened a corset around her lungs, and she didn’t know why except that it had something to do with Dane.

Sighing, Chad moved aside to let them in.

She walked past him, not meeting his eyes. He worried about her—he’d been more like a parent than her real father and mother, who’d never had the time.

He was the one who’d taken her to every practice, every competition, every training session since she’d started skating. He was the one who’d sat by the rink, brought her tissues and water, and did all the things skating moms did for their daughters. Plus he’d scared the crap out of would-be stalkers with his flat stare, even though that hadn’t discouraged every creep. Some had perversely considered it a challenge, an opportunity to prove their dedication to her…although none had ever tried twice.

“Dane will be joining me for dinner,” Sophia said.

Chad made a sound that could have been a growl. “I’ll cook something up. What are you in the mood for?”

“How about…something fried?”

His eyes almost bugged out. “Something
fried?
”