Page 17 of Lost At Sea With A Billionaire (Billionaire Row #5)

Janet

“ I have something for you, too.”

Two days later and I was still riding high on the successful launch of Salvaged. Yet still, I’d been thinking about the gift I got Jonathan ever since he’d given me the replica of my father’s knife.

I handed Jonathan a small wooden box. “Open it,” I urged.

He flipped the latch, and the lid sprang open. A smile lit up his face, his eyes growing sensual and warm.

Inside was a compass—antique brass with a hand-carved wooden case. The compass face was pristine, the needle true, but the inscription inside the lid made him suck in a sharp breath: “Found when lost. J & J.”

“It’s beautiful,” he said, running his thumb over the engraving.

“I thought about all the ways our paths shouldn’t have crossed—all the coincidences and decisions that somehow led us to that island together.” I squeezed his hand. “Even when we were lost, we found something true.”

His eyes met mine, holding a depth of emotion that still took my breath away. “I don’t need to know where I’m going anymore. Just who I’m going with.”

His lips met mine in a passionate kiss and shot heat straight to my pussy.

“I’ve got something for you too.”

My eyes widened and I drew back. “Something else?”

“Well… for us.”

“You didn’t buy a house, did you? Because I would want to have input on that!”

Dark laughter poured from him, transforming his handsome face into a bliss of happiness.

“No, Chef. Follow me.”

He grabbed my hand, and we were off.

The salt spray kissed my face as the boat cut through the turquoise water.

Beside me, Jonathan’s powerful frame relaxed against the cushioned seat, his arm draped casually around my shoulders.

The sky stretched endlessly blue above us, so similar to the day we’d first set out on his yacht a year ago.

“Nervous?” he asked, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

I turned to face him, squinting against the Caribbean sun. “Why would I be nervous?”

“Being on these waters might bring up some difficult memories.”

I considered this, watching the horizon where a small green shape was gradually forming—our island. “It wasn’t all difficult,” I reminded him, sliding my hand over his thigh. “Some parts were... illuminating.”

His laugh rumbled deep in his chest. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Captain Reynolds called out from the helm, interrupting our private moment. “We’ll be anchoring in about twenty minutes! The water’s too shallow for a closer approach.”

I felt a flutter of anticipation in my stomach. A year ago, to the day, this island had been our prison and our salvation. Now we were returning by choice, a pilgrimage neither of us had been able to resist.

So much had changed in that year. Salvaged had exceeded all expectations, after opening.

Jonathan had restructured his pharmaceutical company to focus more on research and accessibility programs, stepping back from daily operations to pursue the lab work he’d always preferred.

And we—well, we had built something between us that defied easy definition.

Not marriage, not yet. We’d both agreed that rushing into formal commitment would dishonor the trust we’d built. Instead, we’d grown together naturally, merging our lives at a pace that respected our independence and connection.

“There it is,” Jonathan said softly, pointing toward the now visible island. “Looks smaller than I remember.”

“Everything seems bigger when you’re trapped on it,” I replied, scanning the familiar coastline.

The boat slowed as Captain Reynolds guided us toward the same beach we’d washed ashore. The sand gleamed golden in the midday sun, the palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze. From this vantage point, it looked like a postcard paradise rather than the site of our desperate struggle for survival.

“We’ll wait here,” Reynolds called as he cut the engine. “Take your time.”

Jonathan helped me into the small dinghy, his hands steady on my waist. As we rowed toward shore, memories flooded back—the terror of the storm, the disorientation of waking on unknown sand, the gradual realization that we might never leave.

Our boat scraped against the sand, and Jonathan jumped out to pull it ashore. The warmth of the beach seeped through my sandals as I stepped onto the island once more.

“It’s just like I remember,” I said, turning in a slow circle. “And completely different.”

Jonathan nodded, his eyes tracking across the tree line. “Our shelter was there,” he said, pointing to a clearing that vegetation had since reclaimed. “And your kitchen was over there.”

We walked together, tracing the geography of our past. The fresh-water pool still bubbled clear and sweet. The rocks where we’d built our signal fire remained blackened. And the waterfall—I felt heat rise to my cheeks just thinking about it.

“Want to check if the water’s still cold?” Jonathan asked, catching my expression with a knowing smile.

“Later, maybe.” I took his hand, pulling him toward the far end of the beach. “First, I want to see something.”

We made our way to the western tip of the island, where the rocky outcropping created a natural platform overlooking the sea. This had been my favorite spot during our time here—a place where the ocean’s vastness seemed less threatening and more awe-inspiring.

“I used to come here to think,” I told him as we climbed the familiar path. “When the uncertainty got overwhelming.”

“You never told me that,” Jonathan said, his brow furrowing slightly.

“You had enough to worry about, trying to salvage that radio,” I teased, referencing his obsessive attempts to restore communication.

When we reached the top, I stopped, holding out my arms to the endless horizon. “This view saved me sometimes. It reminded me that there was a world beyond our little patch of sand.”

Jonathan moved behind me, his chest solid against my back, his arms encircling my waist. “And now?”

“Now I know there’s a world out there,” I said, leaning into his embrace. “But sometimes all I need is right here.”

We stood in comfortable silence, watching seabirds wheel above the water. In the distance, our boat bobbed gently.

“I’ve been thinking,” Jonathan said finally, his chin resting on the top of my head.

“Dangerous.”

He chuckled. “About what we should do with this place.”

I turned in his arms. “What do you mean?”

“I bought it,” he said.

My mouth fell open. “You bought an island? Just like that?”

“It wasn’t easy. It took months of research to figure out which government had jurisdiction, then more months of negotiations.” He shrugged as if purchasing private islands was a typical Tuesday activity. “But yes, I bought it.”

“Why?” I managed to ask, still processing.

Jonathan’s dark eyes held mine. “Because this is where we began. Where we learned who we could be together. I didn’t want it turned into a resort or stripped of resources.”

I glanced around, seeing our little island with new eyes. “So what now? Private getaway for the billionaire and the chef?”

“That’s one option.” His expression grew more serious. “But I was thinking something more meaningful.”

He guided me back down to the beach, where he’d left a small pack. He pulled architectural renderings from it and spread them on a flat rock.

“A retreat center,” he explained as I examined the drawings. “It would be for survivors of trauma and loss, people who need to reconnect with themselves the way we did here.”

The plans showed sustainable structures integrated with the natural environment—healing spaces that honored the island’s raw beauty while providing essential comforts.

“We’d bring in therapists, wilderness experts, chefs like you who understand how food connects to healing.” His voice grew animated as he described his vision. “People would come for a few weeks at a time at no cost. The foundation would cover everything.”

“The foundation?”

“The Salvaged Foundation.” He watched my face carefully. “Named after your restaurant. After what we found here.”

I traced the drawings with my fingertips, imagining this wild place transformed into a sanctuary for others. “It’s beautiful, Jonathan.”

“You don’t think it’s too controlling? Me buying an island without consulting you?”

I laughed. “Oh, it’s definitely controlling. But it’s also generous and thoughtful.” I met his gaze. “And very you.”

He relaxed visibly. “I want you involved in every aspect of the design, especially the culinary program. Only if you want to be, of course.”

“Of course, I want to be.” I stepped closer, resting my hands on his chest. “Cooking saved me when my restaurant failed. Then cooking for you saved me again here. I know what healing can happen in a kitchen.”

Jonathan pulled me against him, his heart beating strongly under my palms. “So you’re not mad about the island surprise?”

“I’m getting used to your grand gestures,” I admitted. “Though you might want to tone it down. Most boyfriends just bring flowers.”

He laughed. “Noted. Though technically, there are flowers on the island.”

We spent the afternoon exploring our old spots, marveling at how nature had reclaimed much of what we’d built.

The shelter had collapsed entirely, vines and creepers winding through its remains.

The paths we’d worn had disappeared under new growth.

Only the stone portions of my makeshift kitchen remained relatively intact.

As the sun descended toward the horizon, we made our way to the waterfall—the site of our first true surrender to each other. The pool remained as clear and inviting as I remembered, though without the desperate need for bathing that had accompanied our previous visits.

“Care for a swim?” Jonathan asked, already pulling his shirt over his head.

I didn’t need to be asked twice. The heat of the day and our hike around the island had left me longing for the cool water. We stripped down and dove in, the shock of cold as bracing as it had been a year ago.

“Still as good as I remember,” I gasped, pushing wet hair from my face.

Jonathan swam to me, water sluicing down his powerful shoulders. “Better,” he corrected, gathering me against him. “No imminent danger of starvation or dehydration to distract us.”

His kiss tasted of salt and peppermint, his body familiar yet exciting against mine. Under the waterfall’s cascade, he lifted me, and I embraced his undertaking in a moan following the pressure of his pleasure.