Reunited with the Rebel Billionaire

by Catherine Mann

  “Stay until the end of the season.”

  “What good would that do?” Leaning back on the ground, she stared at him.

  “I can’t file for divorce in the middle of the season. It may be simple for you to just call it quits, but I can’t walk away that easily.”

  “Because of the bad press.” It was a low blow, but she delivered it anyway.

  “Because I’m not a machine and I can’t risk the stress screwing with my concentration, especially not when we have a real shot at going all the way this year. You know how much I have riding on me. How rare it is for a team to have all the right parts assembled the way the Hurricanes do this year.”

  The request sent her reeling. “Seriously? I’m supposed to put off my life because you want to chase a championship ring?”

  “Seriously. It’s not just about me, Fiona. You know that. How many people look to me to lead these guys? How can I ruin their chances at being part of a once-in-a-lifetime team? Those opportunities don’t come around twice. And there are endorsements to think about, commentator jobs. So many things ride on this season.”

  Since she traveled with the team, she’d organized family support for the wives and kids when the guys were on the road. She couldn’t deny she felt a commitment to that community. Guilt stung over throwing this at him when she knew how much those guys looked up to him. While Henri was blessed on many levels with talent and wealth, many of the guys he played with definitely weren’t. The running backs could well be out of football in two years, given the short life span of their careers. Some of the linemen had been raised by hardscrabble single mothers who gave up everything to help their kids succeed.

  She would be putting the season at risk... Still, she couldn’t stay with him indefinitely.

  “When you retire from football, you don’t have to work.” That was the truth. The Reynaud wealth went far beyond football and Henri played for sport, not to put food on their table. He would have enough money to be just fine if he quit tomorrow.

  “Yes, I do. I’m not the type to take on pet projects. I need a full-time job. That’s who I am.”

  Pet projects? Is that how he saw her non-paying fund-raising? It sure felt like a dig at her.

  “What’s wrong with a life devoted to philanthropy?” She reached for straws, pushing him hard with both hands because he’d edged closer to the truth, the hurt beneath the facade, and she felt so damn vulnerable right now. She was hanging on by a string.

  “That path is one you chose, but it’s not the one for me.”

  Indignation blinded her. “Are you calling me a dilettante? Deliberately picking a fight?”

  “No.” His dark eyes were clear. Focused. “But I think you might be.”

  Her defenses crumbled and he saw right though her. Panicking, she didn’t even know what to say as he brought all that masculine appeal her way.

  “You’re sexy when you’re riled up.” He stepped closer. “No matter what we’ve been through. No matter how many problems we’ve had or how much distance, know this. I want you in my bed every bit as much as I did the first time I saw you.”

  Five

  Anticipation sent his awareness into overdrive. Henri needed to touch her, to wrap her in his arms.

  She was sexy—a tangle of tousled hair and pure fire. And in this setting—in the middle of the garden in that little muted peach dress—she looked like one of those beautiful nymphs that classical artists were always capturing.

  Every bit as alluring. And every bit as elusive, too.

  But he’d gotten this close to her and he could sense the answering awareness in her, a heat she’d denied too often these last months. Now, extending a hand, he trailed it along the length of her lithe arm. Gentle pressure, the kind that used to drive her wild with anticipation. She turned to face him, leaning into his light touch.

  Reaching her hand, he threaded his fingers through hers, locking them together in that one small way. He was holding on to her. To them.

  He pulled her closer. Mouths inches apart. Temptation and need mounting.

  Her lips parted. For a moment, things felt normal. The air was charged with palpable passion.

  And then it happened. She swayed back ever so slightly. Henri could see the desire flaming in her eyes even as he spotted the no already forming on her lips.

  So he pulled back instead, releasing her fingers to tap her on the nose. “Lady, you do tempt me.”

  She flattened her hands on his chest, her fingers stroking, her amber gaze conflicted. “Passion between us has never been an issue. But it will only make things more difficult when we split for good.”

  He tried not to take that personally, forcing himself to focus on the action over at the tall Victorian bird condominium the landscaper had installed in the garden. Taking a deep breath, he tried to haul in some calm from the backyard his contractor had promised would be a haven for years to come.

  “Why do you keep talking like we’re over the border and a quickie divorce is already a done deal?”

  Fiona’s hands clenched in his shirt with intensity. “Why won’t you accept that we might as well be? Why are you making this so hard? It’s not like we’ve even uttered the word love in nearly a year.”

  He should just say the word if that’s what it took. But for some reason he couldn’t push it past his lips. He was saved from a response when a squabble broke out in the birdbath nearby.

  Her smile was bittersweet while she watched the little wrens fly off to leave the bath to bigger birds. “You know I’m right. People get divorced even when there aren’t big issues at hand. We’ve been through a lot with the infertility, miscarriages, my surgery, the stress of your high-profile job, as well. It’s just too much.”

  Did she have a point? In some ways. But at least she spoke in tangibles now, delivering more straight talk than she’d given him in a damn long time.

  And in a strange way she was making sense. They had been under an immense amount of stress. He hadn’t even considered that his job added to the stress of all she’d been through. He had food for thought, and even though she was still attempting to push him away, he felt a bit closer to achieving his objective of reconnecting with her.

  “Fiona, I hear what you’re saying now, and I understand that—”

  “Please, I’m not sure you do.” She rested her hand on his. “I’m sorry, Henri. I need to move on with my life.”

  God, she was stubborn, and that turned him on, too. “You’ve made that clear. We’re ending our marriage after the season—”

  “After my next fund-raiser. Or now.”

  “Okay, not arguing. In fact, I’m suggesting the total opposite. We agreed we need new lawyers. That will happen after your fund-raiser so we don’t taint the event. We used to have fun together. Let’s use this time to relax. The pressure is off. No expectations. No doctors.”

  She flinched.

  He hesitated. Had he missed something? Before he could ask her, she seemed to relax again.

  With a slow exhale, she took a few steps toward the simple white swing that hung from a huge old live oak that spanned most of the yard. “All right. No pressure. Explain what you mean.”

  Seeing his chance, he needed to proceed carefully. Not push for too much.

  “Let’s just be friends.” The closer he was to her, the more opportunities he would have to woo his way into her bed and into her heart, back to a place where they understood each other. Where their world would still make sense. “Like we used to be. People will ask fewer questions. We can take a deep breath.”

  She bit her lip as she trailed a hand over the wooden scrollwork on the seat back of the swing. “But some of the family knows there are problems and the rest of the family already seems to be guessing.”

  Henri shrugged. He didn’t care what they th
ought. He needed to make it right with Fiona. That was the number one priority. “Then let them unguess for now. We’ll deal with the rest later.”

  “Don’t you want their support?” She stilled, a light breeze sifting through her dark hair and teasing it along one arm.

  He remembered the days when he’d just sweep her off her feet and carry her to his bed when the mood struck—which was all the damn time with her. When was the last time they’d sprinted to the bedroom to peel each other’s clothes off like that?

  Shaking off thoughts that would only be counterproductive in his new approach, he picked a few daisies out of the rock garden for her instead, needing to keep his hands occupied with something that wasn’t her.

  “I want some peace for both of us right now, and something tells me you want that, too.” He gathered one simple bloom after another, hoping maybe, just maybe, this peace could bring them back together. The fact that she was considering being friends spoke volumes.

  “Why would you say that?” She stepped closer to him, watching him as he wound a too-long stem around the rest of the stems to hold the flowers together.

  “We’ve been married for three years. Call it intuition.” He passed her the bouquet, remembering she far preferred simple, garden-variety flowers to anything he could have found in their hothouse.

  “I didn’t know men believed in intuition.” An all-too-rare smile—the ghost of one, anyway—lifted the corners of her mouth.

  “I do. What do you say?” He gave her his best bad-boy smile. “Wanna go play?”

  * * *

  The cherry-red 1965 Mustang purred as they wound through the Garden District. The midday sun loomed large, warming the leather of the seats. In the vintage pony car, she felt more alive—more aware—than she had in years.

  Fiona couldn’t remember the last time they’d done something spontaneous like this. Or the last time they’d chosen the Mustang over the sparkly high-end automobiles at their disposal. She was happy with the choice, though. It blended into downtown seamlessly, attracting less attention and making them seem more like a regular couple.

  For now, she could forget about the suspicious lump that might or might not be anything. She could forget about the biopsy scheduled for tomorrow.

  And she absolutely would not allow herself to think of the worst-case scenario.

  Today, she would play with her husband.

  As the car passed through the streets, Fiona gazed out the window. Sometimes she forgot how truly beautiful this place was. Old Victorian homes lined the street, boasting bright hues of red and yellow. Wrought-iron gates encircled the majority of the homes.

  What she loved most about New Orleans was the way the streets and sights felt like a continuous work of art. The cultures pressed against each other, yielding brilliant statues and buildings unique to this small corner of the world.

  Pulling her thoughts away from the road to downtown, she cast a sidelong glance at Henri. His head bopped to some snappy song from the 1960s. He noticed her looking at him and he flashed a small smile.

  He wore a plain T-shirt, cargo shorts and aviator glasses, his dark hair gleaming in the sun. Just looking at his beard-stubbled face made her cheeks sting as if he’d already kissed her in that raspy masculine way that brought her senses to life. Today he was rugged. Rough around the edges. Hot.

  And a far cry from the normally polished quarterback the press couldn’t get enough of.

  As he turned the car down a narrow street, she couldn’t help but notice the way the muscles in his arm bunched, pressing against the T-shirt.

  Anticipation bubbled in her chest. The day reminded her of when they first met—from the impromptu backyard bouquet to the impulsive drive around town. “The suspense is making me crazy. What are we doing?”

  Grabbing a baseball cap from the dashboard, he gestured to the downtown district. “We’re going to play tourist today.”

  Wind rushed over her, stealing her cares if only for a little while.

  “But I’ve lived here all my life.” She gave a halfhearted protest.

  “And sometimes the more a person lives somewhere, the more that person misses seeing what’s right under their nose. There’s a guy on the team who used to live at the beach and he said he hardly ever hit the waves.”

  “Okay, I see your point. Let’s go for it. Let’s ‘travel’ to our home city.”

  “I thought you’d say that.” He pulled into a parking spot and was out of the car before Fiona even had a chance to unbuckle her seat belt. He opened the door, extending his hand. She took it and a surge of desire seemed to ignite in her.

  What was it about those easy words of his back in their garden that had given her permission to have fun today? Without worrying about mixed signals or holding strong to her defenses around him, she felt as though maybe she could relax again. Just for a little while.

  Because when was the last time they had dated each other? It had been so long, so many months ago. Her heart raced as they made their way down Bourbon Street.

  Trying to see the city as a tourist forced her to approach the street differently than she ever had. She began to notice the small details—the way the air seemed spicy, alive with the Creole seasonings of the various restaurants. As she concentrated on the smells, she started to notice what stores were garnering the most attention.

  The street was bustling with people. Street musicians played with such artistry she felt moved by their passion. Her hand moved toward Henri’s. Giving it a quick squeeze, she breathed in the moment.

  Eyeing the carriages, Henri stopped walking. “How about we do this right? Horse-drawn carriage through the city. It’s the best way to see this place, after all.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Excellent. You pick the ride that will turn this town magical.”

  Henri gestured to the line of horses in front of them. Fiona studied a large bay draft horse in the middle of the pack. She liked the way he stood—tall and at attention.

  “That one.” Fiona pointed to the bay.

  “Done.” Henri went to talk to the driver, and they climbed into the carriage. There wasn’t a lot of room, and Fiona found herself pressed against Henri. The simple touch of their legs against each other felt electric. She wanted him to take his hand and rub her leg. Her thoughts wandered over his body as she looked at him.

  The jerkiness of the carriage caused them to fold into each other. Henri was wearing an older cologne—the one he’d worn when they went abroad a while ago.

  Instantly, she was transported to the UK. It had been her favorite vacation.

  “Remember when we went to Stonehenge?” Fiona peered up at him through her lashes.

  “You were convinced you were going to travel back in time.”

  Nudging him with her arm, she laughed. “Those rocks hum.”

  “You’ve been listening to too much voodoo lore and vampire stories.” He tapped her nose playfully.

  Laying her hand on her chest, she poured a bit of theatrical flair into her voice. “I’m a native of New Orleans. You’re a transplant. Give it time.”

  “Hey, I’m the New Orleans golden boy.”

  “Because you have a golden throwing arm. It’s like you fast-tracked your way into being a native.”

  “Then good thing I have you around to make sure I stay authentic.” He stretched his arm around her, the warmth of his touch pulling on her heart. She nestled into him, leaning into his embrace. Head on his shoulder, she was content to take in the scenery and keep pretending for now the real world wasn’t ready to intrude with a biopsy needle in less than twenty-four hours.

  * * *

  So far, the no-pressure day was going far better than he could ever have hoped for. They were connecting. It was the first time in months that they’d been so open with each
other.

  So honest.

  Shuffling a bag of tourist trinkets to one hand, he reached into his pocket for his leather wallet. Pulling out a few crisp bills for the vendor, he nodded at the woman’s child as the imp put a handmade bead necklace into the bag. The fact that these mass-produced tourist trinkets were bringing Fiona and him closer together than the diamond jewelry he’d bought amused him.

  The vendor was a rangy woman with too-bright red lipstick, but she was friendly enough. She tossed a few chili peppers in the bag. The lagniappe. It was one of the things about New Orleans he’d liked since he was a boy on vacation—the gesture of the lagniappe always made New Orleans feel like a welcoming city. Which was why he’d felt drawn to this place when he was younger.

  Henri scooped up the bag along with the others as they wound their way out of the store crowded with kitschy ghost memorabilia and wax figures of famous jazz musicians. “My grandparents used to bring us here on vacation when we were kids.”

  “You never mentioned that before. You always talked about the jet-setting vacations.”

  “My family’s in the boating business, after all.” That was putting it mildly, really, since they’d made their billions off shipping and the cruise industry. “Gramps combined business trips with a stop here, checking out the latest route.”

  “That sounds like fun.” She ducked under his arm as he held the door for her, bringing the scent of her hair in tantalizingly close proximity to his nose.

  “It’s no secret my parents weren’t overly involved in our lives, so my grandparents didn’t have the luxury of just playing with us. My grandfather included us in work so he could see us. I like how you’ve worked in the same way for the team families.” Fiona’s capacity to include and integrate people was something he admired about her. No one ever felt left out if Fiona was involved. She had a knack for making people feel that they mattered.

  “It makes sense. The ultimate educational experience for children is to travel along. Study the world as they see it. What did you like most about New Orleans as a kid?” She flicked her ropy ponytail over her shoulder as she continued to scan the streets, drinking in the sights while the heat of the day faded along with the sinking sun.