Reunited with the Rebel Billionaire

by Catherine Mann

  Frustration chilled her skin and the moment. “So you wouldn’t be shocked, turned off for life after seeing me in the hospital?”

  He cradled her face in his hands. “I’ve never been turned off. Only concerned. I wanted to support you. And sure, I didn’t want to look surprised or sad for you. I didn’t want to risk hurting you, especially after what you’d gone through.”

  Some of the tension eased. She knew he meant it. And she refused to let some superficial insecurity steal this night from her. From both of them.

  She turned her cheek into his palm and gently nipped his finger. “And now what do you think?”

  She’d been afraid to ask before.

  He skimmed his knuckles along her cheekbone. “That I’m glad you’re safe. I pray every day you’ll stay that way.”

  She clasped his wrist, stilling his hand. “Pity? Fear? Those are not turn-ons.”

  She needed to be clear on that point.

  “Caring.” He palmed her breasts. “It’s about caring. You know me.”

  Delicious shivers of awareness tingled through her, her body wakening to life.

  He eased off the rest of her clothes. Slowly and deliberately. With practiced hands, he unhooked her bra. The rays from the fading sun and dim interior lights danced against her bare skin, illuminating her completely. Scars and all.

  Self-consciousness whispered through her no matter how much she told herself she knew the surgical lines had faded to a pale pink, barely visible. And her breasts were, if anything, perkier than before, although she had opted for a smaller cup size, going down from D to C. But he knew that already.

  And she couldn’t stop her thoughts from rambling.

  As he took her in with his eyes, an unmistakable heat lit his gaze and a sigh of reverence passed his lips. He swiped a flower from a nearby pot. The stem snapped easily.

  “You are so beautiful.” He traced her scars with the petals of the flower, the timbre of his voice lowering an octave. The silky petals tingled against her skin, sparking desire in her bones. “Every inch of you.”

  “You don’t have to say that.” She deflected compliments so often.

  “Have I ever been anything but truthful?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Believe me then. Trust me. I look at you and I see beauty. Even more than that, I see strength, which is so damn mesmerizing it’s the greatest turn-on imaginable.”

  A renewed commitment to this moment surged in her. Her hands snaked toward his bare chest. With gentle pressure, she pushed him back on the lounge chair. As the light from the sun faded behind the horizon, she surveyed the way his muscles expanded. He inhaled deeply. His eyes were fixed on hers, her need mirrored in his face.

  Hooking a finger in his shorts, she edged them down and off. Climbing forward, she straddled him, pressing her hips into his. Feeling more alive than she had in months.

  * * *

  Henri didn’t have a clue what had caused her change of heart, but after more than six months of being shut out by his wife, he wasn’t passing up this opportunity to be with her. To taste and love every inch of her beautiful body.

  Holding back from her every day had been hell. In the early days, of course, right after her surgery, it had been easy to give her space and time to heal. But after that, once she looked as strong and healthy as ever, he’d had to employ a ruthless amount of restraint to keep his distance.

  And now, by some freaking miracle he didn’t even understand, she was his again. Right here. In his arms.

  He cradled her breasts in his hands, stroking, caressing, savoring the feel of her every bit as much as he enjoyed the sighs of pleasure puffing from between her lips. Everything about Fiona was sexy. Her wordless demands. Her hungry sighs. Her endlessly questing hands. He’d missed those touches. Hell, he’d missed the scent of her long, dark hair against his nose when they made love.

  So now, it was sensory overload having her bare skin glide over his. She restlessly wriggled against him, the moist heat of her sex rubbing along his throbbing hard-on, driving him to the edge of frenzied need after so long without her.

  He didn’t see the scars, not in any way that mattered. He saw her. His strong beautiful wife, a survivor, who faced life head-on with bravery and strength. He thought of her giving heart, her philanthropy and the help she always gave to the other team wives.

  What would it be like to travel with her again? To have her by his side in Arizona for his next game? Even though they couldn’t travel on the same aircraft since he had to fly with the team and the spouses traveled separately, being with her, really being with her on the road, was something he’d missed. Having her in his bed at night was more than just a show of support. He missed talking to her, decompressing with her, telling her about the game he was passionate about.

  He’d missed all of that as much as this. But this?

  He felt as if he’d won the freaking lottery by taking her out on a date tonight. She braced her hands on his chest. He cradled her hips in his hands, lifting, supporting, guiding her...

  Home.

  The hot clamp of her body around him threatened to send him over the edge then. She felt so good.

  So right.

  Every glide was perfection as she rolled her hips and he lifted her up then back down again. Damn straight, sex between them was amazing. But he hadn’t even remembered how incredible. Wasn’t sure something this special could be captured in a memory.

  Only experienced.

  Their bodies kept time with each other. They pressed together, his mouth finding her lips. Her shoulder. Her hands twined in his hair. Her breath hitching, faster and faster, let him know she was close, so very close to her release. He knew her body well and intended to use that to bring her to a shattering orgasm while holding back his own for as long as possible. No way in hell was he going without her.

  His hand slid toward her and he tucked two fingers against the tight bundle of nerves between her legs. Her husky moan gusted free, her head falling back. Her hair grazed her back as she rode him harder.

  Damn straight, she wasn’t a fragile flower. She took him every bit as soundly as he took her. He reveled in the sight of her, her breasts rising and falling more quickly, her gasping breath, the flush spreading over her skin until...yes...a cry of bliss flew free from her mouth, echoing through the greenhouse. A bird fluttered in the rafters and, finally, he allowed himself his own release.

  He thrust upward, deeply, his orgasm hammering through him. His heart slammed against his rib cage. The power of being with her was...more than he remembered. If he could even form words or a coherent thought. He could only feel each pulse of pleasure throb through him.

  Her back arching, she fell forward against his chest. Her sigh puffed over his skin, perspiration sealing them together, connecting them further even as they stayed linked, his body in hers.

  This moment had been what he was trying to construct for months. A moment of connection. Something real between them. Something built on emotion and trust.

  Finally, after months of confusion and frustration, he felt alive with the possibility that this might be salvageable. Their trip to Arizona for his game would be like old times.

  * * *

  Lying in Henri’s arms on the lounger, she planned what she wanted to do to his body through the night. Of course they would have to gather their clothes first, because running through the yard naked was out of the question. Even in the privacy of their garden beyond the greenhouse, there was always the risk of the media snapping a shot with a telephoto lens.

  Nothing, nothing at all, could steal this evening from her. She had to make the most of this time with him, because this was likely all they might ever have. She couldn’t even go to Arizona with him because of her biopsy.

  If she even dared to tell him
, it would only distract him from the game. Deep down, she knew he needed to stay focused. And she didn’t intend to tell him regardless, though the excuse of work made her more comfortable in her decision to withhold information.

  All of which she would deal with later.

  His breath caressed the top of her head. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed this, too. We’ve been through a lot, suffered lost dreams. Maybe if things had been easier for us...”

  “I’m sorry, Fiona, so sorry I couldn’t make this right for you. We can have children, adopt, foster—it doesn’t matter to me.”

  As much as his words tempted her to throw caution to the wind and dive into the promise in his eyes, she couldn’t escape the specter of fear that loomed inside her.

  “It wouldn’t be fair to bring them into a shaky marriage, anyway.”

  “You didn’t say no to adoption outright, though. Not initially. Did you back out because you don’t trust me? The marriage?”

  “It was more than us. I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t admit that my genetics have scared me lately. All the women in my family have died of breast cancer or ovarian cancer. As much as I worried about dying, the thought of a child losing her mother...” She swallowed hard. “That scares me to the point where I don’t know what to think. So yes, adoption is something I’ve thought about. I wasn’t sure how you felt.”

  “We really didn’t talk about the important things in life, did we?”

  As much as she wanted to share with him now, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about her biopsy tomorrow. She understood he would expect her to travel with him this weekend, to be there for him at his game. It was going to be hard as hell to push him away.

  But for better or worse, she had to do this alone.

  Seven

  They made love in the greenhouse, the shower, again in their old bed.

  Memories of their night together slammed into Fiona as she lay beside Henri in their four-poster bed. They’d spent the night entwined with each other. They’d slept naked. Well, he’d slept naked. Sleep had eluded her. She’d pressed up against him, too full of fluctuating emotions to actually drift off.

  As morning crept closer, sleep was farther from her than ever. Instead, she watched the minutes tick by. Each successive change on the clock pulled at her heart.

  She’d passed the night watching the steady rise and fall of Henri’s chest as he slept. His rhythmic breath was raspy, his expression relaxed while she contemplated his bed-tossed dark hair.

  She felt a pang in her heart. He was so damn sexy and last night would be the final night she would ever spend with him.

  Even if the biopsy turned out all right, what about the next time? Fiona wanted to freeze this moment in her mind, to carry the essence of him with her for the rest of her life. The unraveling of their marriage was painful, and while a part of her loved Henri, she knew she was doing them both a favor by leaving.

  So she did the only sensible thing she could. Fiona memorized him, noting all the small details that make a person complete. She watched the unsure morning light filter into the room. The muted sunshine seemed to get caught in his stubble, highlighting his square jaw. His long, thick lashes fluttered slightly.

  Guilt and anxiety tickled her stomach. When he learned that she wasn’t going with him, he would be devastated. The knowledge that last night hadn’t changed anything between them would rock him to his core. She hadn’t meant to rattle his focus before a game, knowing too well how hard that made things for him on the field. But there was nothing to do about it. Her mind was made up.

  The sheets rustled and Henri shifted beside her. His even breaths hitched and he cleared his throat as he rolled closer to her. A growl of appreciation rumbled up from his throat an instant before his eyes opened to meet hers.

  He slid a hand up to cup her neck and draw her to him. He sketched a tender kiss along her cheek, his bristly face scratchy and delicious. “Good morning, sunshine.”

  She pressed her face to his for an instant and allowed herself to savor every last sensation. “Good morning to you, too.”

  His arms extended out to either side. He stretched in a way that forced her to roll onto his chest. Ending the stretch, he wrapped his muscled arms around her naked body, pulling her close. A deep sigh filled the air as he cocked his head to the side to glance at the rising sun through the part in the curtains.

  “God, it’s later than I thought.” He patted her bottom. “We gotta get moving. I have a plane to catch. I know yours is later, but wanna grab a quick bite of breakfast before I go? I know you have to pack—”

  “Henri.” She cut him short, unable to let him go on any longer. “I won’t be flying with the other wives to Arizona.”

  He sat up slowly. “You’re busy stepping in at the last minute to salvage the fund-raiser. I understand.”

  She wanted to use the excuse he’d handed her on a silver platter, but she could see now they’d let this play out too long. “Henri, last night was incredible—” she cupped his face “—a beautiful tribute to what we shared. But it was also goodbye.”

  Shock, then anger, marched across his face. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Fiona, but you’re wrong, dammit. Last night made me more certain than ever we are not finished.”

  She crossed her arms, pressing the sheet to her chest. “You can believe what you want, but my mind’s made up. We can put off the official announcement to the public, however, we can’t keep playing the charade at home and with our families. It’s not fair.”

  Jaw tight, he studied her silently.

  It hurt so much to see him hurt, and things would only be worse if he guessed her secret. “Henri, you’re going to miss your flight.”

  Exhaling hard, he turned away and flung aside the sheets, striding out of her room.

  And out of her life.

  * * *

  The Hurricanes always traveled in their team jet, but today proved to be an exception. Their usual aircraft had been grounded for maintenance. Instead, the Hurricanes made their way to Arizona in a chartered luxury jet.

  Henri wasn’t having much luck enjoying the plush leather seats and open floor plan that made the jet feel less like a plane and more like a living room, the quarters as nice as anything his family owned. His thoughts stayed locked on Fiona. On last night and how damn close he’d been to winning her back. Yes, he’d made it into her bed again, but as always, one night wasn’t enough.

  Distracted as hell, he barely registered the interactions of his teammates. Freight Train Freddy tossed a football back and forth across the seats with Wild Card Wade. They hooted and hollered, pumping up the other guys with adrenaline. Even the veterans trying to play a card game in the corner were getting in on the action, fielding passes that came their way and taunting the guys on the other side of the jet.

  Normally Henri would be leading the pregame amp-up charge. But today, he sat next to Gervais, the team owner, with a few of the other front-office members. Their seats up front kept them out of the fray.

  Their Texas cousin Brant Reynaud, who also played for the Hurricanes, made his way from across the cabin. His yellow rose lapel pin glinted in the warm light of the cabin. He paused briefly to lean against the cognac leather chairs by Gervais and Henri, phone in hand.

  “Did you see the Twitter feed? Our fans are loving us—all those pictures from the airport are viral.” He gestured to his smartphone. “Someone on the media relations staff is doing a hell of a job connecting us to the public.”

  Brant clapped Gervais on the shoulder before continuing toward an empty chair by Freight Train Freddy, seamlessly reeling in a one-handed catch on his way.

  The words barely registered with Henri. Pointedly fixing his gaze on the intricate chandelier in the center of the cabin, he wondered what the da
mages were going to be to replace the thing when someone hit it with a bad throw. Gervais pulled out his own phone to investigate the latest posts.

  Gervais’s face hardened as he thumbed through the Hurricanes’ Twitter feed. A number of fans had rushed Henri and the other Hurricanes players in the airport. These types of things were normal. Fans always wanted autographs and photographs.

  Today, however, had been a little different. Gervais’s eyebrows skyrocketed as he flashed the six-inch screen of the smartphone to Henri.

  Henri leaned over, hands resting on his thighs. Damn. The blonde from the airport who had gotten a little handsy with Henri had posted a photograph—one that had the potential for scandal. Not that it took much these days. People’s marriages and careers had been ruined over less.

  The thin blonde fan was dressed in high-waisted shorts with a sheer chiffon crop top. She’d popped her leg and planted a kiss on Henri’s cheek, anchoring herself by hooking their arms together. The image, out of context, didn’t show the way Henri had tried to remove her and redirect her to a more appropriate pose.

  A part of him longed for simpler, less connected days. Seeing how quickly the pictures in the airport circulated on Twitter left a sour taste in his mouth. This viral information was overwhelming, even when it was good news. When things looked slightly less than legit...viral information had a way of becoming deadly.

  While Gervais was largely concerned with the team’s image, he also no doubt worried about his brother. “Do you think that’s safe, or even wise, given the current state of your marriage?”

  Stomach plummeting, Henri ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “I wasn’t encouraging her. I was working like hell to get away.”

  His brother nodded, but the stern expression didn’t leave his mouth. “Oh, I know that. But you’re in a career that puts you in the public eye. One picture. One sound bite. That’s all it takes.”

  “And you think I don’t realize that?”