“Please take this in the spirit intended, but it’s damn hard to be married to the perfect man.”
Henri let out a choked laugh, dark hair catching the glow of the lights. “I’m not sure what spirit to take that in at all—and I’m far from perfect. Just ask my brothers.”
Her head to the side, she linked her hand with his. “So you’ll accept my apology for not telling you about the biopsy?”
“I’m still upset, but yes, I can see that you’re sorry...” His voice trailed off and he looked down.
“But?”
“But I’m certain you wouldn’t do things differently. Even though you’re sorry, you would still shut me out.” He held up a hand. “Don’t say anything either way to agree or deny.”
He hauled the suitcase off the bed, headed to the ornate closet door. Etched molding that resembled Grecian columns framed the door. Whenever she came here, the details always caught her off guard. Every visit yielded a new dimension of awareness. She’d lived in their Italianate monstrosity across the road. She should have been able to call all this home, but when had she ever taken the time to settle in?
That lack of awareness, it seemed, extended to her understanding of Henri. Now, as he put the empty suitcase in the closet, she began to understand his point of view a bit more clearly.
“We have problems. Big problems. Obviously. I just want us to find peace.”
“I agree.” He turned to take her by the shoulders, his whole hulking body radiating pain. “You’ll be sure to tell me the second you know the results of the biopsy?”
“Of course. Right away.” And she could feel how much he cared, really cared. That tore at her, left her feeling conflicted all over again. Just when she was sure she could walk away, doubts plagued her as she felt how much he cared for her. How deeply she was affected by him.
She stroked her hand over his hair, sketching her fingers along the thick, coarse strands. “I truly am sorry I hurt you. I wish our lives could have been easier. That we didn’t have to face biopsies and infertility.”
“Life isn’t guaranteed to be easy.” He leaned into her touch.
“I don’t know if things would have been smoother if we were chasing a cute little toddler around now.” The tears of loss and regret stung. “A little girl with your brown eyes and feet that never stop because she loves carrying around your football.”
“Fiona, you’re killing me here.” He put his arms around her, careful to avoid her left side.
She let herself enjoy the warmth of his embrace. She couldn’t bring herself to step away. Keeping distance between them the past months had been torture and right now she couldn’t recall why she had to.
Pressing her ear against his chest over the steady beat of his heart, she slid her arms around his waist. She took in the musky smell of his soap and a scent that was 100 percent Henri. Her husband. Her man.
She heard the shift in his breathing at the same time her own body kindled to life. She shouldn’t be feeling this way right now. Turned on. Aching to make sweet tender love to him.
Henri nuzzled her hair. “You should rest.”
Angling back, she met his gaze dead-on. “I don’t want to sleep. I want you to make love to me. Here. Now. No thinking about tomorrow or what we’ll say after. Let’s be together—”
He kissed her silent, once, twice, holding the kiss for an instant before speaking against her mouth. “You won’t hear an argument from me. I want you. Always. Anywhere, anytime.”
He walked her back toward the bed, sealing his lips to hers every step of the way until her legs bumped the footboard. He angled her back onto the mattress, cradling her body with arms so strong, so gentle. She sank into the puffy comforter, reaching for Henri only to have him drop to his knees at the foot of the bed. He bunched her skirt up an inch at a time, nibbling along the inside of her left leg, stroking her other leg with his hand.
He made his way higher. Higher still. Until...
Her head pushed back into the bed as she sighed in anticipation. His breath puffed against the lacy silk of her panties, warming her.
“Lovely,” he murmured.
“I went shopping.”
“I was talking about you.” He skimmed the panties off and his mouth found her, pressing an intimate kiss to the core of her.
She felt his hum of appreciation against her skin. She grabbed fistfuls of the blanket and twisted, pleasure sparking through her. His tongue stroked, circled, teased at the tight bundle of nerves until her head thrashed restlessly against the bed. Her heels dug into his back, anchoring him, but also anchoring herself in this oh-so-personal moment. She ached for completion. And one flick at a time he drove her to the edge of release, backed off, then brought her even closer, again and again until she demanded he finish, now, yes, now... And he listened with delicious attention to her need.
Gasps of bliss and, ah, release filled the air as ripple after ripple of pleasure shuddered through her. Her back bowed upward and her fingers slid down to comb through his hair as he eased her through the last vestiges of her orgasm.
Gently, he slid her legs from his shoulders and smoothed her dress back into place. He stretched out beside her, carrying them both up to recline against the pillows.
She traced her fingers along his T-shirt. “That was amazing. Thank you. This may sound obvious, but it feels so good to feel good right now.”
“That was my intent.”
She pressed her mouth to his. “I want us both to feel good again. Make love to me.”
“But you’re recovering...”
“There’s no reason we can’t have sex as long as you’re gentle.” A smile tugged at her lips. “Ironic and a little funny, but I’m actually asking you to treat me like spun glass.”
“I’ll take you any way I can have you, lady. You’re perfect, you know that, right?” He pressed kisses against the curve of her neck.
“Far from it, but thank you.” She angled her head to give him easier access.
“I mean it. You’re beautiful and giving and smart.” His hands moved reverently over her long dark hair, skimming low, lower still and then back up again to rest on her shoulders.
“What brought this on?” She touched his face, reveling in his stubble, in his dark eyes.
“I just wanted to make sure you know. I think I get so caught up in gestures, I forget to give you the words.” Gentle fingers traveled from her lips to her neck, causing shivers to run wildly down her spine. Sparks lit her nerves, the tingling then gathering at her core.
“Well, thank you for those lovely words. I appreciate it. I do understand that I am not defined by my breasts,” she said.
Kissing her collarbone, he pulled her flush against him. “I’m glad you realize that.”
Her heart filled again with something that felt like hope.
* * *
With Fiona asleep in his bed, he felt better than he had in weeks. Hell, better than he had in months. The scent of her on his linens was something he didn’t take for granted. He’d missed this. Missed her. And looked forward to devoting even more attention to persuading her to stay right here.
But still...he felt compelled to move. To walk about the house to process the 180-degree change he saw in Fiona.
He slid out of the silk bedsheets, his feet landing on cool marble tile. On tiptoes, he made his way out of the room.
When was the last time he’d spent any time out at the lake, trying to ferret out an answer to a complex problem? He couldn’t remember. He and Fiona had spent so much time trying to give themselves privacy, he’d forgotten what it was like to share space with his brothers. To ask for help.
Now, staying in this wing of his childhood home, he could see his older brother’s stamp on the place. He’d made changes to personalize the home, yet he’d kept so many
things from their past, too. Leaving Henri’s old bedroom untouched had been a welcome surprise.
For the most part, he barely registered the mammoth house anymore. Greek Revival wasn’t his style—it felt too rigid and restrictive. As he walked through the house, he found himself appreciating the quirky charm of his home in the Garden District. The eclectic Victorian space he and Fiona had reconstructed.
Needing to talk, he searched for his brother. After all, Gervais had pushed him down this path by sending his fiancée, Erika, to deliver flowers to Fiona.
Catching sight of his brother’s silhouette by the pool, Henri opened the sliding glass door. Gervais stood, back to the house, on the path that led from the pool to the dock.
Gervais’s shoulders were slumped. Heavy as the boughs of the live oak trees. Fragrant ginger and bushes lined the paths around the pool, next to a round fire pit surrounded by a low wall of flat rocks. A glider swing with a seat as big as a full-size bed anchored the space, which was draped in breezy white gauze threaded with a few tiny twinkly lights overhead.
His brother’s hands were linked behind his back. As Henri drew closer, he could see that Gervais was squeezing his hands so tight they were turning white.
Surveying the landscape in front of them, Henri watched the dying light bathe the wooden dock in rich oranges. At the end of the dock, the pontoon boat was hoisted out of the water. They’d spent many nights out on that pontoon boat—and the yacht off to the left—when they were younger. As he looked at the pontoon boat, he felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. Things felt simpler then. But he knew that wasn’t actually true. Nothing about his family had ever been simple.
These past few months had been a strain on Henri’s relationship with his family. Everything between his brothers and him had been placed on autopilot. Nods and lies became the default modes of communication.
Had those months of evading serious conversation come at the high cost of neglecting to see that his brother had been struggling? Impending marriage and managing the team were enough to test anyone, even his collected and cool older brother.
Henri tried to imagine what was on Gervais’s mind: owning the New Orleans Hurricanes, having a winning season, even what was going on with their baby brother Jean-Pierre’s career as a New York quarterback.
And smack-dab in the middle of all that, Gervais was trying to plan a wedding to a princess and keep it out of the public eye, all while facing fatherhood. And Dempsey was engaged. Life was moving forward at full force.
“What are you doing down here?” Henri asked.
“Reliving the old days.” Gervais’s chest expanded as he breathed deeply. A football lay at his feet. He gave it a shove with his shoe.
“Do you miss it?” Henri gestured to the pigskin.
“Sure I miss playing sometimes. But I’m not you, living and breathing for the game. Honestly. I like being the brains behind the larger operation.”
“Impending marriage and fatherhood has made you philosophical.”
Gervais shook his head. “Practical. Focused.”
“I’m so damn tired of people questioning my focus.”
“People?” Cocking his head to the side, Gervais stared at his brother. It was a knowing kind of glance, one that chided him to be more specific.
“My family.” He practically spat the words from his mouth.
“You are staring at a possible divorce.” Such a blunt statement. As if Henri wasn’t aware of the state of his marriage.
“So are half the guys out there playing.”
“But you love your wife.”
Henri stared hard at the lake, his voice growing quiet, the words feeling like ash as he spoke them. “I thought I did.”
“You do, you big idiot.”
Henri shoved Gervais’s shoulder. “I hate it when you pull the wise big brother act.”
“Then do something about it—you’re the Bayou Bomber, for God’s sake. You run the Hurricanes’ offense from the quarterback position, slinging record-setting pass yardage with an arm destined for the Hall of Fame. You can’t do better than this in your personal life?”
Henri let out a bitter laugh. “Brother, no offense. But this marriage thing is a helluva lot harder than it looks.”
Gervais scooped up the football and tossed it to him. “Our family is too quick to anger and rifts.”
“What are you talking about? We’re tight.” He stepped back, putting some distance between them before flinging the football back at his brother.
“Seriously? Are you delusional?” Gervais caught the pigskin, surprise coloring his face.
“Look at us now.” Henri gestured between them and to the sprawling buildings of the family property.
“Look at our history,” Gervais retorted. “Our dad didn’t speak to the mother of his son for over a decade. We find out we have a brother we never knew about and Mom leaves, never to be heard from again. We have a brother in New York who barely graces our doorstep unless we’re in crisis. We have one uncle who doesn’t speak to us at all. And another in Texas who only shows up to support his son who plays on the team. This family doesn’t have a problem cutting and running.”
“I guess when you put it that way, it doesn’t sound like a close-knit clan.” Henri mused over his brother’s words, balancing them against the security their lakeside spread had always given him. The mere presence of the Reynaud family homestead had anchored him, made him believe they were close and as stable as the Greek Revival construction. Gervais’s words shook his foundation.
“Families have their problems, sure, but ours has more than a few. And I just don’t want to see you fall victim to the pattern of cutting someone off rather than working through the tough stuff.”
“You’re referring to Fiona and me.” Nodding in understanding, he tossed the football again.
“Yes, I am. You two are good together. Quite frankly, this break scares the hell out of me as I look at tying the knot myself. You two were the perfect couple.”
“There’s no such thing as perfect.”
“Truth. So why are you expecting perfection?” Gervais lobbed more than just the football at Henri that time.
“Who says I’m the one who wants the divorce?” Gervais was out of line. Henri didn’t want a divorce, didn’t want things between Fiona and him to be over. His passion burned for her and her alone. Life without her... It was an impossible thought for him to even finish.
“If she’s the one who wants to walk, then why aren’t you fighting for her?”
“I’m giving her space.” Space had been what she wanted.
“Space... Like I said, our family gives space all too easily.” Gervais slammed the football to the ground, turning away from Henri to look at the compound.
His philosophical brother struck a chord in Henri. His words reverberated in his chest, stirring a renewed commitment to winning Fiona’s mind, body and soul. Passion had never been a problem for him and Fiona. That burned bright and true. But this was more than getting her back into his bed. He wanted her back in his life. Full time.
He refused to be another Reynaud who cut and run.
* * *
She’d been dreaming about Henri.
In Fiona’s imagination, they’d been together in Seattle, exploring the city’s art district during one of the Hurricanes’ trips to the West Coast. It had been the early days of their marriage, and they’d run through the rain to dart from one private studio to the next, trying to meet some of the city’s up-and-coming artists just for the fun of it.
In the car on the way back to the hotel, they’d been sopping wet and laughing. Kissing. Touching with a feverish urgency. Almost as if they’d known their time together was limited and they needed to live on fast-forward.
Why hadn’t she tried to slow things down? To build
the bond that they’d need to get them through a lifetime instead of floating on that high of incredible physical intimacy?
Even as she thought it in her hazy dreams, she became aware of a strong hand on her hip. Stroking. Rubbing.
Alertness came to her slowly. Or maybe she just didn’t mind lingering in that dreamy world between wakefulness and sleep. The real world had disappointed her enough times in the past year and a half. She would gladly take her touches with her eyes closed for just a little while longer.
Her body hummed to life at Henri’s urging, skin shivering with awareness at his caress.
“Fiona.” Her husband breathed her name in a sigh that tickled along her bare neck right before he kissed her there.
Slowly. Thoroughly.
What was it about a kiss on the neck that could drive a woman wild? she wondered. Or was it only Henri’s kisses that could turn her inside out like this?
Still lying on her side, she reached for him, knowing where he’d be. She palmed his rock-hard chest. He was so warm. So strong.
“Open your eyes.” His soft command made her smile.
“Since when do you give orders in bed?” she teased, keeping her eyes closed.
“Since I need you to see me.” His words, spoken with a starkness she hadn’t expected, forced her eyes open.
“Is everything all right?” She moved her hand from his chest to his face, her eyes adjusting to the last rays of daylight filtering in through the blinds.
She’d napped for longer than she realized.
“Yes. I just needed to see you.” He skimmed his hand up her side, following the curve of her waist to bring her closer to him in the bed.
“You’re sure?” She crept closer still, remembering how good she’d felt in her dream. No, how good he’d made her feel just a few hours ago before she’d fallen asleep.
“Positive. I just want you to know I’m here.” He dipped a kiss into the hollow behind her ear.
She sensed more at work, but she was content to lose herself in the moment. In the touches she’d denied herself for too long. No matter what the future held for her and Henri, she wanted to savor these moments in a way she hadn’t known to do in the past. For too long, she’d been focused on their problems. For now, she wanted to remember the things they’d done well.
Reunited with the Rebel Billionaire Page 12