IGNITE : A BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE

by Stephanie Brother

  I’m expecting him to pull away. I’m expecting him to object. He does neither.

  “When I was lying in that hospital bed, I finally saw things clearly,” he says. “I thought I was going to die, Analie. I thought it was the end for me. I wasn’t afraid. I felt peace for myself. But I was worried that Aaron would blame himself. Or that maybe you’d feel guilty too because of the way things ended between us. And I didn’t want that for either of you.”

  I squeeze his hand but he doesn’t look at me. Maybe it’s too hard for him.

  “You know, I never told anyone this,” he says. “The night Bethany died…there was a car traveling in the opposite direction. The driver…he must not have been concentrating, or maybe he lost control…I don’t know how he ended up crossing into our lane.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I say gently. “It doesn’t matter how it happened, you didn’t want her to die. It was never your intention. It was an accident.”

  “I know,” he says. “I know that now.” He rubs his free hand over his face as though he needs to wipe away the darkness from his past.

  “It’s time to let it go,” I say softly.

  Robert nods and finally turns to face me.

  “I want to, Analie,” he says and pulls me into his arms.

  His embrace is fierce, his arms strong and his chest warm and I feel his resolution.

  “Life is for living,” I whisper against him. “We all carry our scars, but they don’t have to define our futures.” And in my words, I find some peace of my own.

  EPILOGUE

  ANALIE

  One year later

  The air carries the smell of winter behind the musty odor of the fallen leaves that crunch underfoot as I make my way across the churchyard. My heart feels heavy, and the bunch of flowers I grip tightly in my hand seems too insubstantial.

  Who came up with the idea of offering flowers for the dead?

  They don’t see our pathetic efforts to bring beauty to places of sadness.

  They don’t care at all.

  I scan the headstones as I pass them, saddened by the youth of those who had lost their lives. The mothers and fathers, the brothers and sisters. The wives. The children.

  All the endings seem so tragic.

  I know where I’m going. I was there on the day the grave was filled. I’d stood by and said a prayer. I’d cried for a family who’d lost so much. I’d cried because I’d missed my chance to say goodbye. I’d missed my chance to make a difference.

  The wind whips my hair across my scarred cheek and I smooth it down, tucking the errant strands behind my ear. I glance around, but I’m the only one there at that moment to mark the passing of that day.

  When I reach the grave I pull a cloth from my purse and begin to wipe over the headstone. I have a plastic bag that I place on the ground so I can kneel without staining my jeans. I pull a weed or two from around the base and then replace the wilted flowers with my own bunch of mixed pink and white blooms.

  The sun glints on the granite, highlighting the sparkling detail within the gray stone. As a bird calls from the trees, I take time to remember the little things.

  After a while, footsteps crunch on the gravel path behind me and I turn.

  “I knew I’d find you here,” Robert says, coming to stand behind me and resting his hand on my shoulder.

  “I had to come,” I reply.

  “I know.”

  We stay like that for a minute or so, quietly contemplating at the side of Summer’s grave. For me, it’s about remembering her light and willingness to help others. I still feel disappointed that I wasn’t able to help her, and sad that her life has been cut so short. But I’ve lost the anger I felt towards her decision. Our lives are ours to shape. No one else walks in the shoes we wear each day.

  I turn to take Robert’s hand and he helps me stand and waits while I smooth my clothes and gather the things I need to dispose of. We walk side by side towards the lot, and when I reach my little red car he puts his arms around me and holds me tight. It feels so good to be held, almost as though his embrace can take away the harshness of the world.

  “Thanks for coming,” I say against his chest.

  Robert strokes my hair, then kisses me softly on my forehead. “Let’s go home, baby.”

  We drive our separate cars back to Robert’s apartment. It’s become my home too.

  We meet in the lobby so we can travel in the elevator together. We are silent all the way and in that silence, I can’t help thinking about how far we’ve come.

  I glance up at Robert’s head, to the small scar that would always remind me of how lucky I was to have him in my life.

  Robert’s pulls me into a hug and kisses my cheek tenderly. “You don’t need to keep thinking about the past,” he murmurs in my ear.

  I shake my head because he’s so damn perceptive. It’s my scarred cheek, and while I can’t feel the press of his lips with as much sensation as I can on the other side, I feel the tingles in my heart.

  “Let’s go and have a glass of wine.”

  “Before lunch?” I scoff and he smiles.

  “There’s no better time.”

  We walk to his door with our arms around each other. It’s only when he needs to look for his keys that he lets me go. In the apartment, I remove my boots, hang my coat and bag, and then followed Robert into the kitchen. I sit at the counter like I did the first day I came to his home and watch him prepare a drink for me. No marshmallows this time, though.

  “Why didn’t you wake me and tell me where you were going?” he asks as he places the glass of chilled white wine in front of me.

  I look up and his expression is worried. “I just…I didn’t want to upset you.”

  “Analie, don’t you think I was more upset to find out my girlfriend had tiptoed out of our apartment to deal with something serious without me?”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, knowing that he’s right. I still have a tendency to treat him too carefully and he doesn’t want that. Not anymore.

  “You don’t have to do that, baby. You don’t have to protect me when what you really need is my support.”

  I smile at him and his expression turns quizzical. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a great guy, Robert Harrington?”

  “No one special,” he says returning my smile.

  “Well, that changes now.” I stand and round the counter, slipping my arms around his middle and pressing my face to his heart. “I should have told you what I was doing. I should have asked you if you would come with me. I should have trusted that you would tell me if it was too much.”

  “Yes, you should have.”

  “I love you,” I say, reaching up to look into his eyes, cupping his stubbly cheek with my palm.

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re a great girl?” he says, bending to kiss my lips.

  “So many people,” I smile. “Everyday. At least ten times.”

  “Ten?” he frowns. “Mmm.”

  “Yeah, ten.”

  “Well, let me make it eleven.” He smiles and the sight of it flutters my heart.

  “That’s funny. Eleven’s my lucky number,” I whisper against his lips, pressing my body against his.

  ROBERT

  With Analie in my arms, I always feel content. Everything about her calms me, from her smell to the way her soft body molds to mine. She always seems to breathe so evenly too, and in bed at night I find myself mirroring her breathing, finding peace in its rhythm.

  It’s been a year since I found myself at rock bottom. Or maybe it was lower. Rock bottom had been the days after Bethany’s death, but that time had been combined with a sense of numbness that wasn’t there after my car accident.

  I remember only flashes of the first few days in the hospital. My brother’s worried face, a warm hand wrapped around my fingers, and terrible pain in my head. When I finally regained consciousness it was the ache in my chest that hurt the most.

  If it hadn’t been for Analie and Aar
on, I don’t know where I would have been. Their gentle care gave me time to heal, and most importantly, time to realize that so many of the beliefs I’d held since Bethany died were wrong.

  I stroke my hand over Analie’s soft hair and draw her closer to me. I look back at the day we met with a sense that something out there had wanted me to get better. Something out there had sent me over to talk to the one person who had the power to bring me back to life.

  Analie slips her hand under my sweater, smoothing her palm softly up the side of my chest. It always makes me shiver when she touches me like that, because it feels good and also because I know it’s her way of telling me she wants me. I tip her chin up and look right into her soulful eyes. Her lashes are so long and pretty, her skin so soft and peachy. I run my thumbs across her cheeks, cupping her face and drawing her towards me.

  Every time I kiss Analie it gets me in the gut. The little sighs she makes are like a zap of electricity. The sweet way her mouth parts for mine makes me want so much more. I start to walk us backward around the counter and slowly through to our bedroom.

  She laughs as we stumble, gripping hold of my sweater for stability. Her laugh drives me crazy; the bubble of it rising up like there’s so much joy inside her she just can’t hold it in.

  When we’re finally by our bedside I pull back and tug off my top, watching the way Analie’s eyes travel over my torso. They pause on the scar that runs down the side of my stomach and I put my hand over it, not because I’m ashamed or hurt that she’s staring, but because I want to let her know that she is. Her eyes flick to mine with an expression so regretful I want to gather her into my arms and soothe away her hurt.

  “I was staring,” she says, covering her mouth with her hands.

  “There’s a lot to stare at,” I joke, trying to lighten the moment.

  “I’m sorry,” she tells me, running her cools hands over my hot skin and pausing where the scarring is worst.

  “Don’t be,” I say. “You know how I feel about this. These scars made me whole again.”

  She smiles, cupping my cheek. “I know.”

  I run my fingers over her face again, down her neck, pushing the fabric of her blouse aside so I can caress the journey the boiling water would have taken to mark her skin so many years before. It’s hard to think of her as a little girl, and the seconds it took for her to pull the cup of coffee over herself.

  Analie shivers and looks at the ground. “How is it you’ve come to terms with what happened to you so quickly, but as hard as I try I just haven’t really. Well, not truly.”

  “Look at me, baby,” I say. “You might never feel totally over what happened. You’re reminded of it every time you look into the mirror. No one would ever think any less of you because of it.”

  “I think less of myself,” she whispers.

  “You shouldn’t. You’ve dedicated your life to helping people recover from the same kind of trauma that happened to you. And you see how people can move on and others struggle. You’ve turned something bad into something good, and if you still feel conscious sometimes, it’s okay. You’re allowed to be vulnerable, honey.”

  Analie’s pretty face lights up at my words. She begins to unbutton her blouse, her fingers working quickly until it slips from her shoulders. She wastes no time in removing the rest of her clothing until she stands naked in front of me. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of seeing her that way; everything so sweet and soft and curvy.

  “You know,” she says, as she steps towards me to help unbuckle my belt, “you are a very wise man, Robert Harrington. And a very kind man too.”

  My smile is so big I feel it in my cheeks. That’s where she kisses me first, holding my face gently and pressing her lips against my skin softly. “I love your smile,” she whispers. “I love the way you get just a hint of dimples on your cheeks. I love the way your eyes light up.”

  I allow my trousers to slip down my legs and step out of them, grabbing Analie by the hips and walking her backward. Her skin is so soft, the give of her curves so sweet under my big palms. Analie sighs softly, gazing up into my eyes with so much affection and desire I have to get closer to her. The space between us is only a couple of inches, but it feels so much wider.

  “It’s the middle of the day,” she giggles, slipping her thumbs into the top of my dark gray boxers and caressing my stomach.

  “Best time for a roll in the hay,” I reply, cupping her breasts gently and running my thumbs softly over the tips of her nipples.

  “Ohh…”

  “Your nipples are so hard, baby.”

  “Mmm,” she groans. “So is your cock.”

  “You’re naked, Analie.”

  “And you’re not yet. Why are you not naked?”

  “I have no fucking idea!” I shove my boxers down, my dick smacking up against my belly when it’s finally free. I catch Analie looking at him greedily, which makes me smile again.

  “You hungry, baby?”

  Before Analie, sex was an escape from my darkness. A few hours of oblivion, where physical need overpowered emotional turmoil. It was only ever a short-term fix, though, mostly leaving me feeling emptier than I had before.

  With Analie, sex had become a balm; soothing and healing in a way that I hadn’t expected. When we’re together I feel a sense of calm that’s so deep it’s all-encompassing. In the early days, I’d lie awake while Analie slept and just marvel at how far I’ve come in her care. How far we’ve both come, I hope.

  Analie doesn’t reply, but when she drops to her knees I know what she wants; to please me and show me how much she wants me. There’s something so sexy about seeing a woman in front of you, waiting to give pleasure. There’s something so sweet about her surrender.

  I palm my cock, squeezing it tightly at the base, easing it through my fist and stroking over the slick head. Analie licks her lips in readiness and I step closer; close enough that I can rub the tip of my cock over her bottom lip, nudging her mouth open. Her breath is hot, her lips slippery as I push into her mouth. Analie keeps her eyes on me as I push in deeper, her hands gripping my thighs as mine slip into her hair. I keep my movements slow and measured, giving her time to breathe. Her lips tighten around my cock and her tongue circles it, licking and flicking in a way that makes my knees weak. Analie makes me feel so powerful, so in control, which is exactly what I need. I guess the psychologist in her understands that.

  I move my hips, once, twice, deeper on the third, until I’m up on my toes it feels so good. Analie moans and I feel the vibrations in my balls and at the bottom of my spine; tingles that take me so close to the edge I shiver. I pull myself from her mouth, wanting to prolong the pleasure and needing to show her how much she means to me.

  Analie takes my hand and stands, and I kissed her gently on the mouth, wanting to feel the puffiness of her lips against mine. The taste of her with just a hint of me is intoxicating. I’m almost woozy with the desire I feel for her. I’m desperate to sink into the sweet, wet heat between her legs and soothe her as much as she’s soothed me.

  I lift her, pressing her pussy against my stomach and clamber onto the bed. She laughs as I crash us both into the center, pushing her thighs apart so I can see where she’s wet and swollen.

  Analie gazes back at me, her eyelids heavy and her bottom lip held between her teeth as she waits for me to decide what I’m going to do. She looks so delectable that it’s like being faced with a mile-long gourmet buffet. I just don’t know where to start first.

  In the end, it’s Analie who dictates what she wants. She slips her hand between her legs and uses her finger to circle her clit. “Don’t make me wait, baby,” she says. “I’m so wet for you.”

  My cock kicks in a way that looks almost angry, rearing up and tapping back against my stomach. I take hold of it firmly and rub the tip between Analie’s slick lips. She’s right, she is so wet I can feel it coating the end of my dick.

  “Mmm,” she moans as I nudge at her entrance. Her hips rise up, try
ing to take me further in, but I’m enjoying the tease.

  “Slow down, baby. I’ll give it to you. Don’t worry.”

  I push further inside the next time but then withdraw completely, loving the way Analie’s eyes flash at me in angry frustration. Just as she’s about to complain, I push all the way in until I’m balls deep. “Ohhhh…” Analie cries, reaching out to grab me around the hips. I thrust hard over and over, using my knees to give me the leverage I need to nudge up against her g-spot. Analie’s rolling her hips, eyes closed, lips parted in concentration. I can feel her pussy pulsing in a way that feels needy, grabby. A whoosh of breath leaves her lungs with every thrust. I bend to suck on her pretty pink nipple, holding her breast firmly in my hand, licking hard like I know she likes and then biting down, making her buck against me.

  “Robert,” she pants. “I’m close, don’t stop.”

  “I’m not gonna stop,” I say, my voice husky with desire and exertion. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ll always take care of you.”

  Analie smiles, threading her fingers into my hair and pulling me into a sweet kiss that I feel like a shiver down my neck. “I love you,” she murmurs against my lips.

  I smooth her hair from her face and clasp it between my hands. Using my thumbs, I caress her cheeks, the smooth one and the scarred one. For a second, Analie looks uncomfortable so I kiss her, right in the middle of the pattern left behind by her burns. “You know you are perfect to me?” I whisper. “You know that when I look at you, I see all of you; the experiences you have had and the lives you have touched. All of it has shaped you into a beautiful woman.”

  Analie smiles up at me, her fingers gently caressing the side of my head where the scarring from my operation means my hair will never grow. I grind my hips against hers, moving in and out of her so slowly and gently it feels as though we are two ships bobbing gently on the ocean. Her hands smooth down the back of my neck, over my shoulders and down my back in the softest caress.