Second Chance with the Billionaire

by Janice Maynard

  Conor glanced down at himself ruefully. “I’m soaked through to the skin. Let me change and I’ll be back.”

  She nodded, heading for the small room that had become Emory’s nursery. Conor had spared no expense in outfitting it. The light maple changing table and rocker matched the bed and dresser. The bedding was blue and green with circus animals gamboling across the fabric.

  As she diapered Emory and rubbed his chubby arms and legs with lotion, she pondered the reasons a man might go to such expense for a woman who held no special place in his life. She and Conor were childhood friends. Nothing more. Even upon her return, their relationship had existed primarily because of Kirby and his situation.

  The money wasn’t really an issue. Conor had plenty of it. But to put all of this together so quickly, he had committed time, as well. And thoughtfulness. Was it because he felt guilty that they had argued?

  Emory was old enough now to hold a cup with help. So she sat with him in the rocker and sang songs as he drank his milk. Soon his eyelids were drooping. She laid him in his crib, picked up the monitor, and tiptoed out of the room.

  Fabulous smells wafted through the air as she stepped out into the hall. Following her nose, she made her way to the kitchen where she found Conor unpacking restaurant cartons.

  His hair was rumpled and he wore an old gray Silver Slopes T-shirt untucked over wrinkled khakis. The Kavanaghs were wealthy. She knew that. She’d seen Conor in a tux and Conor half-naked. But whoever said that clothes made the man was dead wrong.

  Conor was Conor. He was comfortable in his own skin. He was strong, both mentally and physically, and though he was powerful and extremely masculine, he had the gift of tenderness.

  She knew how easy it would be to fall in love with him. Too easy. But she had Emory to consider. And there were things Conor didn’t know. Things she hadn’t told anyone.

  Maybe it was cowardly, but for now all she wanted to do was live in the moment. The doctors had prescribed rest. So she would rest. And wallow in Conor’s careful attention.

  It would be wrong to seduce him. He was determined to do the honorable thing. And maybe he was right. Because if he learned her guilty secrets, he might turn away in disgust.

  Chastened by that realization, she was careful to keep her distance as they carried dinner into the dining room.

  “Good grief,” she said. “You have enough food here for six people. Are we expecting a party?” Conor shook his head. “No. But I’m a fan of good leftovers, and I don’t know what you like anymore.” He sat down beside her.

  As she dug into her teriyaki chicken, she tried not to notice the fact that his hip almost touched hers. Occasionally his arm brushed hers as he reached for a second helping or tried something new. It took an effort not to flinch or move away.

  I don’t know what you like anymore. It was true. The attraction that simmered between them was likely nothing more than the remnants of a teenage relationship that was long gone. She and Conor didn’t really even know each other at all. She had secrets. No doubt he did, as well.

  Secrets made a bad foundation.

  On the other hand, if all she wanted...all he wanted...was to scratch an itch, did it really matter if they bared their souls? People indulged in purely physical encounters all the time. Maybe she and Conor could have sex and that would be it.

  When he leaned forward to snag a dinner roll, she inhaled his scent. Not something as easily identifiable as aftershave, but a subtle fragrance, a mix of laundry detergent and warm skin.

  As unobtrusively as possible, she put a few more inches between them. Suddenly, the idea of spending a few weeks in this house, much less a few days, seemed daunting. She finished up her meal and stood to carry her plate to the kitchen. “I think I’ll go to bed and read,” she said, feeling panicky for no discernible reason.

  Conor stood, as well. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked, concern etched on his face.

  “I’m fine. A little tired.”

  He followed her to the kitchen, a silent presence at her back. Once she had deposited her things in the dishwasher, she gave him a small smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She fled to her room and closed the door behind her, leaning back against it and putting her hands over her face. Maybe she was losing her mind. She didn’t know what she wanted. Part of her craved the physical oblivion of Conor’s lovemaking. The other part, the more rational part, reminded her that she was a responsible parent...and that she didn’t deserve to be happy.

  After a hot shower, she went through her nightly rituals. At the vanity, she sat and brushed her hair the obligatory one hundred strokes. The ends needed a good trimming. But when was she supposed to find the time? Being a mom meant squeezing every available moment out of the day.

  She called Kirby to reassure him that she was fine. He questioned her with a doctor’s thoroughness, but when he told her he was worried about her, it was her brother speaking, her twin. Convincing him she was well and happy was not easy, particularly since she wasn’t at all sure she was telling the whole truth.

  When she climbed into bed and plucked a book off the nightstand, it was still not even nine o’clock. The historical novel she was reading was good, but it had been more than a week since she last picked it up and she had lost the threads of the story. Tossing it aside, she hunkered down in the covers and turned out the light.

  Exhaustion rolled over her in suffocating waves. Her head ached. Jangled emotions kept her brain spinning. She needed to make sense of her life. And leaning on Conor wasn’t the answer.

  But she felt so alone...

  * * *

  Conor flipped channels on the TV, wishing he could go for a walk. But he was reluctant to leave the house with guests under his roof. When his cell phone buzzed, he wasn’t surprised to recognize Kirby’s number.

  He answered on the first ring. “Hey, Kirby. What’s up?”

  “How is she really?”

  “I take it you talked to her?”

  “For five minutes. She put on a good show. But I’ve known my sister a very long time. She doesn’t like showing weakness.”

  “She headed off to bed early. I couldn’t decide if it was because she felt bad or because she doesn’t feel comfortable with me.”

  “Maybe she thinks her attraction to you is being disloyal to Kevin.”

  Conor’s stomach clenched. He’d had the same thought. “I wouldn’t say this to anyone else, but honestly, Kirby, I feel like I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”

  “I trust you.”

  “Great.” Conor snorted. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or creeped out. I’m not in the habit of discussing my intimate relationships with anyone, much less a family member of the female in question.”

  “At least you’re contemplating sex. I haven’t been with a woman since before my accident.”

  Conor gripped the phone, almost sure that his buddy hadn’t meant to blurt that out. After a long moment of silence, he sighed. “That bites.”

  “Yeah. Tell me about it.” Kirby’s voice was a combination of resignation and frustration. “What am I supposed to do? Tell her to wait a minute while I pop off my foot? Or leave it on and hope it doesn’t feel weird to her? I’m screwed.”

  “Or not.”

  Kirby burst out laughing. “Thanks for the help.”

  “Anytime, man. Anytime. But seriously, Kirby. When the right woman comes along, it won’t matter.”

  “You sound awfully sure of that for a guy who’s single and sleeping alone.”

  “Fine. I’ll take my pep talks elsewhere. And for the record, I’m single by choice. Has anyone ever told you your bedside manner sucks?”

  “If you end up in my hospital, I swear I’ll be nice to you. But until then...”

  “Promises. Promise
s.”

  They talked a little longer and then agreed that Kirby would drop by in the morning. Conor ended the call with a smile on his face. He had plenty of friends. Lots of friends, actually. But there was something about a guy who had known you since you were a snotty-nosed kid. Kirby understood Conor and vice versa.

  It was wonderful to have him back in Silver Glen, even if for only a little while.

  At ten, Conor walked in his sock feet to Ellie’s door and stood there quietly. He couldn’t detect any sounds at all. Not that silence was a guarantee she was asleep.

  He then moved a few steps down the hall to the other door that accessed the suite...the door to Emory’s temporary nursery. All was quiet. He was determined to deal with Emory if the baby awoke during the night.

  The most straightforward approach would have been to ask Ellie for the baby monitor. But she was stubborn, and despite doctor’s suggestions, she was intent on caring for the baby all on her own. The chances of her surrendering the monitor so she could get a good night’s sleep were slim to none.

  With a sigh, he returned to the living room, knowing that he would never be able to sleep at this hour. He sat on the sofa, elbows on his knees, and dropped his head in his hands. What was he going to do about Ellie?

  Maeve Kavanagh had started from an early age teaching her boys how to respect women. Perhaps because their father, Reggie, had been feckless and selfish, Maeve had instilled in her sons the two Rs—responsibility and respect. That last one covered a multitude of sins. Respect for the environment. Respect for the less fortunate. Respect for your fellow man in general. But, most of all, respect for feminine vulnerability when it came to physical relationships.

  Conor would never under any circumstances coerce a woman who said no. But what about a woman who said yes? A woman who had borne more than her share of tragedy and heartache recently. Who was strong in every way, but momentarily needed protection and support.

  What was a man supposed to do in that situation?

  A faint noise alerted him to the fact that he was no longer alone. Standing in the arched doorway was Ellie. Hair mussed. Feet bare. Eyes shadowed with dark smudges. Her expression was a cross between distress and defiance.

  “Ellie.” Great. His speech had been reduced to single-word sentences.

  She tugged her thin turquoise robe tightly across her chest, perhaps unaware that she was giving him an even nicer view of her breasts. Particularly the way the nipples thrust against the soft fabric.

  “I can’t sleep,” she said.

  Was that a statement? Complaint? Request for help?

  He stood and rubbed his chin, realizing that he had forgotten to shave that morning. In the hustle and hurry of making sure the house was ready before he dashed off to the hospital, he’d been focused on his concern for Ellie.

  “Would you like some warm milk?” Great. Now he sounded like an old geezer.

  Her golden-red hair seemed to glow, making her lack of color more pronounced. She shook her head. “No. Thank you.”

  “A shot of whiskey?”

  Again she declined. “I can’t. Because of the medication I’m taking.”

  “Ah.” He’d exhausted his repertoire of sleep aids. Except for heart-pounding, wildly orgasmic, hot-monkey sex. And that was not on the list of approved rehabilitative activities for a woman who had suffered a blow to the head.

  “Would you like to sit down?” He couldn’t read her.

  Ellie shook her head, still glued in the doorway, her lower lip trembling.

  A flash of genuine anxiety drew him across the room. “Talk to me, Ellie. Tell me what’s wrong. What do you want me to do for you?” He unfolded her arms and took both her hands in his. Her fingers were cold.

  Without overthinking it, he drew her into his embrace, ruefully aware that his body instantly responded to hers.

  She buried her face in his chest. “It’s stupid,” she muttered.

  Her hair smelled like flowers. “Tell me, anyway.” Why did she have to feel like perfection when he held her? The physical connection couldn’t make up for all the unspoken realities that lurked between them with the deceptive nature of quicksand.

  “I had nightmares,” she whispered. “In the hospital. Kirby and Kevin were falling off the mountain. Again and again. I’m afraid to go to sleep.” She paused. “Come to bed with me, Conor. Please. Not for sex, I swear.”

  Ten

  Conor wondered what he had done in a prior life to deserve this kind of torture. But denying her was not an option.

  “Of course,” he said quickly. He suspected that her toes were as cold as her fingers. So he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. The large bed was mostly untouched. On Ellie’s side, though, it was easy to see that she had been restless.

  Tossing back the sheet and spread, he laid her down gently and covered her up. After kicking off his shoes, he climbed onto the mattress, scooted past her, and leaned against the headboard with a sigh. The room was dimly lit. He yawned, feeling peace envelop him, despite his acute awareness of the woman at his side.

  As always, the paradox perplexed him. How could he want her so badly and yet be soothed simply to lie by her side?

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ellie wriggling to remove her robe. He held one sleeve until she managed the exercise. Now she was clad in nothing more than a sheer gown that was half-a-dozen shades lighter in color and a hundred times more provocative.

  Though he could only see her from the waist up, that was enough.

  He closed his eyes. “I would sing to you if I could,” he joked. “But we’d both regret that.”

  “I don’t know that regret is such a bad thing. At least it means we’ve lived.” She took his attempt at humor and tossed it back in his court.

  “I’ve lost a lot of things I’ve cared about, Ellie. And believe me, I’ve lived and breathed regret.”

  “Your career?”

  He stared straight ahead, his brows drawn tight. “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said quietly. “I feel like Kirby and I let you down. You’d barely been home from the hospital two weeks when we moved away. But most of all, I’m sorry for breaking up with you after your accident. I was so damned scared, and I thought if I gave you a choice of skiing or me, you would pick me.”

  “We weren’t even really a couple,” he said, his throat tight. “No apologies necessary.” Those had been dark days. Though he’d never admitted it to anyone, when he’d been trussed up in that hospital—his body broken and in jaw-clenching pain—there had been a second or two when he hadn’t wanted to live. Even now it was hard to talk about it. “Tell me what you think Kirby will do in terms of picking a place to practice.”

  It was a clumsy change, of course, but he hated the feeling that she was poking around in his psyche.

  Ellie inched closer to him, though they were still divided, her below the covers and him above. “I think he’s leaning toward Miami. We’ve talked recently about buying a house together. I don’t want to go back to work until Emory is in school, but when I’m ready, Miami has a big enough international population to make my skill set valuable.”

  “And in the meantime?”

  “Kirby will be working long hours. It will be nice for him to come home to a hot meal and an organized household.”

  “I doubt he expects you to wait on him hand and foot.”

  “Of course not. But the arrangement will be good for both of us. Emory is going to need a strong male influence in his life.”

  “And if Kirby falls in love?”

  He felt Ellie go still. “Then I’ll find my own place, of course.”

  Her voice was small and hurt. He was goading her deliberately, because the thought of her moving so far away a second time made him want to punch so
mething. “Go to sleep,” he said gruffly. “I won’t leave you.”

  * * *

  Ellie trembled, though she was plenty warm. What did Conor want from her? He’d made it sound as if a move to Miami was a personal betrayal. Was that how he’d felt when all three of them were only sixteen?

  She closed her eyes, desperate for rest, but more desperate to crack the code that accessed Conor Kavanagh’s protective shield. One moment he treated her with the avuncular platonic attention of a relative. The next he exuded an unmistakable vibe of sexual need.

  Pretending to be asleep, she counted the cadence of his breathing. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that he had his hands folded across his abdomen. He had snagged two of the extra pillows and tucked them behind his back.

  What was he thinking?

  She was curled on her side, facing him. If she moved her hand, she could touch his hard thigh.

  “Conor,” she whispered.

  He never flinched. “Yes?”

  “Will you get under the covers and hold me?”

  The seconds that ticked away before he answered were crushing.

  When Emory made it to his six-month birthday and when Kirby finally finished all his surgeries, she’d naively thought she had reached her lowest point and was on the way back up, but this week had taught her differently.

  Conor nodded. “Sure.”

  He rolled off the bed, folded the covers back and climbed in beside her. Instantly, she felt his body heat, as hot and wonderful as a furnace on an icy winter night. Still, he made no move to get any closer.

  Knowing his scruples, she took the initiative. He was on his back. Scooting against him, she rested her bent knee across his leg and put her head on his arm.

  When he shifted to wrap that same arm around her, she wanted to cry. Her parents had been with her after Kevin’s death. And they’d stayed for a month until Kirby was past the danger point. But then they had returned to the jungle and to their work.