Rush: A Second Chance Romance

by Ellen Lane

  Dear God, she’d grown up.

  The little girl I’d run through the streets with was completely gone. She wasn’t even the slip of a teenager that had stolen my heart. Twelve years later, Cecily Warner was something much more than that. She was an absolute bombshell.

  I’d spent a good deal of time over the last twenty-four hours looking over the image next to her name on the website. She still had the same small, upturned nose and bright hazel eyes. The same smattering of freckles and delicate features. But her hair had grown out and framed her face in riotous waves, and her mouth was suddenly full and sensual. She filled out the white blouse she wore, and her alluring smile did more than a little for my constantly voracious libido.

  She was a classic southern beauty - just as I thought she’d be.

  Not that I’d ever admit just how much I’d thought of Cecily over the past decade. After I moved to California to start school, I concentrated on my future for a good, long while, but she was never far from my mind. Mind you, I did all I could to purge my memories of her during my six years at Stanford. While the girls back home thought I was charming, in Cali, I was a novelty. A southern boy with a sweet accent and dashing good looks. I could get any woman I wanted, upper or lower classman, and for a while, I did just that. Eventually, however, the rush of a new conquest wasn’t enough. When I began to make my money, I turned to more dangerous thrills to occupy me. Traveling to new countries and scaring the piss out of myself did wonders for my confidence - and widened my view of the world significantly.

  It was good for me to come out the shell that had surrounded me my entire life. I’d grown up thinking I was pretty much the scum of the earth unless the situation involved Jeb or Cecily, and my bout in California taught me that was far from the truth. Seven years of west-coast living helped me build up the sense of self-worth that had been torn down over years of being shuffled from foster family to foster family.

  I’d never, for a moment, regretted hiding all of that from Cece. Of course, she knew my parents died. She’d even come to the funeral. But my home life had never been much to speak of, even when they were alive. I was always careful to never invite any of my classmates to my house after school, and even after my parents had died, and all the violence and conflict of my childhood seemed to be over, I stayed out of my house as much as humanly possible.

  I, of course, had been a pretty unique case for the state of Georgia. When my parents died, they willed me our house - and so it was a package deal. I came with the house for any family willing to try and take me in. The offer attracted all the worst kinds of foster families, and I had suffered all the more for it.

  At least, when I wasn’t with Cecily. While Jeb had been friendly enough to give me a bit of a break from the atrocities that waited for me at home, it was Cecily that really made life worth living.

  At least, that had been the case twelve years ago. Now, I had to wonder if she even remembered me.

  Fortunately for me, that wondering wouldn’t last too terribly long. Once I found out where Cecily worked, I pulled some strings to make sure The Burner got exclusive interview opportunities I’d never given to any publication before - but only under the condition that Cece was the one who conducted the interviews.

  The stipulation had worked like a charm. Now, I just needed to figure out what the hell I was going to do with this opportunity. Even I knew I wasn’t the same kid I’d been twelve years ago. In that time, heavens and earth had all but moved. A poor white trash boy was on top of the world and had hundreds of thousands of employees to show for it.

  Not to mention a woman in every city that I operated in.

  You’d think that little tidbit would make me an even more efficient businessman. When you never had to worry about where your next lay was coming from, you were very rarely sexually frustrated. I’d had the pleasure of being with some of the most gorgeous women the world over...and it had never fulfilled me.

  Sometimes, I felt like a world class idiot. Lying in bed after tumbling a gorgeous ballerina or model as the heat of our bodies cooled and wondering what the hell I was doing. It wasn’t as if I didn’t care for them. There were a couple who had been truly genuine people - and fantastic lays...but none of them were ever the person for me. I always wondered if, perhaps, I’d given that up when I left Georgia.

  Certainly, I was a difficult person to attach oneself to - traveling for two hundred days out of the year, busy more often than not. When I wasn’t out of the country for work, I was usually finding new ways to try and kill myself and I hadn’t yet encountered a woman who was as enthusiastic as me when it came to swimming with animals twenty times my size and jumping out of planes. Any woman who stuck around for more than a week or so quickly discovered that I didn’t wriggle my way out of as many relationships as the tabloids claimed. Plenty of women walked out simply because they were fed up - it was evident that I cared more for my business than I ever had for any of them. And why not? The business wasn’t going anywhere. I’d built it from the ground up - poured my blood, sweat and tears into it. It would remain steadfast even if I didn’t buy it extravagant gifts and fawn over it at every available opportunity. Women were difficult. Business had always come easy to me.

  Almost as easy as things had once been between Cece and me.

  Sure, I’d never slept with Cecily. We were too young and, though my seventeen-year-old self had wanted the hell out of her, I had far more respect for her than that. Cecily was a girl that demanded every iota of respect a man possessed. She filled your soul- opened you up and made you a better person.

  Or maybe I was just bathing the memory of her in golden light because it had been half an age since the last time I saw her.

  Either way, we were now stuck together. I’d signed a contract giving The Burner exclusive rights to a series of interviews, and she would have signed the agreements with an understanding that she was to stay at the manor while the interviews were conducted.

  The thought was enough to make my hands tighten into fists atop my desk as my body heated. My perfectly tailored slacks were suddenly all too tight as I realized just how close I would be to the only woman I’d ever had genuine feelings for. But that, I reminded myself, didn’t mean that I’d be so susceptible to her again. This would be an experiment - one that, luckily enough, I had the resources and the courage to execute.

  Cecily Warner had seduced me once - with her innocence, beauty and enthusiasm. Now, I’d be the one to seduce her. Being under the same roof as Cecily gave me the opportunity to finally put an age-old question to rest. I would conquer any remaining feelings I had for her before they could conquer me, and that would be that.

  When my office phone rang, it provided a much needed reminder that I still had an entire day of work ahead of me. I picked up to Cynthia’s businesslike reminder.

  “Sir, your one o’clock is waiting. Shall I send him in?”

  I glanced up at the clock. Right on time, as usual. “Go ahead, Cynthia.”

  Business would monopolize me for the rest of the day, after which I’d finally get back to Felicia and remind her to come by to pick up her swing. Though, maybe, after a hard day, it’d be best if we tested it a bit - made sure that it was still in perfect working order.

  The smile that I greeted my appointment with came as much from my own fantasies as it did from the genuine enthusiasm of a new business deal in the air.

  I had, indeed, come a long way in twelve years.

  Chapter Three

  ~ Cece

  A week wasn’t nearly enough to prepare myself to span twelve years of time, but the time passed, whether I wanted it to or not. By the time the next Thursday rolled around, Jim was all but shoving me out of the office. I had a plane ticket to Savannah the next morning - where Rhett’s plush, sprawling mansion was located. Though I’d visited Savannah my fair share of times, I couldn’t ever recall seeing so extravagant a building.

  I packed as lightly as I could for a month, telling myself I had no
one to impress. As long as I dressed professionally, everything should go smoothly enough. I chose a loose sweater and leggings for the plane, anticipating the crush and claustrophobia that came from an hour-long flight in coach.

  When I arrived at the airport, however, I was surprised to be taken away from the commercial boarding gates and to the portion of the immense building set aside for private airlines.

  “Mr. Wilder has arranged for his plane to fly you out to the estate, Ms. Warner.” When one of the airport employees told me what was going on, I almost felt the need to protest. I was one person. Savannah was less than an hour away and I could hardly condone something this extravagant. “It’s no trouble at all. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had this done,” she reassured me with a smile that I guessed must have cost a small mint.

  I didn’t know if that made me feel any better. The plane was a small, sleek craft right off the pages of The Richest, and, though I couldn’t deny that the plush leather interior was probably the most luxurious travel accommodation I’d ever experienced, it was a bit ostentatious for me. I was offered a glass of champagne before we took off by a single stewardess that looked like she was carved of marble and took it with extreme reluctance.

  It was...nice. Far too much fuss for a single person and a trip I could have taken by car, but nice. No one would dispute that.

  If this was really the way Rhett lived on a day-to-day basis, his lifestyle couldn’t be more different than mine. I was lucky if I had a chance to make myself a cup of coffee in the morning - I was pretty sure this plane had its own coffee maker, along with a host of other amenities that would never fit into my small apartment.

  When the stewardess returned to take my empty champagne glass, I was struck, for the second time, by just how gorgeous she was. Long blonde hair, icy blue eyes and perfectly full lips. She was what every fashion designer imagined when they came up with their spring wardrobes - much like the airport worker who’d led me onto the tarmac in the first place.

  Frowning, I took out a cosmetic mirror to assess my own reflection. Though I’d gotten my coffee in that morning, I hadn’t bothered to put any makeup on. I assumed a few hours of travel would ruin it. Thusly, I was faced with my own dark circles, freckles and glum scowl.

  Hardly a contribution to the great beauty that seemed to pervade Rhett’s life.

  With a sigh, I shoved my mirror into my bag and grabbed a magazine to read during take-off. I started to see Rhett’s image gazing back at me from the cover. Now that I’d been assigned to interview him, the man seemed to be everywhere. Every store I passed had him in their front window and every TV channel had some segment or the other centered around him.

  This magazine in particular wasn’t very different that The Burner - a gossip rag clinging to the private lives of celebrities. Rhett had made the cover arm-in-arm with some Russian supermodel and I rolled my eyes at the sight of them together. Though I had done my best to ignore the mention of his name over the years, it was common knowledge that he’d been around the world - and then some. Though he’d never actually been tied down, he’d been connected with everyone from politician’s daughters to even a pop princess- but he never stayed with any of them for more than a couple of weeks.

  I didn’t like the thought of the sweet, caring boy I’d once known becoming an international gigolo, but none of that was any of my affair. Rhett wasn’t a child - the pictures of him emblazoned all over every form of print that existed were more than proof of that.

  I ran my fingers lightly over the blonde Adonis on the magazine cover. As handsome as he’d been as a seventeen-year-old boy, as a man, he was devastatingly gorgeous. It made perfect sense that women fell all over him everywhere he went. Rhett had grown into the kind of man that made a woman’s knees weak and her heart flutter. Hell, my heart fluttered looking down into those startlingly blue eyes, and I wasn’t even face to face with him yet.

  This couldn’t bode well.

  The flight was far shorter than I might have liked, and no sooner had I stepped outside at the Savannah airport than I was whisked into a gleaming black car headed for the outskirts of the city. Despite the pep-talk I had been giving myself for the past week, I found myself distinctly nervous.

  He probably won’t remember you. I started up a mantra to calm myself as we drew closer and closer to the manor. And if he doesn’t, you won’t say a word. It’ll make your job easier. Just get the info you need, be a polite houseguest and then get out.

  How did I sense this was going to be easier said than done?

  I’d seen plenty of pictures of Rhett’s estate before I arrived, so I thought I’d be prepared by the time we rolled up the sprawling drive.

  I was wrong.

  It was probably one of the most gorgeous traditional houses I’d ever seen - even if it had been obviously renovated. An old plantation mansion across forty acres of carefully tended gardens, complete with guest house and pool. The building fit perfectly into its Savannah backdrop, all white roman columns, red brick and regal bearing. When I got out of the car, I took a moment, outside my nervousness, to appreciate the architecture and sheer beauty of the place.

  This, unlike a private plane, seemed like quite the investment.

  I didn’t see the dog until it was all but on top of me, and by then, it was too late. Two massive paws hit me somewhere around my waist and I went toppling onto the grass with a yelp of surprise a moment before my nostrils filled with the pungent smell of dog saliva.

  “Mason! Christ, Mason, get off her!”

  The massive, furry animal - some kind of German shepherd mix- seemed pretty damned enthusiastic about having guests. So much so that I couldn’t help but laugh as he proceeded to bathe my face in his particular brand of canine affection. “Mason!” It was a good minute or so before he was hauled from me so I could breathe and I got a good luck at my rescuer.

  My heart stopped.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  Rhett Wilder himself stared down at me, looking every bit a tall, cool glass of lemonade on the blaring summer day. A pair of khakis hugged his long, long legs and a navy polo just managed to encompass a chest that was even more massive than the pictures could express. He had Mason by the collar, his blue eyes reprimanding, chiseled jaw set into a stern line as he tugged the dog backwards. “You know better, Mason. Heel.”

  I’d be lying if I said the authoritative tone of his voice didn’t do something to the most sensitive parts of me. My throat dried as I swallowed thickly - and realized that Rhett was seeing me for the first time in twelve years covered in dog spit and grass stains.

  I could have died of embarrassment. “Christ, are you alright?” The moment he managed to get the dog off me, Rhett bent down to offer his hand, his expression pained. “The gardener usually puts him inside when people come. I don’t know what happened.”

  “I’m fine.” I managed, allowing him to help me up. I didn’t expect Rhett’s grip to be so strong, however, and when he pulled, he all but yanked me up and into his arms. “He’s...um...really into strangers, huh?”

  It was, in all honesty, the lamest greeting I could come up; but to be fair, I was pressed flush against the most solid chest I’d encountered in my twenty-seven years on earth. And Rhett smiled like heaven - a mixture of spicy cologne and the outdoors that made my heart stutter in my chest.

  “Into everybody, really. He’s still a puppy. He hasn’t learned caution yet.” The man was doing nothing at all to separate our bodies, and so I pushed back from him to steady myself, doing the best I could to brush grass and leaves from my leggings.

  “That’s a puppy?”

  Rhett chuckled, his eyes gleaming with devilish mirth. “Seven months. I have the papers to prove it.”

  It was then that I realized that I hadn’t yet introduced myself. I extended my hand with a smile that I hoped was congenial enough, despite my haggard appearance. “I’m Cecily, by the way. Cecily Warner.”

  If anything, the glint in Rhett’s eyes only
grew brighter as he stared at my hand for a moment before reaching out to wrap his fingers around it warmly. “I know who you are, Cece. How could I forget?”

  While my mouth was still open in surprise, he took the liberty of lifting my hand to his mouth to kiss instead of shake it, and a thrill of sensation skittered up my spine. “Wait...what?” I slid my hand quickly from his before I could get too absorbed in the sensation of his mouth against my skin. “You knew it was me. Exactly me?” Jim had forgotten to mention that little tidbit.

  Of course he had.

  “Damn straight I did.” Rhett chuckled, running a hand through his hair in what I supposed was an attempt at humble sheepishness. It only made my mouth water. “I specifically requested that you be the person to interview me.”

  For a good ten seconds, I forgot how to breathe. He had requested me? “How...did you know I worked at The Burner?”

  “Well...I guess I have to be honest: I might have typed your name into Google just to see what came up.”

  It was all I could do to keep from gaping. He’d been looking for me? I could think of very few reasons why a billionaire with all the resources and women he had would do such a thing. “It’s scorching out here. Why don’t we go inside?” Before I could ask any further questions, his arm was around me as he ushered me towards the front door. “I’ll have someone grab your bags for you.”

  There was no way I could protest with his muscular arm draped over my shoulders. I’d had my fair share of men in my time, but none of them had overly impressed me. I tended to go out with guys more on the merit of their intelligence than their looks - I could look past a beer gut or a lazy eye if it meant a man was a good conversationalist. Rhett was on an entirely different level - his entire body one hunk of solid muscle.

  Considering that we hadn’t seen one another in twelve years, it was mighty forward of him to get so close to me. That, and being this close to a man built like him was enough to make any woman lightheaded. I ducked from beneath his arm before he could open the door, gaining a safe few feet in which to catch my breath.