Reunited with the Rebel Billionaire

by Catherine Mann

  And they’d done it together. They’d transformed this deteriorating five-thousand-square-foot house into a home.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to start a fight. Adelaide was a huge help during a really long day. Let’s just get through the evening. It’s harder and harder to pretend there’s nothing wrong between us.”

  Something was off with her today, but he couldn’t tell what. It was clear enough, though, that she was trying to pick a fight with him.

  “I don’t want to fight with you, either.” He didn’t know what the hell he wanted anymore other than to have things the way they were.

  “You used to love a good argument with me. Only me. You get along with everyone else. I never understood that.”

  “We had fire, you and I.” It had been a sizzling love. One that warmed him to his damn core. And he knew there was still a spark in the embers. He couldn’t believe it was all gone.

  “Had, Henri. That’s my point. It’s over, and you need to quit making excuses to delay the final step.” Ferocity returned to her fairylike features. A warrior in blue silk and sequins.

  “Not excuses. You needed to recover. Then we agreed we wouldn’t do anything that would disrupt the start of the season. Then with my brother’s wedding on the horizon—”

  “Excuses. Divorce isn’t the end of the world.” She pinned up a curl that had escaped the confines of the delicate braid binding the others into place.

  Everything about her these days was carefully put together so that no one saw a hint of the turmoil beneath. For months he’d respected that. Understood she was the one calling the shots with her health issues. But how could she deny herself any help? Ever? She’d made it clear he didn’t know how to be the least bit of assistance.

  And now, divorce was the recurring refrain.

  “Our family is in the spotlight. A split between us would eat up positive oxygen in the press.” He needed her to take a deep breath. They needed to figure out everything. He needed to stall.

  She turned back around, using the mirror to smooth her dress. “No one is going to think poorly of you for leaving me. I will make it clear I’m the one who asked for the divorce.”

  Anger boiled, heating his cheeks. “I don’t give a damn what people think about me.”

  “But you do care about your team. I understand.” He picked up on the implication of her words. That he didn’t care about her. And that couldn’t be farther off base. She was still trying to pick a fight. To widen the gap between them.

  “We’re going to be late.” The tone of his voice was soft. Almost like a whisper. He wanted to calm her down, to stop this from turning into an unnecessary fight. Something was upsetting her. Something major.

  As much as he wanted to understand her, he couldn’t. The party was about to start and he didn’t have the time to unwrap the subtle meaning of all her words.

  All he wanted was to have their old life back instead of silently cohabitating and putting on a front for the world. He longed for her to look at him the way she used to, with that smile that said as much as she enjoyed the party, she savored their time alone together even more. He ached for their relationship to be as uncomplicated as it once was when they traveled the country for the season, traveled the world in the off-season. They both enjoyed history and art. Sightseeing on hikes, whether to see Stonehenge or the Great Wall of China.

  Tapping the back of her dress, he met her gaze in the mirror, holding her tawny eyes and reveling in the way her pupils widened with unmistakable desire. Settling his hands back on her shoulders, he breathed against her ear and neck. “Unless you would like me to take the zipper back down again.”

  Her lashes fluttered shut for a second and a softness entered her normally clenched jaw. In that brief moment, he thought this might be how they closed the gap.

  Instead, her eyelids flew open and she shimmied out from underneath his hands. “No, thank you. I have a fund-raiser to oversee. And then make no mistake, we need to set a firm date to see our attorney and end the marriage.”

  Two

  Fiona picked at sequins on her dress as Henri steered their Maserati through the gates and toward the huge Greek Revival mansion on the hill. She’d lived just down the road from that house once, she and Henri in their wing and his youngest brother, Jean-Pierre, in another. Both wings were large enough for privacy. Both easily big enough to fit four of the homes she’d grown up in, and her family had been wealthy enough to impress, with her father owning a midsize accounting firm.

  But once her honeymoon phase had worn off with Henri and she’d realized she wasn’t pregnant, they’d begun trying for a baby in earnest. That mammoth mansion had grown more claustrophobic with each failed attempt. Then with each fertility treatment. There’d been miscarriages they hadn’t even told the family about. So many more health heartaches they hadn’t shared with his family.

  After her very public miscarriage in her second trimester, he’d bought them the house in the Garden District to give them both space from the Reynaud fishbowl lifestyle. Their emotions had been bubbling over far too often, in good and bad ways.

  Living here? It was just too difficult. Spanish moss trailed like bridal veils from live oak trees on either side of the private driveway leading into the Reynaud estate on Lake Pontchartrain. It was in an exclusive section of Metairie, Louisiana, west of the city. Pontoon boats were moored in shallow waters while long docks stretched into the low-lying mist that often settled on the surface, sea grass spiking through and hiding local creatures. The gardens were lush and verdant, the ground fertile. Gardeners had to work overtime to hold back the Louisiana undergrowth that could take over in no time. The place was large, looming—alive.

  She glanced at her too-damn-handsome husband as he steered their sports car up the winding drive toward the original home on the family complex, the place where Henri and his brothers had spent time in their youth. Gervais, the oldest brother, and his fiancée lived here now, and the couple had allowed Fiona to host her event on the property.

  Henri’s tailored Brioni tuxedo fit his hard, muscled body well. His square jaw was cleanly shaved, his handsome face the kind that could have graced a GQ cover. Her attraction to him hadn’t changed, but so much had shifted between them since their impulsive elopement three years ago. While she didn’t care about missing out on a large wedding, she did wonder if things might have turned out differently if they’d waited longer, gotten to know each other better before the stress piled on.

  Now they would never know.

  He bypassed the valet and opted to park in the family garage. The steel door slid open to reveal a black Range Rover and a Ferrari facing forward, shiny with polish, grills glistening. He backed into an open space, the massive garage stretching off to the side filled with recreational vehicles. The boats and Jet Skis were down in the boathouse at the dock. This family loved their toys. They played hard. Lived large. And loved full-out.

  Losing Henri already left a hole in her life. Losing this family would leave another.

  She swallowed down a lump as the garage door slid closed and he shut off the vehicle.

  “Fiona?” He thumbed the top of the steering wheel. “Thank you for keeping up the happy couple act in public. I know things haven’t been easy between us.”

  “This fund-raiser means a lot to me.”

  “Of course it does.” His mouth went tight and she realized she’d hurt him.

  How could they be so certain things were over and still have the power to hurt each other with a stray word? “I appreciate that your connections make this possible.”

  He glanced at her, smoothing his lapel. “You throw a great party that wins over a crowd not easily wowed.”

  “I owe Adelaide for her help today.”

  “When your car broke down.”

  She nodded tightly, the lie stic
king in her throat.

  He reached out to touch a curl and let it loosely wrap around his finger as if with a will of its own. “You look incredible tonight. Gorgeous.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Any chance you’re interested in indulging in some make-up sex, even if only temporary?”

  The offer was tempting, mouthwateringly so, as she took in the sight of her husband’s broad shoulders, was seduced by the gentle touch of his fingers rubbing just one curl.

  “We need to get inside.”

  His mocha-colored eyes lingered on her mouth as tangibly as any kiss, setting her senses on fire. “Of course. Just know the offer stands.”

  He winked before smoothly sliding out of the car and moving around to the passenger side with the speed and grace that served him well on the ball field. Her skin still tingled from the thought of having sex with him again. They’d been so very good together in bed, with a chemistry that was off the charts.

  Would that change because of her surgery? It was a risk she’d never been able to bring herself to take.

  Just the thought had her gut knotting with nerves. But the next thing she knew, her silver Jimmy Choo heels were clicking along to the side entrance and across the foyer’s marble floors. The space was filled with people from corner to corner, chatter and music from the grand piano echoing up to the high ceiling. The party was in full swing. The place was packed, people standing so close together they were pushed up against walls with hand-painted murals depicting a fox hunt.

  Once upon a time she’d lived for these parties. But right now, she wanted to grab the banister and run up the huge staircase with a landing so large it fit a small sofa for casual chitchat in the corner.

  Her hand tucked in Henri’s arm, she went on autopilot party mode, nodding and answering people’s greetings. She and Henri had played this game often, fooling others. She had to admit that while women chased him unabashedly, his gaze never strayed. He was a man of honor. His father’s infidelities had left a mark on him. Henri had made it clear he would never cheat—even when the love had left their marriage.

  No, she couldn’t let her thoughts go there. To the end of love and of them. At least, not while they were in public. Too many people were counting on her. While planning this fund-raiser had served as a distraction from the widening gap between her and Henri, the whole event still had to be properly executed.

  Time to investigate her handiwork. Excusing herself, Fiona walked over to the favor table. Turquoise boxes with silver calligraphic font reading “Love at First Woof” lined the table. Laughing inwardly, she picked up one of the boxes. This one was wrapped in a white ribbon. She opened the box, pleased to find the pewter dog earrings staring back at her. Satisfied, she retied the bow, set the box on the table, and picked up a box wrapped with black ribbon. To her relief, the pewter paw tie tacks were in there, as well. Good. The favors were even cuter than she had remembered.

  Fiona’s gaze flicked to the service dogs from a rescue organization. They sat at attention, eyes watchful and warm. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the plates of food in the dining room. People were gathered around the food, scooping crab cakes and chicken skewers onto their plates.

  Convinced that everything was more than in order, she surveyed further, walking into a more casual family space with an entertainment bar and Palladian windows overlooking the pool and grounds.

  No detail had been missed thanks to the highly efficient catering staff she’d hired and Adelaide had overseen. Smiling faintly, Fiona peered outside at the twinkling doghouse situated just beyond the luxurious in-ground pool. The doghouse was a scale replica of the Reynaud mansion, and it was going to the shelter after tonight. But for now, it lit the grounds and housed hand-painted water bowls for the shelter dogs. Four of the shelter dogs walked around the pool, enjoying all the attention and affection from the guests.

  People were spread out. Laughter floated on the breeze, and so did snippets of conversation. A small Jack Russell terrier was lazily stretched on Mrs. Daniza’s lap. A fuzzy white dog was curled up, fast asleep, beneath Jack Rani’s chair. The dogs were winning over friends with deep pockets.

  Everything appeared to be in order. But then again, Fiona knew firsthand the difference between appearances and actual reality.

  Sadness washed over her. Grabbing a glass of water from a nearby beverage station, she continued on as Henri went to speak to his brothers. Movement was good. Movement was necessary. The busier she stayed, the less her emotions would sting through her veins.

  And it was as if the world knew she needed a distraction. As she slipped out onto the pool deck, she saw two of her favorite Hurricanes’ players—wide receiver “Wild Card” Wade and “Freight Train” Freddy. Not only did they inspire her with how much of their time they donated to worthwhile causes, the two men always made her laugh.

  It seemed that tonight would be no exception. Freight Train was in a black suit, but his tie had dog butts all over it and his belt buckle was a silver paw print. He and Wild Card were posing for pictures with two of the shelter dogs. Their energy was contagious.

  Directly across from Freight Train and Wild Card were the Texas branch of the Reynaud clan. When fund-raisers or troubles arose, despite the complicated and sometimes strained relationships, they jumped in. The two Texas boys were sipping wine and talking to a Louisiana senator. The cousins were supporting their relative who played for the Hurricanes. Brant Reynaud wore his ever-present small yellow rosebud on his lapel.

  Everyone was out in full force to support her latest cause. She would miss this sense of family.

  Landscape lighting highlighted ornamental plantings and statues. She checked the outdoor kitchen to one side of the pool to make sure all was in order. The hearth area was unmistakably popular, a fire already ablaze in the stone surround. Built-in stone seating was covered with thick cushions and protected by a pergola with a casual wrought-iron framework. The Reynaud brothers were there. Well, at least two of them. Fiona watched as Gervais waved Henri over.

  One of the things that amused Fiona was the sheer amount of posturing the boys did when they were around each other. They loved each other—there was no doubt about that. But the brothers were all driven and natural-born competitors.

  They were all tall, with athletic builds, dark eyes and even darker hair, thick and lush. While Gervais, Henri and Jean-Pierre were full brothers, Dempsey was the result of one of their father’s affairs. The brothers had each gotten their mother’s hair coloring, while their father had donated his size and strength.

  The semicircle of the Reynaud clan was an elegant one. Gervais, the most refined of the brothers, was at ease in his role as oldest, leader of the pack. Erika, his fiancée, laid a gentle hand on Gervais’s forearm as she leaned into the conversation. The light from the hearth caught on her silver rings and cushion-cut diamond engagement ring. One would likely never guess Erika had served in her home country’s military, although her princess bearing was entirely clear.

  To Gervais’s immediate left stood Dempsey, ever-present football pin on the lapel of his tuxedo, with lovely, efficient Adelaide at his side.

  Fiona told herself that she was lucky not to have to work. That she made a positive impact in the world with her volunteer philanthropic efforts. Not holding down a regular job outside the home also enabled her to travel with her husband. She helped organize outings for the other family members who traveled with the Hurricanes, as well. Keeping the players and their families happy kept the team focused and out of trouble.

  She looked around at the packed event, a total success. Anyone would think she had a full life.

  Except she couldn’t bring herself to have sex with her husband. She’d been so certain the surgery was the right decision. She’d gone to counseling before and after. Her husband had been completely supportive.

  And still the
distance between them had grown wider and wider these past months, emphasizing how little they knew about each other. They’d married because of infatuation, great sex, a shared love of art and a pregnancy scare that sped up the wedding date.

  Now that the initial glow of infatuation had passed and they didn’t even have sex to carry them through the rough patches, a common love for gallery showings wasn’t enough to hold them together. Their marriage was floundering. Badly. She needed to keep in mind how dangerous it would be to let her guard down around a man who had worked hard to take care of her through her decision.

  And with a cancer scare looming over her today, she couldn’t bear the thought that he would stay with her out of sympathy.

  * * *

  Henri wasn’t in much of a party mood, no matter how much his brothers elbowed him and teased him about his latest fumble. His Texas cousins weren’t cutting him any slack, either.

  He’d been thinking about the divorce his wife insisted on pursuing.

  While the love had left their marriage, he’d heard plenty say that marriage had ups and downs. He wasn’t a quitter. And damn it all, he still burned to have her.

  His gaze skimmed the guests around the pool, landing on his wife. Her trailing curls and slim curves called to him, reminding him of the enticing feel of her back as he’d tugged her zipper up.

  She smiled at whomever she spoke to—a man with his back to the rest of the crowd—and nodded as she walked away. The man turned and Henri’s breath froze in his chest. He knew the man well. Dr. Carlson was a partner in the practice Fiona used to see before they’d transferred her to another physician for the surgery.

  Fear jelling in his gut, Henri charged away from his brothers and cousins, shouldering through the crowd to his wife.

  “Henri—”

  He grasped her arm and guided her toward the shore of Lake Pontchartrain. “In a moment. When no one can overhear us.”