Second Chance with the Billionaire

by Janice Maynard

  Kirby had been too ill to hold his sister and comfort her. Emory was yet to be born. Friends didn’t know what to say to a woman who had lost so much. So she pretended she was strong. She had moved from one day to the next, doggedly doing what had to be done.

  She would never forget Kirby sleeping in a chair during her labor and delivery. He’d been on crutches at that point, twenty pounds lighter and still recovering from a recent surgery. Mrs. Porter had missed the baby’s birth. She’d contracted malaria in the jungle, and her husband had stayed in Bolivia to care for her.

  After Ellie had been in labor for twenty-six hours, Kirby had passed out on the floor beside Ellie’s bed and been admitted to a hospital room of his own. A night nurse with a drill sergeant attitude had coached Ellie through the final hours, smiling triumphantly alongside the exhausted mother when little Emory emerged, healthy and whole.

  Now, in Conor’s arms, all of that seemed like a dream. Ellie’s eyes grew heavy. “This is nice,” she said, the words slurred.

  He kissed her forehead. “Sleep, Ellie. Just sleep.”

  * * *

  When she surfaced the next time, the room was filled with the gray light of predawn. And it was raining. Hard. The steady drumming on the roof brought with it a sensation of coziness and safety.

  Conor snored softly beside her. For a moment, she barely recognized the sensation that slid through her veins in a drowsy river. Happiness. Contentment. Hope.

  Big emotions to hang on one brief moment in time. Conor was being nice to her, that’s all. The challenges she faced still existed outside this bed. Even so, she was prepared to live in the now.

  With her eyes closed, she inhaled the scent of him. Conor. Friend. Confidant. And lover?

  Carefully, she slid her right hand beneath his warm cotton shirt where it had rucked up at his waist. His taut, flat abdomen invited a woman’s touch. He was so real. So alive.

  He moved restlessly in his sleep. Chagrined, she rolled away.

  Though she was very still in the aftermath of her impulsive behavior, she had awakened the beast. He snagged her wrist and dragged her close.

  His eyes heavy lidded, he gazed at her. “I can’t say no to this anymore, Ellie. Because I want you more than my next breath. I’m not the man you need forever... But I could be the guy you need today...if that’s all you want.”

  He would never know the courage it took to answer. “Yes.” As he rolled on his side to face her, her fingertips found his collarbone, his sternum, the soft trail of hair that bisected his chest and led to his belt buckle.

  Conor’s lopsided smile encompassed a wry awareness of all the reasons this was a bad idea. “I’ve wanted you since I was fifteen.”

  “With an extensive time-out in between,” she pointed out.

  Her heart pounded in a jerky rhythm as she deftly unbuttoned the single fastening at his waistband.

  “Years. Minutes. Who cares?” He kissed her hard, his hips moving restlessly against hers. His breathing was harsh and his movements jerky as his hands caressed her breasts through a layer of fabric.

  “Conor...” She whispered his name, caught up in a wave of desire so intense it left her dizzy and disoriented.

  He bit her earlobe, the little spritz of pain sparking through her nervous system. “I’m here.”

  She pressed her hand, palm flat, against his sex...only a couple of layers of fabric between her skin and his. Guilt and pleasure and anticipation jostled for position in her few remaining brain cells.

  Beneath her fingertips, he flexed and hardened. He groaned as she stroked him. The erection that rose hot and hard beneath her touch was not shy. Conor shifted in the bed. “Ellie...”

  The way he said her name, all gruff and demanding, made her hot. She slid her fingers beneath the edge of his pants, not far enough to touch the evidence of his excitement, but enough to toy with the sensitive skin around his navel.

  She moved half on top of him so she could nibble the side of his neck. “The doctor said exercise would be good for me...as a stress reliever.” So far he was letting her set the pace, but she had no illusions. His whole body was tensed for action.

  Lowering his zipper slowly, she heard his sharp intake of breath. Her hand closed around him, feeling the urgency in his sex. Warm skin over hot male need. Elemental. Timeless.

  He cursed softly, even as he swelled in her grasp. “There’s no going back, Ellie. Not after this.” It was a warning, but since his hands kneaded her bottom as he said it, she didn’t put much stock in the words.

  She kissed him full on the mouth, exulting when he took control and pulled her tight against his chest. “I don’t want to go back,” she panted. “The past is over. I want to be selfish and irresponsible.”

  “You don’t know how.”

  He kissed like a dream. For a split second, she hated all the faceless women he’d practiced with. But then his tongue stroked her lower lip and she forgot to care. He held her chin with one big hand, tilting her face toward his, sliding a finger around her jaw to play with her tiny gold hoop earring.

  It would be really embarrassing to come from nothing more than a man touching her earlobe.

  “Um, Conor?” she panted.

  “Yeah?” He released her and levered upward to rip his shirt over his head.

  “I’m on the pill. For medical reasons. And I haven’t slept around.”

  He chuckled hoarsely, kissing the spot where her neck and shoulder met. “I think I knew that. The last part, I mean. You don’t have to worry about me, Ellie.”

  When his teeth raked her skin, she thought she might swoon. Did women do that anymore? Or only ones that slept with Conor?

  Her gown was strangling her. And she was hot. So hot.

  Conor gripped the thin fabric. “Are you attached to this?”

  Her nightwear was made of sheer Swiss cotton. Imported. Very expensive. Something she’d bought last year to remind herself she was still a woman and not only a mom. “Not particularly.”

  Two big hands ripped the batiste from stem to stern. “I’ve always wanted to do that.” She thought he was joking until she saw the intent look on his face. He zeroed in on her breasts, his gaze slightly awed. “You’re beautiful, Ellie...so damned beautiful it makes me ache.”

  She wanted to say thank you or that’s sweet, but all she could do was close her eyes and feel. His touch was reverent but determined. Each of his hands was large enough to cup one of her full breasts.

  Torn between wanting to savor his tenderness and needing to hurry him along, she hung teetering on the edge of something amazing...something she had wanted for a very long time.

  She bit her lip. Speaking seemed unnecessary under the current conditions, but if she didn’t say something, she was worried that Conor might linger too long. “Foreplay is great and all that,” she said, “but I wouldn’t mind if you moved on to the main course.” Her comment was a masterpiece of rational, polite discourse.

  Conor raised a single eyebrow. “Impatient much?”

  She kicked his ankle. “I’ve waited a long time for this.”

  “Not as long as me,” he muttered, finally understanding the urgency of the situation. Lifting his hips, he shed his pants and cotton boxers with the efficiency and speed of a seasoned athlete.

  Now they were both naked.

  He tossed back the covers and reclined on his side. “I think we should savor this.”

  “No.” She lurched at him, managing to bump into a rather impressive body part. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “I was.” He laughed, wincing when she climbed on top of him to smother his face with kisses. “But then again, anticipation is half the pleasure.”

  Ellie placed her hands, palm flat, on his shoulders. “No. It’s not. Pleasure me, Conor. Prove me wrong.”
/>
  * * *

  It was difficult for a man to make smart decisions when his brain was oxygen deprived. He could blame it on the fact that Ellie sat on his chest squashing the air out of him. Or on the fact that his erection was as rigid and solid as the proverbial iron spike because all the available O2 had rushed south in his bloodstream.

  But the truth was, when he looked at Ellie naked, he forgot how to breathe.

  Pleasure me, Conor. He wanted to. God knew he wanted to. Despite his arousal, some nasty little portion of his brain reminded him that this was likely the first time she’d had sex since her husband died.

  What if he couldn’t make her climax? What if she became so distraught in the midst of physically connecting that she had another breakdown? What if she cried because she missed her husband?

  Damn it to hell and back.

  He could pretend Ellie was his teenage fantasy. Maybe that would erase the troubling questions. But he wanted the adult Ellie. The accomplished, beautiful, multidimensional woman who spoke several languages and had a baby and smiled at him with the sweet openness that told him some things never change.

  He gripped her hips. “You mean the world to me, Ellie.” He laid it out there, not wanting her to think this was a toss away...an insignificant moment in the midst of a rough time in her life.

  Above him, her hair fell like silken rain. “I want you, Conor,” she said, her smile both tremulous and confident. “Both the boy I knew and the man you are.”

  Unwittingly, her words echoed his thoughts. “Did you ever wonder?” he asked. “About us being intimate?”

  She grinned. “Of course. I was jealous of you and Kirby. You were both so close, and I wanted that with you.”

  “But the one time you and I tried to be more than friends, you said I wasn’t the kind of guy you wanted.”

  “I was wrong.” Her little wiggle scalded his nerve endings.

  He shifted her, lifting her upward only to pull her down as he joined their bodies. When she slid onto his sex, taking him deep, he closed his eyes. Little flashes of light pulsed with the beat of his heart.

  She was tight and hot and utterly perfect.

  Ellie leaned back on her hands, driving him the slightest bit crazy. She placed her feet flat on the bed and used the purchase to ride him slowly. “I’ll bet you know a lot of kinky stuff about sex. Admit it.”

  He gasped, already on the cusp of coming. “Don’t talk,” he begged.

  Up. And down. “I thought men liked talking. At least during sex.”

  “I like it.” His jaw ached from clenching his teeth. “But I don’t need any more stimulation at the moment.”

  Inward muscles gripped his shaft. “Are you saying we’re good together?”

  “No.”

  She pretended to be hurt, when he knew damned well that she could tell he was straining to keep from crossing the finish line. “That’s not very gallant.” Leaning forward, she nipped one of his flat nipples with sharp teeth. “I’m doing the best I can.”

  From somewhere he found the presence of mind to touch her where it mattered. His targeted caress turned his smart-mouthed tormentor into a needy beggar. Sprawling on his chest, she cried out. “Do something, Conor. I’m dying.”

  He rolled them instantly, shoving her onto her back, driving so deep he saw a red haze. Primal male urges took over. “Whatever you want, Ellie. Whatever you need.”

  After that, there were no words, no time-out, no playful sex talk.

  There was only Ellie.

  Eleven

  Conor surfaced groggily, feeling as if he had finished a challenging downhill slope. His muscles quivered. His body was lax. His breathing struggled to find a normal rhythm.

  And then it came again. The sound that had awakened him. Emory.

  It was seven-thirty. The kid was probably starving.

  Conor moved surreptitiously, sliding out of bed and pulling on his underwear and pants. Ellie slept like the dead, on her back, both arms flung over her head. She had whisker burn on her throat.

  Her naked body was mesmerizing. A painter or sculptor would find her an irresistible subject. Though Ellie complained about her weight, Conor loved her curves. Full breasts, shapely thighs, a butt that was made for a man’s hands.

  She was real and warm and feminine in every way.

  When Emory’s babbles escalated, Conor knew he had to move fast if he wanted Ellie to get more sleep. In the baby’s room, he scooped up the warm, sweetly scented toddler and nuzzled his belly. “Hey, little man. Let’s get you a clean diaper, and Uncle Conor will find you something to eat.”

  Emory’s eyes were huge as he sucked his fist. Conor managed the diaper change without incident. Once the soft pajamas were re-snapped in the careful sequence that required an engineering degree, the two of them escaped down the hall.

  Tucking Emory into the newly purchased high chair, Conor grinned. “You’re a cute kid.”

  Emory’s response was a babbling string of syllables accompanied by drool. His sunny smile made a guy wonder if kids weren’t worth the hassle after all.

  Breakfast was easy. Dry Cheerios. Milk. Chopped up banana. At this rate, Conor would qualify as a baby nutritionist. While Emory polished off the food on his tray, Conor started the coffeepot. Yawning and rubbing a hand over his bare chest, he thought about the woman he’d left behind in the bed. Soft skin. Soft body. Soft everything.

  Bad mistake. Now he had a boner. And it was going to be a very long day. Unless Emory took a nap. That had possibilities.

  When Ellie appeared in the kitchen doorway a half hour later, she was wearing Conor’s T-shirt. It had never looked so good. The neckline gaped, exposing the very spot he had nibbled only hours before.

  The fact that she had supplemented the outfit with a pair of khaki shorts was not a great fashion choice in his opinion. He would have been fine with undies only. Or nothing at all beneath. But since Kirby was coming over at an unspecified time, it was probably a good thing that his sister had shown decorum.

  Ellie’s expression was hard to read. He’d hoped for a smile. Instead, she seemed abashed. Reluctant to meet his eyes. Keeping his face in neutral, he masked his disappointment. Mornings after were not always easy, especially since he and Ellie had made a big change in their relationship last night.

  “I cook a mean waffle,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

  She nodded. “With eggs and bacon?”

  He grinned. “Of course.”

  While Ellie sat with Emory and entertained her son, Conor threw together the meal. He’d built this house for the solitude and the peace. It was disconcerting to realize that having Ellie and Emory here exposed the fact there might be other more important things to consider.

  Family. He was one of seven kids. And he loved his brothers. His mom was a sweetheart, and his dad, despite his many faults, had been a fun parent until he disappeared.

  Conor had never really contemplated building a nest. He played hard and worked hard, and his recreational choices involved the kind of risk-taking adrenaline that made him feel alive. Ellie’s rejection early on had taught him that few women wanted a long-term relationship with a man like him. He was okay with that. Mostly. Responsibilities tied a man down. He wasn’t opposed to that lifestyle. Someday.

  When he set a plate in front of Ellie, she put her hand on his arm. “Thank you, Conor.” She looked up at him with a smile, a smile that knocked him off kilter.

  “For the food?”

  “Of course.” But the mischief dancing in her eyes told a different story. Suddenly, every second of their predawn romp played in his head in vivid color.

  “You’re welcome,” he muttered. “Eat your eggs before they get cold.” He fixed his own plate and took the seat across from her, on the other side of Emory’s high ch
air.

  Silence reigned in the pleasant, sunny kitchen as they made short work of their meals.

  Emory served as an innocent buffer. It was easier to interact with him than to deal with the fallout from what had happened. And damn it, what had happened? A change in the status quo for sure, but it was no big deal. He and Ellie had always enjoyed each other’s company. They had merely taken their friendship one step farther.

  It was late morning when Kirby made an appearance. In the meantime, Ellie had disappeared into her suite, ostensibly to bathe Emory and get him dressed for the day. As far as Conor could tell, she was hiding out.

  Kirby looked good when Conor answered the front door. His buddy’s shoulders were straight, his eyes clear and some of the lines around his mouth had disappeared.

  “Come on in.”

  Kirby sprawled on the sofa, his legs propped on the coffee table. At first glance, you would never know that he wore a prosthesis. He lifted an eyebrow. “Is Ellie here? Or did you run her off?”

  Conor had put on a shirt, but other than that, he was still in climb-out-of-bed mode. He shrugged, dropping onto the love seat across from Kirby. “She’s doing something with the baby.”

  “Did she sleep well?”

  Conor kept his gaze steady. “How should I know? She looked okay at breakfast.” It was up to Ellie to decide who she told about her physical relationship with Conor. She and her twin shared most everything, but Conor wasn’t going to make that call when the subject was such a private one.

  “Hey, guys. Emory wants to say hello.”

  When Ellie walked into the room, Conor had to wonder if she had overheard the conversation.

  Kirby patted the seat beside him. “Here, sis. Let me hold my handsome and superintelligent nephew.”

  Ellie handed him the baby and sat down, curling her legs beneath her. “Your nephew just smeared poo on his changing table.”

  * * *

  She grinned as both men winced in unison. They were each so very masculine and assured. But like most bachelors, there were certain aspects of babyhood that stymied them.