Second Chance with the Billionaire

by Janice Maynard

  * * *

  Conor didn’t know what to do about Ellie. All his life he’d been a smooth operator when it came to women. Flirt with them. Spoil them. Take a few to bed. But until now he hadn’t realized how little those relationships had meant. He’d always been monogamous while involved with someone seriously. When the time came to end it, though, he’d never had his heart broken.

  More importantly, he’d done his best to make sure he hadn’t broken any hearts. He was always up-front with women. If they indicated an interest in home and hearth, he let them down gently and moved on.

  Ellie created a whole new category. He was falling for her. And it wasn’t some nostalgia-driven emotion from the past, although it was becoming more and more clear that his adolescent feelings for his best friend’s sister had been more serious than he knew.

  As a teenager he’d been confused by his response to Ellie. He enjoyed her company and considered her as much a friend as Kirby. But he hadn’t recognized the sexual undercurrent as an indication of something deeper.

  Now, with Ellie back in his life, albeit temporarily, everything clicked. Maybe because he was older and knew what he wanted and needed. Maybe because it was no longer taboo to woo her into his bed.

  Sweat trickled down his back as he swung his ax to split a log. The pile of firewood at his side grew rapidly, ready for a season that was still weeks in the future. He liked the physical labor. It helped clear his head. It burned off some of the restless energy that plagued him.

  What it didn’t do was reveal answers.

  Tonight, when Emory was in bed, it was time for Conor to talk straight with his tempestuous houseguest.

  * * *

  Ellie was both intrigued and on edge when Conor asked her to dress for dinner. She chose a sleeveless champagne silk tank dress that was entirely plain in the front but cut almost to her waist in back. The style made it impossible to wear a bra. Thankfully, her full breasts were firm and high.

  She owned a small collection of good jewelry she had inherited from her grandmother Porter. From a glittery pile of bracelets and pendants, she chose a single long strand of pearls. They had been her grandmother’s wedding gift from her husband. In today’s market, the necklace would be obscenely expensive. To Ellie, the perfectly matched pearls were priceless.

  Emory went to bed at seven most nights, so the adults were able to eat in peace. Over the elegant meal served in Conor’s seldom-used dining room, they managed civil conversation. It helped that his housekeeper was present. The older woman had prepared a sophisticated version of baked pheasant with fresh summer vegetables as accompaniments.

  The table was a work of art. Cream linen cloth, handmade dishes in shades of saffron and dark brown. Matching chunky candlesticks with beeswax tapers. The silverware was heavy and looked old. In deference to Ellie’s concussion, water, not wine, flowed freely throughout the evening, served in amber goblets that surely weighed at least a pound each.

  When she complimented the presentation, Conor grimaced. “Not long after I finished the house, my four sisters-in-law took it upon themselves to add what they said were necessary touches. It seemed to make them happy, so I gave them free rein.”

  “I think they did a great job. The house suits you...and the extra touches, too.”

  Making small talk with Conor was not easy. Their earlier argument had left them both on edge. Maybe they should always have one of Conor’s employees nearby to act as referee or to keep the erotic subtext at bay.

  Ellie had deliberately chosen to tamp down her pain and her frustration. Some wild part of her decided to live recklessly. If life was going to continually slap her in the face, she might as well enjoy the bright spots. And Conor Kavanagh was definitely a bright spot.

  His dark suit was a masterpiece of understatement. He wore it as comfortably as he did everything else. Perhaps it was his animal grace that made him seem so at home in his own skin. He moved with confidence and concealed power, a beautifully masculine creature, incapable of being tamed.

  To her credit, she understood his pursuit of adventure, even if she didn’t like it.

  After the main course was cleared, they feasted on strawberry shortcake. Ellie groaned, pushing hers aside, half-eaten. “You can finish mine,” she said. “I’m stuffed, and besides, I happen to know you have an enviable metabolism.”

  “I’m shocked, Ellie. Was that an oblique compliment? I should ply you with wine more often.”

  “It was water, remember?” She knew he was teasing her, but in truth, the room spun ever so slightly. Was she trying to bolster her courage for what might seem an outrageous request?

  At last, the quiet, efficient employee said her goodbyes and drove away. The house fell silent. Somewhere outside, a coyote howled in the distance. The sound sent a shiver down Ellie’s spine. She was alone with Conor, absolutely alone. His property was so secluded they would have no interruptions.

  He tapped a fork on the tablecloth absentmindedly, gazing down at a cup of coffee he hadn’t bothered to drink.

  Her skin felt hot and tight. She recognized her need for his touch even as she loathed her weakness. She was angry with him. Furious, in fact. For taking his precious life so lightly.

  But apparently her libido was not so judgmental.

  She wanted to clear the table or wash dishes or put away food...anything to occupy her hands and shatter the bubble of intimacy created by candlelight. But Conor’s housekeeper had taken care of every detail. There was nothing for Ellie to do. Nothing but ache for Conor.

  “I should go to bed,” she said. “Emory will be up early.”

  Conor lifted his head, his heavy-lidded eyes world-weary and determined. “No games, Ellie. You and I have some things to discuss.”

  She lifted a shoulder, making the pearls slide across her chest. “I think we’ve said it all.” It didn’t escape her notice that Conor’s gaze lingered a moment too long on the movement of the necklace and the way it curved around one breast.

  Paradoxically, his urbane clothing and suave manners reminded her that beneath the trappings of civilization lay the man who had made love to her with single-minded abandon. She could see the evidence in his tight jaw and arrogant posture.

  He was not happy with her.

  Well, that was too damn bad. She wasn’t happy with him, either.

  He leaned back in his chair, lifting his water glass and taking a slow sip, eyeing her over the rim. When he put his drink back on the table, she wanted to crawl across the four feet that separated them and lick the moisture from his beautiful sculpted lips.

  Bad girl. Bad Ellie.

  Perhaps he could read her mind. Because a glint of amusement broke through his solemn regard. “Here’s the thing, Ellie. You and I aren’t exactly a match made in heaven. I think we could go further with this if either of us was willing to bend. But since that doesn’t seem to be the case, I propose détente.”

  “Under what conditions?” Her legs quivered. Beneath the concealing edge of the tablecloth, she pressed a hand to her abdomen, striving unsuccessfully to control the swarm of butterflies that had taken residence there.

  “Sex,” he said bluntly. “Any way you want it.”

  “And nothing else?”

  “I’m not willing to get serious with a woman who still lives with a ghost in her bed and who won’t have me as I am.”

  The blunt criticism brought quick tears to her eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped. “But it’s just as well, because I’m not willing to get serious with a man who’s a reckless lunatic.”

  “Thank God we’re both on the same page.” His sarcasm was biting.

  “You don’t have to make such a noble sacrifice,” she snapped. “I won’t be here much longer. Surely you can sublimate your need for sex.”

  He shrugged
. “It’s not a need for sex, Ellie. It’s a need for you.”

  * * *

  Ellie shouldn’t have been surprised, but Conor saw shock flicker in her eyes. Tonight she looked like a princess. Her dress managed to conceal just enough to make a man go insane. He wanted to slide his hands over that silk and mold it to her curves and valleys.

  Then he wanted to strip her bare.

  The pearls were a nice touch. Perhaps he would let her wear those and nothing else.

  His collar choked him. His heart racketed away in his chest, belying the fact that his aerobic capabilities were above average. Rising to his feet, he put one hand on the table to steady himself. “Come here,” he demanded.

  When she stood, he inhaled sharply. “Closer,” he said.

  She came to within inches of where he was standing, so near he could smell the faint perfume on her skin. “I’m here,” she said quietly. “Now what?”

  How far would she let him go? “Unbutton my shirt.”

  One blink of those long, thick eyelashes was her only reaction. Her fingers went to the buttons at his chest and slid them, one at a time, through the buttonholes. When she touched his bare skin in passing, his erection grew harder and his knees grew weak.

  When she was done, her hands fell to her sides. She lifted an eyebrow as if to mock him. “Next?”

  “Remove my tie.”

  Her hair brushed his chin when she reached up to struggle with the knot. At last, she managed to undo it, and then slid the expensive strip of red paisley from around his neck. She held it for a moment, her expression indecisive. Then she reached out and stuffed it in his hip pocket.

  Neither of them acknowledged the fact that her fingers made indirect contact with his sex. But Ellie’s cheeks flushed.

  He swallowed. “Take off your shoes and bend over the table.” He didn’t really think she would do it. Any second now she would balk.

  But he was wrong.

  After only a moment’s hesitation, she kicked off her sexy heels and turned her back to him. Carefully sliding the candles and the few remaining cups and glasses to the far end of the table, she then did as he had commanded. Her legs were splayed eight inches or so to keep her balance. She spread her arms above her head, palms down.

  Sweet God in heaven.

  The couture garment gaped now, the fabric almost sliding off her shoulders. He put one hand at the top of her spine and caressed her from nape to ass. “I like the view,” he muttered.

  They were both fully clothed, except for her shoes. But he was more aroused than he had ever been in his life. He cleared his throat. “I know you aren’t wearing a bra. Is there any other underwear I should know about?”

  She gave him a sizzling glance over her shoulder. “Feel free to find out.”

  The little tease wasn’t going to get the upper hand. He planned to drive her wild. Just as soon as he remembered how to breathe.

  Carefully, he lifted the silky hem of her dress and crumpled it in his left hand. With his right, he stroked the backs of her thighs. Ellie made a garbled noise and crossed her arms, burying her face.

  “Problem?” he asked. This position stoked his desire, sending it spiraling higher.

  Ellie shook her head but didn’t speak.

  He took that as license to continue. With his thumb, he traced the creases at the backs of her knees. Her skin was softer than the fabric in his hand. Releasing the dress, he put both hands on her legs. Her thighs were firm and womanly.

  “Don’t move,” he groaned. “I’m about to discover what’s under this dress.”

  Thirteen

  Ellie whimpered and bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep from repeating such an embarrassing sound. She knew Conor had a playful side. But this kinky stuff was a facet of him she hadn’t anticipated. He deserved to know the truth about her feelings for Kevin, but she couldn’t bring herself to talk about it. Kevin was Emory’s father. Conor was Ellie’s lover. How had she let her life get so complicated?

  When she felt the brush of Conor’s fingers between her thighs, she gave up soul-searching. She had spent too many hours thinking and worrying and not enough time enjoying life.

  With Conor, that was not going to be a problem.

  Scalding heat spread from everywhere he touched. His fingertips were gentle as he explored the center panel of her undies. The satin underpants were bikini cut but not particularly daring. Nevertheless, she suddenly felt like the sexiest woman on the planet.

  He pressed gently as he leaned over her and kissed the center of her spine. “This is so much better than fighting,” he muttered.

  The weight of him on her back stole her breath but in a good way. “Don’t bring up touchy subjects,” she said, only half joking. “I’m trying to pretend you’re my knight in shining armor.”

  Now, a single finger trespassed beneath the edge of her underwear and stroked gently. She was damp. And needy.

  Conor’s voice came hoarse and rough, his breath hot on the bare skin of her back. “I’ve never seen a woman less in need of rescuing. You’re strong enough and brave enough to storm any castle. But I’d like to help if you’ll let me.”

  He’d caught her at her weakest moment and said something so damned sweet she wanted to cry. To talk about Kevin’s death would make her so vulnerable and naked she was afraid she might shatter and never find all the pieces.

  “You have helped,” she whispered. “You are helping.”

  Conversation ended as he thrust inside her body with first a single finger and then two. She moaned and moved against his hand, caught up in the magic that was Conor.

  Suddenly, the weight at her back disappeared. She felt him drag the panties down her legs. He helped her step out of the small piece of cloth.

  This morning he had ripped her nightgown. Now he was unbearably tender and gentle with her. Taking her by the shoulders, he brought her upright and turned her to face him. “You can trust me, Ellie.”

  His face was so serious, so dear. In his eyes she saw echoes of the boy who had been her best friend, along with Kirby. She did trust Conor. In almost every way that mattered. But she couldn’t trust him not to die.

  Lifting onto her tiptoes, she kissed him. His lips were firm and tasted of strawberries. “Take me to bed, Conor.”

  She wondered if he would have preferred his own room, but he didn’t ask. They could have moved the baby monitor down the hall, but she had to admit that being close to her son made her feel more secure.

  They walked hand in hand the short distance to the guest suite. Once inside her bedroom, Conor closed the door and kicked off his shoes. When she would have removed her dress, he stopped her. “Let me.”

  A short zipper at the base of her spine was designed to allow the dress to slide down over her hips. Conor lowered the tab but went no farther. He faced her, arms loosely around her waist. He kissed her nose, her eyebrows, the spot beneath her ear that made her shiver.

  Ellie looked up at him, searching his face for answers. Why did being with Conor seem so very natural and right? She sighed, resting her cheek on his chest. “I wonder what would have happened all those years ago if I had kissed you more than that one time when we were both sixteen.”

  His hand tangled in her hair. She felt the rumble of his laughter. “Probably something we both would have regretted. I thought about you night and day. If we had done any serious fooling around, I might have imploded. Teenage boys aren’t known for their self-control.”

  “I like the man you’ve become.”

  “Careful, sweetheart. All this praise will go to my head.”

  “I’m serious.” She slid her hands inside his shirt. His skin was hot and smooth over hard muscle. There was a part of her that wanted to let Conor erase all of her worries. To lean on him and let him fight her battles. To play t
he helpless female.

  But that was a role she’d never embraced in her life. She and Kirby had been treated as equals by their parents. No special favors for being a girl. She had learned at an early age that tears were unacceptable as a means of getting her way.

  In college she had been stunned to watch so many young women manipulate guys with sex. Even as an eighteen-year-old, she had known that was wrong. A man and a woman should stand on equal footing in a relationship. Sex shouldn’t be a bargaining chip.

  “I’m still dressed,” she said, leaning into him and stroking his back. When she slid her fingers into the waistband of his pants, she felt him shudder.

  “Is that a complaint?”

  “More of an observation.”

  “I can remedy that.”

  Carefully, he slid the dress from her shoulders and down her legs, holding her hand so she could step out of it. While she stood naked, he draped the silk over a nearby chair.

  He took a step backward and leaned against the dresser, his hot gaze roving from her candy-apple-red toenails to the pulse that beat in her throat. The heat in his regard scalded her. She put her hands over her belly. “Don’t stare. I’ve still got baby weight. I won’t ever again be that teenage girl you wanted.”

  Now he scowled. “Stop it. You have no idea what you’re saying. Hell, Ellie.” He took her by the wrist and dragged her in front of the mirror. “Look at what I see.”

  She did look. And her eyes widened at the image of the man in crisp black-and-white. He was sophisticated. Handsome. Compelling. His smile held a dollop of arrogance mixed with the trademark humor that was Conor. “I feel a little at a disadvantage,” she croaked.

  It was disconcerting to see her nipples furled tightly, as if eagerly awaiting a lover’s touch.

  Conor moved behind her and encircled her with his arms. When his hands settled on her soft belly, she flinched and tried to shrug free. But he held her easily. “You have a woman’s body, Ellie. A body that created and nurtured life. Do you know how magical that is? Don’t ever apologize for the evidence of your sacrifice. To me, it’s extraordinary.”