Reunited With The Rebel Billionaire

Henri needed to touch her, to wrap her in his arms.

She was sexy—a tangle of tousled hair and pure fire. And in this setting—in the middle of the garden in that peach dress—she looked like a nymph those classical artists were always capturing.

He could sense the answering awareness in her, a heat she’d denied too often these past months. Now, extending a hand, he trailed it along the length of her lithe arm. Gentle pressure, the kind that used to drive her wild with anticipation. She turned to face him, leaning into his light touch.

Reaching for her hand, he threaded his fingers through hers, locking them together in that one, small way. He was holding on to her.

Could he hold on to them?

* * *

Reunited with the Rebel Billionaire is part of the Bayou Billionaires series: Secrets and scandal are a Cajun family legacy for the Reynaud brothers!

Reunited with

the Rebel

Billionaire

Catherine Mann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

USA TODAY bestselling author CATHERINE MANN has penned over fifty novels, released in more than twenty countries. A RITA® Award winner, she holds a master’s degree in theater and enjoys bringing that dramatic flair to her stories. Catherine and her military husband live in Florida, where they brought up their four children. Their nest didn’t stay empty long, though, as Catherine is president of the Sunshine State Animal Rescue. For more information, visit www.catherinemann.com.

To Dannielle—a strong, proactive survivor with one of the most generous hearts I’ve ever encountered. You inspire me.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Extract

Copyright

One

Fiona Harper-Reynaud was married to American Sports magazine’s “Hottest Athlete of the Year” for two years running.

She hadn’t married the New Orleans Hurricanes’ star quarterback for his looks. In fact, she’d always been drawn to the academic sort more than the jock type. But when that jock happened to be visiting an art gallery fund-raiser she’d been hosting for her father, she’d been intrigued. When Henri Reynaud had shown an appreciation and understanding of the nuances of botanic versus scenic art, she’d fallen hook, line and sinker into those dreamy, intelligent dark eyes of his. His eyes were the color of coffee and carried just as strong a jolt.

Still, she’d held back because of her own history with relationships, and yes, two broken engagements. Held back for all of a couple of weeks. And ever since then her life hadn’t stopped spiraling out of control.

Sure, they’d eloped because they’d thought she was pregnant. But she’d loved him so intensely, so passionately, reason scattered like petals from a windswept azalea. They hadn’t realized until it was too late they had no substantive foundation in their marriage when difficult times came their way. And what little base they’d built upon had crumbled quickly.

Especially right now.

In two short hours, Fiona would be greeting the elite community of New Orleans for her latest fund-raiser, purely in a volunteer capacity. Any time a foundation offered to pay, she donated the funds back to the charity. She believed deeply in the causes she supported and was grateful to have the wealth and time to help.

But the pressure of the high-glitz affair wasn’t what rattled her. The doctor visit today had her scared, and more determined than ever she couldn’t continue a marriage built on anything but love. Certainly not built only on obligation.

She switched her phone to speaker and placed it on the antique dresser, one of many beautiful pieces in the home she shared with Henri in New Orleans’s gracious and historic Garden District. Her eyes lingered on the crystal-framed photograph of her with Henri from a trip they’d taken to Paris a few years back. Their smiles caught her off guard.

Had her life ever been that happy? The version of herself in the photograph felt like a stranger now.

She’d been so focused on the photograph, she almost forgot she was on the phone with Adelaide, her future sister-in-law and longtime personal assistant to Henri’s half brother Dempsey. At long last the two were engaged. Their love had taken longer to bloom, unlike Henri’s impulsive proposal to Fiona.

Blinking, Fiona shifted her attention back to the conversation. To her family. She internally laughed at that thought. Family implied closeness and solidarity. Instead of that, she felt numbingly alone and isolated.

And there was no reason for that. The Reynaud family was large and the majority of them resided right here in New Orleans. Two of her husband’s brothers lived in a private compound of homes on Lake Pontchartrain. And they’d be at that compound tonight for the fund-raiser.

Star athletes, celebrities and politicians would gather and mingle for Fiona’s newest cause. Conversation would fill the air. And if her past events were any indication, she would raise the funds necessary to open up the new animal shelter.

She perched on the delicate Victorian settee at the end of her four-poster bed. She pulled on one thigh-high stocking as she listened to her future sister-in-law rattle off the wines, liquors and other beverages delivered.

Still caught in the past, when she’d fallen hard for Henri Reynaud, she rolled the silk socking up her other leg. Henri had chased her relentlessly until she’d begun to believe him when he said he adored her mind every bit as much as her body.

Her body.

Hands shaking, she tugged the band on her thigh into place. She couldn’t afford to think about those days before their marriage turned rocky, only to have him stay with her because of her health. She respected his honor, even as it hurt her to the core to lose his love. But she couldn’t accept anything less than honest emotion.

Which meant she had to keep her secret. She tugged a wrinkle from her stocking and continued her phone conversation with Adelaide. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me out with tonight’s fund-raiser.”

“Glad to lend my help. I wish you would ask more often.”

“I didn’t want to impose or make you feel pressured before when Dempsey was your boss.” She’d known Adelaide for years, but only recently had they all learned of her romance with Dempsey Reynaud.

“But now that we’re going to be sisters-in-law, I’m fair game?”

“Oh, um, I’m sorry.” Her mind was so jumbled today. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”

“No need to apologize,” Adelaide said, laughing softly. “Truly. I was just teasing. I’m really glad to lend a hand. It’s a great cause. You do so much for charity—it’s an inspiration.”

“Well, I would have been an inspiring failure if not for your help today setting up the party at the compound.” The main family compound on Lake Pontchartrain was larger and more ornate than Fiona and Henri’s personal getaway. They’d purchased the place for privacy, a space she could decorate in her own antique, airy style in contrast to the palatial Greek Revival and Italianate mansions that made up the bulk of the family compound. She was grateful for the privacy right now as she readied herself for the party and steadied her nerves.

“Emergencies crop up for everyone. Did you sort things out with your car?” Traces of concern laced Adelaide’s voice.

Fiona winced. She didn’t like lying to people, but if she admitted to seeing the doctor today that would trigger questions she was still too shaken to answer. After years of fertility treatments, she was used to keeping her medical history and heartbreak secret. “All is well, Adelaide. Thank you.”

Or at least she hoped all was well. The doctor told her she shouldn’t worry.

Easier said than done after all she had been through. Worrying had become her natural state, her automatic reflex lately.

“Glad to hear it. I emailed you the changes made to the menu so you can cross-check with the receipts.”

“Changes?” Anxiety coiled in Fiona’s chest. Normally she rolled with last-minute changes. They presented her with an opportunity to become more creative in the execution of the event. Every event she’d ever run had called for an adjustment or two. But her mind was elsewhere and her deeply introspective state made dealing with these external changes difficult.

“There were some last-minute problems with getting fresh mushrooms, so I made substitutions. Do you want me to go over them now?” Keys clicked in the background.

“Of course not. I trust your taste and experience.” And she did.

“If you need my help with anything else, let me know.” Adelaide hesitated until the sound of someone else speaking then leaving the room faded. “I’m comfortable in my work world, but my future role and responsibilities as a Reynaud spouse will be new territory to me.”

And Fiona’s time as a Reynaud wife was drawing to an end, even if the family didn’t know it yet. Her heart sank. “You are a professional at this. You could take any event to a whole new level. Just make sure to find what you want your niche to be. The men in this family can steamroll right over a person.” The words tumbled out of her mouth, and her cool, collected front began to crumble.

“Fiona...” Concern tinged her voice. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t mind me. I’m fine. I’ll see you soon. I need to get changed.” She couldn’t attend the event in stockings, a thong and a bra. No matter how fine the imported Italian lace. “Thanks again.” She disconnected and slid her sapphire-blue gown from the end of the bed.

She stepped into the floor-length dress, the silk chiffon a cool glide over her skin, the dress and underwear strategically designed. The fabric fit snugly in a swathe around her breasts and hips, with a looser pleated skirt grazing her ankles. A sequin-studded belt complemented her glinting diamond chandelier earrings.

No one would see her scars. No one other than her husband and doctors knew.

Double mastectomy.

Reconstruction.

Prophylactic—preventative. In hopes of evading the disease that had claimed her mother, her aunt and her grandmother.

Fiona had never had breast cancer. But with her genetics, she couldn’t afford to take the risk. She pressed the dress to her chest and tried not to think of the doctor’s words today about a suspicious reading on her breast MRI that could be nothing. The doctor said the lump was almost certainly benign fat necrosis. But just to be safe he wanted to biopsy...

The creaking of the opening door startled her. Her dress slid down and she grabbed it by the embellished straps, pressing it back to her chest even though she knew only one person would walk in unannounced.

Her husband.

America’s hottest athlete for two years running.

And the man she hadn’t slept with since her surgery six months ago.

Henri’s hands fell to rest on her shoulders, his breath caressing her neck. “Need help with the zipper?”

* * *

Henri took risks in his job on a regular basis. Sure, his teammates worked their asses off to prevent a hard tackle from his blind side, but he understood and accepted that every time he stepped onto the field, he could suffer a career-ending injury.

Fans called him brave. Sports analysts sometimes labeled him reckless. The press branded him fearless.

They were all wrong.

He’d been scared as hell every day since the doctors declared Fiona had inherited her family’s cancer gene. It didn’t matter that their marriage had been on the rocks. He’d been rocked to his foundation. Still was.

Henri clenched her shoulders so his hands wouldn’t shake. Even the smallest touch between them was filled with tension. And not in the way that made him weak in the knees. “Your zipper?”

With a will of their own, his eyes took in the long exposed line of her neck, her deep brown hair corralled by a thin braid so that lengthy, loose curls cascaded in a narrow path down her back. He looked farther down her spine to the small of her back that called to him to touch, to kiss in a lingering, familiar way. But he’d lost the right. She’d made that clear when he’d tried to reconcile after the doctor’s prognosis.

“Thank you. Yes, please,” she said, glancing over her shoulder nervously and pulling her hair aside, the strands so dark they almost appeared black at night. He hated seeing that sort of distance in her amber-colored eyes. “I’m running late because of, um, a last-minute snafu with the caterer.”

“Adelaide said you were having trouble with your car, so I came home early. But I see it’s in the garage. What was wrong?”

Whipping her head away from his gaze, she muttered, “Doesn’t matter.”

It was becoming her trademark response. It didn’t matter.

That was a lie. He could tell by the way her mouth thinned as she spoke.

He let out a deep sigh as his gaze traced over their room. Or should he say—their former room. He’d taken to sleeping in the guest bedroom of the restored home. Away from her. They’d even lost the ability to lie next to each other at night. To show up for each other in that simple way.

In front of him was the first gift he’d ever bought Fiona. It was a handsome jewelry armoire that doubled as a full-length mirror. It was a one-of-a-kind antique piece. Whimsical and light. Just like Fiona in her jewel-colored dress. Looking at the gilded mirror framing the reflection of his exquisite wife reminded him of how far they’d fallen. Damn.

This whole room was a mausoleum to what had been.

He wanted her to lean on him. Even if it was just a little bit. This wasn’t what he wanted. “Anything else I can do to help?”

“I’ve got it under control.” Finality colored her words.

“You always do.” It came out harsher than he intended. But dammit, he was trying. Couldn’t she see that?

She spun around to face him, her petite frame filling with rigid rage as the silk of her gown whirled against his shins. Raising her chin and her brow, she pressed her lips tight, primly. “No need to be snarky.”

Sticking his hands in his pants pockets, he shrugged, his Brioni tuxedo jacket sliding along his shoulders. “I am completely serious.”

Fiona’s sherry eyes softened, the amber depths intoxicating. She took a deep breath and stared at him. A breeze stirred the stale air of the room, filtering through the window with the sounds of foot traffic and car horns. It was a grounding sound, reminding him of when they’d first bought this house—when they’d been a team. They’d spent months working together on every detail of restoring the historic Victorian home, a celebrated building that had once been a schoolhouse, then a convent.

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 sticking 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.”