Reunited for the Billionaire's Legacy: Christmas at the Castello (bonus novella) Page 14

  She lifted a wary dark gaze to his. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “There isn’t much to talk about until we find out more details.”

  “I should get packed, then.”

  “I doubt we’ll be able to get out before dinnertime. You can enjoy most of the day.”

  Then it was back to reality. Back to the pressures that had torn them apart before. With only a fragile agreement in place between them. He didn’t like the thought of that at all, particularly because his wife’s lithe body had gone tense just inches from his, her chin set at a protective angle, the coolness of the past week back in her eyes.

  A surge of frustration rocketed through him. He did not have the capacity to deal with her withdrawal, with her descent back into herself, not with the dark problems looming before him back in New York.

  “You’re doing it again,” he said harshly. “Shoring up those walls around yourself. I won’t stand for it, Diana.”

  A stormy hue entered her dark eyes. “And what are you doing? Refusing to talk?”

  “I told you what the problem is. I can’t do anything until I know more.”

  “Were people hurt?”

  “Five people died.”

  Her eyes widened. “This is what’s been bothering you since that phone call.”

  “Yes.”

  “Goddammit, Coburn, you have to talk to me about this stuff. It doesn’t just go one way. I can help. We can talk it through.”

  “We are talking.”

  “When I force it out of you. You’ve become this closed-off version of yourself. I don’t know how to reach you anymore.”

  “What more do you want me to say when I know nothing?”

  A flush filled her cheeks. “I want to know what this means for Grant. For you... How you are feeling about it.”

  He swallowed past his frustration. “It’s the worst recall the company has ever faced. It could be crippling. I don’t know.”

  The harsh light in her eyes softened. She set her coffee cup down and reached out to curl her fingers around his hand. “You don’t try to handle things like this on your own, Coburn, you confide in someone.”

  The anger and frustration searing his throat made it hard to speak. He looked down at her delicate fingers curved around his. “It’s knowing I can never bring those people back that’s the worst. That their families have lost them forever because we made a mistake.”

  She shook her head. “It was an accident. No one meant to hurt anyone. The only thing you can do is do right by their families. Fix the problem.”

  The lump in his throat grew until it felt as if it was choking him, his guts churning like one of the very expensive engines he manufactured. He knew what it was like to have someone take away the person you loved the most when it should never have happened. Anton Markovic had done that when he had set his father up for suicide. He would make this right. He would shoulder responsibility for it. But right now he just wanted to bury his fear in the one thing that would make him feel better. That always had.

  He studied the color that stained his wife’s throat and chest where her silk robe gaped open. She always got red there when she was aroused. He was aroused knowing what lay beneath the silk. Her full, engorged breasts added a whole new sexy dimension to her body he couldn’t stop thinking about. He wanted to see her. Devour her until she screamed as she had last night.

  The pulse at the base of her neck throbbed. Her gaze met his as he lifted it to hers. “You are insatiable,” she breathed. “I’m trying to help.”

  “You want to help?” He ran a finger from her throat down to the upper curve of her breast. “Take off the robe.”

  Her gaze tangled with his. “If you promise you’ll keep talking to me.”

  He slipped his thumb under the silk and found the soft, raised peak of one of her beautiful breasts. “I promise. Now take it off.”

  Excitement flared in her beautiful eyes. She reached for the tie of her robe and pulled it open. His breath hissed from his lungs. She was perfection, her long slim limbs enhanced by the lush curves his child was giving to her. It did something indescribable to him.

  He sank his hands into her waist and lifted her onto the counter, ignoring the voices in his head that told him to walk away. To avoid the temptation in front of him. Because every time he gave in to it, it consumed him more. Made him need her more. And he didn’t want to need her.

  The need in him won.

  He bent and took one of her nipples into his mouth while his fingers plumped her luscious flesh. She tasted of lemons and sweetness and he was lost before he’d even started.

  She moaned and buried her fingers in his hair as he sucked hard on her. When her nipple was taut beneath his lips, he transferred his attention to the other peak, satisfying every bit of his craving. She arched beneath him, leaning back against the counter with a low moan.

  When her other nipple was a hard pebble beneath his teeth, he straightened and studied his handiwork. The distended, engorged tips of her beautiful breasts made him so hard he had trouble focusing. But he knew his wife needed warming up before he took her, and somewhere he found a shaky sense of self-control.

  He kept his eyes on hers as he worked her thighs apart and sought out the delicate button at the heart of her. Her ebony eyes went a molten chocolate brown as he rubbed her between his fingers.

  “God, Coburn...”

  He pressed his thumb against her in tiny, circular movements that had her eyes drooping shut as pleasure consumed her. “Look at me,” he commanded, stilling his movement. She opened them, hot color claiming her cheeks. Slowly, sensuously, he worked her, watching her orgasm build in her eyes.

  Satisfaction lanced through him. “That’s the way I want you, sweetheart, wide-open, so I can see every part of you.”

  She was too far gone to respond. He moved his thumb against her harder, faster, until she threw back her head, a shudder raking through her.

  He shoved his shorts off and pulled her to the edge of the counter. Her thighs were trembling as he wrapped them around him and entered her with an insistent surge that took him all the way to her core. Her moan was pure satisfaction.

  The sensation of being encased in velvety, hot muscle overwhelmed his control. In less than a dozen hard strokes, he found his release, his hips jerking hard against her as he spilled himself inside her.

  Her name as he uttered it on a low, urgent groan sounded like the desperate plea of a man who wanted everything he couldn’t have.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  GOD, SHE LOVED New York in the fall.

  Diana smiled at the little terrier kicking up the red-and-orange-hued leaves on the sidewalk of their Chelsea neighborhood, sidestepped the frantic little pup and made her way toward the butcher shop. An extravaganza of color bursting with promise—that was what New York was like at this time of the year. She couldn’t get enough of it.

  If it was the last place she’d expected to be, and she’d given up her dream of Africa, she now knew everything happened for a reason. She and Coburn clashing that night on his balcony, conceiving their baby, had been meant to make them face their feelings. To pull them back from the brink before it was too late for them.

  She pulled open the door of the butcher shop, musical chimes announcing her arrival to the handful of customers in the store. She and Coburn had been home for three weeks now, during which time she’d transplanted her life back to Manhattan, focused on supporting her husband through what might be the biggest challenge of his career with this recall and bought a new home in Chelsea.

  After grudgingly agreeing to go see the insanely expensive town house Coburn’s business acquaintance was selling, she’d fallen in love with the wildflower garden in the back rather than the extensive entertaining spaces and gleaming kitchen. She’d also
come to love Chelsea. Coburn was right. It was the perfect place to bring up a child: vibrant, hip and family friendly, miles away from the very proper environment she’d been raised in. And maybe she needed that—to start over in every way with her husband.

  She gave the butcher her order for the dinner they had planned with Frankie and Harrison and sat on a stool by the window to wait. Something had happened the night she and Coburn had come together in that raging storm that had electrified them both. She had finally penetrated the rock-hard exterior he’d adopted. Maybe not as completely as he had scaled her defenses, because her husband was now a complex enigma of a man she wasn’t sure she’d ever know entirely. But she did know when he expressed true emotion.

  It had ruled him in the kitchen that morning on the island when he’d confided in her about the recall and taken her with a desperate need he couldn’t hide. Since then, he’d been letting her in. He was allowing her to support him through this crisis. It was clear he wanted, needed her on a level that was more than just sex. What that was, exactly, she wasn’t sure. It was the piece still tugging at her gut.

  She turned her attention to the stream of passersby, tucked into jackets and sweaters to ward off the chill. She couldn’t deny it was strange to be running domestic errands instead of battling her way through a list of cases in the OR. She missed it. She missed it as if a piece of her identity had been stripped away. But she also knew this break had been good for her. She’d needed to take a step back and think about what she really wanted. Rescuing James on that cliff that night had confirmed everything about why she’d become a doctor. She needed to get back to that feeling, to that soul-deep confirmation that what she did mattered.

  But right now her husband needed her. Her marriage had to come first for the next few months until her husband weathered this crisis.

  Coburn’s words on the way home from the Kents that night had stayed with her. She couldn’t spend her life allowing what-ifs to rule. She’d spent her entire marriage doing that. Wondering every time she and Coburn had an argument if he was going to leave. Petrified he would. She’d crippled them before they’d even gotten started. And it hadn’t just been her marriage. She’d spent her life afraid to put herself out there. Afraid to say what she really wanted. Burying her identity in a job she couldn’t let go of because to do that meant she had to figure out who she really was.

  She was figuring that out now. This opportunity she had with Coburn to make things right, to grab the happiness she knew they could have, was about building a new foundation for her life based on what she wanted for the future. On who she wanted to be. She needed to let her heart rule, not the insecurities that had driven her her entire life.

  She watched a woman walk by with her toddler son wobbling beside her in a chunky knit sweater and pants, his hand tucked in hers. A throb pulsed low in her abdomen. She wasn’t messing her marriage up this time. This time she was going to be the one to offer her all. And if the thought of making herself that vulnerable made her want to throw up, so be it.

  “Diana—I thought that was you.”

  She looked up to find Frank Moritz, her mentor and the surgeon whose pediatric fellowship she’d refused to beg for, making his way through the door of the shop. She’d been so far in her head, she hadn’t even noticed him walk by.

  He was as tall and dominating as ever, and there was a distinct European twist to his mouth as he bent to give her a kiss on both cheeks.

  “I thought you were in Africa working. Or have I screwed up the timing?”

  “No—” She hesitated. “My plans changed. I’m back in New York.”

  He fixed her with one of his trademark aggressive studies. “Well, that’s an interesting development. I wanted you for the fellowship. Why didn’t you compete?”

  She swallowed. Lifted her chin. No time like the present to start speaking her mind...

  “I thought my work spoke for itself. I didn’t want to win a popularity contest with you, Frank. I wanted you to choose the surgeon who deserved it.”

  He kept up that level stare, as if deciding whether or not to take the insult. Finally he inclined his head. “You were the best. I wasn’t happy with any of the applicants. It’s still open if you want it.”

  Her heart sped up in her chest. Oh, my God. Then the reality of her situation kicked in. She was pregnant. Even if she told him the facts and he was okay with her taking a few weeks off to have the baby, it would be an excessively short period for her to bond with her child. Nothing as Coburn had envisioned.

  She dipped her chin. “I’m not sure it’s the right timing for me.”

  His gaze narrowed. “You know what this fellowship is worth, Diana. The window is narrow. I’ve got to make a decision by the end of the month. Think about it.”

  How could she not? It had been her dream to work with him.

  She nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

  His cool blue gaze rested on her face. “Tell that possessive husband of yours it’s only a couple of years. He can have you back after that.”

  Or not. Coburn would lose his mind if she brought this up. She wasn’t going to say anything until she’d thought it through.

  Frank glanced at his watch. “I must go. You know where to find me. I’m glad I ran into you.”

  She felt as if a train had hit her as his tall figure disappeared through the glass door. Fate was being very cruel. To offer her her dream at this crucial point in her marriage with a baby on the way? When she’d finally come to peace with her circumstances? What was this particular test supposed to accomplish?

  Head spinning, she collected her shopping and walked home to Coburn’s apartment they were still sharing until the house was ready. He got home ten minutes before Frankie and Harrison were due to arrive, dark shadows under his eyes as he dropped his briefcase to the floor.

  Her heart stuttered with the same half beat it always did when he walked into a room. He had the whole distracted hot-man-in-a-suit thing perfected. And then there was the fact she knew every amazing inch beneath it...

  Setting the bread she was cutting on the counter, she walked to the door, grabbed the lapels of his jacket and rose up on her toes to give him a kiss. He snaked an arm around her waist and returned the kiss with a hungry force that underscored the edginess she’d read on his face.

  “Bad day?”

  He nodded, releasing her to strip off his jacket. “We’re announcing the recall next week. The allocation of blame, the messaging around it, it’s been brutal. Everyone wants someone’s head on a platter.”

  She took his jacket. “That can’t be easy.”

  His eyes glittered with frustration. “I want to get out in front of this. Accept responsibility and help the victim’s families. Find a solution to the problem so it doesn’t become a systemic part of our processes. But the more time we waste arguing over the semantics, the longer it’s taking us to attack the issues.”

  Her mouth curved in a wry smile. “Sounds like hospital politics. But who could want you to not take responsibility? That seems like Crisis Communications 101 to me.”

  “The board wants to minimize our culpability. Share the blame.”

  “But aren’t Grant parts responsible for the brake failures?”

  “We’re ninety-nine percent sure they are.”

  “Then, doing the right thing is never the wrong thing.”

  “My critics think we can do both.” He dug his fingers into his tie and loosened the knot. “How was your day?”

  “Scintillating,” she said drily. “I worked out, went for lunch with Beth, then shopped for dinner. The highlight was a half hour spent picking out which wine to serve with the steak.”

  His gaze raked her face. “Diana—”

  “Stop.” She cut him off softly. “I was being facetious. I’m good.”

  He gave h
er a long look. “I need to change.”

  “Go.”

  She finished prepping dinner. She wanted to tell Coburn about her chance meeting with Frank Moritz that afternoon and his earth-shattering offer so badly, it was eating a hole in her brain. But now was definitely not the time.

  Frankie and Harrison arrived. Vivacious and beautiful Frankie was a perfect foil for Harrison’s serious, dark demeanor. Diana had always been a little cautious around Coburn’s brother in the past, finding him moody and stern. But he seemed to have loosened up since he’d met Frankie; this version of the presidential candidate one she liked very much.

  If she’d been anticipating a hostile response from her brother-in-law for walking out on Coburn a year ago, she didn’t get it. Harrison wasn’t overly warm—warily accepting was more like it. As if he was leaving it up to her and Coburn to figure it out.

  They sat down to dinner. Conversation flowed smoothly and easily as they chatted about Harrison’s campaign and how the numbers were looking. It was early days yet, but he was holding up well against his competitors, leading even in some states.

  It did her soul good to see the burgeoning relationship between Coburn and his brother. They were easier with each other now, genuine, with none of the tension she’d used to witness between them. What wasn’t so easy for her to watch was the open adoration on Harrison’s face when he looked at his five-months-pregnant wife. It was how Coburn had used to look at her. Uncaring of who witnessed it, proud.

  It did something to the tension already clenching her stomach from her emotional seesaw of a day. Tightened her inner muscles like a vise until it was hard to force the delicious steak past it.

  She escaped gratefully to the kitchen with the dishes when they were done with the main course. Coburn followed her, setting a stack on the counter. He watched as she loaded them into the dishwasher.

  “Olga can do those tomorrow.”

  “I thought I’d get them out of the way.”