Billionaire's Reborn Wife [new]

Catherine Stewart was in a lot of pain. Her throat ached and burned, and her head throbbed. She raised a hand and touched her throat-the skin felt hot and swollen beneath her fingers. She pushed gently, and a sharp pain seized her. Her hand fell down to her side, and she groaned.

For a moment, she wondered if she was dead. She was sure she'd been on the brink of death. A hazy, glimmering light had appeared in the corner of the dark prison cell, filling her body with burning pain. The light got brighter and brighter, and she shut her eyes.

But if she was dead, why was she in such pain? Had the prison director decided to save her at the last minute? She groaned and tried to move her body. Besides the pain in her throat and the aching in her head, she felt okay. The burning fever was gone, and her heart thumped a steady rhythm in her chest.

"You should have let me die," she moaned.

"Die?" a deep voice asked. "Never."

She blinked, trying to see the speaker. The voice sounded a lot like Sean Blair, but that was impossible. What would he be doing in prison? She closed her eyes. Maybe she was still hallucinating, maybe death took longer than she'd realized.

"Open your eyes, Catherine," the deep voice said. "You're not dying, and you're certainly not in prison."

She groaned-without realizing it, she'd been talking aloud again. The prison was lonely and too quiet. Talking to herself filled the dark emptiness and kept her from losing her mind in the silence.

Her eyes flickered open. A handsome face hovered just inches from hers, and she found herself staring up at Sean Blair. Though it had been years, he looked exactly the same as the last time she'd seen him: powerful jawline, smooth and shaven skin with icy blue eyes.

His face was severe and angry, but a sudden warmth flooded her. She raised a trembling hand and stroked his cheek-touched by his presence. She hadn't gotten a single visitor since arriving in prison. Sean hated her more than most but had somehow decided to visit her.

A hot flood of embarrassment rushed through her body. She knew she looked terrible. During her weekly trips to the prison showers, she managed to catch her reflection in the polished metal mirror bolted to the wall. Though she was six years younger than Sean, she knew she could pass as his mother.

"Thank you for coming to see me, Sean," she whispered. Her throat ached with each word, but she continued, "I'm so happy to see you-it means so much to me."

The icy blue eyes narrowed, and Sean asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Sorry," she whispered. "The ramblings of a dying woman filled with regret."

"What are you talking about?" he asked. "Why do you keep saying that you are dying?"

"I am," she whispered. "I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but please, would you hold my hand for a moment?"

A large, warm hand closed around hers, and she smiled and drifted into blackness.

***

Sean stared down at Catherine's face. Her eyes were closed, and her long eyelashes brushed against the tops of her cheeks. Though her skin was pale, she still looked lovely and beautiful. Her delicate features looked peaceful when she slept-when she was awake, they were usually twisted in anger and disdain.

"Get me a doctor," he hissed.

Within minutes the house doctor stood by the bedside checking Catherine's vitals, took her pulse, and listened to her heart while Sean kept her hand in his.

"She's not dying," the doctor said. "Her neck is injured, but she'll recover."

"She thinks she's dying," Sean said. "She's hallucinating and keeps talking about prison."

"She's just exhausted," the doctor said. "She's been through a lot today. Let her rest."

Sean looked down at her face. There were deep, purple circles beneath her eyes, and a hideous blue bruise spread across her delicate neck. He sighed and released her small hand from his.

He stroked the soft skin on her cheek, and her eyes flickered open. Her pupils widened with surprise.

"Oh, you're really here," she whispered. "I thought I was dreaming."

Sean's heart thudded in his chest-she was happy to see him. He closed his eyes and willed the strange, hopeful feeling to go away. She was confused and hallucinating. The gentle smile on her lips was not shown for him.

"What do you want, Catherine?" he asked. "Is this place really a prison for you? Do you still want to escape?"

"Escape?" she laughed bitterly. "What hope do I have to escape? I'm dying, Sean. I've paid for my mistakes, and I just want it to end."

"You want to die?" Sean asked.

"I do," she groaned. "Everyone lied to me, Sean. The people I trusted betrayed me, and I have nothing left to hope for. Death would be merciful. You should have finished the job."

He pulled his hand away from her face and leaped up from his seat. His chest ached. She'd rather die than be with him. She wished he'd killed her. He was a fool for even letting himself hope.

"Keep an eye on her," he ordered a servant as he strode out of the room.

***

Catherine jerked upright as the door slammed shut. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. The room was dark but not as black as her prison cell. A thin beam of golden sunlight filtered through a gap in the curtains. Curtains? There weren't curtains in prison-just a thin slit of a window, three feet tall and one foot wide. She blinked, willing her eyes to focus.

She wasn't in her prison cell. Instead of damp concrete walls, she saw golden fleur de lis wallpaper. Her narrow prison bed had disappeared, and she found herself in a soft king-size bed wrapped in a down duvet. She looked around the room and found surprisingly that it was familiar-it was one of the guest rooms in Sean Blair's family estate. She'd spent fifteen days here many years ago.

She raised her hands above her head, surprised by how easily and lightly they moved. Moving slowly, she swung her legs out from the bed and padded barefoot across the soft, silk carpet. She crossed the dim room to the antique vanity and stared into the mirror.

She couldn't believe what she saw-she was beautiful and young again. The fine lines around her eyes and mouth had vanished, and her skin was smooth and plump. She touched her own face, amazed at how soft it felt beneath her fingers. Hardly daring to believe her eyes, she leaned closer to the mirror and looked again. There were dark circles under her eyes, but her lips were full and round. Most miraculous of all, her hair was long and dark and full again-not graying and brittle and short.

She was distracted by her young face, she almost didn't notice the horrible purpling bruise on her neck. She slid her fingers down from her face to the bruise and gasped-the bruise was shaped like a hand. Someone had tried to strangle her.

"Hello?" she asked, sure there was a servant somewhere in the large room.

"Yes, Mrs. Blair?" a servant replied from the corner of the room.

Catherine froze-Mrs. Blair? She must have heard wrong.

"What day is it?" she asked.

"Now, really, Mrs. Blair, you should know that," the servant scolded. "It's your wedding day-though you've done a fine job ruining that."

"My wedding day?" she stammered.

"I think you should lie down to rest," the servant said. "Or I'll have to tell Mr. Blair you've been up and out of bed."

Catherine nodded and padded back to the large bed. She sank down onto the soft surface and wrapped herself in the warm duvet. Her head spun. The last thing she could remember was burning with a fever in her small prison bed. How was she in Sean Blair's house? And why did she look young again?

"Are you sure it's my wedding day?" she called across the room.

"Positive," the servant said. "Are you sure you're well, Mrs. Blair?"

"I don't know," she said.

She closed her eyes and tried to make sense of it all. Her wedding day had happened ten years ago-what was the servant talking about? And why had the servant called her Mrs. Blair? She had never married Sean.

Though it had happened ten years ago, she remembered it all so clearly: preparing to escape with Marco Jacobs and Madison Stewart, running across the wooded estate, the dogs chasing after her. She shuddered and ran through the rest of her memories, wondering if she'd made them all up. She shook her head-she could never have made up that much pain and suffering.

In the corner of the room, she heard the servant whisper, "Yes, Mr. Blair is awake."

A few minutes later, the door crashed open, and Sean Blair stalked into the room.

"I hope you're well enough to have a talk now," he said. "Because we need to get a few things straight."

Though Catherine was wrapped in the warm duvet, she shivered. Sean stood at the edge of the bed, glaring down at her. The air around him seemed frozen, and she tried to scoot away.

"Don't you dare, Catherine Stewart," he hissed. "Don't you even try to escape from me?"

"I didn't," she whispered. "I don't want to."

His eyes became even colder, "Don't lie to me. You've made it clear you think my home is a prison. You've made it clear you'd rather run off with Marco Jacobs than spend a life with me."

"What?" she asked. "No, I don't. I don't want to run away with Marco. I hate him."

Sean scoffed, "You hate him? You just planned to run away with him. What kind of woman runs away with a man she hates on her wedding day?"

Catherine closed her eyes, trying to think of a way to explain herself. The bed creaked, and something cold and powerful, pinched her jaw and turned her head to the left.

"Look at me, Catherine," Sean said. "Don't you dare look away from me when I'm talking to you?"

She opened her eyes and found Sean's face inches from her own. His features were twisted with rage, and his eyes flashed with anger, but he was still handsome. She shivered but held his gaze.

"So what?" he finally asked, a hint of self-mockery in his voice. "You think I'll spare Marco if you claim you hate him? Or do you think I'll go easier on you?"

"I-I," she stammered miserably.

"You what?" Sean asked.

"I don't know," she said. "My head hurts."

Sean's nostrils flared, but his expression stayed the same. He climbed off the bed and barked an order into his phone, and paced the room like a wild beast stuck in a cage.

Beneath his exquisitely tailored suit, Catherine knew he was toned and muscular. The thought of his body sent a strange, hot shiver running through her. It had been a long time since any man had made her feel that way.

A sharp rap sounded at the door, and Catherine sank back down on the bed.

"Come in," Sean shouted.

The door swung open, and a bodyguard marched in. Short and bald, he looked like many of Sean's bodyguards. Catherine half-wondered if Sean hired them for their looks alone.

"Tell me, what's a fitting punishment for the man who abducted my wife?" Sean asked.

"I don't know, sir," the bodyguard said.

"I wasn't asking you," Sean snapped, turning to Catherine.

"I don't know either," she said. "I don't care what you do with him."

Sean laughed, cold and low and humorless, "Oh, you don't care? Well then, maybe I'll have him castrated."

Catherine shuddered but said, "Well, do as you please."

Though the punishment was gruesome, she really didn't care. After all, Marco had put her through, he deserved much worse.

"You're a cold woman, Catherine Stewart," Sean said. "You'd really sacrifice your lover like that?"

"He's not my lover," she said.

"Don't lie to me," Sean roared.

With a swipe of his hand, he knocked a vase from a small table near the wall. The precious vase crashed to the floor and shattered into thousands of shards. Catherine closed her eyes and rubbed her throbbing temples.

"So do you want me to castrate him, sir?" the bodyguard asked.

Sean stormed out of the room without saying a word, leaving the confused bodyguard standing next to the door. After he rushed away, Catherine called for someone to clean up the mess he left.

A woman in a calf-length black dress walked into the room carrying a broom and dustpan. With a quiet sigh, she began to sweep up the small shards. Catherine listened to her work-soothed by the sound of the rough broom bristles as they scratched across the floor.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Blair, but I have to get a vacuum," the woman said. "The pieces are too small, and they're caught in the carpet fibers. I hope the noise won't disturb you too much."

"No, that's fine," Catherine said. "Wait, Susan, is that you?"

"Yes, it's me, Mrs. Blair," the woman said.

"Oh my god," Catherine said. "I thought I'd never see you again."

Susan sighed and said, "You've been very reckless. Mr. Blair is in such a rage-I haven't seen him like this in years. Just look at what he did to your neck."

Catherine's fingers moved to her aching neck-so the handprint belonged to Sean. Her stomach sank, and hot tears filled her eyes. She'd had bruises like that before. Over the years, Marco hadn't left a single inch of her body unbruised or uninjured, but she'd thought that Sean was different. She knew he had a temper, but she'd never seen him hit a woman.

"Don't cry, Mrs. Blair," Susan said, handing her a tissue. "It'll be alright. You can make things right with him."

"That's not why I'm crying," Catherine said, wiping the soft tissue under her eyes.

"Then, why?" Susan asked.

"Never mind," Catherine said.

For a moment when she found herself young and beautiful, she'd let herself hope. The day she ran away from Sean Blair with Marco Jacobs had turned out to be one of the worst in her life.

She closed her eyes and thought back on the afternoon-how happy she'd been when she made it past Sean's estate, how Marco had taken her in his arms and whispered that everything would be okay. How hopefully she imagined their life together-traveling across Europe with him while he completed his degree, being loved and cherished and cared for.

Just a few days later, she learned to regret her mistake. Marco turned cold and cruel and violent. The soft caresses became stinging pinches and then harsh blows, and the gentle, flattering words turned to nasty insults and demands. When he let her take the fall for him and go to prison, she was almost grateful-in prison, she'd finally be free from him.

She looked around the grand old room and sighed. For a moment, she'd wondered if she'd been given a second chance. When the maid called her "Mrs. Blair," a shiver of hope had run through her. With Sean, she could start fresh. She could live the life she'd foolishly given up before.

She touched the bruise on her neck, and a fresh round of tears welled in her eyes. Sean was just as cruel and violent as Marco. Perhaps all men were the same. Perhaps she was doomed to suffer over and over again.

"Oh, Mrs. Blair," Susan said, carrying a small vacuum. "I know you to be a strong, fierce-minded woman. You've made a terrible mistake, yes, but sitting here and blubbering about it won't change a thing. Take your fate into your own hands, and do something."

Catherine sniffled and pressed the PA system button on the bedside table. The small microphone crackled to life, and she cleared her throat.

"Sean Blair," she said. "I want to talk to you."

Sean Blair stared out the window at the sloping green lawn beyond. He swirled a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, and the ice cubes clinked softly against the glass. He swallowed the remaining liquid, hoping the fiery heat would calm him, but his heart continued to beat violently against his chest.

Why had Catherine run away from him? He looked at the sweeping expanse of his estate and shook his head. He had money, power, and everything that he was willing to give it all to her. Hell, he had been willing to give a lot more than that to her. So why had she run away with nobody like Marco Jacobs? What could have possibly made her so desperate to escape?

"Am I really that disgusting to her?" he asked himself.

A knock sounded at the door, and his butler, Levi's familiar voice, said, "Excuse me, Mr. Blair, Mrs. Blair wants to see you."

"Ignore her," Sean said, pouring himself another whiskey. "Surely she just wants to beg for my mercy with Marco."

"Very well," Levi said.

"I'm going to lie down," Sean said. "Don't disturb me no matter what happened, understand?"

"Yes, sir," Levi said. "But wait, sir-"

Sean ignored Levi and strode down the hall to his bedroom. He threw open the door and froze in shock. The curtains had been drawn shut, but thousands of candles in small glass jars bathed the room in glowing golden light. Red rose petals were scattered across the floor, covering the carpet and filling the room with a heady, floral aroma.

"What the hell is this?" he asked.

"The wedding night decorations you asked for," Levi said, jogging up behind him.

"Well, take it all down," Sean roared.

"Right away, sir," Levi said.

A team of men and cleaners rushed into the room and began to sweep and vacuum up the petals. They blew out the candles and swept the jars into giant black trash bags. The smell of smoke mixed with the rose petals and gave Sean a headache.

"Prepare another room for me," he said to Levi.

"Of course, sir," Levi said. The butler paused nervously and then added, "Mrs. Blair continues to ask for you. I don't think she's going to stop until you see her."

***

The door burst open, and Sean strode into the room. His suit was rumpled, and his hair was messy, but his icy eyes flashed. He marched to the side of her bed, bringing a chilly air with him. Catherine shivered, but she met his eye.

"Sean, we need to talk," she said, hating the way her voice trembled. "Can we have a real conversation?"

Sean's jaw twitched, but he didn't say a word. He stood next to her, cold and still as a statue, and she wondered if she'd made a mistake. Maybe Marco really was the lesser of two evils.

She patted the soft mattress and said, "Sit down."

Sean raised his eyebrow and sat down wordlessly. A strong, warm smell of whiskey hung around him, and she flinched. In her last years with Marco, he had taken to drinking a lot, and the days he drank were always worse than the days he didn't.

***

Sean sat at the edge of the bed and watched as Catherine backed away from him.

Ever since his men had captured her and brought her back, he'd noticed the way she moved around him. When he leaned closer, she leaned back. When he moved toward her, she scooted away.

She wasn't like that around other people. When he'd seen her before, she was always surrounded by a group of friends and admirers-the center of attention. She laughed and smiled, and her bright green eyes twinkled and shone. Why couldn't she be like that with him? Why did she look at him the way a rabbit looks at a wolf?

He stared down at her bright green eyes. There was something instinctually appealing about the way they widened when she looked at him, the way her mouth opened slightly in a silent gasp, the way the floral smell of her perfume rose from her hair each time she moved. She was so vulnerable, so delicate.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. Her body went rigid, but her lips were soft and yielding. He forced them open and pulled her slight body against his. She flailed and struggled, and he finally let her pull away.

"What the hell was that," she asked. "I said I wanted to talk."

The thin, white T-shirt she wore had slipped to the side, revealing the creamy top of her shoulder. He wanted to press his lips to that shoulder, to tear the shirt and expose the rest of her, to press himself into her softness until she yielded. He closed his eyes and shook his head-the whiskey was clouding his thoughts.

"Okay," he said. "What do you want to talk about?"

"About us," she whispered.

Sean's heart thudded in his chest-us? He opened his eyes and looked at her. She was staring down at her hands, twisting the fine sheets around and around until they were wrinkled and ropy.

Without thinking, he pulled her onto his lap and jerked her head down to his. He claimed her lips, kissing her as hard as he could. With a slight groan, she opened her mouth and let him enter it, shifting forward on his lap. He tugged her closer, feeling her warmth against him.

Reaching behind her, he grabbed the neckline of her shirt and tore the thin fabric. His fingertips found the clasp of her bra, and he unhooked it with a flick of his wrist. She pulled away, breaking the kiss.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her arms crossed protectively over her chest, holding the bra in place.

"It's my wedding night," he said. "And I intend to enjoy it."

***

Catherine panted for breath and stared at the man in front of her. He looked at her as if he was going to destroy her, and she shivered with a strange mixture of fear and desire. No man had ever looked at her that way before. Catherine fumbled with the straps of her lacy bra, trying to push them back up her shoulders and redo the clasp at the back.

"I will have you, Catherine," Sean groaned. "One way or another."

He pushed her back, and she collapsed onto the pile of down pillows at the head of the bed. In a second, he was on top of her, tugging her pants from her legs. He moved up her body, pulling her hands away from her chest and pinning them above her head with his left hand. With his free hand, he tugged her bra away and threw it across the room.

She shivered as the cool air touched her bare breasts, and he laughed, taking one in his large hand. He squeezed it roughly and moved up to bite her neck. She groaned as his teeth sank into the sensitive skin, arching herself up into him. He growled and released her hands, and she grabbed the front of his shirt, trying to tug it open. Buttons popped off, and the shirt fell open, revealing a chiseled chest.

Sean growled low in his throat and grabbed her hand, guiding it to the front of his trousers. The strength of his desire strained against the front of his pants, hot and urgent. Shocked back to her senses, Catherine pulled her hand away.

She felt her face flush and turned her head to the side, escaping Sean's passionate gaze. Hot embarrassment flooded through her-she'd wanted to talk to him but ended up tearing at his clothes and pressing herself into him like an animal in heat.

A firm but gentle hand closed around her wrist and guided her hand back to the front of his pants. She looked at her small pale hand next to his large tanned fingers and let him press her palm into him.

It would be easy to let him take her, easy to submit to him. She wanted it. She wanted to feel his large hands on every inch of her body. She wanted his heat against her. She wanted him.

"Wait," she gasped. "We have to stop. This isn't talking."

"It's better than talking," he said, pressing his lips to her neck.

"No, we need to talk," she said. "Get off me, let me put my clothes on."

"You can't make love with clothes on," he said, biting her earlobe.

"Listen to me," she said. "I'm trying to be serious, okay? I know I shouldn't have run away."

He pulled away and looked down at her. His face became impassive and cool, and he narrowed his eyes as if trying to read her. His hand tightened, but the grip felt more deadly than passionate. She squirmed uncomfortably as his fingers dug into her ribs.

"What is this about?" he asked in a cold tone.

"I just want to work things out," she sincerely looked into his eyes.

Disgust flitted across his face and his mouth curled down, "I see what's happening. You think I'll forget about your betrayal if you let me fuck you."

"No," she said. "It's not that at all. I'm trying to tell you that I don't want to be with Marco anymore. I want to be with you."

"Don't lie to me," he snarled.

"I meant it," she said. "I'm not lying."

"Then prove it," he said, roughly pinching her breast.

She winced with the pain, and her head swam. How could she explain it all to him? His moods changed as unpredictable as the wind, and he never reacted the way she thought. Would letting him make love to her change his mind, or would he hate her for it?

She groaned and tried to push his hand away, "No, we can't."

"Why not?" he asked. "It's our wedding night, isn't it?"

"I-I-" she stammered, trying to think of an excuse. "I have my period."

Sean's eyes narrowed, and he grabbed her breast again.

"I'm serious," she said. "I don't want to like this-it's unclean and gross."

"I don't believe you," he said.

His right hand skimmed down to her legs, and he pried them open. Pulling her underwear aside, he dipped one long finger into her most intimate place. It was stained red when he pulled it away. Without saying a word, he climbed off the bed and crossed the room for a tissue.

Catherine exhaled a sigh of relief and wrapped herself up in the sheets, but she didn't relax fully until the door slammed shut behind him. She's almost forgotten that she had her period. Her cousin Madison Stewart had convinced her to get a progesterone injection to trigger her period to come early in case she didn't get away from Sean in time.

Catherine rolled her eyes at how foolish she'd been. It should have been obvious that Madison was just trying to get Sean for herself. That's why she'd encouraged Catherine to run away with Marco, and that's why she'd been so helpful with arranging everything, and that's why she'd agreed to dress up as Catherine!

"Damn," Catherine whispered. "If Sean caught me, then what happened to Madison?"