Second Chance with the Billionaire. Janice Maynard

      “Why me?” Conor’s terse question echoed suspicion.

      She couldn’t blame him. He must wonder why no one else in her life had stepped forward to lend support. Conor been invited to her wedding by Kirby, but he’d sent his regrets along with an impersonal gift card. The fourteen years were an enormous void filled with only the slightest contacts from either side.

      She rubbed her temples with forefingers. “You had a phenomenal future ahead of you as a competitive skier. Everyone knew it. You had made the American team as a not-quite sixteen-year-old. Everything you ever wanted was in reach.”

      “And then I blew out my knee.” The words were flat.

      “Yes. So you lost that dream and had to learn who you were without it.”

      “No offense, Ellie, but I’d just as soon not rehash that year.”

      “Sorry.” She knew what it had cost him to give up his life’s goal. The doctors had told him he could ski cautiously, but that if he tried to hit the slopes aggressively enough to win championships, he risked losing all mobility in his right leg. Despite the overwhelming disappointment, Conor had sucked it up and gotten on with his life.

      “What’s wrong with Kirby? What happened?”

      She wiped the tears away, not embarrassed but feeling painfully vulnerable. “He lost a foot. Had it amputated just above the ankle.”

       Two

      Conor’s stomach clenched. “Jesus, Ellie.” Stunned didn’t come close to describing how he felt. The Kirby Conor had known could do anything. He’d played football, basketball and, though he wasn’t a fanatic like Conor, he’d been a creditable skier. “Tell me...” He swallowed hard, not at all sure he really wanted to know.

      Ellie was pale, her eyes haunted. “He finished medical school and his residency eighteen months ago. You would be so proud of him, Conor. He’s brilliant. And as good a doctor as my parents are.”

      “That doesn’t surprise me. He always ruined the curve for the rest of us.”

      Ellie nodded. “Exactly. I had to study, but Kirby could look at a textbook and remember almost everything he read.”

      “His brain isn’t in question. What happened?”

      “As a celebration, he wanted to climb Aconcagua. He went up with a group of other men, almost all of them experienced climbers. But they got caught in a freak storm. The ledge they were sheltering on broke and Kirby fell several hundred feet. His lower leg was caught between rocks. It took rescuers almost forty-eight hours to get to him.”

      Conor stared at her aghast, sick at the thought that Kirby survived two nights and days on the mountain only to lose part of a limb. “He’s lucky to be alive.”

      Ellie nodded, tears glittering on her eyelashes. “He’s had three surgeries and endless hours of therapy. He’s walking on a prosthetic foot. But, Conor...”

      He touched her hand on the table. “But what?”

      “He thinks he can’t be a good doctor anymore.”

      Conor saw how close she was to breaking down. Unbidden, old feelings rushed in. The need to protect Ellie, first and foremost. He’d always wanted to be her savior. Apparently, some things never changed. A crowded bar on a Friday night was not the place for this kind of conversation. “Come on,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

      Outside, he took a deep breath. The night was humid...sticky. But he felt cold inside. Knowing what his friend had suffered made him angry and sad and guilty for all the times he’d grieved for his own lost career. His injury was nothing compared to what Kirby faced.

      Ellie’s profile in the illumination from the streetlight on the far side of the parking lot was achingly familiar. Golden-red hair slid across her shoulders. As a teenager he remembered that she always bemoaned her lack of curls. But the silky straight fall of pale auburn was perfect just as it was.

      She was curvy, not thin. A very womanly female. He was assaulted with a barrage of emotions that didn’t match up. Part of him wanted to explore the physical pull. But an even stronger part wanted to console her.

      “I have to go,” she whispered, the words barely audible.

      “Come here, Ellie.” He pulled her into his embrace and held her as she gave in to tears. The sobs were neither soft nor quiet. She cried as if her heart were breaking. And maybe it was. Twins experienced a special bond. Kirby’s injury would have marked her, as well.

      Conor stroked his hands down her back, petting her, murmuring words of comfort. Resting his chin on top of her head, he pondered the fact that after all this time, he still experienced something visceral and inescapable when it came to Ellie Porter. Holding her like this felt like coming home. And yet he was the one who had never left.

      At last her burst of grief diminished. He released her immediately when she stepped back. Why wasn’t her husband the one comforting her? Where was the guy?

      “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I guess I’ve been holding all that inside, trying to put on a brave face for Kirby.”

      “Understandable.”

      “Thank you, Conor.”

      Was he a beast for noticing the soft curves of her cleavage above the bodice of her sundress? Or the way her waist nipped in, creating the perfect resting place for a man’s hands?

      “For what?”

      “For listening.”

      He shook his head. “I’m glad you came to find me. And of course I’ll spend time with Kirby. But I have more questions, and it’s late. Why don’t you bring the baby with you and come up to the ski lodge tomorrow? I’ll even feed you.”

      “I don’t want to intrude.”

      “All my guys have gone to Asheville for the weekend to catch an outdoor concert. You won’t see anyone but me.”

      She nodded slowly. “I’d like that.”

      “Silver Glen has missed the Porters.”

      That coaxed a smile from her. “And Conor Kavanagh? What about him?”

      He ran his hand down her arms, needing to touch her one last time. “Him, too,” he said gruffly. “Him most of all.”

      * * *

      Ellie drove the short distance home making sure all her attention was focused on the road. She was painfully glad Conor hadn’t asked about Kevin. It would have been hard to talk about that on top of everything else. Her body trembled in the aftermath of strong emotions, and she felt so very tired. Emory was a good baby and slept well as a rule, but he was a handful. Between caring for him and looking after Kirby and her grandfather, she was running on empty.

      Leaning on Conor, even briefly, had felt wonderful. He was the same strong, decent, teasing guy she had known so long ago, but even better. He carried himself with the masculine assurance of a grown man. He had been gentle with her, and kind. But something else had shimmered beneath the surface.

      Surely she hadn’t imagined the undercurrent of sexual awareness. On her part, it was entirely understandable. Conor was a gorgeous, appealing man in his prime. But maybe she had imagined the rest. She was exhausted and stretched to the limit and at least fifteen pounds overweight.

      She couldn’t even remember the last time she felt sexy and desirable. At least not until tonight. Something about the way Conor looked at her brought back memories of being a teenager and having a crush on her brother’s best friend.

      Many times she had envied the bond between Kirby and Conor. Though she and her brother were closer than most siblings, there was no denying