More Than Anything

A chance encounter in an empty stairway leads to a magical Christmas for Hollywood actress Allie Gilbert and enigmatic billionaire Braden Rhodes.

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Now, two years after a whirlwind romance, secret wedding, and an abrupt separation, they would both rather forget that passionate Christmas when they fell in love...

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...but fate has other plans.

Book One

Past

One

Braden

It was a small Christmas Eve dinner with delicious food, expensive wine, tasteful holiday music interrupted every so often by the chink of silver and crystal, and under the polished cherrywood formal dining table, somebody’s foot was stroking my leg.

I was seated to the right of the hostess, Anna Douglas, a former model whose sole occupation after becoming the fourth wife of billionaire Henry Douglas was to give dinners and discuss her efforts on the boards of prestigious charities. Opposite me, my date for the night, Lilianna Arden, supermodel and twenty-sixth sexiest woman alive, was deep in a conversation with Anna.

Lilianna caught my gaze and gave me a wide smile. She was a sweet girl, very vain about her looks, uninterested in anything beyond fashion, the next runway appearance, and the luxuries she enjoyed by dating men like me. There was an extra fullness around her lips I hadn’t noticed earlier, and it made me chuckle. For Lilianna, getting work done was something one did as casually as popping into the salon to get a manicure.

She continued talking, but Anna gave me a meaningful smile, holding my gaze as she inched her foot a little higher.

“Will you be in St. Barts for New Year’s? I hear Oleg Gregovich New Year’s Eve party is going to be all the rave this year. Last year, it was in Dubai, at the Burj, far above the clouds. So marvelous, don’t you think?”

I turned from Anna Douglas’s brazen gaze to the woman seated on my other side, columnist Sally Felton. She had been best friends with Henry’s first wife and quickly switched that affection to the latest wife whenever he went through a divorce. She’d been trying to hold my attention all through dinner, but I wasn’t interested enough to wonder why.

I gave her a polite smile. “I don’t know, Sally. I’m far more likely to be working.”

She frowned, bemused. “You’re a billionaire—surely you don’t need to work on New Year’s Eve?”

“Braden is a workaholic,” Henry Douglas boomed from his place at the top of the table. “He reminds me of myself when I was his age.”

“I’m flattered,” I replied with a chuckle, wondering what he would say if he knew what his wife’s foot was doing under the table. There was no point in arguing about the workaholic part. I didn’t know how to be idle. There was always something to be done, and who better to make it happen than the person I trusted a hundred percent, me.

I worked hard, but I also made a point to play, very hard.

Anna’s leg was now inching up my calf. I met her gaze again, and her red lips parted, lifting in a small, sexy smile. She was beautiful, with porcelain skin, wide brown eyes, and gleaming auburn hair, the kind of woman many men would give their eyeteeth for a chance to fuck.

Right under her husband’s nose too.

But I wasn’t many men. Beautiful women throwing themselves at me was not something that excited me anymore. I chewed some more of the exquisitely prepared food and nodded when one of the waiters appeared at my side to refill my wine glass. I imagined that at some point after dinner, Anna would offer to show me the conservatory or a new painting, some excuse to get me into a corner and try to relieve her boredom with a ride on my cock.

Gently, I eased her foot away from my leg, ignoring the petulant frown that immediately stained her pretty face.

“Excuse me,” I told Sally, who was still going on about the party in St. Barts. I got up and made my way out of the formal dining room.

From the hallway, a beautiful paneled stairway led to the upper floors. At the very top, there was a domed ceiling covered with a colorful fresco from which a crystal chandelier dropped about one story. It was a beautiful house, probably one of the most expensive pieces of real estate in the whole world.

I knew my way around enough to easily find the door to the guest bathroom suite just off the hallway. Inside, I faced a large mirror mounted over gold veined marble sinks, smoothed my hair, and stared at my reflection, reluctant to return to the table.

I was bored.

Not just here, with the people at the table. I was bored in the way that couldn’t be relieved by a night with a willing, sexy woman. I was bored in a way that knew there was something more but hadn’t yet gotten a handle on just what it was.

I wasn’t surprised by the knock on the door. I’d known Anna would follow me. She wouldn’t be married to Henry Douglas if she was the kind of woman who gave up easily. The door opened, and there she was, leaning on the doorjamb, her surgically enhanced breasts rising beneath her décolletage like pale, soft cream.

“We’re missing you at the table, Braden.” Her voice was light but husky, artfully cultivated to be sexy and irresistible.

It annoyed me.

“And you came to find me?” I lifted an eyebrow. “What a dedicated hostess you are.”

She slid into the room and closed the door behind her, meeting my gaze in the mirror. “Anything for my guests,” she said lightly, coming to stand right in front of me. “I’m just checking on you. Weren’t you enjoying yourself at dinner?”

There were only a couple of inches between us, and I moved forward, closing the distance. Her chest rose, and the tips of her breasts touched the front of my jacket. “The food was delicious, Anna,” I said softly. “However, I’m afraid I have to leave now. Give your husband my apologies.”

She raised her face to mine, one slim hand finding its way onto my lapel. Her skin was flushed, her breathing fast. “Don’t go,” she whispered. “I can make you feel better.”

It wouldn’t even take much time, I thought. If I wanted, I’d have her moaning and climaxing in a few minutes, and tomorrow she’d have a diamond necklace or bracelet to show my appreciation.

If I wanted.

I d

idn’t.

“Would you prefer for me to bend you over the sink, or maybe you don’t mind the floor?” I drew my fingers lightly over her arm, and she shuddered, her lips parting. With my other hand, I lifted her hem, letting my fingers travel all the way to the top of her thighs. “How about we go back to the table and do it in front of your husband? Maybe he’d like to watch.”

Her glazed expression turned into a frown, and she shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Braden.”

“Sweetheart, the only ridiculous person here is you.” I stepped around her and opened the door. “Go back to your guests. I’m not feeling very much like company tonight.”