The Billionaire Renegade

One (#uc1827e3b-03a2-5f39-b80d-7343adb70074)

He was back.

Felicity Hunt didn’t need to see more than the buff-colored Stetson resting on his knee to know Conrad Steele hadn’t heeded her request that they stop seeing each other. The man threatened the balance she’d worked so hard to create in regaining her professional life after her divorce.

But the Alaskan oil magnate had a reputation for determination. The smooth-talking kind that persisted until he won.

Well, he wouldn’t win her.

Although he was sure pulling out all the stops to gain her attention today in the hospital’s enclosed memory garden.

Conrad was currently leading story time, pint-size patients gathered around him in a heart-tugging cluster.

On her way back from supervising a critically ill three-year-old who’d just entered the foster system, Felicity steeled her resolve to keep this man at arm’s length. Easier said than done. As a social worker at Anchorage General Hospital, she had a soft spot for her young clients.

Children sat in wheelchairs and on floor mats, wide-eyed with rapt attention focused on the cowboy spinning a tale about a magical horse. His deep voice rumbled over the words, the book all but dwarfed by his large hands. He kept it open for his audience to see, the current page containing a watercolor image of the horse with a blanket and saddle over its back.

A little girl raised her hand with a question. “What’s hanging off the saddle?”

“Those are stirrups, for the rider’s feet,” Conrad answered, tapping his boots on the floor. He then expanded the explanation with ease, his knowledge of all things equine shining through.

His gaze rose from the children, colliding with Felicity’s as she leaned against a pillar. The air crackled between them with a connection she should have been used to by now, but the potency still caught her unaware. Just a look not more than three heartbeats long left her shaken long after he returned his attention to the book.

God, he was handsome in a rugged, movie star way with a strong jaw and cheekbones. His dark hair was trimmed neatly, hints of silver at his temples tempting her fingers to stroke. And those eyes, pale blue like the hottest of flames.

He had broad shoulders that filled out his crisp white shirt just so, his suit coat draped over the back of the rolling chair. His red silk tie drew her attention to the strong column of his neck.

This was a man others leaned on.

She forced even breaths in and out, willing her heart rate to slow. The scent of plants and flowers mingled with the antiseptic smell of the highly sterilized space.

Fidgeting with the badge on her silver lanyard, Felicity knew she should walk right out of the memory garden, and she would, before he finished the story.

Meanwhile, she couldn’t stop thoughts of how she’d met Conrad, of how he’d pursued her with such flattering intensity. Her work as a county social worker had brought her to this hospital often, and his nephew had been dating a friend of Felicity’s who volunteered in the NICU. Felicity had finally caved and dated Conrad briefly, against her better judgment, but she’d broken things off just before Christmas and taking on a new job.

It was a dream come true being hired on as a hospital social worker for underage patients. The recent change offered all the more reason she needed to stay focused on her career, and not on romance. Her broken marriage had left her full of crushing heartbreak. The grief had taken its toll on her at the office, crippling her concentration. She’d labored long and hard to rebuild her résumé. She refused to endure another setback in her professional—or personal—life.

After Conrad closed the last page of the book, he turned over story time to a volunteer with puppets. Felicity let go of her lanyard, her fingers numb. She’d gripped it so hard the ridges bit into her skin.

She’d waited too long, lost in thoughts of this man. If she moved quickly, she could still make an escape...

But wouldn’t that delay the inevitable?

She couldn’t just walk away today without confronting Conrad about his refusal to give her space. Her heart sped.

Conrad slid on his suit jacket, then scooped up his Stetson and overcoat. He wove his way through the audience, past geraniums spilling over the side of terra-cotta planters, massive urns with trees and a babbling stone fountain. While the puppeteer set up her portable stage, children stretched and wriggled, mats rustling and IV poles clinking. Conrad paused, leaning to answer a question from a young girl with a bandanna covering her bald head, then continued his journey across the indoor garden.

And his eyes were locked on Felicity.

Felicity exhaled hard, her heart double-timing against her will. He didn’t miss a beat in his beeline to her, his long legs eating up the space between them, boots thudding on the tile floor.

“Hello,” he said simply, his head dipping low enough his breath caressed her cheek. “It’s good to see you.”

She bit her lip and struggled to keep her gaze off his mouth and on his eyes, memories of their brief time together bombarding her. “We should step out. I wouldn’t want to disrupt the performance.”

Taped flute music started as the puppeteer slid into place behind the stage. The children stilled for the rest of the entertainment.

Conrad opened the door leading out of the memory garden and into the busy hallway, winter coat draped over his arm. Staff in scrubs mixed with visitors in street clothes, and the flow of human traffic streamed both ways, the opposing currents somehow weaving around each other fluidly. The wide corridor sported a wall of windows showcasing a snowplow making its way through the lot beside a towering parking garage.

Conrad clasped her elbow and guided her to a nook lined with vending machines. The simple touch set her body on fire. His equally hot gaze made her feel like a siren in spite of her businesslike pin-striped skirt and ruffled white blouse.

He planted a hand on the wall, his shoulders blocking out the corridor, making a public space suddenly intimate. “Congratulations on your new job.”

So he did know, probably from her friend Tally Benson, who was dating Marshall Steele—Conrad’s nephew. Felicity had the confirmation. His time here wasn’t coincidental. He was looking for her.

Frustration—and an unwanted tingle of pleasure—filled her. “Tally told you?”

“Marshall did,” Conrad acknowledged. “I didn’t know you were looking to make a change at work.”

She struggled to focus on his words, difficult to do with the spicy scent of him filling her every breath.

“I wasn’t unhappy at my other position, but this is a dream job of mine.” All the more reason she needed to keep her focus narrowed.

“They’re lucky to have you.” His hand was close enough to stroke her hair, but he didn’t move.

The phantom touch, the promise, was just as potent.

Enough polite chitchat. “Why are you here? I’m not buying this sudden interest of yours for story time with sick children.”

“You didn’t want our date from the bachelor auction last month, so I’m fulfilling the time purchased here.”

She’d been irate when he’d paid the money in her name for his time at the charity bachelor auction. She didn’t like being manipulated. Another reason she was irritated to see him here today, despite the way his nearness made her temperature spike.

Still, she couldn’t deny he was doing a good thing for the patients, many of them here long term in the pediatric oncology ward. “That’s very altruistic of you. What made you think of reading books instead of something like volunteering in the gift shop?”

“I like kids, even though I don’t have any of my own. I’ve always been a proud and involved uncle. And my family’s charity foundation is initiating a number of projects here at Anchorage General.”

Could that be true and she just hadn’t heard about it yet? Or was he making another excuse to pursue her because she’d had the nerve to say no to a Steele?

“What kinds of projects?”

“We’re starting with a program donating books to patients.” He answered without hesitation.

She believed him. About that much at least. “That’s a wonderful thing to do, but I need to make sure you know, my interest is not for sale.”

His easy smile faded. “Neither is my honor. My family has always supported this hospital out of gratitude for their top-notch care. My nieces and nephews were born here. My niece Naomi underwent cancer treatment here—and then went on to deliver her twins here. The book donation is a part of the new pilot program.”

“New pilot program?” she couldn’t resist asking, the professional in her intrigued. So much for playing it as cool and formidable as the Alaskan tundra.