Playing with Billionaire's Fire

Chapter 2: The Unfaithful Wife

"Has Hector eaten his breakfast?" asked Celine as she sat on her usual chair.

"Yes, miss," answered Henley while pouring orange juice into her glass. "Mr. Iversen is currently on the phone."

Not a day had passed that her husband failed to join her at every breakfast. And even when he tried to make time, his "silence" equaled the word "absence."

Bland. Not the food she ate, but her wealthy life.

They say perfection is boring. Yet her imperfection only meant the same thing.

She never asked for money. She was searching for care and to be pampered like a child. She was looking for someone who could show her the real meaning of love.

Yet all she got was negligence, and nothing but an unkind heart could ever show her.

"Hector?"

Frustrated in face, Hector held a visage of an uninviting man who didn’t want to be disturbed.

"I'm heading out—"

"I'm busy, Celine," he cut her off. "Henley can take you wherever you want to go." Dismissing her just like that, he answered his phone when it rang once again.

"Henley's a butler, not a driver." Wanting to correct him, Celine picked her purse and headed out to her car.

Lonely, even when she wasn't alone.

Waking up every morning without her husband beside her, not even the warmth of his body stayed in the sheets. And the attention she’d been looking for wasn't something she had ever earned.

But what she couldn't find in her husband, she found with the kids who showered her with love she had never felt as a person.

For four long years of marriage with Hector, he had never consider giving her a child.

And that was why Celine ran a foundation for the children who were strongly fighting cancer. But it wasn't enough—she needed a man's touch.

She had been yearning for the day when Hector would touch her with desire and make love to her, but his coldness pushed her to break her loyalty to him.

And it all started when she drove herself to a place where she shouldn't be.

"What are you doing?" Celine asked herself as she parked the car near the huge gates where the man she tried to ignore lived.

"This is wrong," she argued with herself. "You're a married woman, Celine. Don't do this," she whispered.

With her eyes closed, she took a deep breath. She was about to leave when a car honked at her.

Her eyes flew open—a car facing her direction had its lights on, blinding her.

"Bugger," she muttered and started her car. But the engine didn’t work. "What the—?"

A knock on her window caused her to gasp. When she turned, Donovan's bragging perfection welcomed her.

He motioned for her to roll her window down. Celine swallowed the embarrassment of her sudden decision before doing what he asked.

"It's a beautiful night, and you're looking for something dumb to do." Quoting a line from a song in his own version, Donovan winked. "It's either you're lost, or you came by for a 'good time'."

"I... got lost," Celine chose the wrong answer—when in fact, she had come to him for a good f**k.

Without any filter of actions, Donovan opened her car door and held out his hand. "It's snowy outside—why don't we start a heat inside my house?"

Every single word that came out of his mouth never failed to make her think of what he meant. And it always ended up taking the suggestive path.

"I just got my chimney fixed last week," he added, wearing a vogue smirk.

"I'm leaving," said Celine.

As if Donovan didn’t understand what she said, he stayed standing in her way.

"Mr. Fordham—"

"Enough with the formalities. I want to hear you say my name."

"I've got no time for this."

"But you're here," he pointed out. "Have you made up your mind?"

Celine's eyes secretly landed on the ring she wore on her finger, thinking about what could happen if she took either of the choices she was offered... But her hands had their mind. She took her seatbelt off and accepted his hand.

The definition of fun was written on his face. The joy was evident, and the coziness applied when his hand lay flat on her back, guiding her to the open gates.

"Your place is huge. You live here alone?"

"Only on weekends," he answered. "I like giving myself time—take a break and have a little bit of fun and… well, a good 48 hours to spend… alone?"

Letting out a mirthless chuckle, Celine doubted his last reason.

The interior design was quite minimalist, but the colors were vibrant and mysterious at the same time—everything about it seemed to deny seeing eye-to-eye with Donovan's personality.

"The menu offers roast chicken, roast potatoes, and butter-drenched corn. And for sure, your taste buds would like to have a salad on the side."

Taking his jacket and necktie off, his eyes were glued on her.

And those eyes spelled L-U-S-T.

He was teasing her, and she was holding back.

Turning her attention to a row of paintings on the wall, she could see his faint reflection. The satisfaction on his face was still apparent.

"What kind of dessert are you craving?" he asked, folding the cuffs of his shirt just before his elbows.

For the first time being given a choice, Celine looked at him unbelievably. "Uh—anything that's served on the table."

He placed his hands on his hips and tilted his head to the side. "Don't you have a preference? Crème brûlée, ice cream, banana split? No?"

"I... would love a panna cotta if the menu offers it too," she timidly answered, but enough to make him grin from ear to ear.

When was the last time she had made her own decision for hherself

When was the last time she was asked what she really wanted to do in her life?

No one had ever given her something to choose from, for before she could even breathe, her parents had already designed a blueprint for her to follow.

Her life had always been planned. The thing is, the exterior was made extravagant, but on the inside, it was wrecked and empty—a void.

"Alright." He asked her to follow him into the kitchen where they had to pass a maze before they could get there.

"You can cook?"

"Doesn't mean I'm a billionaire I don't do household stuff."

Proud of it, he took what he needed and prepared it on the counter.

"Doesn’t your husband make you a meal?"

Shaking her head, Celine honestly answered, "We have a cook."

Sounding like a mock, he moved professionally around the kitchen. "And I bet he’s never poured you a glass of wine."

Donovan was aiming for a josh, but when he noticed Celine's expression, he paused.

"Wow," he uttered nonchalantly. "I wonder how boring your life is."

"Severely," she replied.

"And you're here because…?"

"This is me being stupid," she answered with difficulty and a problematic sigh. "I guess they were right when they said I’d end up lost if I decided for myself."

Snorting at her mumbling that he clearly heard, Donovan faced her as he tied the apron at his waist. "Stupidity makes you human," he said, catching her attention.

"And it's embarrassing."

"Of course—who wouldn't be embarrassed if they did something wrong?" He chuckled. "But you know what?" He lifted the flipper and pointed it at her. "The stupidest things you do make the most of your life amazing—thrilling."

His definition of life was the total opposite of hers. If there was a line, they would be sitting on both ends.

She was calculated, he was carefree. She was prim and proper, and he was wickedly casual—might she say spontaneous.

He acted like he had no problems, while she carried the world on her shoulders.

Settled for it, the whole kitchen was filled with their small talk as he readied everything. And once everything was set, Donovan washed his hands before facing her.

"Thirty minutes." He pointed at the timer that counted down the said minutes.

"Sure."

"So, what are we gonna do for half an hour?" he asked—a question that made her body respond.

"Uh... Monopoly?"

Donovan let out a heartfelt laugh that echoed through the whole house. "You're something, Celine Ellington."

"It's Iversen."

"You're not with him. You're with me," he said, making a casual sweeping gesture with his hand.

Sitting on the stool beside her, Donovan's gaze made her melt. She suddenly felt uneasy.

He wasn’t hiding the fact that he was checking her out.

"What?" Celine asked when she couldn't handle his heavy stare.

The tip of his forefinger touched her chin. "Your idiotic husband doesn't know what he's missing," he whispered.

His eyes fell on her lips, painted red—so luscious they aroused his need to have a taste. They were calling for him, taunting him.

On the other hand, Celine felt the call of her flesh, wanting to be pleasured by him. It was so wrong, but she didn’t care at the moment. She wanted to fill the hole in her heart that her husband had miserably ignored.

She wanted him.

Yes, Donovan was a stranger, and yet he was the only person who made her feel something nobody else ever had.

"I'm going to regret this," she breathed with her eyes closed.

"Maybe?" Pulling one side of his lips, he drew his face closer. "But let me tell you this: you may regret it later, but to me, I'll give you the best night you will ever have. Give you the best experience in bed. Make you scream loud until you lose your voice."

His dirty talk, his tempting teases—it made her swallow hard.

"I'm going to wreck you hard you won't be able to go back home to your stupid husband," he added as his hand rested on her thigh and squeezed it lightly.

"If I kiss you, I'm going to be unfaithful."

"You already are when you thought of me, when you drove to my house, and took my hand." Point given. "If you see this as a huge mistake, I'm going to agree with you. But I am going to be your beautiful mistake, Celine."

Donovan’s gaze burned into her, lips inches from hers.

“Say it,” he murmured. “Say you want me.”

Her heart pounded so hard she thought he could hear it.

She thought of Hector.

Of her vows.

Of her empty bed.

And then, in one clean, terrifying second, she stopped thinking at all.

"I want you, Donovan."