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Reborn Embrace: Taming the Possessive Tycoon Novel Cover

Reborn Embrace: Taming the Possessive Tycoon

I woke up gasping from a nightmare of flames devouring Chandler Finch's estate, my body wrapped in burning curtains as I died alone. But my eyes opened to silk sheets in his penthouse master bedroom. He was alive beside me, his cedarwood scent real. This was my second chance—I'd been reborn. His phone buzzed: Eugenia Stewart's "emergency." Her security detail reported her refusing meals, unstable. Chandler bolted without a glance, rushing to her side. I signed the brutal cohabitation contract binding me to him, but Temperance had planted birth control pills in the trash—a trap to frame me. Chandler found them, exploded in jealous rage, crushing the pills to dust. "No child unless it's mine," he growled, possessive fire in his eyes. Brett, Eugenia's lapdog, stormed in later, accusing me of manipulation. I fired back: Chandler demanded my womb for his heir. Brett paled, fled to tattle. Then the storm hit—power outage, locked on the terrace in pouring rain, freezing as Eugenia faked an asthma attack on Chandler's line, stealing his focus again. I hung up, huddled with a stray puppy, nearly dying from hypothermia. He'd never believed me before—Eugenia's lies always won, dooming me to isolation and fire. Why did her every whimper trump my screams? How could he be so blind? This time, reborn weeks before the inferno, I wouldn't beg. I'd play his game, shatter Eugenia's web, and make Chandler mine—before the flames returned.
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Chapter 6

Chandler crossed the terrace in two strides. He wrenched the heavy iron chair from the door's track, the metal scraping against the tiles with a harsh shriek. Then he swept her off the ground. His movements were rough, almost violent, yet his arms held her securely against his chest.

She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck. The small puppy, still clutched in her hands, let out a soft whine.

Chandler's eyes flickered down to the dirty, wet animal. His brow furrowed in disgust, but he said nothing. He didn't pry it from her grasp.

He carried her through the apartment and into the elevator, bypassing any staff who might see them. The elevator descended to the silent, cavernous underground garage.

He gently placed her in the back of his Maybach, the plush leather seats a stark contrast to her soaked, shivering body. He cranked the heat, and the warm air blasting from the vents felt like a miracle.

He was soaked too, his expensive suit ruined, but he ignored his own discomfort. He pulled a thick cashmere blanket from a compartment and wrapped it tightly around her, his motions clumsy but effective.

Carolyn huddled under the blanket, her body shaking so hard her teeth chattered. The puppy wriggled, trying to get closer to the warmth.

Chandler slid into the seat beside her and slammed the door shut. The enclosed space was suddenly filled with the sound of his harsh, ragged breathing.

"Are you insane?" he suddenly roared, turning on her. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with a wildness she'd never seen. "You dare hang up on me again?" His voice was shaking with a terrifying, barely leashed fury. "Your life belongs to me, and I don't permit you to die. Do you understand?" It was the sound of a man on the verge of losing control.

The force of his anger made her flinch. Tears welled in her eyes. "You were busy with her. I heard her. I heard you."

Her quiet, simple answer struck him like a physical blow. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a ghastly, pale shock. He remembered the call. He remembered Eugenia's manufactured panic, his own voice soothing her while Carolyn's voice was swallowed by the static.

He stared at her, his chest heaving. A pained, choked sound came from his throat.

Silence descended in the car, thick and heavy, broken only by the hum of the heater and the distant, muffled echo of the storm still raging above ground.

Carolyn watched the play of emotions on his face. The cold, ruthless mask was gone. In its place was raw, undisguised regret.

She reached out a trembling, ice-cold hand and lightly touched his arm.

He flinched, then turned to look at her. His expression was a tangled mess of emotions she couldn't begin to decipher.

"I thought," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "that you were more worried about her not being able to breathe."

His pupils dilated. With a guttural groan, he lunged forward, pulling her, the blanket, and the puppy into a crushing embrace. The force of it knocked the air from her lungs, but she didn't struggle. She melted against him, soaking in his warmth, his scent, his solid presence.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot and ragged against her cold skin. She felt the slight tremor running through his body.

She closed her eyes, pressing her face against his damp shirt, and nodded against his shoulder.

The puppy in her lap poked its head out and licked Chandler's hand. This time, he didn't pull away.

After a long moment, he loosened his grip. He shrugged off his wet suit jacket and tossed it aside. He pulled at his tie, then undid the top few buttons of his shirt, as if he couldn't get enough air.

Carolyn watched him, her heart doing a slow, painful flip in her chest.

He stared out the windshield at the dark concrete of the garage, his jaw set. Finally, he let out a long, slow breath and pulled her closer, letting her rest her head on his shoulder.

"You're cleaning that dog," he grumbled, his voice rough. But his hand came up to gently rub her back, a gesture of pure, unthinking comfort.

Carolyn nestled against him, a tiny, genuine smile touching her lips for the first time. "Okay."

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