A Billionaire Between the Sheets (18 page)

It was pathetic how much she wanted to believe him. “So why are you leaving?”

“I have a business.” For a second he looked almost embarrassed. “It's just a small development company, but I'm building these condos and I need to get my foreman started on them while I'm working here.”

“So you're coming back?”

A smile bloomed on his face. “What happened to the woman who couldn't get rid of me fast enough?”

Relief welled, along with a feeling that was almost giddy. Which was probably why she let her guard down and told the truth. “Maybe she finally figured out that she needs you.”

“To save French Kiss?”

That wasn't the only reason, but Olivia wasn't willing to examine the other reason too closely. “Among other things,” she said. Standing on her tiptoes, she trailed kisses over his chin that was already dark with stubble, but before she reached his sweet mouth, he pulled away, his eyes serious.

“I don't know if I can save French Kiss, Livy.”

This vulnerable side of Deacon made her want to kiss him even more. “I do. And so does everyone else in the company.”

“I find that hard to believe. Nobody likes the boss.”

She smiled. “I didn't say that they liked you. I said that they believed in you—something they never did with me.”

“Maybe you didn't give them a chance.”

She shook her head. “Maybe I'm not a good boss.” She paused as she remembered Grayson's sketch of her working on the corset, and a realization hit. “But I am a good designer. And it just took the Beaumont brothers to inspire me.”

He effortlessly picked her up in his arms and carried her to the desk. “If that corset is an example, you're not a good designer, you're a great designer. And as far as you're concerned, it's not the Beaumont brothers. It's the Beaumont brother. From now on, I want to be the only one who gives you inspiration, Livy. Got that?”

She did.

T
he lakeside property was as beautiful as Deacon remembered. Pines and cedars grew thick around the perimeter of the large lake, bordering the deep-blue summer sky with their dark, craggy edges and filling the air with the fresh scent of evergreens.

The area he'd planned for the condos had been surveyed and sectioned off, and the heavy equipment sat in the clearing waiting to start excavation. This had been his dream. Something he obsessed about for years. Now he had another obsession. And it had nothing to do with building condos and making his first million. It had to do with a petite blonde with a wild side that set his hair on fire—something he should've figured out the first time she'd shown him her panties. And maybe deep down he had known. Maybe that was why he hadn't been able to take her offer and run.

They had spent the night together. With his brothers at her house, he had taken her back to his hotel room, where they had explored her wild side…and his. He had missed his flight again. Something that Olivia had found quite amusing. But when he'd grumbled over it, she'd picked up the phone and made a call. Two hours later he'd been on French Kiss's private jet—a slick silver plane with an embarrassing pair of purple lips on the tail.

The plane was now waiting at a small airfield for him to conclude his business. He had planned to come back and get the ball rolling—meet with the foreman, set up a timetable. Instead he stood there like the new kid on the first day of school. He felt disoriented and out of place, like he'd stepped into someone else's life. Which was crazy. Louisiana was his home. He and his brothers had gone duck hunting in these woods and fishing in this very lake with their father.

Perhaps because he had grown up in the bayou, Donny John had never liked to spend much time there. Instead he had brought his sons here to the lake, a good two hours from their home, and taught them how to bait a hook and to wait patiently for the second nibble before they yanked the rod. When they had caught their limit, they'd return to camp, where Deacon's mother would be waiting to fry up their catch. Then they would gather around the campfire and toast marshmallows while his mother told ghost stories that were more funny than scary. The memories were some of the happiest Deacon had.

A shriek of girlish giggles had him turning from the lake and looking at the path that led into the trees. Curious, he followed the sound until he found a clearing and three teenage girls sitting cross-legged in a circle. They appeared to be trying to start a fire with a flint stone and pocketknife. Their efforts were pathetic at best—mostly because they couldn't seem to stop giggling. The giggles died when one looked up and saw Deacon. Her eyes widened, and she swatted each of her friends on the arm. All three looked at him and guiltily jumped to their feet. Each wore shorts and a navy blue T-shirt with the words
Camp Chitimacha
printed on the front. Which pretty much explained what they were doing there.

The real estate broker had informed him that a camp was located on the land, but the previous owner was supposed to have evicted it by now. Which meant it would be up to Deacon. Not that he could evict three young girls.

He nodded at the flint and knife they'd left on the ground next to a pile of sticks. “Trying to start a fire?” When they exchanged fearful glances, he introduced himself. “I'm Deacon Beaumont. I'm building condos down by the lake.”

“So you're the jerk who's closing down the camp?” the tall, skinny girl asked.

There was a moment when all three pairs of eyes narrowed on him when Deacon thought about backpedaling and lying through his teeth. Instead he nodded. “I am.”

“But it's not fair,” the redhead said. “We've been coming to Camp Chitimacha for the last four years and now you're just going to tear down the camp cabins? Where are we going to go next year?”

The short, plump teenager spoke up. “I'm going to fat camp. My mom already said.” She glared at Deacon and mumbled something under her breath that sounded a lot like
butthole
.

Realizing that things were about to get ugly, Deacon took a few steps back. “I'll just let you girls get back to building your fire. But you might want to make a tinder nest for the spark to catch.”

“Thanks for the tip,” the plump girl said belligerently, but the tall, skinny girl had more common sense.

“You know how to start a fire?” she asked.

“Emily!” her plump friend snapped at her.

Emily shrugged. “It's not like we're going to keep him from tearing down the cabins, Izzy. And if he can build us a fire so we beat the Tiger Lilies, then I don't see why we shouldn't let him. They've stomped us every summer for the last four years, and I'm getting tired of hearing Chelsea Watts brag about it.” She looked at the redhead. “What do you think, Megan?”

Megan studied Deacon for a long moment. “You sure you can do it? It's not as easy as it looks.”

Deacon grinned. “Of course I can do it. I spent every summer camping here with my family. And fire-starting was my specialty.” He rubbed his hands together. “In no time at all, you girls are going to be toasting marshmallows and enjoying s'mores.”

Unfortunately, “no time at all” turned into “much longer than he'd expected.” Sweat rolled off his temples and the muscles in his forearm ached from repeatedly flicking the flint against the steel blade of the pocketknife. When a spark finally caught the bark he'd formed into a nest, he was too out of breath to blow on it, so it quickly fizzled. But he refused to give up. Especially since the teenage girls had already lost faith in him. Emily picked at the polish on her big toe, while Megan drew in the dirt. Only Izzy continued to watch with a satisfied, know-it-all smile.

Finally a spark caught, and he leaned down and blew until a flame leaped to life. “Get the kindling!” he yelled. The girls quickly handed him the twigs they'd collected, and soon they had a small fire going.

“We did it!” Izzy did a couple of celebratory dance moves. “We have fire!”

Her friends joined her, and pretty soon all three girls were dancing around Deacon as he smiled with a deep sense of accomplishment. Maybe one day he'd teach his own daughters how to start a fire. The thought surprised him. Since he'd spent most of his life taking care of his family, the idea of kids and more responsibility hadn't been appealing. But suddenly his mind was filled with images of him camping with a couple of cute little girls.

Had Olivia ever gone camping? Somehow he doubted it. She had been too wrapped up in French Kiss and earning Michael's love. The thought saddened him. He hadn't had the best of lives. He had lost his mother at an early age and had worked hard to keep food on the table. But he'd had fun in between the hard work—especially the summers spent here at the lake.

A hand waved in front of his face.

“Hey, are you okay?” Izzy asked. “You look kinda dazed out and sad.”

He blinked away the images. “Yeah, I'm good. Now let's get some wood so that fire doesn't go out.”

After tending the fire, he had the girls line it with rocks.

“You have to go,” Emily said as she placed the last rock in the circle. “Mandy, the camp counselor, will be coming back soon to check our progress. And if she finds you here, we won't win the fire-starter award.”

He wasn't exactly thrilled to leave a bunch of girls and a fire unattended, but he figured he'd check on them once he met with his project manager. So after instructing the girls on how to properly put out a fire, he headed to the work site.

On the way down, Deacon enjoyed the view of the crystal-blue lake and deep-green forest. Or at least he did until his gaze landed on the earthmover and backhoes that sat in the clearing. They seemed as out of place in the beautiful setting as three-story condos would be. The thought came out of nowhere, but he realized it was true. No matter how good a job he did, the buildings would still stand out like a man-made sore thumb in this God-made beautiful setting.

The thought stuck with him as he waited for his project manager, and settled into a hard knot of discontentment. To ease the uncomfortable feeling, he picked up a rock and tried to skip it across the lake. But his rock-skipping was as rusty as his fire-starting. The rock disappeared into the water with a loud
pluck
. It took a few more tries before he got it right.

“Impressive.”

He turned to find the project manager getting out of a dually truck. Cory Davis had gone to school with Nash. He was a good guy with a strong work ethic, which was why Deacon had hired him.

“Hey, man.” Deacon shook his hand. “Thanks for meeting me out here on such short notice.”

“No problem. So as you can see, the equipment is here, and I planned on breaking ground on Monday. Is that okay with you?”

A few hours ago that would've been more than okay. But now Deacon wasn't so sure. Instead of answering, he picked up another rock and tossed it. “So have you ever been to the camp out here?”

“Yeah. My brother's kids have gone to it the last couple years. And I came out once for family day.” He picked up a rock and threw it. It skipped twice as far as Deacon's. Which had Deacon grabbing another rock.

“Is it a good camp?” he asked.

“It appears to be, but whoever built the cabins could've taken a course in carpentry. They can't be more than ten years old, and they already need new roofs. But since we're going to be tearing them down anyway, I guess it doesn't matter.”

Deacon chucked the rock as far as he could, but it still didn't go as far as Cory's had. Then he remembered what his mother had taught him: rock-skipping had nothing to do with strength and everything to do with technique. He picked up another rock and tossed it—this time letting the rock easily sail from his fingers rather than forcing it. It skipped past Cory's spot and then disappeared into the darkness of the water. Just as so many memories of his mother had disappeared from Deacon's life. And suddenly he couldn't stand the thought of one more disappearing.

“So do you want me to start Monday?” Cory asked.

He turned to Cory. “I don't want you to start at all.”

Cory looked confused. “Look, Deke, if you're worried about moving the camp, you don't have to be. The camp could stay right where it is.”

“Yeah, but what good is a camp if there's a bunch of condos blocking your view?”

Cory laughed. “You're sounding a little like Nash. He's the one who's always looking out for the underdog. I thought you were more about making money.”

It was true. Or at least it had been. Now he couldn't stop thinking about the young girls missing out on their camping summers. Or the thought of his own daughters coming here to swim and fish and…dance around fires.

“People change,” he said.

Cory studied him for a second. “Yeah, I guess they do. So you want me to have the equipment picked up?”

“Yes, bill me for the cost. And I'd like you to do another job for me as soon as I get my finances settled.”

“More condos?”

Deacon grinned. “I was thinking about fixing some cabins.”

Cory lifted his eyebrows. “And how is that going to make you money, Deke?”

“Haven't you heard that money isn't everything?”

Cory laughed. “Yeah, I've heard that. But never from Deacon Beaumont.”

After Cory left, Deacon hiked up to check on the girls. He was actually disappointed to find them gone. The fire was out, properly doused with water and covered with dirt. He checked for any live embers before he headed to his rental car. He wanted to get back to San Francisco and Olivia, but he'd never believed in putting off until tomorrow what you could do today. Now that he'd decided to scrap the condo project, he needed to talk with Francesca.

Francesca came from old money, and her house reflected that. Built in the early eighteen hundreds by a French ancestor, the plantation-style had towering columns and wide verandas. At one time Deacon had been impressed by the grandeur of the house. Now it just looked old. It even smelled old. Once he was directed into the front sitting room by the maid, he couldn't help noticing the musty scent that seemed to come from the dark rugs and antique furniture.

He had been in the room before on two separate occasions—once to present his proposal for the condos and ask for money and once to escort Francesca to one of her charity events—and both times he'd felt as uncomfortable as he did now. Not wanting to sit, he walked to the fireplace and looked at the pictures on the mantel. Most were of Francesca. Which wasn't surprising. The woman had an ego the size of Louisiana. But a few were of a dark-haired man close to Deacon's age. Obviously Deacon wasn't the first younger man Francesca had been interested in.

Moving over to the bookcase, he browsed the fiction titles until he came to a high school yearbook. Since she had gone to high school with Donny John and Michael, curiosity had Deacon pulling it out. It was surprising how much Donny's senior picture looked like Nash—his smile was bright and his eyes mischievous. Michael's picture, on the other hand, was like looking in the mirror. He didn't smile, but stared at the camera with a solemn intensity.

“I hope you aren't looking at my picture. I never did take good school pictures.”

Deacon closed the book and turned to Francesca. She stood in the doorway with a slight smile on her lips. She was an attractive woman, her hair stylish and her makeup not overdone. She had a voluptuous figure, but didn't flaunt it. Her peach blouse and white skirt looked expensive but demure.

“Just looking up my uncle,” he said.

Her smile dropped, and she walked over and took the yearbook from him, sliding it back on the shelf. “It never does any good to talk about the past.” When she turned, the smile was back. “You shaved.” Her finger traced his jawline. “I like it. But I didn't mind the beard either. It was quite a conversation piece among my friends. Speaking of which…I have a dinner tonight at Madeline Crowley's. I'd love for you to come.”