A Billionaire Between the Sheets (6 page)

“Him? Him who?”

Kelly flipped her waist-length black hair over her shoulder. “I didn't catch his name, but I think I'm going to call him Stud Muffin.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “I'm assuming he wants to have sex with you.”

“No. But I damned well want to have sex with him.”

Olivia looked at the door. “So why is he here?”

Kelly shrugged. “I didn't get that either.”

As soon as her life became less hectic, Olivia was going to have to fire Kelly…or have someone else do it. “So you just let some man into my office without finding out his name or why he's here?”

“Pretty much. And when you see him, you'll understand why.” Kelly turned the door handle.

Olivia had a corner office the same size as Michael's. There was a sitting area with wet bar, a bathroom with a steam shower, and floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. The man was standing at those windows. And if his front looked as good as his back, Olivia understood Kelly's lust. He wore faded jeans that hugged his nice rear and a white dress shirt that she would bet had never seen the inside of a dry cleaner. The soft, un-starched cotton cuddled broad shoulders and a muscled back, then hung loose to his waist. Since few businessmen wore starchless dress shirts and worn jeans, Olivia figured she knew who he was.

“I'm sorry, but I think there's been a misunderstanding.” She headed toward the man, who didn't appear to be in a hurry to turn around. “I don't interview models in my office. In fact the final interviews for the fashion show runway models aren't until next week.” She stopped directly behind him, and her gaze drifted over his dark brown hair. It was nice hair. Thick and rich, without a hint of salon highlights. It looked as if it had been recently cut, the layers falling in textured waves that just reached the limp collar of his shirt. He lifted a hand and ran his fingers through the strands almost self-consciously before he slowly turned around.

Olivia was impressed. Now here was a face that could make her reschedule an interview. It was a face that could launch a thousand ships, inflame millions of women…and sell billions of pairs of men's underwear. A tanned throat peeked from the open collar of his shirt and rose to a square chin and angular jaw. A serious mouth, with a full bottom lip and perfectly matched top, sat beneath a strong Roman nose. Long dark lashes surrounded eyes the color of crushed pansies—

“Deacon.” The word came out of her mouth like a gasp for air.

One corner of his mouth hiked up for a brief second before dropping back into a flat line. He tipped his head at the window. “Nice view.”

She blinked a couple of times and then stared at his face like a kid who had discovered a man in the gorilla exhibit at the zoo. “You shaved your beard.”

He brushed a finger along the sleeve of her lavender jacket. His heat seemed to scorch right through the material. “You covered your bug bites.” His gaze lowered to her neck. “But not your hickey.”

“Hickey?”

Kelly's voice pulled Olivia out of her shock, and she turned to her assistant. “I've got this, Kelly. Thank you.” Kelly nodded and would've stepped out the door if Deacon hadn't stopped her.

“Coffee?”

“Oh!” Kelly stumbled over her platform heels to get the cup of coffee to him.

“Thank you. I'm sure it's perfect.” He gave her a smile that had Olivia doing a double take, and Kelly looking like she was about to reach orgasm. Her dark eyes glazed over as she just stood there fidgeting with her Betty Boop necklace.

“That's all, Kelly,” Olivia said a little too sharply. And even after her assistant had left the room, her voice still held an edge that could slice tomatoes. “So I assume that you're here for the money.”

He took a sip of coffee. Coffee that Olivia desperately needed. She thought about buzzing Kelly, but she couldn't put up with any more giddy gawking. She was doing enough of that herself. But it was hard to look away from a smooth-shaven Deacon. Not that he was completely devoid of facial hair. Dark stubble covered his lower face and seemed to be growing before her eyes. As if reading her thoughts, he stroked his jawbone as he glanced around the room.

“Do you really need all this space?”

As she had never thought about it before, it took her a moment to answer. “Probably not, but it came with the position.”

“And that is?”

“Vice-president of sales.” She paused. “And soon-to-be CEO.”

“Hmm?” His eyebrows lifted, and he took another sip.

Since she had about a zillion things to do, Olivia sat down behind her desk. “Once all the
t
's are crossed, I planned to have the money transferred into the bank account of your choice.” She opened her briefcase and took out her checkbook. “But I'll be more than happy to write you a check to tide you and your brothers over. I don't know why I didn't think of it before.” She had just finished signing the check for ten thousand when a hand covered hers. While most people had a body temperature of ninety-eight point six, it seemed that Deacon's was well above.

“There's no need for that, Olivia,” he said.

She studied his long-fingered hand and the dark hair on his muscled forearm. “Then why are you here?”

Before he could answer, there was a tap on the door, and Jason stuck his head in. “Sorry to interrupt, Ms. Harrington”—he glanced at Deacon—“but I need to speak with you right away.”

Thankful to get away from his mind-altering heat, she pulled her hand from Deacon and excused herself. “Pardon me. I'll be right back.” As soon as she got in the hallway, Jason held out the contracts.

“There seems to be a problem.” He flipped through the pages until he got to the last one. “One of the signatures is missing.”

“What?” She grabbed the contracts from him. “You have to be mistaken. I was there when all three brothers signed—” She stopped and looked back at the closed door, then at the empty line beneath the two other signatures. Her heart tumbled all the way down to her feet. Without saying a word to Jason, she strode back into the office.

Deacon was sitting in her chair. He looked at the contract she held in her hand and smiled. Not the smile he'd given Kelly, but a sinister smile, like a cat that had just cornered a mouse. “Problems?”

Olivia tried not to show her fear, but it wasn't easy. “It seems that you forgot to sign the contract.”

“Hmm? That is a dilemma.” He picked up the pen she'd been using to write the check. “Of course it's easily solved.”

She'd been in the business world long enough to know when she was being toyed with. She stepped closer to the desk and placed the contract on the top. “But you aren't going to sign it, are you?”

He twirled the pen through his fingers a few times before he spoke. “The Beaumonts have done their share of begging, don't you think? Now it's your turn, Olivia.”

D
eacon was playing a game he had no business playing. Especially when the money he was playing it with wasn't his own. It was his brothers' as well. And both Nash and Grayson wanted him to sign the contract and make them millionaires as quickly as possible. They had no desire to be owners of their uncle's lingerie company. And Deacon didn't want that either. Which didn't explain why he'd refused to send the contract back with his uncle's lawyers. Or why he had shaved his beard, cut his hair, and traveled all the way to California to deliver it in person.

Obviously something had gone a little haywire in his brain. Something that had gotten even worse when he'd seen Olivia's opulent office, stood looking at the spectacular view, and finally turned to find a spoiled executive in a suit that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe. And now, whether he had a right or not, he wasn't through making Olivia sweat.

Although she didn't appear to be sweating too much.

“So I guess you want me to beg,” she said. When he didn't reply, she shrugged. “Okay. You want me on my knees or will a couple of
pretty please
s do?”

He stopped twirling the pen through his fingers and called her bluff. “Knees would be nice.” He expected her to tell him to go to hell. Instead she walked around the desk and, without the slightest hesitation, lifted her sexy-as-hell skirt just enough to flash him a peek of pretty pink garter belt fasteners and thigh-high stockings before kneeling in front of him.

Her piercing green eyes pinned him as she spoke in a voice that was anything but humble. “Please, Deacon. Please sign the contract.”

It was his fantasy all over again. Technically, the desk and office were his. And while Olivia wasn't exactly in rags, she was on her knees. Which didn't explain why all the fun had drained right out of the game. Probably because he knew what it felt like to be forced to beg. Knew exactly the feeling of humiliation that came with needing something someone else had.

“Get up,” he said.

“Why?” She gave him a wide-eyed look. “Did I do it wrong, Deacon? Sorry, but I'm not as good at begging as the Beaumonts.”

The pen slipped from his fingers, and the leather chair creaked as he sat up, bringing his face inches from hers. “Shut up.”

“Or what? You won't sign the contract?” She laughed, her breath coming out in a puff of heat. “We both know that you won't walk away from fifty million.”

Her condescending attitude took Deacon from angry to flat-out pissed. So pissed that he couldn't even put together a reply that would wipe the smartassed smirk off her face. That being the case, he chose a nonverbal way to do it.

He kissed her.

Not a soft kiss, but a hard, forceful one that ended with him sucking her plump bottom lip between his teeth and giving it a nip. When he pulled back, Olivia was staring at him with shocked eyes. He expected her anger and didn't even tense when she lifted her hand. But instead of delivering a stinging, much-deserved slap she slid her hand over the stubble on his jaw before pulling him back for another kiss.

She kissed much better than she begged. He actually believed that she was enjoying it. He sure as hell was. Her lips were hungry and aggressive, her mouth hot and wet, and her tongue slick and teasing.

Deacon opened his legs, and she moved right into the space like a moored ship. Her hands curled around his neck while his curved over her ass, lifting her knees off the plush carpeting. As he squeezed the firm cheeks, his mind ran through the list of things he would need to accomplish before he could be surrounded by the heat of her body. Lift skirt. Remove panties. Unzip jeans. Pull out cock. Get condom—damn.

He pulled away from those scorching lips. Then, just to make sure he didn't succumb to a pair of desire-drugged eyes, he shoved the caster chair back a good three feet. But even with the added space, it took a while for him to get ahold of his raging hormones.

Olivia didn't take quite as long.

After only a few blinks, she got to her feet, took two wobbly steps toward him, then hauled off and gave him the stinging slap he'd expected earlier. By the time his ears stopped ringing, she had the pen and contract in hand.

“I did what you asked,” she said through gritted teeth. “Now you sign.”

It was difficult to keep up the smiling-asshole part with a hard-on that could easily have been used as a battering ram, but he did his best. “I didn't force you to beg. I merely asked. And you deserved it when you weren't exactly honest about how many shares Uncle Michael left us.”

“The number of shares was in the contract.”

“True. But you didn't explain that we owned the company.”

“You don't own it. You own controlling interest.”

“Which we both know is the same thing.” He glanced around. “So this would be my office?”

Her eyes narrowed as she enunciated every word. “This. Is. My. Office.”

Now that he was back in control, he asked the questions that had been circling his brain. “So what horrible thing did you do to get cut out of Uncle Michael's will completely? Forget to put your napkin on your lap? Burp at a dinner party? Get caught showing someone your panties?”

The look that entered her eyes was a combination of anger and hurt. “I didn't do anything. And I wasn't cut out completely.”

Deacon already knew this. After his father had gotten the lawyers high on the moonshine he always carried in his trunk, they had become loose-lipped. He knew exactly what his uncle had left Olivia and her mother. According to the lawyers, the value of the estate was the same amount she was willing to give Deacon and his brothers.

He studied her. “Sorry, but I just don't get it. If you were Uncle Michael's beloved stepdaughter, why wouldn't he just leave you the shares in the company? Didn't he know how much you love French Kiss?”

She turned away. “He knew.” A buzzer went off, and Olivia reached out and pressed a button on the phone. “Yes?”

“Sorry to interrupt.” Kelly's voice came through the speaker. “But your mother is on line one and says that it's an emergency.”

Olivia's shoulders tightened. “Thank you, Kelly.” She glanced back at Deacon. “Do you mind getting out of my chair?”

“Not at all.” He got up and slid the chair over.

If looks could kill, he would be six feet under. Which made his smile even broader. He liked this feisty Olivia much better than he liked the poised businesswoman. Or maybe he just liked knowing that he could get under her skin.

He moved to the sitting area and sat down on the couch. It was as hard and uncomfortable as it looked. He picked up a French Kiss catalog from the coffee table and thumbed through it. It wasn't the first time. He was on their mailing list—under an alias, of course. An exasperated grunt had him looking up from the hot model in a lacy bra and panties to the ticked-off woman in a business suit. It didn't sit well that he found Olivia almost as hot.

“So I guess you're not leaving,” she said.

He shrugged. “I don't have anywhere to go. This poor Beaumont only had enough money for the plane ticket.” It was an out-and-out lie. He might not have had enough money to build his condos, but he had enough to cover a plane ticket and hotel. But damned if he wasn't enjoying toying with Olivia. However, the kiss had been a mistake. One that wouldn't be repeated.

She sent him a glare before pressing a button and picking up the phone. “I'm sorry I kept you waiting, Mother, but I'm kind of busy right now. So what's the emergency? Did…” Her gaze met his before she swiveled the chair around and lowered her voice. “Did she throw another temper tantrum?” She paused for only a second before speaking in a voice at least three octaves higher. “Jail? She's in jail!”

Although he continued to thumb through the catalog, Deacon was all ears.

“What happened? Oh, good Lord.” With the phone cradled to her ear, Olivia swiveled back around and placed her checkbook in the briefcase. “No, we can't leave her there, Mother.” Another pause. “No, I don't have a clue how to bail someone out of jail, but I'm sure I'll figure it out.” Hanging up the phone, she stood and grabbed her briefcase.

Deacon flipped down the catalog and got to his feet. “You'll probably need a bail bondsman.”

She stopped on her way to the door and turned to him. “Excuse me?”

“That's what you'll need if you want to bail your friend out of jail.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “Thank you.”

He flashed her a smile. “Anytime.”

She studied him for a long moment before heading for the door. As soon as she had it open, she spoke to her assistant. But not as to an employee as much as to a friend she didn't want to offend. “Umm, Kelly, do you think you could reschedule my morning meetings? I need to drop…something off at my house and won't be back until the afternoon. And once Mr. Beaumont signs the paperwork on my desk, would you mind making him a reservation at a nice hotel and taking care of anything else he might need before he leaves town?” She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes almost daring him to contradict what she'd just told her assistant. “Goodbye, Deacon. Have a safe trip home.”

Then, with the twitch of shapely hips and the click of purple high heels, she strode toward the elevators. Once she had disappeared around the corner, Kelly spoke.

“Is there a hotel you prefer?” She gave him a slow once-over, followed by the flirtatious bat of her overly long eyelashes. “Or if you like cozy, you could sleep on my couch, Mr.…”

“Beaumont. And whatever hotel you choose is fine.”

Kelly's eyes widened. “Beaumont? Are you related to Michael Beaumont?”

“He was my uncle.”

“So you're his nephew? The one he willed the company to?”

Deacon nodded. “That would be me. But you don't have to worry. I don't have any plans to take over.”

Her excitement dimmed. “That's too bad. What French Kiss needs is someone to take charge. Ms. Harrington is nice and all, but she's a bit of a pushover. Which might explain why we're going bankrupt.”

“Bankrupt? French Kiss is going bankrupt?”

She glanced in both directions before she leaned in. “Since I've only worked here a few months, I don't have all the details. But rumor has it that, once you find out about the company's problems, you're going to sell it to the highest bidder. Which is going to suck for me since my roommate moved out with her rat bastard of a boyfriend and left me with the lease. And do you have a clue how expensive it is to live in San Francisco? Not that I'm hinting for a raise or anything. I would just like to keep my job.”

Deacon was stunned. Last he'd heard, French Kiss was pulling in billions a year. Now it was going bankrupt? It didn't make sense. And why would Olivia spend all her money on a company that was going under?

As if reading his mind, Kelly continued. “Although I think Ms. Harrington has something up her sleeve to save the company. I overheard her talking to her mother about a secret weapon.”

“A secret weapon?”

She nodded. “Some Paris designer. Unfortunately, now that person is in jail for sexual assault.” Obviously Olivia's assistant didn't mind eavesdropping on phone calls.

“Do you know what jail Ms. Harrington went to?”

“No, but I do know that once she bails the designer out of jail, she's taking her back to her house.” She turned to her computer. “And I have that address.”

Olivia didn't live in a mansion as her stepfather had, but Deacon didn't doubt for a second that the three-story house had cost a pretty penny. Property values in San Francisco were higher than a cat's ass, which explained why the houses were snugged together like toes in a tight boot. He'd planned on waiting in front for Olivia to return and was surprised when he pulled up and found the garage door wide open. Had Olivia gotten the secret weapon out of jail that quickly? Or had Kelly given him the wrong address?

He got out of the rental car and slammed the door, taking note of the
For Sale
sign stuck in a huge flowerpot of bright-red geraniums by the steps that led to the front door. Olivia was selling her house?

“You there! What's your business?”

Deacon glanced up to see a bare-chested old guy on the balcony of the house next door pointing a watering pot at him. “I'm looking for my cousin,” he called up. “Is this Olivia Harrington's house?”

The man called back over his shoulder. “Doris! Isn't the young girl next door named Britney? There's a guy looking for Olivia.”

A woman's voice came out the open sliding glass door. “Good grief, Hammond, that was the woman who lived there five years ago. This one is Olivia.”

“Well, whatever her name is,” the old guy said, “she left her garage door open again and there's a man lurking around who claims he's her cousin.”

An old woman's head appeared above the balcony, followed by a pair of saggy, wrinkled breasts. “You're Olivia's cousin?”

Deacon lowered his gaze to the geraniums and tried to clear the image from his brain. “Yes, ma'am.”

“You don't look like her.”

“We're step-cousins.”

“Remember my step-cousin, Doris?” the man said. “Unbelievable chef, but the meanest bastard I ever had the misfortune of knowing.”

“Hush up, Hammond. He doesn't want to hear your life story.” She spoke to Deacon. “I guess it's okay for you to go in when she's not home, but be warned that we're going to get your license plate number.” He thought she pointed a finger, but he refused to look up to be sure. “And if anything is missing,” she continued, “we'll know where to send the police.”

“Yes, ma'am.” It was a relief to walk into the garage. The inside of the garage looked like a girl's. No toolboxes, athletic equipment, or grease. Just a bicycle with a silly basket on the front, a pair of purple galoshes, and two cases of bottled water.