Read Shifter’s Baby (Alpha Fantasy Paranormal Billionaire Shifter BBW Romance) Online
Authors: Faye Summers
Shifter’s Baby (Alpha Fantasy Paranormal Billionaire Shifter BBW Romance) (84 page)
Copyright 2015 by (Lisa Cartwright) - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
Neville Chamber’s 26-year-old face was unlined and smooth. All his worries had been dealt with by someone else. He was almost six feet tall with a muscular body.
His pants fit incredibly well. He hitched up his trousers when he sat so they wouldn’t bag. His tie was perfectly muted and appropriate. He held his manicured hands together in front of his nose.
The woman in the room sat opposite him. Mrs. Madison Chambers gave the impression of being starched and ironed by a talented hand. Her skin was perfect and flawless. Her hands moved with unearthly elegance. The average man wouldn’t have an opinion of her figure if he saw her face first. It would seem an indignity. She dressed for the meeting in a silk dress that ended in the middle of her knee. It lay on her body with well-trained care.
Neville said, “Carruthers is becoming a problem. He’ll get the money if we fail to present a proper marriage. It would help if we could be intimate.”
“That is not going to happen. I have no interest in going to bed with you. I have no emotional tie with you or any other man, and I won’t have intimate relations with you or anyone else without that emotional connection.” She paused and a question put furrows in her forehead. “Why would you think it would?”
“Because, my dear, it’s obvious to everyone who sees us that we aren’t intimate. It gives Carruthers hope that he can disqualify us from benefiting from the will. All he has to show is that our marriage isn’t real. He’s next in line.
“We’ll just have to take that chance. I’m not available, Neville. Not to anyone.”
“I understand.” He paused. “That’s a lie. I don’t understand, but I’ve done all I can to break down these barriers.” He stopped talking for a moment. “I have to tell you something you may not know. Carruthers is a dangerous man. If we are fortunate enough to continue this... drama... I’m afraid he’ll move to direct physical attack. If we’re dead, he inherits.”
Her voice didn’t change tone or volume. “We may need help. Some... man... of a rougher kind who can oppose Carruthers and help us survive.”
“I know just the man. I’ll talk with him.”
“Have Delilah sit in with you. She can be your liaison with him. You know how absent minded you are.”
“Yes, dear.”
Delilah Anderson kept quiet about everything in her life. She dressed modestly and in muted colors. She did her hair in the same style she’d always used. She used makeup in diminished colors. She’d played third violin in her high school orchestra. Third violinists sit back in the body of the orchestra. No one pays attention to them unless they set themselves on fire.
In college, she made sure that no one noticed her by dressing exactly like everyone else. She played fourth violin in her college orchestra. She like administration and completed a degree in Administrative Development. She applied to one company and was hired by the wife of the owner who obviously thought she was no competition.
It was a shame. Delilah had a lovely face and a good body. Someone gave her some slanderously indecent underwear. She’d put it on just once and stood in front of the mirror. Before her insecurities kicked in, she gasped at the image. Suddenly, her breasts stood out in front of her, shouting for attention. Her thin waist accentuated her womanly hips and the panties cut across her hips at just the right level to make her figure flamboyant instead of non-existent. She took them off immediately and stored them in her lingerie drawer in the very back.
She got the call to go with Neville at ten in the morning. She dropped by the Ladies Room to check her personal appearance and was pleased by what she saw. Her top was blousy and non-descript. She wore no jewelry. Her beige skirt came down to the middle of her knees and her low heels didn’t attract attention.
She said, “Good morning, Mr. Chambers” when she saw him.
He said, “Good morning, Delilah.” He felt a little guilt. It was his custom to compliment his female work-staff on their appearance before a meeting. He wanted to give them confidence. He couldn’t bring himself to do it with Delilah. She’d know he was lying.
Neville sat opposite the new man and Delilah chose a chair further away from both men than usual in a business meeting.
Neville shook the man’s hand and introduced himself and Delilah. The other man, who impressed Delilah deeply, made the effort to walk over to her and shake her hand. He met her eyes and a small part of her, the part that forced her to notice men, involuntarily melted. She managed to smile.
She took notes and noticed, in detail, the other man. He looked like Chambers but with experience and a hint of unpleasant knowledge. He was Emil Beaudreaux. His clothes lacked the newness of his companion, as did he. The cloth was in fine shape and well cared for, but without the stiffness of something bought at Bergdorf Goodman’s last Tuesday. Beaudreaux had five years, four inches and forty-five pounds on Chambers.
The previous day, Delilah completed a report on Emil Beaudreaux. He’d served in the French Commandos Marine in Afghanistan and Iraq and owned a bodyguard service that had an excellent reputation.
She saw the muscles and control of a military man. Experience gives a man a direct kind of grace and a habit of meeting the eyes with unexpected ferocity. Beaudreaux’s face was typical of the French male; handsome beyond belief, calm and pleasant.
Neville said, “I have done my due diligence on you. Three of your former clients told me that you can keep a secret. I’m going to tell you something that you can use against me. Please don’t. I come to you in desperation.”
“I can promise that unless you’ve committed a felony involving violence, I will never tell anyone anything.”
“Good.” He cleared his throat. “Well, here it is. My wife and I had to get married. Our lawyer told me that my father put a clause in his will that says I can’t inherit until, I’m quoting now, ‘My son has put his life in order in the opinion of my lawyer, Anthony Gilbert.’. My father gave verbal instructions to Gilbert that I was to marry Madison Smith-Adams and stay married for a year. It expires a month from now.” Neville frowned. “It has been hellishly difficult. We are celibate, physically, emotionally and in every other aspect of a relationship.” Neville glanced up and suddenly stopped talking.
A woman walked inside the room. She sat in a chair closer to Emil than her husband and ignored Delilah. The woman turned to Neville. “Must you broadcast our relationship to everyone we meet?”
“It is relevant to this man if he is to get us past the deadline alive.”
Her head turned to look at Emil in uneven movements as if it were connected to her shoulders with a rusty swivel. “What is your name?”
“Emil Beaudreaux, Mrs. Chambers.”
“Mr. Emil Beaudreaux. I have no joy in this situation. If our relationship ends up in the newspapers, I will deal with you with no sympathy or mercy. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
“Good.” She stood up with incredible discipline and self-control and walked out.
Neville continued, “The threat comes from Sty Carruthers. He’s the CEO of the company and next in line to inherit. He’s...”
Delilah quietly said, “Inherently unstable and violent.”
Neville nodded his head, “Well said, Delilah. He’s not subtle. If it looks like we might make it to one year, he’s likely to make an attempt on our lives.” Neville turned to Delilah. “Visit with Mr. Beaudreaux often and oversee his preparations. I’d like to survive.”
“Yes, Mr. Chambers.”
Emil said, “Miss Anderson, would you like to come to lunch at my home? It’s where I work.”
Delilah said, “I would.”
Emil Beaudreaux made a call as he drove home. His staff worked quickly and efficiently. Before he reached home, he had a complete report on Stiltson Worthington Carruthers.
Delilah pulled up to a large home on Malibu Beach. The home was bigger than others along the coast and odd. Emil had a sense of humor. Amid the modern flat roofed houses, he’d built a Cape Cod cottage with a steep roof and a front porch. Rather than allow the wood to weather, he’d painted it light blue and kept it up against the sea air.
Delilah rang the doorbell. A tall man with heavy shoulders and a massive chest answered the door. He filled the doorway. He looked as much like the traditional butler as a military tank looks like a butterfly. His voice was wrong as well. Butlers don’t have French accents. He said, “Yes” in a suspicious way. Delilah almost turned around and ran. She said, “I’m Delilah Anderson. I’m to have lunch with Emil Beaudreaux.”
The man turned around. He said, over his shoulder, “Come in. It’s almost ready.”
The man headed toward the front of the house and turned left. Delilah turned left as well. The man went directly to the stove and took a spoon from a thin woman with a critical eye. He said, “Well done, Mon Cheri. Thank you.”
The woman was of normal height and slightly thinner than average. She had blonde hair and blue eyes. She scrunched her mouth to one side in an expression of irritation. “Did you introduce yourself to the lady? No, you didn’t. I could hear.” She said to Delilah, “This great, insensitive oaf is my husband, Jules Ledoux. I am his patient wife, Denise”
Jules concentrated on the sauce simmering in the pot. He raised the hand that wasn’t stirring and wave two fingers at Delilah.
Emil walked in to the kitchen. “Miss Anderson, thank you for coming.” He raised his voice a little, as if he were talking with someone fifty feet away. “What are we enjoying for lunch, Jules?”
Jules didn’t answer. Denise did. She did it, knowing her husband wasn’t going to. “Crepes with sauteed pears, gouda cheese and fresh thyme.”
Emil said, “Bon. We eat well.”
They did. Jules brought lunch to the small table set with four chairs and ate with his employer, his wife and Delilah.
After a meal eaten in silence, they sat back. Delilah said, “That was wonderful. Delicious. Jules, you are an artist.”
Jules smiled. “Merci, Miss Anderson. Merci.”
Emil said, “Let’s go into my office, Miss Anderson.”
Delilah said, “Please, call me Delilah.”
“Certainly.”
They walked fifty feet to a small room that had obviously been a bedroom before the bed and chest of drawers were moved out and a desk and sofa moved in. They sat on the sofa.
Deliah said, “It’s obvious that Jules is your friend much more than your employee. How did you meet?”
“We were in the French Commandos Marine together. He loves to cook. I love to eat. It seemed obvious.”
They went over the security arrangements for the next day. Neville supplied his daily schedule and Emil created precautions that kept Neville and Madison alive.
Delilah spent most of her day with Emil. A week later, Emil said, “Why don’t you bring a swimming suit with you tomorrow. We have the wonderful Pacific Ocean at our fingertips. It seems a shame to waste it.”
Delilah took a deep breath. “I’d love to.” As Delilah was leaving for the day, Denise intercepted her and pulled her into a bedroom. “I am a busy body. I apologize but I won’t stop. It’s too important. You’ve been with Emil for a week. You see a nice man with a handsome face and an impressive body. You don’t see the inside of him. He lost his wife in a traffic accident a year ago. He hasn’t looked at a woman since, and it’s time. I can see how you’re dressed and, therefore, who you are. Also, I’ve seen you look at him. He plays inside your heart.” She nodded in approval. “Bon. Now, you must gain his attention. He must live again, and you are the one to recover him. Will you do that?”
Delilah surprised herself. She didn’t back away, emotionally, from Denise. She didn’t give an excuse or a simple refusal. She said, “Yes. I will. What should I do?”
“First, wear the suit I have picked out for you. Second, wear it with pride and not prudishness. Emil is a man and, therefore, a visual animal. He must be smacked between the eyes with a big club to get his attention. Do you have underwear that is far too revealing for you to use?”
Delilah thought of her scandalous bra and panty set. “Yes. I do.”
“Bon. When you get home, put it on and wear it for the rest of the day. Sleep in the nude. You will get used to having the body of a woman.” She stepped back. “I am loathe to interfere in another woman’s mode of dressing, but you could wear much brighter and more revealing clothes. You have the figure for it.”
Delilah said, “Thank you. I’ll do it. As much for my own sake as for Emil’s. I hide far too much.”
That night, Delilah changed into the wholly inadequate bra and panty and turned the heat up in her apartment. She ate, watched TV and read while wearing very little. Every time she passed the mirror she paused to look.
When she went to bed, she slid into bed with nothing between her skin and the sheet but a little air. She luxuriated in the feeling of good cotton and a sense of delightful naughtiness.
The next day, she steeled herself when Denise handed her a bikini which would have been sensible to most women, but to her was virtually non-existent. She paused before she walked through the door to the beach. Her voice froze in her throat. “There are people out there. Men and women.”
She stood in the doorway. A man walking by noticed her and smiled. Immediately, her feet melded with the floor. She couldn’t move. She wanted to run but that would mean moving her feet.
She heard a voice next to her. “Do it for him. He needs to break out of his shell. Look at him and do the loving thing.”
She still couldn’t move.
Denise continued, “Pay attention only to Emil. Tell yourself he’s the only man on the beach, and you are his salvation.”
Delilah turned to Denise. “I will do it. He’s too nice a man to be alone.”
“Walk toward him. Don’t run.”
As Delilah walked on the beach, Emil waited for her. She studied him. For a few seconds, he saw her face, which was familiar to him. She watched his eyes drift down to the inadequate top and the upper swells of her breasts. He dropped down to her waist then her hips and legs. He went back up but never got above her neck. His mouth fell open. She realized that the simple cloth of the bikini top did nothing to keep her breasts from bouncing and swaying from side to side.
They played in the ocean and laughed like school children for twenty minutes.