Waking Up with a Billionaire (The Overnight Billionaires Book 3) (15 page)

He lifted his head, and his eyes drilled right through her. “How do I make you feel, Chloe?”

She didn’t know why she suddenly felt scared. Maybe because she didn’t want to examine the way he made her feel too closely. It was past sexual attraction. Past anything she had ever felt with another man. But she couldn’t tell him that. Not when she was leaving. So instead of answering, she leaned forward and kissed him. She kissed him with everything she had. With all the feelings he’d made her feel. With all the goodbyes she’d never said. She kissed him like she was going to stay with him forever.

Without breaking the kiss, he stood and pulled her up with him. He made love to her against the shower wall. This time much more slowly than before. She didn’t think she could come again, but he proved her wrong.

When they were both spent, he turned off the shower and dried her off before carrying her to his bed. He tucked a pillow under her head and tossed the quilt over her before he snuggled against her back. The warmth of his body spooned around her made her feel warm and secure, and she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep. Or almost to sleep. She was in that place between wakefulness and dreamland when he whispered, “You’re wrong, Chloe. You’re the only woman I can’t resist.”

G
rayson woke at dawn with two feelings.

Contentment.

And inspiration.

It took only a quick glance down at the woman snuggled against him to know where both feelings had come from. While she was standoffish when she was awake, in sleep Chloe was a cuddle bug. Her bed-head rested on his chest, her arm was slung over his rib cage, her leg was hooked over his thigh, and her foot had found its way beneath his calf. But as content as her possessiveness made him feel, the inspiration would not let him lie there for long. He had to paint. And he had to paint now.

Carefully he removed each limb and eased out from under her before he headed to the canvas on the easel. The painting was good. Damned good. Better than anything he’d done before. She hadn’t wanted him to paint her face, but it was her face that made the painting. The soft, parted lips. The flaring nostrils. The dark, velvety eyes filled with passion. Just looking at the painting made him want to go back to bed and make love to her, but he ignored his desire and sat down to work.

It felt like he had been painting for only a moment when an annoying chiming interrupted his focus. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand and realized he’d been painting for over two hours. He also realized that the chiming was the doorbell. He would’ve ignored it and kept working if the annoying person hadn’t started knocking—or more like pounding. Not wanting whoever it was to wake up Chloe, he grabbed a pair of jeans and pulled them on as he headed to the door.

When he saw Nash standing there, Grayson remembered that he had made plans to run with his brother.

“What the hell, Gray?” Nash said. “You were supposed to meet me at the park a good forty minutes ago. And when you didn’t answer your phone, I thought something had happened.”

“Sorry,” Grayson said. “I had my phone on mute while I was painting.”

Nash lost the pissed look. “So you’re painting again? Well, it’s about damned time.”

“You knew I couldn’t paint?”

“Of course I knew. Unlike Deacon, my head isn’t completely lost in the business cloud.” He brushed past Grayson. “Do you have some Advil? I’ve got jet lag to beat all jet lags.” He headed straight for Grayson’s bedroom.

“Wait, Nash.” Grayson tried to stop him, but as usual his big brother paid absolutely no attention to him. Although he did come to a sudden halt when he reached the doorway.

Grayson moved next to him. Chloe was still asleep, but now she lay on her stomach with one arm and foot dangling off the edge of the bed and her face pressed into a pillow. Something about seeing her in his bed made Grayson exceedingly happy. Wanting her to stay there, he glanced at Nash and pressed a finger to his lips before pointing to the stairs. Nash didn’t even wait until they reached the top before he started quizzing him.

“So you want to explain what’s going on?”

Grayson walked into the kitchen and opened the cupboard where he kept the Advil. He pulled out the bottle and tossed it to Nash, who had followed him into the kitchen. “I’m surprised that Eden didn’t tell you.”

Nash uncapped the bottle and shook out some tablets. “She told me that you were keeping her here until she got back, but she didn’t mention that you were bedding her.”

Grayson could’ve denied it and said that Chloe was just using his bedroom, but he had never lied to his brother and wouldn’t start now. Nor would he kiss and tell. “That’s none of your business.” He opened the refrigerator and grabbed two power drinks, handing one to Nash.

Nash tossed the pills in his mouth and took the bottle, unscrewing the lid and downing half of it in two gulps. When he lowered the bottle, his gaze was intent. “You’re right. It’s not my business. But I hope like hell that you used a condom because that girl has been around the block a time or two.”

Grayson stopped unscrewing the cap of his drink. “Shut up, Nash.”

“Don’t stick your head in the sand, little brother. You know as well as I do that her boyfriend was a pimp and he was using her as a wh—”

He quickly reached out and grabbed Nash by the front of his shirt. “Don’t you fuckin’ say it. Do you hear me? Don’t you dare fuckin’ say it.”

Normally Nash would’ve already had Grayson in a headlock, but this morning he just stared at him. “Jesus, Gray. Please tell me that you haven’t fallen for Chloe.”

It took a real effort to release Nash’s shirt. “Hell, no. She just doesn’t deserve to be called that. She wasn’t one of Zac’s escorts.”

A look passed over Nash’s face before he nodded. “Okay. Believe what you want to believe. Just wear a condom. And promise me that you won’t get infatuated with her. Not only is she young, Gray, but she also has some problems. Otherwise she wouldn’t have run away from home and lived on the streets.”

“Maybe it wasn’t her that had the problems. Maybe she had a good reason for running away.”

Nash set the bottle down and rested back against the counter. “Is that what she told you?”

Grayson glanced at the stairway. He didn’t want Chloe eavesdropping on their conversation, but he really needed to talk with someone about what he’d learned. And since Nash had always been his confidant, he seemed like the obvious choice. “Her real name is Selena Cameron. Her family has a vineyard in Napa Valley.”

Nash came away from the counter. “Davis Cameron’s vineyards—Casa Selena?”

“You know her father?”

“Not personally, but I know of him. And the Cameron family doesn’t just own vineyards. They own oil wells.”

“I thought those went dry.”

“They did, but I guess Davis’s nephew came up with a way to get the natural gas out of them that works better than fracking. Gavin Cameron patented the machinery he uses and is now worth billions. And you’re telling me that Chloe is related to him?”

“Would you keep it down?” Grayson said as he glanced at the stairs again. “And yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you. When I went there, I met Davis’s dad and I saw a picture of Chloe with the family.”

Nash shook his head. “But why would Chloe leave a family like the Camerons? From what I hear, they’re good people.”

“You can’t always believe what you hear. People believed the worst about you, and they were wrong.”

“I wouldn’t say that, little brother. Until I met Eden, I was pretty screwed up. But I’ll concede the point that there must be a reason Chloe ran away.” He glanced at the stairs. “And since you’re being so quiet, I’m going to assume that she doesn’t know you talked with her family.”

Grayson should’ve told her that he’d met her grandfather, but something had stopped him. More than likely fear that his snooping would piss her off and she’d leave. He wasn’t ready for her to leave. At least not yet. “No, I haven’t talked with her about it. I was hoping to find out more before I did.”

Again Nash studied him with concern. “Maybe you should just leave it alone, Gray. Sometimes people need to keep their secrets.” He picked up his power drink and finished it off. “So are we running or what?”

Since Grayson couldn’t keep his thoughts from the woman tucked in his bed, he shook his head. “You go on without me. I’ll meet you at the office.”

Nash hesitated for only a moment before he headed for the stairs. “I would tell you to be careful, baby brother. But somehow I don’t think you’re going to listen.”

Once he was gone, Grayson walked down the stairs to his bedroom. Regardless of what he’d told Nash, he didn’t want to go to the office. Nor did he want to paint. He wanted to crawl back in bed with Chloe. Unfortunately, when he got there, she was no longer in bed and the bathroom door was closed. He stripped out of his jeans and climbed in bed to wait. He had just stuffed a pillow behind his head when the door opened and she walked out. He had hoped she would still be naked. Instead she wore one of his dress shirts. She looked sexy as hell. She also looked grumpy.

He bit back a smile. “Good morning.” All he got for a reply was an annoyed squint. Which made him laugh. “What happened to the cheery person who made me coffee yesterday?”

“She’s sore from posing for a tyrant who wouldn’t let her move.” She glanced at the window. “What time is it?”

“Almost nine.”

“So you’re not going to work?”

“I was thinking about spending the day in bed.” He held out a hand. “Wanna join me?”

A look entered her eyes, and this time he had no trouble reading the longing. Unfortunately, it was followed by firm resolve. “Sorry, but I called Madison and she’s coming to pick me up.”

Just that quickly Grayson’s happy mood fizzled. He sat up. “You’re leaving?”

She searched around the floor for her clothes, refusing to look at him. “Of course I’m leaving. I was always leaving. You didn’t think that just because we had…I mean, it was amazing, but…”

The
but
took away any joy he had gotten out of
amazing
. He had told Nash that he wasn’t falling for Chloe. And he wasn’t. He wasn’t that stupid. But he hadn’t thought she would just leave after the night they’d had together. It had meant something. Or at least it had meant something to him.

“I didn’t think anything.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He turned on the shower and stepped in without waiting for it to warm up, then braced his hands on the wall and tried to gain control over his anger.

He had no right to be angry. Chloe had never made any promises. And he didn’t want any promises. In fact he should be glad that she was going. He’d gotten everything he wanted from her—sex and Deirdre’s damn painting. But if that was so, then why did he feel as if the skin had been stripped from his bones, leaving him feeling exposed and raw?

“Shit!” He punched the wall before he shut off the water and got out. He toweled off then jerked open the door. She wasn’t in the bedroom, and he quickly grabbed his jeans from the floor and put them on before heading to the guest bedroom. When he didn’t find her there either, the raw hurt turned to desperate panic.

He took the stairs two at a time up to the living area, giving the space only a quick glance before he hurried down the stairs and out the front door. He ran into the street, loose asphalt biting into the soles of his feet. He glanced both ways as the panic turned to despair. She wasn’t just leaving. She was gone. He tipped his head back and wanted to yell at the cloudless skies. Instead he just stood there and tried to breathe until her voice drifted down to him from above.

“Shouldn’t you be spouting off some beautiful words about me looking as bright as the sun?”

He glanced behind him. Chloe stood on the balcony still dressed in his button-down shirt. The stiff collar framed her teasing smile. “I mean you’re standing under my balcony and your name is Romeo.”

He moved closer. “I’m afraid that I’ve never been good at beautiful words.”

Her smile faded. “You don’t need to be. Your paintings speak more beautifully than any words ever could.”

“You saw the painting?”

She nodded. “You painted my face.” It wasn’t an accusation as much as a statement.

“I had to.” When a few moments passed and she didn’t reply, he said what he should’ve said at the very beginning. “Stay.”

Even from a distance, he could see the grip of her hands on the railing and the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. She studied him for a moment longer before she motioned with her hand. “Come up here. There’s something you’ve got to see.”

Grayson was more than a little apprehensive about what he would find. As unpredictable as Chloe was, it could be anything. Hopefully, she hadn’t slashed his painting to smithereens. But it wasn’t his painting that she pointed to when he reached the balcony. It was the planter and the three speckled teal-colored eggs sitting in a nest of twigs, newspaper, and what appeared to be a shredded Snickers candy bar wrapper.

“I think these explain what’s been wrong with your seagull,” she said.

He stared at the eggs. “Jonathan laid those?”

“Not Jonathan as much as Josephine. Your male bird is really a female.”

Feeling a little drained from his emotional morning, he sat down on the couch and rubbed his temples. “And I thought it was bad enough when he was crapping all over the place. Now I have to worry about hatching baby seagulls.”

Chloe laughed. “Relax, Grayson. It’s not like you’ll have to deliver them. Josephine will be back.” She sat down next to him, so close that her bare thigh pressed against his. She ran her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, leaving a trail of heat that made his scalp tingle. “You still need a haircut.” She paused so long that he finally turned to look at her. Her eyes held sadness. Part of him hated to see it there, but the other part liked knowing that this wasn’t easy for her either.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “Maybe I could stay for a little while longer. Just long enough to trim your hair.” She glanced at the planter. “And see some eggs hatch.” She looked back at him. “And pose for a painting that doesn’t show my face.” She pointed a finger. “Because if you think you’re giving that one to Deirdre for public auction, Grayson Beaumont, you can think again.”

Grayson didn’t know why he suddenly felt as if the sun had just come out from behind a dark gray cloud. Maybe because she had accurately pointed out the reason behind his raw emotions. And it had nothing to do with falling for Chloe. It had to do with his painting. She was the one who had brought him out of his painting funk. Which meant that she was the only one who could make sure it didn’t return.

Getting to his feet, he scooped her into his arms.

She didn’t protest. Instead she hooked her hands around his neck as he carried her into the house and down the stairs. “Let me guess. You need to paint.”

That was his intention. But once Grayson had her naked, painting came later.

Much, much later.