Waking Up with a Billionaire (The Overnight Billionaires Book 3) (6 page)

Damn. He is the Woman Whisperer.

Feeling completely foolish, she scrambled for something that might distract him from the fact that she had been about to kiss him. “Umm…I guess I’ll just wait here while you check on your bird.”

After what felt like an eternity, he opened the car door and got out. But instead of heading inside, he walked around the hood of the car and opened her door. “Come on, I want you to meet Jonathan.”

She should’ve stayed in the car. The desire strumming through her veins wasn’t good. Unfortunately, she was curious. Not about the bird, but about Grayson’s house.

It wasn’t what she’d expected. For some reason she’d thought his house would be filled with art and color and as messy as his French Kiss studio. Instead the living area on the third floor was very white, very contemporary, and very neat, with muted paintings of the ocean on the walls. As if reading her mind, he explained, “I haven’t changed much of anything since my sister-in-law Olivia lived here.” He walked to the balcony and opened the sliding glass doors. He peeked out, then closed the door and turned to her. “I guess Jonathan Livingston Seagull is roosting elsewhere for the night.”

Chloe couldn’t hide her surprise. “A seagull? I thought you were talking about a parakeet or a parrot. You can’t have a seagull for a pet.”

“Tell that to Jonathan. I can’t seem to get rid of the bird.” He walked into the kitchen. “So do you want something to drink? Something to eat?”

Since she had burned off the Chips Ahoy! cookies hours ago, she was starving. But she wasn’t taking any chances on the weird thing that had happened in the car happening again.

“No, thank you,” she said. “I really need to get going. Madison is expecting me.”

“Suit yourself.” He pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge and unscrewed the cap. She watched as his lips opened slightly and kissed the opening of the bottle. Watched as his tanned, whiskered throat bobbed with each swallow. He lowered the bottle and studied her, and she hoped the lighting was dim enough that he couldn’t see the flush on her cheeks. “So I can’t talk you out of going.” It was more a statement than a question, so she didn’t answer. With an exasperated sigh, he set the bottle of water on the counter. “Then I guess I don’t have any choice.”

Chloe didn’t comment. She’d figured out a long time ago that few people had choices. Most were just pawns in someone else’s game.

He headed for the stairs, and she followed behind him. On the second level, he turned toward an open door. “I thought you might like to see the rest of the house before we go.”

The bedroom was more like Grayson’s studio. Clothes littered the floor. The king-size bed was unmade. Paint tubes covered the top of the dresser. And canvases rested in stacks against one wall.

“Let me guess,” she said as she stepped in. “This is your room.”

Grayson studied her with his intense eyes. “Actually, for the next week, it’s your room.” He walked out, and there was a click as the door closed behind him, followed by the sound of a dead bolt sliding into place.

I
t was kidnapping. There were no two ways about it. Grayson was keeping a woman against her will. Something he’d never thought he would do. Of course, he’d never thought he’d stop painting either. And yet he couldn’t even paint an apple. Obviously he had changed…and not for the better.

He made sure that the dead bolt he’d installed on the door before he’d gone to The Lemon Drop was secure, then went back upstairs and turned on the television to try to drown out the pounding and yelling coming from his room. It didn’t help. And finally he picked up his cell phone and called his home number.

She picked up on the first ring. “Have you lost your mind!”

Since it certainly felt like it, he ignored the question and moved on. “It’s only for a week. Once Nash and Eden are back, you can do whatever you want.”

“You realize that, since you left me with a phone, I can call the police, right?”

“You could, but we both know that you won’t. I think your fear of the police was proven this morning.”

There was a long stretch of silence before she spoke. “I really hate this new Grayson.” She hung up.

He stared at his phone. Yeah, he hated him too.

It was a restless night. He tried to watch some late-night television, but nothing held his attention. So he finally went to bed. He slept in Nash’s old room, the one right next to his, and every sound that came through the wall had him wondering what she was doing. She had stopped pounding on the door and yelling. Now she seemed to be moving around, opening drawers and then slamming them closed. It was annoying to think of her going through his stuff, but he had little choice. His bedroom was the only one with an adjoining bathroom.

After what seemed like hours, there was silence. The silence freaked him out even more. But silence had always freaked him out. Having grown up with two rowdy brothers, a carousing father who came in at all hours, and a snoring grandfather, he was used to noise. After Nash had moved in with Eden, the house had suddenly been quiet…and empty. At first Grayson had thought the quiet would help him paint. But it had the reverse effect. The quiet seemed to suck all the creativity right out of him, and he was left with his logical brain. A brain that always ended up in the same place.

His mom.

He’d seen enough pictures of her to know what she looked like. In fact every feature was stenciled into his brain. Even now he could pull up her image in vivid detail—the deep indigo of her eyes, the uneven curves of her lips, and the delicate bones of her body. But while he could visualize her, and even sketch her, he couldn’t pull up one memory. Not one. Not of her eyes filling with love. Of her lips pressing to his cheek. Of her arms hugging him close.

Which made no sense. He had been young when she died, but not so young that he shouldn’t be able to remember one thing about her. Especially when he had other memories. Like catching his first fish with his father when he was four. And crashing on his bike when he was five. And winning a drawing contest when he was six. He remembered every detail of those events, from the color of the scales on the fish to the color of his first grade teacher’s dress when she handed him the blue ribbon. But not his mom. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find memories of his mother.

Grayson’s thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of snoring coming through the wall. He listened for a moment before a smile broke over his face. Then he rolled over and went to sleep.

He woke to early-morning light. It took a few blinks to remember he had a guest. Or more like a captive. Surprisingly, he liked the idea of Chloe’s being his captive…maybe a little too much. Climbing out of bed, he headed for her room. He opened the door to discover what she had been doing last night. He stared at the paint splattered all over the wall above his headboard. He hated to admit it, but Chloe painted better than he did. Beneath the painting Chloe slept. She had taken off her sneakers and jeans and was sprawled on her stomach. The hem of her T-shirt rode up, and he could see her red panties and the half moons of her bare butt cheeks. One had a streak of purple paint.

Grayson’s right hand twitched, but he ignored the involuntary movement and closed the door. He showered and got dressed in another gray suit. He had a multitude of things to do that day, including the interview. But before he went to work, he collected some food for Chloe. He wasn’t much of an eater, so the pickings were slim. He chose the nonperishable items—a jar of peanut butter, a box of stale crackers, a couple of PowerBars, and three diet colas that had been left in the refrigerator months before by one of the models who had posed for him.

He put the food in a grocery sack, then retrieved her duffel bag from his car and took both back to his room. When he opened the door, Chloe had rolled to her side and was hugging the same pillow he slept on. He studied the sweet curve of her leg wrapped around the soft, down-filled pillow for only a second before he set the bags on the dresser. The zipper on the duffel bag was partway opened, and something glittery caught his attention. He had never been much of a snoop, but he couldn’t help sliding the zipper the rest of the way open.

The glittery name on the front of the shirt had him glancing over at Chloe. He could understand her having the nightshirt from his collection: As a model Madison got first choice of lingerie and had no doubt shared with her friend. Even the panties Chloe wore were from French Kiss. But if Chloe was leaving town and had packed only one small bag, why would a nightshirt with his name be included?

The question stayed with him all the way to French Kiss’s corporate office, but he couldn’t come up with a single answer…except for one. Maybe Chloe didn’t hate him as much as he thought. He had barely started to digest the notion when his cell phone rang. He pulled into his executive parking space and answered.

Chloe’s voice came through the receiver loud and clear. “I like smooth peanut butter, not chunky. And I don’t drink cola—especially diet. Are you saying I’m fat?”

Grayson couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face. He should’ve known that being held hostage wouldn’t stifle her spunk. “Not even close, but I was out of chocolate milk and Fritos.” As soon as the words were out, he wanted them back. But it was too late. Her reply came only seconds later.

“You remembered?”

Yes, he remembered. There was very little of their road trip that he had forgotten. He remembered the skinny jeans she’d been wearing and the way they hugged her butt when she’d run into the gas station to buy her chocolate milk and Fritos. He remembered the way her soft-looking top had fluttered in the breeze when she came back out, showing a peep of her stomach and the top of her tattoo. He remembered her falling asleep, and the way the sunlight had reflected off the red in her dark-brown hair and the diamond stud in her nose. But most of all he remembered her sullen attitude and biting remarks. Which made him veto his theory about why she had his nightshirt in her bag. Chloe didn’t like him. She barely tolerated him. Which made his reply short and snappy.

“I’ve got to go.” He hung up.

When he got to Deacon’s office, Kelly greeted him wearing a Hello Kitty belt and holding a full morning agenda. “You have a meeting at nine with Miles for the catalog,” she said as she followed him into the office. “At ten you have a meeting with Samuel, and at eleven the film crew from
ET
will be here. I thought you’d want to do it in the design studio. Madison and Natalia will meet you there. And after that you have a meeting with Deirdre Beaumont about the charity event she’s planning.”

“Great. Thanks, Kelly.” He glanced at his watch. He had exactly thirty minutes to take care of some personal business. “What time do you think it is in Greece?”

“I don’t know. You want me to find out?”

“If you would. And if it’s not in the middle of the night, get Nash on the phone for me.”

“Will do.”

It turned out that it was only evening in Greece, a perfect time to call a honeymooning couple. Or so he thought until it took forever for Nash to answer, and when he did, he sounded out of breath.

“If I’ve interrupted something, Nash, I can call back,” Grayson said.

Nash laughed. “I’m not having sex, Gray. I’m running.”

“On your honeymoon?”

“Eden thought we needed to get out of the room,” he said. “Although if she keeps teasing me with those tight running pants, I’m going to continue our honeymoon right here.”

“Nash!” Eden’s voice came through the receiver. “Would you cut it out? I’m trying to find my rhythm.”

“I can show you some rhythm, baby—ow-w-w. I wish your brothers had never taught you how to frog someone in the arm. That hurt like hell.”

Grayson laughed. “Now you know how I felt when you and Deacon punched me in the arm.”

“I never punched you as hard as Eden punches me. I swear I’m going to have to turn the woman in for abuse.” His voice got a sweet tone. “Just kidding, honey, I would never turn you in for abuse, even though that riding crop did sting a little—”

“Nash!”

Nash laughed. It was a good laugh. One that didn’t carry any of the pain it once had. As much as he missed having his brother living with him, Grayson was glad he had found happiness.

“So what’s up, Gray?” Nash asked. “Are there problems at French Kiss?”

He probably should’ve mentioned his arrest, but that could wait until Nash got back. “No problems. Actually I called to talk with Eden.”

Without hesitation Nash handed over the phone. “Here, baby, Gray wants to talk to you.”

A few seconds later, Eden got on, sounding completely out of breath. “Hello?”

“Sorry to bother you, Eden, but Madison mentioned that you were thinking about cutting your honeymoon short so you could come back and talk Chloe out of leaving, and I wanted to let you know that there’s no need to worry. Chloe isn’t going anywhere until you get back.”

“She’s not? How did you change her mind?”

Grayson could’ve lied, but he didn’t want Eden getting her hopes up that Chloe was going to stay in San Francisco. “I kidnapped her.”

There was a pause. “I’m sorry, Gray, but I must have a bad connection because it sounded like you said that you kidnapped her.”

“That’s exactly what I said. It was the only way I could figure out how to keep her here until you got back from your honeymoon.”

The next pause was quickly followed by shouted words that made his ears ring. “I love you, Grayson Beaumont! And if I was there right now, I would give you a big kiss—”

Suddenly Nash was back on the phone. “What the hell, Gray? Are you trying to seduce my woman?”

Before he could answer, Eden must’ve grabbed the phone. “Don’t pay him any attention, Grayson. I’ll explain everything later. Just keep Chloe there until I get home and can talk her into staying.”

“Are you sure that’s smart? She hasn’t exactly been the best of friends.”

“Chloe’s a good person. She just hides all her goodness behind a tough exterior. But now that I have more time, I’m going to get her to drop the tough act and let people love her. Thank you so much, Gray. You just gave me the best honeymoon present ever.”

“Excuse me.” Nash’s voice came through the speaker. “I’ll show you the best honeymoon present ever.” Eden squealed, and it sounded like the phone was dropped. Figuring that the call was over, Grayson hung up, satisfied that he had saved his brother’s honeymoon.

Unfortunately, the rest of his morning didn’t go as well. The photographer for the catalog was not happy when Grayson told him that he wanted edgier photographs for the Romeo Collection. In fact Miles was so pissed that Grayson would question his “creative eye” that he stormed out of the office. Which wasn’t good when they had only a few weeks before the catalog needed to be out. And to top that off, the interview was a complete disaster. Not because Grayson flubbed any of the questions about his near arrest—he seemed to do okay answering those. No, the problem came when Natalia couldn’t seem to keep her hands to herself.

While Madison sat next to him and answered any questions the interviewer tossed her way, Natalia wrapped herself around Grayson like a cat around a scratching post and seemed unable to answer one question without including him.

“Oh, I love everything French Kiss gives me to wear.” She smiled seductively at Grayson. “But especially Gar-a-son’s.”

“Yes, I get a little nervous on the runway, but not if I’m with Gar-a-son.”

“Am I dating Gar-a-son?” She smiled slyly. “I never kiss and tell.”

By the time the interview was over, Grayson was so sick of his own name he wanted to change it. Instead he smiled politely until the
ET
crew had left the design studio, then he very calmly informed Natalia that they weren’t dating, because he couldn’t date a French Kiss employee. It wasn’t exactly the truth. French Kiss didn’t have an official interoffice dating policy—more than likely because Deacon couldn’t have a rule he hadn’t followed. After they inherited French Kiss, he’d promptly fallen in love with the CEO. Unfortunately, Natalia didn’t take the news well. She burst into tears and raced from the design studio.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Madison said after Natalia was gone. “She’s always been overly dramatic. Although I would worry about Miles. From what I hear, he’s thinking about quitting.”

“Great,” Grayson muttered before he headed back to his office for his next appointment. He could only hope that his meeting with Deirdre would go better than his first two. Of course it was doubtful, since Deirdre Beaumont intimidated the hell out of him. She was his uncle Michael’s widow, Olivia’s mother, Deacon’s mother-in-law, French Kiss’s head designer’s girlfriend, and an obstinate, opinioned socialite who was used to getting her own way. And she was not used to people showing up late for her meetings.

“Did you lose your watch, Grayson?” she asked as soon as he stepped into the office. She was sitting in Deacon’s chair as if she belonged there, leaving him to take the chair in front of the desk.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Beaumont. The interview with
ET
ran over.”