Waking Up with a Billionaire (The Overnight Billionaires Book 3) (9 page)

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock before you enter someone’s room?” he asked as he climbed beneath the sheets.

“I thought this was my room.” She sat down on the bed and started eating his soup.
His soup
.
“This is amazing. You should really try it.”

He punched a pillow and adjusted it behind his back. “I was wrong. You shouldn’t stay until Eden and Nash get back. You should leave now.”

“Too late,” she said. “You wanted me as a guest, you got me. So what do you think caused your problem?”

“I’m not talking about this.”

“If you don’t talk about it, you’ll never fix it.” She held out a spoonful of soup. “Hurry and take a bite before it drips on the sheets.”

He should’ve ignored the spoonful of soup. Unfortunately, he was hungry. He leaned in and took the offering. The soup
was
good. “You want to talk,” he said. “Let’s talk about why you dated a guy who liked to use you as a punching bag.”

She fed him another bite of soup. “It’s no secret that I have a thing for abusive relationships. But at least I’m working on my problems. I haven’t been with a jerky guy for six months—if you don’t count the last twenty-four hours.”

“Like I believe that. What about the guy at the bar?” He took the bowl from her and continued to eat.

“You mean Jeff? He’s not a jerk. He’s an FBI agent. Besides, we’re just friends.”

“That’s not what he wants.”

“Well, that’s all I want. I’m through with guys for a while.” She scooted farther onto the bed and crossed her legs pretzel-style, flashing him a peek of sexy black panties that had him choking on his soup.

She patted him on the back. “See, I knew you were hungry. Slow down or you’re going to choke to death.” Once he caught his breath, she continued. “So tell me when you first noticed that you couldn’t paint.”

He should’ve gotten up and left the room. He didn’t need Chloe examining his problem. Unfortunately, she would be able to examine more than just his problem if he got up. He had one hell of a boner.

“There wasn’t any certain moment,” he said. “I just woke up one morning and couldn’t do it.” No longer hungry, at least for soup, he lowered the spoon to the bowl and set both on his nightstand.

“This was when you were in Paris?”

“No. I haven’t been able to paint since we went to the catalog shoot in Fiji.”

She looked surprised. “You mean you haven’t painted for six months?”

“Six months, fifteen days, and twelve hours to be exact. Now if you’re through psychoanalyzing me, I’d like to go to sleep.” He scooted down in the bed and tucked the covers around him. He quickly sat up again when he noticed his hard-on tenting the blankets. Luckily, Chloe was too wrapped up in her therapy.

“Maybe it was something you ate in Fiji,” she said. “They served us some crazy fish at the resort—maybe you got mercury poisoning. Or maybe the cabin pressure in the plane screwed with your inner ear, which then affected the right side of your brain—or is it the left side that’s creative? I always get those two mixed up.”

“It wasn’t the cabin pressure or the seafood. Maybe I’m just blocked—like a writer.”

She thought for a moment before she hopped up from the bed. “Then we need to unblock you.” She walked to the closet and came out with his camera. “Take some pictures of me.”

He snorted. “And have you call me a pervert? No, thanks.”

“That was when you were sneaking around taking pictures of me in my bikini.”

“I wasn’t sneaking. And you signed the release form fast enough when I offered to pay you cash for the picture.”

“True, but you took it without my permission. Now you have my full consent, although I’ll expect you to delete them as soon as we’re through. This is just an exercise to get you unblocked.”

“Taking pictures with a camera isn’t the same as painting, Chloe.”

“No, but it’s a start. It might get your creative juices flowing.” She tossed him the camera, and if he didn’t want his six-thousand-dollar Nikon busted, he had no choice but to catch it. It felt foreign in his hands, but not as foreign as a pencil or a paintbrush.

“This isn’t going to work,” he said.

“Of course it’s not going to work. I have on too many clothes.”

Grayson watched in horror as Chloe slipped the T-shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor.

I
t wasn’t like Chloe was standing in front of Grayson buck-naked. The black bra-and-panty set Madison had given her wasn’t even as skimpy as some of her bikinis. And yet she couldn’t seem to help the flush of embarrassment as Grayson’s violet eyes ran over her.

Did he think she was too skinny? Too flat-chested? Too slim-hipped? Did he think the tattoo on her hip bone was cheap? Did he notice the scars on her knees from being a clumsy kid and that her second toes were longer than her big toes? To someone who had photographed and painted the most beautiful women in the world, Chloe must be a major disappointment. If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it. His face gave nothing away. He just sat studying her as his chest slowly rose and fell with each breath.

This was the first time she’d seen Grayson without a shirt. Even in Fiji he had worn a T-shirt with his board shorts. At the time she’d thought he was embarrassed about his body. Now she realized that he had nothing to be embarrassed about.

Grayson had the type of body that women drooled over and men wished they’d been blessed with. His bones were long, and his muscles lean—although they seemed to bunch in all the right places. Like his biceps. His shoulders. And the hard pectoral muscles that flexed beneath her gaze. Suddenly her flush had nothing to do with standing before him in her underwear and everything to do with the hot spring of desire that welled up inside her.

A click pulled her gaze away from his muscled chest to the camera he held to his face. When he lowered it, his expression was hard and unyielding.

“There. I took a picture. Now get out.”

If not for Mrs. Beaumont’s offer, Chloe might’ve given up. She really didn’t need the aggravation. Unfortunately, what she did need was money. She placed a hand on her hip. “That’s it? You aren’t even going to give it the old college try?”

“What do you know about the old college try?”

The words stung, and she really wanted to come back with a scalding reply. Instead she kept her cool. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. Now are you going to make an attempt at getting over your painter’s block or am I going to need to take more clothes off—”

“Fine! You want a photographer, you’ll get a photographer.” Jerking back the covers, he got out of bed and walked to his dresser, where he put down the camera long enough to open a drawer.

He continued to rant and rave, but Chloe wasn’t listening. She couldn’t hear anything over the loud pounding of desire in her ears. In nothing but a pair of tight white boxer briefs, Grayson was more than just hot. He was molten. Or maybe the sight of the impressive bulge stretching the seam in the front and the nice butt stretching the white cotton in the back had just made her feel molten. Sort of like her insides had turned to magma and were waiting to erupt.

It took his slipping on a pair of ripped, faded jeans for her brain to function again. Although it wasn’t functioning very fast. Not when he still looked so good. The jeans molded to his butt and legs, and his back muscles flexed as he picked up his cell phone and tapped the screen. Hard-core rap music came from the speaker on the nightstand, but not loud enough that she couldn’t hear his commands.

“Get on the bed.”

“Excuse me?”

He sent her an exasperated look as he moved a floor lamp closer to the bed and turned it on. “If we’re going to do this, then you need to follow directions. Now get on the bed. I want you on your stomach with your head by the headboard and your ass toward me.” He grabbed the covers and jerked them to the floor.

“I don’t think…,” she started, but he cut her off.

“It’s not your job to think. Just take orders.”

After Zac she had sworn that she would never take orders from a boyfriend again. But Grayson wasn’t her boyfriend. At the moment he was her photographer—soon to be her employer if she could get him to paint her. So she crawled onto the mattress and tried to follow his instructions. Unfortunately, she had never modeled before and didn’t have a clue how to arrange her arms and legs. She ended up keeping her arms at her sides and her legs together…like a circus performer getting ready to be shot out of a cannon.

She heard an exasperated groan before the mattress sagged and a pair of lean, muscled thighs in ripped jeans straddled her. Pinned, she could do nothing but lie there as he rearranged her limbs with hands that felt as hot as the spot between her legs. His fingers encircled her wrists and lifted her arms so they curved around her head. He leaned in and spoke against her ear, his breath hot and spicy. “Close your eyes and don’t move a muscle.”

He didn’t have to worry. She had no muscle. She was just a puddle of tingly sensations. Fortunately, he released her wrists and got off. Although a second later his hand was back, leaving a trail of heat as he bent one knee and angled her leg to the side until she felt completely exposed. There was a pause, and just the thought of him looking at her made Chloe feel vulnerable and…anticipatory. Which was crazy. She was not having sex with Grayson Beaumont. Not only because he didn’t like her but also because she was taking a break from men. All men. But mostly arrogant bad boys. And even though he hadn’t been a bad boy, Grayson was a bad boy now.

A very, very bad boy.

Her breath hitched when he slipped a warm finger inside the elastic edge of her panties and tugged. He did the same to the other side, leaving her with exposed butt cheeks and a satiny wedgie that deliciously abraded the heated spot between her legs. She bit her lip to keep from groaning and waited for his next touch…actually craved it. But instead there was another long stretch of silence.

“Is something wrong?” she croaked out in a voice she didn’t recognize.

“Nothing,” he said. “You’re perfect—I mean the pose. The pose is perfect.”

Before she could think too much about his words, he got off the bed. Only a second later there was a camera click, followed by a succession of staccato clicks.

“Roll to your back,” he ordered. She did and found him standing on the bed, looking down at her with an intensity that left her breathless. “Knee bent. Hands over your head. That’s it. Keep your eyelids half closed and lips slightly parted.” His gaze lowered to her mouth, and she could almost feel those indigo orbs lasering right through her. “Wet your lips,” he said, his voice softer and huskier. Her tongue flicked out. He studied her, his long lashes half covering his eyes. “More.”

She swept her tongue over her top lip before pulling her bottom lip into her mouth and sucking on it gently. Grayson didn’t move. Not a muscle. His entire attention seemed to be riveted on her mouth. Then the hand that wasn’t holding the camera twitched. The movement seemed to snap both of them out of their trances, and he lifted the camera to his eye and snapped off numerous shots.

“Stand up,” he ordered. She was surprised by how quickly she complied. The desire strumming through her body had really messed with her head. “Hold on to the headboard with your back arched and ass out. Glance over your right shoulder…the other right.”

She switched shoulders and forced a smile, even though she didn’t feel like smiling. She felt like reaching orgasm. It had been over six months since she’d had sex, and she hadn’t realized how much she missed it until now.

“No smile,” he said. “Think of something sexy and let your lips relax naturally.”

It wasn’t hard to do. The “something sexy” was standing on the bed right behind her. Grayson looked sexier than anything Chloe could ever dream up in her head. His jeans hung low, showing off the white waistband of his boxer briefs and the muscles of his stomach. He didn’t have an obvious six-pack, but there was enough definition to make Chloe want to run her tongue over each dip and hard ridge.

“Good,” he said as he crouched down. “That’s exactly what I wanted. Now turn around and lean against the headboard with your right leg stretched out and your left slightly bent.” He turned the camera and clicked off some more shots. “Head thrown back and looking at the ceiling.”

There was a staccato of clicks before a long stretch of silence that had Chloe lowering her head. Grayson had gotten off the bed and was rummaging through the chest of drawers. When he found what he wanted, he turned and strode toward her. Or more like stalked. He jumped to the bed like a tiger after its prey, and within seconds was standing in front of her, his naked chest filling her entire vision.

She fought with the desire to lean in and capture one of his quarter-size brown nipples in her mouth. Would he taste as good as he looked? While she was lost in her fantasy, something cold touched her shoulder. She started and glanced down to see a dab of purple paint.

“What—” she started to ask, but the word ended on a hiss of air when Grayson smeared the paint over the top of one breast and across her collarbone to the opposite shoulder. Seconds later, another dab—this one a shimmery silver—was smeared in the opposite direction. After that it was a free-for-all of paint dabs and smears. Her arms. Her stomach. Her legs. Even her cheeks got a streak of purple and silver.

Chloe didn’t object. She couldn’t. Not when her insides quivered and her thighs clenched with every single stroke of his hot fingers against her skin. By the time he finished, she was a trembling mass of need while Grayson seemed completely unaffected. He jumped off the bed, wiped his hands on the dress shirt he’d left on the floor, then grabbed the camera and started issuing orders again. But this time he punctuated every order with words of praise. And Chloe had always been a sucker for praise.

“Perfect. That’s exactly what I wanted.” Click. Click. Click.

“Yes, wet those lips. I love the pout.” Click. Click. Click.

“You’re beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.” Click. Click. Click.

“More, baby. Give me more.”

She gave him more. Fueled by his praise, she primped and posed to the seductive thump of the rap music, not for the camera but for Grayson. It was Grayson she wanted to please. And when her bra strap slipped off her shoulder, she didn’t pull it back up. She left it there, even leaned so her breast swelled over the cup.

Click. Click. Click. “Yes, baby. That’s what I want. Perfect. You’re so damned perfect.”

She pushed down the cup and revealed her entire breast, then dipped her finger in the still-wet paint and streaked it across her naked breast. The touch of her finger on her hardened nipple caused her breath to halt, and she tipped her head back and released a deep throaty moan. When it ended, she noticed two things: The camera clicks had stopped. And Grayson’s heavy breathing could be heard over the rap music.

She opened her eyes, and her gaze locked with his. His eyes seemed to burn like gas flames as his chest rose and fell with each rapid breath. She didn’t know how long they stared at each other before he dropped the camera and stepped up to the mattress. In two strides he had her in his arms and was devouring her lips with his. And Grayson knew how to devour. Chloe felt totally consumed by the lush pull of his lips and the seductive lure of his tongue.

As with his photography, he demanded her full cooperation, and she gave it. His tongue teased hers into a mating dance of tangled heat and slick strokes. His teeth nipped her bottom lip, and she responded with a nip of her own. But for all his demands, she never felt forced. Even when his hands slid over her butt cheeks and yanked her closer, his hard chest pressing into her breasts and his even harder fly pressing into the spot between her legs.

The explosion of sensation that rocketed from the point where his hard-on met her throbbing clitoris had them both moaning in each other’s mouths. Chloe was seconds away from reaching orgasm. Something she very much wanted to reach. Unfortunately, before she could, Grayson’s cell phone rang.

His hands tightened on her butt cheeks for a brief second before he released her and stepped back. His eyes were still heavy lidded, but his facial expression was one of disbelief.

“Fuck,” he said.

The word snapped her out of her sexual fog, and she had to agree. What the fuck had she been thinking? She was leaving. The last thing she needed was to get involved with Grayson. And if his phone hadn’t rung, they would’ve been heating up the sheets right now. She ignored the stab of disappointment and tried to come up with something to say that would make light of the situation. When she noticed the streaks of paint she’d left on his chest and the fly of his jeans, she found one.

“Who would’ve thought that I’d end up painting you?” she teased in a breathy voice.

He didn’t seem to get the humor. Without even a hint of a smile, he got off the bed and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

She should’ve left well enough alone. But she couldn’t. There was very little time left before the benefit, and very little time left before word got out that she was staying with Grayson. Which meant she couldn’t let emotions get in the way of his painting her. They had made some progress tonight. She wasn’t about to let a little desire—okay, a lot of desire—keep her from the money she needed.

Pushing up her bra strap, she hopped off the bed and tapped on the bathroom door. “Grayson?” When he didn’t answer, she turned the knob and walked right in. He stood at the vanity with his hands on either side of the sink, and his hard gaze pinned her in the reflection of the mirror.

“Obviously I’m going to have to start locking doors,” he said dryly.

She closed the lid of the toilet and sat down, trying to keep her eyes away from the bulge in the front of his jeans. “Okay, so I think that went pretty well. All it took was a little prompting, and you immediately got back into the swing of things.”

He turned to face her. “Is that what you call it? Getting into the swing of things?”

Her cheeks heated. “I was talking about the photo shoot.”

He stared at her for a moment before he grabbed a hand towel from the rack and turned on the faucet to wet it. “You can take a shower—in the other bathroom. Then get dressed. I’m taking you back to your apartment.”

It wasn’t want she’d expected to hear. She couldn’t go back to her apartment. She needed to stay here and get Grayson to paint her.