A Billionaire Between the Sheets (20 page)

“Welcome aboard.” She handed them each a flute of champagne before leading them into the luxurious cabin.

Olivia had been in the plane numerous times since Michael had purchased it. So she barely noticed the fine leather seats, plush carpet, or wood-grain paneling. She was too distracted by being gone so long from work. But she waited until they were seated in facing seats and the attendant had left before voicing her concerns.

“Deacon, I really have a lot that I need to get done before—”

The captain's voice came over the speaker. “Mr. Beaumont and Ms. Harrington, I'm Captain Franks. If you'll fasten your seat belts, we'll be on our way. The flight to New York will take approximately seven hours. We'll refuel, and given any unforeseen weather, we should be in Paris by morning.”

Olivia stared at Deacon. “Paris? We're going to Paris?”

He smiled. “Where else would I take French Kiss's new designer?”

P
aris.

It was like a dream come true, and Olivia couldn't keep the tears from rolling down her cheeks.

Deacon leaned in and took her hands. “I'm going to make a guess here and say that you're crying because you're happy. If that's not the case, tell me now—before the captain gets this bird in the air.”

She sniffed. “It's just that I've wanted to go to Paris ever since Michael told me the story of walking along the Seine.”

“Then why didn't you, Livy? You had the money and a private jet at your disposal.”

She shrugged. “I don't know. I guess because I was always so busy with French Kiss.”

“I think
consumed
is a better word. With French Kiss and Michael.” He gently squeezed her hands. “I know you idolized him, Olivia. To a young girl, he must've seemed like a god. But, like all men, he had his faults. And one of them was wanting you to be as consumed with French Kiss as he was—so consumed that you forgot that there is an entire world out there that has nothing to do with sales reports and bottom lines.”

Uncomfortable beneath his intense gaze, Olivia turned to the window. The plane taxied down the runway, gaining speed until the scenery became a blur, then lifted and fought against gravity and wind currents until it reached the right elevation and was able to level out. Olivia felt the same way. She felt like she had spent her entire life fighting against unknown forces just to find that space where she could finally enjoy the ride. She was brought out of her thoughts by the caress of Deacon's thumb on her knuckles. She turned from the deep blue of the skies to the deep purplish blue of Deacon's eyes. And suddenly everything inside her leveled out.

“So tell me, Ms. Harrington,” he said with a slight tipping of his lips. “What else do you want besides a trip to Paris?”

It was a good question. At one time she could've easily answered it: Her father's return. Michael's love. French Kiss's success. But now her mind seemed empty of want…save for one thing.

Unable to help herself, she leaned across and kissed him. His lips were as hot as the rest of him, and she moistened them with her tongue before hungrily taking advantage of their softness. He made to release the clasp on his seat belt, no doubt so he could take control of the situation, but Olivia pulled back and shook her head.

He sent her a quizzical look, but allowed her to take his hand from the clasp and rest it on the arm of the seat. After unbuckling her belt, she did the same with his other hand, curling his fingers around the soft leather of the arm.

The flight attendant appeared, carrying a bottle of champagne. “Can I get you anything to eat, Mr. Beaumont…Ms. Harrington?”

“Maybe later,” Olivia said with a smile. “Right now, Mr. Beaumont and I have some business to discuss.”

“Of course.” The attendant placed the bottle of champagne in the holder on the minibar. “Just buzz if you need me.” She pulled the pocket door closed behind her.

Olivia turned to find Deacon watching her. “Please don't tell me we're going to spend the entire trip talking about business,” he said.

“What else would we do?” Slipping off her high heels, she got out of her seat and knelt in front of him. “Now the key to any good business meeting is knowing when to take charge and when to keep your mouth shut.” She smiled at him as she spread his legs and moved between them. “This time I'm in charge, Mr. Beaumont. Got it?”

One eyebrow arched, but he kept his mouth shut.

Slowly she slid her hands up his forearms. The muscles beneath flexed, and everything inside her melted like polyester beneath a hot iron. This was a man. She slipped her hands to his knotted biceps. A real, honest-to-goodness man. And for this moment, he was all hers.

She caressed his body beneath the silk of his shirt, her hands gliding over his shoulders and along his collarbone until she reached the open collar. Button by button, she opened the shirt to reveal his hard pectoral muscles and the sprinkle of dark hair between. She kept unbuttoning until she reached his waistband. With a tug she freed his shirt from his jeans.

Deacon watched through half-mast eyelids. He had the longest lashes, a thick fringe that would make any woman green with envy. But once his shirt was open, Olivia didn't spend a lot of time admiring his lashes.

Spreading his shirt wide, she let her gaze wander over his masculine perfection before she leaned in to place a kiss in the hollow of his throat. Beneath her lips she felt the vibration of his groan and smiled. She liked being in charge with Deacon. She kissed her way along his collarbone, then down to one pectoral muscle. He didn't make another sound, but he shifted in the seat, his knees pressing into her sides as if to prod her on. But she took her time, gently kissing all around the tiny nipple before she took it into her mouth. She sucked, and his hips lifted. She rolled his nipple against the roof of her mouth, and his hands white-knuckled the arms of the chair.

“Livy,” he groaned.

She ignored his plea and moved lower, along each abdominal muscle to the waistband of his jeans. The fabric was worn enough that she could easily unbutton it with just a twist of her fingers. The zipper was a lot harder. Metal tooth by metal tooth, she inched it down to reveal the hard length of him beneath the stretched cotton of his boxer briefs. She spread the denim and, using only a finger, traced his erection from base to tip.

His hips lifted as far as they could beneath the seat belt. “Livy,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “you're killin' me, babe.”

A giddy feeling joined the desire that gripped her body, and wanting to make him lose it even more, she slid her hand into the opening of his boxers and freed him. She caressed the smooth skin along the shaft before rubbing a thumb over the moisture on the tip. The sound he released was a mixture of a groan and a moan. She lowered her head and took him into her mouth. But after only three strokes, his hands came off the armrests and tangled in her hair, gently tugging her away. Within seconds he had his seat belt off and Olivia on her feet with her skirt pulled up. When he saw that she didn't have on any underwear, his expression was priceless.

“Thank God,” he breathed as he pulled her down to straddle him. After only a minor adjustment, he entered her with a hard thrust that had her moaning much louder than he had. “Shhh.” He placed his lips against hers. “We don't want to distract the crew.”

The funny part about it was that Olivia didn't care whom they distracted. She wanted Deacon, and she wanted him now. But having sex in a leather airplane seat wasn't as easy as she'd thought it would be. Her knees were pinned between the arms of the seat and Deacon's hips, and she couldn't get the leverage she needed to move. Fortunately, Deacon was through being a follower. With a firm grasp on her thighs, he got to his feet and carried her toward the bedroom at the back of the plane. Unfortunately, just then the plane hit a patch of turbulence that had Deacon stumbling and bumping her into the paneled wall.

“Are you okay?” he asked with concern.

“No, I'm not okay.” She grabbed his open shirt and tugged. “Fuck me, Deacon.”

His eyes widened for a split second before he did just that. Tightening his hands on the back of her thighs, he pressed her against the wall and thrust hard and deep. The sensations that ricocheted through her body had her breath whooshing out. She sucked it back in when he thrust again. Olivia had never had sex standing up and was surprised by how naughty and excited it made her feel. Hooking her feet at his back, she used the leverage to meet each thrust. When the plane dipped again, it set off the most amazing climax she had ever had. Deacon's followed soon after, his body tightening and then slumping against hers. They rested like that for a moment, his head buried in her hair and hers buried in his shoulder.

When he lifted his head, his eyes sparkled and his dimple winked. “I think I'm going to like having business meetings with you, Livy.”

The fourteen-hour trip gave them plenty of time for numerous business meetings and plenty of sleep in between. Which explained the lack of jet lag when they finally landed in Paris. In fact Olivia just felt buoyant as they passed the Arc de Triomphe in the limo that had picked them up from the airport.

Deacon laughed as she rolled down the glass and stuck her head out into the cool night air. “Hello, Paris!”

It seemed even more of a fairy tale when they arrived at the hotel and were shown to their suite. It was decorated in French provincial blues and gold with chandeliers and a huge balcony off the sitting room. She didn't even wait for Deacon to finish tipping the bellman before she hurried over to the French doors. The sight that greeted her had her covering her mouth with her hand and fighting back tears.

The lights of the Eiffel Tower sparkled right outside the thick glass. And the painting in Michael's office didn't even come close to depicting the breathtaking beauty of the monument. So caught up was she in the sight, Olivia barely noticed when Deacon slipped his arms around her waist.

“Breathtaking,” he whispered against her ear.

“It is, isn't it?”

“I wasn't talking about the tower as much as the woman looking at it.” He nuzzled her neck and then rested his chin on her head. “But you're right. Pictures don't do it justice, do they?” They stood there for a long, silent moment before Deacon released her and opened up the doors. “Shall we get a better look?”

A table had been set up on the stone balcony. The flickering light of the tapers gleamed off the crystal flutes and fine china settings. While Olivia gaped at the beautifully set table and the backdrop of the lit Eiffel Tower behind it, Deacon walked over and pulled out a chair.

“Mademoiselle.”

It was just too much, and Olivia released a squeal and flung herself at Deacon. Surprised, he stumbled back a few steps until he reached the balcony railing.

“I guess you like it.”

“Oh, Deacon, I don't like it, I love it!” She kissed his ear, his cheek, and the tip of his nose. “And I love you.”

The words just sort of slipped out and hung there, causing both Deacon and Olivia to freeze. She felt her face heat as he pulled back and looked at her. She couldn't help but fidget beneath his intense gaze.

“W-what I meant was…” She searched for an explanation, but before she could find one, Deacon pressed a finger to her lips.

“It's okay, Livy. You don't need to explain anything.” He released her and pulled out the chair. “Let's eat.”

Since it was so late, the dinner was light. Beneath the domed warming lids were a delicious French onion soup and a platter of crusty bread and cheeses. After her faux pas, Olivia thought the conversation would be stilted. But Deacon seemed to put the subject behind them as he poured her a glass of Chardonnay.

“So tell me about your childhood, Livy,” he said as he handed her the glass.

She didn't know if it was the wine or the breathtaking backdrop, but she did tell him about her childhood. About how wonderful her father had been and how confused she'd felt when he left without a word. She told him about attending private school and how she had always felt like the odd man out because she had to struggle to stay focused. And she told him about French Kiss and how much she loved designing. And when she realized that she was monopolizing the conversation, she started asking Deacon questions about his childhood. He wasn't quite as forthcoming, and she was forced to piece a picture together.

It was of a high-energy little boy and a brokenhearted teen.

“I'm sorry,” she said as she reached across the table to take his hand. “It sounds like you adored your mother.”

Deacon turned her hand over and stroked the palm with his thumb. “She was easy to adore, even though she wasn't as outgoing as Donny John and Nash. She was more quiet like Grayson.” He paused. “I guess a little like me too. But she had this laugh that could just make you smile even if you didn't know what she was laughing at.” He shook his head. “My dad said it reminded him of a sick goose. It just reminded me of happiness.”

Guilt assailed her, and she pulled her hand away and studied the napkin on her lap. “I'm sorry, Deacon. If I had known about your mother, I never would've let Michael think that you'd…” She let the sentence trail off.

“That I had molested you?” The humor in Deacon's voice had her glancing up. He was grinning wickedly.

Olivia didn't see the humor. “It's not funny, Deacon. If I had spoken up, Michael wouldn't have kicked you out. He would've mended whatever had gone on between him and your father.”

His smile died. “No. He wouldn't have done anything of the sort. He was pissed from the first that your mother had invited us to stay, and I have little doubt that he was coming to kick us out when he discovered us in the garden.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Michael wouldn't have done that. Not after he found out that your mother had passed away.”

Deacon studied her for a moment as if he were making some type of decision. Then he tossed his napkin on the table and got to his feet. “Okay, you're right. He would've welcomed us like long-lost relatives.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her so deeply that she felt it all the way down to the marrow of her bones. When he pulled back, he was smiling. “Now what are you going to do to make it up to me?”

They stayed awake until close to two in the morning so she could make it up to him—although it wasn't much of a chore. Deacon could be as tender at lovemaking as he was tough at business. In the morning they had breakfast in bed before heading out to see the sights.

They spent most of their time at the Louvre. Olivia couldn't seem to get her fill of the priceless paintings and sculptures. Her mind worked overtime as she imagined how she could use the different colors and textures of the art in her designs. That evening they had dinner at a little café. The same café that had been in the painting in Michael's office.