Page 3 of A Billionaire Between the Sheets

Deacon was nowhere in sight. But there were three closed doors off the main room that she didn’t hesitate to open. The first room held a neatly made bed, a nightstand with a stack of books and magazines, and a scarred dresser. The second room was much messier. Clothes were strewn across the floor, the twin bed was unmade, and acrylic paint and paintbrushes cluttered the top of the dresser. Next to the dresser, an easel sat in front of the window, holding a painting of a naked woman reclining on a faded quilt. With a minor in graphic design, Olivia knew that whoever had painted this was good. Very good.

The squeak of water pulled her attention away from the painting and had her checking the last door. It was a small bathroom with a sink, toilet, and bathtub shower. Through the plastic curtain, she could see the shadowy outline of a man lathering his body. Limbs lifted and hands glided, causing the tingle of sexual awareness to return. She ignored it and cleared her throat. The shadowy figure halted in mid-lather.

“I just need a few minutes,” she said. “Two tops. And believe me, it will be well worth your while.”

After only a second, the infuriating man started to sing Barry Manilow’s “Copacabana” in a loud baritone. Olivia groaned in exasperation and turned to the mirror over the sink.

Talk about a swamp creature. She looked like she’d been slimed by the kids on Nickelodeon. Her normally shiny blond hair was tinted green with bits of bark and whatever else lived in the bayou. Besides the leech suction mark on her neck, she had numerous mosquito bites on her arms, and her clothes were just plain disgusting. For a brief moment, she considered hopping in the shower with Deacon, clothes and all, and joining in on the chorus. Instead she took off her backpack and reached for the bar of Dial soap on the side of the sink. She had just finished washing her hands and face when the screen door slammed, the sound followed by the loud clomp of boots and unidentifiable clicks. By the time she’d dried with the towel on the rack, two bearded men and a big dog had appeared in the doorway.

The dog gave one deep-throated woof. Olivia might’ve been scared if the animal with the droopy face hadn’t had the most soulful eyes she’d ever seen.

“Don’t mind Blue,” the taller of the two men said in a Southern drawl that slipped from his lips like the finest satin. “That’s just his way of saying hello. He loves the ladies.” He flashed a lazy smile that, even disguised by a full beard, dripped with sex appeal. “Nash Beaumont at your service, ma’am.”

The water shut off, and the plastic shower curtain jerked back so hard that it tore from two of the metal hooks. Standing there with water cascading down his naked body, Deacon looked at his brother.

“No need to introduce yourself, Nash. You and Grayson should remember Uncle Michael’s brat.”

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