Unwrapped (29 page)

“Kidnapped?” Jac smiled and snuggled against Patrick's warm, broad chest. “Now that's romantic.”

I
t was surprising how much a family of McPhersons could get done in a short time. Albert and Mary Katherine's house was completely decked out for Christmas, from the large Douglas fir that filled one corner of the family room to the Santa and reindeer on the front lawn. The house even smelled like the holidays. Cinnamon candles burned on the mantel. Vanilla-laced sugar cookies cooled on the counter. And a rosemary-infused prime rib roast baked in the oven.

“It was lucky that Melanie had planned on making the roast for New Year's,” Mary Katherine said as she finished the rum cake batter. “Otherwise we'd be eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

“All things work out if you let them.” Wheezie's gaze scanned the great room. The McPhersons were living proof of things working out.

What had started out as a disjointed Christmas with the entire family headed in separate directions had ended up bringing everyone even closer together. Jake and Melanie and their three children helped Rory and Amy and their two kids finish decorating the tree. Gabby held Douglas up so he could reach the higher branches, then once the ornament was hung, tickled him until he squirmed and giggled. Her biological father had sobered up, but then left town without a word to anyone. No matter how much Gabby said she didn't care, Wheezie figured it had to hurt. She also figured that Gabby had enough love in her life to heal that hurt.

In the opposite corner of the room, Cassie and James tried to corral their energetic son, who had recovered from his ear infection and was diving from the back of the couch with his new play sword. His little sister was calmly sitting between James's parents, listening to her grandfather read a story. And one-year-old Noel was being spoiled by Matthew and Ellie. With the content smiles on their faces, there was little doubt in Wheezie's mind that they were thinking about the time when they would hold their own child.

Patrick and Jacqueline didn't seem to be thinking of parenthood. They stood at the window looking out at the snow that fell from the sky like a lacy doily. Patrick's arms were wrapped tightly around Jacqueline as he whispered something in her ear that made a blush tint her cheeks.

“They look happy, don't they?”

Wheezie turned to see Mary watching the newlyweds with tears brimming in her eyes. “My last baby is married now and starting a family of his own,” she said. “Where did the time go, Louise? It seems like only yesterday that I was cuddling Patrick in my arms.”

Wheezie didn't know where time went. Her time on earth had slipped through her fingers like sand through a sieve. But there were still a few grains left. And she sure as hell wasn't going to waste them by getting caught up in the past. Waiting until Mary turned to check on the roast in the oven, Wheezie picked up the bottle of rum and added more to the cake batter. Once she emptied the bottle, she slipped off the barstool and reached for the walker that she'd parked next to the stool. It wasn't the plain aluminum one the doctor had given her. This one was bright purple with big off-road wheels and a nifty basket for her purse and cell phone.

Wheezie was still trying to figure out which one of her ornery nieces and nephews had sneaked into her house and left it under her Christmas tree. They all had denied it, and the card tied on with the candy-cane-striped bow had read only two words:
Love, Santa
. Of course it didn't matter who had given it to her. All that mattered was that it had been given with love.

Clicking off the brakes, she wheeled the walker into the family room, where Big Al, Gerald, and Bailey had just finished handing out flutes of champagne to most of the adults and sparkling apple juice to the children and pregnant women. Albert waited for Mary to finish in the kitchen before he handed her a flute of champagne and Wheezie a glass of what looked like good scotch whiskey.

With a broad smile on his face, he lifted a glass and made a toast.

“Merry Christmas and a happy and prosperous New Year. May your brogue remain thick and your life long.”

Wheezie smiled. She couldn't have said it better herself.

D
eacon was playing a game he had no business playing. Especially when the money he was playing it with wasn't his own. It was his brothers' as well. And both Nash and Grayson wanted him to sign the contract and make them millionaires as quickly as possible. They had no desire to be owners of their uncle's lingerie company. And Deacon didn't want that either. Which didn't explain why he'd refused to send the contract back with his uncle's lawyers. Or why he had shaved his beard, cut his hair, and traveled all the way to California to deliver it in person.

Obviously something had gone a little haywire in his brain. Something that had gotten even worse when he'd seen Olivia's opulent office, stood looking at the spectacular view, and finally turned to find a spoiled executive in a suit that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe. And now, whether he had a right or not, he wasn't through making Olivia sweat.

Although she didn't appear to be sweating too much.

“So I guess you want me to beg,” she said. When he didn't reply, she shrugged. “Okay. You want me on my knees or will a couple of
pretty please
s do?”

He stopped twirling the pen through his fingers and called her bluff. “Knees would be nice.” He expected her to tell him to go to hell. Instead she walked around the desk and, without the slightest hesitation, lifted her sexy-as-hell skirt just enough to flash him a peek of pretty pink garter belt fasteners and thigh-high stockings before kneeling in front of him.

Her piercing green eyes pinned him as she spoke in a voice that was anything but humble. “Please, Deacon. Please sign the contract.”

It was his fantasy all over again. Technically, the desk and office were his. And while Olivia wasn't exactly in rags, she was on her knees. Which didn't explain why all the fun had drained right out of the game. Probably because he knew what it felt like to be forced to beg. Knew exactly the feeling of humiliation that came with needing something someone else had.

“Get up,” he said.

“Why?” She gave him a wide-eyed look. “Did I do it wrong, Deacon? Sorry, but I'm not as good at begging as the Beaumonts.”

The pen slipped from his fingers, and the leather chair creaked as he sat up, bringing his face inches from hers. “Shut up.”

“Or what? You won't sign the contract?” She laughed, her breath coming out in a puff of heat. “We both know that you won't walk away from fifty million.”

Her condescending attitude took Deacon from angry to flat-out pissed. So pissed that he couldn't even put together a reply that would wipe the smartassed smirk off her face. That being the case, he chose a nonverbal way to do it.

He kissed her.

Not a soft kiss, but a hard, forceful one that ended with him sucking her plump bottom lip between his teeth and giving it a nip. When he pulled back, Olivia was staring at him with shocked eyes. He expected her anger and didn't even tense when she lifted her hand. But instead of delivering a stinging, much-deserved slap she slid her hand over the stubble on his jaw before pulling him back for another kiss.

She kissed much better than she begged. He actually believed that she was enjoying it. He sure as hell was. Her lips were hungry and aggressive, her mouth hot and wet, and her tongue slick and teasing.

Deacon opened his legs, and she moved right into the space like a moored ship. Her hands curled around his neck while his curved over her ass, lifting her knees off the plush carpeting. As he squeezed the firm cheeks, his mind ran through the list of things he would need to accomplish before he could be surrounded by the heat of her body. Lift skirt. Remove panties. Unzip jeans. Pull out cock. Get condom—damn.

He pulled away from those scorching lips. Then, just to make sure he didn't succumb to a pair of desire-drugged eyes, he shoved the caster chair back a good three feet. But even with the added space, it took a while for him to get ahold of his raging hormones.

Olivia didn't take quite as long.

After only a few blinks, she got to her feet, took two wobbly steps toward him, then hauled off and gave him the stinging slap he'd expected earlier. By the time his ears stopped ringing, she had the pen and contract in hand.

“I did what you asked,” she said through gritted teeth. “Now you sign.”

It was difficult to keep up the smiling-asshole part with a hard-on that could easily have been used as a battering ram, but he did his best. “I didn't force you to beg. I merely asked. And you deserved it when you weren't exactly honest about how many shares Uncle Michael left us.”

“The number of shares was in the contract.”

“True. But you didn't explain that we owned the company.”

“You don't own it. You own controlling interest.”

“Which we both know is the same thing.” He glanced around. “So this would be my office?”

Her eyes narrowed as she enunciated every word. “This. Is. My. Office.”

Now that he was back in control, he asked the questions that had been circling his brain. “So what horrible thing did you do to get cut out of Uncle Michael's will completely? Forget to put your napkin on your lap? Burp at a dinner party? Get caught showing someone your panties?”

The look that entered her eyes was a combination of anger and hurt. “I didn't do anything. And I wasn't cut out completely. He left me all of his money and his house.”

Deacon already knew this. After his father had gotten the lawyers high on the moonshine he always carried in his trunk, they had become loose-lipped. He knew exactly what his uncle had left Olivia. According to the lawyers, the value of the estate was the same amount she was willing to give Deacon and his brothers.

He studied her. “Sorry, but I just don't get it. If you were Uncle Michael's beloved stepdaughter, why wouldn't he just leave you the shares in the company? Didn't he know how much you love French Kiss?”

She turned away. “He knew.” A buzzer went off, and Olivia reached out and pressed a button on the phone. “Yes?”

“Sorry to interrupt.” Kelly's voice came through the speaker. “But your mother is on line one and says that it's an emergency.”

Olivia's shoulders tightened. “Thank you, Kelly.” She glanced back at Deacon. “Do you mind getting out of my chair?”

“Not at all.” He got up and slid the chair over.

If looks could kill, he would be six feet under. Which made him smile even broader. He liked this feisty Olivia much better than he liked the poised businesswoman Olivia. Or maybe he just liked knowing that he could get under her skin.

He moved to the sitting area and sat down on the couch. It was as hard and uncomfortable as it looked. He picked up a French Kiss catalog from the coffee table and thumbed through it. It wasn't the first time. He was on their mailing list—under an alias, of course. An exasperated grunt had him looking up from the hot model in a lacy bra and panties to the ticked-off woman in a business suit. It didn't sit well that he found Olivia almost as hot.

“So I guess you're not leaving,” she said.

He shrugged. “I don't have anywhere to go. This poor Beaumont only had enough money for the plane ticket.” It was an out-and-out lie. He might not have had enough money to build his condos, but he had enough to cover a plane ticket and hotel. But damned if he wasn't enjoying toying with Olivia. However, the kiss had been a mistake. One that wouldn't be repeated.

She sent him a glare before pressing a button on the phone and talking into the receiver. “I'm sorry I kept you waiting, Mother, but I'm kind of busy right now. So what's the emergency? Did…” Her gaze met his before she swiveled the chair around and lowered her voice. “Did she throw another temper tantrum?” She only paused for a second before speaking in a voice at least three octaves higher. “Jail? She's in jail!”

Although he continued to thumb through the catalog, Deacon was all ears.

“What happened? Oh, good Lord.” With the phone cradled to her ear, Olivia swiveled back around and placed her checkbook in the briefcase. “No, we can't leave her there, Mother.” Another pause. “No, I don't have a clue how to bail someone out of jail, but I'm sure I'll figure it out.” Hanging up the phone, she stood and grabbed her briefcase.

Deacon flipped down the catalog and got to his feet. “You'll probably need a bail bondsman.”

She stopped on her way to the door and turned to him. “Excuse me?”

“That's what you'll need if you want to bail your friend out of jail.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “Thank you.”

He flashed her a smile. “Anytime.”

She studied him for a long moment before heading for the door. As soon as she had it open, she spoke to her assistant. But not as to an employee as much as to a friend she didn't want to offend. “Umm, Kelly, do you think you could reschedule my morning meetings? I need to drop…something off at my house and won't be back until the afternoon. And once Mr. Beaumont signs the paperwork on my desk, would you mind making him a reservation at a nice hotel and taking care of anything else he might need before he leaves town?” She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes almost daring him to contradict what she'd just told her assistant. “Good-bye, Deacon. Have a safe trip home.”

Then, with the twitch of shapely hips and the click of purple high heels, she strode toward the elevators. Once she had disappeared around the corner, Kelly spoke.

“Is there a hotel you prefer?” She gave him a slow once-over, followed by the flirtatious bat of her overly long eyelashes. “Or if you like cozy, you could sleep on my couch, Mr.…”

“Beaumont. And whatever hotel you choose is fine.”

Kelly's eyes widened. “Beaumont? Are you related to Michael Beaumont?”

“He was my uncle.”

“So you're his nephew? The one he willed the company to?”

Deacon nodded. “That would be me. But you don't have to worry. I don't have any plans to take over.”

Her excitement dimmed. “That's too bad. What French Kiss needs is someone to take charge. Ms. Harrington is nice and all, but she's a bit of a pushover. Which might explain why we're going bankrupt.”

“Bankrupt? French Kiss is going bankrupt?”

She glanced in both directions before she leaned in. “Since I've only worked here a few months, I don't have all the details. But rumor has it that, once you find out about the company's problems, you're going to sell it to the highest bidder. Which is going to suck for me since my roommate moved out with her rat bastard of a boyfriend and left me with the lease. And do you have a clue how expensive it is to live in San Francisco? Not that I'm hinting for a raise or anything. I would just like to keep my job.”

Deacon was stunned. Last he'd heard, French Kiss was pulling in billions a year. Now it was going bankrupt? It didn't make sense. And why would Olivia spend all her money on a company that was going under?

As if reading his mind, Kelly continued. “Although I think Ms. Harrington has something up her sleeve to save the company. I overheard her talking to her mother about a secret weapon.”

“A secret weapon?”

She nodded. “Some Paris designer. Unfortunately, now that person is in jail for sexual assault.” Obviously Olivia's assistant didn't mind eavesdropping on phone calls.

“Do you know what jail Ms. Harrington went to?”

“No, but I do know that once she bails the designer out of jail, she's taking her back to her house.” She turned to her computer. “And I have that address.”