The Heir & I: Taming The Billionaire (16 page)

He paused here, cradling my face in his hand as he stared deep into my eyes.

“For your birthday, darling, I
wanted to fulfill your fantasy… along with one of my own,” he whispered, adding in a sultry purr, “Come home with me tonight, Lily. Let me make love to you.”

I made no verbal response to Oliver’s sweet invitation; just fought to regain control of my senses as they thre
atened to spin out of control. His gorgeous image, his provocative words, our romantic setting made my heart race and my pulse pound. Also pounding and pulsating, incidentally, were certain lady parts that I’d nearly forgotten were attached to my body.

“Oliver,” I said finally, sitting back h
ard in my seat. “Of course I’m tempted, what woman wouldn’t be? How do I know, though, that I just won’t end up as one of your gal pals; one of those casual lovers that you have a little fun with before the two of you go your separate ways?”

Oliver sighed.

“Lily, the conversations that we’ve had over the past few months have been anythin
g but casual,” he reminded me. “I swear I’ve told you things I’ve never told any other woman. I’ve never been so comfortable with a woman.”

Again he paused, erasing all distance between us as he whispered in my ear, “Now just how do I go about m
aking you comfortable with me? Perhaps, bella, it would help you to think of me as your Victorian count—a man that has come through time to romance and seduce you. Who longs to make those romantic fantasies that have been in your head all these years come beautifully, magically alive.”

Even as his sinful suggestions managed to peak my desire as a line of sweat formed unbidden on my brow, I still managed a nervous chuckle in the face of his blatant seduction.

“Well just so you know, i
n the literary version of Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Darcy never as much as kissed Elizabeth Bennet.”

Oliver chuckled, nestling my neck as he whispered in my ear, “Just think of me as the sensual, much more biddable count that all the ladies turn to when Mr. Darcy won’t put out.”

I laughed.

“You certainly do have a way with words, Oliver,” I winked, adding as I turned my attention to a newly delivered plate of food, “Let’s have our dinner now and just see how things go.”

Oliver rolled his eyes.

“Once a personal assistant, always a pe
rsonal assistant,” he snorted. “Everything—and I mean absolutely everything—has to be done in an organized and totally compartmentalized manner.”

“That’s right!” I barked, adding as I pointed an authoritative fork in Oliver’s direction, “Now let’s hear less talking and see more eating—chop chop!”

Between courses Oliver drank a toast to
, “The best friend, personal assistant and faux girlfriend a man could ever ask for,” following the clash of our crystalline goblets with a passionate, full bodied kiss that didn’t feel fake at all.

Seizing my lips in this passionate kiss, he devoured my mouth as our tongues entangled and our breaths mingled in the air above us.

For just a moment I leaned into his kiss, smacking my lips against his as our hands joined between us.

“Lily,” he whispered finally
against my lips. “I want you. And you can’t deny that you want me too; I can feel it in your kiss. Why won’t you give in to me?”

I rather savored his frustrated groan as I suddenly broke our kiss; pulling back from the table to fold my arms before me and fix him with a steely gaze.

“I swear, what some males won’t do to avoid any and all public displays of dancing,” I sniffed, adding as I rose from the table, “You promis
ed me that you’d show me around and, more importantly, swing me around the Victorian ballroom they have here. Now finish up your dinner and take me dancing.”

Soon Oliver and I walked arm in arm out
of the restaurant; traipsing along a cobblestone street lined with cast iron lattice work benches and tall, noble, Victorian style lamp posts. Pausing to stare into the storefronts of classically designed shops, many of which boasted engraved signs, peppermint striped awnings and walls of pure sandstone.

I
was thrilled as Oliver paused to buy me one precious gift from each store; a dew glistened red rose from the florist, a box of gourmet cream chocolates from the chocolatier, a vial of fine French perfume from a luxury boutique. Then he took me by the hand and escorted me through the doors of a beautiful building known as the Rose Ballroom.

The gathered crowd see
med to part for our benefit as we made our way across the crisp tiled floor; both admiring the chandeliers that hung low from the ballroom’s domed ceiling, which also came adorned with a rendering of a winged cherub flying free across a jewel blue sky.

I felt anything but angelic
a moment later, as Oliver and I stopped beside an iced sculpture of a majestic swan; taking each other’s hands and staring deeply into one another’s eyes.

Our gazes held as Oliver swept me up in his arms; pulling me closer than close as we launched into a vigorous, very romantic waltz.

As our bodies moved in flawless time with the sound of classical music played nearby by a live band, I wrapped my arms around his muscled shoulders and drew closer to him.

As we continued to dance and sway, I felt my being tense as I came to a startling, but
quite unavoidable realization. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was developing feelings for Oliver Clark. I could no longer kid myself into believing that our romance was all for show; and that my emotions existed within the realm of friendship or even curious attraction.

When Oliver left the room, I missed him; and when he came back I outright savored his beauty, his laughter, his charm, his very scent.

I gathered from the glow that I saw in his eyes, by the tenderness and respect with which he treated me, that he just might feel the same way; but I couldn’t help but wonder if his feeli
ngs ran quite as deeply as mine and if he joined me in the opinion that this faux romance was anything but.

As he dipped me thrillingly at the center of the floor, gathering my body in a warm embrace as again he touched my lips with his, I realized suddenly that I had my answer; and that I now was more than prepared to give him his answer in return.

“Yes,” I whispered with a smile.

An hour later I found myself ensconced in a far more modernistic setting; the living room of an upscale townhouse designed in clean, clear lines.

It came as no surprise that Oliver C
lark’s apartment just screamed bachelor pad, with its pure leather furniture, sunny beachfront murals and thick white shag carpeting.

Yet as he invited me to lounge in the confines of his own private haven, Oliver still enacted the role of the romantic Victorian nobleman
. He insisted on most literally sweeping me off my feet and carrying me across the threshold of his upscale bachelor pad; all the while whispering in my ear of the magical night that lay before us.

“This night is a
ll about you, Lily,” he purred. “Your needs, your pleasures. I am at your command.”

Touching my lips with a gentle kiss, Oliver set my trembling body on the edge of the ivory cushioned couch that formed the centerpiece of his living room; kneeling before me to slip my feet from their tight, confining shoes and massage them to delightful effect.

“Mmmm,” I purred, relaxing in my seat as my attentive date worked his magic fingers across the pa
ds and heels of my tired feet. “You know, Oliver, if you ever get tired of this billionaire executive heir gig, you always could take up a side gig as a foot masseur.”

Letting loose with a low, sensual chuckle, Oliver lowered his beautiful head to suckle my toes; seeming to relish the sharp, surprised moans that met this most pleasurable act.

Hold
ing my gaze he rose to his feet. For a long, timeless moment we just stared at one another, sharing a secret smile as we seemed to contemplate the night that lie before us.

“Relax, darling,” he whispered hypnotically, adding in a soft, reassuring tone, “T
here’s nothing to be afraid of. Just let me do everything.”

With this sensual declaration he descended on the couch beside me; taking my hands in his as he stared deep into my eyes.

“I want to be sure t
hat you’re ready for this, baby.” He leaned forward to smatter my flushed cheeks with a rain of sweet kisses. “That you really want this.”

Leaning forward in a single smooth flourish, I touched his lips with a gentle kiss; my mouth rubbing and massaging his as I braced my eager hands on his broad muscled shoulders.

“I want this,”
I growled against his mouth. “And I want you. Now, Oliver.”

Taking this as a cue, Oliver wrapped his arms around my back and pulled my body flush against his in a tight but gentle embrace; all the while kissing my hands, rubbing my neck and shoulders, and finally cradling me in his arms and rocking my body back and forth on the couch to engage me in a romantic cuddle.

Pulling my body into his arms and holding me closer than close, an ardent Oliver continued his massage on a far more romantic level; running his hands down my back as he pressed his toned chest up against mine
.

“I swear you won’t regret this,” he blew into my ear, pulling me to him in a passionate clench as we collapsed in the
comfort of whisper soft silk. “I plan to make this very good for you. I want you to feel loved.”

“I want to be loved,” I released on a sigh, relax
ing in his muscular arms. “By you.”

Taking this as a cue, Oliver tilted his firm, hard hips against mine as he bowed his head to my neck; kissing and nipping its sensitive skin as I ran my hands through his silken strands. Writhing in his arms, I took a deep breath as my body was immersed in a wave of red hot arousal; one that intensified as, with bold hands, I unbuttoned his white silk shirt to reveal finally the massive chest that had filled my fantasies.

Running my fingertips down the length of his taut, toned pecs and flawless washboard abs, I took in my breath as my lover repaid me in kind; reaching forth a daring hand to caress my breasts, all the while ravishing me with a hungry gaze that showed his blatant arousal.

“I must have you now,” he released on a growl, rising to his feet with me in his arms and taking me to his bedroom.

Much to my surprise, Oliver’s bedroom turned out to be a beautiful, very tasteful pastiche of ivory woolen bed linens with matching shag carpeting, shiny brass bedrails, and a pair of royal blue velvet curtains that enshrouded a pair of signature French doors holding court in a corner of the room.

Tossing my body into a soft cloud of comforters that cradled and soothed my voluptuous curves, Oliver crossed the room in a few smooth strides and opened these curtains; releasing a spectrum of radiant moonlight that illuminated his golden form; one still draped in the silken coat that likened my lover to a Victorian count.