A Billionaire After Dark

Book 2: The Overnight Billionaires

by Katie Lane

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

With endless wealth comes irresistible temptation . . .

It's an undisputed fact that Nash Beaumont is the hottest of the Beaumont brothers. His slow, sensual smile charms every French Kiss employee-and tempts every woman to buy the company's lingerie. But beneath Nash's raw charisma is a dark, kinky side that he struggles to control . . . a side that may be exposed by one lovely-and unexpectedly adventurous woman.

Reporter Eden Huckabee needs a story. And when she discovers Nash's dirty little secret, she thinks she's found it. But Eden doesn't count on Nash turning the tables on her-or that she will fall so deeply for this unbelievably sexy, one-in-a-billion Beaumont.

Release date: March 29, 2016

Publisher: Forever

Print pages: 331

Sample

If you want to make it in this business, you must immerse yourself in the story.”

That was the advice Eden Huckabee’s editor had given her. But what Eden was getting ready to do was more than immersing herself. It was like jumping into the San Francisco Bay in a pair of cement shoes. How did she know that the man who waited behind the double doors of the penthouse suite wasn’t another Zodiac Killer? Or the real Zodiac Killer since he’d never been apprehended? All Eden had was the word of a prostitute who said that he wasn’t.

“He’s a really respectful guy,” Madison had said, “who must be afraid of women. That’s the only reason I can think of for the ‘no touching’ rule.”

No touching. That’s what clinched the deal for Eden. She could immerse herself in the story as long as there was no touching.

Taking a deep breath, she tapped on one of the doors. Per instructions, she’d stopped by the concierge’s desk for a room key, but she felt it would be rude to just walk in without knocking. The door handle turned, and for a moment, Eden tensed for flight. Her body relaxed when a young man who looked like Harry Styles from the boy band One Direction peeked out. He had long hair and pretty eyes, and still carried baby fat in his cheeks.

This was the man who Madison called the Dark Seducer? No wonder he kept the lights off; he probably didn’t want the escorts carding him. Eden bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. It appeared that all she needed to worry about now was being asked to perform a cheer in a pleated parochial school skirt. Pleated skirts made her butt look the size of a front-loader washer, and she had never been what you would call coordinated.

While she was trying not to laugh, the young man was giving her a thorough once-over. His gaze wandered over her damp hair, rain-drenched coat, and wet high heels. It was raining cats and dogs, and since she had forgotten to bring cash to tip the valet, she’d been forced to park a good block and a half away. San Francisco had a lot of things, but parking wasn’t one of them.

“So are you a hooker?” The young man finally spoke. “Because you don’t look hot enough to be a hooker.”

All the cuteness drained right out of him, and Eden had the strong urge to pinch his baby-fat cheeks until his eyes watered. “I believe that hot is in the eye of the beholder. And we’re called escorts, not hookers.”

“What’s the difference?”

Eden had wondered the same thing, but after meeting Madison, she’d learned that there was a big difference between being a hooker and being an escort. Hookers had pimps. Escorts had services. Hookers worked nightly. Escorts worked rarely. Hookers barely made enough to keep them in drugs. Escorts made a boatload of cash—not to mention the jewelry, vacations, and homes they received as bonuses. Hookers weren’t picky about their clients. Escorts were very picky.

Which didn’t explain why Madison had chosen this smart-mouthed yahoo.

“Are you going to let me in?” she asked. “Or am I not hot enough?”

He shrugged and opened the door.

The suite was over-the-top lavish. The marble floors of the entryway gleamed in the light of the overhead chandelier. There was an opulent contemporary dining room table on the right. And in the living area, white couches and chairs surrounded a fire pit coffee table with blue quartz in the center that flickered with gas flames.

Being wet and cold, Eden wanted to move closer to the fire. Instead she stood there, dripping on the marble floor and staring in awe at the spectacular view of downtown and the Bay Bridge. Obviously the kid made money. No doubt one of the growing numbers of Internet baby billionaires who struggled to spend their wads of cash. It wouldn’t be a bad angle for a story. But one story at a time. This story was about Madison. It was Madison’s perspective Eden needed to channel. What ran through her head when she walked into a hotel room? What did she see? Feel? And ultimately, how did she deal with selling her body for—

Eden’s mind came to a screeching halt when hands settled on her shoulders. She jumped and then turned to point a finger like a mother with a naughty toddler. “No touching, young man.”

Looking duly chastised, he held up his hands. “Okay. Okay. I was just going to take your coat.”

“Oh. Sorry.” She slipped off the coat and handed it to him. Beneath she wore a black sequined cocktail dress that she’d worn to the office Christmas party. She thought it was sexy, but Baby Cheeks seemed thoroughly disappointed. His eyes lost their gleam of anticipation, and his shoulders slumped in the ill-fitting burgundy jacket. A burgundy jacket with a gold nametag pinned above the breast pocket.

Jeremy Ross.

Eden’s eyes widened. “You work at the hotel?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I wanted to work at Starbucks, but they won’t let you show a tattoo on your neck. Not that I have one, but I want to get one. I’m thinking that one of those Chinese dragons on my chest with its tail wrapping around my throat would be so wicked—”

A cell phone rang, and he pushed aside his jacket and took the phone off his belt clip. When he spoke, he used a lot more respect than he had with Eden. “Yes, sir. Okay, I’m leaving now.” He hung up. “I gotta go. The concierge said that if you need anything, just call.” He was almost to the door when she stopped him.

“Wait! Where is my… date?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have a clue. I just dropped by the complimentary fruit basket that goes with the suite.” He nodded at the basket of fruit on the bar. “Maybe the guy stiffed you.” He gave her the once-over. “If so, what could I get for twenty-one dollars?”

Eden arched an eyebrow. “How about a swift kick in the seat of your pants?”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t see how you make a living as a hooker. You’ve got way too much attitude.” He turned and walked out the door.

When he was gone, Eden stood there for a few minutes not knowing what to do. Part of her was relieved that she wouldn’t have a hand in sexually corrupting a minor, and the other part had gone back to being scared. So much so that she thought about helping herself to a couple of minis from the bar. But Eden wasn’t a drinker. Or a smoker. Or a midnight toker. Something that really annoyed her grandparents. Pops and Mimi believed that a glass of wine or the occasional hit of marijuana kept you from being an uptight asshole.

Which probably explained Eden’s personality.

Trying to stay focused on the goal, she glanced around the suite and started her story: The blue flames of the fire reflected in the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a spectacular, rain-drenched view of the city. A view that had been bought for a price. But Madison had learned early on that anything could be bought for a price… including your soul.

Or was that too dramatic? Eden’s boss and the editor of the small newspaper she worked for always got on her for being too dramatic.

“You should write romance novels,” Stella would say. “Because with that kind of mushy prose, you’ll never make it as a serious writer.”

But Eden would make it. She might write a little dramatically, but she had something that other people didn’t have. Her father called it true grit. Her mother called it enlightened aura. And her brothers called it pain-in-the-ass stubbornness. Eden called it goal setting. And she had never left a goal unaccomplished.

Never.

And right now her goal was to become the next Woodward or Bernstein. She wanted to do investigative reporting like her father had done before he started teaching college journalism. So far, Eden had been given only human-interest stories. Charity walks, doggy costume contests, and a night at the opera. But now she had a story that she could sink her teeth into. A story about the underbelly of prostitution. It was the first real news story Stella had given her, and Eden was determined to knock her editor’s socks off with it. Even if it meant she had to go above and beyond. And this was certainly going above and beyond.

Taking her phone from her purse, she made a few notes describing the furniture, fireplace, and view. But the living room wasn’t what she needed to describe as much as the bedroom. She glanced at the double doors to her left, and after only a moment’s hesitation, she walked over and opened one.

Light from the living area sliced through the dark, across plush, white carpet and the puffy satin duvet on the bed. Was this the room where she would be expected to strip? Not that she was actually going to strip down to her skin. She wasn’t about to go that far for a story. All she needed was a taste of what it felt like to be in Madison’s shoes. Just a glimpse of the debauchery of the escort world. Once she had that glimpse, she intended to contract a bad stomach virus and get the heck out of there.

But for now, she might as well get a feel for her part. Channeling Mimi’s favorite actress, Mae West, Eden placed a hand on her hip and strutted seductively into the dark room. “So what do you want, big boy?” She ran a finger along the cool, slick fabric of the duvet. “You want a slow burn or a fast trip around the world?”

There was a rustle before a smooth Southern voice spoke. “Personally, I’ve always liked things slow and hot. But I am a little curious as to what going around the world consists of.”

Eden dropped her phone, and it thumped to the carpet, but not half as loudly as her heart thumping against her rib cage. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered as she turned toward the voice. “I didn’t realize someone was in here.”

“Then who were you talking to?”

She tried to collect herself, but it wasn’t easy when her knees felt like overcooked spaghetti. “I was just…” Unable to think up a lie, she told the truth. “Practicing.”

There was a long pause before he spoke. “Close the door.”

She tried to clear the fear that clogged her throat. “There’s no touching, right?”

“I thought I explained the rules to your service.” His voice sounded closer. “No talking and follow my instructions to a tee.” The door slammed closed, causing Eden to almost jump out of her heels.

Being in the dark with a complete stranger had her reevaluating her goals. And becoming a good investigative reporter took a backseat to self-preservation.

“Look.” She took a step closer to the door. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do this.”

“Obviously. You seem to have a problem keeping your mouth shut.”

Suddenly, she wasn’t scared as much as annoyed. “And you seem to have control issues.”

“I believe I’m paying two thousand dollars for that control.”

“Two thousand?” Eden couldn’t hide her shock. She knew that Madison made a lot of money as an escort, but she hadn’t thought it was that much. “Are you kidding me?” Realizing that she didn’t sound very professional, she backpedaled. “I mean, Madison told me that I’d make much less.”

“She lied.” The words were spoken so close to her ear that she released a strangled gasp. She backed away and bumped into the bed, sitting down with a hard bounce. The mattress dipped as his hands pressed on either side of her hips. “There will be touching.”

“B-but that wasn’t part of the deal.”

“I don’t know what kind of deal you made,” he said, “but the deal I made was for a woman who will do exactly what I say.”

“Exactly?” she squeaked.

He leaned closer, his breath falling against her lips like steam on a bathroom mirror. “Exactly.”

Before Eden could make it very clear that she wasn’t about to do exactly what he said, he moved away. Only a few seconds later, a light clicked on. Not a light that lit up the room, but a soft, recessed light that shone only on the bed. The Dark Seducer stood by the window, his tall, lean body outlined by the small amount of light that filtered in through the curtains.

“But you’re right,” he said. “I won’t be doing the touching. And you won’t be touching me. Now take off your dress.”

With his words, Eden’s determination to succeed returned. All she had to do was slip off her dress and endure just a brief sampling of the humiliation that Madison went through. Of course thinking you could do something and actually doing it were two different things. Her hands shook so badly she had to fist them for a few seconds before she reached for the straps of her dress. She tried to calm her nerves with a little mental justification: This is no different from going to a nudist beach with your grandparents. Except she hadn’t been to a nudist beach with Pops and Mimi since she was three. The human body is beautiful and should be shared. Except her body wasn’t beautiful and she had never been good at sharing. This is only a few minutes of your life. Except as the dress slipped to her waist, time seemed to stand still.

“Take it all the way off,” he said.

She swallowed, then got to her feet, allowing the dress to drop to the floor. Beneath, she wore a bra and panties that had been chosen for coverage more than sex appeal. The black, fully padded bra was more similar to a bulletproof vest than a piece of lingerie, and her multicolored-heart boy shorts could’ve easily been worn for a pickup game of volleyball. Still she felt exposed and vulnerable standing under the light like a piece of fried chicken beneath a deli warming lamp. She tried to assess all the emotions racing through her so she could write them down later. Humiliation. Fear. Excitement. Excitement? Yes, it was there nibbling at the edges of her humiliation and fear.

“Now the bra and panties,” he said, “slowly.”

This was Eden’s cue to exit—to grab her dress and phone and get the hell out of there. But the shadowy man who stood so rigidly in the corner had her curiosity getting the best of her. “Why do you do this?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Why do you hire women?”

There was a pause, and she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then his voice came out of the darkness, low, deep, and Southern-soaked. “Why else? Because I’m sexually deviant.”

His blatant response should’ve reinforced her belief that he was a wealthy man who enjoyed victimizing women, but somehow it did the opposite. It made her see him as a human being with flaws. And Eden had always had a weakness for flaws. Probably because she had so many herself.

“Watching a woman pleasure herself while you sit in the dark really isn’t all that deviant.” She took a step closer. “I’m sure a lot of men would want to do the same thing if they had the money.”

His laughter wasn’t filled with humor as much as derision. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“Okay, so maybe they would want to do more than watch.” They also wouldn’t worry about being seen. She squinted. Was he ugly? Disfigured? A pitiful Elephant Man shunned by society? Again she felt sympathy for the man. “If you’re worried that women won’t find you attractive, you shouldn’t be. Unlike men, women aren’t hung up on physical looks. We prefer a good personality. And with all the dating sites, you should have no trouble whatsoever finding a companion.”

“The problem isn’t finding a companion.”

It took only a moment for the truth to dawn on her. “Oh. I’m sorry. But look on the bright side. They have medicine for that now. One little pill and things are looking up. And you shouldn’t be afraid to tell a doctor. Lots of people suffer from it. Even me.”

“What?”

Eden’s face filled with heat. She had never shared that information with anyone and didn’t know why she did so now. But since it was out, she continued in hopes that, if she shared her truths, he’d share more of his.

“I don’t know if it’s called impotency with women, but it runs along the same lines. I’ve never experienced an orgasm.” Her hands gestured as she talked, something she did when she was nervous or trying to get a point across. “Weird but true. And I don’t think it’s a physical problem as much as a mental one. I just have other things besides orgasms to concentrate on right now—although I have faked a few. Men seem to get very depressed if you don’t make them think they’re good in bed.”

There was a long stretch of silence and then the light clicked off. Eden barely had time to tense before her dress was slipped over her head and within seconds, she was completely clothed.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“It’s time for you to leave.” With a hand on the small of her back, he pushed her toward the door.

“But—” Before Eden could finish, she was standing outside the closed bedroom door, listening to the click of the lock.

Obviously, faked orgasms had been the wrong subject for an escort to bring up.

I realize you’ve always been a daydreamer, Nash, but lately you’ve become more of a sleepwalker. Now wake the hell up and pay attention!”

Nash Lothario Beaumont looked away from the view of the bay just in time to deflect the lingerie catalog that came sailing at his head. Once the catalog was lying at his feet, he lifted an eyebrow at his older brother, who sat behind the large desk. “You want to head to the gym and go a couple rounds, Deacon?”

Since all three of the Beaumont brothers loved to box, Deacon smiled. “I would like nothing more than to take you out in the first. But right now we’ve got to figure out why our bras aren’t selling.”

As much as Nash wanted to stay at the window and continue to ignore business, he walked to the chair across from his brother’s desk and sat down. “You do realize that if anyone back home in Louisiana could hear you, they would revoke your redneck country boy card.”

Grayson, who was sprawled out on the couch, looked up from his sketchpad. “I think those were revoked the moment we inherited a lingerie company. Do you realize that duck season came and went and neither one of you seemed to notice?”

“I noticed,” Deacon said. “But I’ve been too busy saving a company from bankruptcy to go on a hunting trip.”

“Which hasn’t stopped you from taking Olivia on numerous vacations.”

Deacon scowled. “One was our honeymoon, and the rest were business.”

“What business did you have in Cancún?” Nash teased before looking at Grayson. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about, baby brother. You aren’t a hunter. You’d rather draw a bird than shoot it.”

“I’ve gone hunting.” When Nash sent him a skeptical look, Grayson backpedaled. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t hunted as much as you two, but I’ve bagged my share. And I’ve never drawn a duck in my life.”

“He’s right, Nash. Grayson prefers his subjects to be human, female, and naked.” Deacon tossed down the sales report and leaned back in his chair. “Which brings up something else I’ve been wanting to discuss.” He pointed a finger at Grayson. “Leave the supermodels alone.”

“Me? What about Nash?” Grayson asked. “I only want to paint them, and I never choose a time that interferes with their work. Nash, on the other hand, wants to do a lot more than paint. The kiss he gave Natalia in front of millions of television viewers is a perfect example.”

Nash hadn’t kissed Natalia. The aggressive Russian had kissed him. But since it went with the playboy persona he had perpetuated, he didn’t enlighten his brothers. “You’re just mad because sales for my Lothario Collection went up twenty-five percent after the kiss aired.”

“Enough,” Deacon said. “Both of you are banned from photo shoots from now on.” He looked at Nash. “But I’ll expect you at the fashion shows. Customers seem to love your smiling face.” He glanced at the sales reports, and his brow furrowed. “If not our new line of bras.”

“They’re selling, Deacon,” Nash said. “They just aren’t selling as quickly as you would like them to. You need to relax. Christmas sales weren’t good, but I’m sure sales will pick up around Valentine’s Day.”

“We can’t relax. Not if we want French Kiss to continue to be the leader in women’s lingerie.”

Nash wanted to argue with his brother but knew he couldn’t. While Nash was good with people, Deacon was good with business. He was the reason that French Kiss hadn’t been sold to the highest bidder. He was also the reason that Nash and Grayson found themselves living in San Francisco.

They had wanted to sell their controlling shares of French Kiss right after they’d inherited them from their uncle. But then Deacon had fallen in love with the company… and their uncle’s stepdaughter, who also happened to be French Kiss’s CEO. And since after their mother died from cancer, Deacon had become more of a father to Nash and Grayson than their own father, they had made the sacrifice of moving to the West Coast. Not that living in San Francisco as a wealthy billionaire was that much of a sacrifice. After a year of getting used to living with money and fame, Nash was starting to enjoy his new lifestyle. He slipped his hand in his pant pocket. And maybe he’d been enjoying it a little too much.

The phone was still there, cool and slick against his palm. It was an older version in a case that matched the dress she had worn. Black. No frills. But attractive. And he had been attracted to her. The moment she sashayed into the room and made her outrageous offer, his senses came alive. It didn’t have to do with her looks. She was pretty, but not breathtaking. It had more to do with the way she carried herself—as if she had the world by its tail. She had been afraid of him for only a split second before she regained her confidence.

He almost smiled at the thought of her trying to make him feel better about being impotent. It was sweet. And hot. But not as hot as her confession about being an orgasm virgin. If she hadn’t blushed, he might’ve thought it was a ploy to turn him on. And maybe it was. If so, it had worked. There was a moment when he almost lost control. When he almost stripped off her ugly bra and boy shorts and showed her what she’d been missing. But if he had, it would’ve ruined the entire point of the exercise.

He couldn’t lose control.

Never again.

“What do you think, Nash?”

He blinked from his thoughts to see Deacon waiting for an answer. He could only hope that they were still talking about bra sales.

“What about if we do an online survey?” he said. “Not just for the customers who have bought the new bras, but for all women. We could ask what they look for when shopping for a bra—pretty material, comfort, support, whatever.”

“What would be their incentive for taking it?”

Nash shrugged. “For every person who answers the questions, we offer a twenty-percent-off coupon to French Kiss.”

Deacon grinned. “I knew there was a reason you were in charge of customer satisfaction. Although I don’t know if a twenty-percent-off coupon will hook them. What if we entered them into a contest to win something bigger?”

Grayson set down his sketchpad. “What about a trip to San Francisco and tickets to the fashion show in the fall? Or we could do tickets to the Lover’s Ball.”

“The Lover’s Ball is too close,” Nash said. “Valentine’s Day is only weeks away.. . .