Waking Up With a Billionaire

Book 3: The Overnight Billionaires

by Katie Lane

Genres: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

He can have anything he wants...except her

Famed artist Grayson Beaumont is the most elusive of the billionaire Beaumont brothers. He has a reputation for seducing any woman with only a look, word, or sensual stroke of his brush. But now Grayson has lost all his desire to paint . . . unless he can find a muse to unlock his creative-and erotic-imagination.

Chloe knew she might have to shed her clothes when she agreed to pose for the celebrated artist, but she wasn't expecting to shed all her inhibitions as well. Under his intense scrutiny, there's nothing she can hide...including a secret from her past that, once exposed, will change how he looks at her forever.

Release date: July 26, 2016

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 368

Sample

CHAPTER ONE

The lobby looked like a Concord grape that had been stomped beneath a boot heel. Variations of the color purple were splattered everywhere. The polished marble floors. The plush velvet couches. The contemporary light fixtures. The highly polished surface of the reception desk. Even the dress of the svelte blonde who sat behind it. And if there was a color that Chloe McAlister hated most, it was purple.

Purple was the color of her childhood bedroom. The color of Napa Valley at dusk. And the color of bruises. Deep, painful bruises that faded from view, but never from one’s heart. Standing in the midst of all that purple, Chloe felt slightly sick to her stomach. For a second she thought about turning tail and walking right back out the tall glass doors with their stenciled-on lips. Unfortunately, if she wanted to overcome the past, she needed to deal with the present. At the present moment, she needed money.

Fidgeting with her bangs, which she’d just butchered that morning, she walked to the receptionist’s desk, where the blonde was talking on the phone. The receptionist watched her approach, her gaze sliding over Chloe, who no doubt stuck out like a withered raisin on the vine in her basic black secondhand dress and scuffed high-heeled boots. The blonde looked away. The snub didn’t bother Chloe. She had spent the last six years of her life trying to blend into the woodwork, trying to be someone no one took note of. She stepped up to the high counter of the desk and cleared her throat.

The blonde ignored her and continued her conversation. “I think he’s so much sexier now. I mean he was sexy before, but now he’s like a hundred and ten on the hot-o-meter. And the way he looks at you with those eyes. It’s like he’s consuming everything about you all at once—and not just your looks, but your secret desires and naughtiest wishes too.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Excuse me.”

The blonde stopped talking and sent Chloe an annoyed look. “I’ll have to call you back, Tiff.” She placed the receiver in the cradle. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Grayson Beaumont.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No. But I’m friends with—”

The woman didn’t let her finish. “It doesn’t matter who you’re friends with. You can’t just walk in and ask to see one of the owners of the biggest lingerie company in the world. You have to have an appointment. We can’t just take walk-ins. What do you think this is…Supercuts?” She swept her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Come back when you get a clue.”

Chloe’s hands tightened into fists. But before she could do something really stupid—like pop the rude receptionist in the mouth—a delivery guy pushed Chloe out of the way with a bouquet of white roses in a huge rubber ducky with a little blue sailor’s hat. While the ducky was cute, the roses were all wrong. Chloe would’ve filled the sailor duck with Shasta daisies and ocean breeze orchids. Or at least something more whimsical and fun.

“Another flower delivery for Deacon and Olivia Beaumont,” the guy said. “And I’ve got three more in the truck.” He set the ducky on the counter, but when it blocked his view of the receptionist, he moved it to the floor at his feet. “With all the deliveries I’ve made in the last two days, you would think that the Beaumonts just gave birth to the next crown prince of England.” He smiled at the blonde and winked. “So have you thought about it, beautiful? Are you ever going to agree to have drinks with me?”

The blonde tipped her head coyly. “I told you that I have a boyfriend.” She sounded about as sincere as when she’d asked Chloe if she could help her.

The delivery guy rested his arms on the high counter and flexed his biceps. “So what? I’m talking about drinks, not marriage. What is one drink going to hurt between friends?”

“Well, maybe just one drink.” The blonde pulled a business card from the holder and wrote down her number while the flower delivery guy tried to peek down the neckline of her dress. With both preoccupied, Chloe saw an opportunity and took it.

Bending down, she scooped up the floral arrangement and headed for the elevators. The old security guy who sat on a stool didn’t even raise an eyebrow. In fact he got up and pushed the elevator button for her.

“You know that Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont aren’t here, right?” he said. “They’re both home with that brand-new baby, so you’ll have to leave it with their assistant, Ms. Wang—or I guess I should say Ms. Melvin. She got married to one of the company lawyers not too long ago. Me and the missus got invited to the wedding, and let me tell you, that was quite the shindig. But not as big of a shindig as when Mr. Nash Beaumont married that pretty little writer.”

Chloe had been invited to the wedding. In fact she was supposed to be a bridesmaid for Eden, alongside their other friend Madison. But that was the bad part about blending into the woodwork. It was hard to keep your friends. Especially when Eden had just sold her first book and gotten married to a panty billionaire, and when Madison was one of French Kiss’s supermodels.

“That’s sure one big rubber ducky.” The security guard continued to talk. He reminded Chloe of her grandfather—white hair, a ready smile, and lots to say. “You know what they named him?”

“Uh…no.” She glanced over her shoulder and was relieved to see the delivery guy still flirting with the receptionist.

“Michael Paris,” the security guard continued. “Michael, after the man who started the French Kiss lingerie company, and Paris because that’s where the idea for the company came from. And because Paris and Helen are famous lovers—and all the Beaumont men are named after famous lovers.” He counted off on his fingers. “There’s Michael Casanova, who started the company, and his brother, Don Juan. And then there’s Don Juan’s three sons—Deacon Valentino, Nash Lothario, and Grayson Romeo—who inherited the company and run it now.”

This wasn’t news to Chloe. Everyone knew about the Beaumonts’ middle names. It was hard not to when each brother had his own lingerie line named after him. Women all over the world wore bras and panties from the Valentino, Lothario, and Romeo Collections—Chloe included. But only because she got them free from Madison. Okay, and maybe because they were pretty.

The elevator doors opened, and she thanked the guard before she hurried in. Once inside, she peeked through the roses and tried to figure out what button to push. The shout of the delivery guy—“Hey, who took my ducky!”—had her taking a chance on the top floor. But before the doors could completely close, a distinguished older gentleman in an expensive gray suit slipped in.

He tapped a floor button before he glanced at his watch and shook his head. “Late again. My mother would be rolling in her grave.” He straightened his already perfectly knotted tie and finally noticed Chloe. Or not her so much as the bouquet she hid behind. “I’m going to assume that there is someone inside that rose garden.” With no other choice, Chloe shifted the ducky and peeked out. The man’s eyes widened. “Holly Golightly.”

“Excuse me?”

“My apologies,” the man said. “But your resemblance to Audrey Hepburn took me by surprise. Holly Golightly was the character she played in the movie Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” He cocked his head and pressed his index finger to his bottom lip. “The resemblance is uncanny—same symmetrical facial features, short, dark bangs, and expressive eyes.” He lowered his hand. “Please tell me you model.”

She shook her head. Although that wasn’t exactly true. She had modeled once, and for French Kiss, but not on purpose. And she’d signed the release only because she needed the money and her entire face had been covered by a big floppy beach hat.

“That’s too bad,” the man said as he pulled a card from his pocket. “If you ever change your mind, be sure to call me. Samuel Sawyer.” Since her hands were full, he tucked the card in the roses just as the elevator doors opened. He stepped out and gave her a knowing look over his shoulder. “Maybe when you call, you can tell me why you stole the ducky.”

The top floor wasn’t nearly as purple as the lobby. The hallway carpet was a neutral beige, and the office doors a natural wood. Next to each door was a gold nameplate, and it didn’t take long to find the one she was looking for. She stared at the name and was surprised at how nervous she suddenly felt.

Grayson Romeo Beaumont held no threat for her. In fact, of all the men she had met in her life, Grayson was the least threatening. He was shy and soft-spoken, with a calming effect on women that had had Chloe nicknaming him the Woman Whisperer. Not that his whispering had worked on her. After her one and only boyfriend had been physically abusive, she didn’t trust her own instincts where men were concerned. Just the thought of Zac had her knocking on the door a little harder than necessary.

The door flew open. The man who stood there wasn’t the man she’d expected to see. This man wasn’t a clean-shaven billionaire in a designer suit that had cost more than Chloe’s yearly rent. This man had a scruffy beard and thick brown hair that fell to his shoulders. He wore a white button-up linen shirt that was covered with smudges of paint, and faded jeans with rips in the knees and tattered hems that partially covered his long, bare feet.

She lifted her gaze from his tanned toes to his purple eyes. Not the ugly purple of squashed grapes, but the deep bluish purple of the bachelor’s button flowers that grew in her grandfather’s garden. There were only three men she knew with eyes this color. One was at home with his new son, and the other was on his honeymoon. Which left one. Except this man didn’t act like the youngest Beaumont. Especially when he barked at her.

“Flower deliveries are dropped off at the front desk.” He slammed the door.

Chloe stood there for a moment in confusion before a smile lit her face. It seemed that the Woman Whisperer had finally decided to show his true colors, and not surprisingly, she was much more comfortable with this volatile Beaumont than with the shy, calm one she’d met six months ago. Without bothering to knock again, she turned the knob and walked in.

The executive suite didn’t look like an office. It looked more like a painter’s studio. A messy painter’s studio. A splattered white tarp covered the floor, a mishmash of furniture and props was piled in a corner, and canvases were stacked against one wall. The other wall held a black backdrop. In front was a purple divan like the ones in the lobby. A divan she’d seen in Grayson Romeo’s paintings. But in all his other paintings, a gorgeous naked woman had been draped over the divan. Today the long sofa held something else entirely.

Chloe squinted at the small red apple for only a second before her gaze turned to the man behind the easel. The few times she’d seen him sketch, his movements had been fluid and graceful, like his pencil was a figure skater gliding across ice. She had assumed that he would paint the same way, but she’d been wrong. His movements were brisk and brutal as he jabbed his brush into the acrylic paint palette he held before slashing it at the canvas as if he wanted to slice it in two.

“I guess painting apples is not as much fun as painting women.”

His head jerked up, and she set the ducky bouquet down on a table cluttered with paints and brushes and waggled her fingers. “Hey. Remember me?”

The paintbrush fell from his fingers and hit the floor, splattering black paint all over the hem of his jeans and his bare foot.

She smiled. “I guess you do.”

It took only a second for him to recover and for his eyes to narrow. “What do you want?”

Chloe let her smile drop. “I get it. You’re not exactly thrilled to see me. And after the way I acted on our road trip to Eden’s parents’ house, I can’t really blame you. I admit that I was a wee bit bitchy.”

“A wee bit?”

She held up her hands. “Okay, so I was a lot bitchy—especially when you were doing me a favor.”

“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Madison.”

Chloe understood that. Madison could get men to do just about anything. And not just because of her voluptuous body, but also because of her kind heart and sweet nature. She was the antithesis of Chloe’s skinny body and belligerent attitude. Which probably explained why they were such good friends. Madison was the one who had introduced Grayson to Chloe. The one who had brought him to Zac’s apartment after Zac had beat the crap out of Chloe. The one who had talked him into driving Chloe to a safe place until Zac was arrested. And maybe that was why Chloe had been so mean to Grayson. She hadn’t liked that he’d seen her at her weakest. She didn’t like being weak. But she especially didn’t like people witnessing it.

“Well, anyway,” she said, “I’m sorry.”

She knew it wasn’t the best apology, but she expected some kind of acknowledgment. Instead he set down the palette before he grabbed a rag and leaned down to wipe the paint off his foot. She might’ve sworn off men, but that didn’t stop her from appreciating the view. Grayson had always had a nice body—long, lean, and well proportioned. She just hadn’t remembered his ass being so hot.

He straightened. “Is that why you came? To apologize with a ducky bouquet of roses?”

She cleared her throat, along with the image of his butt in the worn jeans from her mind. “No, the roses were being delivered to your brother. I just used them to get up here. The real reason I came is to let you know that I’ve changed my mind.” She forced a bright smile. “I’ve decided to let you paint me.”

He didn’t reply. Instead he just stared at her, and she realized that the snobby receptionist must’ve been talking to her friend about Grayson. His intense eyes felt like they were looking right through her and reading all her dark secrets and desires. And the last thing Chloe wanted was someone discovering her dark secrets. She looked away and started organizing the paint tubes on the table by color. Who knew that there were so many shades of yellow?

“So what changed your mind?” he asked. “I believe your words were, ‘The last thing I’d want to do is be exploited by a paint-by-numbers billionaire.’”

She cringed. Obviously she’d been bitchier than she remembered. Instead of apologizing again, she tried a compliment. “Well, that was before I saw some of your work. You don’t exploit women as much as immortalize them.”

He snorted. “Sell that to someone else. You aren’t the type of woman who cares about being immortalized or famous.”

She finished organizing the paint tubes and centered the rubber ducky bouquet on the table before turning to him. “You’re right. I don’t want to be immortalized. In fact, I don’t want you to paint my face.”

His eyes studied her with their disconcerting intensity. “The last time you didn’t want your face shown, it had to do with bruises. What’s your reasoning this time?”

“I’m shy.”

His gaze sizzled down her body. “And yet you’re willing to strip naked for me.”

The possessive way he said for me had heat sweeping through her body, flushing her cheeks and settling in wet warmth beneath her Romeo panties. Annoyed by her reaction, she snapped, “Look, do you want to paint me or not?” She glanced at the divan. “It would have to be more exciting than painting a wormy apple.”

One of the things that annoyed her about Grayson was that she could never get a good read on his emotions. But for once she read the pain that crossed his handsome features extremely well. It flickered through the lavender fields of his eyes for just a moment before it was gone. He set down the paintbrush he’d been cleaning and moved out from behind the easel.

“Sorry you made the trip for nothing,” he said. “But I’ll have to pass. I don’t paint women anymore.” Then, without another word, he walked out.

Long after the door slammed, Chloe stood there feeling stunned. Not only because she wasn’t going to get the money she needed but also because of his parting words. He no longer painted naked women? It didn’t make sense. Anyone who saw one of his paintings knew that the man had been born to celebrate the beauty of a woman’s body. And now he was going to give that up to paint fruit?

Curious about what had changed his creative thinking, she stepped around the easel to study his painting. She expected to see a perfect, shiny red apple. Instead there was nothing on the canvas but a big black X.

It appeared that women weren’t the only things Grayson couldn’t paint.

CHAPTER TWO

Grayson had lost it. He knew this and had known it for the last six months. But he just hadn’t known how much he had lost it until Chloe McAlister had walked into his studio wanting to pose for him. Until that moment he’d thought there was a chance that he could pull himself back from the deep, dark abyss that threatened to consume him. After all, he was the levelheaded Beaumont, the one who could stay calm in any given situation. But he didn’t feel calm now. He felt as if he’d toppled right over the edge of insanity and was flailing around trying to grab on to anything that would save him from hitting rock bottom.

He headed for the elevators. He had just bought a brand-new Bugatti sports car, and he planned to drive until the desperate panic that clawed at his guts subsided. But on the way down to the parking garage, the elevator stopped at the lobby. And when one of French Kiss’s top models stepped in, he changed his plans.

“Gar-a-son?” Natalia said in her thick Russian accent. “Is that you? I had heard that Paris made you a little more…how do you say in English…hungry? Just look at you. You look like my uncle Bo-o-oris.” She stroked a hand over his beard. “But much younger and much sexier, of course.”

Grayson ignored the doors opening at the parking garage and pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She didn’t protest. The times he had painted her, she’d made it perfectly clear that any advance would be more than welcome.

“Oooh, you are hungry,” she whispered against his lips as she curled her arms around his neck and her leg around his waist. Grayson guided her back against the wall of the elevator.

He wanted to feel desire, or passion, anything that would stop the panic. But all he felt was disappointment. Not in Natalia. She was a beautiful woman and kissed like she modeled, with enthusiasm and heat. No, his disappointment was in himself for using her. He didn’t use women. At least he never had before.

He’d started to pull away and apologize when the elevator doors opened and he found himself looking into the big brown eyes that had started his downward spiral. Eyes that rolled up in disgust. At one time he had found the habit endearing. Not anymore. A road trip had cured him of any endearing thoughts toward the woman. Paint her naked? Not in this lifetime. He’d rather be locked in a closet with a rabid wolverine then spend hours in a studio with Chloe.

With his eyes still locked on hers, he deepened the kiss, causing Natalia to moan and Chloe to release an exasperated grunt as she stepped into the elevator.

Natalia finally noticed that they were no longer alone and stepped away. “Gar-a-son”—she swatted his chest—“you make me forget myself.” She turned her full model-smile on Chloe as she pushed the tenth-floor button. “What is it with American men and elevators?”

Chloe sent him the same look she always seemed to give him—hatred mixed with contempt—and pushed the button for the lobby. “I think it has to do with having a woman cornered with no means of escape.”

Natalia laughed. “Perhaps you are right.” She glanced at Grayson. “Although I have no desire to escape.” Only seconds later the elevator stopped, and she gave him a quick kiss on both cheeks before she got out. “I have to meet with Samuel in the design studio, but I should be done by five. Call me.”

Grayson should’ve gotten out with Natalia—not just to explain that he wouldn’t be meeting her later but also to get away from Chloe. Instead he watched the doors close and realized that now he had no means of escape.

“New girlfriend?” she asked.

She stepped closer, and just that quickly his creative brain became consumed with her perfect features. What oil paint colors would he need to mix to re-create the creamy porcelain of her skin? The flushed peach of her cheeks? The blooming rose of her lips? And if he used a thousand different shades ranging from burnt sienna to gold ochre, he would never completely capture the depth and entrancing beauty of her eyes. It was too bad that her beauty was only skin deep.

The thought had his logical brain regaining control, and his gaze moved to her choppy, uneven bangs. “New bad haircut?”

She fidgeted with her bangs. “I know. I really butchered it. I guess I should check beautician off my career list.” She shot him a glance. “So what happened in Paris to screw up your painting mojo?”

It was his worst fear put into words, and he felt like she’d kicked him with her pointy-toed boots right in the balls. As soon as he caught his breath, he tried to deny it. Just as he’d been denying it to himself for the last six months.

“You think I can’t paint? Well, I can paint anything I want to paint. I just don’t happen to want to paint you.”

Chloe’s eyebrows lifted beneath the fringe of uneven bangs. “So you’d rather paint apples? Although that X looked nothing like an apple to me.”

His eyes widened. “You looked at my painting?”

She shrugged. “I was curious.”

While he struggled to get his anger under control, the elevator arrived at the lobby. Chloe lifted a hand as she stepped off. “Good luck with that apple.”

The sarcasm in the words sent his temper right off the charts, and he stepped out with her. But before he could tell her that a lot of talented artists painted fruit, the security guard took her arm.

“I’m sorry, miss, but I’m going to need to know what you did with the floral arrangement.”

Hearing the guard, some muscled guy in a white polo with a flower on the breast pocket came hurrying over. “Is she the one who took my ducky?” He pointed a finger at her. “. . .