The Heir & I: Taming The Billionaire (10 page)

“You’re pl
aying a real woman now, baby!” I exclaimed, delivering as I did a powerful stroke that sent our ball high into the air above us. “Watch out!”

Losing myself in the game, I started to make
exaggerated sound effects as well as coordinating decidedly uncoordinated dance moves as we played. Finally surrendering the cause, Oliver dropped his racket and doubled over in a fit of hysterical laughter, thus forfeiting our first match in my favor.

“Sorry about that!”
I grinned broadly, adding with a shrug, “I had to find some way to win that doesn’t involve the direct application of any skill or talent. Maybe next time, and as I improve at this game, I’ll be able to beat you fair and square.”

Oliver nodded.

“I’m s
ure you could,” he assured me. “Might I make just one suggestion, though? We need to shift your stance just a bit. Do you mind if I show you?”

Nodding, I watched silently as he jumped the net in a single smooth flourish; approaching me with slow, sauntering steps and pinning me with an intent gaze.

Soon he stood behind me, approaching close as he wrapped his arms around mine.

“Just adjust your arms a bit, like th
is,” he spoke low near my ear. “And shift your legs, just like so.”

I found it almost impossible to concentrate on his words; this owing to his strong, mascu
line presence right behind me. My back touched his hard muscled chest as my rear grazed his rock hard thighs. And though he didn’t press himself against me in a rude or coarse manner, his very presence nearly overwhelmed me.

I felt his hot, crisp breath on my neck and inhaled his citrus-tinged scent; all the while all too aware of how beautifully and naturally my body fit against his.

“Are you all right, Lily?”

The sound of
his deep, sonorous voice sent me over the edge, I turned my head to stare deep into his eyes. And I didn’t resist as, with a low but primal growl, he covered my lips with his.

His hot, soft lips massaged mine as he raised his hand to my flushed cheek; his fingers mirroring their tender motions as he continued to kiss me senseless. Our mouths merged, our tongues intertwined, and our breaths mingled as
we lost ourselves in the moment and in each other.

For just a moment our public surroundings dissolved all around us; suddenly it was just Oliver and me, lost in a pleasant otherworld that threatened to consume us.

Almost, anyway.

“Somebody call 911!
There’s a fire here at the Remington.”

The sound of an all too familiar voice disrupted our paradise; bringing our heads up as we jumped apart from one another on the court.

“Harry!” I cried.

“Dad!”
Oliver echoed.

“The one and only!” Harry affirmed, dressed this day in his own fetching tennis outfit as he made his way across the clay court.

Pitching his head back with a robust chortle, the generally r
eserved, distinguished Harry Clark stunned us with a playful wink.

“Caught you!” h
e chuckled, pointing an accusing finger in our direction.

Oliver froze.

“Caught us doing what?”
He bit his lip.

Harry laughed.

“Now, Son, you and I had ‘the talk’ quite a long time ago,
” he reminded him with a smirk. “You know darned well what you were doing and for once you were doing it with a wonderful lady worthy of your time and attention.”

Stepping forward on the court, Harry surprised me with a warm, sweet kiss; one delivered straight to the surface of my cheek.

“I had heard the rumors around the office that you two had
become a couple,” he beamed. “But I thought it was too good to be true. And may I say, young lady, that you have given me the greatest gift I could ever ask for; you’ve finally given me some peace of mind about my son and his future.”

I took in my breath as a beaming Oliver wrapped his arms around my body; pulling me up against him as he said, “You were right abo
ut her all along, Dad. This one is a winner and a keeper.”

“Indeed,” Harry agreed immediately, adding as
he turned away, “Gotta go now. I’m meeting one of our biggest clients here for lunch and a game. I insist, though, on taking you kids out to dinner sometime next week.”

Oliver nodded.

“We’d love to,” he agreed immediately, taking his father’s hand
in a warm but firm handshake. “Just name the time and day, Dad.”

We smiled and waved as Harry took leave of the court; I waited until he was well out of ear shot before I turned to a silent Oliver and said, “That’s why yo
u kissed me, wasn’t it Oliver? You saw him coming and wanted to put on a show.”

He looked at me
for a long moment before releasing my body; continuing to hold my gaze as he said, “No, Lily. That’s not why I kissed you.”

I said nothing, only watched as he once again jumped our net and turned to face me across the court.

“Game on,” he teased,
with a sly smile.

***

Lily

In the wake of an afternoon that passed all too quickly, I soon found myself back at work; yet even as I answered phones and typed up
reports, I couldn’t help but think about the man for whom I was doing all this work—a man that, or so I just realized, I never really knew.

Previous to our tennis date, I had no idea that Oliver was a sensitive artist type disguised as a businessman; or, for that matter, that he had such a close and loving relationship w
ith his mother; the revered woman people spoke about in hushed tones in the hallways and offices of Clark Industries.

I had no idea of the warmth and good humor that lie beneath that
cool, smooth playboy exterior. And although I’d always liked and felt an undeniable attraction to Oliver Clark, I now experienced a startling, even disturbing realization.

I actually liked the guy.

Oh no
, I thought, shaking my head back and forth as I considered this downright absurd, even frightening notion.
Please say it ain’t so.

Really, thou
gh, what wasn’t there to like? I’d always been reluctantly but undeniably drawn to his good looks, smooth charm, and wicked sense of humor; one so very similar to my own (well, the sense of humor, that is). In a way, though, my quiet crush on Oliver always had taken the form of a forbidden guilty pleasure. I knew all too well that his carefree, lightning-paced playboy lifestyle was no match for my quieter, more introspective existence; one that centered on my work and was enlivened only by my interest in books, film and the arts.

I previously figured that good ol’ Oliver would identify Georgia O’Keeffe and Frida Kahlo as cool chicks that he may or may not have
dated at one point or another. Now, however, I recognized him as an inspired artist who was probably familiar with their works. And while he seemed to be a bit more lacking in knowledge in regards to great works of literature and their authors, plays and ballets, etc., he seemed very willing to learn. I could see his intense hunger for knowledge reflected in those gorgeous eyes and I wondered if at least a small part of that hunger could be aimed in my direction.

A s
cary but strangely wonderful thought. I grinned in spite of myself, finally managing to hear the phone that had rung at least 20 odd times.

Yikes!
Wake up, Ashton.
My eyes flew wide as I grabbed the receiver. “Hello, Clark Industries. This is Oliver Clark’s office.”

“Hi there,” cooed the lass on the other end of the line, stopping just short of charming m
e with a fake Southern accent. “Is Ollie around?”

I froze, biting my lip as my eyes narrowed in a fit of sudden anger.

“Why no, he’s not,” I
managed through gritted teeth. “May I take a message?”

“Yes, you may,” the gal giggled, no doubt thinking me th
e luckiest person in the nation, if not the free world, for taking her phone message. “My name is Kelli. That’s spelled K-e-l-l-i.”

“May I have your last name?”

I tense
d as a smooth, sexy chuckle met my innocent question.

“Oh, I have no doubt that he’ll reme
mber my name,” she assured me. “Given the downright fantastic evening we enjoyed together last week.”

I nodded.

“OK,” I said, scrawling down a phone message even I couldn’t decipher as I added, “I’ll make sure he gets this message the mo
ment he walks in this morning. Have a nice day.”

Without awaiting an answer I clicked off the call; raising my head to come face to face wit
h the intended recipient of the message.

“Morning, babe!”
Oliver beamed, leaning forward to kiss my cheek. “Hey, I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed our picnic and tennis game on Saturday. I so enjoyed getting to know you. I never knew how sweet and funny you could be; you’re so much fun to hang out with, and I’m amazed at how much we actually have in common. I felt like I was talking to an old friend I’d known for years. An old friend that, as an added bonus, looks friggin’ fantastic in a designer tennis dress. Who’d a thought it?”

I stared at him for a long, silent moment; folding my hands before me as I ventured to gauge his level of sincerity.

“Not I, that
’s for sure. Just remember though that the word ‘babe’ appears nowhere on my driver’s license or social security card. My name is Lily,” I deadpanned, finally handing him his phone message across the desk in a short, brisk gesture that betrayed my irritation. “Please call Kelli with an I at your earliest convenience.”

Taking the message paper firmly in hand, Oliver pinned me with a sheepish look as color flooded his bronzed cheeks.

“Ah, Kelli, yes. Kelli is a model I met last month when she appeared in one of our corporate films,” he explained, voice wavering a bit as he continued. “We met last week to discuss further opportunities.”