The Heir & I: Taming The Billionaire (14 page)

I was glad at least that today was Saturday; I didn’t ha
ve to face Oliver at the office and if he tried to contact me, well, I guess I could just ignore any attempts on his part to call or e-mail me.

As if on cue the phone rang,
and after seeing the name Oliver Clark appear on my caller ID, I conveniently ignored the call.

Rising finally from bed, I grabbed a shiny new paperback book from its place on my bedroom bookshelf and plopped back down on the edge of my floral print comforter.

With eyebrows arched I opened the front cover of the thick, vi
vidly illustrated romance novel; one that depicted a gorgeous couple in the throes of passion at the center of a pristine beach.

As I began to read this torrid tale of lust and passion, I kept picturing the hero as my very own Oliver; and the heroine, conveniently, as little ol’ me.

“Well, of course I’d picture someone who looks
like Oliver,” I sniffed aloud. “I mean, this is a romance novel with a handsome man on the cover—one that, much like Oliver, boasts thick brown hair and big dark eyes.”

Taking a casual look at the cover of the book, which I’d bought on impulse just last week at a local drug store (Why, I wondered, was I feelin
g so very romantic these days? It couldn’t have been the anti-itch cream or the super flex salad tongs I also bought at the pharmacy that day. Just sayin’). My eyes widened as they beheld the hero of my chosen tome; a striking blond man with sparkling blue eyes.

Tossing the book aside with a hard, pronounced groan, I grabbed another book from the shel
f; this one a spy thriller that, from all appearances, contained not even the slightest hint of romance or sensuality in its pages.

Yet upon discovering that the hero of this second book was a strapping muscular dark-haired man with eyes as dark as midnight, I gave up the case and headed for my kitchen—determined to drown my concerns in a doughnut or two, and in a steaming hot cup of cocoa that I planned to render just a little bit Irish for effect.

After this admittedly rocky start to my Saturday, I set about doing a craft project that involved the use of rainbow-hued beads and ribbons on an applique surface; one that did not involve the use of my cell phone, which—despite ringing several times throughout the course of the day—lay unattended on my night stand.

The loud knock that graced my door just before 5 o’clock was not as easy to ignore.

“Who is it?”
I called from my kitchen table, making no effort to set aside my project or even leave my chair.

“Oliver!”
The smooth, deep voice of the bane of my existence resounded from my front entry.

“Hi Oliver,” I greeted, adding in a stronger tone, “I’d love to talk to you right now but I
’m really busy with a project. I wish you had called first.”

Oliver’s hard sigh penetrated and echoed through a solid wooden surface.

“Lily, I tried to call you four times today,” he informed me, adding in a softer tone, “I was starting to worry about you, girl.”

I sighed.

“Thanks for your concern, O
liver, but I’m just fine,” I told him, voice sharp and stiff. “And, as I said, I’m in the middle of a project right now. Whatever you have to talk to me about, could it please wait until Monday morning?”

It was Oliver’s turn to sigh.

“I dunno, Lil,” he
told me. “Methinks the triple pepperoni pizza I brought you would be pretty darned cold by Monday morning. Plus if I keep all of these DVDs I rented today until Monday, I’ll be owing a veritable king’s ransom in late fees. I just might have to ask Dad for a raise.”

“Movies?”
I repeated, feeling my resolve abandon me at record speed. “And triple pepperoni pizza? Are there actually three varieties of pepperoni?”

“Open the door and find out, Lily.”

Gritting my teeth in frustration, I finally arose from my seat and headed toward the door, fully prepared to send my boss packing with a few well-chosen words.

What went packing was the remainder of my resolve, which took a proverbial hike the moment I smelled that ste
amy pepperoni and got a gander at those equally steamy dark eyes, which greeted me with a penetrating stare as Oliver greeted me with a grin.

He also came bearing a pile of DVDs and a bottle of sparkling champagne
, how could I say no?

“I have a great evening planned for us, Lil,” he told me, thrusting the pizza and DVDs in my direction.

“I’m sure we do,” I replied, taking his pile of goodies with what could best be
called a half-hearted smile, “Babe.”

Soon I sat parked before my television set, browsing Oliver’s selection of rented DVDs as he stood in the kitchen; using my prized circular culinary cutter to divide our pizza into a number of spicy, succulent slices.

“Fair warning, darling,” he told me, popping a stray pepperoni between his luscious lips as he continued, “This is as close as I get to cooking.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I’ll make a note,” I replied, grinning in spite of myself as I examined the titles of the films he’d brought for our enjoyment that evening.

“Ah, so you decided to take my advice and rent ‘Coco Before Chanel,’” I grinned.

Oliver nodded.

“I can’t wait to see it,” he enthused, popping yet another random pepperoni between his lips as he added, “And if you look down farther in this list, you’ll see that all of these films are directed by women.”

I nodded.

“I noticed as much.
And we have some great films here,” I acknowledged, my eyes widening in interest as my fingers touched the colorful DVD cases before me. “‘My Brilliant Career’ directed by Gillian Armstrong, ‘Bend It Like Beckham’ by Gurinder Chadha, ‘Orlando’ by Sally Potter, ‘Lost in Translation’ by Sofia Coppola.”

“‘
The Hurt Locker’ by
Kathryn Bigelow,” Oliver added. “Wayne’s World, directed by Penelope Spheeris. Sorry babe, I’m a guy. I just had to throw an action flick and a comedy into the mix.”

I nodded.

“Hey, when it comes to movies I like it all,” I told him, clapping my hands together with girlish glee as I contemplated
our impromptu movie marathon. “Sure, my mom and I could spend our entire Sunday afternoon drinking tea and watching Jane Austen adaptions, but only after my pop and I spent Saturday night watching classics like ‘Airplane’ and ‘Die Hard’.”

Oliver nodded.

“Marry me,” he said, tone matter of fact.

“OK,” I agreed, adding in a tone of sublime sincerity, “Just don’t at any point in our marriage call me Shirley.”

Soon Oliver and I sprawled side by side on my living room floor, our bodies coddled and cradled by a pair of luxurious feather soft down blankets; housewarming gifts that my mother had b
estowed upon me two years ago. Our pizza lay between us as we alternately laughed and cried (OK, well, I cried openly and he just kind of sniffed and blamed it all on allergies) over our chosen films; and, once again, Oliver listened enraptured as I related background and trivia facts about the films we watched. I told him all about my college trip to Australia, where I actually visited the shooting locations of ‘My Brilliant Career.’ He told me about the time in college where he wrote a warm, inspired marriage proposal to Tia Carrere, the female star of ‘Wayne’s World.’

Hey, we all have our memories.

Throughout the evening Oliver insisted on feed
ing me my pizza slices by hand.

I reciprocated by filling his wine glass and kissing his carved, bronzed cheek
at all too frequent intervals. As we watched our selection of DVD movies, we clutched each other’s arms during all the scary and dramatic parts and slapped each other’s backs as we laughed hysterically at the jokes and visual gags that marked other parts of our viewing experience.

Finally, as we popped in the emot
ional, outright beautiful film ‘Lost in Translation,’ we nestled closer together on our blankets as our hands joined; with a soft, serene smile I rested my head on his broad shoulder and tried to focus my gaze forward in the direction of the wide screen TV mounted on the wall of my living room.

Not an easy thing to achieve, when my captivating date insisted on shifting his own gaze in my direction and locking my gaze with his.

The streams of luminous golden moonlight flew free through the panels of my nearby window; illuminating Oliver’s gorgeous features to bronzed effect.

And the same degree of awe and wonder that I experienced, I witnessed also in the depths of his wide dark eyes.

“The stars just light you up,” Oliver whispered, raising his hand to caress my cheek as he erased all distance between us.

I did not resist as my enamored date graced me with his own version of a movie screen kiss; covering my lips
with his as his tongue explored my mouth.

At first gentle and coaxing, our kiss grew deeper and more intense as our breaths intermingled; now my passion matched his as I wrapped my arms around his sho
ulders and leaned into his kiss, my tongue lapping hungrily as his full, moist lips continued to devour me.

As one strong arm wrapped around
my waist and drew me to him, Oliver’s free hand massaged my shoulder before venturing lower still. Soon his agile fingertips rubbed and soothed my chest as his touch ventured dangerously close to the top of my breasts.

Giving him a short nod that offered my assent, I took in my breath as Oliver lowered his hand to stroke my breasts; those same magic fingertips flicking my nipples through the surface of my sweater, as his nurturing palms caressed my upper chest.

“Baby,” he rasped out, his chest flexing and his entire body tighte
ning as he moved closer to me. “What are you doing to me?”

“What are you doing to me?” I echoed his sentiments, my breath catching as my nipples hardened and th
e heart beneath began to pound. His intimate ministrations made my pulse quicken as he continued to caress me; and race outright as his hand lowered to tease my tummy.

Breaking our kiss, Oliver shifted his perfect lips to my flushed cheek and nestled my face, kissing and licking as he whispered in my ear, “Lily, I know this is impulsive,” he growled, his smooth, deep tone massaging the word ‘impulsi
ve’ to most delicious effect. “But I just have to say it. Since the moment I arrived here this evening, I’ve wanted to do nothing but touch and kiss you… I want you, Lily. I want to make love to you, here and now.”