The Heir & I: Taming The Billionaire (15 page)

My eyes flew wide as I considered these words; breaking our gaze and pulling away from him, I sat upright on my blanket and folded my arms before me.

“Lily?”

Himself flying upward beside me, Oliver planted a concerned hand on my arm as he plead,
“Please say something, honey. Have I hurt you? Offended you?”

I shook my head.

“You’ve tempted me, that’s all,” I assured him, bringing my knees up to my chin and w
rapping my arms around my legs. “I must admit, Oliver, I’ve been thinking about it myself. As close as we’ve been getting, as much as we’ve been sharing, how could I not? We both know, though, that it would complicate things.”

Oliver grinned.

“Complicate me, baby,” he whispered in my ear, that long, silky tongue lapping
ever so slightly at my earlobe. “Hard.”

I rolled my eyes
.

“Seriously, Clark,” I
released through gritted teeth. “Don’t you ever stop?”

“When it comes to you, Lily?
Never.”

I gasped as an impassioned Oliver swept me up in his strong embrace, once again claiming my lips in a hot, passionate kiss.

Once again sinking into his all-encompassing arms, I sighed contented as he lowered his head to my neck; smattering sweet baby kisses at my nape as his hands massaged my back.

“Still tempted, Ms. Ashto
n?” he growled against my skin. “Would there, per chance, be anything I could do to make you even more so?”

I answered him with a tight clasp that brought his flawless, muscled body closer to mine; sliding my hands up his planed back before entwining my fingers in his soft, dark hair.

“There’s nothing more that I want to do than make love to you, here and now,” I w
hispered, adding with a sigh, “But it’s just too soon, and I’m afraid it would take our partnership—or faux mance, if you will—to a whole new level; one that we might not at all be prepared to face.”

Oliver thought
for a moment, then nodded.

“So would you like me to go?” he asked me, drawing back to stare deep into my eyes.

His soft, sad tone touching my heart, I shook my head and opened my arms to him.

“Nonsense,” I told him with a smi
le. “We still have more great movies to watch, more jokes to tell, and more cuddling to do. And even though our pizza supply is running dangerously low, I’d be more than pleased to make some popcorn with melted cheese on top along with some hot cocoa to chase all that sparkly champagne.”

A newly smiling Oliver offered me a handshake that seemed oddly redundant at that point; chasing it with a kiss.

“You got a deal, babe,” he smiled against my lips.

Chapter
Nine

~

The next few months passed in a dreamy haze for me; as I spent my days working in an efficient, highly productive office that became a model for our entire corporation, and my nights reveling in a fantasy romance that seemed like something out of my wildest dreams.

Every weekend, and sometimes during the week, Oliver would whisk me off to see a theater performance, a ballet (though none of these performances, I noted, featured Vladimir Scotto or Deanna Morgan—funny, that), an upscale sporting event like a dog or horse sh
ow, or perhaps a tennis match. The show experience always included front row seats and backstage passes; thus allowing me the opportunity to meet renowned Broadway stars, operatic icons, household name athletes, and—the piece de resistance—a show dog cocker spaniel that boasted better hair and more bling than I could ever dream of possessing. Woof!

We would dine at the finest restaurants and shop at the best boutiques, coming away with exotic leftovers I couldn’t begin to pronounce and clothes by top designers
. What I enjoyed just as much, however, were the quiet evenings that would find us ordering in, watching favorite movies and TV shows as we snacked on soda and popcorn; also sharing examples of our respective art forms.

Oliver read with interest the short stories I’d written during high school and college, declaring my writing style fresh, humorous, and intriguingly romantic and praising the plush Victorian settings of many of my stories.

“Nice to know you have a romantic side,” he told me one evening, emphasizing
his words with a playful wink. “Perhaps I could inspire you with some ideas for a future story; one we just might act out ourselves, immediately upon its completion.”

“Oh be-have,” I teased him, adding with my own teasing wink, “Or don’t.”

And I marveled openly at his beautiful watercolors; many of which portrayed everything from city scenes to wildlife subjects.
He brought towering skyscrapers (Many of which, come to think of it, he probably owned) and delicate, dew-glistened roses and magnolia trees to life with equal beauty and exquisite detail; imbuing his work with an exquisite blend of whimsical imagination and multi-dimensional realism.

About five months into what I had affectionately come to know as our faux mance, Oliver announced that—in honor of my upcoming birthday—he planned to treat me to a special evening at a Victorian village in our community; a place that featured a gourmet restaurant and an old-fashioned dance hall, along with streets lined with classically designed shops that sold clothing, jewels and wares characteristic of that era.

I arrived home the evening of my birthday to find a bright beribboned package on my front doorstep; a mysterious parcel that turned out to contain a stunning gown of pure red velvet with a lovely lace collar and cuffs; as well as some tender reams of ebullient lace that lined its embroidered front.

After bathing with the bar of pure lavender soap also found in the package, I slipped into the fine fabrics of this exquisite, foot length frock and gathered the strands of my newly brushed hair into a sharp upsweep; also donning the pearl earrings and matching bracelet that Oliver had bought me during a recent shopping trip.

Finally I stood before my full-length mirror, admiring the results of my Victorian makeover. I gaped at the way the hue of my scarlet gown enhanced the tones of my creamy complexion, and at the manner in which its impeccable fit flattered my feminine curves.

My giddy, girlish smile faded somewhat as I heard a bizarre, high pitched sound emanate from just in front of my house; a sound that bore a highly suspicious likeness to a horse’s whinny.

Running to my front door, I threw it open to reveal a gleaming ebony carriage lead by a pair of scarlet-bridled ivory stallions that continued to whinny and shuffle their hooves.

Driving the carriage was the same distinguished, grey-haired gentleman that had escorted me to my first date with Oliver; though this time he was dressed in a long black velvet coat and smart top hat.

Walking through my front door in something of a trance, I crossed the street with slow steps and approached the carriage; flinging open its polished black door to reveal a real life Victorian gentleman.

Seated on a cushion of lavender velvet, Oliver was adorned for the evening in a sleek black suit, its silken textures perfectly tailored to enhance and highlight his muscular frame, and a ruffled white shirt; a handsome ensemble topped off most literally with a smart black top hat and a pair of shiny black leather boots; as well as a shi
ny gold pocket watch that hung on a chain from his embroidered pocket.

“Good evening, m
’lady.” Oliver greeted me in a flawless British accent, adding as he gestured toward an empty passenger seat adjoining his own, “Care to join me for a little ride?”

We said little during our carriage rid
e to the Victorian village. We held hands and tried to take in our mutual transformation; one that had morphed us from sensible co-workers to a lord and lady from another time. I only managed to tear my gaze away from Oliver when we arrived at the village; a collection of buildings that shone in the moonlight in brilliant hues of lavender, taupe, pink, gold, and classic ivory—resplendent also in their presentation of stained glass windows and broad front windows.

An hour later I found mys
elf dining in a restaurant that, with its rich aura of homey elegance, likened a setting from an Austen novel, or even one of my own, slightly lessor known (OK, totally unpublished) works.

With a broad smile Oliver held open the door of The Victorian Dream; allowing me access to a classically designed
eatery adorned with sparkling chandeliers, lavish floral arrangements that brimmed with ruby red roses, and walls that were lined with gold brocade wallpaper and samples of hand painted Victorian artwork.

A server clad in a sleek black tuxed
o lead us to a central table; pulling my chair out and motioning for me to take my seat on a pink cushioned chair; one that sidled a table lined with polished rose print china, shining silverware, lace-bordered placemats, and a table covering of ivory lace that caught the light of a bank of candles glowing from its centerpiece.

This light also cast my date in a most appealing glow; illuminating his carved, bronzed feature
s, wide, cocoa-hued eyes and wavy, shoulder-length chestnut hair.

“You look so beautiful this evening,” he told me, tone low and admiring as his gaze raked me
from head to toe. “Thanks,” I grinned, adding as my own gaze took a long, admiring walk down the length of his muscled form, “So do you!”

I listened with admiration as he proceeded to order them a classic feast of coq au vin, spiced potatoes, steamed vegetables and creamy chocolate mousse; then
Oliver turned to me with a dazzling smile as he covered my hand with his.

“Have I told you how gorgeous you are tonight, dar
ling?” He leaned across the table, pressing his full, moist lips against my flushed cheek.

“Yes,” I replied, pressing
my lips against his forehead. “But do feel free to tell me again, Boss.”

Oliver laughed.

“Tonight I’m not the boss,” he told me, running affectionate fingers t
hrough my soft, feathery hair. “I want to be your Victorian gentleman, Lily… I’d love to be your fantasy.”

I froze.

“Well isn’t this a situation?” I snorted, shifting in my seat.
“You want to pause our faux romance to have a fantasy romance instead. I tell ya Folks, ya need a program to keep up…”

The laughter that I expected was replaced by a long, intense look; followed by a soft, sweet kiss, delivered to my lips.

“Lily,
I know this started out as a –what would you call it?—faux mance. In the months that we’ve been seeing each other, though, I can’t tell you just how much fun I’ve had with you and how much I’ve come to treasure our time together. You make me laugh, you make me think. I’ve really come to care about you, Lily.”