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“No, I’m not okay.” She grabbed his open shirt and tugged. “Fuck me, Deacon.”
His eyes widened for a split second before he did just that. Tightening his hands on the back of her thighs, he pressed her against the wall and thrust hard and deep. The sensations that ricocheted through her body had her breath whooshing out. She sucked it back in when he thrust again. Olivia had never had sex standing up and was surprised by how naughty and excited it made her feel. Hooking her feet at his back, she used the leverage to meet each thrust. When the plane dipped again, it set off the most amazing climax she had ever had. Deacon’s followed soon after, his body tightening and then slumping against hers. They rested like that for a moment, his head buried in her hair and hers buried in his shoulder.
When he lifted his head, his eyes sparkled and his dimple winked. “I think I’m going to like having business meetings with you, Livy.”
***
The fourteen-hour trip gave them plenty of time for numerous business meetings and plenty of sleep in between. Which explained the lack of jet lag when they finally landed in Paris. In fact Olivia just felt buoyant as they passed the Arc de Triomphe in the limo that had picked them up from the airport.
Deacon laughed as she rolled down the glass and stuck her head out into the cool night air. “Hello, Paris!”
It seemed even more of a fairy tale when they arrived at the hotel and were shown to their suite. It was decorated in French provincial blues and gold with chandeliers and a huge balcony off the sitting room. She didn’t even wait for Deacon to finish tipping the bellman before she hurried over to the French doors. The sight that greeted her had her covering her mouth with her hand and fighting back tears.
The lights of the Eiffel Tower sparkled right outside the thick glass. And the painting in Michael’s office didn’t even come close to depicting the breathtaking beauty of the monument. So caught up was she in the sight, Olivia barely noticed when Deacon slipped his arms around her waist.
“Breathtaking,” he whispered against her ear.
“It is, isn’t it?”
“I wasn’t talking about the tower as much as the woman looking at it.” He nuzzled her neck and then rested his chin on her head. “But you’re right. Pictures don’t do it justice, do they?” They stood there for a long, silent moment before Deacon released her and opened up the doors. “Shall we get a better look?”
A table had been set up on the stone balcony. The flickering light of the tapers gleamed off the crystal flutes and fine china settings. While Olivia gaped at the beautifully set table and the backdrop of the lit Eiffel Tower behind it, Deacon walked over and pulled out a chair.
“Mademoiselle.”
It was just too much, and Olivia released a squeal and flung herself at Deacon. Surprised, he stumbled back a few steps until he reached the balcony railing.
“I guess you like it.”
“Oh, Deacon, I don’t like it, I love it!” She kissed his ear, his cheek, and the tip of his nose. “And I love you.”
The words just sort of slipped out and hung there, causing both Deacon and Olivia to freeze. She felt her face heat as he pulled back and looked at her. She couldn’t help but fidget beneath his intense gaze.
“W-what I meant was…” She searched for an explanation, but before she could find one, Deacon pressed a finger to her lips.
“It’s okay, Livy. You don’t need to explain anything.” He released her and pulled out the chair. “Let’s eat.”
Since it was so late, the dinner was light. Beneath the domed warming lids were a delicious French onion soup and a platter of crusty bread and cheeses. After her faux pas, Olivia thought the conversation would be stilted. But Deacon seemed to put the subject behind them as he poured her a glass of Chardonnay.
“So tell me about your childhood, Livy,” he said as he handed her the glass.
She didn’t know if it was the wine or the breathtaking backdrop, but she did tell him about her childhood. About how wonderful her father had been and how confused she’d felt when he left without a word. She told him about attending private school and how she had always felt like the odd man out because she had to struggle to stay focused. And she told him about French Kiss and how much she loved designing. And when she realized that she was monopolizing the conversation, she started asking Deacon questions about his childhood. He wasn’t quite as forthcoming, and she was forced to piece a picture together.
It was of a high-energy little boy and a brokenhearted teen.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she reached across the table to take his hand. “It sounds like you adored your mother.”
Deacon turned her hand over and stroked the palm with his thumb. “She was easy to adore, even though she wasn’t as outgoing as Donny John and Nash. She was more quiet like Grayson.” He paused. “I guess a little like me too. But she had this laugh that could just make you smile even if you didn’t know what she was laughing at.” He shook his head. “My dad said it reminded him of a sick goose. It just reminded me of happiness.”
Guilt assailed her, and she pulled her hand away and studied the napkin on her lap. “I’m sorry, Deacon. If I had known about your mother, I never would’ve let Michael think that you’d…” She let the sentence trail off.
“That I had molested you?” The humor in Deacon’s voice had her glancing up. He was grinning wickedly.
Olivia didn’t see the humor. “It’s not funny, Deacon. If I had spoken up, Michael wouldn’t have kicked you out. He would’ve mended whatever had gone on between him and your father.”
His smile died. “No. He wouldn’t have done anything of the sort. He was pissed from the first that your mother had invited us to stay, and I have little doubt that he was coming to kick us out when he discovered us in the garden.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Michael wouldn’t have done that. Not after he found out that your mother had passed away.”
