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His smile dropped. “I had an idea last night, and I made the mistake of telling my big brother.”
“An idea? For the new line?”
“Sorta. It has more to do with the image of French Kiss.” He glanced at Grayson, who had gone back to sketching, but now with a smirk on his face. “I wouldn’t look so smug about me being beardless, Grayson. Your beard is next on the shaving block. Although with three hairs, tweezers will probably work better.”
Grayson lowered the sketchpad. “I’m not shaving my beard. It just got going.”
“It doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere to me. But you’ll need to take that up with Deacon. He scheduled some photo shoot for us this afternoon.”
“Us? Your big idea was taking pictures of us without beards?”
“No. My big idea had to do with releasing the news that French Kiss has new owners.” Nash glanced at Olivia. “At least for a short time. I got to thinking about how much women love men to buy them sexy lingerie. But there are a lot of women who don’t have a husband or boyfriend to do that for them. So that’s where the Beaumont brothers come in. Since we picked the ones we liked the most from your designs, Olivia, it’s like we’re choosing lingerie for all the women of the world. I thought we could open up social networking accounts where we can actually tweet and post with the customers.”
“That’s genius,” Olivia said.
Nash looked uncomfortable with the praise. “Look, I’m not a businessman like Deacon, but I figured it was worth a shot.”
“It’s an amazing idea, Nash,” she said. “With the new collections coming out, it makes perfect sense to present the Beaumont brothers as the new faces of French Kiss.”
“Well, I think it sucks,” Grayson said. “You and Deacon can go barefaced if you want, but I’m keeping my beard.”
As popular as beards had become with young men, Olivia knew that they weren’t quite as popular with young women. And if the marketing strategy was going to work, Grayson would have to shave.
“Okay,” she said, “but I have heard that if you shave off a beard, it grows in thicker.”
Grayson’s eyes narrowed. “Thicker?”
“So I’ve heard. And if you want to test the theory, I just happen to have some disposable razors in my bathroom.”
It took only a second for Grayson to make his decision. “Fine,” he said as he got to his feet, “but only for you, Olivia. And I’m growing it back right after the shoot.”
Nash rolled his eyes as he followed his brother. “I’m sure that will only take a few hours.”
Once they were gone, Olivia went back to work. But her heart was no longer in it. She kept thinking about the photo shoot. Of course she shouldn’t go. If she’d learned anything from the boardroom kiss, it was that she and Deacon couldn’t be in the same room without sparks flying. Which was why she’d been hiding out in the design studio. Obviously Deacon had felt the same way. He hadn’t once sought her out. Instead he’d kicked Anastasia out of Michael’s office and pretty much taken complete control of the company. She should’ve felt angry. After all, she was the one who was supposed to be in charge. But instead she felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders.
Since Michael’s first stroke, she’d been responsible for everything. Every concern and complaint from the board, her staff, retailers, customers, and what felt like the world, had been her responsibility to deal with. Until Deacon had stepped into the boardroom.
According to Kelly—who had become more his assistant than Olivia’s—in the last week, Deacon had set up meetings with every department in the company and asked for their ideas, opinions, and concerns. Once he had Kelly compile the information, he’d made decisions that Olivia had never been able to bring herself to make. Some people had been fired, some issued warnings, and others promoted. Every judgment he’d made, Olivia completely agreed with. With Deacon in charge, she felt it was possible to save the company. And not just possible but probable.
There was only one fly in the ointment of her contentment. Parker had become a bit of a stalker. Under the guise of remaining friends, he’d started showing up to take her to lunch, and because she felt guilty about breaking up with him, she went. But it was starting to get old. Especially when he talked nonstop about how Deacon was out to get him and was having Kelly send him on wild goose chases just to keep him away from the office and Olivia.
“So are you trying to avoid me?”
The words, spoken in a silky Southern voice, had Olivia pricking her finger with the needle. Before it could spill a drop of blood on the velvet, she stuck it in her mouth and turned around.
Deacon no longer wore jeans and an un-tucked-in shirt to the office. He wore a gray suit similar to the one he’d worn at the board meeting. But this one looked more fitted. The jacket clung to his broad shoulders and tapered at his waist, and the pants hugged his hips and outlined his long legs. His designer shirt was French Kiss lavender, bringing out the deep violet-blue of his eyes. He didn’t wear a tie, and it was hard to look away from the open collar of his shirt, where solid chest met 100 percent silk. Since she wore jeans and a loose-fitting blouse, it was as if they had traded places completely. He was the well-dressed boss, and she the casually dressed relative.
She turned back to the corset. “I don’t remember being called into a meeting. Not that I’ve had the time.”
There was a long pause, followed by a tired sigh. “Time does seem to slip away from you here. Damn, I can’t even remember what day it is.” He paused. “Obviously casual Friday.” She could almost feel his gaze running over her. He moved closer, so close that the soft wool of his pants brushed against the denim of her jeans. She tried to stay focused on the corset, but her hand shook so badly that her stitches would have to be taken out and redone.
“Mine.” He reached out and his fingers entwined in the ribbon she’d yet to tie, sliding down the satin in a slow caress that took all the oxygen from the room. For some weird reason, suddenly Olivia didn’t feel as if the sexy underwear was on the lifeless mannequin. She felt as if it were on her—the rigid frame hugging her waist and the low bodice offering up her breasts. Taking the ribbon ends in each hand, Deacon pulled until the crossed lacing gathered and the eyelets almost touched. The air in her lungs rushed out, and her heart jarred almost painfully against her rib cage as he tied a perfect bow.
While she struggled for breath, his fingers slid to one end of the ribbon, his thumb rubbing the smooth satin against the pad of his forefinger. The slow circular motion caused heat to settle between her legs.
“I like it,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I like it a lot.”
She glanced up from his hypnotic fingers and found him watching her with hot eyes that took the rest of her breath. Then she was leaning toward him, grabbing the front of his shirt, and pulling his lips toward her.
