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Climbing the row of steps to the front door, Nash pressed the buzzer and waited for the housekeeper to answer. Lucia was from Peru and spoke very little English, but she smiled broadly when she saw Nash and waved him inside.
“I get missus,” she said before she hurried up the massive staircase.
Like he always did when he came to the house, Nash wandered into the front sitting room and paid tribute to the portrait of his uncle. He had met Uncle Michael only once, and it hadn’t been under the best of circumstances. Nash’s father had dragged his sons from Louisiana to San Francisco to beg for money from his only brother. His uncle hadn’t given them a dime at the time, but later he willed them a billion-dollar lingerie company. Which Nash figured made up for the slight in spades.
“Thanks again, Uncle Mikey,” he whispered with a smile and a wink. The stern man in the painting didn’t smile back. Nash understood completely. Leaving behind all those lingerie models was no laughing matter. Especially for a Beaumont.
Rumor had it that the Beaumonts were direct descendants of the legendary lover Casanova. Nash didn’t believe it. But he did believe that the Beaumont men had a way with the ladies. Or perhaps just a love for the ladies. Nash certainly couldn’t seem to stay away from them—even when he should. Once again his uncontrollable desire had put him in an awkward situation.
Eden.
The name went with an escort, but not with the ponytailed woman in the T-shirt and jeans whom he had watched bartend the night before. That woman had looked like the girl next door. The one you wanted to ride bikes with. Go fishing with. The one who shared her peanut butter sandwich with you at lunch, who took your side against teachers and parents, and who kept your deepest, darkest secrets.
Which probably explained why so many men clustered around the bar to talk with her. It annoyed Nash. But not as much as the drunk who had grabbed her arm. Just seeing the guy’s fingers curled around Eden’s wrist had made Nash want to slam his fist into the drunk’s face. Repeatedly. He didn’t, but only because he didn’t want to give French Kiss any bad press.
“Sorry I took so long. I was changing out of my work clothes.”
He glanced behind him to see Olivia hurrying into the room. She wasn’t exactly dressed for dinner. She wore a baggy sweatshirt, flannel pajama bottoms, and sheepskin slippers, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail similar to the one Eden had worn. Except Eden’s hair wasn’t blond. It was black. A rich, velvety black that made a man want to touch. Of course, touching was out of the question.
He sent Olivia a smile he didn’t feel. “I didn’t mind the wait.” He nodded at the portrait. “I was just saying ‘hi’ to Uncle Michael.”
Olivia studied the picture with obvious love in her eyes. Even though Michael was her stepfather, the two had been close. “I always thought Deacon looked more like Michael, but you’ve got the same intense look in your eyes.”
“Intense? Haven’t you heard? I’m the easygoing Beaumont.”
Her eyebrow lifted. “I thought so at first. But I think there’s intensity in you, Nash Beaumont. You just do a good job of hiding it.” Taking his arm, she propelled him through the foyer and up the stairs.
Nash followed, but couldn’t help asking, “Did you change the location of the dining room?”
“Of course not. We’ll eat in a minute. Right now, we need privacy.” She pulled him into the bedroom and closed the door.
Being a Beaumont, Nash had been pulled into many a bedroom—by many a woman. Some of the women were even married. But none had been married to his brother. He immediately became uncomfortable.
“Where is Deacon?” he asked.
Olivia leaned against the door. “He’s at the basketball game with Jason. And I’m supposed to be at my mother’s going over the plans for the Lover’s Ball. But I begged off with a headache because I really needed to see you alone.”
“Alone?” His voice hit a high note he hadn’t made since puberty. “Why would you need to see me alone?”
She stopped pacing as she chewed on her bottom lip. Something she did when she was nervous. “Because of the crush. And maybe not a crush as much as sexual desire.”
Holy shit.Uncomfortable just escalated to frantic. He knew his sister-in-law liked him, but he didn’t think that she desired him. The only desire Nash had at the moment was to get the hell out of there. But Olivia stood between him and the door.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she continued. “You’re thinking, why me? Well, since you moved here, I’ve felt like we’ve become very close. And I thought if anyone would understand and not judge me, it would be you.”
Considering his past, Nash tried not to judge. If anyone knew that the flesh was weak and temptation hard to resist, he did. But just because you were tempted didn’t mean you had to give in to temptation. And Nash was proving this point by hiring escorts and staying in control of the situation. But he didn’t feel in control now.
“Look, Olivia,” he said, “sometimes when a man and woman spend a lot of time together, emotions get muddled—especially sexual emotions. And what you really think you feel, you don’t feel at all. It’s just a passing… thing.”
She looked confused. “So you don’t think it will last.”
He certainly hoped not. Nash might be the better boxer, but Deacon had a mean right hook. “Of course not.”
“But what if I want it to last?” She sent him a sly look while Nash’s mouth dropped. “I mean, it’s been so long since Samuel has shown any interest in someone that I think it’s a good thing.”
“Samuel? You’re talking about Samuel?”
“Of course, who did you think I was talking about?”
