A Billionaire Between the Sheets Read Free

the sink.
    Talk about a swamp creature. She looked like she’d been slimed by the kids on Nickelodeon. Her normally shiny blond hair was tinted green with bits of bark and whatever else lived in the bayou. Besides the leech suction mark on her neck, she had numerous mosquito bites on her arms, and her clothes were just plain disgusting. For a brief moment, she considered hopping in the shower with Deacon, clothes and all, and joining in on the chorus. Instead she took off her backpack and reached for the bar of Dial soap on the side of the sink. She had just finished washing her hands and face when the screen door slammed, the sound followed by the loud clomp of boots and unidentifiable clicks. By the time she’d dried with the towel on the rack, two bearded men and a big dog had appeared in the doorway.
    The dog gave one deep-throated woof. Olivia might’ve been scared if the animal with the droopy face hadn’t had the most soulful eyes she’d ever seen.
    “Don’t mind Blue,” the taller of the two men said in a Southern drawl that slipped from his lips like the finest satin. “That’s just his way of saying hello. He loves the ladies.” He flashed a lazy smile that, even disguised by a full beard, dripped with sex appeal. “Nash Beaumont at your service, ma’am.”
    The water shut off, and the plastic shower curtain jerked back so hard that it tore from two of the metal hooks. Standing there with water cascading down his naked body, Deacon looked at his brother.
    “No need to introduce yourself, Nash. You and Grayson should remember Uncle Michael’s brat.”

C HAPTER TWO
    D eacon Beaumont had pictured his second meeting with Olivia Harrington much differently. In his fantasies he was always dressed in an expensive designer suit and either helping a supermodel out of his brand-new Maserati or sitting behind a massive desk in his penthouse office. Olivia was always dressed in hand-me-downs and begging for money…and mercy. Of course in the fantasy he gave her neither. Money and mercy were for people who deserved them. And as far as he was concerned, Olivia didn’t deserve anything but his strong dislike.
    His hatred was reserved for her stepfather.
    Nash took a towel off the rack and handed it to him. “I’m going to make a guess and say that you and our cousin decided to take a swim. And while I would love to hear the story, I think it can wait until after we show Olivia some Southern hospitality and let her get out of those wet clothes.”
    Olivia’s clothes were soaked. Her white T-shirt was completely transparent, showing every detail of the lacy bra beneath. And when Nash’s gaze lowered, Deacon had to squelch the desire to wrap the towel around her. Fortunately, his brother had never been much of a gawker and quickly averted his gaze.
    Grayson, on the other hand, was out-and-out gawking. He had always had an almost reverent fixation on women. He had trouble talking to them, but he loved to look at them. And paint them. It didn’t matter if they were beautiful or plain. Skinny or fat. Young or old. Or covered in bug bites and lichen. If you were a woman, Grayson wanted you as one of his subjects. For some reason—his brother’s pretty-boy good looks or his innocent blushes—women didn’t mind posing for him, usually with their clothes off.
    Well, it wasn’t happening with Olivia. She wasn’t staying long enough for Grayson to paint her, or for Nash to show off his Southern hospitality. And Deacon made that perfectly clear when he shoved both his brothers out of the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.
    “She’s not staying,” he said as he strode into his bedroom.
    Nash and Blue followed, Nash flopping down on the bed Deacon had painstakingly made that morning and Blue dropping to the floor in a puddle of loose bloodhound skin. “We can’t just throw her out, Deke,” Nash said. “Especially when she came all the way here to visit her Louisiana cousins.”
    Deacon glanced back to