The Illegitimate Billionaire (Whiskey Bay Brides Book 4; Billionaire & Babies)

by Barbara Dunlop

  “I’m not tired,” James said.

  “They’re doing fine. Their grandpa and I still want to show them off.”

  Callie hesitated. The boys did seem to still have energy. It was probably the chocolate, but she understood Margo’s perspective. She had gone to a lot of trouble for tonight.

  “A little while,” Callie agreed.

  “I’ll stay with them,” Dee said.

  “I can come along.” Callie knew she should keep an eye on their moods.

  “Don’t be silly,” Margo said. “Go find Deacon and have a dance.”

  In the face of the onslaught, Callie gave in. A selfish part of her did want to dance in her new gown. A foolish part of her wanted to dance with Deacon.

  To do that, she’d have to throw caution to the wind.

  She paused to give her saner side an opportunity to talk her out of it. Instead, she admitted this was a caution-to-the-wind kind of night. Her toddler had just eaten chocolate pudding at eight o’clock.

  She caught sight of Deacon across the room.

  He met her gaze and smiled.

  She felt the attraction arc between them. She returned his smile and started toward him.

  He must have seen something in her eyes, because he looked puzzled. Then he looked pleased, then he looked flat-out sexy.

  “Dance?” she asked without giving herself a second to hesitate.

  “Absolutely.” He took her hand and led her toward the dance floor.

  There was a small orchestra in the corner of the grand ballroom. The polished floor was smooth under her feet. Deacon’s lead was sure, his steps perfect, his arm wonderful around her waist.

  “This is some party,” she said as they twirled across the floor.

  “It’s been a tradition for two hundred years.”

  She drew back. “Seriously?”

  “The Clarksons are big on tradition. Take a look at the walls. Those are real swords and shields from the ancestors back home. The Clarksons came over on the Mayflower and fought in the civil war.”

  “Which side?”

  “This is Virginia, ma’am. Both sides.”

  Callie grinned. “That’s hedging your bets.”

  The music changed to a slower rhythm, and Deacon went quiet. His hand moved against the small of her back, gently stroking, his thumb touching the skin revealed by the open back of her dress.

  She knew she shouldn’t sink into the sensation, but she couldn’t help herself. She shifted closer and closer, until she was flush against him. He put his cheek to her hair, and she burrowed into the crook of his neck.

  Desire pulsed deep into her body. The music flowed louder. Voices around them disappeared. The other dancers faded to a swirl of color.

  Then she heard it, faint but unmistakable. It was Ethan’s cry.

  She jumped back from Deacon.

  He seemed stunned. “What?”

  “Ethan,” she called. “Something’s wrong.” She rushed toward the sound.

  “No,” Ethan was shouting.

  Callie rushed as fast as she could on her high heels.

  She could see Margo talking to Ethan.

  Ethan screwed up his face and shook his head.

  Tyrell said something, and Ethan looked up. At first he looked scared, but then he dropped to the floor and squealed.

  Tyrell reached down and pulled him back to his feet as Callie came within earshot.

  “—and behave yourself!” Tyrell’s tone was sharp.

  Callie quickly crouched to put her arms around her son. “Sweetheart? What is it?”

  Ethan started to cry.

  She stood, wrapping him in her arms.

  “I don’t think coddling him will help,” Tyrell said.

  Callie glared at him. She didn’t care that this was his house, and that he was the party’s host. Ethan was her son, and her parenting choices were none of Tyrell’s business.

  This was all her fault, not Ethan’s. It was nearly nine o’clock.

  James was watching the whole thing with wide eyes.

  She took his hand. “It’s time for us to go home, honey.”

  “Oh, there’s no need for that.” Margo’s tone was soothing.

  Deacon arrived. “Is everything all right?”

  Margo spoke directly to Deacon. It was the first time Callie had seen her do that.

  “I was just telling Callie there’s no need for her to leave early. We’ve set up the nursery for the boys.”

  Callie didn’t want the nursery. She didn’t want to stay here any longer. She wanted to take her boys home to their own beds.

  “Ethan?” Dee came up close to him. “Would you like me to read you a story? You can have a bubble bath, too.”

  Callie didn’t like the idea. “I think it’s better if we—”

  Ethan’s voice was watery. “Which story?”

  “The Pig and the Duck.”

  “The whole thing?” Ethan asked.

  “I like The Pig and the Duck,” James said. “And I like bubbles.”

  Ethan stopped crying and raised his head, looking at Callie.

  “Do you want Dee to read you a story?” she asked.

  Ethan nodded.

  Deacon touched her shoulder and whispered in her ear. “It’s completely up to you.”

  “There’s a room made up for you, too,” Margo said. “It’s right across the hall from the nursery. You wouldn’t have to disturb them at the end of the party.”

  Against her better judgement, Callie took the path of least resistance. They were only moments from the nursery. It would take at least half an hour to get the boys loaded into the car and back home. By the time they got there, Ethan would be truly miserable.

  “Okay,” she said. “Dee can put you to bed.” She handed Ethan to Dee, who took James’s hand to walk away.

  “You shouldn’t encourage that kind of behavior,” Tyrell said to Callie.

  “Don’t,” Deacon warned him. “Callie is a fantastic mother.”

  “It was the chocolate.” Callie felt the need to defend Ethan. It might not have been his finest hour, but he wasn’t the one to blame.

  “Shall we dance again?” Deacon asked her.

  She took him up on the offer. It might not be the smart thing, but she missed Deacon’s arms, and she wanted to get away from Margo and Tyrell.

  She knew Tyrell had a big personality, that he preferred things his own way, but this was the first time it had touched her personally. And on the heels of her brother’s unsettling visit, it was more than she could take.

  * * *

  Deacon heard Callie open then close the bedroom door. She’d been across the hall, checking on James and Ethan, and now she set the baby monitor on a small table.

  It was after midnight, and the party was quickly winding to a close. Although there were still dozens of guests, not to mention the staff, in the halls below, the castle walls were thick, and here on the second floor, it was completely quiet.

  The room was large, with warm wooden walls, recessed windows showing the original stone structure, heavy ceiling beams and a thick woven carpet. There was a massive carved wood canopy bed in the center, flanked by two armchairs around a fireplace and a small table and chair set. The walk-in closet and the connected bathroom were at opposite ends of the room.

  Callie looked tired but beautiful in her flowing gown. Her upswept hair was wispy around her face, and when she reached down to strip off her high heels, Deacon felt a surge of desire. It was pathetic, really, finding her bare feet that sexy.

  “Are the boys okay?” he asked as a conversation opener. He didn’t want to address the sleeping arrangements head on.

  “Did it seem weird to you?” she asked. “Earlier, I mean.” She looked around the floor, settling on putting her shoes ben
eath the upholstered bench positioned at the foot of the bed.

  “Did what seem weird?” All Deacon remembered was holding her in his arms on the dance floor, watching her talk and smile with the other guests, not being able to take his gaze off her all night long.

  “Margo with the boys. I mean, Tyrell was a jerk. I don’t want him alone with the boys, especially Ethan.”

  “I understand.” Deacon had no intention of letting Tyrell babysit.

  “But Margo.” Callie perched on the bench. “Does she seem a bit possessive to you?”

  “She adores her grandsons.” That had been obvious to Deacon from minute one.

  “That nursery.” Callie pointed across the hall. “It’s full of toys and clothes. They could live there forever if they wanted.”

  Deacon moved closer to Callie. “The Clarksons do have a lot of money.”

  She tipped her chin to look up. “I know. It’s just a funny feeling I get around her lately. She called Ethan Beau. James told me that.”

  “They do look alike.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. I guess it’s not that strange.”

  “Are you okay staying here?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t make any sense to wake the boys up.”

  Deacon looked meaningfully to the big bed, the only place in the room for either of them to sleep. “I mean...”

  It seemed to occur to her for the first time. “Oh.” She drew a sigh. “I’m so exhausted, I don’t even care. Will it bother you?”

  “Not in the least.” He was surprised by her pragmatic acceptance.

  She sized up the bed again. “I doubt we could find each other if we tried.”

  He’d find her in about half a second. But he wouldn’t.

  He’d already hung up his jacket, and now he stripped off his tie. As he removed his white shirt, her gaze seemed to stall on his chest. He wanted it to mean something, but he doubted it did.

  He held out the shirt. “Here.”

  “What?”

  “You can sleep in this.”

  She blinked. She paused. “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

  He gestured to the bathroom. “Go ahead.”

  She rose and took the shirt.

  She shut the door behind her, and a vision of her changing bloomed in his mind. To distract himself, he removed his shoes and set them next to hers. Then he pulled the curtains on four separate windows. He flicked on a bedside lamp and turned off the overhead lights.

  He turned down the bed and fluffed the pillows, folding the heavy spread and laying it across the bench at the foot of the bed.

  The bathroom door opened, and Callie emerged. He told himself not to look. It was going to kill him. But he couldn’t help himself.

  She was backlit, his white shirt slightly translucent, falling to her mid-thigh, the sleeves rolled up along her slender arms, the top button open to make a V-neck.

  The world seemed to stop.

  “Is there a hanger...?” She removed the gown from a hook inside the door, the motion bringing his shirt against her breasts.

  He nearly groaned out loud.

  “The closet’s over here,” he managed.

  She draped the gown over her arms.

  “I can get that.” He quickly took the gown from her arms.

  “Thank you.”

  It took all his strength not to touch her, not to hold her like he had on the dance floor. Her green eyes met his in the shadowy light. She’d scrubbed off her makeup, and there was a fresh glow to her skin.

  She was so incredibly, naturally beautiful. And she’d once told him she loved him.

  But he’d ruined all that. Right now, he’d have done anything to rewind time, to fix his mistakes, to find a way back to where they’d been in Charleston.

  Instead, he had to find a way to keeps his hands off her.

  “Deacon,” she said in a tentative voice.

  “I can do this,” he vowed on a whisper.

  She looked at the dress, obviously misunderstanding his words.

  He gave himself a mental shake. “Go to bed,” he told her softly. “You should sleep.”

  She nodded.

  While he hung the gown, she climbed under the covers.

  Deacon shut off the bathroom light, stripped to his boxers and joined her, lastly turning the switch on the bedside lamp and plunging the room into darkness.

  The blankets rustled, and he felt her move.

  “I don’t like it here,” she said.

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  There was a short silence. “No. I mean I don’t like this place, the castle. It feels, I don’t know, dark.”

  “It is dark.” He couldn’t see his hand in front of his face.

  He wondered if he’d made a mistake in drawing all the curtains. If the boys woke up, he and Callie would probably trip on the furniture getting to them.

  “I mean somber. It feels like the walls want to suck the very joy out of life.”

  “It is cold and hard. Funny, from the outside it always looked grand.”

  “It’s grand on the inside, too.”

  “It has no soul.”

  “That’s it,” she said.

  He couldn’t see her, but he heard her come up on her elbow. He did the same, facing her in the dark, barely able to discern her outline as his eyes adjusted.

  “Do you think it could be haunted?” There was a joking note to her voice.

  “By eight generations of Clarksons?” He gave a chuckle. “Now there’s a daunting thought.”

  “Would you protect me?”

  “From the ghost of Admiral Frederick Baines Clarkson?” Deacon deepened his voice, speaking with exaggerated drama. “Legend has it that Admiral Clarkson was murdered.”

  She matched his tone. “Here in the walls of Clarkson Castle?”

  “I believe we may be in mortal danger.” He gave a pause, glancing around at the tiny rays of light below the curtains. “Shh. Do you hear that?”

  The wind was blowing through the battlements.

  “Are you trying to scare me?”

  “It’s his ship’s whistle. He’s calling his men, still angry they didn’t save him.”

  “You have a vivid imagination.” She batted her hand against his shoulder.

  The second she touched him, his world stopped.

  She stopped.

  Then she moved.

  Her hand smoothed over his skin, to his neck, to his cheek.

  “Callie,” he breathed in desperation. “I can’t... I won’t...”

  “I know,” she said. “It’s...” She shifted closer. Her breath brushed his face. Her lips touched his.

  His reaction was immediate. His arm went around her waist, he pressed her into the soft mattress, his mouth opened wide, his kiss went deep. Every sense he had zeroed in on Callie.

  Her hand burrowed into his hair, anchoring. Her arm wound around his neck. Their bodies came tight together, and he absorbed her heat, her softness, her essence.

  He kissed her mouth over and over again.

  Then he moved to her neck, her shoulders, her breasts.

  She gasped his name.

  He stripped off her shirt, kicked off his boxers, and they clung naked to each other, limbs entwined. He breathed in her essence, tasted her skin, felt the softness of her lavender-scented hair between his fingertips.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” he rasped.

  “Oh, Deacon.” There was a catch in her voice.

  He reached beneath her, tilting her body toward him. Her thighs softly parted. Her legs went around him.

  He stopped, poised, holding himself back, wanting the magic to go on forever.

  “Deacon, please,” she moaned, and he plunged them together.

  Her breaths pulsed again
st him. He kissed her deeply. He cradled her breasts, smoothed the backs of her thighs, captured her body, her core, over and over again.

  Her arms convulsed around him, and her hips surged to meet him. Their passion heated the air of the cold castle. The thick walls absorbed their cries. The darkness cocooned them, and every shadow of his heritage disappeared.

  The past didn’t matter, only the future. And the future was Callie. It had to be Callie.

  Her body contracted, pulling him over the edge, and he spiraled irrevocably into paradise.

  * * *

  Coming back home the next day, Callie realized how much she loved Deacon’s house. It was welcoming, comfortable and functional. It was roomy, but really just the right size. The kitchen was brilliantly laid out, with every convenience. She could clean up from lunch while watching the boys play with building bricks in the family room.

  It had been Deacon’s idea to add a toy box to the family room décor. So the boys could play and easily help clean up afterward. She was even getting used to a housekeeper twice a week. She was over the guilt of having someone else dust, vacuum and scrub her shower.

  Now Deacon appeared by her side. She knew he’d been in his study making calls. He’d mentioned he was at odds with Beau over something, and he was trying to put together his own side of the argument. She’d learned he worked seven days a week. He might dial it back a bit on the weekends, but the port never closed, so there was always some problem to be solved.

  He gave her a gentle touch on the shoulder. Still on a high from last night, she simply enjoyed the feeling. She’d have to come back down to earth soon. She couldn’t simply pretend their marriage had turned normal. But not today—she wasn’t going to let reality intrude just yet.

  “I thought I’d take them outside for a while,” Deacon said. “Maybe run around with the soccer ball and burn off some energy.”

  “I’m all for that,” she said.

  “Do you want to take a nap?”

  She couldn’t help but think the offer was a veiled reference to how little sleep she’d had last night. She’d slept in Deacon’s arms, but mostly they’d made love and talked and made love some more. He’d said he missed her. She missed him more than she could have imagined.

  “I’m fine,” she said now. She really was. There was a spring in her step and energy in her veins.