Deacon: A BWWM Billionaire Romance

by Notaro, Paige

  Kiara’s smile dried up fast, though.

  “And now, Mira’s ten thousand miles away and I abandoned the little time I have with her for a man. I just let myself fall for another set of smooth words.”

  There, she lost my sympathies. “Remind me,” I said. “Who said ‘fine’ last night?”

  Her eyes flared wide. “Only after you pressed me.”

  “I press when I think something’s about to yield. And you, darlin’, were fertile ground.”

  She blinked a few times. “Oh, thanks for the reminder. Do they even sell plan B in this country?”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “You’re not getting pregnant.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Her mouth fell open. “Are you…”

  “No I’m quite virile. But I’m temporarily clamped to make sure I don’t bleed out my fortune on child support. Trust me, I’m not trying to chain you with anything, least of all a kid.”

  “And I should believe you?” She backed into the glass.

  Boy, did she never learn? I closed in on her, the sun dimming my sight as I peered into her.

  “You should, and you do,” I said. “The only problem is you’re afraid because of it. I didn’t do anything wrong and you know it. You don't have to believe in me, but you have to believe you know what you wanted last night.”

  The fire left her. “I don’t know.”

  “Sure you do. Kids all want to wear their parents’ shoes. Some of us are smart of us to realize when it doesn't fit. I was, and you got there, too. But now, you are certainly no child and I’m definitely not your father. You fall into my orbit, that means you want it.”

  I nipped her neck. She yelped magnificently.

  “I do too,” I said. “You're not mine and I'm not yours. We’re just circling each other.”

  I sank onto her neck, longer and fuller. Her skin was salty and sweet, from her stress, from our night. She sighed surrender in my ears.

  “You are wrong for me,” she said.

  “You don't even know me yet,” I said. “But you tell me what you want and I’ll do it. I can get you a ticket back right now. Heck, I can fly you back private, if you want.”

  I ran a finger up her bare stomach. “Or, I can stay and we can spend today getting to know each other. It's all up to you though, so figure it out. It's not a fun life doubting what your heart tells you to do.”

  She sighed, like shifting sand. My heart raced. There was no telling what she might say.

  “Fine,” she said. “Show me who you are.”

  I planted a tender kiss on her lips, then scooped her up. I dropped her on the bed, then stood blotting the sun off her with my back.

  “You did just hear yourself say ‘fine’ this time,” I said. “Right?”

  She rolled her eyes, wrapped her legs around me and tugged me inside her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Kiara

  I checked the map on the phone once again. The streets of downtown were all laid in a grid, but with roundabouts and one ways, this taxi driver could be taking us anywhere.

  “We’re headed to Madinat Zayed, right?” I said, looking out at the mishmash of beige flats and modern steel and glass towers on the streets around. “The old market.”

  “Is not old, this market,” the Egyptian driver said through the rearview mirror. “Everything here - all new. Ten years maybe.”

  “But you’re not taking us to just another shopping mall right?”

  “No no no. You ask Madinat Zayed. I take Madinat Zayed.”

  Deacon gripped my hand tighter in the backseat. “You really don’t trust people do you?” he asked grinning.

  He had dressed down in dark blue jeans and a green polo that bulged under his muscle. It was the outfit of many of the countless western oil workers in the country, but he would still stand shoulders above any of them.

  “Our driver hasn’t been quite as persuasive as you,” I said.

  “He better not try to be.” He cuddled me tight to him.

  I laughed liked I'd been tickled. My brain was mostly kaput, especially the part that reined in my emotions. I was all reflex now. Deacon had had sex with me twice this morning, filling me once on the bed, and coating me in the shower before letting the water wiped away the traces of our sin.

  Stray worries still flitted through my head. Maybe I'd opened up too much this morning. Only Mira knew more than him now.

  But he was still here. He was right. I might be stuck on him, but he was stuck on me too. Once we ate, that would become true literally again.

  I couldn't wait.

  Hot air roared in from the trickled down windows. It carried the smell of gasoline and tropical trees, of garbage and garlic roasted meat. The world felt live and free and dangerous.

  “Here we are,” Deacon said, nudging me toward the window.

  The taxi wheeled around the six lane street, then swung over to a curb in front of a vast building with swarms of colorfully-dressed people moving in and out. It looked like some grand mosque: long as a football field, with pillar after pillar holding up the front awning. A grand dome rose from somewhere within.

  This might be a mall but it was still more real than the tourist traps I'd been to since getting here. If this place was new, they’d done a standup job chaining it to their past.

  Deacon tossed the driver a handful of dirhams. “Don’t bother with change,” he said.

  I fought the urge to say anything. Time was worth more than the dollar change to him. I had to accept who I'd gotten in bed with.

  And, really, accepting a billionaire’s wealth wasn’t exactly putting me on the path to sainthood.

  We moved through the blistering sun toward the bustling entrance. Most people were young men, dark skinned, but Arab or Indian. Only a few were African. There were still plenty of women, but they came parceled with shrieking toddlers or kids. They wore traditional robes or bright Indian dresses, but almost none wore burkas.

  “Guess this isn’t real Abu Dhabi either,” I said.

  “Oh it surely is,” Deacon said. “You realize that we’re more representative of the city than any native Emirati.”

  “How?”

  “We're foreigners. This city’s almost ninety percent non-native. Who do you think built this place? The locals mostly sit around gorging on oil wealth.”

  “Not your kind of people, I take it.”

  “I can’t blame them for basking in the luxury they were born into, but I’m more in line with these folks here. The ones that earn their keep.”

  The mall doors whooshed open and cold air splashed us. I almost wilted in relief. The space before us was filled with little stores. Not designer brands like the fifty other malls in the city, but makeshift purse stores, clothing stores, little electronics shops – that sort of thing.

  Oh, and jewelry. Lots and lots of jewelry. This place was also the central gold market. It wasn't my thing, but a gold collar for Snowflake might be fun. Maybe one for Antoine, too, to make him forget about the birthday I was missing.

  The air was a jumble of spices. Deacon sniffed around with a worried look.

  “If these are your people, you don’t seem super at home with them,” I said.

  “We share a mindset, not a culture. I’m still a fan of a good Longhorn steak.” He threw an arm around my shoulder. “And I think you’ll be a fan of me fueled by a good Longhorn steak.”

  “We’ll find fuel here.”

  His conspicuous possession made me excited and tense at once. This counted as PDA in this country. But then again, that was for religious reason, so it was good we were pushing against the edges of their laws.

  We went around the different sections of the mall. Deacon told me about his business's work in various parts of the world as he led me through store after store. My sore legs got a chance to stretch out, and I got a chance to use some of my money on knick-knacks.

  Deacon knew better than to offer his card for my gifts. He did however, convince me to accep
t some small gold hoop earrings - “So I can watch them shake in rhythm with me later.” How could I say no to that?

  Soon our stomachs grumbled. We hit the escalators and rose towards a sunlit dome crowning the top floor. Spicy Indian aromas roamed the air. A ferocious hunger came to life in me.

  “That doesn’t make you hungry?” I said to Deacon.

  “Not as much as watching drool come out of your mouth.” He gazed down, his dark bristle forming a hard outline of his face.

  “You can roam the world,” I said. “You must have picked up some strange tastes.”

  “Half the point of being rich is getting the things you're used to exactly the way you like them, anywhere you are.”

  “But I thought you liked to go down into the streets and see how your employees lived.”

  “How my people worked.” He backed off the escalator, then helped me disembark. “Key difference.”

  “Ok, you are some sort of robot. I refuse to be classified in the same league of workaholic as you. Come on, what do you do for fun?”

  “I had plenty of fun with you. If I'm a robot, I'm definitely a sex machine.”

  “So what, you’re an international playboy?”

  It was supposed to be a joke, but my grumbling stomach roiled harder at the idea. Since when did I get possessive?

  Deacon ticked his head back and forth. “No, my brother fills those shoes a lot better. I’m careful in the women I choose. Like engineers say, measure twice, cut once.”

  “Uh, cut?”

  “Figure of speech, darlin’. Though to be fair, your legs aren’t exactly as held together as they used to be.”

  My cheeks shot hot. I looked around at the food court. All the places were variations of Asian, South Asian and Arab, with a café or two for good measure.

  “I’ll meet you halfway,” I said, pointing at a kebab place with juicy looking photos of skewers. “How about we go for roast meat?”

  “Oh, that looks right up my alley.” Deacon threw his arm around me again. “Who’s trying to seduce who now?”

  We brought back a tray full of crackling brown lamb and beef and glistening yellow chicken. It all cost less than a happy meal back home. I began trying to break down how restaurants here could be priced so low.

  “You don’t start, there won’t be any left,” Deacon said, mouth full of meat.

  “Then slow the heck down,” I said, quickly remembering my hunger. “What’s the rush?”

  Deacon gave me a blank look. “I’d like to get back to fucking.”

  “Ugh,” I ducked into the plate, even as my insides heated with the promise of that word.

  Fucking. Yeah, Deacon certainly earned the use of that word. And I craved it. This wasn't going to be a one night thing apparently. Or a two night, or probably even a weekend thing.

  In fact, this meal might be our first actual date. There was no escaping it. We were dating.

  And it wasn't so bad. I'd just have to be cautious.

  The meat melted in my mouth. I scarfed down skewer after skewer.

  “You look real good sucking that meat off,” Deacon said.

  I kicked his shin. “That's all that's on your mind, huh? I thought you said sex was your brother’s focus.”

  “Playing around? Yes. Drilling down on the right girl. That’s where I shine.”

  His eyes were dark and serious. He ripped the last chunk of meat off a skewer, and I shivered at his hunger. All that fuel that went in was going to come right back out in me.

  “And when we get tired of that?” I said. “What are we going to do, sit around playing bridge?”

  I waited for the snark, the we’ll probably be dead first, but he smiled to himself.

  “Not bridge. Too much luck in that. I prefer games of skill and strategy.”

  I spooned in a mouthful of saffron rice. “What sort of games?”

  “There’s the usual, of course. Poker if I’m in a wagering mood. Chess, if I’m feeling thoughtful.”

  Chess against Deacon. That would be a nightmare. Him smirking and teasing while you tried to think. Making bold dumb moves that somehow set you up for failure ten turns ahead.

  “There’s plenty more,” Deacon went on. “I’ll take anything that tests my wit. Card games, board games, online ones. It’s all the fun of decision making without billions on the line. Just a chance to experiment with strategy and statistics.”

  His eyes sharpened on me, hard – as if he’d just realized I was around.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “Nerds are cool now.”

  “How about we just go back to calling me a ‘workaholic’?”

  I laughed. For once, he looked serious. Couldn’t he see that nerd was about the most flattering nickname a numbers geek like me could give him?

  A gaggle of kids raced screaming past us. The mother chasing after them in a blue robe caught one and scolded him until he started bawling.

  Deacon sighed. “I've been called worse by my family, anyway. Whatever my style is, they've always preferred Jesse's over it.”

  “But you run the company,” I said. “You’re the brain.”

  “Darlin’ being a Stone isn’t about being a brain. Being a Stone is about a look, a culture, a way of carrying yourself. At least that’s how my folks saw it.”

  “You have all that in spades.”

  “I have my take on it, not the traditional one. My folks are all about that Dallas royal lifestyle.”

  The skewer in his hand lay long forgotten. My hunger dropped to a distant second against curiosity at the stormclouds in his eyes.

  “You exude power.” I said. “Is that not enough?”

  Deacon sucked in air through ground lips. “If it was, I’d be running the company flat out. I wouldn’t be here crossing the hurdles my brother tossed up just to get a solid deal done. Then again, I wouldn’t be here with you, so that balances out.”

  I smiled and reached for his large hand. “I’m surprised your dad made you and him co-owners after he died. It doesn’t seem like a smart way to control a company this big, and your dad had to be smart to grow the company.”

  “He didn't though. My grandfather built the company. My dad hired the right people to put in charge and then took his hands off.”

  Deacon smiled and tapped the tables. “I think my grandfather wasn't a huge fan of that. He was more like me. He might have seen the potential in me, but he died before I was old enough to prove myself. Otherwise, he might have made me CEO when I turned eighteen.”

  Rich people had such strange problems to deal with. “You instead of your dad?” I said.

  “I'm just pondering, that's all. Thing was, my father wasn't even supposed to end up in charge until his two older brothers died in a plane crash. And then he ended up dying early, too.”

  “Oh.”

  'Sorry' felt wrong. It didn't look like the two of them had shared much love. Maybe I'd been wrong about that pull I felt. It wasn't only Deacon's words or his body that drew him to me. Even our pasts seemed to orbit each other in a way. “Well, at least he picked you.”

  Deacon snorted. “For now. That could change. I wonder sometimes if maybe my father just hated having to choose. The competitions he put us through - sometimes, it felt like they were designed to get one of us to drop dead.”

  “Competitions?”

  Deacon looked up with that dazed look. “Yeah, competitions. All sorts.” He grabbed an empty skewer and drew lines in the rice. “He’d have us race each other on half-marathons, swim rivers. He’d test us on our knowledge of the company history, business, strategy. All after nights of no sleep, of course.”

  My hands flew to my mouth. It sounded horrific, but Deacon was smiling. There could only be one reason why. “You must have won all those.” I said.

  “I did, and that’s probably why I’m CEO now. But my father and Jesse still got along better than I ever did. I might know the company down to the decimal points, but Jesse won over the people. All the social tests - the
party mingling, the dances, and fundraisers and all that nonsense – he shone in those.”

  I thought back to the silky, slender Stone at the country club. I could see it. Deacon was a bull, but Jesse was a snake, sharp and seductive.

  “Your father still put you in charge,” I said firmly. “That’s what matters.”

  “Like I said, it’s temporary,” Deacon said. “My mother has an equal share too, and she gets to decide who ends up with it, when she’s dead or done caring. There's no question where her loyalties lie. My father might have preferred Jesse, but my mother outright hates me.”

  Deacon’s gaze lay far away, dark and mysterious like the eyes of some hawk. I gave his hand a squeeze. The inner workings of a billionaire all came down to family drama. Guess money couldn’t fix that.

  It was clear he didn’t share this often. This was a gift, another one I hadn't asked for. It felt wrong. We were on such uneven footing.

  I gathered my breath and said, “My mother was no relief either. My father was the one who abused me, but she stood by it all.”

  Deacon’s attention snapped to me. “Abuse? What are you talking about?”

  Oh god, no, no, no. That’s not what I wanted to show. “Not abuse. I’m just saying that he made up his own rules without my mom doing a thing to interfere.”

  That sounded worse. Well, it sounded as bad as it had actually been, but Deacond didn't need to hear that. I tried to sit back, but his hands cupped mine.

  “You just called it abuse,” he said.

  I looked around at the happy swarming families. Some of these women might be bound in their cultures, but most seemed happy. Far happier than I’d ever been growing up.

  “I’m just trying to help, Deacon,” I said. “Let’s not talk about this now.”

  Deacon released his grip. “You said this morning your dad gave you strict religious rules. Is that what you mean?”

  His face was up in flame now, his eyes an incoming hurricane. I should lie. I should just agree with his guess.

  But I didn’t want us to start whatever we were starting with a lie.