The Billionaire's Secret Desire

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Odelle Griffongy lit another cigarette and stood out on the balcony of her bedroom. She hated this holiday and hated this party. And yet Roan, of course, wanted to support his best friend, Nox, and so now they were getting dressed to attend. Thank f**k Nox never had a dress code for the cocktail party—Odelle would have feigned a headache otherwise.

She looked back into the bedroom where Roan was dressing, his dark gray suit spectacular with his coloring—medium brown hair and bright blue eyes. Ripped to the max, his hard body and his huge c**k made him a machine in bed. Roan Saintmarc was, with the exception of Nox, the handsomest man in New Orleans—probably the state, even—and he was hers.

Odelle might have been brought up in the upper echelons of New Orleans society, but she knew her brittle beauty would only last so long and that her cool, aloof nature wouldn’t make her many friends. That’s why she was staggered when Roan, known as the fun-loving one in his group of Harvard grad friends, made a play for her. He could have had anyone.

Odelle turned back to see the crowds on the streets of the city. New Orleans went crazy for Halloween—parties everywhere, people haunting the streets, and the locals playing up the myths and legends to sell more drink, food, and tourist crap. The normally serene street where Odelle and her cohorts lived were no different: pumpkins and jack o’ lanterns, trees bedecked with twinkle lights and fake cobwebs, and Odelle’s least favorite thing: kids trick or treating at every house.

Her doorbell rang, and although Odelle knew her staff would answer it, she couldn’t help an irritated, “Oh, f**k off.” Her voice carried down to the street, and she heard Roan’s throaty laugh from behind her.

“Don’t be a b***h, Delly. It’s a rite of passage, trick or treating.”

Odelle made a disgusted noise. “I never did that.”

Roan smiled at her, sliding his arms around her waist. “No, you were too busy casting spells and mixing potions.”

Odelle studied him coolly. “You think I’m a witch?”

“Cue cheesy line from me about you casting a spell on me. No, baby, I don’t think you’re a witch, and—mostly—not even a b***h. You just have a warmth deficiency.” He said it with a grin, and although Odelle knew he meant it as a joke, it still stung.

Because it’s true, she told herself. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I be more like Roan? Or Nox, whose heart was so big it actually scared Odelle. Or even Amber, her frenemy, who had once had a thing with Roan. No, Odelle told herself. Don’t go there. Not tonight. She attempted a smile as Roan brushed his lips against hers.

“You’re right. It’s just one night.”

“That’s my girl.” Roan looked her up and down in her tight black dress and when his gaze met hers, Odelle saw the desire in his eyes. “Nox won’t mind if we’re a little late.”

Odelle smiled and, turning, she bent over the balcony and hitched her skirt up to her waist. She heard Roan chuckle.

“Out here? What will the neighbors think?” But then, with a grunt, she felt him thrust into her from behind, his massive c**k reaming her cunt as he gripped the metal balustrade with both hands.

Odelle closed her eyes, reveling in the feeling of him filling her so completely. Her hand drifted down to stroke her c**t as he f****d her, and soon she was moaning and shivering through one o****m after another, not caring who heard her. Roan was a brutal lover, especially when he came, and Odelle winced as he thrust harder and harder until he blew his load inside of her and withdrew, panting for air and cursing softly with release. He spun her around and ground his mouth down on hers. “God, woman, you drive me f*****g crazy.”

Odelle smiled and squeezed his diminishing c**k in her hands. “Do that to me once more and then we can go to the party.”

And they began again.

Livia and Moriko helped Marcel and his sous-chef Caterina—Cat—load the trays of canapés into the restaurant’s van before Liv and Moriko hopped in the back for the drive to the Renaud Mansion. Livia was trying to keep the trays from tipping and tying her thick mane up into a chignon at the same time, but the weight of it would not stay clipped. Moriko grinned at her.

“Just pull it back. You’ll never get it all up.”

“I refuse to be beaten,” Livia muttered. Eventually, Moriko pushed Livia’s hands out of the way.

“Let me.”

As Livia held the trays of food, Moriko deftly worked Liv’s hair into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. “That’s the best you’re going to get, girl, so live with it.”

Livia tentatively patted it. “You’re a miracle worker. From now on, I’ll pay you to be my hair wrangler.”

Moriko laughed. “You couldn’t afford me.”

When they arrived at the mansion, they were stunned into silence. The old plantation home had been modernized to some extent—a plaque on the door detailed its history and its passage to the Renaud family in the 1800s, wherein all slaves were freed and the plantation became a family homestead rather than a working freehold.

The imposing white building with shuttered windows and soft light radiating from within was decorated with high-quality Halloween trimmings. Moriko grinned at Livia as they passed a batch of expertly carved pumpkins. “You think they got Michelangelo to do them?”

Livia rolled her eyes. The place screamed money and opulence, but Livia wasn’t impressed. As they moved into the kitchen, she saw Marcel talking to a young man who was dressed in a dark navy sweater and jeans, and who Livia guessed was the owner’s assistant. He had dark curls and the most intense—and beautiful—green eyes she had ever seen.

The stranger sensed her scrutiny and looked up. Their eyes met and Livia felt a shudder of desire ripple through her. God, if even the staff looked like supermodels here …

She nudged Moriko. “Does Marcel want us to change now or after we’ve set up?”

“After. Apparently, there’s a dedicated room for us.”

“Fancy.”

“I know, right? Usually we have to squat in the back of the van to get ready.”

Livia snorted and, between them, they quickly arranged the canapés on the silver trays. When they had finished, Livia saw the handsome assistant had gone and Marcel was nodding at them. “Lovely job. The food looks great. So, this thing kicks off in an hour, but guests are starting to arrive, so we’ll start with the welcome pumpkin-spice sidecars first up. Think you can cope?”

“No worries, boss,” Moriko hugged Marcel, who turned red with pleasure. “We’ll show these rich kids a good time … wait, that sounded dirtier than I meant it to.”

Livia snorted with laughter as Moriko shrugged. “Come on then. Let’s get dressed.”

A half hour later, Livia was regretting the tightness of her skirt. It had been her go-to throughout college—short, black, and figure-hugging even back then when she was ten pounds lighter. She’d dragged it out of her closet this morning—it had been the cleanest, most professional skirt she could find. I need to go shopping, she told herself as she plastered a smile on her face and made the rounds with a tray of drinks.

The mansion’s main ballroom (“Main ballroom,” she’d muttered to an amused Moriko. “Because the other ballrooms are too small.”) was decorated beautifully, even the cynical Livia had to admit. Twinkle lights draped the walls and soft music was playing as the guests milled around, talked, and drank. Moriko was making the first pass with a canapé tray, and Livia could tell her friend was gritting her teeth, fending off unwanted remarks and come-ons.

“Hey, Livvy.” She heard Roan Saintmarc’s voice behind her and turned. She was actually relieved to see a friendly face; if the guests weren’t turning their noses up at her presence or trying to talk her into bed, they looked through her as if she were invisible. Roan’s smile was friendly. He indicated the man he was talking with, a tall, dark-haired man with a neatly-trimmed beard and dark brown eyes.

“San, this is my friend from my favorite restaurant. Livia, this is Sandor Carpentier, a good friend of mine.”

Sandor Carpentier had a warm, open smile as he shook Livia’s hand. She grinned at them both, happy to see friendly faces at last. “Can I get you fellas a refill?” She waved the bottle of Krug she was holding and topped up their glasses. “Boss tells me the good bourbon will be out soon,” she said with a wink.

“If I know Nox, it will be,” Roan said, and looked around. “Speaking of whom, have you met our lord and master yet, Liv?”

She shook her head. “But he would probably tell me to get back to work. Nice seeing you, Mr. Saintmarc, Mr. Carpentier.”

“Sandor, please,” the man said, and Livia decided she liked his merry, twinkling eyes. He didn’t seem as aloof as the others. “And if you knew Nox, you’d know that’s unlikely. He’d probably insist you join us for a drink.”

Livia smiled and made her excuses. Despite what they said, she didn’t want Marcel to get into trouble if she was caught fraternizing with the guests. She made her way back to the kitchen to refill her tray. Moriko was just coming in from the garden.

“Hey, boo, I just finished up my break, and Marcel told me to let you grab one now that I’m done. There are a couple of good places to hide and take your shoes off out there.”

Livia smiled at her friend gratefully and headed out of the kitchen door into the lush gardens. It was darker down here than at the front of the mansion, and she could see a fog coming in off the bayou at the end of the property. Livia thought it was much spookier, befitting the Halloween vibe of the party, and yet more beautiful than any of the decorations inside.

With a soft moan, she eased off her heels and wondered why she hadn’t worn her usual flats. No, she knew why—she had wanted to make a good impression for Marcel. She knew she could pull off the cool professional vibe with her heels on, and at least it gave her a few extra inches when she needed to be seen. Still, her feet pulsed with pain, and when she put her hot soles on cool ground, she sighed with relief.

She crept barefoot into a little grove, and seeing the edge of a stone seat, headed for it. She stopped, seeing the other end was already occupied. “Sorry,” she said, then saw it was the assistant she’d shared a moment with earlier.

He had changed out of his sweater and jeans and was now wearing what looked to be a very expensive black suit. Perks of the job, she suspected, but her attention was drawn by the way it fit his broad shoulders and slim figure so well. She meant to turn and go, but the sheer sadness in his eyes took her breath away. “Are you okay?” Her voice was soft, and the man stared at her, his eyes intense, before he half nodded, then shook his head.

“Not really, but common manners dictate I say I am. So …” His voice was deep—a beautiful deep baritone that sent a shiver through her. Livia hesitated for a moment, then sat down next to him.

“Escaping from the melee? Me too. Just for a minute.” She smiled at him, noticing again how gorgeous he was, except for that pain in his eyes. She wished she could take it away for him. “Are you hiding from the muckety-mucks?”

His mouth hitched up in a half-smile. “Kind of.”

She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I won’t tell,” she whispered, and he laughed. It changed his whole face, turning it from brooding and slightly dangerous into a boyish, joyful thing.

“Right back at you.” He looked at her name tag. “Livia. Not O-livia?”

She shook her head. “No, just Livia.” She shivered at the cool air coming up from the water. “It really is beautiful here.”

He nodded, and seeing her trembling, he shrugged out of his jacket and put it around her shoulders. She felt her face get hot. “Thank you.”

They gazed at each other for a long moment, and Livia felt tongue tied. He smelled wonderful too, all clean linen and woodsy spice, and for a moment she found herself having to resist the urge to run her fingertips over his long, thick lashes. They were so black, they looked like he had eyeliner on.

She swallowed hard, the desire to kiss this stranger overwhelming and bewildering. She cast around for something to say. “I was thinking, that mist from the bayou must have known there was a Halloween party here tonight.” God, could she have sounded any dumber? She cursed herself, but he smiled at her.

“I guess it must have known. I find it … romantic. Dark and malevolent, perhaps. But also sensual.”

Livia could feel a pulse beating furiously between her legs and was amazed. She hadn’t had this reaction to a man in forever … or ever, if she was being honest. Electricity hung in the air between them. She had to dispel it before she did something reckless. She had Marcel and Moriko to think about here.

She nudged him with her shoulder. “Hey, you better get in there before all the food is gone. Honestly, they’re like sharks, these people. Fins and everything. The food is really good, too. I hope your boss agrees.”

Another smile, amused and sweet. “I’m sure he does.” He stood and offered his hand. “Shall we sneak into the kitchen and grab something, then?”

Trembling, she took his hand—the skin surprisingly soft and dry—and stood. “Okay. But afterward, you have to tell me your name.”

Their bodies were really close now, and Livia could feel his body heat through her clothes. He trailed a finger across her cheekbone, and Livia shivered. She smiled, but stepped away from him. “I think we’d better get inside.” As much as I’d like to f**k you right here, right now.

His smile didn’t change and he squeezed her hand. “Of course.”

“Nox!” They both heard the female’s voice from across the garden. “Nox, where the hell are you?”

A thrill of panic went through Livia as her companion called out. “Right here, Ambs. Keep your shirt on.”

I should have known …

Livia was frozen. s**t, s**t, s**t. This was Nox Renaud. He smiled down at her and put his finger over his lips for a second before his smile widened into a conspiratorial grin. “I have to go.”

She nodded and shrugged out of his jacket. “Here, you better have this back. I’m going inside now, anyway.”

He thanked her, taking the coat, and with a last regretful look towards her, disappeared back towards the direction of the shouting woman.

“Oh f**k,” Livia hissed to herself. “Way to be unprofessional. Catering one-oh-one, don’t almost kiss the client. Jesus.”

Her face flaming with embarrassment, she went back into the kitchen and managed to work the rest of the party while avoiding any contact with Nox Renaud or his friends … difficult, but not impossible. When it became clear the party was winding down, Livia hid out in the kitchen and dealt with the clean-up.

Marcel was all smiles when he came to thank them both. “Liv, you didn’t need to do this,” he said, looking in amazement at the stack of empty, clean trays she was loading into the van. She grinned at him.

“No problem, boss.” She made herself busy untying her apron. “Did you get good feedback?”

“Very good feedback. And a somewhat unexpected bonus, which you’ll find in your paychecks. No, don’t argue. Say what you want about the Renaud family, but Nox is a very generous man. He also told me that I was his go-to caterer for the future, which isn’t saying a lot because he rarely entertains guests, but it’s still something.”

“It is something. It’s a big something.” Moriko kissed Marcel’s cheek and he gave her a hug.

“Thanks, Morry. He also said he’d be recommending me to his friends and clients. Good guy. Jeez, look at the time. Come on, kids, let’s get out of here. I’ll buy you both a late dinner.”

Later, at home in bed, Livia could not help but look up Nox Renaud on the internet. She flicked through pages of photos of him, drinking in the shape of his face, the green eyes that looked just as sad in his childhood pictures as in every photo of him as an adult. She traced his face with her finger. In some pictures he had a beard, which made him look even more handsome, she thought. When she began to read about his history—the murder/suicide of his parents and brother, the mysterious death of his teenage sweetheart, the years of suspicion aimed at Nox himself—she learned he’d been thoroughly investigated after the death of Ariel Duplas. Nox was only eighteen at the time and was the only suspect, but the police had completely exonerated him. The piece Livia was reading made it clear that his family’s deaths had broken the handsome young man.

Since his family tragedy and the subsequent investigation, Renaud has kept a low profile. His luxury food importing business with friend Sandor Carpentier has made him a billionaire, but this has just served to draw more attention and comparisons to other tragic figures. Many locals refer to him as New Orlean’s own Howard Hughes—a reclusive man with a myriad of secrets. Only once a year do we really get to see the man, at his annual benefit on Halloween, but it doesn’t stop gossip magazines the world over wondering about the romantic life of this devastatingly—and some say, dangerously—handsome young man. As he approaches forty, will Nox Renaud ever break free of his past?

God, I hope so. The thought came unbidden to Livia as she slid her finger over his photograph. Not that it would have anything to do with her, but she had sensed something special in the man she had met—that he was more than just another handsome rich boy. There were hidden depths there, she was sure of it.

When she went to sleep that night, she dreamed of Nox Renaud and his beautiful green eyes, and of the moment his lips would press against hers.