The Billionaire's Secret Desire E-Book

Michelle Love

• Herausgeber: Michelle Love
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

I shut out the world—money’s my shield. Then Livia crashes my Halloween night, serving drinks, stealing my air.
One look, and I’m restless, craving her too close for reason.
She sees me, not the billionaire, and that’s my undoing.
I’d break anything to hold her, taste her strength.
But the past bites back—murder hits, secrets spill, and the Renaud curse looms.
They want her gone, us crushed. I’ll bleed before I bend.
Christmas creeps in, dark and cold. 
They’re fools to test me—she’s mine, a hunger I can’t kill, and I’ll guard her through hell itself.

Keywords: Guaranteed HEA, no cliffhangers, happily ever after. Holiday romance, Christmas romance, doctor romance, alpha billionaire, billionaire, bad boy, office romance, steamy romance, contemporary romance, love books, love stories, new adult, alpha male, romance, action, adventure, steamy romance, small-town secrets, hot, alpha hero. free book, free novels, romantic novels, and sexually romantic books.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

THE BILLIONAIRE'S SECRET DESIRE

Copyright

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Blurb

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Sneak Peek – Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

THE BILLIONAIRE'S SECRET DESIRE

A Holiday Romance

(Secret Babies 1)

By Michelle Love

©Copyright 2023 by Michelle Love - All rights Reserved

In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights are reserved.

Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

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Blurb

Rule number one in my job: Don't fall in love with a customer. Never.

But, of course, That's what I did. Nox Renaud is perhaps the richest entrepreneur in New Orleans.

But he's also the most stunning, attractive and seductive man I've ever met. And he wants me.

Every time he touches me and is in me, it feels heavenly.

It's pure ecstasy.

Our love is so pure, so real, so animalistic ...

Nothing will divide us, not even the dark forces that threaten us.

Nothing and no one will be able to stop me from loving this man forever ...

Chapter One

Amber Duplas squinted at her oldest and dearest friend as he handed her a plate of perfectly-cooked eggs. “Nox Renaud, you are a pain in my ass.”

Nox, his green eyes amused, grinned at her. “Well then, my work here is done. But why?”

Amber sighed and bunched her auburn hair up into a ponytail. “You’re one of the wealthiest land owners in New Orleans, an incredibly successful businessman, and—according to Forbes—one of the world’s most eligible bachelors. And yet you stand in your own palatial kitchen …” she gestured around the vast room, “cooking me eggs for brunch yourself. Haven’t you heard of chefs?”

Nox shook his head. He was used to this line of questioning from Amber. “You know I don’t like a lot of people around me, Ambs.”

Amber forked some egg into her mouth, almost swooning at the taste. “Which is why you’re a pain. I’m worried that you’ll become a hermit.”

“I think hermithood arrived a while ago,” Nox said mildly. “Look, I know you mean well, but I’m nearly forty, and I’m set in my ways. I like being alone.” He dumped a panful of eggs onto his own plate and sat down. “And anyway, in a few days, the best and brightest will be here to drink my champagne and bother me all night. God, why do I do this every year?” He groaned and Amber laughed.

“Such a Grinch.” She ruffled his dark curls and he grinned, though he was sighing on the inside. The Renaud family had given a Halloween charity benefit since way before Nox’s birth—it had been a special project of his beloved mother’s. Before the tragedy, of course. Despite his solitary nature, Nox could not bear to dishonor his mother’s legacy.

His eyes flicked over to the framed picture of her and Teague, his adored elder brother, on the kitchen counter. Both of them dark and beautiful, laughing and hugging. Both of them gone so senselessly.

The tragedy of the Renaud family was known throughout Louisiana and beyond. Tynan Renaud, a respected businessman, adoring husband to the Italian-born Gabriella, and heroic father to his sons Teague and Nox, had suffered a psychotic break and gunned down his wife and eldest son one night before turning the gun on himself. Nox, away at college at the time, had been destroyed. After dropping out of school and coming home to the huge plantation mansion out on the Bayou, he had struggled for years to understand what his father had done.

Amber and his other friends had tried to persuade him to sell the place where his mother and brother had been murdered, but Nox refused. He took over his brother’s business with his friend Sandor, and together, they had made a success of it. The company, RenCar, quickly became an outlet to forget his pain, with Nox pouring twenty hours a day into the work. Luxury food importing had never been his dream—was it anyone’s?—but he had found something he was good at, and that was enough for him. His boyhood dreams of becoming a musician were pushed aside for something that would utterly distract him. The studio his mother had set aside for both of them to work in had stood empty for almost twenty years now …as had Nox’s heart.

He realized he wasn’t listening to Amber now and apologized. She rolled her blue eyes. “Nox, I’m used to you spacing out on me, but listen, this is your party. I’m just saying, why don’t you try to be more gregarious for a change? These people pay a lot of money to come here.”

“Mostly to see the murder house,” he mumbled, and Amber made an annoyed click with her tongue.

“Maybe so, but the money we raise goes to a good cause, doesn’t it? Something good to come out of—damn it, Nox, you’re not the only one who lost someone.” To his horror, he saw tears in her eyes. He reached over and took her hand.

“Ambs, I’m sorry, I know. I miss Ariel too, every day.” He sighed. So much pain, so much death. Amber was right; he needed to get out of this self-pitying funk.

“All I ask is for you to do your part on the night. Mingle and talk to your guests.” Amber’s tone was calmer now and she smiled at him, her face soft and her eyes on his, holding them for a beat too long. Nox nodded, looking away finally.

“I promise.”

After Amber had gone, he wandered into his living room and flicked on the television. Local news station WDSUwas doing a feature on Halloween New Orleans, the magical, manic mayhem of the festival the city threw every October. Nox sighed and waited for the inevitable mention of his party. “Wait for it,” he muttered to himself. “Will it be the Renaud Family Curse or the Mansion with the Dark Secrets, first?”

The anchor looked serious. “Of course, before the festivities kick off on Halloween night, the New Orleans elite will gather at the Renaud mansion out on the Bayou. Regular viewers will know that the annual Creepy Cocktails Gala Benefit is held every year at the place some locals call ‘the mansion with a dark history.’ More on that after these messages.”

Nox clicked off the television with an annoyed flick of his hand. Same story every year, and now his guests who watched the news would be all the more curious about the only remaining Renaud. Damn it.

His cellphone rang and he answered it gratefully. “Sandor, man, you have impeccable timing.”

His friend laughed. “Any time. Listen, we may have a deal on the Laurent restaurant chain.”

Nox sat up. “Really?” The Laurent business was worth twice what they had offered, but had been on the market for two years with no interest. Nox knew if they got it at a cheap price and refurbished it, it could make them a fortune. He and Sandor had decided to branch out into buying restaurants to serve their luxury foods as a new income stream—not that either of them needed it, but they both were bored with their business. They wanted to get their hands dirty and do something—something physical rather than just importing food for, well, people like them.

“Yep. Gustav Laurent is getting a divorce and he wants to get rid of the property quickly.”

Nox was astonished. “Gus is divorcing Kathryn?”

“Seems so. Seems like she was sleeping around on him.”

Nox made a half-amused, half-scornful noise. “Like Gustav hasn’t been fucking around on her for years.”

“You know Gus.”

“Sadly, yes. Listen, I can be there in a half hour.”

“Good,” Sandor replied. “And, afterward, I’ll spot you lunch. Deal?”

Nox smiled down the phone. “Deal. See you then.”

Livia Chatelaine balanced three plates expertly along her left arm and carried them to the table. The two women and the child seated at the table smiled gratefully at her as she laid their food in front of them and returned their grins. “Enjoy, folks. Let me know if you need anything else.”

She skirted back to another table that was waiting for their check and settled up with them quickly and with her innate friendliness. She had been working at Le Chat Noir café in the French Quarter for three months now, ever since she had packed her whole life into her battered old Gremlin and driven across the country from San Diego.

Moriko, her best friend from college, had been in New Orleans for a year and had gotten her the job at the café—it didn’t hurt that the owner, a handsome, dark-haired Frenchman called Marcel, had a huge crush on Moriko and would have hired anyone she recommended. Thankfully, though, Livia and Marcel had become good friends, and Livia showed up early, stayed late, and worked her ass off for him. In return, he gave her the shifts that fit best with her studies and paid her enough that she could afford the tiny apartment she shared with Moriko.

Livia had decided as she left San Diego that she wouldn’t return to her hometown again. It held no interest for her now, and there wasn’t any family left there that she cared about. An only child, her mother had died when she was young, and Livia had brought herself up. She’d worked hard at school and at various jobs to put food on the table, while her father drank himself into a stupor every night and screamed at her if she disturbed him. Livia had stopped caring years ago about the man. As far as she was concerned, he was merely the sperm donor. What she remembered of her mother were warm, happy memories. Cancer was a fucker and it had stolen her happiness away when she was five. Livia’s last memory of her mother was of the beautiful woman kissing her goodbye one day before school, and that was the last time she had seen her. Her father hadn’t let her see her after she died.

Livia had put herself through college on a scholarship and by working three jobs, and it had become second nature to always fight and scrape for everything. It gave her energy and reason, and when she had graduated top of her class, it had all been worth it. Her tutors had been loath to let her go and had championed her to apply for post-graduate research scholarships, but it had taken Livia four years to finally secure an offer from the University of New Orleans.

“Hey, dreamer.” Moriko nudged Livia out of her reverie and her friend smiled at her. Moriko, a tiny Japanese-American of exquisite beauty— and she knew it—hoisted herself up onto the counter. “Marcel needs a favor.”

Livia hid a grin. When Marcel sent Moriko to do his dirty work it meant that, whatever the favor was, it would be a big—and probably inconvenient—one. “What is it?”

“Well, he’s been asked to cater the Renaud party on Saturday. You know which one I mean?”

Livia shook her head. “Nope.”

Moriko rolled her eyes. “It’s an annual thing Nox Renaud does. He throws a Halloween gala party and gives a ton of money to charity.”

“Never heard of him, or it. So, what’s the favor?” Livia thought she could guess—Marcel needed waitstaff. A moment later, Moriko confirmed her suspicions.

“He was going to hire in silver service staff, but apparently they don’t want anything but canapés and cocktails. Silver service staff would cost him more than he’s making so …”

Livia smiled at her. “It’s no problem. Usual uniform?” She pulled down on her too-tight white shirt and tucked it back into the black mini she wore to serve. It barely contained her lush curves—her full breasts and softly curved belly. Her legs, long and slender, were encased in black tights and she wore flat pumps, absolutely refusing to wear heels to wait tables. Livia wasn’t the tallest girl, but her long legs made her look taller than her five-five height, and her long tawny waves were her crowning glory. She had pulled her almost waist-length hair into a bun, but it was forever escaping the clips. Moriko grabbed it now and twisted it up for her. Livia shot her a grateful smile. “Thanks, boo. I really should cut it all off.”

“No way,” Moriko said, her own shiny black hair falling in a straight curtain down her back. “I’d kill for your curls.”

“So, Saturday night, waitressing for the rich muckety-mucks?”

“I’ll be there too. Hey, at least we get to snoop around the rich guy’s house.”

Livia sighed to herself. She honestly didn’t mind helping Marcel out, but she had very little time for rich boys with too much money. She’d had to wait on them enough in her time.

She went back out to the café and grimaced. Two regulars had just come into the restaurant. Speaking of rich muckety-mucks, she thought, plastering a fake smile on her face. The woman, an icy-looking blonde with bright red lipstick and cold blue eyes, looked at her dismissively. “Egg white omelet with spinach and a mangotini.” She didn’t look at the menu once. Her companion, a suave-looking man who at least smiled at Livia and said please and thank you whenever he was in, nodded.

“Same for me please, Liv. Good to see you again.”

Livia smiled at him. She judged him for the company he kept, but if she was fair, he was always polite to her. She knew his companion was called Odelle, and her father was one of the richest men in the state. It didn’t impress Livia. “You too, sir. Sure I can’t interest either of you in some French fries to go with your salad?”

Odelle looked horrified, but her companion grinned. “Why not?”

Livia grinned and disappeared into the kitchen. Marcel slunk in and smiled at her. “Thanks for Saturday, Livvy. I’ll pay you double.”

She kissed his cheek. “No problem, pal.”

Marcel, his eyes so dark you couldn’t see the pupils, nodded to the restaurant. “I see Elsa and Lumiere are in the restaurant.”

Livia laughed. “You’re getting your Disney all mixed up, and anyway, he’s okay. But, yeah, she is the Ice Queen.”

“Don’t let their wealth get to you. It was all inherited, not earned.”

“Oh, I know, and it doesn’t bother me. Money can’t buy breeding,” Livia shrugged off the woman’s rudeness. “I can honestly say these people and their ways don’t keep me up at night, Marcel.”

“I’m just saying because I know the man, Roan Saintmarc, is Nox Renaud’s best friend. It’s more than likely they’ll be at the party on Saturday.” Marcel grinned at Livia, who rolled her eyes. “Just promise me you won’t tip their meals into their laps.”

Livia snorted. “I promise, honey.”

“Good girl.”

Livia finished out her shift, then walked home through the busy streets of the French Quarter. She had fallen in love with this city—the slow, sensual heat, the sultry, laidback nature of the people. Strangely, for a city known for its voodoo and black magic, she had never felt uneasy walking the streets at night here.

Moriko was still at work when Livia got back to their apartment, so Livia took a long hot shower, then made herself a bowl of soup, grabbing some saltines from the pack in the kitchen. As she ate, she flicked through the television channels, but soon got bored. Dumping her bowl in the sink, she washed it out, then decided to go to bed to read. She had a piano recital coming up and she wanted to go through the score again, miming her key strokes in the air. She fell asleep with Moriko’s cat cuddling in next to her and didn’t hear her roommate come home.

Out on the bayou, Nox too had fallen into a deep sleep, but his was not so peaceful. Almost instantly the nightmares came. A woman, a beautiful young woman he knew but one whose face he could not see, was calling to him, begging him to save her. There was blood, so much blood, and he ran through the darkened mansion, wading through something—blood?—to get to her. A dark, malevolent force overcame everything, stopping Nox from reaching the girl. He heard her screams cut off abruptly and knew he was too late. He sank to his knees.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. His mother was smiling at him. “Don’t you know you’ll never save them?” she said softly. “Everyone you love will die, my beloved son. I died, your father, your brother … Ariel. You’ll always be alone.”

Nox awoke, gasping for air in a pool of his own sweat, the certainty of his dream mother’s words screaming around his mind.

Don’t fall in love. Don’t risk it. Don’t let anyone else get hurt.

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 fuck 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 cock 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, fuck off.” Her voice carried down to the street, and she heard Roan’s throaty laugh from behind her.

“Don’t be a bitch, 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 bitch. 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 cock 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 clit as he fucked her, and soon she was moaning and shivering through one orgasm 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 fucking crazy.”

Odelle smiled and squeezed his diminishing cock 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 fuck 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. Shit, shit, shit. 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 fuck,” 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.

Chapter Three

Amber rolled her eyes as Nox sat down at the table. It was the French Quarter, with busy streets and lunchtime crowds, and the restaurant Amber had chosen was almost full. “You’re late again, Renaud. Where’s the Rolex I bought you last year?”

Nox sighed, kissing her cheek. “You know I don’t like to wear it out in public. It looks too ostentatious. Not that I’m not grateful for it,” he added, seeing Amber’s frown, “it was a lovely gift. I just don’t know if it’s really me.”

Amber opened her mouth to argue, then gave up. Nox looked different and had seemed different—lighter—since the party. Amber had wondered if it was just the relief of getting it over and done with for another year, but it had been a week since the party and every time she had seen him, Nox had been happy.

“What’s going on with you?” she asked him now, and Nox, who was reading the menu, glanced up and smiled at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean … you look different. You look … lighter.”

“I haven’t lost weight, far from it.”

Amber rolled her eyes again. Nox was nowhere in the vicinity of overweight. “I mean emotionally. You seem to be carrying yourself more cheerfully than usual.”

Nox laughed, his green eyes twinkling. “Do I?”

“Fine, don’t tell me then.” Amber snatched the menu from him grumpily and sulked behind it. Nox smothered a grin.

“Ambs … you ever have one of those moments in life, however fleeting, where someone or something just reminds you why you’re alive? Someone who sets off a thought process that makes you reevaluate your entire existence?”

“Is this your fancy way of saying you got laid?” Amber felt a twinge of jealousy go through her and brushed it away. He doesn’t belong to you … he never did.

Nox shook his head. “No, I haven’t … no. I just had a moment with someone, a woman, at the party. I’d like to see her again, is all.”

“Really?” Amber ran through all of the party guests in her head, and Nox just smiled and shook his head. “Who?”