Waking Up with a Billionaire Excerpt by Katie Lane

It wasn’t like Chloe was standing in front of Grayson buck-naked. The black bra-and-panty set Madison had given her wasn’t even as skimpy as some of her bikinis. And yet she couldn’t seem to help the flush of embarrassment as Grayson’s violet eyes ran over her.

Did he think she was too skinny? Too flat-chested? Too slim-hipped? Did he think the tattoo on her hip bone was cheap? Did he notice the scars on her knees from being a clumsy kid and that her second toes were longer than her big toes? To someone who had photographed and painted the most beautiful women in the world, Chloe must be a major disappointment. If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it. His face gave nothing away. He just sat studying her as his chest slowly rose and fell with each breath.

This was the first time she’d seen Grayson without a shirt. Even in Fiji he had worn a T-shirt with his board shorts. At the time she’d thought he was embarrassed about his body. Now she realized that he had nothing to be embarrassed about.

Grayson had the type of body that women drooled over and men wished they’d been blessed with. His bones were long, and his muscles lean—although they seemed to bunch in all the right places. Like his biceps. His shoulders. And the hard pectoral muscles that flexed beneath her gaze. Suddenly her flush had nothing to do with standing before him in her underwear and everything to do with the hot spring of desire that welled up inside her.

A click pulled her gaze away from his muscled chest to the camera he held to his face. When he lowered it, his expression was hard and unyielding.

“There. I took a picture. Now get out.”

If not for Mrs. Beaumont’s offer, Chloe might’ve given up. She really didn’t need the aggravation. Unfortunately, what she did need was money. She placed a hand on her hip. “That’s it? You aren’t even going to give it the old college try?”

“What do you know about the old college try?”

The words stung, and she really wanted to come back with a scalding reply. Instead she kept her cool. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. Now are you going to make an attempt at getting over your painter’s block or am I going to need to take more clothes off—”

“Fine! You want a photographer, you’ll get a photographer.” Jerking back the covers, he got out of bed and walked to his dresser, where he put down the camera long enough to open a drawer.

He continued to rant and rave, but Chloe wasn’t listening. She couldn’t hear anything over the loud pounding of desire in her ears. In nothing but a pair of tight white boxer briefs, Grayson was more than just hot. He was molten. Or maybe the sight of the impressive bulge stretching the seam in the front and the nice butt stretching the white cotton in the back had just made her feel molten. Sort of like her insides had turned to magma and were waiting to erupt.

It took his slipping on a pair of ripped, faded jeans for her brain to function again. Although it wasn’t functioning very fast. Not when he still looked so good. The jeans molded to his butt and legs, and his back muscles flexed as he picked up his cell phone and tapped the screen. Hard-core rap music came from the speaker on the nightstand, but not loud enough that she couldn’t hear his commands.

“Get on the bed.”

“Excuse me?”

He sent her an exasperated look as he moved a floor lamp closer to the bed and turned it on. “If we’re going to do this, then you need to follow directions. Now get on the bed. I want you on your stomach with your head by the headboard and your ass toward me.” He grabbed the covers and jerked them to the floor.

“I don’t think…,” she started, but he cut her off.

“It’s not your job to think. Just take orders.”

After Zac she had sworn that she would never take orders from a boyfriend again. But Grayson wasn’t her boyfriend. At the moment he was her photographer—soon to be her employer if she could get him to paint her. So she crawled onto the mattress and tried to follow his instructions. Unfortunately, she had never modeled before and didn’t have a clue how to arrange her arms and legs. She ended up keeping her arms at her sides and her legs together…like a circus performer getting ready to be shot out of a cannon.

She heard an exasperated groan before the mattress sagged and a pair of lean, muscled thighs in ripped jeans straddled her. Pinned, she could do nothing but lie there as he rearranged her limbs with hands that felt as hot as the spot between her legs. His fingers encircled her wrists and lifted her arms so they curved around her head. He leaned in and spoke against her ear, his breath hot and spicy. “Close your eyes and don’t move a muscle.”

He didn’t have to worry. She had no muscle. She was just a puddle of tingly sensations. Fortunately, he released her wrists and got off. Although a second later his hand was back, leaving a trail of heat as he bent one knee and angled her leg to the side until she felt completely exposed.. There was a pause, and just the thought of him looking at her made Chloe feel vulnerable and…anticipatory. Which was crazy. She was not having sex with Grayson Beaumont. Not only because he didn’t like her but also because she was taking a break from men. All men. But mostly arrogant bad boys. And even though he hadn’t been a bad boy, Grayson was a bad boy now.

A very, very bad boy.

Her breath hitched when he slipped a warm finger inside the elastic edge of her panties and tugged. He did the same to the other side, leaving her with exposed butt cheeks and a satiny wedgie that deliciously abraded the heated spot between her legs. She bit her lip to keep from groaning and waited for his next touch…actually craved it. But instead there was another long stretch of silence.

“Is something wrong?” she croaked out in a voice she didn’t recognize.

“Nothing,” he said. “You’re perfect—I mean the pose. The pose is perfect.”

Before she could think too much about his words, he got off the bed. Only a second later, there was a camera click, followed by a succession of staccato clicks.

“Roll to your back,” he ordered. She did and found him standing on the bed, looking down at her with an intensity that left her breathless. “Knee bent. Hands over your head. That’s it. Keep your eyelids half closed and lips slightly parted.” His gaze lowered to her mouth, and she could almost feel those indigo orbs lasering right through her. “Wet your lips,” he said, his voice softer and huskier. Her tongue flicked out. He studied her, his long lashes half covering his eyes. “More.”

She swept her tongue over her top lip before pulling her bottom lip into her mouth and sucking on it gently. Grayson didn’t move. Not a muscle. His entire attention seemed to be riveted on her mouth. Then the hand that wasn’t holding the camera twitched. The movement seemed to snap both of them out of their trances, and he lifted the camera to his eye and snapped off numerous shots.

“Stand up,” he ordered. She was surprised by how quickly she complied. The desire strumming through her body had really messed with her head. “Hold on to the headboard with your back arched and ass out. Glance over your right shoulder…the other right.”

She switched shoulders and forced a smile, even though she didn’t feel like smiling. She felt like reaching orgasm. It had been over six months since she’d had sex, and she hadn’t realized how much she missed it until now.

“No smile,” he said. “Think of something sexy and let your lips relax naturally.”

It wasn’t hard to do. The “something sexy” was standing on the bed right behind her. Grayson looked sexier than anything Chloe could ever dream up in her head. His jeans hung low, showing off the white waistband of his boxer briefs and the muscles of his stomach. He didn’t have an obvious six-pack, but there was enough definition to make Chloe want to run her tongue over each dip and hard ridge.

“Good,” he said as he crouched down. “That’s exactly what I wanted. Now turn around and lean against the headboard with your right leg stretched out and your left slightly bent.” He turned the camera and clicked off some more shots. “Head thrown back and looking at the ceiling.”

There was a staccato of clicks before a long stretch of silence that had Chloe lowering her head. Grayson had gotten off the bed and was rummaging through the chest of drawers. When he found what he wanted, he turned and strode toward her. Or more like stalked. He jumped to the bed like a tiger after its prey, and within seconds was standing in front of her, his naked chest filling her entire vision.

She fought with the desire to lean in and capture one of his quarter-size brown nipples in her mouth. Would he taste as good as he looked? While she was lost in her fantasy, something cold touched her shoulder. She started and glanced down to see a dab of purple paint.

“What—” she started to ask, but the word ended on a hiss of air when Grayson smeared the paint over the top of one breast and across her collarbone to the opposite shoulder. Seconds later, another dab—this one a shimmery silver—was smeared in the opposite direction. After that it was a free-for-all of paint dabs and smears. Her arms. Her stomach. Her legs. Even her cheeks got a streak of purple and silver.

Chloe didn’t object. She couldn’t. Not when her insides quivered and her thighs clenched with every single stroke of his hot fingers against her skin. By the time he finished, she was a trembling mass of need while Grayson seemed completely unaffected. He jumped off the bed, wiped his hands on the dress shirt he’d left on the floor, then grabbed the camera and started issuing orders again. But this time he punctuated every order with words of praise. And Chloe had always been a sucker for praise.

“Perfect. That’s exactly what I wanted.” Click. Click. Click.

“Yes, wet those lips. I love the pout.” Click. Click. Click.

“You’re beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.” Click. Click. Click.

“More, baby. Give me more.”

She gave him more. Fueled by his praise, she primped and posed to the seductive thump of the rap music, not for the camera but for Grayson. It was Grayson she wanted to please. And when her bra strap slipped off her shoulder, she didn’t pull it back up. She left it there, even leaned so her breast swelled over the cup.

Click. Click. Click. “Yes, baby. That’s what I want. Perfect. You’re so damned perfect.”

She pushed down the cup and revealed her entire breast, then dipped her finger in the still-wet paint and streaked it across her naked breast. The touch of her finger on her hardened nipple caused her breath to halt, and she tipped her head back and released a deep throaty moan. When it ended, she noticed two things: The camera clicks had stopped. And Grayson’s heavy breathing could be heard over the rap music. (Waking Up with a Billionaire by Katie Lane)