The Illegitimate Billionaire - Barbara Dunlop

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that?”

      “Because it’s true.”

      “We’re talking about you letting Lawrence think I made a big donation to the beautification committee.”

      “We can’t do that while I’m holding you hand?”

      “Deacon.”

      “What?” Instead of waiting for an answer, he took her hand as they walked beneath the arching oak trees.

      She knew she should pull away, but she didn’t seem to have it in her. “Lawrence just called me,” she persisted.

      “Good.” They took a few more steps. “Right?”

      It was definitely good holding hands. In fact, it was great holding hands. His was strong. It felt manly. It was a manly hand, and she liked that.

      “Callie?”

      “Huh?”

      “What did Lawrence say?”

      “Oh.” She put her focus back on track. “He said my permit will be approved on Wednesday.”

      Deacon squeezed her hand, lifting it to his lips to give it a kiss. “That’s fantastic!”

      She let his action sink in for a moment.

      He’d kissed her.

      It was on the hand, sure. But he’d kissed her, and she’d liked it. Her lips tingled as she thought about the kiss. They were jealous of her hand.

      She ordered herself to get a grip. She got a grip, tamping down her wayward reaction.

      “You bribed him,” she said, making sure she sounded disapproving.

      “That wasn’t a bribe. It was inspiration.”

      “It was money.”

      “A bribe would be if you called him up and said ‘I’ll give you two-thousand dollars if you approve my permit.’”

      “I didn’t do that.” Her brained clicked through the implications. “Did I break the law?”

      He chuckled. “You’re too much.” Then he lifted her hand to kiss it again.

      He held it still against his lips. He stopped walking, and she stopped too.

      He turned to gaze into her eyes. She felt a wash of helpless desire warm her body and flush her skin.

      He wrapped his free hand around her upper arm, urging her gently backward into a narrow, cobblestone alley.

      “Can I kiss you?” he whispered. “I want to kiss you.”

      She didn’t even think to refuse. “Yes.”

       Three

      Deacon’s anticipation of the kiss went way beyond the role he was playing. He truly wanted to kiss Callie senseless. But he forced himself to take it slow.

      He brushed the back of his hand over her cheek, marveling at the softness of her creamy skin. “You’re beautiful.”

      Her red lips parted, softening, while her blue-green eyes went opaque. She looked slightly tremulous, compellingly innocent. Even as he questioned her authenticity, he reacted to the sensual image with a rush of passion and an overwhelming surge of possessiveness.

      He leaned down and brought his lips to hers.

      She tasted like honey. Her lips were tender and malleable. She returned his kiss, and a tidal wave of desire hijacked his senses.

      He spread his fingers into her hair, releasing its lavender scent into the summer breeze. He placed his palm on the small of her back, drawing her close, reveling in the touch of her soft, toned body. She molded against him.

      Her head tipped to the side, and he deepened the kiss. She welcomed his tongue, answering it with her own. He could feel his arousal build. He was dimly aware they were on the street, barely masked by the stone buildings on either side. He could feel himself stop caring.

      But then her palms went to his chest, and she gave the lightest of pushes.

      He immediately broke the kiss and backed off. His breathing was deep and ragged, and his head was swirling with a cocktail of hormones and emotions. What on earth had just happened?

      “I’m sorry,” she said, with a tremble to her tone.

      He took another half step back and blew out a breath, struggling to get his bearings. “I’m the one who’s sorry. That was my fault.”

      “It’s just...” She glanced to the sidewalk behind him.

      “Anybody could have seen us.” He finished her thought.

      “It’s complicated,” she said.

      He couldn’t help but wonder if she meant it was complicated because of her feelings for Mayor Watkins or because of Frederick’s recent passing. She still wore her wedding ring.

      “I understand,” Deacon said. Whether it was Hank or Frederick, Deacon’s job right now was the same, behave like a perfect gentleman. “I wasn’t trying to rush you or push you. I’d be happy just to take you out for coffee.”

      A man’s voice sounded behind Deacon. “Callie?”

      Concern crossed her face.

      Deacon turned to see Hank Watkins on the sidewalk behind them.

      “Hello, Hank,” she said, shifting from behind Deacon, putting some more space between the two of them. “You remember Deacon Holt?”

      Hank’s attention shifted to Deacon for a brief second, just long enough to be dismissive.

      “I was looking for you at the bakery,” Hank said to her.

      “Oh?” Guilt was pretty clear in her voice.

      Deacon would bet she was either dating Hank, or at least stringing him along.

      He decided to test his theory by shifting closer to her. “I don’t know if Callie mentioned it, but my company, Mobi Transportation, is looking to open a new terminal in North Carolina.”

      As Mayor, the prospect should have pleased Hank. But as Callie’s boyfriend, it would annoy him.

      It annoyed him.

      “I see,” Hank said, jaw tightening and eyes going hard. “Am I to understand you’re considering Charleston?”

      “He wanted to keep it quiet,” Callie said in a rush, putting the space back between her and Deacon. It sounded suspiciously like she was making an excuse for keeping the information from Hank. “For business purposes,” she finished.

      “Callie has been very kind in helping me understand the city,” Deacon said.

      Hank’s nostrils flared.

      “Did you need to talk about something?” she asked Hank.

      Hank refocused his attention on her, and his expression smoothed out. “I spoke with Lawrence this morning. I understand it’s good news all around.”

      “You mean the permit?”

      “I mean the donation. Well played, Callie.”

      “It wasn’t—”

      “She was just telling me about the positive outcome,” Deacon put in.

      Hank’s gaze hardened on Deacon. “She was, was she?”

      “I agree with you,” Deacon told Hank, pretending to be oblivious to the undercurrents. “The donation was a good move. The permit should be in place this week, and she can get moving on the renovations.”

      “She doesn’t

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