How to Bag a Billionaire

All?

That was easy for Adam to say, because he was obviously born to circulate. Olivia could only watch him in admiration as they trekked around, her heels sinking into the plush carpet, on an endless circuit of the magnificent room.

Adam made sure he spoke with each and every individual guest—a laugh here, a gesture there, serious or jokey as the occasion warranted. But he also subtly promoted the auction at every turn. No wonder he didn’t bring a date to this event; his focus was on working the room as host, leaving Olivia with nothing to do except be decorative.

Which gave her way too much opportunity to watch him. To study the way his body filled out his tuxedo to perfection. To appreciate the breadth of his chest, the power of his thighs, the lithe stride. To admire the planes and angles of his face, lit and shadowed by the glittering shards of illumination.

Little surprise her hormones refused to stand down; fuelled by unfamiliar attraction, intoxicated by his nearness, by his tantalising woodsy scent, they didn’t know whether they were somersaulting or cartwheeling.

The result was a strange heat in her tummy, a dizzying awareness of Adam that wouldn’t go away.

His broad thigh pressed against hers during the lavish dinner, making it hard to balance her food on her fork let alone appreciate the melt-in-the-mouth four courses.

Focus, Olivia. On the beautifully decorated table with its intricately folded napkins and stunning centrepieces of cream flowers. On the sparkle of the floating candles. On anything other than Adam Masterson and the flame of desire that licked her insides every time his arm brushed hers.

Madness. This was sheer, unprecedented stupidity.

The evening took on a surrealism in which her entire being was caught up in Adam Masterson. She was mesmerised by his auctioneering power as he stood on the podium and used a mixture of charm and unquestionable sincerity to entice bids so high that Olivia felt she was on a gigantic Monopoly board.

Problem was, she was the Scottie dog. Practically panting over Adam Masterson. Self-disgust mingled with panic as she gulped down fizzy water in the hope of cooling herself down. This was nuts.

Wrenching her gaze away from the podium, she sighed. Adam Masterson embodied everything she disliked: rich, arrogant—he was way too reminiscent of her mum’s boyfriends. To say nothing of the fact that Olivia Evans didn’t pant over any man; she wouldn’t give one the satisfaction of having that level of power over her.

‘No one believes a word of all this, you know.’

Olivia looked up from her study of the snow-white tablecloth and beheld a well-known face and figure. Oh, just freaking fabulous. Here was a woman whose pictures Olivia had pored over in the fashion magazines—an ice-blonde supermodel who had partied with designers galore, a woman Olivia would normally have loved to speak to. But instead of discussing style this was going to be a grown-up version of the playground.

Candice’s iconic lip twisted into a sneer as she slid her svelte body, clad in shimmering gold, onto a chair to the right of Olivia. ‘Genuine article, my ass.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard me.’ The supermodel crossed her legs, presumably to reveal the thigh-high slit in her dress to best effect. ‘You’re just another cheap ’n easy bagger after Adam’s money and a quick shag you can run to the tabloids with.’

The venom-tinged arrows hit their mark, but Olivia was damned if she’d show it. Gripping her hands round the edge of the table to hide their tremor, she pushed the memory of childhood taunts from her mind and met Candice’s gaze. Play it cool, Liv.

‘And you are...?’ Olivia asked, sensing that the idea of not being recognised would lance the model’s ego—or at least divert the attack.

A hiss showed she’d bullseyed the target, but before Candice could respond Olivia heard the chair to her left scrape back across the marbled floor.

‘Candice, here, paid good money to be here tonight in the hope of bagging Adam herself.’

Olivia turned as another catwalk regular, Jessie T, vivid in an electric blue sheath dress, dropped gracefully into the seat. Olivia’s stomach plummeted; this really was the resurrection of her childhood nightmare—only instead of being surrounded by pigtails she was surrounded by stylish coiffures. For a second she was tempted to push the table over and do a runner.

Until the newcomer gave her a ghost of a wink as she pressed one elegantly manicured turquoise fingernail to her cheek. ‘In fact, let me see... My guess is that Candice sees herself as a “high-class” bagger, who is after one night of making sweet love before she gets herself a slot in Frisson or Glossip. Sound right, Candice?’ Jessie grinned as Candice pushed her chair back and rose to her stillettoed feet. ‘She’s just annoyed that her plans have been foiled by you, darlin’.’

With a swing of her trademark raven bob Jessie turned her back on her rival, apparently impervious to her poison-tainted glare, until finally Candice sashayed away towards the podium.

‘Hey, Olivia, I’m—’

‘Jessie T. I know. And...um...thank you.’

‘No worries. Adam asked me to keep an eye on you. He figured you might have to take some flak.’

Olivia blinked, feeling that insidious warmth resurging in her chest. Adam might be using her as a shield but he was doing his best to protect her, as well.

‘Don’t look so surprised. Adam’s a good guy. Hell, darlin’, if I wasn’t a happily married woman I’d give you a run for your money.’

Before Olivia could come up with a response Jessie rose to her feet with feline grace.

‘Have fun. But a word of warning—watch out for Candice; she can get her panties in a tight twist if things don’t go her way.’

The dark-haired woman turned and high-fived Adam as he approached the table, before heading towards a group that contained her Hollywood producer husband.

Olivia looked at Adam and wished her pulse-rate would calm down. ‘Thanks for asking Jessie to look out for me. And...’ she nodded at the podium ‘...you did an amazing job up there.’

‘No problem—and thank you.’

There was pride in his voice, pride and something else. Almost as if he had a personal stake in the charity. Which would explain his dedication all night, his attention to every detail, and the way he had interacted with those guests whose lives had been touched by the terrible pain of cancer.

‘It’s a great cause,’ she said softly.

‘Yes, it is.’ Silence lingered in the air between them and he rubbed a hand over his face as if to clear unwelcome thoughts. ‘Now it’s time to dance.’

Dance? ‘I’d rather not.’ In fact she’d rather stick needles under her nails. Because instinct told her that until she got her errant body under control dancing with Adam was a disastrously bad idea.

‘It wasn’t a request.’ There was that steely undertone again—the voice of someone used to getting his own way.

‘And I don’t take orders.’ Irritation added to her jangled nerves as she glared at him. Clearly his hormones weren’t tripping over themselves at the thought of a dance with her.

‘Helen has requested photos of us dancing, so I suggest we provide them. She’s not a fool. Plus, she can hardly have missed how jumpy you are.’

‘Of course I’m jumpy. Posing as your date isn’t easy on the nerves. Especially as I haven’t been briefed. I don’t know the first thing about you.’

Brown eyes crinkled in sudden amusement. ‘Most of my dates don’t; I wouldn’t worry about it.’ He held out a hand. ‘Come on, Olivia. Will you dance with me? One dance. It might be fun.’

Now, that really wasn’t playing fair.

He’d knocked the moral high ground from under her feet in one deft manoeuvre. As for his smile... A curl of heat spread through her midriff right down to her toes.

She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. ‘I truly can’t dance.’

‘Just follow my lead.’

‘I wish you’d stop saying that.’

‘Come on,’ he urged again. ‘We need to lull Helen’s suspicions.’

Unfortunately Adam was right. ‘I’m not sure her watching me stumble round a dance floor will help anything,’ Olivia said as she stood up. ‘But, hey, what’s a little public humiliation?’

‘You can’t be that bad.’

As though on his say-so she would suddenly develop balletic ability. Olivia huffed out a sigh. ‘Yes, I can. I’m totally uncoordinated. Penguins dance better than me. Don’t make me make an utter idiot of myself.’

‘Hang on tight and you’ll be fine.’

Yeah, right. Hang on tight to which bit, exactly? Hanging on tight to any part of Adam seemed a terminally bad idea.

What was the matter with her? Her body had never, ever reacted to a man like this. Sure, her relationships had entered the bedroom, but the va-va-voom hadn’t really revved up until... Well, quite a long way into proceedings. If she were brutally honest her bedroom dealings had been mostly va rather than va-va, and voom had rarely been accomplished.

Whereas now they weren’t even in the vicinity of a bedroom, they were in public, and they hadn’t even kissed. Yet her body was accelerating forward, fuelled by high-octane desire, and she couldn’t find the brake.

Now they were on the wretched dance floor and Adam enfolded her waist, his fingers burning through the silky thin material of her dress. The breadth of his palm imprinted on her like a brand as he pulled her closer. Heat scorched through her; he was so close.... Firm, hard muscle pressed against her. His breath tickled her newly sensitised earlobe.

‘You need to relax.’

As if that was going to happen; a bucketload of Valium wouldn’t relax her.

‘Arrgle...’ The noise was all she could achieve.

She could see Helen seated at a table on the edge of the dance floor, directing the photographer.

‘You’re doing fine,’ he murmured. ‘But help me out a bit more here. Maybe put your arms round my neck.’

She did as he suggested and came flush up against his wide chest. Her breath caught in her throat and she watched his brown eyes darken, his pulse throb at the base of his neck. Olivia tangled her fingers in his hair and her lungs went on strike.

Suddenly an inability to dance was no longer her prime source of concern. There were more pressing worries. Literally. Her brain issued commands at military speed. Don’t melt. Don’t dribble. Don’t stroke. Don’t lean your head on his chest. Do not get too close.

It was all too late. Her eyes closed. Her body moved tight up against his. Her hips circled. Searched. Needed. Found an unmistakable reaction.

Her eyes flew open as a shiver shot through his broad frame; exultation flamed that she had caused it.

Olivia had forgotten where she was. Who she was. What she was. All she knew was this. This was real. Bone-meltingly real.

The music came to a stop.

Mortification loomed as she remembered exactly where, who and what she was. She was plastered to him; they might as well have been having sex on the dance floor.

For a timeless moment she felt the accelerated thud of his heart against her palm, looked up into eyes that had deepened to molten copper. Then he blinked, his eyelids lifting to reveal nothing more than speculation in their brown depths.

‘That should do it,’ he said.

‘Do what?’

‘Lull any lingering doubt in Helen’s mind. And free me from any unwanted attention from other women.’

Humiliation arrived and encased her with an icy dose of reality.

Adam had orchestrated the whole thing—staged a scene designed to convince the most sceptical of reporters. But it couldn’t all have been an act. No way had he faked what had happened in his trousers. What was still happening in his trousers. Whilst she was still glued to him.

Stepping backwards, she looked up at him, wanting answers.

This was all too much. Never had she been so out of control.

‘So,’ he said, his voice light. ‘Give me ten minutes and I’m all yours.’

Lucky her. She was out of her depth and she didn’t even know how to swim. ‘I don’t need all of you.’ Really?

‘Then you can have whichever parts you want. How’s that?’

He stepped forward and her breathing quickened in response as his woodsy scent re-assaulted her already battered senses.

‘I...’ She needed to time to think, to dunk her body into an ice bath and enable her brain to regain perspective.

Instead, acting of their own will, her feet propelled her towards him to bring her right up close and personal with the hard bulk of his chest and the hardness of his still very present erection. Well, hello again.

‘Come on,’ he growled, the rasp of his voice clenching her tummy muscles. ‘We’re leaving.’

From somewhere a small modicum of common sense asserted itself. ‘But what about the guests?’

‘There’s a free bar and plenty of food. They’ll manage.’

‘But...’

‘Shh.’ Adam laid a finger against her lips, the rough skin tantalising the softness of her mouth.

Olivia swallowed and the final vestige of self-preservation will-o’-the-wisped away into the sparkling hum of the ballroom. Her hand reached out and slipped into his and, oblivious to the murmurs of the guests, she walked with him across the ballroom floor.

To her surprise he retained her hand in his as they half walked, half ran across the marble foyer towards the lifts. Somewhere in the recesses of her brain a voice was hollering for her attention. Screaming at her that what she was doing was downright stupid. But as she gazed down at their hands it seemed to her that, injudicious or not, it was inevitable.

From the moment she’d seen Adam a fuse had been lit; the demon of desire had sizzled and snaked its way into existence and was demanding its sinful needs be met.

The lift door swished open and he tugged her inside, barely waiting until privacy was ensured before pulling her towards him.

FOUR

On some level Adam knew this was a bad idea. Olivia Evans was a mass of contradictions and a billionaire-bagger to boot. But he just didn’t give a damn. That dance had oozed desire. Her whole being had breathed out pure raw need, promised imminent fulfilment. If he’d been capable of thought he would have sworn that all Olivia wanted was to share his bed.

And now here she was, all her professions of caring about what people thought cast to the winds.

The soft curves of her body fused against him, and her apple scent was a further intoxicant. Adam leant back against the steel wall of the lift and offered thanks to the heavens it was for his private use only. So there was no reason not to taste those lush lips right this minute, not to plunder the mouth that had taunted him the whole evening long.

Her hazel eyes met his gaze, brimming with passion. Lifting a hand, Adam swept the mass of strawberry blonde hair off her face and cupped the angle of her jaw, gently smoothing his thumb over the plump softness of her lower lip. She exhaled, a small shudder running through her.

‘I’ve wanted to do this all evening,’ he murmured. ‘Touch you without anyone watching.’

‘I thought it was for show.’

‘It was. Didn’t mean it wasn’t driving me crazy.’ He caressed the bare skin of her shoulder, felt the ripple of goosebumps his fingers left in their wake. ‘This is for real,’ he said, dipping his head to butterfly kiss the light sheen of desire that glistened across her collarbone.

The tang of salt mingled with the sweet infusion of apple and the taste sent heat straight to his groin.

With a sigh she tilted her head and he followed the trail to the crook of her neck; her breathing quickened and he felt her body quiver in response.

‘Adam?’ The question was a whisper as her fingers gripped his shoulders. ‘Kiss me.’

The hounds of hell couldn’t have stopped him now.

The texture of her lips blew him away—soft, lush, a hint of coffee mingled with cinnamon. An exhalation of surrender escaped her as she wrapped her arms around his neck and massaged his nape, then thrust her fingers into his hair, sending shockwaves down his spine.

Her tongue touched his tentatively and primal need jolted him as he skimmed his fingers down her back and cupped the curve of her heart-shaped bottom. Olivia moaned into his mouth and rubbed against him with an urgency that rivalled his.

The lift pinged to a stop and Adam gave a growl of pure frustration before reaching out and hitting the door’s close button.

Olivia didn’t even seem to notice. ‘Want more...’ she murmured against his mouth.

Small fingers pushed at his tux jacket and, understanding her intention, he shrugged it off, the heavy material falling to the floor with a thud.

‘Better?’ he asked.

‘Better,’ she said, tugging at his shirt buttons greedily, deftly pulling the edges of Egyptian cotton apart. ‘Much better.’

She gave a small grunt of pleasure as she slid her hand underneath; her touch electrified him—set up a chain reaction headed due south.

‘My turn,’ he growled, and tore at the zip of her dress, glissading the silken material downward so it shimmied to the floor.

No bra. Sweet Lord. Olivia stood tall and straight and stepped over the pool of black silk. Naked except for flimsy lacy knickers and the lime-green sandals.

‘Perfect,’ Adam breathed. Her breasts were large, her waist slender, hips voluptuous. A body he had every intention of worshipping for hours. ‘Olivia, you are so very beautiful.’

And he was so very hard that any second now the tux pants would have to give.

A small frown etched her wide brow; almost as if he’d said something wrong. He kissed the frown away and cupped the heavy weight of her breast, his thumb swirling over her erect nipple.

A guttural moan escaped her lips to rebound in the steel confines of the lift.

He couldn’t wait. He needed her responsive body writhing under him, at his mercy. Desperation roiled in his gut, his hard-on painful.

Damn it.

‘While I would love to take you up against that glass plate, we have no protection.’ His chest pumped as he hauled in air. He wanted her so damn bad. ‘I need to get you to bed, Olivia. Now.’

She nodded, her face flushed, eyes wide and shell-shocked as he stooped to pick up her dress, held the silken black folds for her to step into. Stopping only to grab his tux and her clutch bag, he jabbed at the lift button.

Crowded thoughts tried to surface but he pushed them away. Instead he enclosed Olivia’s hand; somehow it seemed imperative to keep a connection between them. Fumbling in his pocket for his keycard, he tugged her along the plushly carpeted corridor.

One-handed, he slid the rectangular plastic in and waited for the green light. ‘Come on,’ he muttered, and heard her small breathless laugh beside him.

Finally, finally the key mechanism clicked and he pushed the door open to reveal the immense vaulted corridor that led straight to his bedroom.

Next to him Olivia froze, and without further warning she dropped his hand in an abrupt, almost savage movement.

‘Olivia?’ His brain tried to compute her reaction, struggling to function when his whole body was on high alert.

Her gaze flickered rapidly, eyes wide. Crazy though it seemed, it looked as though she were conducting an in-depth survey of her surroundings.

This was the benchmark suite for all his hotels. The height of luxury—all sleek lines and on modern trend. There were flashes of abstract colour on the cream walls, gleaming wooden floors chosen by one of London’s most iconic designers.

Her strawberry blonde head turned to study the lounge, the decadent enclave visible through the clear glass sliding door. Long dark eyelashes swept down once, then twice, before she slammed her hand onto her forehead.

‘What the hell am I doing?’

She took another step away from him, her expression dubbing him the equivalent of Genghis Khan.

‘I thought we were about to fulfil all our fantasies.’

Olivia winced, and for an insane moment Adam wondered if he’d imagined the past twenty minutes. Yet the tint of desire still touched her skin and his erection still ridged his pants.

‘I need to leave,’ she said.

‘Whoa.’ Adam stretched over to lean a hand against the door. ‘Not so fast.’

An expression flashed across her face so akin to fear that affront seethed in his chest.

‘Olivia, I’m not planning on keeping you here against your will, or taking anything you aren’t offering. But after what just happened you can’t just leave. Not without some sort of explanation.’ His libido was desperate for some sort of elucidation, ever hopeful of a reversal in fortune.

Hell, there was a part of him tempted to pull her back into his arms, confident that her body would overrule whatever misgivings she was so suddenly exhibiting. But he couldn’t do that—not after that flare of trepidation.

‘So, spill,’ he continued.

The tightness of her shoulders slumped fractionally but her body was still braced for fight or flight. Neither of which he would permit.

‘I made a mistake,’ she conceded, her voice taut, her hands smoothing the silken folds of her dress. ‘It’s as if I was caught in some sort of fog. A dream.’ She stared at him, her chin jutting out. ‘Now I’ve woken up.’

Disproportionate disappointment contracted his gut as the marvellous fantasies he had woven dissipated into the perfectly controlled air of the corridor.

Adam hauled in breath and willed his body to stand down—preferably every bit of it. After all, he’d weathered a lot worse disillusionment than this in his life, and it could be that Olivia was doing him a favour. Had he really wanted to let himself be bagged by any woman, however beautiful?

Answer: yes, he had. But if it wasn’t going to happen then it wasn’t going to happen. Time to move on.

He dropped his hand from the door and shrugged. ‘Your call, Olivia. But for what it’s worth I think we’d have been pretty awesome together.’ They’d have been more than that; every instinct told him their bodies would be the perfect fit.

Her eyes skittered away from him, focused once more on the interior of his hallway. Though what was so damn fascinating about it, who knew?

‘Maybe... Maybe not,’ she said, placing a hand on the doorknob. ‘I’ll go down to Reception and get myself a room, but we need to sort out a time that we can talk. About Zeb.’

Zeb. Damn. He’d lost the plot, the dialogue and his brain. The import of her words slam-dunked and he thumped the palm of his hand right back against the door.

‘Excuse me?’ he said.

‘Remember?’ she said. ‘The baby.’

She had to be kidding. ‘The mythical baby? I thought you’d abandoned the whole “my mother is pregnant” bagging route. You can’t just pick it back up now you’ve decided not to spend the night in my bed.’

* * *

Olivia stared at him. For a moment sheer shock rendered her speechless and her jaw threatened to hit the floor. Adam still believed she was another of those awful gold-digging women.

Worse, she almost couldn’t blame him. She’d behaved exactly the way Candice had described her—cheap and easy. After a public display on the dance floor she’d kissed him in the lift, dropped her dress and allowed him a quick grope. If she hadn’t been stunned back to reality by the opulence of his penthouse suite she’d have dropped her knickers, as well.

‘I am not here to bag you.’ Her words were so hopelessly inadequate she cringed. ‘If I were I would have slept with you.’

‘Nope.’ A shake of his dark head accompanied a blaze of contempt. ‘I think you’ve got your eye on the greater prize, Olivia. You nearly let yourself get carried away, but one look round here and you remembered just in time that there’s more money to be had from a pregnancy scandal scam than a few hours in my bed.’

Oh, hell. She could see how it all made a certain hideous sense to Adam. How to explain to him that seeing this opulent bachelor pad had brought back to her the fact that Adam was a billionaire, a moneyed man who wanted her because she was beautiful—nothing more.