‘Let’s make sure everyone believes that we are on a date, OK? And try and look happy about it. A lot of women would pay to be in your shoes.’

‘I’m not a lot of women.’

He’d gathered that. ‘Then you’ll have to fake it. Let’s go.’ Glancing at his watch, he gestured to her bag. ‘Leave that. I’ll get someone to take it out of here.’

‘Give me five minutes. I need make-up. And shoes, for that matter.’ She leant down to pull out a silver clutch bag and a pair of shoes. Long, elegant feet slipped into lime-green high-heeled wedge sandals and his pulse kicked up a notch.

Enough. Straightening up, she pivoted to face the mirror, leaving him with an alluring view of her bare back, the black dress tapering down in a V to the voluptuous curve of her bottom.

Adam forced himself to turn away.

‘I’m ready.’

He swivelled round and a whoosh of air was expelled from his lungs as desire upped another notch. In a few minutes she’d been transformed from au naturel beauty to glamorous allure. Which meant she had him coming and going.

Her hazel eyes shimmered and her lips were outlined in glossy dark red. Lips he wanted to claim right here. Right now. Oh, hell. He was screwed; no way was his libido leaving this party.

Dear Reader

This book is incredibly special to me—partly because it is my Mills & Boon debut, but also because I am so excited that Olivia and Adam, who lived inside my head for a long time, have made it into the big wide world.

The first chapter of this book wrote itself—I knew that nothing would stop Olivia from getting to Adam once she had him in her sights. I also knew that Adam would put up the fight of his life to avoid being bagged.

But there the book stopped. Until one day not so long ago when Olivia and Adam demanded I get them out of the ladies’ restroom and let them try and sort out what happened next …

So I did!

I hope you enjoy reading about the trials and tribulations that beset them on their sometimes rocky path to love.

Nina xx

How to Bag

a Billionaire

Nina Milne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

NINA MILNE has always dreamt of writing for Mills & Boon®—ever since as a child she discovered stacks of Mills & Boon® books ‘hidden’ in the airing cupboard. She graduated from playing libraries to reading the books, and has now realised her dream of writing them.

Along the way she found a happy-ever-after of her own, accumulating a superhero of a husband, three gorgeous children, a cat with character and a real library … Well, lots of bookshelves.

Before achieving her dream of working from home creating happy-ever-afters whilst studiously avoiding any form of actual housework, Nina put in time as both an accountant and a recruitment consultant. She figures the lack of romance in her previous jobs is now balancing out.

After a childhood spent in Peterlee (UK), Rye (USA), Winchester (UK) and Paris (France), Nina now lives in Brighton (UK), and has vowed never to move again!! Unless, of course, she runs out of bookshelves. Though there is always the airing cupboard …

HOW TO BAG A BILLIONAIRE is Nina Milne’s debut for Modern Tempted™!

This title is also available in ebook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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For my husband, Sandy, and our children,

Jack, Harmony and Harry.

Thank you for putting up with me whilst I wrote this book.

It probably wasn’t easy.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

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

Extract

Copyright

PROLOGUE

August edition. Glossip magazine

Today’s advice column is for all you gold-diggers out there.

How to bag a billionaire in six easy steps.

Looking for a lifestyle change?

Down on your luck?

Don’t despair! How about you bag yourself a billionaire?

OK, ladies—here’s how you do it:

1. Identify your target:

He needs to be loaded and he needs to be single—and wouldn’t it be a bonus if he were drop-dead gorgeous, as well? Too much to hope for? Not today. Because we have done some digging and found a dream target for you. Drumroll, please... We give you Mr Adam Masterson, Founder and CEO of Masterson Hotels. Richer than rich and sexier than sin.

2. Discover what he likes in a woman:

We’ve done some research and it wasn’t easy, folks. Adam Masterson is a bit of a dark horse. But the good news is that over the past years he has been seen about town with a variety of types. Blonde or dark. Small or tall... This field is open to all. Adam Masterson’s only criteria is beauty: the man likes his ladies easy on the eye.

3. Adjust yourself accordingly:

Hubble, bubble, toil and trouble... Lotions, potions, get on with the motions! Start beautifying, ladies.

4. Work out your target’s routine:

This is a tough one. Adam Masterson has no routine—Paris one day, London the next. But we have it on good authority that his swish flagship hotel might be the place to start.

5. Waylay target:

Time to find your inner minx and cook up some schemes.

6. Seduce target:

Over to you...

Adam Masterson is out there. He is worth billions and he is worth bagging. Who will bag him first?

Happy Hunting!

ONE

She could get arrested for this.

The thought pounded her temples as Olivia Evans glanced around the dark and thankfully deserted London alleyway at the back of Masterson Mayfair, the flagship of Masterson Enterprises hotel portfolio.

Why had she thought gatecrashing one of London’s most exclusive parties was a good idea?

A bead of perspiration prickled her forehead. Swiping it away with an impatient gesture, she pressed her lips together hard. This was a good idea because it was the only idea left. It was imperative that she see Adam Masterson before he gallivanted off on yet another business trip. She had tried every conventional method of contacting him, but the man was more closely guarded than the president of the United States. There was every possibility his PA doubled as Head of National Security.

Desperate times called for desperate measures; hence Operation Break and Enter.

Olivia hauled in a breath; with any luck that would push the panic down. One final glance around and, standing on her tote bag, she applied herself to the task of picking the window lock. Amazing how some childhood skills didn’t desert you. Even those learnt from one of the more unsavoury of her mother’s boyfriends. The thought of her mother had her shoving the hooked pick deeper into the lock until she felt it butt into the mechanism; she would not give up now.

Nerves knotted inside her before giving way to a buzz of exhilarated relief as the lock gave. Pocketing the pick, she pulled the window open, then jumped off the tote bag. She thrust the bag through the gap a minute later.

So far, so good. Her reconnaissance of the hotel had been spot-on; the room she had chosen as an access point was a small conference room which wouldn’t be in use tonight as the hotel was being exclusively given over to a charity gala. Hosted by Adam Masterson. Finally she had him in her sights.

She scrambled up onto the window ledge and her nerves retied themselves right back up. What her recon hadn’t bargained for was the size of the window gap.

Logic. Angles. Weight. Mass distribution. Those were the things to focus on—because, come hell or high water, Olivia would get inside. Never mind that it looked to be physically impossible.

So should she wriggle in forwards on her tummy or try to get in backwards? There were so many things that could go wrong: she could get stuck, she could fall into the arms of a waiting security guard... Maybe this wasn’t such a brilliant idea.

But if she gave up now then she wouldn’t get a chance to talk to Adam Masterson.

That was unacceptable.

Good thing she was flexible.

* * *

Adam Masterson perched on the edge of his security officer’s desk and scowled at the CCTV footage of the woman balanced on the windowsill.

What the hell was she doing? Apart from an excellent impersonation of Catwoman. Dressed completely in black, with a beanie pulled low over her forehead, it was impossible even to know her hair colour.

More to the point, who the hell was she? Journalist? Photographer? Wishful thinking... He’d already arranged publicity for the event. Which meant here was yet another hopeful player in the new party game Bag a Billionaire. Bad enough that he knew the ballroom would soon be awash with legitimate guests scheming how to waylay him over the canapés. At least they’d paid for the privilege, with the money going to a more than worthy cause.

Tendrils of memory threatened and he cut them off before they could take hold. He’d had his daily surfeit of grim memories already today, following his earlier conversation with his ex-wife and the news that she was remarrying. He was happy for Charlotte, but the exchange had brought back recollections of a time in his life he was less than proud of. Way less.

Plus, it had highlighted the way their lives had gone in the eight years since their disastrous union. There was Charlotte, with the happy-ever-after she had always wanted; here was Adam, being pursued by a bunch of women mining for his gold.

Speaking of which, right now he had to contend with his gatecrasher. He bit back an exasperated groan; he didn’t need this. The entire billionaire-bagging thing was getting old.

‘Do you want us to apprehend her?’ Nathan asked.

Adam pulled himself into the present and focused on the screen. The woman appeared to be engaged in some sort of internal Q and A session before she wriggled limbo-dancer-like through the gap in the window.

An arrow of desire shot straight through him.

He ran a hand over the top of his head. Talk about misplaced. A probable stalker, a definite intruder, was breaking into his hotel and his libido had decided to come to the party. The woman landed on the floor, glanced round the empty room and opened the bag she had pushed through earlier.

Adam opened his mouth to instruct his security chief to get a team down there.

And closed it again on a strangled gargle, unable to wrench his eyes from the screen as the woman pulled the black beanie from her head and shook out a mane of extraordinary hair. Strawberry blonde tresses, with the balance towards strawberry, fell past her shoulders.

Crossing her arms, she hoisted her black jumper over her head to reveal a white tunic top, and then with a little twist pushed her jeans down her hips.

Misplaced or not, desire pulled his libido’s strings. Time to get a grip; better yet, maybe it was time to get a date. Clearly it had been too long—ever since that article had appeared and the baggers had emerged from the woodwork he’d put himself on a stint of enforced celibacy. Partly because the thought of being chased for his money brought a tang of distaste, and partly because he wanted any press attention to be focused on his charitable activities and not his bedroom ones.

Until now it hadn’t been an issue.

‘So what next?’ Nathan asked.

It was a good question.

The woman was now fully clothed in an outfit that at a glance resembled the uniform worn by all hotel employees; she’d obviously done her research. White tunic top, black trousers—she’d even got a clipboard. The intent look on her face backed up the determined set of her jaw as she swept her magnificent hair into an efficient bun.

Picking up the bag, she opened the door and walked down the corridor. Her stride confident, she looked as though she knew exactly where she was going and why.

Of course there was no way he would allow her access to his guests; it was just fascinating to watch her at work. The first bagger to catch his interest and certainly the most resourceful.

But enough was enough. Time to mobilise the troops.

Before he could say anything Nathan’s massive body tensed as she ducked into the ladies’ restroom. ‘Better hope she is a bagger. For all we know she could be building a bomb in there.’

Staring at the screen, Adam concentrated on unclenching his jaw. It was an outside chance, but it was still possible that the intruder was armed. And he had let a moment of inappropriate attraction blindside him. A pulse started to beat in his cheek and he closed his eyes, grounded himself, before pushing himself away from the desk in a single lithe movement.

‘Close the ladies’. Be discreet. Say it’s a plumbing problem and send your men down there in cleaners’ uniforms.’

Nathan nodded. ‘I’ll go in and get her out,’ he said.

Adam shook his head. ‘I screwed up. I’ll go in.’

‘But...’

‘No buts,’ Adam said. ‘We could’ve stopped her by now. That was my call and I didn’t make it.’ Too busy stewing over the past whilst lusting over a stranger. Who said men couldn’t multitask?

‘I still think...’

Adam shook his head. If he didn’t sort this one out himself the strawberry blondee stranger would haunt his dreams for too long. Best to make her real. Expose her as the avaricious gold-digger she undoubtedly was whilst avoiding the baggers no doubt waiting to hunt him down in the ballroom.

He picked up his tux jacket and gave Nathan his best impression of an action hero. ‘I’m going in.’

* * *

Olivia mentally ran through her entire and extensive repertoire of swear words. This was ridiculous! This was supposed to be the easy bit. The bit where she locked herself into a cubicle and transformed herself from faux hotel employee to fake ballroom guest. All she had to do was change into a party dress. Good grief! What sort of personal shopper couldn’t get herself into a dress? A dress she’d tried on at home with no problem.

But now the stupid zip on the stupid little black blend-right-in dress was stuck. Worse, she couldn’t get out of the skintight concoction to unstick it.

As she twisted she lost her balance and the back of her knee thunked the lip of the toilet seat. ‘Ouch!’ Biting her lip, she stilled. Please let there be no one out there. Though...surely there should be someone out there? Guests must have arrived in droves by now so it made sense that someone would want to freshen up in the ladies’ restroom.

That was the essence of the last stage of her plan. Guests would only be allowed entry into the hotel on production of an invitation, embossed and coded and impossible to duplicate. This was a private party, an annual gala that raised hundreds of thousands of pounds for Support Myeloma, thanks to the auctioneering powers of Adam Masterson. But she was already in the building, and as the invitations were inspected at the foyer of the hotel Olivia figured she should be safe.

Particularly as the plan was to leave the ladies’ with a group of other women who would serve as camouflage. Then she would find a large potted palm and lurk unnoticed until the moment arrived when she could snag Adam Masterson.

After all, she was good at lurking at parties.

Memories skittered through her brain as echoes of raucous laughter peppered with the pop of champagne corks reverberated in her eardrums. How she had hated the numerous shindigs her mother had hosted, even as she’d understood Jodie Evans’s desperate need to extract fun out of every second of a life that had stacked the odds against her. Olivia hadn’t begrudged her mother one of those seconds of fun; she had wished with all her heart for Jodie to be happy. The knowledge that she could never repay everything she owed her mum was always with her.

Closing her eyes, she sucked air into her lungs. For goodness’ sake! This was not the time for a trip down memory lane. Any minute now someone was bound to come in here so she had better hurry up. How hard could this be? She was flexible, remember? She reached round for the zip.

‘Need a hand?’

Olivia froze as an unmistakably male voice drawled out the question.

In slow motion she forced herself to look up at the man observing her over the top of the cubicle. He must be standing on the toilet in the next door cubicle, her brain told her dully, trying to operate past the volcano of panic about to erupt in her chest.

Dark hair, light brown eyes, square jaw, a nose that was ever so slightly off-shape... Recognition slammed her like a sucker punch. ‘It’s you,’ she breathed.

His eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown as his lips tightened. ‘In the flesh,’ he said.

Olivia opened her mouth but the words evaporated under the heat of his gaze. Plus, she was damned if she knew the best way to explain her presence. Blurting out her reason for being there whilst standing half-dressed in a toilet cubicle had not been part of the Masterson Master Plan.

Still, she was going to have to work with what she had; this was an opportunity. ‘Mr Masterson,’ she began. ‘I can expl—’

‘I need to check your bag,’ he broke in.

‘My bag?’

‘Yes, your bag,’ he said, his impatience tingeing the air.

Olivia glanced down at the bag in confusion. Looking back up at the exasperation that lit the brown eyes, she realised his motivation was irrelevant. Right now it seemed clear he wouldn’t listen to anything she said until she gave it to him. She ducked down awkwardly and picked up the bag.

‘I’ll come round,’ he said.

She heard the thud as he presumably jumped down from the toilet; she pushed the door open and held out the bag. ‘Look, is this really necessary?’ she asked, a shudder of aversion shivering through her as he started to sift through the contents.

‘Yes,’ he stated. ‘My security chief is worried that you are locked in here constructing a bomb.’

Fabulous! Her stomach plummeted into a free fall of panic; she was under suspicion of being a terrorist.

Come on, Olivia. Calm down. You’ve talked your way out of worse than this before.

Though she suspected that talking her way past this man would be akin to melting iron with an incense stick.

Still, she had to try. She took a step forward out of the cubicle and straightened her spine.

‘I realise all this is a bit bizarre, but I’m not a terrorist and I’m not here with the intention of hurting anyone. If—’

Adam Masterson wasn’t so much as looking at her, let alone listening. Instead he was on the phone.

‘Nate,’ he said. ‘I’ve checked the bag. Our enterprising intruder locked herself in the toilet to get dressed, not to build a bomb.’ He listened for a moment and then put the phone back into his pocket.

OK. At least the terrorist theory had been knocked on the head. Not that Adam Masterson looked relieved; if anything the set of his lips was even grimmer, the frown deeper. Time to try again.

‘Look, I’m truly sorry,’ she said. ‘I never meant to cause so much hassle. I really, really just want to—’

A derisive snort interrupted her. ‘I know what you really, really want to do, and I’m really, really not interested.’

Olivia frowned. ‘You can’t possibly know why I’m here.’ She was having trouble enough believing it herself.

Adam pulled his phone out of his pocket.

‘Hang on!’ Olivia said. ‘You’ve got to listen.’

He shook his head. ‘Nope, I don’t. I’ve got to get Security in here to remove you from the premises.’

The panic erupted in her chest; this was her chance and she’d blown it. Unless... Maybe now was the time to utilise her black belt in taekwondo.

Propelled by the sheer impossibility of failure, Olivia launched herself at him.

‘What the—?’

Taking advantage of his millisecond of surprise, she knocked the phone from his hand.

To no avail.

In a fluid movement he’d caught the mobile and shock juddered Olivia’s body as she collided with an immovable wall of chest. Strong arms locked behind her back in a hold way too powerful for her to break even as she leant back, shoving her palms flat against his chest.

Her breath escaped in short, sharp pants as she looked up at him. For a fleeting second his light brown eyes darkened and focused on her lips. Unable to help herself, she dropped her gaze to his mouth as a sudden shiver prickled her skin.

A shiver not of fear but of desire.

Which was ridiculous. Right now her instincts should have kicked in; she should be at least attempting to struggle free. Instead she couldn’t stop staring at the mesmerising shape of those firm, capable lips. His heart pounded under her hand; her fingers curled into the silk of his white shirt.

As she pressed her own lips together to moisten them something primal flickered in his eyes. His arms tensed to pull her forward. Then abruptly he released her.

Her skin tingled where his arms had touched her and Olivia stepped backwards, until the cold marble of the counter pressed into the backs of her thighs. Her heart thumped painfully against her ribcage. Perspective—she desperately needed to locate some. Along with control. Her master plan was in tatters and somehow she had to salvage it. Before Adam Masterson called Security.

He stood there, those gorgeous lips set in a grim line. Anger darkened his face; his eyes were cold chips of mud. ‘Lady, just how far are you prepared to go to bag me?’

‘Excuse me?’ What was he talking about? Perhaps his proximity had addled her brain cells completely. Somehow she had to pull herself together and try and turn this situation around. She had no idea what had happened in those charged seconds in his arms but she couldn’t let it ruin everything. ‘I don’t understand.’

An exasperated sigh hit the air. ‘Drop the act. I know you’re here to “bag me”,’ he said, hooking his fingers in the air to indicate quotation marks.

‘As in murder you and put you in a body bag? Tempting, but given your security levels I’ll pass.’

For a second she thought she saw his lips give the tiniest of quirks. Was it possible the man possessed a sense of humour?

He swiped his hand over his mouth and shook his head. ‘You haven’t heard of Bag a Billionaire?’ The narrowed eyes, the creased forehead were both clear indicators of patent disbelief; the gleam of humour had obviously been a mirage.

‘Nope. Honest.’

His frown deepened. ‘In a nutshell, some idiot magazine reporter wrote an article advising wannabe gold-diggers on how to bag themselves a billionaire and identified me as the target. Since then I’ve arrived home to find a naked woman in my bed with “Kiss me Quick, Kiss me Slow” tattooed on her stomach and an arrow pointing downward, my mail yesterday included some rather explicit photographs, I have had women break the heels of their shoes and collapse in a heap in front of me, and women’s cars seem to miraculously break down wherever I go.’ Pausing, he eyed her. ‘I’m sure you get the picture.’

‘That’s terrible,’ Olivia said. ‘But...’

‘Terrible?’ he echoed, the mocking note jarring through the air. ‘I agree. Though I must say no one has resorted to gatecrashing a party with quite such style as you have.’

It took a minute for the implications of his words to sink in before outrage smacked her mouth wide open. ‘You think... You mean... You think I’m like one of those women?’

He leant back against the wall, arms folded. ‘You’ve broken into my hotel and thrown yourself into my arms in a dress that is conveniently falling off you—what do you expect me to think?’

Anger started to bubble at his sheer arrogance, stirred frothier by the small part of her that conceded the devil had a point.

One hand slammed on her hip even as the other held the dress up. ‘I admit I’ve broken into your hotel, but I did not throw myself at you. I promise you I haven’t risked arrest for the supposed pleasure of “bagging” you.’

For a moment he studied her face and she met his gaze full-on, saw something flicker in the milk chocolate depths. She prayed he could hear the truth in her voice. Otherwise he would have her marched out of here any second now and she couldn’t let that happen. There was way too much at stake here—and not just for herself.

‘Please,’ she said. ‘I understand why you are suspicious but you don’t need to be. I promise. Give me a chance to prove it to you. Hear me out. Please.’

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘You’ve got ten seconds.’

TWO

Hard to tell who was more surprised—the strawberry blonde stranger or himself. Irritation coursed through his veins; he’d been blindsided by a beautiful face and a spectacular body. This woman was bad news, and no matter what lies she was about to spin from that gorgeous mouth the key point was that they would be lies—a calculated strategy with the aim of locating his wallet.

The chances of her not being a billionaire-bagger were minuscule, yet there had been a vibrancy to her voice, a desperate glint in those hazel eyes that had clouded his usually impeccable judgement.

Pushing the sleeve of his tux jacket up, he looked at his watch. ‘Five seconds left. Four...three...’

‘My mother is pregnant,’ she blurted out.

Her words echoed around the bathroom and bounced off the mirrored tiles.

What on earth did she expect him to do? Maybe she wasn’t a billionaire-bagger. Maybe she was crazy. ‘Offer her my congratulations,’ he said. ‘And now I think it’s time for you to go.’

‘I need to tell you who the father is.’

Adam gusted out a sigh. ‘Lady, if you think you can scam me into believing it’s me that’s not going to fly.’

For a start his unwanted intruder had to be in her mid-twenties, and he hadn’t dated an older woman in a very long time. But even if that weren’t the case Adam always made 100 per cent sure that pregnancy was an impossibility. One thing was certain in his life: he was not father material. After all, he was a Masterson through and through and he knew his own limitations. The less than stellar circumstances of his marriage had showcased his shortcomings all too brightly.

‘I’m not trying to scam anyone.’ Her hands twisted into the folds of her black dress. ‘The baby’s father is your father. Zebediah Masterson. And I need to find him.’

Long practice at the poker table kept his face neutral even as her words travelled towards him in slow motion, each one slamming into him with the force of a sucker punch.

Come on, Adam. Keep cool. This was nothing more than an über-clever scam, a fantastic concoction woven to get his attention.

‘Rubbish,’ he stated.

‘It’s not rubbish.’ One slim hand rose to jab the air in emphasis; her other hand still held the black dress up. ‘Or rocket science. It’s simple biology. My mum is pregnant and Zebediah is the father. So I need to find him.’

Moisture prickled his temple with foreboding before common sense reasserted itself. No way would Zeb want a replay of fatherhood. Plus, surely even Zeb would have bothered to get in touch over something like this?

‘I don’t think so,’ he said.

‘And I don’t think you get it. I need to find him because I need to tell him about the baby. He doesn’t know.’

For a treacherous second relief ran through his veins; if this preposterous tale was true at least Zeb hadn’t deliberately walked away from another unwanted baby. The way he’d walked out on Adam. Whoa. This wasn’t about the past; it was about the here and now and this no doubt mythical baby.

‘I see,’ he said, allowing scepticism to load each syllable. ‘How convenient for you.’

Hazel eyes narrowed. ‘There is nothing convenient about this. Have you any idea how difficult it is to locate your father? I’ve spent weeks looking for him and finally I discovered you. So if you could just tell me how to contact him I’ll be on my way.’

Was she serious? ‘Not happening.’

Brows just a shade darker than her hair arched. ‘Why not?

‘Because I don’t want you harassing my father with some trumped-up paternity suit.’

‘Trumped-up paternity suit?’ Her free hand clenched into a fist and he braced himself. ‘Why are you assuming it’s trumped-up? For—’

The buzz of his phone cut off whatever else she had been about to say. He pressed it his ear and Nate’s voice erupted.

‘What’s going on in there? Guests are arriving thick and fast and they are getting more and more curious.’

‘The intruder isn’t a threat.’ Or at least not to the guests; she was having a less than happy effect on him. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’ Once he’d decided what to do about Little Miss Minx and her preposterous claim. In the meantime, with any luck, his guests’ curiosity might divert them from the billionaire-bagging hunt.

Dropping the phone back into his pocket, he studied her. Hmm... He drummed his fingers on his thigh as he went through the options, a glimmer of a possibility sparking.

‘You can’t just go,’ she said. ‘I need to know where to find your dad.’

‘No.’ Adam considered his idea from all angles. ‘Turn around.’

‘What?’ Bewilderment layered her voice

‘Turn around. I’ll zip the dress up for you.’ He tipped his palms into the air. ‘You’re going to the ball.’

It was the perfect solution. She remained where he could see her until he could disprove her story. And, as the icing on the cake, if he turned up to the ball with a beautiful woman on his arm he’d have a shield against all the other billionaire-baggers. Win-win. Adam made no effort to conceal the smirk that touched his lips.

There was a moment’s silence as her jaw dropped. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘I’m not being ridiculous. You strike me as a loose cannon. So until I understand the situation you will stay glued to my side.’

The words triggered an unwanted reaction: the thought of how she had felt in his arms earlier made his fingers itch to pull her right back to him. Madness, and yet she was the epitome of allure. The expressive hazel eyes, the delicate elven features and luscious mouth combined to make her ludicrously kissable.

Throw in hair the colour of sunset and a body that showcased curves in all the right places and he was in trouble.

His fingers tingled. Hell. All of him tingled and any desire to smirk left him.

Great. His libido had decided to overlook the fact that this woman was an adversary, only here as a player in an elaborate scheme. Though unlike the other baggers it could be that her plan was to forgo the billionaire and aim straight for the money. Use Zeb to get to the cash. His expression hardened. No way was that happening—and she’d seriously underestimated him if she thought it was.

‘I have no intention of being glued to your side.’ Pushing herself off the sink, she glared at him. ‘And I am not coming to the ball. It doesn’t even make sense.’

‘It makes perfect sense to me. You could go to the press. You could disappear and resume your quest for Zeb. You know what? I have no idea what kooky scheme you may come up with.’

‘I wouldn’t go to the press! Why would I do that?’

‘Publicity? Money? Fun? I don’t know.’ Raking a hand through his hair, he stepped forward. ‘Why would you break into my hotel to gatecrash my party? It’s hardly the mark of a sane woman.’

‘It’s the mark of a desperate woman.’ Anger sparked the hazel of her eyes with green flecks. ‘Funnily enough breaking and entering wasn’t my number one choice. I tried to get hold of you by more conventional methods but your PA wouldn’t let me near you and you ignored my letters,’ she continued. ‘Presumably I fell into the probable billionaire-bagger category.’

‘Honey, you still fall into that category.’ And he’d better not forget it. Glancing at his watch, he muttered a curse. ‘We can discuss all this later. Right now you are coming with me.’

‘Says who? You can’t force me to go with you.’

‘Want to bet?’ Adam took another step forward. ‘Here’s your choice. You can put your shoes on and accept my kind invitation or I will call the police and have you charged with breaking and entering. Your call.’

Her whole body vibrated in sheer disbelief. ‘That’s blackmail!’

‘Breaking and entering is a criminal offence,’ he returned.

‘I had a good reason.’

‘So do I. So, prison or party? Your choice.’

Her lush lips pressed together as she stared at him before hitching slim shoulders. ‘Fine. I’ll come to the party. But you have to promise me that afterwards you will give me your father’s contact details.’

Unease solidified in his gut; there was no hint of insincerity in her voice. In fact if push came to shove he would swear she didn’t want to come to the party at all.

‘After the party we talk,’ he said. Given twenty minutes, he had no doubt he could rip her story to shreds.

‘Fine,’ she agreed, and reached round to tug at the zip on her dress once more.

‘Let me do that.’

For a moment he thought she’d refuse, but instead she gave another little shrug and spun around to place one palm flat on the marble counter, strawberry head bowed as though she didn’t wish to see his or her reflection in the mirror.

Probably a good thing. Because confronted with the smooth expanse of her back his lungs constricted and heat tingled on his cheekbones.

It’s only a back, Adam.

Yet his fingers trembled as he reached out and inadvertently brushed the base of her spine as he tugged at the zip.

‘It’s stuck,’ he said, the words straining past the breath of disproportionate desire that had hitched in his throat.

‘I know that.’ The snap of her words was insufficient to drown her audible gulp; the small shiver that caressed her skin in goosebumps testified to the effect of his touch. ‘I told you that I wasn’t deliberately falling out of it.’

With relief he freed the silken material and whooshed the zip up, the noise vying with the pounding in his ears

‘So how will you explain who I am?’ she demanded as she turned to face him.

‘I’ve been thinking about that.’

‘Oh, goodie,’ she said. ‘Care to share?’

His lips twisted with the irony of his idea. ‘Congratulations! You’ve bagged a billionaire.’

Her body froze into utter immobility before she shook her head. ‘I am not coming as your billionaire-bagger date.’

Adam frowned; behind the anger in her eyes was a vulnerable gleam of genuine horror.

‘No way am I walking in there with everyone believing I’m with you for your money. I’d rather go to prison.’

‘Don’t be melodramatic. Who cares what people think?’ Adam lifted his shoulders in pure indifference.

‘In this case, me,’ she said, as her hands slammed on the curve of her hips.

Irritation coursed through his veins at the continued sheer sincerity of her tone and the fact that he couldn’t work her out.

‘Tough,’ he said. ‘You’re coming to the ball—and what’s more you’re coming as my date. I’d rather people assume you’ve bagged me than work out why you are claiming to be here. I do not want any publicity about this.’

‘What happened to not caring about what people think?’

‘Honey, I don’t care what people think about you. I do care what they think about my dad. And right now I don’t need the publicity backlash.’ Not when he was hosting the gala tonight and launching another charity event the next evening. ‘The press are already having a field day with the bagger theme.’ Amazing how many women were willing to bare their bodies and perjure their souls by lying to the tabloids.

Resolve hardened in him. No way was all the hard work and effort he had put into the Support Myeloma charity going to waste. Not one copper penny should be diverted from the cause he championed in his mother’s memory. An image of his mother sprang to mind: pale and weak, but still with the beautiful smile that would stay with him for eternity. Those last words of love: ‘You brought me joy, baby. Remember that. Be happy. I love you.’

Adam blinked away the memory as a small assessing frown creased the brow of his new date for the night. ‘So no matter what happens the press are not getting their grubby paws on this trumped-up story of yours.’

His words were calculated to annoy her; a riled adversary was far more likely to slip up. ‘It is not trumped-up,’ she said, the words hissing through gritted teeth,

Adam shrugged. ‘The papers won’t care whether it is or not; they will still have a good old grub around. Your life and your mother’s life will be taken apart with a fine toothcomb.’

Her skin paled and wariness entered her hazel eyes. ‘I don’t want publicity, either. I just want to find your father. That’s all.’

‘I get that. But right now I have a charity ball to host and a reporter out there who will be very interested in who you are. So you are coming as my date.’

She expelled a gusty sigh. ‘Fine.’

Anyone would think he’d asked her to hook up with the devil himself. ‘It won’t kill you. You may even have fun.’

‘Yeah, right. Somehow I doubt that.’

Affront touched his chest. Grow up, Adam. Why did he care that she seemed so anti the whole idea of being with him? ‘Then you need to pretend. I want to make sure all the other billionaire-baggers out there believe I’m bagged for the night.’

Her mouth smacked open. ‘This gets better and better. So this isn’t just for the reporter, or to keep me in sight. You’re going to use me as protection. Big, strong man like you?’

‘Size and strength aren’t much use against a pack of scavenging gold-diggers.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll use what it takes. Hey, I’ve got no issues with using a beautiful woman as a shield.’

Her dark eyebrows rose. ‘And if I wasn’t beautiful?’ she asked, and he could almost see icicles form around each word.

‘Then it wouldn’t work,’

Disdain flashed from her hazel eyes and desire tugged in his groin. Standing there in the simple elegant black dress, she looked magnificent.

‘The magazine article specified that only beautiful women should enter the arena,’ he explained.

His words did nothing to mollify her. ‘No doubt based on your past dating career?’

‘Most of my dates are beautiful,’ he agreed. ‘I’m not going to apologise for that.’ Yet his conscience gave a sudden inexplicable twang. ‘So let’s make sure everyone believes that we are on a date, OK? And try and look happy about it. A lot of women would pay to be in your shoes.’

‘I’m not a lot of women.’

He’d gathered. ‘Then you’ll have to fake it. Let’s go.’ Glancing at his watch, he gestured to her bag. ‘Leave that. I’ll get someone to take it out of here.’

‘Give me five minutes. I need make-up. And shoes, for that matter.’ She leant down to pull out a silver clutch bag and a pair of shoes. Long, elegant feet slipped into lime-green high-heeled wedge sandals and his pulse kicked up a notch.

Enough.

Straightening up, she pivoted to face the mirror, leaving him with the alluring view of her bare back. The black dress tapered down in a V to the voluptuous curve of her bottom.

Adam forced himself to turn away and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Time to alert Nathan as to what was going on and make sure any evidence of this bathroom caper was hidden from the no doubt goggling eyes and flapping ears of guests and reporters alike.

‘I’m ready.’

He swivelled round and a whoosh of air was expelled from his lungs as his desire upped another degree. In a few minutes she’d transformed from au naturel beauty to glamorous allure. Which meant she had him coming and going.

Her hazel eyes shimmered and her lips were outlined in glossy dark red. Lips he wanted to claim right here. Right now. He was screwed; no way was his libido leaving this party.

THREE

Panic sheened the back of Olivia’s neck as they approached the imposing ballroom door. This so hadn’t been the plan. The plan had been more of a sidle into the ballroom, not a grand entrance. The plan certainly hadn’t included snagging the role of Adam’s billionaire-bagger date.

A woman only interested in the balance of his bank account... Olivia bit her lip. Fantastic. Here she was, playing the role she had always abhorred. Judging a man by wallet size had been her mother’s gig.

Olivia had hated it. Hated that her mother was the quintessential gold-digger even whilst she’d known Jodie was looking out for the two of them the best way she could. Thrown out by her family, pregnant at sixteen, Jodie had used what she had. Her looks and her limitless sex appeal. Both of which had garnered her a more than respectable income and a less than respectable lifestyle.

‘Hey. You still with me?’

The deep voice tinged with concern rescued her from Memory Lane and snapped her to the here and now. To the opulent room with its fluted pillars and glittering glass chandeliers. To the noise of laughter, the pop of champagne corks and the clink of crystal, all indicating the guests were having a good time.

Enough. Shaking off the past, she relegated it to where it belonged. The past couldn’t be changed. But the present and the future...? They were firmly in her control.

So it was time to locate her backbone. All Olivia had to do was allow the world to believe her to be a billionaire-bagger in order to discover the whereabouts of Zeb Masterson. Then her unborn brother or sister would have a dad. A proper father. The kind of dad that Olivia had yearned for so desperately: a dad who acknowledged his child and wanted to be part of her life.

‘I’m right here,’ she said, with a clench of her nails into her palm to ground herself.

‘Then do you think you could smile?’

‘I’m not a smiley person.’

‘Well, it may be time to cultivate the art. Reporter at six o’clock and heading our way.’

He slid an arm around her waist and Olivia bit back a gasp, trying to ignore the snap, crackle and pop of desire that ignited in her at his touch. Instead she focused her attention on the blonde woman headed towards them with curiosity written all over her face.

‘We’d quite given up on you.’ The reporter put a hand on Adam’s arm. ‘Plus, we’ve all been dying to know who your mystery guest is. So introduce me.’

There was a heartbeat of silence.

Oh, hell.

Adam didn’t know her name.

The reporter raised perfectly threaded blonde eyebrows.

Olivia opened her mouth just as Adam’s hand tightened round her waist, twisting her body slightly so that she instinctively looked up at him. Not even a glint of alarm flickered in the brown eyes; instead liquid copper warmth melted over her. Her throat felt parched; he was gazing at her as though he couldn’t keep his hands off her, as if names were a mere bagatelle.

Then he smiled—the kind of smile that had her toes curling around the edge of her lime-green sandals. ‘Sweetheart, this is Helen Kendersen, columnist from Frisson magazine.’ He turned his gaze to the reporter. ‘And this, Helen, is my nomination for Frisson’s Most Beautiful Woman of the Year award.’

His arm pushed into the small of her back and she stepped forward, holding her hand out. ‘Olivia Evans,’ she managed.

‘So, how do you feel about having bagged yourself a billionaire for the night?’ The reporter’s voice was light, almost jokey, but her blue eyes were alert as she waited for an answer.

Olivia knew she should answer in kind—should have found time in the unprecedented disaster of this evening to prepare a witty, sophisticated comeback. But her brain refused to co-operate. Instead humiliation flushed her cheeks.

She heard a low laugh coming from her left and knew the question had been overheard.

Memories crowded her brain. There she was in the playground, surrounded by the pigtail brigade with their shiny shoes and perfectly packed lunches. ‘My mum says your mum is a tramp and you’ll be exactly the same.’ Noses in the air, holier than holy. ‘So I’m not allowed to play with you.’ The chant taken up as they circled her. ‘Tramp, tramp, tramp...’

Her hands balled into fists at her sides; if only the solution now was as easy as it had been all those years ago. Unfortunately punching Helen Kendersen on the nose wasn’t an option. Even more regrettably, her mind still hadn’t formulated a single witty rejoinder. The only words coming to mind and being transmitted to the tip of her tongue were wildly inappropriate.

She sensed Adam’s head turn and looked up to see his brown eyes rest on her face with an expression she couldn’t interpret. His arm moved from her waist to drape around her shoulders, the soft fabric of his tux brushing her suddenly sensitised skin. The gesture was totally, unexpectedly protective.

‘Wrong call, Helen,’ he said, his voice pleasant but with an impossible to miss steely undertone. ‘Credit me with a bit more sense. Olivia is not a billionaire-bagger; she is a bona fide date.’

A sudden warmth touched Olivia’s chest. Was Adam defending her? She wasn’t sure. It could be that he simply thought the assertion would definitively shield him from the baggers in the room. Whatever his reasons, he’d given Helen Kendersen pause.

The blue eyes sharpened. ‘Well, colour me surprised,’ she said. ‘Especially as I can’t remember you ever bringing a date, bona fide or not, to this event. And here was me assuming you were a billionaire-bagger who’d gatecrashed and somehow persuaded Adam to bring you along. Unless there’s something I’m missing?’

Adam had been right. Helen’s reporter antennae were practically quivering under the glittering lights of the chandeliers. Alarm pumped her veins with adrenaline; it was time to gear up and play her allotted role.

‘Nope, you’re not missing anything,’ Olivia said. ‘Here I am.’ Spreading her arms wide, she could only hope her tone wasn’t as hollow as her tummy. ‘The genuine article.’

Helen tilted her blonde head to one side, a small frown on her face. ‘Well, in that case I shall watch with interest. Adam’s dating technique will add a definite frisson to my article.’

Great! Just what she needed—more frissons. Heaven help her, because right now the thought of Adam’s dating technique was causing her tummy to flutter with a stampede of butterflies.

There came the Adam Masterson smile again. ‘Knock yourself out, Helen. But don’t forget to interview all the people who donated auction gifts and get plenty of photos of the guests.’

‘Yada, yada. Don’t worry. I could do this in my sleep. Consider it done, darling. Enjoy yourself, Olivia.’ With a little finger-wave Helen disappeared into the crowd.

Hah! Enjoy? As if that could happen; she was already garnering avid glances laced with speculation or envy. ‘What now? I think she’s suspicious.’

‘Maybe. But all we have to do is display a dazzling show of dating technique and all will be well.’

‘Oh, super-duper. Is that meant to make me feel better?’

‘It’s all I’ve got.’ He started to walk forward. ‘There’s no need to panic. Follow my lead, look adoringly at me and we’ll be fine. All we need to do now is circulate.’

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.

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