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 tin
gled 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 w
here 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.
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