Harlequin KISS August 2014 Bundle

by Amy Andrews, Aimee Carson, Avril Tremayne

  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.

  Just as all those rich men who’d peopled her childhood had coveted Jodie for her looks. At least her mum had put a price on her acquiescence; Olivia had been willing to give it away.

  Taut silence enveloped them as Olivia gazed down at her sandals. Lime-green, with a tangerine flower carved from wood. Chosen to add pizzazz to the black dress. When it came to clothes, she knew what she was talking about. When it came to what had happened in the past hour...? Not so much.

  All she knew was that she had to make this right. Because the baby was all that mattered. Guilt twanged in her chest that she had allowed her hormones to overrule that fact.

  ‘Everything I told you about the baby is true. I realise I’ve screwed up. I understand you’re suspicious. But please just give me half an hour. It doesn’t have to be in the morning. We could do it right now.’

  Adam held her gaze for a long moment, his fingers drumming on one muscled thigh. Then he gave an exasperated grunt, ran a hand over his face and back up through his hair.

  ‘Fine. Let’s talk.’

  Pivoting, he turned and led the way into the enormous lounge, buttoning up his shirt as he walked. Relief and determination whipped around her tummy, along with a frustration she didn’t even want to acknowledge. Just great. Her brain might have clocked the sheer awfulness of her actions but her body hadn’t even begun to come to terms with the deprivation of promised pleasure.

  Well, tough.

  Control. She would not let lust control her. Her body, her hormones, her control. Sex was power—she knew that. It was a glittering token that could be used for or against you, and the only way to make sure you were on the right side was to be the one in charge.

  Olivia had not been in charge in that lift; she’d been a woman possessed.

  ‘Drink?’ Adam had reached a black lacquered drinks cabinet of a type that looked as though you needed a degree in physics to open it.

  ‘Please.’

  Neither of them had touched a drop of alcohol all evening and a drink sounded a mighty fine idea. Perhaps it would knock the lust demon out so she could concentrate on conversation. Perhaps she should just swig from the bottle.

  ‘Whisky OK?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  Like the play of his large capable hands as they deftly unstoppered the decanter.

  Olivia tore her gaze away and stared around the room; better to focus on her surroundings than on the hands that had so recently touched her bare skin with such devastating effect.

  ‘Wow!’ She’d been so mesmerised that she’d actually missed the stunning effect of the floor-to-ceiling window that spanned an entire wall. Walking over, she gazed out at the lit-up panorama of London. ‘The view is mind-blowing.’

  ‘It never gets old,’ he agreed as he moved next to her and handed her a thick cut-crystal tumbler containing a generous slosh of amber liquid.

  ‘Thank you.’ With an effort she kept her voice steady despite the brush of his fingers activating that all too familiar shockwave through her.

  ‘But I’m sure you don’t want to waste your half an hour on the view,’ he added. ‘So take a seat and say whatever you have to say.’

  With one last glance at the purple-black night sky, looking for a handy shooting star, Olivia turned away from the window and headed for the sofa.

  Adam followed suit, dropping onto a cream-coloured couch.

  He sprawled opposite her, crystal tumbler held loosely in one large hand, mussed dark hair glinting with copper in the muted overhead lighting. Olivia gulped down a slug of whisky in the hope that the fiery trickle would deaden his infernal impact on her senses.

  She reached out for her evening bag, opened it and pulled out an envelope. Leaning forward, careful not to touch him, she handed it over and watched as he lifted the flap and pulled the photograph out.

  ‘That’s your father, isn’t it?’ Olivia said eventually. Not that she needed to ask: from the moment she’d seen Adam Masterson’s image on the Masterson Hotels website she’d known. The likeness between the two men was too obvious for them not to be related. Enough that she hadn’t even bothered researching him further. ‘The woman in the picture is my mum. Jodie Evans.’

  ‘That’s Zeb,’ he acknowledged. ‘But this hardly proves he is the father of Jodie’s baby.’

  ‘It puts them both together at the right date, and, well, they look...’ Olivia moistened her lips. ‘Pretty relaxed together.’

  And that was as far as she was prepared to go. She already had way too much knowledge of her mother’s sex life—had spent too many nights of her childhood with her pillow over her head.

  Adam didn’t look as though contemplating the finer details of Jodie and Zeb’s relationship was causing him any joy, either. His features scrunched into a scowl as his fingers drummed a tattoo on the leather arm of the sofa.

  He nodded at the photo. ‘When was this taken?’ he asked.

  ‘Four months ago. In Hawaii. Mum went there for a couple of weeks with friends.’

  ‘Where she just happened to hook up with the father of a billionaire?’ Disbelief dripped from his tone. ‘Or did she target him in the hope of a pay-off?’

  ‘What are you? A fully paid-up member of Cynics R Us? Mum didn’t do anything of the sort. She doesn’t need money.’ Pride and determination pulled her spine straight. Neither Jodie nor Olivia Evans would ever rely on a man again, because now Olivia earned enough for both of them. Exactly as she h
ad always vowed she would

  ‘Everyone needs money, honey.’

  ‘Not us. And you’d better believe it!’ Hauling in a breath, she tried to see it from Adam’s viewpoint. ‘I get that you are sceptical, but this would be so much easier if you could just acknowledge I might be telling the truth.’

  He raked a hand through his already rumpled hair and exhaled heavily into the cloud of silence. ‘OK,’ he said finally. ‘I’ll meet with your mother, see if her story checks out.’

  ‘No!’ The yelp escaped her lips too sharply and her panicked vehemence caused a hike of Adam’s dark brows. ‘You can’t do that.’

  ‘Because?’

  Olivia clenched her hands into fists, thoroughly annoyed with herself for not anticipating his request. ‘Because Mum doesn’t know I’m here.’ Her conscience stabbed her with pins galore and had her squirming on the plush seat. ‘If you must know she doesn’t want Zeb to know about the baby.’

  His face was immobile; each feature might as well have been hewn from granite. ‘Why not?’

  ‘She says it was a holiday fling and she won’t burden a man with a child she knows he doesn’t want.’

  Adam’s jaw tightened, his movements a little jerky as he picked up his glass. ‘But you disagree with her?’

  ‘I feel like a complete heel for going behind her back—but, yes, I do.’

  ‘Why?’

  The shadow in his eyes told her the question was genuine and that if she had any hope of convincing him she was going to have to answer. Not ideal. But if revealing her personal history would swing Adam’s support then there was no choice.

  Swallowing in an attempt to dislodge the pebble of discomfort that clogged her throat, she met his gaze. ‘Because I grew up without a father and I want this baby to have a chance to have one. It’s as simple as that, Adam. I promise.’

  FIVE

  Adam drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa, the rapid tattoo making his knuckles ache.