Olivia’s words had vibrated with sincerity, plucking an unwilling chord of memory within him.
Remembered frustration churned his guts. Desperate to know something about his father, his childhood self had pored over the single photograph he’d possessed. He’d plagued his mother for details until he had realised that Zeb Masterson wasn’t exactly one of her favourite people. However much she’d tried to hide it.
In all conscience he couldn’t doom another child to that experience.
An experience Olivia had shared.
The idea tugged at his chest, creating an unwanted connection between them. If, of course, she was telling the truth. About anything.
‘What happened to your father?’ he asked.
Shimmering eyelids swept down and up again as she surveyed him, her small frown indicating that she was pondering her answer or maybe even whether to answer at all.
‘You brought the subject up,’ he pointed out.
‘I never knew him. My mother was very young when she fell pregnant—I’m lucky she kept me at all.’
She said the words with great care, as if she were stepping cautiously across the stepping stones of truth and missing out a fair few on the way.
Suspicion tingled Adam’s nerves as he looked back down at the photograph. ‘Jodie must have been very young.’ The woman in the photograph couldn’t be much over forty now.
‘She was.’
‘So it was a teenage romance that went too far?’
‘Does it matter?’ After a careful scrutiny of his face she huffed out a sigh and slammed her glass on the table. ‘You think I’m making it up, don’t you?’
‘It’s a possibility I’m considering, yes.’
‘Fine. If you must know my father paid my mother to keep his identity secret. They struck a deal. He handed over a lump sum, she swore never to reveal who he is. Even to me.’ She shifted on the sofa, clasped her hands together on her lap in a pose of defiance. ‘Satisfied?’
Not really. Because he could sense her pain, knew she was telling the truth. Which moved him way into schmuck territory for forcing her confidence.
‘Then he missed out,’ he said. ‘Not you. A man who would do that isn’t worth knowing.’
Olivia blinked and a smile curved her lips for a fleeting second. ‘Thank you. That’s a way better response than saying how sorry you are.’
‘You’re welcome.’
The atmosphere tautened around them. His eyes snagged on her mouth and a memory of the taste of her kicked his pulse-rate up.
Her eyes shuttered again. ‘It’s also good to know that you can actually be nice. So, Mr Nice Guy...’ The wedge heel of her sandal tapped on the wood of the floor. ‘Will you help me?’
Adam locked on to those determined hazel eyes, half pleading, half insistent.
He tore his gaze away and rose to his feet; he had to break this spell Olivia was weaving. Instinct told him that she was telling the truth; further instinct told him that in this case his instincts were less than reliable—fuzzed and blurred by inordinate desire and a strange, tenuous bond that he would love to deny but couldn’t.
Walking to the window, he stared out, forced his brain at least to make an attempt at logic. Olivia Evans could be a con artist extraordinaire. Or she could be telling the truth. In either case, logically he couldn’t risk letting her go. If she were at his side she would either slip up and he would expose her web of deceit or he would remain in control of the situation.
There. Thinking was so much easier staring out at the cosmopolitan glitter of London by night. Even if the net result was dubious.
He turned to face her. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll contact Zeb.’
‘Really?’ A huge sigh escaped her lips as her shoulders dropped—the expelled tension was almost visible. Rising to her feet, she moved towards him, her hips swaying with an unconscious femininity. ‘Thank you.’
She rested a hand on his forearm. Her touch was warm and yet it shivered his skin.
‘If you could give me his phone number, I’ll—’
‘Not so fast. I’ll contact him, Olivia. I’ll talk with him and then we’ll take things from there.’
She stepped away from him. ‘No, no, no. That doesn’t work for me, Adam. I want to be the one to tell him; I need to see his reaction. I don’t know how all this is going to play out, and I don’t know what your father will say or do. But I do know I need to be there when he says or does it.’
‘No.’ It was time to make a stand, to stop being sucked in by her beauty and do what he knew to be right. ‘This is not negotiable, Olivia. Take it or leave it.’
She opened her mouth then closed it again, her protest swallowed down even though anger flecked the hazel eyes with green. ‘What happened to Mr Nice Guy?’
‘This is Mr Nice Guy. You want to see Mr Not So Nice? Because he would’ve had you booted out of here long ago. Which is still a possibility. So, take it or leave it.’
A pause during which her eyes narrowed before, ‘I’ll take it. For now. But only because I’m beat. I’ll head to Reception and sort out a room.’
‘I’ve got a better idea.’
‘What?’
‘Stay here.’
* * *
‘Say what?’ Tiredness fled the room and Olivia wasn’t sure which emotion to run with in the seething mass left in its wake. Anger vied with a certifiable urge to comply and won. Just. ‘Are you nuts? I told you already what happened earlier was a mistake. An aberration. A...’ However many more words for mistake there were in the thesaurus.
‘Calm down.’ The authoritative tone shut her up. ‘The majority of my guests, including Helen Kendersen, are staying here tonight. It’s included in the ticket price. Given they all believe that you’re my date, it’s probably better if you stay here. In the spare room.’
‘Oh.’ Now she felt like a gigantic idiot. Worse, she had the horrible idea that she sounded disappointed.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind and you want to take up where we left off earlier?’
The words, faintly mocking, reminded her that Adam still didn’t fully credit her story. Regardless of that, sleeping with Adam would mean the loss of any respect he had for her. To say nothing of the blow to her own self-respect.
‘No. But thanks for the offer. And the offer of the spare room. I agree it would be more sensible if I stay here tonight.’
‘That’s sorted, then. Nate has had your bag sent up here anyway. Is there anything else you need?’
Your body. The answer popped into her mind, proving to her that she might as well found Idiots R Us.
‘A spare toothbrush would be good.’ Nothing sexual about a toothbrush. So focus on that. Bristles, plastic handle, toothpaste, flossing... Nothing attractive about that. ‘If you’ve got one?’
‘This is a hotel, Olivia. We provide multiple toothbrushes.’
Toothbrushes. He was talking about multiple toothbrushes; she was thinking about orgasms. ‘There’s one in the spare room already.’
‘Fabulous. Super. Take me to it. The toothbrush, I mean.’
* * *
Five hours later Olivia opened bleary eyes and gave up. Sleep with Adam a mere couple of walls away wasn’t possible. Not even in a bed that had literally taken her breath away. She had no idea how much a stay in a penthouse suite would cost but the decadent round bed alone would be worth it. Sumptuously comfortable and made for sin...it was no wonder her body had spent the night craving someone to sin with.
No. Not someone. Adam.
Olivia huffed out yet another sigh.
Coffee. She needed coffee. No—what she really needed was a hormone transplant. But she’d have to settle for coffee.
A glance in the mirror sent a shudder of sheer horror throug
h her. Her hair had not coped well with the tossing and turning of her fevered body; if she went outside birds would be attracted to its nestlike properties. As for the bags under her eyes—they were fit for a luggage carousel.
OK. Ten minutes to make herself at least a little bit presentable. For her own sake, of course. Nothing to do with the chance that Adam might be an early riser.
Olivia pushed the door open and padded down the corridor to the kitchen. She filled the kettle up and pulled open a cupboard in the hope of finding coffee.
There had to be coffee. All hotels provided little sachets of instant granules. Surely a hotel of this ilk would have a jar of a luxury blend?
A fruitless search found some very posh tea bags that smelt woefully caffeine-free and way more like pot-pourri than tea—and then she saw it.
Whoa.
It was the mother of all coffee machines, the type that you would need ten hours’ solid sleep and two degrees in advanced physics to use.
Next to it was a jar of coffee beans.
Might be quicker to eat a few.
Even as she contemplated the idea a knock on the main door of the suite distracted her and caused hope to surface. Maybe it was Room Service. Maybe Adam had ordered a full English breakfast and a steaming pot of coffee and maybe they were just outside the door.
Glory be!
Olivia scuttled down the corridor.
‘Don’t open it!’
The peremptory command reached her ears a fraction of a second too late; she’d already tugged the door towards her.
The pop of flashlights triggered a swirl of stars in front of her eyes. Unfortunately not bright enough to obscure the hideous sight of a scavenging pack of reporters on the threshold. Thank goodness she’d brushed her hair and pulled on jeans.
Various shouts permeated her eardrums.
‘How does it feel to filch a man from a woman like Candice?’
‘Where is the love rat?’
Then Adam was at her side, positioning himself so that his body shielded hers from view.
‘No comment,’ he said evenly, and with that he closed the door with a decisive bang and a succinct swear word.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked down at her. ‘You OK?’
‘No. Of course I’m not OK. I was expecting toast and scrambled eggs and sausages and coffee and I got a microphone shoved in my face. How did they even get up here?’
‘That’s exactly what Nathan is finding out. And heaven preserve the staff member who gave those reporters the keycode to the lift.’
A horrible thought filtered into her coffee-and sleep-deprived brain. ‘They haven’t found out about the baby, have they?’ she whispered.
‘No,’ Adam said. He gestured down the hallway. ‘I’ll make coffee and explain.’
‘Hold the explanations until the coffee kicks in.’ Olivia watched Adam, reading the message sent by the grim set of his lips and the tightness of his jaw. Adam Masterson wasn’t a happy man and she was pretty sure someone was going to pay the price.
‘So what’s this all this about?’ she asked, coffee cup in hand. ‘They mentioned Candice.’
‘Yup. Candice has decided to score some publicity,’ Adam said. ‘According to her, she and I were an item and I specifically asked her to last night’s event, where she thought I was going to ask her to move the relationship to a higher plane.’ Adam broke off and snorted. ‘This is utter drivel. Anyway instead I turned up with you, so according to Candice I’m a love rat and you’re...’
‘The other woman?’ Horror clogged her throat and Olivia nearly choked. ‘Who stole you away from Candice.’
This was the stuff of nightmares. Her friends, her clients, her mum would open the papers and she would be revealed as the other woman. The other woman who had slept with a man for his money.
‘You’ve got to do something.’
‘Damn right we’re going to do something about it.’
Olivia frowned. ‘You really care. And I’m guessing it’s not my rep that you’re worried about.’
‘No, it’s not,’ he said. ‘What I care about is the fact that Candice is planning to sabotage a charity event I’m co-hosting. I’ve sponsored the launch of a charity fashion show. Now Candice is threatening to boycott the show, along with the rest of the modelling community, and make a call for all the other women whose hearts I’ve broken to picket the show.’
Indignation heated her veins. ‘She wouldn’t really do that. Surely that’s negative publicity for her?
‘I assume she thinks it’s worth it to paint me as London’s premier love rat.’ His stride increased, covering the travertine kitchen floor in a few easy lopes. ‘Particularly at a charity function that means a lot to me. I will not let this event be disrupted.’
‘Why don’t you grovel to Candice?’ Olivia paused, her imagination balking at the idea of Adam kowtowing to anyone. ‘Apologise for the misunderstanding, explain that we’re just friends. I’ll back you up on that. We’ll say that I’m a friend who agreed to pose as your date to protect you from the baggers. That you hadn’t realised Candice was interested in you. That you are incredibly flattered and would love to go out with her. Then she’ll walk the catwalk for you and everything will be fine.’
‘No.’ Adam stared at her as though she were mad. ‘Just no. But accept my congratulations on your excellent imagination and ability to fabricate a story.’
‘At least I’m trying. Why don’t you think of something?’
Adam came to a halt in front of the breakfast bar and Olivia gulped. Colour her shallow, but the man was flipping all her switches.
He’d pulled a shirt on over jeans but obviously not had the time to button it up, and the black edges gaped to reveal a tantalising glimpse of sculpted chest, a light smattering of hair that arrowed down over ripped abs.
‘OK,’ he said slowly. ‘I’ve thought of something.’
Apprehension lifted the hairs on her arms as she waved a hand in the air. ‘What?’
‘It’s a two-pronged plan. First I’ll get Candice to back down.’
‘How?’
‘I’m going to offer her three dates with Noah Braithwaite.’
‘The Noah Braithwaite?’ Olivia said. ‘Hollywood heartthrob?’ The penny dropped. ‘Also known as Noah ‘Two Date’ Braithwaite.’
‘Yup. Noah and I are poker buddies—I’ll persuade him. Candice will jump at the chance to be the woman who got a third date out of Noah Braithwaite.’
‘OK. That should work,’ Olivia said. ‘Could you also see your way to getting her to rescind her allegations of me being a man thief?’
‘That’s prong two of the plan,’ Adam said, and his lips curved up in a satisfied smile. ‘Candice backs down, which leaves you and I still together. So, to prove that I am not a love rat who has abandoned you, you are coming to the fashion show as my date. You’ll be icing on the cake of my respectability.’
‘No way.’ The response was instinctive, wrenched from her at gut level.
The previous night had been bad enough, being paraded as a possible gold-digger or at best a trophy girlfriend chosen for her looks. Olivia had looked up that article in the sleepless pre-dawn hours and knew now what she had already suspected. All Adam cared about were a woman’s looks.
‘Fine. I’ll sweeten the pot. You play the part of my girlfriend at the fashion show and I’ll take you to Zeb. You can tell him about the baby.’
SIX
Adam knew he’d made her an offer she couldn’t refuse— he just wasn’t sure why he’d made it. Doubtless he could have found a different way to persuade her to continue in her role.
‘You mean it?’ Those hazel eyes narrowed in suspicion, her thoughts presumably mirroring his.
‘Yes.’ And he did.
&
nbsp; He’d tracked Zeb down in the sleepless small hours but he hadn’t rung him. The image of Olivia’s face had been too vivid, her voice still echoing in his ears. Her own father had rejected her very existence, denied her an understanding of her own genetic identity and roots. No wonder she had a need to see Zeb face to face to garner his reactions, good or bad, and Adam had no idea which it would be. And so he’d dropped his phone back on the bedside cabinet and left Zeb in ignorance.
‘I mean it,’ he said.
‘This charity event is really important to you, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ He hesitated. ‘My mother died from myeloma.’
Her brow pinched in empathy. ‘Oh, Adam. I’m so sorry.’
He clamped his lips into a grim line; it was too late to prevent the words. ‘Don’t worry about it. Point is I want this event to be a success. If it goes well it could become an annual event. I’ll do what I need to make it work. So are you in?’
‘I’m in.’ Her bare foot tapped a nervous rhythm on the underfloor heated kitchen tiles. ‘What next?’
‘I’ll sort out Candice and then we’ll let the press in. Set the record straight.’
He’d expected her to demur, but instead she nodded as she glanced round and bit her lip thoughtfully. ‘I’ll set the scene. The secret of a good fabrication is in the detail.’
A pang of suspicion struck; was this an oblique way of telling him that she was lying? But now wasn’t the time to wonder—best to file the doubt away for later.
‘Fine. I’ll call Noah.’ He pulled his phone from his pocket. ‘Noah? It’s Adam. Remember that yacht you lost at our last game? Here’s your chance to get it back. But there’s a price.’
‘Isn’t there always?’
Adam swivelled at Olivia’s muttered words but she was on her way out of the kitchen. His gaze lingered on the alluring sway of her hips, the curve of the heart-shaped bottom that had fitted so snugly in his hands.
‘Adam?’ Noah’s transatlantic drawl in his ear pulled his mind out of the gutter.
‘Yeah. Listen up...’
Half an hour later Adam went in search of his partner in crime to report. A glance into the spare room yielded nothing; the room looked completely unused. Not so much as a strawberry blonde strand of hair on the pillow.
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