Harlequin KISS August 2014 Bundle

by Amy Andrews, Aimee Carson, Avril Tremayne

  He pulled the door closed and headed for his bedroom—and stopped on the threshold with a gargled snort. Olivia lay on his king-size mattress. Correction: Olivia was rolling around on his king-size mattress. If he’d wanted his libido to get any more excited he’d have said she was writhing.

  ‘Olivia?’

  Her body stilled, and then with careful, deliberate movements she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up.

  ‘I was just...’ She leant over, probably in an attempt to hide the pink-tinted angles of her cheekbones, but inadvertently giving him a glorious flash of cleavage. She tugged the duvet up to leave a glimpse of the sinfully rumpled black sheets. ‘The bed needs to look like we both...used it.’

  Her breath hitched audibly as she straightened, and hazel eyes flickered away from his as she swept her arm around the room.

  ‘What do you think?’

  Wrenching his gaze away from her, and his mind out of fantasy land, he followed the arc of her hand. Olivia’s bag was on the floor by the corner of the bed. Her dress was slung over the back of a chair and...and oh, hell. Moisture sheened his temple as he spotted the wisp of lace peeping out from under the bed.

  ‘Hopefully this looks as though I spent the night in here.’ Chewing her bottom lip, she gave a small nod. ‘I’ll hang my clothes up in your wardrobe, too. As an added touch. After all, if we’re saying we are serious then it may be best to at least imply I’ve stayed here before and I’m staking a claim.’

  Doubt assailed him again, battering his mind.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Are you?’ he asked. ‘Staking a claim? Seems to me you’re pretty practised in the art of fabrication, of making a mirage of the truth.’

  Her head whipped round at neck-cracking speed. ‘Say what? I’m doing my very best to help you out here, bolster your reputation, and you’re doing what? Still accusing me of scamming you?’

  ‘I’m simply observing that you are a self-confessed expert liar and you’ve certainly got a whole lot further than any other woman has thus far.’ Hell, he was about to announce at a press conference that she was his serious girlfriend. No one had ever got this far. Except Charlotte.

  Adam blocked off the thought. His ex-wife was not a topic he wanted or needed to consider right now.

  Hands slammed on those curvy hips as she shook her head in patent disbelief. ‘Believe what you like, Adam. I thought I was doing a good thing here. Candice is the one whose lies are threatening to derail your charitable event, and...’ She hesitated. ‘She is also sullying your reputation. That’s wrong. Our lie... Well, it’s not harming anyone and it’s repairing the damage she’s done. I don’t have an issue with that. Do you?’

  ‘Not a one,’ he said. ‘I’m questioning your expertise. That’s all.’

  Back went the teeth over the plumpness of her lower lip. Adam’s gut contracted in a sudden desire to take over the action. To stop talking and start feeling.

  Then she shrugged. ‘I’ve had some experience in the art of dissembling. That’s all. There were times when I was growing up when life was a bit hand-to-mouth and Mum and I needed to fabricate a believable story.’

  ‘Who for?’

  ‘Landlords, debt collectors, teachers... Things were a bit complicated sometimes and it was important to put on a bit of a show. No harm done, and when we were flush I always paid off any debts.’

  Adam felt that insidious pull at his chest again. That sense of connection, of the shared experience of a childhood made less than stable by the antics of parents. Different experiences with different outcomes—clearly Olivia and Jodie had a bond that went a whole load deeper than any link he and Zeb had. Olivia and Jodie’s had been forged in love.

  Her level gaze didn’t falter. ‘But I’m not after anything from you, Adam. Except access to Zeb.’

  ‘OK.’ He stepped forward until they were mere centimetres apart, close enough for him to clock that her chest rose and fell in definite response to his nearness. ‘Got it.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, and then the silence tautened as tension wove a web around them.

  It would be so easy to tumble her backwards onto the bed and turn one aspect of their shared lie to truth.

  Stop. Not possible. If he accepted Olivia’s story as true then he accepted Jodie to be pregnant with Zeb’s baby. So it didn’t matter that he’d never laid eyes on Olivia until yesterday—didn’t matter they met nowhere on the family tree: the unborn baby would link them together for ever. That would be plenty complicated enough without throwing sex into the mix.

  So...

  Drawing from his reserves of will power, he stepped backwards. ‘You’ve done a great job in here. I’ve persuaded Candice to withdraw her story and Noah has agreed to play his part. The press will be here in about half an hour.’

  ‘Right.’ Olivia blinked and then, taking his cue, she nodded. ‘I need to change. So can I borrow one of your shirts? That denotes seriousness, doesn’t it? Wearing someone else’s clothes—it’s pretty intimate. Plus I slept in my shirt last night, so that’s a bit grim, and I don’t think the all-black outfit is right. It’s too funereal-cum-cat burglar.’

  Adam shrugged. ‘Fine with me.’ He gestured at the wardrobe. ‘Take your pick.’

  She glided over to the wardrobe and slid the huge mirrored door to one side. There was a long minute as she stared inside. ‘Wow! That’s a lot of clothes.’ She turned. ‘How long are you staying here?’

  He frowned. ‘I keep all my stuff here.’

  ‘So you live here? It’s your home?’ Her face was creased with confusion, as though the concept was incomprehensible.

  ‘I spend most of my time on the road, in one or another of the Masterson hotels. But I spend about a week or so a month here. So I guess it’s a base.’

  Olivia turned to survey the bedroom as if she were soaking in the surroundings anew. ‘It’s very...nice,’ she said.

  Nice? This was the height of luxury.

  Adam followed her gaze to the enormous handcrafted wooden bed, the mirrored wardrobe, the glass desk and the flat-screen television. She’d already seen the lounge, with its enormous cream leather sofas heaped with textured cushions, the glass dining table surrounded by white leather dining chairs.

  ‘Glad you approve,’ he muttered, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

  A flush bloomed in her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘That was rude of me. This is amazing. Honestly. Really impressive.’

  ‘But...?’ He wasn’t at all sure why but he wanted to know what she thought. Curiosity, maybe, at her bizarre reaction? Other women oohed and aahed. Olivia Evans was struggling to find a suitable compliment.

  Elegant shoulders lifted as she waved a hand around. ‘It’s just not very homey, that’s all.’

  Give him strength. ‘Homey?’

  ‘Lived in. Personal. I mean, did you choose anything at all in here? Or out there? Where’s the clutter?’

  ‘I approved the design.’ Irritation surfaced at the defensiveness that caused him to fold his arms across his chest. ‘And I don’t do clutter.’

  His childhood home, where he had spent the first eight years of his life with his mother, had overflowed at the seams with knick-knacks and clutter. Maria Jonson had collected souvenirs of all her life’s experiences: snow globes, vases, paperweights, statues, garden gnomes. They had all ended up in their small terraced house. Maybe because his mum had had some sixth sense that her life was doomed to end way too early.

  Sadness weighed heavy in his heart, along with remembered grief at leaving that home, seeing the house and all those precious possessions sold or donated to charity by Zeb.

  ‘Possessions clutter up life,’ his newly discovered father had told him. He’d placed a light hand on Adam’s shoulders. ‘I know it’s a hard concept, but
you’ll work it out. You’ve got a new life now, Adam. A life of adventure.’

  Words that had aroused such a conflict of emotion—sadness, excitement, guilt and fear—and set him inexorably on the path to becoming the man he was today.

  Rubbing a hand over his face, Adam frowned. The past wasn’t relevant right now. Neither were his interior decorating preferences. Or his attitude to clutter. ‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘Go ahead. Pick a shirt.’

  She turned her attention back to the wardrobe and tilted her head to one side.

  ‘Interesting,’ she said. ‘For a man who doesn’t like clutter you sure do like clothes. What do you do? Find something you like and order it in every colour? You’ve got three styles in there. Long sleeves, short-sleeved shirts and T-shirts. Five colours each.’

  Impressive. All the clothes were in a jumbled mass, and yet she’d analysed his wardrobe at a glance. Now she was looking at him with a disconcertingly assessing slant to her hazel eyes. To his own annoyance Adam realised he was rocking on the balls of his feet. As if he was uncomfortable.

  ‘I asked the buyer in the boutique downstairs to stock my wardrobe. He came up, took my measurements and filled the wardrobe.’

  ‘So an interior decorator bought your furniture, a boutique owner stocks your wardrobe, and you have nothing personal. That’s so...’

  Adam rolled his eyes. ‘Convenient?’ he suggested.

  She shook her head violently. ‘No. You don’t get it.’ She huffed out a sigh. ‘I know what I’m talking about. I’m a personal shopper.’

  It figured. No wonder she looked so damn good, and no wonder she had taken such care with each and every transformation. Burglar, hotel employee, ball guest, girlfriend... Olivia knew how to dress for every role.

  ‘I run a company called Working Wardrobes.’ Pride rang in her voice and illuminated the elven features. ‘But the whole point is that I’m a personal shopper.’ Her hands gesticulated animatedly as she spoke. ‘I don’t look at someone and think six foot three, dark hair, chocolate-brown eyes, ripped body, so I’ll buy him two pairs of designer jeans and four urban sweatshirts—’ She broke off as his eyebrows rose. ‘For example...’ she added hurriedly. ‘Taking a completely random example.’

  Her face creased into a fluster of dismay and he couldn’t help himself: a snort of laughter erupted.

  After staring at him for a perplexed second she curved her lips into a smile and then she was giggling. A full-on giggle that bubbled forth and made him laugh. A proper belly laugh. How long was it since he had laughed like that?

  Too long.

  Almost as though she was thinking the same thing about herself she stopped, lifted a hand to cover her lips and stared at him.

  Her eyes sparkled and she looked so gorgeous all he wanted was to step forward and plunder the lushness of her lips.

  Every which way he went, that was where he ended up.

  Leaning forward, she snatched a shirt from its hanger. ‘I’ll go and transform myself,’ she muttered, and scurried towards his bathroom.

  SEVEN

  Olivia gulped. The sheer surrealism of the situation boggled her mind.

  Any second now Adam was going to walk through the swish lounge, open the door and let the press into the suite—aka Adam’s home, or base, or whatever he called it—and she was going to pretend to be his girlfriend. How had this happened? How?

  Olivia felt a small familiar roll of nerves in her tummy. This was like her years growing up—years when she had had to play roles varying from ‘beautiful young girl throwing herself on landlord’s mercy’ to ‘beautiful girl surprising rowdy revellers with a well placed kick’. But any second now adrenaline would kick in and she’d pull this off. Just as she always had.

  She could do this. She flicked a glance across at Adam. They could do this. Because this time they were in it together; if she went down she’d be taking him with her.

  ‘We’ve got this,’ Adam said, coming up behind her. The warmth and strength of his body gave her reassurance whilst it also made her strum her with desire.

  Minutes later Adam ushered in Helen Kendersen and the photographer from the previous night. ‘Good morning, you two. And thank you for this exclusive. Frisson is honoured.’

  With a newfound awareness Olivia knew that Helen and the photographer had some sort of a relationship. Could see it in their body language. Helen looked...content—sleek and sated. The photographer had a smile on his face that said all was right with his world.

  An unexpected tingle of envy twanged her nerves. If only she’d pulled Adam down onto the sinfully rumpled black sheets of his sumptuous bed. Earned the right to wear his shirt.

  Focus, Olivia.

  ‘Would you like to have a look round?’ she offered. ‘And Adam can sort out coffee for everyone.’

  An hour later Olivia allowed herself a cautious exhalation of relief. Putting aside the fact that she’d had to pose on the bed with Adam, with a sappy smile on her face, the whole interview had gone amazingly well. In fact she was impressed with herself. Clearly her acting skills hadn’t deserted her any more than her lock-picking ones.

  ‘There is one more thing I’d like to request,’ Adam said. ‘I’d like you to ask the billionaire-baggers to back off.’

  Time to chime in. ‘Adam and I would really appreciate that,’ she said. ‘We need time together, time to explore these new feelings, and it would be so marvellous if we could do that in peace. Without tripping over gold-diggers every way we turn.’

  ‘Wow.’ Helen’s blue eyes glittered as they rested first on Adam’s face then switched in speculation to Olivia. ‘All this... It sounds like serious stuff.’

  Olivia leant forward and primed her vocal chords for girlish excitement. ‘Well, it’s early days yet. But, yes, I’m hoping that Adam will find me pretty addictive.’

  She looked up at Adam adoringly, just in time to see his jaw tense slightly.

  Given the smile on Helen’s face Olivia wasn’t surprised; it was the face of someone swooping in for the kill. She braced herself as the blonde woman leaned forward.

  ‘It’s interesting timing.’ A small pause, and then, ‘Tell me, Adam, could your sudden new desire for a relationship have anything to do with the impending marriage of your ex?’

  With teeth-clenching effort Olivia prevented her jaw from hitting her knees. Always stay in character. She tried to look as though the existence of an ex wasn’t headline-grabbing news in itself. An ex what? Girlfriend? Wife?

  A sideways glance showed that Adam looked unfazed, and a sliver of suspicion wormed its way into her psyche. Had the whole Candice and charity event thing been a ruse? This might have been his intention all along—to use their supposed relationship to get at his ex-whatever. Fabulous. Now she was a pawn in a classic tit-for-tat game.

  Adam’s shook his head. ‘Nope. No connection there, Helen. Charlotte and I have been divorced for years and I wish her nothing but happiness.’ He nodded at Helen’s notebook. ‘I have an agreement with her that I won’t bring publicity to her door and I try to abide by my word. So, in the interests of Frisson covering the Dress to Support Myeloma event later today, I’d appreciate it if you left her out of the article.’

  There was that you-don’t-want-to-mess-with-me voice again, and to Olivia’s annoyance it made her shiver.

  She stared at Adam, frustration seething at her inability to read his expression. Not that it mattered—the bottom line was that he didn’t give a stuff about branding Olivia anything he liked whilst dragging her into the public domain. But when it came to Charlotte it was clearly very different.

  And how catty did that sound? Olivia stiffened. Surely she wasn’t jealous of Charlotte? Because that would be ludicrous. Yet, however hard she tried to deny it, a tiny part of her soul was tinged green. Which didn’t make sense. Olivia Evans d
id not do jealousy. Men were notoriously unfaithful and only a fool would put herself in a position to be hurt. So it shouldn’t, couldn’t matter to her if Adam did still care enough for his ex to be scheming to win her back.

  * * *

  Adam gripped the back of the cream sofa and wondered how long it would be before Olivia erupted. She’d held it together for the remainder of the interview, but he’d sensed the vibrations of her inner fury.

  Now that Helen and the photographer had left she paced the lounge, each angry stride thumping down harder on the gleaming wooden floor, one irate kick sweeping aside the thickly patterned rug that impeded her progress.

  Five...four...three...two...one... And she screeched to a stop in front of the sofa.

  ‘Didn’t it occur to you to mention you have an ex-wife?’

  ‘No.’ It was no more than the truth; the topic of his marriage didn’t rate anywhere on his conversation list.

  ‘Well, it should have. Because then I wouldn’t have looked like a first-class idiot because my so-called partner didn’t bother to mention he has an ex-wife stashed away. You should have told me.’ She stopped, presumably because she must urgently need to replenish her lungs.

  He hesitated. Beneath the bravado he could sense a thread of vulnerability. ‘Look, I’m sorry if you felt stupid—it truly didn’t occur to me that Helen would link our relationship and Charlotte’s remarriage.’

  Olivia frowned, as if assessing exactly how many of his words were true and how many were lies. The sceptical rise of her dark brow indicated her verdict. ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course, really. Neither Charlotte nor her fiancé are in the public eye. I didn’t expect Helen to even know about their engagement.’

  ‘So it’s not true?’

  ‘Is what not true?’

  A roll of her eyes indicated her frustration, but Adam had no idea what she was getting at.

  ‘Helen’s link. Are you using me to get to Charlotte? To make her jealous?’