How to Bag a Billionaire

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.