How to Bag a Billionaire

It was all too late. Her eyes closed. Her body moved tight up against his. Her hips circled. Searched. Needed. Found an unmistakable reaction.

Her eyes flew open as a shiver shot through his broad frame; exultation flamed that she had caused it.

Olivia had forgotten where she was. Who she was. What she was. All she knew was this. This was real. Bone-meltingly real.

The music came to a stop.

Mortification loomed as she remembered exactly where, who and what she was. She was plastered to him; they might as well have been having sex on the dance floor.

For a timeless moment she felt the accelerated thud of his heart against her palm, looked up into eyes that had deepened to molten copper. Then he blinked, his eyelids lifting to reveal nothing more than speculation in their brown depths.

‘That should do it,’ he said.

‘Do what?’

‘Lull any lingering doubt in Helen’s mind. And free me from any unwanted attention from other women.’

Humiliation arrived and encased her with an icy dose of reality.

Adam had orchestrated the whole thing—staged a scene designed to convince the most sceptical of reporters. But it couldn’t all have been an act. No way had he faked what had happened in his trousers. What was still happening in his trousers. Whilst she was still glued to him.

Stepping backwards, she looked up at him, wanting answers.

This was all too much. Never had she been so out of control.

‘So,’ he said, his voice light. ‘Give me ten minutes and I’m all yours.’

Lucky her. She was out of her depth and she didn’t even know how to swim. ‘I don’t need all of you.’ Really?

‘Then you can have whichever parts you want. How’s that?’

He stepped forward and her breathing quickened in response as his woodsy scent re-assaulted her already battered senses.

‘I...’ She needed to time to think, to dunk her body into an ice bath and enable her brain to regain perspective.

Instead, acting of their own will, her feet propelled her towards him to bring her right up close and personal with the hard bulk of his chest and the hardness of his still very present erection. Well, hello again.

‘Come on,’ he growled, the rasp of his voice clenching her tummy muscles. ‘We’re leaving.’

From somewhere a small modicum of common sense asserted itself. ‘But what about the guests?’

‘There’s a free bar and plenty of food. They’ll manage.’

‘But...’

‘Shh.’ Adam laid a finger against her lips, the rough skin tantalising the softness of her mouth.

Olivia swallowed and the final vestige of self-preservation will-o’-the-wisped away into the sparkling hum of the ballroom. Her hand reached out and slipped into his and, oblivious to the murmurs of the guests, she walked with him across the ballroom floor.

To her surprise he retained her hand in his as they half walked, half ran across the marble foyer towards the lifts. Somewhere in the recesses of her brain a voice was hollering for her attention. Screaming at her that what she was doing was downright stupid. But as she gazed down at their hands it seemed to her that, injudicious or not, it was inevitable.

From the moment she’d seen Adam a fuse had been lit; the demon of desire had sizzled and snaked its way into existence and was demanding its sinful needs be met.

The lift door swished open and he tugged her inside, barely waiting until privacy was ensured before pulling her towards him.

FOUR (#ulink_149843ac-a9af-58c2-a49a-d7f519ca19d3)

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.