Nina Milne – How to Bag a Billionaire (страница 7)

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.

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...’