So should she wriggle in forwards on her tummy or try to get in backwards? There were so many things that could go wrong: she could get stuck, she could fall into the arms of a waiting security guard... Maybe this wasn’t such a brilliant idea.
But if she gave up now then she wouldn’t get a chance to talk to Adam Masterson.
That was unacceptable.
Good thing she was flexible.
* * *
Adam Masterson perched on the edge of his security officer’s desk and scowled at the CCTV footage of the woman balanced on the windowsill.
What the hell was she doing? Apart from an excellent impersonation of Catwoman. Dressed completely in black, with a beanie pulled low over her forehead, it was impossible even to know her hair colour.
More to the point, who the hell was she? Journalist? Photographer? Wishful thinking... He’d already arranged publicity for the event. Which meant here was yet another hopeful player in the new party game Bag a Billionaire. Bad enough that he knew the ballroom would soon be awash with legitimate guests scheming how to waylay him over the canapés. At least they’d paid for the privilege, with the money going to a more than worthy cause.
Tendrils of memory threatened and he cut them off before they could take hold. He’d had his daily surfeit of grim memories already today, following his earlier conversation with his ex-wife and the news that she was remarrying. He was happy for Charlotte, but the exchange had brought back recollections of a time in his life he was less than proud of. Way less.
Plus, it had highlighted the way their lives had gone in the eight years since their disastrous union. There was Charlotte, with the happy-ever-after she had always wanted; here was Adam, being pursued by a bunch of women mining for his gold.
Speaking of which, right now he had to contend with his gatecrasher. He bit back an exasperated groan; he didn’t need this. The entire billionaire-bagging thing was getting old.
‘Do you want us to apprehend her?’ Nathan asked.
Adam pulled himself into the present and focused on the screen. The woman appeared to be engaged in some sort of internal Q and A session before she wriggled limbo-dancer-like through the gap in the window.
An arrow of desire shot straight through him.
He ran a hand over the top of his head. Talk about misplaced. A probable stalker, a definite intruder, was breaking into his hotel and his libido had decided to come to the party. The woman landed on the floor, glanced round the empty room and opened the bag she had pushed through earlier.
Adam opened his mouth to instruct his security chief to get a team down there.
And closed it again on a strangled gargle, unable to wrench his eyes from the screen as the woman pulled the black beanie from her head and shook out a mane of extraordinary hair. Strawberry blonde tresses, with the balance towards strawberry, fell past her shoulders.
Crossing her arms, she hoisted her black jumper over her head to reveal a white tunic top, and then with a little twist pushed her jeans down her hips.
Misplaced or not, desire pulled his libido’s strings. Time to get a grip; better yet, maybe it was time to get a date. Clearly it had been too long—ever since that article had appeared and the baggers had emerged from the woodwork he’d put himself on a stint of enforced celibacy. Partly because the thought of being chased for his money brought a tang of distaste, and partly because he wanted any press attention to be focused on his charitable activities and not his bedroom ones.
Until now it hadn’t been an issue.
‘So what next?’ Nathan asked.
It was a good question.
The woman was now fully clothed in an outfit that at a glance resembled the uniform worn by all hotel employees; she’d obviously done her research. White tunic top, black trousers—she’d even got a clipboard. The intent look on her face backed up the determined set of her jaw as she swept her magnificent hair into an efficient bun.
Picking up the bag, she opened the door and walked down the corridor. Her stride confident, she looked as though she knew exactly where she was going and why.
Of course there was no way he would allow her access to his guests; it was just fascinating to watch her at work. The first bagger to catch his interest and certainly the most resourceful.
But enough was enough. Time to mobilise the troops.
Before he could say anything Nathan’s massive body tensed as she ducked into the ladies’ restroom. ‘Better hope she is a bagger. For all we know she could be building a bomb in there.’
Staring at the screen, Adam concentrated on unclenching his jaw. It was an outside chance, but it was still possible that the intruder was armed. And he had let a moment of inappropriate attraction blindside him. A pulse started to beat in his cheek and he closed his eyes, grounded himself, before pushing himself away from the desk in a single lithe movement.
‘Close the ladies’. Be discreet. Say it’s a plumbing problem and send your men down there in cleaners’ uniforms.’
Nathan nodded. ‘I’ll go in and get her out,’ he said.
Adam shook his head. ‘I screwed up. I’ll go in.’
‘But...’
‘No buts,’ Adam said. ‘We could’ve stopped her by now. That was my call and I didn’t make it.’ Too busy stewing over the past whilst lusting over a stranger. Who said men couldn’t multitask?
‘I still think...’
Adam shook his head. If he didn’t sort this one out himself the strawberry blondee stranger would haunt his dreams for too long. Best to make her real. Expose her as the avaricious gold-digger she undoubtedly was whilst avoiding the baggers no doubt waiting to hunt him down in the ballroom.
He picked up his tux jacket and gave Nathan his best impression of an action hero. ‘I’m going in.’
* * *
Olivia mentally ran through her entire and extensive repertoire of swear words. This was ridiculous! This was supposed to be the easy bit. The bit where she locked herself into a cubicle and transformed herself from faux hotel employee to fake ballroom guest. All she had to do was change into a party dress. Good grief! What sort of personal shopper couldn’t get herself into a dress? A dress she’d tried on at home with no problem.
But now the stupid zip on the stupid little black blend-right-in dress was stuck. Worse, she couldn’t get out of the skintight concoction to unstick it.
As she twisted she lost her balance and the back of her knee thunked the lip of the toilet seat. ‘Ouch!’ Biting her lip, she stilled. Please let there be no one out there. Though...surely there should be someone out there? Guests must have arrived in droves by now so it made sense that someone would want to freshen up in the ladies’ restroom.
That was the essence of the last stage of her plan. Guests would only be allowed entry into the hotel on production of an invitation, embossed and coded and impossible to duplicate. This was a private party, an annual gala that raised hundreds of thousands of pounds for Support Myeloma, thanks to the auctioneering powers of Adam Masterson. But she was already in the building, and as the invitations were inspected at the foyer of the hotel Olivia figured she should be safe.
Particularly as the plan was to leave the ladies’ with a group of other women who would serve as camouflage. Then she would find a large potted palm and lurk unnoticed until the moment arrived when she could snag Adam Masterson.
After all, she was good at lurking at parties.
Memories skittered through her brain as echoes of raucous laughter peppered with the pop of champagne corks reverberated in her eardrums. How she had hated the numerous shindigs her mother had hosted, even as she’d understood Jodie Evans’s desperate need to extract fun out of every second of a life that had stacked the odds against her. Olivia hadn’t begrudged her mother one of those seconds of fun; she had wished with all her heart for Jodie to be happy.
The knowledge that she could never repay everything she owed her mum was always with her.
Closing her eyes, she sucked air into her lungs. For goodness’ sake! This was not the time for a trip down memory lane. Any minute now someone was bound to come in here so she had better hurry up. How hard could this be? She was flexible, remember? She reached round for the zip.
‘Need a hand?’
Olivia froze as an unmistakably male voice drawled out the question.
In slow motion she forced herself to look up at the man observing her over the top of the cubicle. He must be standing on the toilet in the next door cubicle, her brain told her dully, trying to operate past the volcano of panic about to erupt in her chest.
Dark hair, light brown eyes, square jaw, a nose that was ever so slightly off-shape... Recognition slammed her like a sucker punch. ‘It’s you,’ she breathed.
His eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown as his lips tightened. ‘In the flesh,’ he said.
Olivia opened her mouth but the words evaporated under the heat of his gaze. Plus, she was damned if she knew the best way to explain her presence. Blurting out her reason for being there whilst standing half-dressed in a toilet cubicle had not been part of the Masterson Master Plan.
Still, she was going to have to work with what she had; this was an opportunity. ‘Mr Masterson,’ she began. ‘I can expl—’
‘I need to check your bag,’ he broke in.
‘My bag?’
‘Yes, your bag,’ he said, his impatience tingeing the air.
Olivia glanced down at the bag in confusion. Looking back up at the exasperation that lit the brown eyes, she realised his motivation was irrelevant. Right now it seemed clear he wouldn’t listen to anything she said until she gave it to him. She ducked down awkwardly and picked up the bag.
‘I’ll come round,’ he said.
She heard the thud as he presumably jumped down from the toilet; she pushed the door open and held out the bag. ‘Look, is this really necessary?’ she asked, a shudder of aversion shivering through her as he started to sift through the contents.
‘Yes,’ he stated. ‘My security chief is worried that you are locked in here constructing a bomb.’
Fabulous! Her stomach plummeted into a free fall of panic; she was under suspicion of being a terrorist.
Come on, Olivia. Calm down. You’ve talked your way out of worse than this before.
Though she suspected that talking her way past this man would be akin to melting iron with an incense stick.
Still, she had to try. She took a step forward out of the cubicle and straightened her spine.
‘I realise all this is a bit bizarre, but I’m not a terrorist and I’m not here with the intention of hurting anyone. If—’
Adam Masterson wasn’t so much as looking at her, let alone listening. Instead he was on the phone.
‘Nate,’ he said. ‘I’ve checked the bag. Our enterprising intruder locked herself in the toilet to get dressed, not to build a bomb.’ He listened for a moment and then put the phone back into his pocket.
OK. At least the terrorist theory had been knocked on the head. Not that Adam Masterson looked relieved; if anything the set of his lips was even grimmer, the frown deeper. Time to try again.
‘Look, I’m truly sorry,’ she said. ‘I never meant to cause so much hassle. I really, really just want to—’
A derisive snort interrupted her. ‘I know what you really, really want to do, and I’m really, really not interested.’
Olivia frowned. ‘You can’t possibly know why I’m here.’ She was having trouble enough believing it herself.
Adam pulled his phone out of his pocket.
‘Hang on!’ Olivia said. ‘You’ve got to listen.’
He shook his head. ‘Nope, I don’t. I’ve got to get Security in here to remove you from the premises.’
The panic erupted in her chest; this was her chance and she’d blown it. Unless... Maybe now was the time to utilise her black belt in taekwondo.
Propelled by the sheer impossibility of failure, Olivia launched herself at him.
‘What the—?’
Taking advantage of his millisecond of surprise, she knocked the phone from his hand.
To no avail.
In a fluid movement he’d caught the mobile and shock juddered Olivia’s body as she collided with an immovable wall of chest. Strong arms locked behind her back in a hold way too powerful for her to break even as she leant back, shoving her palms flat against his chest.
Her breath escaped in short, sharp pants as she looked up at him. For a fleeting second his light brown eyes darkened and focused on her lips. Unable to help herself, she dropped her gaze to his mouth as a sudden shiver prickled her skin.
A shiver not of fear but of desire.
Which was ridiculous. Right now her instincts should have kicked in; she should be at least attempting to struggle free. Instead she couldn’t stop staring at the mesmerising shape of those firm, capable lips. His heart pounded under her hand; her fingers curled into the silk of his white shirt.
As she pressed her own lips together to moisten them something primal flickered in his eyes. His arms tensed to pull her forward. Then abruptly he released her.
Her skin tingled where his arms had touched her and Olivia stepped backwards, until the cold marble of the counter pressed into the backs of her thighs. Her heart thumped painfully against her ribcage. Perspective—she desperately needed to locate some. Along with control. Her master plan was in tatters and somehow she had to salvage it. Before Adam Masterson called Security.
He stood there, those gorgeous lips set in a grim line. Anger darkened his face; his eyes were cold chips of mud. ‘Lady, just how far are you prepared to go to bag me?’
‘Excuse me?’ What was he talking about? Perhaps his proximity had addled her brain cells completely. Somehow she had to pull herself together and try and turn this situation around. She had no idea what had happened in those charged seconds in his arms but she couldn’t let it ruin everything. ‘I don’t understand.’
An exasperated sigh hit the air. ‘Drop the act. I know you’re here to “bag me”,’ he said, hooking his fingers in the air to indicate quotation marks.
‘As in murder you and put you in a body bag? Tempting, but given your security levels I’ll pass.’
For a second she thought she saw his lips give the tiniest of quirks. Was it possible the man possessed a sense of humour?
He swiped his hand over his mouth and shook his head. ‘You haven’t heard of Bag a Billionaire?’ The narrowed eyes, the creased forehead were both clear indicators of patent disbelief; the gleam of humour had obviously been a mirage.
‘Nope. Honest.’
His frown deepened. ‘In a nutshell, some idiot magazine reporter wrote an article advising wannabe gold-diggers on how to bag themselves a billionaire and identified me as the target. Since then I’ve arrived home to find a naked woman in my bed with “Kiss me Quick, Kiss me Slow” tattooed on her stomach and an arrow pointing downward, my mail yesterday included some rather explicit photographs, I have had women break the heels of their shoes and collapse in a heap in front of me, and women’s cars seem to miraculously break down wherever I go.’ Pausing, he eyed her. ‘I’m sure you get the picture.’
‘That’s terrible,’ Olivia said. ‘But...’
‘Terrible?’ he echoed, the mocking note jarring through the air. ‘I agree. Though I must say no one has resorted to gatecrashing a party with quite such style as you have.’
It took a minute for the implications of his words to sink in before outrage smacked her mouth wide open. ‘You think... You mean... You think I’m like one of those women?’
He leant back against the wall, arms folded. ‘You’ve broken into my hotel and thrown yours
elf into my arms in a dress that is conveniently falling off you—what do you expect me to think?’
Anger started to bubble at his sheer arrogance, stirred frothier by the small part of her that conceded the devil had a point.
One hand slammed on her hip even as the other held the dress up. ‘I admit I’ve broken into your hotel, but I did not throw myself at you. I promise you I haven’t risked arrest for the supposed pleasure of “bagging” you.’
For a moment he studied her face and she met his gaze full-on, saw something flicker in the milk chocolate depths. She prayed he could hear the truth in her voice. Otherwise he would have her marched out of here any second now and she couldn’t let that happen. There was way too much at stake here—and not just for herself.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘I understand why you are suspicious but you don’t need to be. I promise. Give me a chance to prove it to you. Hear me out. Please.’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘You’ve got ten seconds.’
TWO
Hard to tell who was more surprised—the strawberry blonde stranger or himself. Irritation coursed through his veins; he’d been blindsided by a beautiful face and a spectacular body. This woman was bad news, and no matter what lies she was about to spin from that gorgeous mouth the key point was that they would be lies—a calculated strategy with the aim of locating his wallet.
The chances of her not being a billionaire-bagger were minuscule, yet there had been a vibrancy to her voice, a desperate glint in those hazel eyes that had clouded his usually impeccable judgement.
Pushing the sleeve of his tux jacket up, he looked at his watch. ‘Five seconds left. Four...three...’
‘My mother is pregnant,’ she blurted out.
Her words echoed around the bathroom and bounced off the mirrored tiles.
What on earth did she expect him to do? Maybe she wasn’t a billionaire-bagger. Maybe she was crazy. ‘Offer her my congratulations,’ he said. ‘And now I think it’s time for you to go.’
‘I need to tell you who the father is.’
Harlequin KISS August 2014 Bundle Page 59
