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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 yourself 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.’
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.’
Adam gusted out a sigh. ‘Lady, if you think you can scam me into believing it’s me that’s not going to fly.’
For a start his unwanted intruder had to be in her mid-twenties, and he hadn’t dated an older woman in a very long time. But even if that weren’t the case Adam always made 100 per cent sure that pregnancy was an impossibility. One thing was certain in his life: he was not father material. After all, he was a Masterson through and through and he knew his own limitations. The less than stellar circumstances of his marriage had showcased his shortcomings all too brightly.
‘I’m not trying to scam anyone.’ Her hands twisted into the folds of her black dress. ‘The baby’s father is your father. Zebediah Masterson. And I need to find him.’
Long practice at the poker table kept his face neutral even as her words travelled towards him in slow motion, each one slamming into him with the force of a sucker punch.
Come on, Adam. Keep cool. This was nothing more than an über-clever scam, a fantastic concoction woven to get his attention.
‘Rubbish,’ he stated.
‘It’s not rubbish.’ One slim hand rose to jab the air in emphasis; her other hand still held the black dress up. ‘Or rocket science. It’s simple biology. My mum is pregnant and Zebediah is the father. So I need to find him.’
Moisture prickled his temple with foreboding before common sense reasserted itself. No way would Zeb want a replay of fatherhood. Plus, surely even Zeb would have bothered to get in touch over something like this?
‘I don’t