How to Bag a Billionaire. Nina Milne

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.