Harlequin KISS August 2014 Bundle (66 page)

SEVEN

Olivia gulped.
The sheer surrealism of the situation boggled her mind.

Any second now Adam was going to walk through the swish lounge, open the door and let the press into the suite—aka Adam’s home, or base, or whatever he called it—and she was going to pretend to be his girlfriend. How had this happened?
How?

Olivia felt a small familiar roll of nerves in her tummy.
This
was
like her years growing up—years when she had had to play roles varying from ‘beautiful young girl throwing herself on landlord’s mercy’ to ‘beautiful girl surprising rowdy revellers with a well placed kick’. But any second now adrenaline would kick in and she’d pull this off. Just as she always had.

She could do this. She flicked a glance across at Adam.
They
could do this. Because
this time they were in it together; if she went down she’d be taking him with her.

‘We’ve got this,’ Adam said, coming up behind her. The warmth and strength of his body gave her reassurance whilst it also made her strum her with desire.

Minutes later Adam ushered in Helen Kendersen and the photographer from the previous night. ‘Good morning, you two. And thank you for this exclusive.
Frisson
is honoured.’

With a newfound awareness Olivia knew that Helen and the photographer had some sort of a relationship. Could see it in their body language. Helen looked...content—sleek and sated. The photographer had a smile on his face that said all was right with his world.

An unexpected tingle of envy twanged her nerves. If only she’d pulled Adam down onto the sinfully rumpled
black sheets of his sumptuous bed. Earned the right to wear his shirt.

Focus, Olivia.

‘Would you like to have a look round?’ she offered. ‘And Adam can sort out coffee for everyone.’

An hour later Olivia allowed herself a cautious exhalation of relief. Putting aside the fact that she’d had to pose on the bed with Adam, with a sappy smile on her face, the whole interview had gone
amazingly well. In fact she was impressed with herself. Clearly her acting skills hadn’t deserted her any more than her lock-picking ones.

‘There is one more thing I’d like to request,’ Adam said. ‘I’d like you to ask the billionaire-baggers to back off.’

Time to chime in. ‘Adam and I would really appreciate that,’ she said. ‘We need time together, time to explore these new feelings,
and it would be so marvellous if we could do that in peace. Without tripping over gold-diggers every way we turn.’

‘Wow.’ Helen’s blue eyes glittered as they rested first on Adam’s face then switched in speculation to Olivia. ‘All this... It sounds like serious stuff.’

Olivia leant forward and primed her vocal chords for girlish excitement. ‘Well, it’s early days yet. But, yes, I’m hoping
that Adam will find me pretty addictive.’

She looked up at Adam adoringly, just in time to see his jaw tense slightly.

Given the smile on Helen’s face Olivia wasn’t surprised; it was the face of someone swooping in for the kill. She braced herself as the blonde woman leaned forward.

‘It’s interesting timing.’ A small pause, and then, ‘Tell me, Adam, could your sudden new desire
for a relationship have anything to do with the impending marriage of your ex?’

With teeth-clenching effort Olivia prevented her jaw from hitting her knees.
Always stay in character.
She tried to look as though the existence of an ex wasn’t headline-grabbing news in itself. An ex what? Girlfriend? Wife?

A sideways glance showed that Adam looked unfazed, and a sliver of suspicion wormed
its way into her psyche. Had the whole Candice and charity event thing been a ruse? This might have been his intention all along—to use their supposed relationship to get at his ex-whatever.
Fabulous.
Now she was a pawn in a classic tit-for-tat game.

Adam’s shook his head. ‘Nope. No connection there, Helen. Charlotte and I have been divorced for years and I wish her nothing but happiness.’
He nodded at Helen’s notebook. ‘I have an agreement with her that I won’t bring publicity to her door and I try to abide by my word. So, in the interests of
Frisson
covering the Dress to Support Myeloma event later today, I’d appreciate it if you left her out of the article.’

There was that you-don’t-want-to-mess-with-me voice again, and to Olivia’s annoyance it made her shiver.

She
stared at Adam, frustration seething at her inability to read his expression. Not that it mattered—the bottom line was that he didn’t give a stuff about branding Olivia anything he liked whilst dragging her into the public domain. But when it came to
Charlotte
it was clearly very different.

And how catty did
that
sound? Olivia stiffened. Surely she wasn’t jealous of Charlotte? Because that
would be ludicrous. Yet, however hard she tried to deny it, a tiny part of her soul was tinged green. Which didn’t make sense. Olivia Evans did not
do
jealousy. Men were notoriously unfaithful and only a fool would put herself in a position to be hurt. So it shouldn’t,
couldn’t
matter to her if Adam did still care enough for his ex to be scheming to win her back.

* * *

Adam gripped the
back of the cream sofa and wondered how long it would be before Olivia erupted. She’d held it together for the remainder of the interview, but he’d sensed the vibrations of her inner fury.

Now that Helen and the photographer had left she paced the lounge, each angry stride thumping down harder on the gleaming wooden floor, one irate kick sweeping aside the thickly patterned rug that impeded
her progress.

Five...four...three...two...one... And she screeched to a stop in front of the sofa.

‘Didn’t it occur to you to mention you have an ex-wife?’

‘No.’ It was no more than the truth; the topic of his marriage didn’t rate anywhere on his conversation list.

‘Well, it should have. Because then I wouldn’t have looked like a first-class idiot because my so-called partner
didn’t bother to mention he has an ex-wife stashed away. You should have
told
me.’ She stopped, presumably because she must urgently need to replenish her lungs.

He hesitated. Beneath the bravado he could sense a thread of vulnerability. ‘Look, I’m sorry if you felt stupid—it truly didn’t occur to me that Helen would link our relationship and Charlotte’s remarriage.’

Olivia frowned,
as if assessing exactly how many of his words were true and how many were lies. The sceptical rise of her dark brow indicated her verdict. ‘Really?’

‘Of course, really. Neither Charlotte nor her fiancé are in the public eye. I didn’t expect Helen to even know about their engagement.’

‘So it’s not true?’

‘Is
what
not true?’

A roll of her eyes indicated her frustration, but Adam
had no idea what she was getting at.

‘Helen’s link. Are you using me to get to Charlotte? To make her jealous?’

‘No.’ His reaction came straight from his gut. Using Olivia as a barrier against the flow of gold-diggers with her knowledge was one thing. Garnering her help to salvage his reputation and the charity event—he had no problem with that. But no way did he want her to feel that
he had exploited her; the thought turned his insides over with distaste. ‘Everything I said to Helen was true. I
am
happy for Charlotte—she has found a great guy and I wish them both a very happy future.’

And all Adam’s research had indicated that Ian Mainwaring should provide Charlotte with exactly that. Ian was worth a hundred of him—would look after Charlotte, give her love, a family...
Everything Adam had promised her and failed to provide.

Memory echoed in his ears: her tears, her pleading. Her voice.
‘You’ve broken my heart, Adam. I trusted you and now you’ve broken my heart.’

Aware of Olivia’s direct glance, Adam commanded his expression to be neutral. ‘Bottom line is I am not trying to make Charlotte jealous. That’s the truth.’ The words sounded too serious; her
gaze caused him a thread of discomfort at the sensitive subject at hand. ‘Scout’s honour,’ he added, turning his lips up in a smile as he glanced at his watch. ‘And now that’s settled we’d better get a shake on. We need to be at Somerset House at five o’clock for the show.’

As anticipated, the information deflected her from any further questions. ‘Five o’clock? But I haven’t got a proper
dress or...’

‘Just buy whatever you need. The hotel has a boutique, or if you want to hit the shops I can get someone to go with you.’ For an insane moment he nearly offered himself up on the shopping altar. Almost. He didn’t shop. Full stop. He had no intention of starting now.

‘I’m a personal shopper. I’m quite capable of shopping by myself.’

‘Nope. You’ll take one of Nate’s men
with you.’

Hurt lanced her eyes, along with a healthy dollop of anger. ‘What do you think I’m going to do? A runner?’

‘No. I’m worried a reporter will make you uncomfortable, and I’m worried Candice may try and get to you. That’s why I want someone with you.’

‘Oh.’ Her lips curved up into a wide smile. ‘That told me. In that case, bring him on.’

* * *

Olivia surveyed her
reflection. It didn’t matter what she looked like.
It didn’t.
Because she wasn’t bothered by what Adam thought. She definitely did
not
want a repeat of that hot, predatory gaze that turned her insides squishy and sent heat shooting south. Definitely not.

There was some other explanation for the ripple of anticipation in her stomach. Perhaps it was horror that the purchase of the stunningly
gorgeous, shimmering creation she wore had been chalked up to Adam.

But there was nothing else she could have done; she’d been standing at the till of an exclusive London boutique that she’d always wanted to visit and Jonny, aka her minder, had handed over a rectangle of plastic: the Masterson Hotels company credit card.

Outrage had clenched her rigid even as mortification had coloured
her face. Olivia had tried to protest. But all her objections had fallen on deaf ears and stony ground. Jonny had been obdurate; he’d been given an order direct from Adam and as far as he was concerned it was more than his job was worth not to follow it to the letter.

So Olivia had capitulated, salving her conscience with the determination to repay Adam at the earliest given opportunity.

An almost savage swipe of glossy pink lipstick and she was done. And she still couldn’t help but imagine Adam’s face when he saw her.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

She’d chosen the dress for its suitability and nothing else. Her reflection stared back at her—the perfect trophy girlfriend that any respectable businessman could be proud of. The spitting image of her mother, chosen for her
looks. Adam himself had admitted it, and the article had been clear. Only the beautiful should apply.

And she qualified.

The dress screamed elegance and discreetly whispered class. The simple column cut skimmed her curves and the shimmering silver fabric swooped to just touch the floor, allowing her red-painted toenails to be glimpsed in the folds. The lacy top of the dress scooped around
her neck and the short sleeves showed off the toned slenderness of her arms. Her hair was held back at the neck, leaving a side fringe to fall across her forehead, and she’d opted for the fresh-faced look with her make-up.

It was perfect, and worth every one of Adam’s pennies.

Yet her soul felt tainted, further polluted by the fact that she actually wanted Adam’s approval—wanted those
brown eyes to darken and smoulder when he looked at her.

Olivia clenched her nails into her palms. This was plain
wrong
—for a variety of reasons that all bunched together around her chest, squeezing her tight with panic.

The knock on the door set her heart pounding. She had to get a grip. Had to gain control and squash all these feelings pancake-flat.

‘Coming,’ she called, and walked
to the door, pulling it open. Her throat dried as she drank in Adam’s appearance; if he’d looked gorgeous the night before, he looked positively sinful now. The dark suit was simple and fitted perfectly around the breadth of his shoulders. White shirt and silver tie, and that woodsy scent that made her dizzy.

Adam looked as shell-shocked as she did. His arms rose as if to touch her and then
dropped to his sides. A slow smile touched his lips. ‘You look superb, Ms Evans. You will outshine the entire catwalk and I will be the envy of every man there.’

His words were the equivalent of an iceberg’s worth of cold water, cementing what she had already known. Confirmation that Adam wanted her on display to ensure his image hadn’t been too tarnished by the exploits of billionaire-baggers
and supermodels. As far as he was concerned that was what his credit card had bought and that was what he was entitled to expect.

A frown slashed his brows together. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. I’m glad I’ve come up to expectations.’

‘What does that mean? I’ve told you—you look sensational. What’s the problem?’

‘There is no problem and don’t worry. I won’t disgrace you. I know
the drill.’ She’d grown up watching it, after all. How to dazzle with a smile, how to make the man you were with think he was the bee’s knees, wings and stripes.

‘Then let’s go.’

Adam held his hand out and Olivia stared at it.

‘Save it for the cameras,’ she said, and saw the flash of something that looked perilously like hurt cross his features. Steeling herself to ignore it, she
swept past him and headed for the front door and the waiting limo.

Once inside the car Olivia slid into the furthermost corner and listened as Adam pulled out his phone. His conversations all concerned the forthcoming event and amply demonstrated just how involved Adam had been in the organisational details.

Dropping the phone onto the leather seat, he reached into his inner pocket and
pulled out a sheaf of paper.

‘Is that your speech?’ she asked.