A sudden warmth touched Olivia’s chest. Was Adam defending her? She wasn’t sure. It could be that he simply thought the assertion would definitively shield him from the baggers in the room. Whatever his reasons, he’d given Helen Kendersen pause.
The blue eyes sharpened. ‘Well, colour me surprised,’ she said. ‘Especially as I can’t remember you ever bringing a date, bona fide or not, to this event. And here was me assuming you were a billionaire-bagger who’d gatecrashed and somehow persuaded Adam to bring you along. Unless there’s something I’m missing?’
Adam had been right. Helen’s reporter antennae were practically quivering under the glittering lights of the chandeliers. Alarm pumped her veins with adrenaline; it was time to gear up and play her allotted role.
‘Nope, you’re not missing anything,’ Olivia said. ‘Here I am.’ Spreading her arms wide, she could only hope her tone wasn’t as hollow as her tummy. ‘The genuine article.’
Helen tilted her blonde head to one side, a small frown on her face. ‘Well, in that case I shall watch with interest. Adam’s dating technique will add a definite frisson to my article.’
Great! Just what she needed—more frissons. Heaven help her, because right now the thought of Adam’s dating technique was causing her tummy to flutter with a stampede of butterflies.
There came the Adam Masterson smile again. ‘Knock yourself out, Helen. But don’t forget to interview all the people who donated auction gifts and get plenty of photos of the guests.’
‘Yada, yada. Don’t worry. I could do this in my sleep. Consider it done, darling. Enjoy yourself, Olivia.’ With a little finger-wave Helen disappeared into the crowd.
Hah! Enjoy? As if that could happen; she was already garnering avid glances laced with speculation or envy. ‘What now? I think she’s suspicious.’
‘Maybe. But all we have to do is display a dazzling show of dating technique and all will be well.’
‘Oh, super-duper. Is that meant to make me feel better?’
‘It’s all I’ve got.’ He started to walk forward. ‘There’s no need to panic. Follow my lead, look adoringly at me and we’ll be fine. All we need to do now is circulate.’
All?
That was easy for Adam to say, because he was obviously born to circulate. Olivia could only watch him in admiration as they trekked around, her heels sinking into the plush carpet, on an endless circuit of the magnificent room.
Adam made sure he spoke with each and every individual guest—a laugh here, a gesture there, serious or jokey as the occasion warranted. But he also subtly promoted the auction at every turn. No wonder he didn’t bring a date to this event; his focus was on working the room as host, leaving Olivia with nothing to do except be decorative.
Which gave her way too much opportunity to watch him. To study the way his body filled out his tuxedo to perfection. To appreciate the breadth of his chest, the power of his thighs, the lithe stride. To admire the planes and angles of his face, lit and shadowed by the glittering shards of illumination.
Little surprise her hormones refused to stand down; fuelled by unfamiliar attraction, intoxicated by his nearness, by his tantalising woodsy scent, they didn’t know whether they were somersaulting or cartwheeling.
The result was a strange heat in her tummy, a dizzying awareness of Adam that wouldn’t go away.
His broad thigh pressed against hers during the lavish dinner, making it hard to balance her food on her fork let alone appreciate the melt-in-the-mouth four courses.
Focus, Olivia. On the beautifully decorated table with its intricately folded napkins and stunning centrepieces of cream flowers. On the sparkle of the floating candles. On anything other than Adam Masterson and the flame of desire that licked her insides every time his arm brushed hers.
Madness. This was sheer, unprecedented stupidity.
The evening took on a surrealism in which her entire being was caught up in Adam Masterson. She was mesmerised by his auctioneering power as he stood on the podium and used a mixture of charm and unquestionable sincerity to entice bids so high that Olivia felt she was on a gigantic Monopoly board.
Problem was, she was the Scottie dog. Practically panting over Adam Masterson. Self-disgust mingled with panic as she gulped down fizzy water in the hope of cooling herself down. This was nuts.
Wrenching her gaze away from the podium, she sighed. Adam Masterson embodied everything she disliked: rich, arrogant—he was way too reminiscent of her mum’s boyfriends. To say nothing of the fact that Olivia Evans didn’t pant over any man; she wouldn’t give one the satisfaction of having that level of power over her.