‘Well, you—’ she pointed at him ‘—were attracted to me because of my looks. If I didn’t have this face, if I’d arrived in your hotel with greasy hair dressed in a bin bag, I wouldn’t have had any effect on you at all.’
‘Not true.’
‘Totally true.’ She waved a finger at him. ‘I looked up that billionaire-bagging article, Adam. Your only criteria is beauty. “Blonde or dark. Small or tall... This field is open to all. Adam Masterson’s only criteria is beauty: the man likes his ladies easy on the eye.” Not a mention of personality. So—ha! I rest my case and I’ll go get us a beer.’
‘Not so fast.’ Adam snorted. ‘You’re quoting a rubbishy magazine article. It’s hardly gospel.’
Olivia wrinkled her nose before pouring herself another glass of water. ‘OK, Mr Holier Than Thou. List the last five women you slept with. Then tell me—were they beautiful or were they not?’
Adam could feel metaphorical ropes digging into his back; a sudden urge to loosen his collar overcame him and he wasn’t even wearing a shirt. Those five women ranged back over a three-year period but, yes, they were all beautiful. Mind you, until this moment, with Olivia’s accusatory eyes boring it into him, he’d never seen it as a problem.
‘I like beautiful women,’ he said. ‘Does it count in my favour that they were all a different type of beautiful?’
‘Nope, it doesn’t,’ she said. ‘All it shows is that you like variety.’ She nodded sagely. ‘And what were all those women wearing when you met them? How did they look? Were they dressed to attract? Made up to show themselves at their best?’
How he wished he could claim that at least one of those five women had been met at a farm, in wellington boots, up to her knees in pig muck. But honesty, along with the knowledge that those hazel eyes would see straight through him, compelled him to admit, ‘Yes.’
‘Double ha!’ Another shrug and a small smirk tugged those lush lips. ‘There you have it. I win. Just admit it, Adam. Looks matter and clothes matter. Especially to men like you.’ She jabbed her finger at his chest.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Men like me? What does that mean?’ And why did he know he wouldn’t like the answer?
‘Men with the money to buy whatever and whomever they choose.’
‘Ouch. Are you suggesting I buy my women?’ Good thing his ego was fairly robust.
‘Not exactly,’ she admitted as she tilted her head to one side and studied him, a small critical frown creasing her forehead. ‘You’re good-looking, you’re charming—maybe your women would date you regardless of your wallet.’
‘Well, gee. Thanks for the vote of confidence.’
‘My point is that your money eases your path. It means that even when you’re old and wrinkly beautiful women will always be available to you and you know that. So you’ll keep sampling the variety and so it will go on—for ever and ever, amen.’ She tipped her hands up. ‘A bit like a conveyor belt.’
A conveyor belt? ‘That implies each woman is the same,’ he countered. ‘Every woman I date is different and I’ve liked every single one.’ Well, he hadn’t disliked any of them, at any rate, and that counted for something, right? ‘And—’ he allowed a reminiscent smile to play about his lips, wanting her to remember he had a lot more to offer a woman than the contents of his wallet ‘—I’m pretty sure they all have very fond memories of me.’
Her face tinted pink, as if she were reliving the memory of their recent activities in lift and limo. But then she rallied and pressed her lips together in a line of disapproval. ‘Hmmph. No doubt they do. And I’m sure you give them an expensive souvenir of their time spent gracing your bed.’
‘Sure I give them presents.’ Actually, he didn’t even do that. He just sent them off to shop in the boutiques in whichever Masterson Hotel they were in and rack their purchases up to his account. ‘And, yes, it is a token of appreciation—but there’s nothing wrong with that.’
If a woman had given him the pleasure of her company and her body then it seemed reasonable to give her something back. Something that didn’t cost him anything but money. After all he had more of that than he knew what to do with.
One thing he could thank his marriage for: in his lunatic attempt to prove he could settle down and reclaim the home of his childhood, he’d fallen into a career that he loved. And he’d made sure that Charlotte benefited; the alimony he paid was more than generous.