How to Bag a Billionaire

Heaven knew she deserved every red cent, because her pain had taught him the truth about himself: he couldn’t do love, he couldn’t do settling down. But that didn’t mean he needed to condemn himself to celibacy. And if that meant a conveyor belt of beautiful women in his life, hell, he didn’t have a problem with that. Not one.

‘Olivia. I plead guilty to liking a moving line of beautiful women, but it’s not for the kudos of having a trophy woman on my arm. I date women whose company I find enjoyable in the bedroom and out. And I make damn sure no one gets hurt.’

‘How do you do that?’

‘I have rules.’

She gave a small sigh. ‘Of course you have rules. I can’t believe I’m asking this, but please share.’

‘Short-term, no expectations, no deep emotions, a good time had by all. That way everyone knows to jump off the conveyor belt when the ride is over. And no one gets hurt.’ He hitched his shoulders. ‘Works for me.’

‘Not for me,’ she said. ‘In fact I’d rather poke myself in the eye than lose all my self-respect by even putting my toe on your conveyor belt. I refuse to be some interchangeable good-time girl, only valued for my looks and my understanding that all that’s in it for me is just sex, expensive dinners and some goodbye jewellery.’

‘Well, I refuse to be branded some rich Lothario who pays for his pleasures. And, for the record, I offer hot sex—not just sex.’

* * *

Hot sex.

The words lingered on the warm evening breeze alongside her own. Olivia’s brain whirred a frantic calculation. Hot sex, expensive dinners and jewellery. And this was bad because...?

OK, she’d forego the latter two, but suddenly every molecule of her was asking what exactly was wrong with having hot sex with...say, Adam? In return for...hot sex with Adam.

Mutual pleasure.

So where exactly was the catch?

Oh, yeah, it was short-term. No love on offer.

She didn’t want long-term. Definitely didn’t want love.

So what exactly would she lose?

‘Olivia?’

Her head snapped up from her unseeing contemplation of the table.

‘You OK?’ he asked, amusement lacing the deep voice. ‘You look like you’re having an internal debate on the meaning of life. And losing.’

‘I am fine. Absolutely fine.’

And she was. Hot sex with Adam would mean loss of control and she would not go there. She’d want him more than he wanted her. She was interchangeable with any beautiful woman. The power would be all his. Bang would go her self-respect. Problem was, right now self-respect seemed highly overrated.

‘Why don’t we move inside?’ she suggested. ‘I’m sure you want to catch up with Saru and...’

‘You looking for a chaperone, Olivia?’

She looked up at him, desperate to deny it, but seeing the glint of mischief and sympathy in his brown eyes she couldn’t. ‘Something like that.’ Rallying, she managed a smile. ‘I wouldn’t want that bulldozed attraction to return.’

‘Hell, honey, neither would I. I couldn’t agree with you more. There’s safety in numbers, so let’s get ourselves inside.’

Rising to her feet, she picked up her empty glass and set off towards the bar, sandals crunching into the moon-dappled sand. She went up the rickety wooden steps that led to the interior of the bar and stopped on the threshold, air whooshing from her lungs.

‘Wow!’ The inside of the bar was a vibrant Mecca for reggae. Posters covered every millimetre of the walls, and the ceiling was looped with garlands of flags in bright red, yellow and green. Olivia absorbed the life-size cardboard Bob Marley in front of a small stage tucked into the corner. Tables half filled with customers were scattered over the wooden floor and there was a buzz of conversation against the beat of reggae music being emitted from the sophisticated sound system.

‘Saru is a bit of a reggae fanatic,’ Adam said. ‘You should hear him and his cousin perform. They are amazing.’

‘Hey, Adam,’ Saru called from behind the bar. ‘You want to play?’

Adam hesitated.

‘Go on,’ Olivia said, the urge to see this hitherto unseen side to Adam nigh on overwhelming. This was a different type of relaxed from his usual practised, laid-back charm and she wanted to witness it. ‘Demonstrate your hot stuff.’

Just far away from me. Please. On the drums. Not on me. Please.

‘You sure you don’t mind?’

‘Cross my heart.’

‘Yes. Come on, Adam. Show Olivia what you can do,’ Saru encouraged as he walked around the bar counter. ‘Olivia, Adam has never brought a woman here before. We should mark the occasion. Sit here. I’ll get you a beer.’ He tapped a man on the shoulder. ‘And Marley, as he is known for obvious reasons, will sing.’