How to Bag a Billionaire

An exasperated sigh hit the air. ‘Drop the act. I know you’re here to “bag me”,’ he said, hooking his fingers in the air to indicate quotation marks.

‘As in murder you and put you in a body bag? Tempting, but given your security levels I’ll pass.’

For a second she thought she saw his lips give the tiniest of quirks. Was it possible the man possessed a sense of humour?

He swiped his hand over his mouth and shook his head. ‘You haven’t heard of Bag a Billionaire?’ The narrowed eyes, the creased forehead were both clear indicators of patent disbelief; the gleam of humour had obviously been a mirage.

‘Nope. Honest.’

His frown deepened. ‘In a nutshell, some idiot magazine reporter wrote an article advising wannabe gold-diggers on how to bag themselves a billionaire and identified me as the target. Since then I’ve arrived home to find a naked woman in my bed with “Kiss me Quick, Kiss me Slow” tattooed on her stomach and an arrow pointing downward, my mail yesterday included some rather explicit photographs, I have had women break the heels of their shoes and collapse in a heap in front of me, and women’s cars seem to miraculously break down wherever I go.’ Pausing, he eyed her. ‘I’m sure you get the picture.’

‘That’s terrible,’ Olivia said. ‘But...’

‘Terrible?’ he echoed, the mocking note jarring through the air. ‘I agree. Though I must say no one has resorted to gatecrashing a party with quite such style as you have.’

It took a minute for the implications of his words to sink in before outrage smacked her mouth wide open. ‘You think... You mean... You think I’m like one of those women?’

He leant back against the wall, arms folded. ‘You’ve broken into my hotel and thrown yourself into my arms in a dress that is conveniently falling off you—what do you expect me to think?’

Anger started to bubble at his sheer arrogance, stirred frothier by the small part of her that conceded the devil had a point.

One hand slammed on her hip even as the other held the dress up. ‘I admit I’ve broken into your hotel, but I did not throw myself at you. I promise you I haven’t risked arrest for the supposed pleasure of “bagging” you.’

For a moment he studied her face and she met his gaze full-on, saw something flicker in the milk chocolate depths. She prayed he could hear the truth in her voice. Otherwise he would have her marched out of here any second now and she couldn’t let that happen. There was way too much at stake here—and not just for herself.

‘Please,’ she said. ‘I understand why you are suspicious but you don’t need to be. I promise. Give me a chance to prove it to you. Hear me out. Please.’

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘You’ve got ten seconds.’

TWO

Hard to tell who was more surprised—the strawberry blonde stranger or himself. Irritation coursed through his veins; he’d been blindsided by a beautiful face and a spectacular body. This woman was bad news, and no matter what lies she was about to spin from that gorgeous mouth the key point was that they would be lies—a calculated strategy with the aim of locating his wallet.

The chances of her not being a billionaire-bagger were minuscule, yet there had been a vibrancy to her voice, a desperate glint in those hazel eyes that had clouded his usually impeccable judgement.

Pushing the sleeve of his tux jacket up, he looked at his watch. ‘Five seconds left. Four...three...’

‘My mother is pregnant,’ she blurted out.

Her words echoed around the bathroom and bounced off the mirrored tiles.

What on earth did she expect him to do? Maybe she wasn’t a billionaire-bagger. Maybe she was crazy. ‘Offer her my congratulations,’ he said. ‘And now I think it’s time for you to go.’

‘I need to tell you who the father is.’

Adam gusted out a sigh. ‘Lady, if you think you can scam me into believing it’s me that’s not going to fly.’

For a start his unwanted intruder had to be in her mid-twenties, and he hadn’t dated an older woman in a very long time. But even if that weren’t the case Adam always made 100 per cent sure that pregnancy was an impossibility. One thing was certain in his life: he was not father material. After all, he was a Masterson through and through and he knew his own limitations. The less than stellar circumstances of his marriage had showcased his shortcomings all too brightly.

‘I’m not trying to scam anyone.’ Her hands twisted into the folds of her black dress. ‘The baby’s father is your father. Zebediah Masterson. And I need to find him.’