Tied to the Billionaire(13)

He surveyed his companion with smug approval. With its simple, elegant lines, the peacock-blue silk he’d commissioned suited her to a T. The low-cut neckline left her arms bare and exposed a generous but not improper expanse of fair skin. The fabric clung tightly to her breasts and torso, then flared out over her hips and swept to the floor in a sapphire cascade. Unlike some of the fussy fashions he’d seen, the gown had little ornamentation, aside from the ribbons that hung from the waist, draping the skirt in gleaming loops of satin.

Diamond teardrops swung from her earlobes. A matching diamond on an almost invisible chain nestled in the hollow of her throat and a blue-dyed ostrich feather arched over her upswept, mahogany-brown curls.

Yes, the outfit was worth every penny of the small fortune he’d paid for it. Olivia Alcott was a pearl without price.

Olivia shook her head. “They’ll know the instant they set eyes on me. I’ll die of embarrassment.”

“Nonsense. No one can tell whether you’re wearing undergarments. With your figure, you’ve no need of a corset, and it’s warm enough that your nipples are scarcely visible…” He punctuated his assertion with a tweak that made her gasp.

“Don’t!” She jerked away from him. He held her fast.

“Olivia, did you not agree to be my consort this weekend?”

“Yes—yes, sir…”

“And to obey me without question?”

“And have I not done so?” Her eyes sparkled in her flushed face and he knew she was reviewing the same glorious recollections that had him half hard in his tailored tuxedo trousers.

“Yes, yes, you’ve satisfied me in every way, my lovely slut. Tonight, though, I need you more than ever, here by my side. I must make it clear to my mother and to society at large that I am not in the market for a wife.”

“So I’m to play the role of your mistress, then?” The sharpness in her voice surprised him. He brushed his lips across her ripe ones, savouring her sweet breath.

“What do you care what those hypocrites think of you? You’ll never see them again.”

Olivia did not answer. She peered down the stairs, into the brightly lit hall—the lion’s den. “You’re right,” she answered at last, her voice low and resigned. “It doesn’t matter at all. Let us go.”

Andrew guided her down the carpeted steps, his hand upon her elbow. He’d planned to make an unobtrusive entrance. However, when they appeared in the arched entry, every single person in the room turned to survey the new arrivals.

Couples stood frozen on the dance floor. Wine glasses paused halfway to their owners’ lips. The orchestra continued to play, but the occupants of the room were as motionless as machinery without power.

His mother, in a cluster of gaily clad ladies near the windows, shot a pointed stare in his direction. He executed a gracious bow in her direction. As the musicians brought the current song to an end, he addressed the assembly as a whole.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I am delighted to welcome you all to Wavecrest. Please enjoy yourselves—and if I can do anything to make your evening more pleasant, do not hesitate to ask.”

He nodded to the orchestra leader, who struck up a new waltz. As though waking from a dream, the guests resumed their drinking, dancing and conversation.

“Miss Alcott, may I have the pleasure?” He held out his hand to his companion. In the brilliant light of the massive electric chandeliers, Olivia looked more enchanting than ever.

“It would be an honour, sir.”

She was light as a breeze, sure-footed and graceful, following his lead without the slightest misstep. His hand settled on her waist, where he could feel her warm flesh shifting under the silk. Her fingers enlaced with his, she focused on his face as he swept her around the floor. In her eyes he read desire, need and a raw devotion that humbled even him. They were silent as they danced, but their eyes and their bodies spoke volumes.

The waltz ended. Another began, then another. Olivia’s lush form moved in perfect synchrony with his own, dipping and twirling, responding to his slightest cues. Andrew fell into a sort of lustful dream. He wanted the dancing to never end. He’d keep Olivia in his arms forever.

“Andrew, dear.”

Catherine MacIntyre tapped him on the shoulder. Reluctantly, he and Olivia separated. The young woman looked as dazed and shaken as he felt himself.

“Ah—yes, Mother?”

“Good evening, Miss Alcott. I’m glad you could join us.” His mother actually sounded sincere. She turned back to confront her son. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I fear you’re monopolising Miss Alcott’s attention. There are several young men who are eager to have her as their partner.”

“What? Who…?” He glanced around the room, glaring at all the other male guests.

“Meanwhile, it’s your duty as host to dance with some of the other ladies. Miss Linton and Miss Harper are both pining for a bit of your attention.”

He was on the verge of refusing. Wavecrest was his house. It was his money that had paid for the music, the champagne, the delicacies the guests would consume later at supper. If he wanted to spend his evening with the one woman here who interested him, who could stop him?

Olivia’s hand on his arm forestalled him. “Andrew, your mother’s right. You should devote some time to your other guests. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”