At Any Price(44)

Maybe he saw no need for a relationship or had no desire for it? It couldn’t have been for lack of women wanting him. Not only was he ridiculously rich, but he was ridiculously hot. And I had no way to judge, but I imagined he was good in bed—maybe even phenomenal. Or maybe that was just my hope. But then, I had no basis for comparison, so how would I know?

He greeted me at the door, dressed in a camel-colored dinner jacket with skinny black tie and matching black trousers. He was arrestingly handsome, and welcomed me with a kiss on the cheek.

“You look gorgeous,” he whispered against my temple as the driver receded with the golf cart to fetch the other guests.

“I didn’t want to make a bad impression on your friends, being a north-county bumpkin and all. Best not mention my phone number starts with a 714 area code,” I said, instantly knowing how lame that sounded because what did it matter what sort of impression I made on his friends? They’d never see me again after Adam and I went to bed later that night.

A shiver of excitement slithered down my spine and bumps appeared over my arms at just the thought of it. Adam’s eyes narrowed as if he noticed, but he did not comment on it. He proceeded to show me around—briefly, because a full tour would have taken at least an hour.

The house was arranged around a wide central hall with rooms opening off to the sides and a mezzanine wrapping around three of the four sides of the floor above. Overhead, a giant skylight let the sun in and the room was bright and airy, emphasized with white furniture. I’d stepped into another dream.

If I lived here, with my own beach and view of the bay, I’d never jump on a plane to Amsterdam or St. Lucia or anywhere else. I’d be grateful for this, my own little cove of paradise, and too scared that it would vanish while I was gone.

Adam watched me with an amused smile as I looked around, commenting on this feature or that. I couldn’t get over the private beach and he murmured, for he was standing very close, that maybe we could enjoy it later that evening. Alone.

My pulse raced. “But we’ll be on the yacht, by then.” And, because I had only just remembered, I glanced down toward the bay and saw an empty slip with a little electric Duffy boat bobbing forlornly beside it.

“Yes, about that,” he said, just as the guests were arriving at the front door. “We’ll have to postpone our trip in the yacht. I had to put it in for a minor repair.”

I opened my mouth, about to question him when he stepped forward and received the other couples—there were six people in all—and welcomed them. One couple was considerably older than Adam—thirties and forties. One of the men I recognized as Adam’s lawyer from our first meeting.

He had the light of recognition in his eyes and he darted a strange look at Adam. Heat crawled up my neck. I knew what was going through his mind. Why’d you bring your prostitute here?

I wondered who Adam usually invited with him to parties. If he hadn’t been in long-term relationships, then who was his “plus one”?

Adam stood at my side making introductions. The blond guy, Jordan Fawkes, was Adam’s CFO and apparently ignorant of our arrangement or masked his reactions very well. He stood beside a woman who looked like she could be a Victoria’s Secret model. She wore makeup from her hairline down to her cleavage and her body was flawless. Her dress was so tight it left little to the imagination. I half expected her to start strutting like she was moving down a catwalk. She was, however, very kind and greeted me with a smile, complimenting my dress.

One of the other women present was a pretty blonde who looked like she was in her midthirties. Her husband seemed a lot older than her. She smiled widely for Adam, kissing him on both cheeks. Creepily enough, her husband was leering over her shoulder—at me! His eyes scoured me from head to toe and rested on my cleavage, staring at me like I was a steak and he was four weeks into a hunger strike.

I’d gotten those looks before and brushed them aside without much thought. I’d always figured they were some men’s way of making a power play without ever having to say a word or touch a thing. I lifted my chin haughtily and jerked my head away. He wasn’t worth another thought.

I also noticed the way his wife attended to Adam’s every word and move. She’d been introduced to me as Lindsay Walker, a very old friend. Actually, Adam’s exact words were, “We’re friends from way back.” But the way she kept touching Adam suggested more. She cast a perfunctory—almost dismissive—glance at me when we were introduced and then proceeded to chat him up, reaching out occasionally to touch his shoulder, or his elbow.