Читать книгу Scandal In The Spotlight - Kimberly Lang - Страница 11

NOW what was she doing?

Jack frowned as he stared at Imogen, who was sitting with her head bent, pinching the bridge of her nose and muttering to herself.

She really was peculiar. Intriguingly peculiar, but peculiar nonetheless. He didn’t think he’d ever met anyone so mercurial, who smouldered and sizzled one minute and bristled and bridled the next. No wonder he found himself caving in to the compulsion to needle her; her mood swings were enough to drive a man to drink.

Was she meditating? Or mentally preparing herself for battle?

Whatever it was, maybe he ought to cut his losses and leave her to it, because intentions were all very well, but forgetting about the frantic urge to run his hands over her curves when she was sitting a couple of feet away was proving harder than he’d anticipated. Especially now that, thanks to the taxi driver’s desire to get going, he knew what she felt like.

But when she eventually opened her eyes and gave him a serene smile his senses tumbled into such chaos that any idea he’d had of cutting and leaving completely vanished.

‘You really want to know what my problem is?’ she said silkily.

‘I do,’ he said, vaguely wondering why he was so keen to know when every instinct was telling him it wasn’t going to be good.

‘Well, this is exactly it.’

‘Exactly what?’

She gave him another beguiling smile and his stomach clenched. ‘There’s so much I barely know where to start.’

‘You could always try the beginning.’

‘You’re right. I could.’ She nodded and he had the unsettling feeling he’d just handed her a knife with which to eviscerate him. ‘OK, well, for a start you have a seriously over-inflated ego.’

An over-inflated ego? Jack felt his eyebrows shoot up. Of all the accusations she could have hurled at him that was the most inapplicable. ‘What makes you think I have an over-inflated ego?’

‘Outside the realm of this evening’s conversation, you mean?’

Now why did that sound as if she knew something he didn’t? Jack tilted his head as he regarded her, and racked his brains. ‘Have we met before?’

‘No.’

‘I thought not.’ If they had, he’d definitely have remembered. And come to think of it— ‘Why not?’

‘Oh, just lucky I guess.’

‘Ouch,’ he said, muttering and rubbing his chest. ‘Tell me, what precisely do you have against me? Or do you have it in for men in general?’

‘No, no,’ she said with a dazzling smile. ‘At the moment, just you.’

‘I’m flattered.’ He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. ‘So?’

Imogen arched an eyebrow. ‘Greatsexguaranteed?’

‘What?’ His jaw dropped and his pulse spiked. ‘Are you offering?’

Her eyes flashed for a second and relief spun through him because all that cool detachment had been faintly disconcerting. ‘No, of course I’m not offering,’ she said witheringly. ‘I’m referring to the eBay incident.’

Ah, that. Four years ago he’d prodded Luke into getting over the death of his first wife by entering into a bidding war over the woman who eventually became his second. Interesting how, of all the things Imogen could have started with, she’d chosen to focus on the user name he’d chosen in a moment of flippancy. Almost Freudian. ‘Oh, yes, I remember.’

She sniffed. ‘An over-stated claim if ever I heard one.’

Jack grinned, fascinated despite himself. ‘What makes you so sure?’

He’d never received any criticism of his performance in bed and Imogen was just too easy to wind up. Steam was whooshing out of her ears and she was rolling her eyes.

But that didn’t stop the blush creeping into her cheeks. Nor did it stop his gaze dipping to her mouth, where the tip of her tongue darted out to sweep along her lower lip.

His body contracted with a sudden powerful wave of desire. The air inside the taxi thickened and vibrated with an almost tangible tension and a series of X-rated images slammed into his head. Of Imogen panting and writhing as he moved on top of her, with her, buried deep inside her. Having sex. Great sex.

His head went fuzzy, his mouth went dry and his pulse thundered. The urge to haul her into his arms and set about making the fantasy a reality took him completely by surprise and he had to curl his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching for her.

‘Which only goes to prove my next point.’

As the cool tone of her voice filtered into his head, Jack blinked and willed his pulse to slow down.

Point? What point? He could barely remember his own name, let alone think about any point. He was rock hard and aching. He’d never felt such an overwhelming need to possess, such a primitive urge to claim. And it scared the living daylights out of him.

Telling himself not to be absurd, that physical attraction—even when it involved someone who had it in for him—was nothing to worry about, he cleared his throat. He ran his hands through his hair. Went to adjust the knot of his tie before remembering that he’d already removed it.

‘Which is?’ he said, eventually folding his arms across his chest and hoping he sounded calmer than he felt.

‘I’ve heard that you’re arrogant and presumptuous.’

What?

Jack frowned as Imogen paused and raised her eyebrows, evidently waiting for some kind of response. What was she expecting him to do? Apologise? Deny it? Or confirm she was right?

‘Oh, please don’t hold back on my account,’ he said dryly, having no intention of doing any of that and deciding to see what else she threw at him before responding.

She smiled a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘I wasn’t going to.’

‘Then do continue.’

‘I’ve also heard that you’re callous, cold and emotionally bankrupt.’

Jack kept a neutral expression fixed to his face but behind it he was reeling. Forget knife in the singular. Imogen was attacking him with an entire kitchen drawer full of the things, and to his surprise her accusations stung.

Being called arrogant and presumptuous he could just about deal with. There might even have been a smidgeon of truth in the charges, although he’d have preferred ‘confident’ and ‘spotting an opportunity and taking it’.

But callous, cold and emotionally bankrupt? That was going too far. He wasn’t either callous or cold. And so what if he kept his emotions to himself? Not everyone liked flaunting them left, right and centre.

‘I didn’t realise dinner called for much emotional depth,’ he said, his voice not betraying a hint of what he was thinking.

‘I doubt anything you do calls for much emotional depth,’ she said with faint amusement that did nothing to soften what sounded rather like an insult.

And where had she got this stuff from anyway? ‘You don’t even know me.’

‘I know men like you.’

‘Men like me?’ The idea he was a type was oddly distasteful. And wrong.

‘OK,’ she conceded. ‘Men with your reputation.’

Jack went still. ‘That’s what you’re basing your accusations on?’ he said deceptively mildly. ‘Gossip, rumour and hearsay?’

She shrugged. ‘It’s as good a place to start as any.’

No, it wasn’t. He wasn’t nearly as notorious as his reputation liked to make out. Not that he’d ever done anything to contradict it. Most of the time it suited him to have people—women especially—think the worst of him. Then unattainable expectations were less likely to arise. On either side.

Now, however, having people—Imogen—think the worst of him didn’t seem appealing at all.

‘You seem to have judged me exceptionally quickly,’ he said, unaccountably irritated by the notion because it had never bothered him before.

Imogen bit her lip and frowned. ‘Possibly. But I do have grounds.’

Oh, this he’d love to hear. ‘Which are?’

‘Amanda Hobbs, for one thing.’

Amanda Hobbs? He frowned as he racked his memory. Oh, yes. ‘What about her?’

‘You broke her heart.’

‘Did I?’ he said, knowing perfectly well he hadn’t because he never let things ever get to the stage where hearts became involved.

Her jaw dropped and she stared at him. ‘You mean you don’t know?’

‘I mean I really don’t know.’

Imogen spluttered in outrage, her grip on her control clearly unravelling. ‘I can’t believe you could be so callous as to not even acknowledge what you did.’

As far as he was aware he had nothing to acknowledge, but Imogen’s outrage and the way it made her eyes flash was utterly absorbing, and besides he was intrigued by what fresh rumours the mill had been grinding. ‘So enlighten me.’

‘Are there really so many women you can’t remember them?’ she said scathingly.

Not nearly as many as rumour would have it. But she didn’t need to know that right now, so Jack merely shrugged and smiled in a ‘what can I say?’ kind of way, which made her eyes flash even more.

‘OK, fine,’ she said, nodding and pushing herself upright. ‘You went out together. For three months.’ Three months? Jack’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You were about to move in together but then you ditched her. By text. Of all the rotten, lousy things to do.’ She glared at him, her chin up and her body quivering with emotion.

‘Anything else?’ he said.

‘Isn’t that enough?’

‘I’m sure you have more.’

‘Did you even care that the poor girl was heartbroken? That she was a complete wreck and had to flee to Italy to recover?’

Well, no, he didn’t. Why would he? And what was it to her anyway? Why was she so offended? Were they friends? They certainly shared the same melodramatic tendencies.

‘So you’re some sort of avenging angel? Getting your own back for all the crimes I’ve supposedly committed?’ he said. Was that really why she’d flung the ‘victim devouring’ comment at him? ‘Because let me assure you, sweetheart, there’s absolutely no need.’

‘Really,’ she said witheringly, obviously not believing him for a second.

Right. That was enough, Jack decided, twisting round and giving in to the increasingly pressing desire to set her straight. ‘Look, here are the facts. The facts,’ he repeated, fixing her with a stare, ‘not some twisted third-hand gossip.’

She opened her mouth to say something, but he was fed up with the accusations and the scorn so he uncrossed his arms and clamped a hand over it. ‘Quiet.’

Ignoring the feel of her soft skin and her mouth beneath his palm and the way her eyes were widening with shock and something else, Jack made himself focus on the facts.

‘Amanda and I went out two or three times,’ he said. ‘Four at the most.’ And even that was several times too many. Although beautiful, Amanda had been a drama queen with a penchant for flouncing, which was one of the reasons he’d stopped seeing her. ‘We didn’t have a relationship and we certainly never discussed moving in together.’

Which he knew was true because relationships and cohabitation didn’t feature in his game plan. Never had done and never would, even if he wanted them to. Which he didn’t.

Jack watched Imogen blink as her brain processed the information, and he felt her mouth move. Without taking his eyes off hers for a second he leaned a fraction closer. ‘That’s right,’ he said silkily. ‘Whatever Amanda is doing in Italy, it isn’t getting over me. OK?’

She tilted her head a little, stared at him for what felt like ages, then nodded.

‘And while we’re at it,’ he murmured, thinking he might as well set her straight on a few other things, too, seeing as he had her here, ‘my reputation, unlike my ego, is over-inflated.’

That was evidently one fact too many to digest, Jack thought, watching as Imogen’s eyes widened. ‘You don’t believe me?’ he said, tutting in mock disappointment.

She narrowed her eyes then shook her head.

‘I see,’ Jack said, nodding and frowning as if in deep thought. ‘I’ve heard that you’re shallow and vacuous. Nothing more than a party girl who leads an utterly pointless life.’ She tensed and narrowed her eyes even further. ‘I guess that’s all true, too.’

At the fiery dagger-shooting glare she gave him, he added with feigned ignorance, ‘You mean it isn’t?’

She shook her head again.

‘I see. So why would things be different for me?’

He waited while she thought it over. And when she shrugged, he leaned forwards a fraction and murmured, ‘Perhaps I’m not as bad as you’d like me to be.’

He felt a shudder run through her. Saw her eyes darken, thought he felt her mouth open, and lust burst through him.

Visions of what might happen if they were both as bad as could be bombarded his head, and again he wanted to slide his hand down her neck round to her nape and pull her head towards him. He wanted to slam his mouth down on hers and wrap her in his arms and assuage this desire that itched inside him.

Which would be the worst idea on the planet.

Quite why, Jack couldn’t fathom. If his reputation was largely fabricated, there was every chance hers was too. Despite what he’d heard, Imogen certainly didn’t come across as shallow and vacuous. She came across as spiky, fearless and utterly intriguing.

So if her reputation was as fabricated as his, there wasn’t anything stopping him from suggesting dinner again. Nothing to stop him persuading her to acknowledge the attraction that sizzled between them and nothing to stop them pursuing it.

Nothing, that was, apart from the weird warning flag that was waving frantically in his brain. The one that had taken up residence the minute the words ‘this one’ had popped into his head when he’d first shaken her hand and was now insisting on being noticed. The one that had his blood chilling and his stomach clutching with something that felt suspiciously like panic.

Not that he ever suffered from panic, of course. No. On reflection, that odd sensation was undoubtedly hunger. But still …

Jack cleared his throat and drew back a little. It would probably be an idea to bring this whole evening to a close. He’d found out what Imogen’s problem was, and had rectified it. He’d done what he’d set out to do and there was no need to stick around. In fact, he should get out. Now. While the taxi was stationary at the lights.

‘OK,’ he said with a firmness designed to convince himself as much as her. ‘Is that it? Are we done with the accusations?’

She nodded.

‘Sure?’

She nodded again.

‘Then I’ll say goodnight.’

And before he could change his mind, he whipped his hand from her mouth, opened the door and leapt out.