Читать книгу Scandal In The Spotlight - Kimberly Lang - Страница 14

TOODLE pip? Toodle pip?

Oh, good Lord.

Still clamped to Jack’s side as he whisked her out of the lobby, around the corner and along a corridor, Imogen stifled a wince and wished she could go back and redo that conversation with the cool, collected poise she’d intended.

How could she have crumbled quite so hideously? How could she have forgotten every word of those pep talks? And how could she have behaved so recklessly?

As she sneaked a glance at Jack and the stern set of his face, her body buzzed with a mind-altering combination of adrenalin, desire and wariness. What must he be thinking?

When he’d first materialised, she’d thought she must have conjured him up. Because having exchanged a series of stilted ‘how are you?’s and ‘what have you been up to lately?’s with her bêtes noires, she’d been racking her brain for some way out of the desperately awkward situation she’d found herself in and had come up with nothing that would allow her to extricate herself with any kind of dignity.

And then there he’d been, all dark and gorgeous and gazing down at her with that mesmerising look of concern on his face, and with barely a thought for the consequences, and because it had struck her that Jack outclassed Max in every way, she’d decided to use him. Quite shamelessly.

Not that he’d seemed to mind. After what must have been considerable initial surprise Jack had thrown himself into the role of besotted lover with admirable aplomb, and if she hadn’t known better she’d have been totally convinced.

Of course, unlike herself, he’d merely been putting on a performance, and it was little wonder he’d borne her off. After the way she’d been gabbling on about the decorations like an interior designer on acid, on top of everything she’d done on Tuesday night, he must think her completely nuts. In fact, he was probably removing her for her own safety.

But where were they going? she wondered as alarm began to trickle through the adrenalin, the desire and the wariness. Wanting to give her time to collect herself in private was one thing, but he’d better not be planning to stash her in a cupboard or something. She had a speech to give.

Just as she was toying with the idea of wrenching herself from the tight embrace of his arm and legging it, Jack drew to a halt at the far end of the corridor. He set her against the wall and, shoving his hands in his pockets, took a step back. His deep blue gaze fixed on hers, pinned her there and in the silence that ensued all she could hear was the rapid thump of her heart.

Dimly aware that the guests were far away and that the corridor was dusky and completely deserted, she realised that they were completely alone and Jack wasn’t nearly as relaxed as she’d imagined. And her heart beat even faster.

‘So, darling,’ he said, leaning in a fraction and apparently stealing all her oxygen, ‘what exactly was that all about?’

At the low seductive tone of his voice and the glitter in his eyes, her mouth went dry. Resisting the urge to run her tongue along her lips, Imogen swallowed. ‘Would you believe me if I said I behaved like that with every man I’m pleased to see?’

‘No.’

‘I didn’t think so.’ She sighed and bit her lip as shame, which had been an embarrassingly long time coming, struck her square in the chest. ‘I’m sorry.’

Despite the tension in him one corner of his mouth hitched up. ‘Don’t be. I actually found the whole thing hugely entertaining.’

Imogen blinked in surprise and not a little pique. Entertaining? That was not what she’d been expecting. ‘I’m delighted you enjoyed the show,’ she said tartly.

Jack raised an eyebrow and grinned, then twisted round to lean one shoulder against the wall, far too close for her peace of mind. ‘You don’t really behave like that with every man you’re pleased to see, do you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Good.’

‘I was just a little—ah—jumpy.’

‘I’d never have guessed.’

She ignored that and sought refuge in manners. ‘Anyway, thank you for coming to my rescue.’

‘It was my pleasure. I’m glad I was able to help out. Why the jumpiness?’

Imogen tried come up with a suitable explanation but it was tough when she only had a variety of unsuitable ones to choose from.

She could attribute her nerves to the awkwardness that had hit her when she’d first laid eyes on Max and Connie. But that had disappeared the minute she’d seen Jack. From then on her jumpiness had been firstly down to the feel of his body against hers and the corresponding desire that had swept through her and wiped out every scrap of self-possession she had, and then the sense of connection she’d had when their eyes had met over the realisation that Max could well have bought Jack’s painting.

But as she had no intention of giving him the pleasure of knowing how jumpy he made her, she was going to have to explain about Max and Connie. Which wouldn’t exactly put her in a good light, but then given the nature of their acquaintance to date she doubted she could sink any lower in his estimation.

‘If you must know,’ she said, straightening her spine against the wall and ignoring the twinge she felt at the notion of sinking lower in his estimation, ‘I used to go out with Max.’

She turned her head in time to see Jack’s eyebrows shoot up and a flicker of something flare in the depths of his eyes. ‘I see.’

Hmm. Intriguing. What had that been? Disappointment? Anger? Jealousy? Imogen’s heart fluttered for a second and then she told herself not to be so absurd, because why would he be any of those things?

When he didn’t say anything else, she shifted round to face him and folded her arms across her chest. ‘What?’ she asked, jutting her chin up partly in response to the frown creasing his forehead and partly because she was annoyed with herself for actually wanting him to be jealous.

‘I must say I’m surprised.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, for one thing, he has abysmal taste in art.’

At the memory of how dazed she’d felt when her gaze had locked with his and they’d just stared at each other while coming to the same conclusion her heart gave a little lurch. ‘Did he really buy your painting, do you think?’ she said.

Jack shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t propped against the wall. ‘I had a phone call from the gallery the morning after the show, and apparently someone bought it, so it isn’t beyond the realms of possibility.’

A tiny smile tugged at her lips. ‘Oh, dear, poor Max.’

From the way Jack grunted, she guessed he didn’t share the sentiment.

‘So what’s the other thing?’ she asked.

He arched one dark eyebrow. ‘What other thing?’

‘You said “for one thing”, which would imply there’s another.’

‘He’s a jerk.’

Imogen frowned, faintly put out that Jack had deduced in five minutes what it had taken her the last two months to figure out. ‘Well, yes, but he was my jerk. Now he’s Connie’s jerk and that hurts.’

‘Why? I’d have thought you’d be glad to be rid of him.’

‘Oh, I am. Now.’ She bit her lip. ‘But I wasn’t for a long time.’

‘What happened?’

Imogen sighed and decided that she had nothing to lose by telling him. ‘We went out together for about a year. I thought everything was going fabulously, until one weekend a couple of months ago when I got home from staying with my parents and found a note, telling me he was leaving me to shack up with Connie.’

His jaw tightened. ‘Like I said, he’s a jerk. And she’s not much better.’

‘She was my best friend. My best friend. How could she?’ Imogen frowned and shook her head at her own naiveté. ‘I thought I knew her inside out. We grew up together. Started at the same school on the same day. Hung out all the time in the holidays. That sort of thing. It’s the ultimate betrayal.’

‘It sounds like you’re more upset at the loss of a friend than a boyfriend.’

Imogen snapped her gaze up to find him looking at her thoughtfully. Maybe he had a point. Connie’s betrayal had cut far deeper than Max’s. ‘I’m upset full stop,’ she muttered, slightly thrown by the realisation.

Although actually she wasn’t all that upset, was she? At least not about the disgustingly happy couple. Not any more.

Now that she thought about it, over the last couple of days she’d been so caught up with thoughts of Jack and the way he made her feel that Max and Connie and their forthcoming nuptials had barely crossed her mind.

She cast her memory back to the traumatic afternoon she’d discovered they’d got engaged, and to her bewilderment she felt nothing. Not a pang, not a twinge, not an ache. Which was as unnerving as it was a relief.

‘Or at least I was,’ she added, thinking that since Jack had come to her rescue so splendidly and as it no longer appeared to hurt perhaps she owed him the rest as well. ‘The afternoon we met at the gallery when I was a little, ah …’ She paused as she searched for any word that wouldn’t make her sound demented.

‘Unhinged?’

‘Vulnerable,’ she corrected, flashing a glare at him, ‘I’d just found out they’d got engaged.’

‘I see.’

‘And it kind of threw me.’

‘Well, that explains a lot,’ he said with a satisfied nod.

‘Don’t look so pleased with yourself,’ she said archly. ‘You didn’t exactly help.’

‘Oh?’

‘You reminded me of Max.’

Jack’s eyebrows shot up and then he scowled. ‘I’m nothing like Max.’

He looked so affronted she couldn’t hold back a smile. ‘Well, I realise that now, but I didn’t know that at the time, did I? All I could see then was that you were both good-looking, charming with a fine line in banter, and heartbreaking players.’

Jack flinched. ‘You jumped to an awful lot of conclusions.’

‘And you didn’t?’ she countered as she thought of the character flaws he’d flung at her.

He frowned. Tilted his head as he stared at her with such an intense expression on his face her stomach squeezed. ‘You’re right. I did. I’m sorry.’

Mollified, Imogen gazed up at him until something that had been niggling away at her ever since he’d pitched up at her side struck her again. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’ she said. ‘I don’t remember seeing your name on the original guest list.’

‘It wasn’t. My ticket was a last-minute thing.’

‘Why?’

‘I wanted to see you.’

His eyes darkened and the glint appeared. As the air seemed to thicken around them Imogen gulped, her heart rate rocketing.

‘What for?’ she said a little huskily. ‘You must think I’m insane.’

He pushed himself off the wall and turned so that he was standing so close she could feel the heat radiating off him. ‘I don’t think you’re anything of the sort.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’ He tilted his head and gave her a smile that frazzled her senses. ‘Would you like to know what I do think?’

She’d love to. ‘I’d be fascinated,’ she said evenly, trying not to sound too desperate.

‘I think you must have had a rough time recently.’

‘Oh, I have.’ That he appeared to understand was doing strange things to her brain.

‘And I think you’re beautiful.’

Every bone in her body melted. ‘You do?’

‘I do.’ His gaze dropped to her mouth and his eyes darkened to navy. ‘I also think that you and I have unfinished business.’

Oh, heavens. Perhaps she hadn’t sunk quite as low in his estimation as she’d imagined. ‘Do we?’

‘I think so.’

‘In what way?’

‘We started something on Tuesday night. Something that got held up by misunderstandings and assumptions.’ He reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear and she jumped. ‘But now,’ he added, lowering his hand to her wrist and slowly stroking it up to her shoulder, ‘it seems to me that there isn’t anything standing in the way of the basic facts any longer.’

‘What basic facts?’ she breathed because, although she was getting a pretty good idea, she was finding it hard to concentrate with his hand gliding over her skin.

‘That I want you and you want me.’

Relief flooded through her. ‘Ah, those facts.’ His fingers were now spreading over her skin where her neck met her shoulder and his thumb was on the pulse that hammered there. ‘I hope you’re not going to try and dispute them again.’

Imogen swallowed. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ What would be the point? He was right. She did want him. More than she’d ever wanted anyone ever before. Had done for ages. And right now she wanted every smidgeon of danger, excitement and fun that that glint had to offer, because the realisation that he wanted it, too, was destroying what little was left of her self-control.

‘Jack—’ she said hoarsely.

But as his thumb circled relentlessly over her skin her head swam and she couldn’t remember what she’d been intending to say. Still only touching her along her collarbone, he reached behind her and opened the door and backed her into whatever lay behind it.

‘What are you doing?’ she breathed as she stepped into darkness.

‘Finishing that business we started. Do you have any objections?’

Somewhere through the fog swirling around her head, she was pretty sure she did. Not least because of where she was and what she was supposed to be doing. Reason made one pathetic last-ditch attempt to do the right thing. ‘Dinner’s about to begin.’

His gaze dropped to her mouth. ‘You’re so right.’

She shivered at that. ‘I’m the guest of honour. I can’t hide out in a—’ she glanced round, her eyes adjusting to the dimness ‘—in a broom cupboard.’

‘Five minutes,’ he murmured, holding her transfixed with a look of pure need.

Oh, God, she thought, her heart beginning to thud crazily. Her nerve endings were sizzling so manically that the idea that she might be able to resist him was laughable. ‘Two.’

‘We’ll see.’

And then he lowered his head to hers and all Imogen could see was him. Enveloping her and intoxicating her.

Her breath caught, her heart stopped and just when she thought she might pass out with the sheer weight of anticipation, his lips brushed hers. Lightly. Fleetingly. She trembled and let out a breathy little sigh. So he did it again. And again. The third time her moan was one of frustration because surely after all the build-up he wasn’t planning to spend the whole two minutes doing that, was he?

But just in case that was his plan, just in case he was intending to give her only a tantalising hint of what he had to offer and truly drive her insane, Imogen reached up and wound her arms around his neck. She threaded her fingers through his hair, then tilted her hips and wiggled.

Which seemed to do the trick.

The hand that was on her shoulder whipped round to the nape of her neck while his other arm snapped around her and then to her delight and relief she was being hauled against him. Stunned by the speed and suddenness with which he moved, Imogen let out a startled gasp, which he took advantage of immediately by slamming his mouth down on hers.

The minute his lips met hers, properly this time, the remaining fragments of her brain disintegrated. As their tongues tangled and devoured, heat shot through her from head to toe. Her heart crashed against her ribs while her stomach swooped.

Barely able to control her movements, she pressed herself closer and he deepened the kiss. She heard him groan, felt the hot, hard evidence of his arousal against her and every inch of her body throb with need. He was all hard, powerful muscle and strength and the idea that right now every drop of it was hers was making her head swim. It was a good thing he had such a tight hold of her. If she hadn’t been clasped so tightly in the strong, warm circle of his arms she’d have crumpled to the floor in a quivering, molten heap.

‘You pack quite a punch,’ Jack muttered, dragging his mouth from hers to explore the skin of her neck and upper chest.

‘So do you,’ she said raggedly as a series of uncontrollable shudders ripped through her. ‘You know, never have I been so glad to be wearing a strapless dress.’

She was even more so when he slid his hand up her side to cup her breast. At the jolt of desire, Imogen let out a whimper of pleasure.

‘Shh,’ Jack murmured.

‘Make me,’ she said, desperate for his mouth to find hers again.

Which, to her fevered relief, it did. While he continued his devastating assault on her mouth, he pushed the top of her dress and her bra down and, taking the weight of one breast in his palm, he rubbed his thumb over her nipple.

Beneath his touch her nipple hardened and ached and Imogen groaned and arched her back. And then his mouth moved down to her other breast, closing over that nipple, and she screwed her eyes tight shut and dug her teeth into her lower lip, because, wow, she’d never felt pleasure like it.

Sparks showered through her, straight down to the hot, aching centre of her, and she shuddered against him, trembling with the desire to have him thrusting up hard inside her.

But just when she thought she was about to collapse with need, Jack lifted his head and stared down at her, breathing heavily, his eyes blazing and dark and his face tight with restraint. Swallowing hard, he dragged in a ragged breath and took a step back.

‘No,’ Imogen muttered in protest.

‘We have to stop,’ he said roughly, drawing her dress and bra back into place with shaking fingers.

‘Why?’

His eyes dropped to her mouth and for a moment she thought he would declare he was joking and drag her back into his arms.

But he didn’t. Instead, he backed away even more and set his jaw. ‘Because we’ve already been more than five minutes,’ he said grimly, ‘and if we carry on like this I might very well end up getting us a proper room.’

‘A proper room?’ she echoed dazedly.

‘Well, this is a hotel, and beds are in dangerously close proximity.’

Imogen went dizzy at the thought of her and Jack hot and sweaty and naked in bed. ‘That would be fine by me.’ In fact, the sooner, the better.

‘What happened to you being the star of the show and all that concern about being missed?’

Oh. Damn.

She blinked as reality crashed back into her head and obliterated the heat. Yes. Of course. The Ball. Dinner. Her speech. She blanched. Her speech! In a matter of minutes, she had to get up in front of a hundred people and speak. Agh. ‘You’re right.’

‘You’d better go. Now. Before I change my mind and book that room.’

‘What about you?’ she said, wishing she didn’t have to leave.

‘I’ll follow in a few minutes.’

‘Will I see you after dinner?’

Jack hauled her into his arms and gave her a swift, hard kiss that made her head reel, and then shot her a look full of hot, dark promise before nudging her through the door and pointing her in the right direction. ‘You can count on it.’