Scandal In The Spotlight: The Couple Behind the Headlines / Redemption of a Hollywood Starlet / The Price of Fame

‘Well, you can tell her to tell her friend that there’s nothing to report. Imogen and I met at the gallery and had a conversation, which continued in a taxi. Then I got out and she carried on to wherever she was going. That was it. End of story.’

‘OK, great.’ Luke grinned and sat back, his mission clearly accomplished. ‘Because if you weren’t up for babysitting, I’m not sure what we’d have done.’

Which only went to prove how subtly Jack had been finessed. Not that he cared about that at this particular moment. The sudden contraction of his muscles had nothing to do with being skilfully finessed. Nor did the pounding of his head and the rocketing of his heart rate.

No. The cause of all that was the thought now ricocheting around his brain to the annihilation of everything else: what if it wasn’t the end of the story?

Jack went hot, then cold, and felt a bead of sweat trickle down his spine as the idea stopped racing round his head and began to take root.

Wow, he thought, his stomach churning. If it wasn’t and he did in fact consider Imogen unfinished business, then that would certainly explain his unease and his restlessness over the past twelve hours. Was it a coincidence that he’d started feeling like this the minute he’d left her? He didn’t think so.

As realisation dawned all the thoughts his subconscious had been keeping at bay broke though the fragile barrier it had erected and rained down on him.

If he’d done the right thing by getting out of that damn taxi last night, why had it felt the exact opposite? Why had he marched down that street towards his flat feeling as if he had hundred-tonne weights attached to his ankles? Why had the broken dreams he’d had during the moments of sleep he had managed to snatch been filled with such erotic images? Why did his blood heat and desire race though him at the mere thought of her? And why couldn’t he get the memory of her sprawled against him as the taxi had pulled away, her mouth inches from his and her hand clamped to his thigh, out of his head?

Oh, yes, he thought grimly, that definitely sounded like unfinished business.

‘But I can’t help wondering why.’

‘Why what?’ said Jack, dazed by the intensity with which he ached to finish what he’d started with Imogen.

‘Why you aren’t seeing her again. I’ve heard she’s very pretty.’

Imogen was more than pretty. She was beautiful, contrary, fascinating and as sexy as hell, and there was no point in denying it. A wave of heat rocked through him and he shifted on the chair to ease the pressure building in his lower body. ‘She is.’

‘Then what’s wrong with her?’

Jack inwardly winced. ‘She’s just not my type,’ he muttered, thinking that Luke might be his best friend but there was no way he was about to confess how badly he’d crashed and burned.

‘Not your type? She has a pulse, doesn’t she?’

‘Ha-ha.’ Jack frowned and tried to ignore the sting of the seriously lame joke.

‘Sorry. I couldn’t resist.’

‘Well, try.’

Luke’s eyebrows shot up at the sharp tone of Jack’s voice, as well they might. Luke, who was one of the few people who knew Jack wasn’t as dissolute as he’d have everyone believe, often took the mickey. Usually it never bothered him, so why did it now?

Telling himself to get a grip, Jack shot his friend an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Just knackered.’

‘No problem,’ said Luke with a quick smile of his own. ‘I shouldn’t have brought her up in the first place.’

Jack sighed and pushed his hands through his hair. ‘If you must know, I did ask her out. She turned me down.’

‘God, why?’

‘She disapproved of my reputation.’

‘I see.’ Luke nodded. Tilted his head and frowned. ‘Didn’t you set her straight?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then I don’t get it. What happened?’

Jack resisted the urge to grind his teeth. That was a billion-dollar question, and the one he’d been avoiding ever since he’d made the decision to get out of that taxi, if he was being brutally honest.

The truth of it was that he’d got spooked. He’d known that Imogen was as attracted to him as he was to her. He’d seen and heard the evidence. Hell, he’d even told her she wanted him.

But had he taken advantage of it? No. Instead, he’d opted for the easy way out, dogged by the weird sensation that Imogen was somehow dangerous. That she could very easily pose some kind of threat to his peace of mind if he got involved with her.

Which was absurd, he thought, conjuring up the image of her sitting there eyes wide and darkening with heat as he leaned in close to set her straight. The woman was as much of a threat as a marshmallow, and his overreaction had been melodramatic to say the least.

But then why wouldn’t it have been? Over the course of a matter of hours he’d had to endure agony-inducing art, been struck by the severest case of lust he’d had in a long time, had had an invitation to dinner hurled back in his face, suffered a jab to the ribs and then been accused of being arrogant and cold.

With such a battering assault on his senses was it any wonder his equilibrium had been somewhat off?

But now, however, he could see that Imogen was just one in a long line of women who’d caught his eye. She was business he badly wanted to finish, that was all.

‘I was an idiot,’ said Jack, feeling the restlessness and tension ease from his body at the burgeoning notion of pursuing and capturing Imogen.

‘So what are you going to do?’

‘Track her down.’

And when he did he’d make her acknowledge the attraction that flared between them if it was the last thing he did. He’d employ every tactic he knew—and he knew plenty—and by the time he was through with her, she’d be begging him to take her in his arms and assuage the ache he’d stir up in her.

‘How?’

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Jack said, telling himself that with the energy and focus suddenly spreading through him it wouldn’t present too much of a problem.

‘Need any help?’

Jack caught the trace of yearning in Luke’s voice and grinned. Years ago the two of them had been a lethal double act in their pursuit of women, but now he operated alone. ‘Thanks,’ he said and glanced over at the approaching waiter, ‘but I should be able to manage.’

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_92d3bd3a-a11b-5752-9760-6e2b05fbe49e)

TONIGHT was going to be grim, thought Imogen for the billionth time that Friday. Utterly grim, and if she hadn’t been the only person available to represent her family at tonight’s Valentine’s Day Ball, she’d have stayed at home, curled up with a good book and a glass of wine.

For one thing she was exhausted. Not because she’d been putting in sixteen-hour days at work or anything. Her lowly nine-to-five job in the funding department at the Christie Trust—which she’d only been given because of who she was—wasn’t, unfortunately, hugely demanding.

And not because she’d been out until the early hours, either, as in an effort to avoid Max and Connie she’d largely shunned the social scene ever since they’d got together.

No. The cause of her restless nights was Jack.

To her intense, teeth-grinding frustration, she hadn’t been able to get him out of her head. The minute she closed her eyes at night, there he was, frazzling her brain with his voice, his eyes, his scent and the feel of his hand on her mouth.

As if disturbing her dreams wasn’t bad enough, he had an annoying tendency to invade her thoughts during the day, too. Often at the most inconvenient times. Like yesterday when she’d been in the supermarket contemplating what to buy for supper. She’d been lurking in the frozen food aisle and eyeing up the pizzas when, completely apropos of nothing, the image of him in the back of the taxi had flown into her head.