black hair, such startlingly blue eyes? The boys scrabbling at her feet were miniature replicas of Joe, devils in the making. And if they were here, could he be far behind?
CHAPTER TWO
“GIVE the lady her money, kids.” Smooth and seductive as black satin, his voice practically stroked the back of her neck.
The boys could have robbed her of her last dollar for all Imogen cared. At that precise moment her only concern was that she not make a spectacle of herself. The last time she’d seen Joe Donnelly, she’d been an emotional mess. She would not appear the same way again. If anyone was to be caught at a disadvantage, it would be he.
Exercising an hauteur not even her mother could have matched, Imogen turned her head ever so casually and spared him a brief over-the-shoulder glance. “Oh, hello. It’s Joe, isn’t it?”
The effort was worth what it cost her, if only to witness the way his jaw dropped and his sultry black lashes spiked upward as the famous Donnelly eyes widened in shocked recognition.
“Imogen?” His voice changed, losing its baritone resonance and emerging rusty as a chunk of old metal fished from the depths of the lake.
“That’s right.” Even though her insides were churning, she flashed a cool, impersonal smile and tucked a few retrieved articles inside her bag. “Imogen Palmer. Patsy and I went to school together and were just reminiscing over old times.”
“The hell you say!”
He sounded as if he were being strangled. If she hadn’t been in such pain, she might have enjoyed his discomfiture. Instead, since there was no other way for her to escape unless she chose to vault over the iron railing separating the patio from the park, she steeled herself to turn and face him.
Oh, he was beautiful! Contrary to all she’d told herself, he was as trim and fit a specimen of manhood as any woman could wish for. Despite the intensified gloom under the awning, she could see that his face was more chiseled than it had been when he was twenty-three, defining more fully the character of the man he’d become. He stood tall and proud, the rebel in him controlled but not tamed.
“Well,” she said, turning away before he read the desolation she knew must show in her eyes, “it’s been nice seeing you again, Patsy. Sorry we didn’t have more time to chat.”
Patsy looked from her to Joe, her expressive face betraying utter confusion. “But—”
One of the boys held out a grimy paw. “Here’s your money, lady.”
“Thank you,” Imogen said, avoiding his clear-eyed gaze. She could not bear to look at him or his brother. Stepping past them and the man at their side, she said, “Sorry to rush off like this, Patsy, but we’ll probably see each other again in the next day or so. Goodbye, Joe. You have lovely children.”
She hoped she made a dignified exit. Spine straight, she tried to move with the unhurried grace of a fashion model through the maze of tables which wove an obstacle course between her and the gate. Only when she’d covered a hundred yards or so of her return journey along the shoreline boardwalk and was a safe distance from the restaurant did she allow herself to slump against the promenade wall and draw a shaking hand over her face.
Surprised, she found she was crying. Not with the great, harrowing, painful sobs she’d endured when Joe Donnelly had left her nine summers before. Not with the mourning hopelessness she’d known when she’d walked out of Colthorpe Clinic the following spring, her arms as empty as her heart. But silently, with tears flowing warm and unchecked down her cheeks.
Footsteps intruded on the silence, and again premonition shivered over her, warning her that escape was not to be so easily bought. A second later his voice, in control, bore out the fact. “Not so fast, Imogen.”
Appalled, she fished a tissue out of her bag, swabbed at her tears and tried to blow her nose discreetly. “What is it?” she asked, grateful for the blessed camouflage of twilight. “Did I forget something?”
He touched her, placing his hand on her shoulder as if he were about to arrest her for loitering. “Apparently you did.”
“Really?” Trying to shrug him off, she peered into her bag as intently as if she expected to find a snake hidden there. Anything was preferable to looking him in the eye. “What?”
“Us,” he said, spinning her to face him. “Or did you hope I’d forgotten that Patsy wasn’t the only Donnelly you were familiar with at one time?”
“He is immoral, insolent and socially unacceptable,” her mother had raged when she’d learned Joe had brought Imogen home from her high school graduation dance. “Should he dare to set foot on this property again, I will have him arrested for trespassing.”
But while he undoubtedly possessed more than his share of faults, unflinching honesty had been but one of Joe Donnelly’s strengths, and he’d lost nothing of his penchant for confrontation. Where other men might have gone along with Imogen’s pretense that they were nothing but the most casual of acquaintances, he was determined to challenge her on it.
“I hoped you’d be gentleman enough not to remind me,” she said.
His voice hardened. “But I’m not a gentleman, Imogen. I never was. Surely you hadn’t forgotten that?”
How did she answer? By confessing that simply seeing him again was enough to make her long for the feel of his mouth on hers? That it was suddenly too easy to look at the star-sprinkled sky and remember how, the night he’d loved her, the wash of the summer moon had turned his skin to pale gold? Or that, if she matched his truth with one of her own, she’d have to admit he was the most exciting man she’d ever met and he’d spoiled her for anyone else?
“How could I have forgotten?” she asked, overwhelmed by the vicious ache of memory. “A gentleman would have...”
He heard the unguarded desolation in her tone. “What?” he asked, his gaze scouring her face. “What would a gentleman have done that I didn’t do?”
Found a way to stay in touch, she wanted to reply. He’d have called or written or shown up at the door and refused to go away. He’d have been beside me when I needed him, and to hell with whether or not my mother approved He’d have shared my grief. But you did none of those things because you didn’t care. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Our...what happened between us that night...”
“Yes, Imogen? Exactly what did happen?”
He was taunting her, daring her to speak as bluntly as he did. Well, why not? Why should she step delicately, afraid to trample on his feelings, while he stomped roughshod over hers?
“We had sex, Joe. A one-night stand. The ice princess needed to learn what ‘it’ was really all about, and who better to teach her than the guy who’d already had every other willing girl in town? Is that what you want to hear?”
“No,” he said, his hands falling from her as if he’d found he was touching slime. “I was hoping you’d tell the truth, for a change.”
“You think I’m lying?”
He swung his gaze from her and stared across the darkening lake. “I never deluded myself about why you turned to me that night, Imogen. But even
