as if someone had walloped her in the solar plexus and then sucked all the air from around her, Imogen looked from Connie to Max and back again. And to her horror, her vision blurred, her throat closed over and her head went completely and utterly blank.
Aha, thought Jack with a surge of satisfaction as he scanned the lobby of the hotel and spotted Imogen. There she was. Over there by the fireplace. Standing next to a tall, dark-haired man and a short blonde woman.
Excellent.
It seemed that his mother, for once in her shallow, flaky life, had actually come up with the goods.
Calling her to make discreet enquiries about when and where he might find Imogen had been something of a last resort. However, despite assuring Luke he’d manage perfectly well alone, tracking Imogen down had proved trickier than he’d thought.
After lunch he’d gone back to the office, his mind trawling through the options and discarding each one almost as soon as it entered his head. Chasing around London on the off chance of bumping into her he’d deemed inefficient and unlikely to result in success. Obtaining her contact details and sending her an email or giving her a call would give her the chance to ignore him. And if he’d pitched up on her doorstep, her stalking accusation might actually have held some merit.
Which had left him with no alternative but to try his mother. He’d figured that no one knew the London social scene better—with her penchant for partying ‘til dawn with men younger than he was, she’d had enough practice—and if anyone knew where Imogen was going to be it was her.
Not that he’d needed to be subtle when making his enquiries, he thought, adjusting his bow tie as he weaved his way towards Imogen. His mother was so self-absorbed she’d never spare the time to wonder why her son would be asking about the whereabouts of a girl.
Of course, there wasn’t anything particularly newsworthy about the fact that he had. His wanting to track Imogen down wasn’t a big deal. So what if he’d never cared in the past about who knew who he was dating? And so what if he’d previously sought a girl’s contact details from friends and acquaintances without a care for the gossip doing so might generate?
With the possibility of Imogen’s resistance being a large obstacle in his intention to make a conquest of her, this operation required delicacy. Subtlety. A different approach.
And one that required his full focus, he reminded himself, keeping her in his line of sight. Focus that mustn’t be derailed at any cost. Especially not by the spectacular way she looked.
As he got closer he could see that she was wearing a strapless black full-length dress that clung everywhere and had a split up to the top of her thigh. Her hair was swept up and looked like spun gold. Diamonds glittered at her throat and ear lobes.
A weaker man would have been dazzled. A weaker man would have cast aside any tactics he might have had, fallen to his knees at her feet and begged her for a smile. Luckily for him and his life-long adherence to strategy, Jack had self-control and strength in spades and didn’t possess one iota of weakness.
Although actually, he thought, narrowing his eyes as something about the tense set of her shoulders snagged his attention, Imogen wasn’t looking quite as radiant as she should be. In fact, she was looking rather pale. Somewhat stunned. And increasingly as if she was going to pass out.
He quickened his pace, concern rushing through him at the realisation that something was badly wrong.
‘Imogen?’ he said, coming to a halt a foot from her and steeling himself against the effect she’d have on him if he let her. ‘Are you all right?’
For a moment she simply stared at him, her eyes huge and troubled, and he had the strangest feeling that she was looking straight through him. But then, just when he was beginning to get really worried by her pallor, she blinked. Pulled her shoulders back, gave herself a quick shake and then shot him a stunning smile.
‘Jack, darling,’ she purred, and to his astonishment reached up, wrapped a hand around his neck and planted a kiss at the corner of his mouth. ‘You made it.’
At the brush of her lips so soft and full and so tantalisingly close to his own and at the touch of her hand on his neck, Jack felt as if he’d been electrocuted. Her breast was squashed up against his arm, her body was warm and soft against his, and her scent was intoxicating. She shot every one of his senses to pieces and blew his strategy to smithereens, and he wanted nothing more than to haul her into the shadows and tug that mouth to his properly. So he could explore it with his, thoroughly and at length.
She drew back, her eyes dark and now sparkling, and Jack ruthlessly stamped out the urge. Strength and self-control, he reminded himself. Strength and self-control. Because right now he wasn’t here to show her how pointless denying the chemistry they shared was. He was here to help.
Catching the flicker of pleading in her eyes, he ignored the voice inside his head demanding to know what made him think he could help when he didn’t have a chivalrous bone in his body. Whatever was going on, Imogen clearly needed him to be attentive, so attentive he’d be.
After all, he reflected, belatedly gathering his scattered wits and switching to Besotted Lover mode, he’d planned on being extremely attentive to Imogen this evening and he’d envisaged having to put in a lot more groundwork. If circumstances expedited matters he’d be a fool not to take advantage of them.
Wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her tight against him, he smiled down into her eyes and murmured, ‘Did you really think I wouldn’t?’
He felt her relax. Saw the clouds drift from her eyes, the trouble gradually fade, and as heat and desire crept in to take its place all he could think about was how much fun getting Imogen to unravel in his arms was going to be.
‘I wasn’t sure.’
‘Such little faith.’
‘Forgive me?’
Right now, with her voice all soft and breathy and her body moulded to his, he thought he’d probably forgive her anything. Faintly disconcerted by the thought, Jack released his grip on her slightly and dragged his gaze from hers to cast a quick glance at the couple she was with. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends, darling?’
Imogen blinked. ‘What? Oh. Yes. Of course. Jack, this is Max Llewellyn.’ Her smile faltered and it made Jack wonder if friends was quite the word. ‘And Connie Nicholson.’
‘Jack Taylor,’ he said, nodding briefly and shaking their hands in turn.
Something about Max made his hackles shoot up. Made him take an instant dislike to the man even though he couldn’t for the life of him work out why. Maybe it was the fact that he was altogether too smooth. His teeth were too white, his hair too perfectly coiffured, his nails too manicured.
‘Max and Connie are engaged,’ Imogen said with a tightness that confirmed his earlier suspicion that whatever the three of them were they weren’t friends.
‘Congratulations,’ said Jack.
‘Thanks,’ said Connie, her wide smile fading as she shot a quick glance at Imogen, whose own smile was now so brittle it looked as if it might be about to shatter.
An awkward kind of lull fell, during which no one apart from Jack looked
