inside her head and insisting she was wrong, that he wasn’t like that, was all very well but, despite what he’d told her that night in the taxi, and despite what she’d told herself over the past few days, she couldn’t get what she knew of his reputation entirely out of her mind.
Irrational, undoubtedly, but there it was. What with the betrayal she’d suffered recently and the knowledge that Max and Connie’s affair must have been going on right under her nose was it any wonder she was predisposed to mistrust?
Imogen glanced at her watch and sighed. Five more minutes to compose herself and then she’d be saying her goodbyes and getting out of here, because the night had turned out to be just as grim as she’d thought—although for entirely different reasons—and she’d had enough.
Jack scoured the ground floor of the hotel for Imogen. The things he had to suffer in the pursuit of a date!
As if having to bring ferocious desire and the memories of those scorching kisses under control hadn’t been trial enough, Jessica had been on particularly demanding form this evening.
From her behaviour at dinner one would never guess she’d ignored him most of her life, but it had taken Jack less than two minutes to figure out that his mother’s brief foray into lavish maternal affection was nothing more than an effort to impress her latest conquest, who happened to work in the same field as he did.
Which couldn’t have bothered him less. Jessica, who’d had him when she was a teenager and had promptly handed him over to her parents to raise him so that she could carry on partying, didn’t have a maternal bone in her body, and he’d never deluded himself into thinking otherwise.
So the stabbing at his gut was nothing more than indigestion, although if someone had asked him what had been on the menu he couldn’t have said. All he’d been able to think about for course after course was what had gone on in that broom cupboard and what might have happened if he hadn’t heard the echo of the gong announcing dinner.
Jack strode through the lobby, his temper beginning to simmer. He didn’t think he’d ever had such an uncomfortable couple of hours and Imogen’s disappearing act wasn’t helping.
Where was she? Did she think playing hard to get would somehow reel him in even more? Well, he thought, setting his jaw grimly, she needn’t have bothered. He was reeled in quite comprehensively already.
Or at least he would be if only he could find her.
Right. This was it. The last room. If she wasn’t here, he was going home. Yes, he very much wanted to continue where they’d left off but there was only so much volatile behaviour he was prepared to take and hers was hitting his limit.
Jack pushed open the door to the conservatory and scanned the space. Tall, lush palms brushed the walls, the subtle lighting casting long, dark shadows over the cane furniture, the pillars and the marble floor. But other than the fixtures and fittings, that was it. There was no sign of her here, either.
Disappointment walloped him in the stomach, roiling and churning and making him go all light-headed.
He shoved his hands through his hair and pulled himself together. So that was that, then. He’d be off. He’d forget all about Imogen and the insane notion that he somehow wouldn’t survive if he didn’t finish the business they’d started, and get back to being in control of his life.
It had been an absurd idea anyway. When had he ever chased a woman he was interested in quite so determinedly? When had he ever had to? And as for not surviving, well, that was ridiculous. Of course he’d survive. He always did.
Calling himself all kinds of fool, Jack turned on his heel and was about to march out, when something caught his eye and made him freeze.
It was a pair of feet. Clad in black high-heeled shoes and propped up on the window sill.
They could be anyone’s, of course, but what the hell, it was worth checking out. He strode over to the huge armchair that faced away from him and stopped in front of it.
And there she was, calmly sitting there, her elbows resting on the arms of the chair, her hands clasped, her fingers entwined and tapping against her mouth. Her legs stretched out, one exposed where her dress had fallen open, and as his gaze travelled the length of it from hip to ankle and back again all thoughts about leaving and forgetting about her vanished beneath a tidal wave of relief. ‘So this is where you got to.’
She glanced up at him and it was then he noticed the frown and the lack of warmth in her eyes. ‘Top marks for observation.’
The relief ebbed and he inwardly flinched. That didn’t sound like the voice of a woman keen to continue where they’d left off in the broom cupboard. In fact, it sounded like the voice of a woman who was grumpy and fed up. Very possibly—although he had no idea why—with him.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine,’ she said, clearly anything but.
‘So what are you doing here all by yourself?’
‘Well, I was hoping to have a few moments of peace …’
Jack rubbed a hand along his jaw and frowned. If that was a not-so-subtle hint that he should leave, then she was going to be disappointed because he wasn’t going anywhere. Instead, he pulled up a chair and sat down facing her. ‘I did say I’d come and find you after dinner.’
‘You took your time.’
Jack’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. Was that what was annoying her? The fact that he hadn’t come looking for her the minute coffee had been served? Was she really that high maintenance? ‘I got waylaid by someone wanting to invest in one of my funds.’
‘Oh.’ Her gaze jerked to his and he saw something flash in her eyes. Something that looked a little like relief and Jack inexplicably felt like grinning. Imogen might be hard work at times, but he had no doubt she’d be worth it.
‘And you didn’t exactly make it easy by hiding out here.’
‘I wasn’t hiding.’ She sniffed. ‘I was merely taking a little time out to think.’
‘About what?’
‘Things.’
‘Where I was being one of them?’
She flushed. ‘Possibly.’
‘And what conclusion did you draw?’ he asked, intrigued because whatever it was she’d been thinking about it was highly likely to be the cause of her frostiness.
‘It occurred to me you might have been … how shall I put it … otherwise engaged.’
‘What?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ she said with an airy wave of her hand. ‘It’s irrelevant now anyway. Have you had a pleasant evening?’
His smile tightened a little at the thought of the ordeal he’d had to endure so far this evening and still was. Pleasant was not the word he’d have used. ‘Not particularly.’
‘Oh?’ She raised her eyebrows and regarded him coolly. ‘From where I was sitting it looked like you were having a whale of a time.’
