Hard Deal

by Stefanie London

  The intercom buzzer sounded and he raised a brow. He wasn’t expecting anyone tonight, but the small black-and-white screen revealed a woman in a floaty dress standing by the front door on ground level. Did she have the wrong apartment? He picked up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Caleb?”

  His throat tightened. Imogen. “Yes?”

  “It’s me...uh, Imogen. Imogen Hargrove.” More words followed, like she was chastising herself under her breath. “Can I come up?”

  “Sure.” He hit the access button and hung up the receiver.

  What the hell was she doing here? He’d been giving her distance since their fight, focusing on finding a new job because he couldn’t figure out what to do about her. He wanted her—that much was damn sure. Wanted to be with her, in more than the physical sense. But she didn’t believe in him and right now he needed all the belief he could get. There was no denying that his feelings for her ran deep—he simply didn’t know if now was the right time to act on them.

  A soft knock caught his attention and he went to the front door. “Wow.”

  The black-and-white intercom screen hadn’t prepared him for what she looked like in person. Her long gold hair sat fluffy and soft around her shoulders, her curvy body encased in a dress that would make fire engines blend into the background.

  “Good wow, or bad wow?” she asked. Her hands gripped a small present and the paper crinkled beneath her white-knuckled grip.

  “Definitely a good wow.” He stepped back and motioned for her to come into his apartment.

  The dress hung past her knees and swished as she walked, but the rear view was the cherry on top of an incredibly sexy sundae. The dress dipped into a point at her midback, and was trimmed with a soft bit of fabric that fluttered with each step. The straps were thin enough that he could snap them with his teeth. And boy did he want to.

  “I’m glad you let me know that you were Imogen Hargrove, so I didn’t get you confused with any of the other Imogens I know,” he said drily. “Very thoughtful.”

  “My social awkwardness knows no bounds, apparently.” She rocked on her heels. “I heard you quit.”

  He nodded. “It was time.”

  “I hope it was nothing to do with what I said about...you know.”

  “About Neila? No, it wasn’t that. Well, not that alone.” He watched her closely. “I waited until I had every possible sign that I should leave, instead of going with my gut from the start.”

  She sucked on the inside of her cheek. It was hard not to be overwhelmed by how much he wanted to haul her into his arms and act like their whole blowup had never happened. But sweeping things under the rug was what had gotten him into trouble the first three hundred times.

  “I contributed to that,” she said. “And I feel terrible. I judged you because of what happened to me in the past, and that’s not fair.”

  “Everyone has baggage, Imogen. You don’t have to apologise for that.”

  “Not for having baggage, but because I let it get between us.” She toyed with the parcel in her hand and then held it out to him. “Anyway, I wanted to get you a little something to say good luck with the job hunting. And to say goodbye, I guess. It’s been good working with you.”

  Her voice was stiff and proper, a far cry from the wild dress and loose hair and her turning up unannounced. She was caught between the old and new, stuck in the limbo of wanting to change but not being sure how to do it. Just like he was. For two people who seemed to be polar opposites, they definitely had a lot in common.

  “Thank you. I’ll be around for a few more weeks, though.” His fingertips grazed hers as he took the package. It was soft beneath the thick paper wrapping. “Is this what I think it is?”

  A tentative smile played on her lips. “Maybe.”

  She’d folded and stuck the edges down so perfectly that he avoided tearing into the paper like he usually would have. Inside was a pair of socks with a yellow background and little black llamas printed all over.

  “I thought my socks made it hard for you to take me seriously.” He raised a brow.

  “These are business llamas. Can’t you see? They’re all going to their important corporate jobs.” She pointed at one of the llamas. “That one’s a lawyer. And that one works on spreadsheets all day.”

  How could he ever have thought this woman was stuffy and serious? Perhaps because she was an expert in hiding herself.

  “Totally interview appropriate.” Her eyes glimmered with mischief. “Much more professional than the tacos.”

  “Well, I was going with plain black.”

  Imogen’s brows shot up. “I didn’t even know you owned plain black socks.”

  “I had to dig them out. I keep a pair for funerals.” As he said it, he realised how ridiculous it sounded. He was going to an interview in funeral socks and a borrowed tie that was basically a cure for insomnia.

  “You’re serious?” She shook her head, the light bouncing off the fine gold hairs framing her face like a halo.

  “What? Black is entirely professional. Seems to be a mainstay in your wardrobe, though I’m a big fan of the red.”

  “You are?”

  “Fuck yeah. You look...” He swallowed. “Luminous.”

  “Thanks,” she said with a shy smile. It was like watching the compliment warm her from the inside out. “It would be a terrible idea for you to go for an interview in such boring socks.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s false advertising.” She cocked her head. “They’ll be expecting a serious, upstanding gentleman who will toe the company line and play buzzword bingo every day.”

  “And what are they really getting, huh?” He leaned against the dining table, crossing his legs at the ankles. The relaxed pose hid the tension and anticipation roiling inside him.

  We’ve been over this already. Her opinion of you is based on what you’ve presented her—and it isn’t good.

  But then why was she here? Why not wait until they were back in the office to come and see him. She could have easily given him the “good luck” present earlier that day. He’d seen her walking toward his office then making an about-face at the last minute.

  “They’re getting someone vibrant and interesting and creative. Someone who’s ready to stop living in the shadows and make their own success.” She took a step toward him. “Someone who’s smart and sexy and has a lot to say.”

  “You calling me a big mouth?” He suppressed a smile.

  “What I’m trying to say—and doing a crappy job of it—is that you should go in there being you. Because who you are is pretty freaking great.” Her eyes dropped to the floor and her shoulders rose and fell with deep breaths. “I know we haven’t done things the conventional way and when I left here the other day I told myself I wouldn’t be back...”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I couldn’t stay away.” Her voice trembled as she looked back up. “And I realised that you’d only ever seen me in granny knickers.”

  “What?” he growled.

  For once his mind hadn’t moved past her outer layer of clothing. The red dress was enough to keep the imagination whirring—how it clung to her rounded hips and exposed the delicate shadow of her cleavage in a way that told him she most definitely wasn’t wearing a bra. But now all he could think about was what she had on underneath.

  “You know, I wore them that first night as a deterrent,” she said. She bent down to undo the buckles on her sandals, giving him a fine view in the process. Her hair slipped over her shoulders and she craned her head up, the sharp angle making her olive green eyes look wide and round. “I told myself that if I put on those hideous things there was no way I’d let you get under my dress. That the potential embarrassment would keep me from letting you get too close.”

  She slipped the strap through th
e buckle and stepped her bare foot onto the floor. Then she started on the second one.

  “I told myself that it would be a terrible idea to get involved with you at all. That the date was only part of the deal because you were trying to get some kind of hold over me. Because you wanted the woman who said no.”

  She stepped out of the second sandal and gently nudged them to the side with her foot. Without shoes, she was more than a head shorter than him but her presence filled the room as though she were eight feet tall. He’d never seen her like this before—shining and radiating emotion. Raw and vulnerable...and owning it.

  “I told myself it was a game for you. A challenge. Just to see if you could do it.” She slipped one of the straps over her bare shoulder. The slide of satin over skin was like an electric shock, it vibrated through Caleb’s body—stealing his breath, halting his heart. Tightening and hardening and tensing him. She slipped the other strap down. “That maybe you were laughing at me on the inside.”

  “I was never laughing at you, Imogen. Only with you.”

  His brain wanted to shut this down—tell her to stop. There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d be able to think straight once she shimmied out of that dress. But there was more to this than baring skin. She was baring her soul to him. Stripping back everything that she used to hide herself away.

  “The second you took me up those stairs I knew I had underestimated you.” She reached behind herself, her chest thrusting out as the sound of a zipper being lowered sliced through the air. “I had seriously underestimated you.”

  “How?”

  “Because in a room full of people you made me feel like I was the only one there.”

  The dress sagged and she let the material slip down her body like a caress. Her breasts were bare, her nipples pink and pointed. The world’s tiniest scrap of red lace covered her sex. It was studded with stones that winked at him, taunting him.

  “To me, you were the only one.” His hands twitched by his sides. But he couldn’t reach out to her—not yet. Sure, it filled him with pride to know he’d rocked her world, made her feel special, but what he wanted from Imogen wasn’t limited to the physical. He wanted more. “I wasn’t proud that I had to resort to blackmailing you for a date.”

  “Trading services, I believe you called it.” Her fingertips toyed with the edge of her underwear. The damn woman would short-circuit his brain if he wasn’t careful. “And I’m glad you did. You opened my eyes, Caleb. I think I was sleep-living before that—each day was the same and I kept failing to move on from what’d happened. I had bad date after bad date and then there was you... I’ve never had sex like that before.”

  “Glad I could be of service,” he said, unable to keep the bitter tone out of his voice.

  If she was here because she wanted to sleep with him again, then he would do everything in his power to resist. He’d help her back into that gorgeous dress and send her packing. Because, as much as he wanted those sweet legs wrapped around his waist and her hands tangled in his hair, he wanted everything else, too.

  And he was done with settling.

  * * *

  Imogen sucked in a breath, her mind moving so fast she was seriously concerned that it might zoom right out of her head. She’d assumed that once she got out of the dress the talking would stop...at least for a little bit. But now she was standing almost butt-naked in front of the man she cared deeply for, her nipples growing hard with a combination of excitement, fear and air-conditioning, feeling like she was in one of those weird public nudity nightmares.

  “I’m doing a terrible job of this.” She bent down to grab the fabric of her dress, adrenaline pumping through her veins so hard it made her head spin.

  But Caleb was in front of her in an instant, his hand wrapped around her wrist. “Stop.”

  “I shouldn’t have done that.” Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, shame filtering through her system. She’d wanted so bad to break out of her shell, to be the seductive, confident one.

  Why did you think you could come here and strip off and that would be enough? You think your boobs are going to make up for what happened?

  “I...” Oh God, now the tears weren’t only pricking. They were spilling onto her cheeks.

  She was naked and sniffling, struggling against his grip so she could attempt to regain some of her dignity. She pulled the dress up over her, slipping her arms into the straps so that even if she couldn’t get her trembling hands to deal with the zipper, all the important stuff was covered.

  “You what?” His other hand came to her jaw as he tipped her face up to his.

  “I thought...” She squeezed her eyes shut. It was now or never. “I’m sorry I talked about you behind your back and that I questioned you about the Neila thing. And...I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. That I haven’t trusted you.”

  “I understand why that’s hard for you.”

  “The thing is, instead of letting people start at zero and giving them a chance to win or lose my trust, I start them way down at negative fifty.” She swallowed. “It’s not fair to judge you on someone else’s actions.”

  “Imogen, I accept your apology. But I’m not exactly blameless, either. I let people think the worst of me. Hell, I’ve played into it time and time again. I’ve set people up to have a low opinion. You can’t take all the responsibility.”

  “Is that why you’re leaving?” she asked.

  “Part of it. I need to do my own thing, be my own person. I can’t untangle all the shit at Allbrook—people’s perceptions of me and all that. It’s fine. I’ve made my bed, so now I’m going to find a new one.” A lopsided smile drifted across his lips. “Fresh start will do me good.”

  She nodded and wrapped her arms around herself. Was that supposed to mean he wanted a clean break altogether, including from her? Was she part of the stuff he couldn’t untangle?

  “That sounds good.” She bobbed her head. “Any chance I can get in on that? I’d like a fresh start, too.”

  He raised a brow. “You want to leave Allbrook?”

  “No.” She sucked in a breath, the pressure of all she wanted to say crowding her heart and her lungs. If she walked away now she’d always regret not going all in. Not giving this “new her” a fighting chance to have the man who’d made her see how much she held herself back. The man who’d opened her eyes and stolen her heart. It was because of him that she could even be here now, saying these words. Wearing this dress—well, half wearing it. “I want a fresh start with you.”

  “Do you like me, Imogen Hargrove? Even though I wear taco socks and tease you mercilessly and give you fake excuses to trudge down to the storage room?”

  “I knew you didn’t really need those files!” She swatted at him and he laughed.

  “What can I say? I was smitten and I wanted an excuse to talk to you.” The lopsided grin morphed into full-fledged megawatt goodness.

  “You could have told me that.”

  “You wouldn’t have believed me,” he pointed out.

  “True.” She nodded. “Okay, confession time. Every time you came into my office I would have to remind myself not to drool all over you.”

  “That explains the strange face you used to make.” He threw his head back and laughed, and the soul-deep rumbling sound soothed her.

  “The truth was, I was smitten, too. And the more I got to know you...” She steeled herself. “The more I realised you were so much more than I thought. And I want to explore it. I want to get to know everything about the real you. I want to have wild, kinky, semipublic sex with you. I want to wear colour with you. I want to have it all with you. I do like you, a heck of a lot. And I know I’d regret not telling you now even if you turn me down.”

  His eyes sparkled. “How could I possibly turn you down? You said the magic words.”

  “‘Kinky, semipublic sex’?” She grinned, hope and somethi
ng deep and strong blooming inside her. Something more than “like,” but she wasn’t ready to say it yet. They had a lot of baggage to wade through. But deep down she knew they were already past like, they just didn’t know how to label it yet.

  “Exactly.” He leaned down and nuzzled her neck, nipping at her skin. “You’re putting ideas in my head.”

  “So that’s a yes?” She gasped as he sucked on her skin, heat flaring inside her like a struck match. “We can start afresh?”

  “Yes.” His kissed his way up to her mouth, capturing her lips. His tongue stroked against hers while his arms wound around her. Claiming her. “Fresh start begins in three—” he cupped her backside “—two—” he pressed her hard against him “—one.”

  “Why hello, Mr. Allbrook. It’s lovely to meet you.” She cupped his hands with her face. “I have a feeling we’re going to get on famously.”

  EPILOGUE

  One year later...

  “DOES IT FEEL any different being here with an actual invite?” Imogen fiddled with her mask—the same one she’d worn last year—as she surveyed the Carmina Ball’s crowded ballroom.

  “To be honest, I missed the thrill of getting changed outdoors.” Lainey grinned. “But when I mentioned it to Damian, he didn’t seem too keen.”

  “Not up for a roll in that hay, then?”

  “Not all of us like to get our kit off in public.”

  Imogen’s cheeks grew hot. Though whether it was from embarrassment at her friend’s comment or from all the scorching memories she’d made with Caleb in the last twelve months, she wasn’t sure.

  “I should never have told you about that,” she muttered.

  “No judgement, I promise. But you should know that after a glass or two of bubbly you open up like a fountain.” Lainey slung an arm around Imogen’s shoulders. “It’s a truth serum.”

  Frowning, Imogen offloaded her half-finished glass to a passing waiter. Given she and Caleb were planning to get up to trouble soon, it was probably best to keep a clear head. A little ball of excitement zipped through her, and she bunched her hands in the thick, frothy layers of her gown.