CHAPTER EIGHT
RYAN HAD SPENT MANY long hours putting himself through punishing physical workouts, but he’d never felt the kind of complete pain he felt now as he walked. It was as if a vital part of him was slowly being pulled from his body with every step he took away from her. But he had to go. Understood that she needed time to trust him as well as want him. He sensed her capitulation to the latter had been close, but he didn’t want her sur ren dering to his demands. He wanted her to come to him with her own demands. He wanted her to want him the way he wanted her, to be able to take as well as be taken—and not just sexually. Ultimately he wanted them to be bound.
Good grief. He was dreaming of being shackled—wanting it? Yes, wanting one woman, only the one, for evermore. And it was her. Shell-shocked, he found himself walking back through Princes Street Gardens and beyond, along the Royal Mile and down to Arthur’s Seat—setting a punishing pace up the steep path and round the hill. Even so he felt he had energy to burn. His grand fa ther had said it would happen like this—with fast, total certainty. He hadn’t believed him. But it had—just like that.
He’d loved her company today. Loved her teasing eyes, her dry comments, finding out just a touch about what had made her the way she was. There was so much more to discover, but he made himself breathe. There would be time. And for once he’d enjoyed talking about his life. She’d been interested, but she hadn’t been dazzled. Hadn’t wanted to know about the rink at their winter holiday home, or the luxury of the Taylor family compound—the Olympic-sized heated pool, the private cinema. She didn’t know the half of it. And it seemed she didn’t want to. As a result he’d shared more with her than he had with his closest teammates—which was saying something.
Eventually he trudged back to his hotel, had a long, long shower and then forced himself to dress in his tux. He had to go to this do—and it beat sitting in his hotel room being reminded of how she’d lain spread in his bed and screamed for him. Slow and steady was how he’d win her. He’d made ground today. He had to go and show his face tonight. It was too good a business opportunity to miss.
MONDAY MORNING HE SPENT in his hotel room, having a video conference with his siblings. His brother was keen to push the European expansion plans forward, which meant there was a ton more work and a ton more pressure on Ryan. They’d talk details over Christmas, so before then there would be no time for distraction. But as he walked to the store he found himself looking forward to seeing Imogen, working on her, all the more determined to win her—wholeheartedly.
He went straight up to the accountancy suite, but she wasn’t at her desk. He glanced at the clock—lunchtime. He grinned and went back downstairs.
‘Jingle Bells’ was playing for the sev en teen thousandth time. He put a wooden duck-head-handled umbrella on the table in front of her. She looked up, and her smile died. It didn’t just die, it went nasty. Her green eyes burned bitter holes right through him.
‘Imogen—’
‘Who’s this for?’ Her voice was poisonous. ‘Your Great-Aunt Agatha?’
Oh, my, she was feeling it today. So he gave her the truth. ‘Actually, it’s for me.’ He gave her a meaning ful look. ‘Someone keeps raining on my parade.’
But she wasn’t reading his less-than-subtle irony. ‘It didn’t look like you were too weatherbeaten on Saturday night. The way that woman was all over you, no rain could get near your skin.’
‘Imogen—’
‘And as this is for you—’ she shoved the umbrella back at him ‘—you don’t need it gift-wrapped, do you?’
He ignored the umbrella and grabbed hold of her arm instead. Firmly. ‘My office,’ he said softly. ‘Now.’
‘Actually, Mr Taylor, I’m on my lunch break.’
He moved around the desk, still holding her arm. ‘Good. Because what I want to discuss is personal.’
‘I don’t want—’
‘I don’t want to do this in front of many of my em ploy-ees and even more of my customers.’ He walked. ‘But I will if I have to.’
She walked with him—stalked, really—in complete silence up the staff stairs and into his office. He closed the door behind them. He could feel Shona watching, but he didn’t care. Something had upset Imogen, and he needed to know what.
‘Explain what you meant. What woman?’
‘Saturday night. The casino,’ she breezed. ‘Don’t think I care. It doesn’t bother me at all.’
Ryan took a step back and leaned on the edge of his desk. Saturday night had been a commitment made before he’d even arrived in Edinburgh. A fundraiser at the casino with the who’s who of Scottish society and all the media darlings out in full force. It had been a good opportunity to meet some local business people. He’d bumped into Saskia on the way in and helped her navigate the flashing bulbs. Looking at Imogen now, he couldn’t help feeling both satisfied and sardonic—and couldn’t quite hide either from his tone as he asked, ‘It doesn’t bother you?’
‘Of course not.’ She held her chin high, but wouldn’t meet his gaze. ‘But I don’t want you flirting with me when you have other fish to fry.’
He waited until she did look up at him—albeit sort of sideways. ‘Your eyes are looking very green today, Imogen.’
They flashed then—pure jealous fire.
He bit back his smile, knowing it would make her furious, but she must have seen it anyway because she took a sudden step forward. ‘You have it too easy, Ryan Taylor. Women, work—everything.’
‘Do I?’ He wasn’t finding her all that easy—quite the contrary.
‘Guys like you.’ She spat the words. ‘You’re born with more money than you could ever need, given the kind of privilege and power that can’t help but corrupt—’
His humour fled the scene as he absorbed her vehemence. ‘Tell me this, Imogen. What do you think you know about “guys like me”?’ It was obvious she’d had a bad experience and he needed to understand it. ‘Who was he? What did he do to you?’
‘I’m not—’
‘It’s about time you talked. Come on—hit me with it. Let me know what I’m up against. Because your going off like this is way off base. So explain. Now.’
‘You want the whole sordid story?’ Her colour was high and her voice wobbled.
‘Every last detail.’
So he could get rid of her baggage and get on with getting her to trust him.
IMOGEN’S FURY WAS A RAW beast that had been brewing for forty-eight hours—since she’d watched the late news on Saturday night and seen that model woman draped all over Ryan as they’d walked into the casino. Jealousy wasn’t the word. She’d turned the rage on herself. Her stupid, foolish, soft-hearted self.
‘His name was George. George Bailey-Jones Junior, to be precise.’ She hated herself for the way she’d suc cumbed to his double-barrelled charm. ‘He dazzled me, Ryan. He was smooth and fast and I was spinning. I couldn’t believe that a guy like him could be that into me.’
‘A guy like him?’
‘Wealthy—from one of the families. Successful. Someone. Being with him elevated me, right?’ She choked. ‘What a thrill to be chased by him, to have him flirt with me. He was on his knees for me—or so he said. What I didn’t know about was his gambling problem and his coke habit.’
‘What happened?’
‘He got in trouble—had several bad runs at the table. Hell, I’ve never even been inside a damn casino. I’m not interested. He came and picked me up late one night. I had no idea. Didn’t know why he was so upset.’
‘He was high?’
‘In another universe.’ She nodded. ‘He crashed the car.’
‘You were hurt?’
‘A cut on the head. Nothing serious.’
There was a low grunt that might have been a snort.
‘His family swung into action. They hired a brilliant lawyer who got him off, smothered the scandal—in cluding the fact that when they in spected his work discrepancies were found. And he’d got into my bank a
ccount and cleared out my pathetic savings.’ She’d been taken for such a ride—literally. ‘They repaid his debt, repaid me. But they didn’t want me around. I lost my job and was shut out.’
‘This was where you worked?’
‘Oh, didn’t I say?’ She glared at him. ‘He was my boss.’
He met her gaze coolly, waiting silently, until she could stand it no longer and the rest spewed out.
‘I’ve never gambled, never done drugs, and yet somehow it was me who’d led him astray because I was a cheap chick from the ’burbs. The posh boy who’d had the ex pen sive edu ca tion wasn’t to blame at all.’ Despite all his flaws, she hadn’t been good enough. She’d been a bit of fluff—fun for a while, but never anyone some one like him could be serious about. ‘He lied to me, he stole from me, and then he said he’d never really cared for me. I’d meant nothing to him. I was fun to fool around with, and an easy supply of petty cash.’
‘I’m sorry he did that to you.’ Ryan stood with his legs wide, arms firm across his chest. ‘But I really don’t see what it has to do with me.’
‘Oh, come on.’ She threw him a withering look. ‘Your family background makes George look like he grew up on the streets.’
‘What?’
Imogen tensed at the arctic tone his voice had taken.
‘Are you suggesting that because I have more money, and supposedly more prestige and more privilege than him, I’m going to betray you even worse than he did?’
Imogen caught the anger in his eyes and trembled inside.
‘How can you think so little of me? Trust me so little?’ His step towards her was positively menacing. ‘What do you think I’ve been doing these last ten years? Yes, I had more opportunities than most. But I’m not going to apologise for that. I’d have a lot more to apologise for if I hadn’t taken them and worked as hard as I did. I earned my degrees on merit. I earned my spot in the team on merit. If you’re not up to it on the ice you’re going to be found out pretty quick, believe me. And I worked my way into this job, Imogen—I wasn’t given it as my birthright. I know my field and I’m good at it. I don’t need you thinking whatever small-minded rub bish it is you’re thinking.’
She was thinking the truth—wasn’t she? She wa vered, thought about his business performance so far. Even she couldn’t deny he knew what he was doing. So, okay, maybe he did have more integrity than George in a business sense. But how could she know if he had a stronger personal code?
‘Why did you sleep with me?’ He pressed on with his attack. ‘Was I just some stud for the night?’
‘I was trying to play it your way.’ She’d tried to have a one-night stand—for the fun of it, the pure pleasure. But she’d been worse than an ostrich. Not content with putting her head in sand, she’d tried to put her whole body in ice. She’d refused to admit that her attraction to him was more than physical, that it couldn’t be quenched by one wild night. He’d made her feel so much more, made her want so much more…and she was terrified.
‘Which just goes to show you really have no clue about me. I wasn’t playing with you, Imogen. I wanted you. I still want you. It’s that simple.’
‘It is not simple.’ Sex like that could never be simple—not for her. Because it wasn’t just sex.
‘It is.’
‘I don’t want to be used by you.’
‘Well, isn’t that exactly what you’re doing to me? I’m trying to get to know you, and you insist on treating me like a one-night stand.’
Because she couldn’t afford not to. Not only was he her boss, he was so much the incredibly eligible bachelor he’d never want to settle—and certainly not with someone from as far over on the wrong side of the tracks as she was. He was the kind of man who’d enjoy savouring the flavours of a gilt-edged smorgasbord for ever.
‘Leopards don’t change their spots, Ryan.’
‘And that’s the whole point, Imogen. I’m not a leopard.’
Did he have to look so intent? ‘Well, you’re hardly a pussycat.’
‘Maybe I’m an eagle.’
She frowned, not getting his point.
‘We mate for life.’
All the blood left her brain. So did all the oxygen. Nearly catatonic, she whispered, ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Don’t I? How do you know?’
He was doing that magic thing with his eyes again. Making them burn bright and mesmerising. She fought to stay sane. He was joking, wasn’t he? No way would they want the same kind of things—they were light years apart in experience and lifestyle.
She shook her head. ‘You move so fast, so decisively, so certain that everything is simple.’ She stared, wishing she could believe in that glow of his. ‘I need more time.’
‘For what? What exactly is it you need to know? My favourite colour is green, my star sign is Capricorn. Is that enough? Or do you need to spend some quality time with me—is that it? Because you were the one who said no to that,’ he growled. ‘I’d be with you every night if I could.’
Every night.
‘Quality time?’
‘That’s right. Every long, slow, wonderful minute.’
As she stared into his eyes her heart decided to beat at half its usual tempo as desire seeped into her skin and her bones and all the stuff in between. She hardly heard him talking now.
‘Look at me, Imogen. Not my name or family or connec tions—just look at me.’ His expression darkened. ‘I thought you were different. I thought you weren’t impressed by all the nonsense that people think about my background. And you weren’t. You hate me for it, and you hate wanting me in spite of it.’ He towered over her. ‘Do you really think I’m like that guy? Am I worth the risk? You decide, and then let me know.’
Slowly she shook her head again. The only thing she was certain of was her uncertainty—and it made her deny herself and him. ‘You expect too much from me.’
‘And you don’t expect enough from me,’ he snapped, words flying, temper fraying. ‘Look, we’re either on or we’re off. I’m not having any in-the-middle mess. I’ve got too much on my plate to be stewing over where I stand with you. If you want to know the truth, it’s damn in con ven ient to have met you right now, and I don’t have the time to convince you. Here I am, thinking about how badly I want to get you naked instead of thinking about the store. You’re the biggest distraction I’ve ever had in my life. I’ve finally agreed to work with my family, and I refuse to stuff it up because of you.’ So it was just sex. He wanted her naked—to be his stress relief, not the cause of stress.
She retaliated rashly, her anger breaking her ability to reason. ‘Fine. If I’m in the way, let me leave. I resign with immediate effect.’
‘Don’t be so childish.’ He lost the last grip on his temper too. ‘Didn’t I say this would never affect your career here? Well, it won’t. You don’t have to resign. I’ll stay well clear and never bother you again.’
CHAPTER NINE
HADN’T SHE GOT WHAT she wanted? He was not bothering her. Not even looking at her. Only commenting on work, and only when absolutely necessary. He closed his office door now—summoned Shona in when he needed her rather than coming out and chatting with his former relaxed style.
Every lunchtime she worked on the wrapping table, and for half an hour or more after her workday had ended. He never stopped by—no more ridiculous presents to verbally joust about. Instead, she chatted to the students on wrapping duty—got to know their names, what they were studying, what they wanted for Christmas.
What she wanted she couldn’t have—and it was her own fault. She was realising she was the biggest fool on the planet. Why couldn’t she just have taken whatever it was he had to offer? Why had she had to do the whole drama queen routine?
Because she was too scared. Too insecure. Too afraid of being hurt to follow through on a seasonal fling. And she’d held her defences, resisted him and rejected him.
So why was she hurting more now than when George had let her down? She’d b
een humiliated and used by him—yet she was more upset about the one little thing Ryan wasn’t doing.
She just wished he’d look at her again.
‘What are you doing for Christmas, Imogen?’ Shona’s smile was too kind, her eyes too astute.
Imogen’s brain battled her muscles and stopped the wince. Christmas was only a few days away now, and she’d buried the lonely reality of it down deep. ‘I’m having dinner with some other Kiwi orphan friends.’ The lie was thin, but it came easily. ‘We’re having pavlova…a few drinks.’ Making up some details to make it more credible. She could be doing exactly that if she’d bothered to hook up with the one person from New Zealand she knew in Edinburgh. But she hadn’t.
‘I didn’t know you had Kiwi friends here.’
‘A couple.’ Really just that one, who she hadn’t even e-mailed. She’d wanted a totally fresh start—wanted to forget her life in New Zealand—or the last few months of it at least.
She turned her head, catching something moving in the corner of her eye. Ryan was behind Shona, standing in his doorway, obviously listening in. His eyes were very bright, very blue. For a moment she was entranced as ever. Then she saw his frown—his eyes narrowing, brows lowering—and she knew he saw right through her. He didn’t believe her.
‘Well, if you’d like you could come to dinner at my place and have an authentic Scots Christmas.’
So Shona didn’t believe her either. This was painful now. They were both looking at her with…pity.
Ugh. Why wouldn’t he go away? She’d hardly seen him for days, and now he was standing like a statue, listening in on the one conversation that was mortifying.
‘Oh, Shona—thank you, but no. I couldn’t possibly impose.’
‘No imposition. We always have too much food anyway.’
‘Yes,’ Imogen replied quickly, ‘doesn’t everyone? But really I’m looking forward to having my first Christmas away, not going with such a tra di tional day.’
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