by Nina Milne
Imogen scrunched up her nose in clear disapproval. ‘So Leila jumped ship?’
‘Yes. No discredit to her. She was twenty-one as well—she didn’t want to settle down and raise two grieving, rebellious pre-teens who didn’t even like her.’
Her shoulders hitched in a shrug. ‘Hmm … Call me dim, but I don’t get how that makes you owe her?’
‘Because I didn’t take her ship-jumping very well. I was desperate for us to stay together.’
He’d been a mess of confusion, frustration, fear and anger as he’d watched the life he’d thought he had unravel—as he’d realised everything he’d believed his parents to be had been an illusion. The idea that everything he’d thought he and Leila had was another fantasy had been hard to get a handle on.
‘I thought love should conquer all and a woman should stand by her man. I believed that being in a stable relationship would help me in my case for winning custody of the twins.’
Her blue-grey eyes held an understanding he didn’t merit.
‘That seems more than reasonable, Joe. You must have been terrified and grieving and shocked. You needed your girlfriend’s support.’
‘Unfortunately I wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders, so I wasn’t at home to reason. First I proposed marriage.’ He gave a small mirthless laugh as he remembered his frenzied planning and his clumsy stupidity. The candlelit dinner, the violins, the ring bought with scraped-together money he’d ill been able to afford. ‘Leila refused to marry me and I … Well, I reacted badly.’
Imogen rose and walked round the table to sit beside him, placed a warm hand over his and held on when he tried to pull away.
‘Save your sympathy. Believe me, I don’t deserve it. I made Leila’s life hell. I couldn’t let it go. I begged, threatened, hounded her. I tried character assassination tactics and I made wild promises. The works.’ Shame seared his gut, along with the bitter memory of his abject neediness. ‘In the end she threatened me with a restraining order and I forced myself to back off before the custody case went down the pan. So, you see, I do owe her.’
Imogen’s hand tightened over his. ‘You’re being pretty hard on yourself. You were in a bad place then, coping with a lot of emotions.’
‘That didn’t give me the right to stuff up someone else’s life.’
‘That’s plain dramatic.’
‘I wish. Leila has invited me to her wedding because her therapist has recommended it so she can have closure and truly move on in life with her husband. Turns out she’s been racked with guilt all these years and it’s prevented her from forming relationships. Even now she’s had to work extremely hard in therapy to believe herself worthy of love.’
‘Joe, this all sounds a bit screwy to me. Wouldn’t it be more sensible for the two of you to meet up in private, not at her wedding? Talk it through?’
He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Apparently her wedding is symbolic for both of us. She’s the injured party here—I’ll do whatever it takes to help her to find closure. I did send her a letter years ago, to apologise and let her know I’d won custody of the twins. I guess she never got it. I guess I should have tried harder to make amends. But, whichever way I look at it, the least I can do is go to the wedding. Not because I have any feelings left for her but because I owe her. Question is: will you come with me?’
There was a million-squillion-dollar question if ever there was one. Could she survive three days in the Algarve with Joe? Forget days—what about the nights? What about the posing-as-loving-girlfriend factor?
Emotions swirled round Imogen’s stomach and questions whirled around her brain. Overriding everything was the instinct just to say yes. Because her heart was torn by what Joe had told her and the tragedy he’d gone through. Because her chest warmed with admiration for the way he had fought to look after his sisters, his decision to take on a responsibility far beyond his years. And because she was damn sure Leila wasn’t as injured as all that—something was off … she was sure of it.
But somehow she had to retain perspective.
She released his hand and picked up a piece of pizza—more for show than out of hunger. ‘I’m not sure lying to Leila is the way forward. You’d be better to talk it all through.’
A barely repressed shudder greeted this suggestion—she’d swear his gills had paled further.
‘Wouldn’t work. I’ve tried for the past three weeks to convince her I’m perfectly happy as I am and that she has no need to feel bad. I’ve got nowhere. Leila needs to see me gallop off into the sunset to my own Happy Ever After.’
Maybe he had a point—talking to Leila did sound pointless. She seemed determined to see things her way. Mind you, so did Joe—he seemed unable to see that his behaviour, whilst not right, had been motivated by grief.
‘Fair enough. But why me? There must be women queuing up to go with you—especially to the wedding of the decade. You could take anyone.’
‘I don’t want to take anyone—I want to take you.’
Her heart skipped a beat. ‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t exactly have a list of women I can ask to pose as my girlfriend. And if I hire someone I risk them going to the press—this wedding is big news. I trust you not to do that.’
There was a daft, puppy dog aspect of her that pricked up its ears at any approval. Gave his words a significance they didn’t have. The man was her boss and he had the power to make or break Langley. To give him credit, she knew he wouldn’t use that to sway her decision—but there was every chance he’d sack her if she ran round betraying him to the press. Hell, she wouldn’t blame him.
‘Imogen? Yay or nay?’
Think, Imo.
It was a stupid idea for so very many reasons. Such as … ‘What about Paris?’
His face shuttered: features immobile, eyes hard. ‘What about Paris?’
‘Won’t it be … awkward?’
‘Nope. The past few days have been fine, haven’t they?’
Only because they’d become so immersed in work that somehow the awkwardness, the anger and the coldness of the morning after had thawed. Even then ‘fine’ was probably an exaggeration. Because to her own irritation, her own self-contempt, despite her absorption in work desire had strummed, flared, clenched at her tummy muscles with each accidental brush of his hand.
She had managed to keep her cool, not betrayed that desire by so much as a glance, but even so three days and nights in Joe’s company would be akin to taking up fire-eating as a new career without any training. It wasn’t just stupid—it was crazy.
‘Yes. But you’re proposing we act as a couple at a wedding. It’s a bit different from working together in a boardroom.’
‘It won’t be a problem.’
As if just because he said so it would be so.
‘I’ve never broken my One Night Only rule and I have no intention of starting now. You were pretty clear that you didn’t want a repeat performance either. We agreed one night; we’ve had one night. I can’t see an issue.’
Yet for a fraction of a second his gaze skittered away as he rubbed his neck—and there was the hint of a tic pulsing in his cheek.
Curiosity rippled inside her, along with a thread of sympathy. ‘Is your rule because of what happened with Leila?’
Joe snorted. ‘Spare me, Imogen. My relationship decisions have nothing to do with Leila or our split. One-night stands suit me because my priority is my sisters. The last thing they need is me introducing anyone into our circle who may not remain in it. But celibacy isn’t my chosen option. Equally I have no desire to hurt anyone. One night means there’s no time for hopes to be raised or for a relationship to be a possibility.’
‘Oh.’ That all made perfect sense, and yet … ‘How old are your sisters now?’
‘Eighteen.’
His face softened and his lips tilted up into a smile of affectionate pride that touched her.
‘They are off travelling for a year. Holly has a place lined up at uni and Tammy want
s to get straight into the job market. She’s already landed a job in television—’ He broke off and shook his head. ‘Sorry—you don’t want to hear about the girls.’
‘Actually, I do,’ Imogen said. ‘It sounds like you’ve done a marvellous job, and it’s wonderful that you’ve encouraged them to follow their dreams.’
Live the dream.
Moving on fast … ‘But now they’re eighteen they won’t be so affected by you having a relationship longer than a night with someone.’
‘I know that. But now it’s about what I want—and I don’t want the hassle or the commitment of a relationship. I love my sisters, and I’ll always be there for them, but right now I’m going to kick back and see what it’s like to be not just fancy-free but footloose as well.’
That made perfect sense too—he’d had his twenties turned upside down, been emotionally and fiscally responsible for two grieving young girls. Of course he would avoid further commitment like the avian flu. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder if he had been more affected than he realised by Leila.
‘Anyway … What’s your decision? Three days in the Algarve at the wedding of the year? Surrounded by sunshine and the rich and famous? Showing Steve and Simone and the world that Steve is a dim and distant memory?’
When in doubt, eat pizza.
As she chewed Imogen tried to think. Every sensible bone in her body told her to scream aargghhh and run the hell away. But she couldn’t—she wasn’t made that way. Joe might be a ruthless corporate machine, but it turned out he was a human being too. A man who had undergone tragedy and stepped up to the plate to take on a responsibility beyond his years. Her heart ached for him—for the loss of his parents and all the attendant consequences.
Plus, for reasons she couldn’t fully fathom, the thought of abandoning him to the wedding—the thought of him being pursued by a line-up of women on the catch for him—had her teeth on edge. There was also the consideration that this wedding would garner publicity, and she’d be less than human if she didn’t want to cock a snook at all the people pitying her for Steve’s defection.
So what was holding her back, really? Fear that she’d rip all his clothes off? That wouldn’t happen. She’d learnt her lesson in Paris—realised that lust truly was dangerous and that all her theories were bang on the nail.
Joe didn’t tick any boxes on her tick-list and as such he was off-limits.
‘I’ll do it,’ she said.
His lips curved up into a smile that creased his eyes and flipped her tummy.
‘Provided we have separate rooms.’ No need to test her resolve too much.
‘Separate beds. Apparently I have been allocated a twin room in a villa. Leila and Howard are paying for everything for all their guests. I think separate rooms would defeat the purpose of the whole charade.’
‘Fair point.’
Joe reached for his tablet. ‘I’ll email Leila. Explain that I met you recently and it was love at first sight. We spend three days making sure she believes we’ve fallen for each other. She swans off into the sunset with full closure achieved.’
It all sounded so simple, and yet a faint flicker of foreboding ignited inside her.
‘This calls for a celebration,’ Joe stated, and strode across the boardroom to the fridge. ‘I bought a few bottles of champagne so the office could celebrate if we won the proposal. I think a toast is in order right now.’
Minutes later he handed her a glass of sparkling amber liquid and clinked his glass against hers. Only then did she realise the sheer error of letting herself get so close.
His sculpted chest was just millimetres from her fingers. His warm scent ignited a deep yearning. Images strobed in her brain. Paris. Champagne. Naked Joe. Naked Imogen.
His eyes darkened, his powerful chest rose and fell, and she wondered if his heart was pounding as hard as hers. Then his jaw clenched as he stepped backwards and raised his glass.
‘To the Harvey project,’ he said. ‘And to the Algarve.’
CHAPTER TEN
IMOGEN STARED OUT of the window of the aeroplane and tried to relax. Before her muscles cramped from the strain of keeping the maximum distance from Joe. Why couldn’t she focus on the glorious blue of the sky and the wisps of cotton wool cloud? As opposed to the glory of the toned body scant millimetres from her own and the wisps of ten days’ worth of dreams that clouded her brain.
Ten days during which she had managed to avoid him at Langley—relieved that he had held a lot of meetings off site, relieved that he’d spent a lot time closeted with Peter and Harry, walking them through the changes he’d made.
Maybe this hadn’t been the world’s best idea after all. Mel thought she’d lost the plot and her marbles, but Imogen had assured her she was in no danger. The irony wasn’t lost on her that she had been sucked into helping another man with his ex-girlfriend issues. But Joe wasn’t Steve and the situation was different. Imogen wasn’t interested in Joe—he had no long-term relationship potential and she certainly didn’t trust this damned attraction that had her practically squirming in her seat.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Peter tells me that the Paris apartment is going well?’
‘Yup.’ This would be the other reason why she’d been avoiding Joe. ‘Gosh. Look at that cloud. It looks a bit like a dragon, don’t you think?’
‘Nope.’ He turned his torso so that he faced her and didn’t so much as glance out of the window. ‘He also said that despite my interim report recommending that you work on the project you’ve refused.’
‘That’s right.’ Realising she’d folded her arms across her chest, she pushed down the absurd defensiveness and met his gaze full-on. ‘There’s no need. Peter is so excited by Richard’s apartment he’s back on form, and he and Belinda are working flat-out. Harry is back part-time and keeping an iron fist on finance, just as your report stated. Plus, there’s been an awful lot of admin work to do—especially with all the new procedures you’ve recommended. So I appreciate your suggestion but I’ve decided that isn’t the way forward for me. From now on I’m a PA and nothing more.’
An ominous frown creased his brow. ‘Why?’
‘Because …’
Because her time with Joe had terrified her on all sorts of levels and she’d run screaming back into her comfort zone and barricaded all the doors.
‘I want to concentrate on streamlining my job properly. Also I need to focus on other aspects of my life. Like finding a place to live, thinking about my future.’
The future she had been in danger of forgetting. The nice, safe, secure one with her tick-list man.
His lips tightened and his eyebrows slashed into the start of a scowl.
‘Anyhoo,’ she said brightly. ‘All in all it has been a very busy few days, so I think I’ll catch some sleep.’
As if.
But at least closing her eyes put an end to the conversation. It had been tough enough to explain her decision to Peter—almost torturous not to get involved in the project itself. But her resolve had been bolstered when she’d heard Belinda on the phone to her husband, explaining night after night that she had to work late, seen her harassed expression when her child-minder had let her down. All a timely reminder of what could happen if you let a job take over your life. That was not for her.
Forcing herself to breathe evenly and remain still, Imogen kept her eyes firmly closed for the seemingly endless remainder of the journey. Relief arrived when the plane finally began its descent and she could legitimately stretch her cramped muscles.
‘Nice rest?’ Joe asked, a quirk of his lips expressing scepticism.
‘Lovely, thank you.’ She could only hope her nose hadn’t stretched a centimetre or so. ‘I can’t believe I’m in the Algarve!’
Still hard to believe even when they descended the steps and a definitely non-British sun kissed her shoulders with glorious warmth as they headed for the airport terminal.
Once they had successfully negotiated passport control, customs, and coll
ected their luggage Imogen looked round. ‘What happens now?’
‘According to my email from the very efficient wedding planner there will be a car to take us to the villa.’ Joe glanced round. ‘There we go.’
Following the direction of his finger, Imogen saw a man in a chauffeur’s cap and suit holding up a card emblazoned with. ‘Leila and Howie’s guests’.
As they approached they saw a few others headed the same way. Imogen eyed them, a lump of doubt forming in her tummy. ‘They look very glam,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not sure I’ll fit in.’
Joe shrugged. ‘And that’s a problem because …?’
Before she could answer they had reached the chauffeur, whose name-tag identified him as Len.
‘Joe McIntyre and Imogen Lorrimer.’
Len scanned his list and then shook his head. ‘You’re down for a different car.’ He glanced round and pointed. ‘Luis will be looking after you.’
‘Senhor McIntyre—Senhorita Lorrimer?’
Imogen smiled at the young man who beamed at them as he pushed an overlong lock of dark hair from his forehead.
‘I am Luis. I am one of the wedding planners and I will do my best to answer any questions you have about the timetable and I will deal with all your requirements. But first come this way and I will take you to your wonderful accommodation for your stay in the Algarve. All, of course, courtesy of the bride and groom.’
He paused for breath and then smiled again.
‘The car is this way. I will take you the motorway route as you will want time to get ready for the ceremony. But there will be lovely scenery towards the end of the trip.’
Imogen glanced at Joe as they climbed into the four-wheel drive car. What was he thinking? It was impossible to tell from his expression but he must be feeling something. The one love of his life, the woman who had driven him to desperation—even if he was over her, even if he hadn’t seen her for seven years—was getting married.