Izzy didn’t know his name. But all that meant was that Jemima had not spoken of him, or not that Izzy could recall. That in turn meant one of two things: either Jemima hardly knew him at all, or she knew him so well—or wanted to, anyway—that he was not a subject for family discussion.
Oh boy! I should have known things were falling into place too easily. Nothing ever goes that well.
Josh opened the door and got out. Izzy leaned forward to take a good look at her Nemesis.
He might have walked straight out of a bad dream. Oh, not that he wasn’t handsome in a spare, rangy sort of way. Or what she could see of him was handsome. He had dark untidy hair, high cheekbones, and a haughty, uncompromising mouth. Oh, yes, she could see Jemima going for a man like that, all right. Sexy as hell, lord of all he surveyed. Izzy’s heart sank. Yes, that was just Jemima’s style.
Whereas he was not the sort of man that Izzy was attracted to at all. As she looked at him all the hairs on the back of her neck stood up in alarm. Handsome, yes. And tough as they come. From his camouflage gear to his wrap-around shades he was the stuff of nightmares.
Well, Izzy’s nightmares. To be precise, her most secret nightmares. The ones she didn’t tell about. Not anyone. Not ever.
In the act of getting out of Culp and Christopher’s stretched limousine, Izzy froze. Something very like panic trickled down her spine.
Josh stuck his head back in the car. ‘You okay?’
No. I’m terrified all of a sudden. And not of the damned jump.
‘I’m fine. Just—’ She looked at the structure from which she was supposed to jump and was inspired. ‘It’s just that it’s so high.’
Josh gave her what he must have thought was a reassuring smile. ‘Just as well that you’ve got Dominic to hold your hand, then.’
Izzy frowned. ‘Hold my hand?’
‘He’s going to jump, too. With you,’ ended Josh in congratulatory tones. ‘That’s the point. You’ve got an escort all the way down to the bottom.’
‘Oh,’ said Izzy faintly.
If he noticed that she looked sick, Josh must have put it down to fear of heights. Whereas Izzy’s fear was a lot nearer home—and advancing imminently.
With a visible shrug, Dominic Templeton-Burke stopped leaning against the wall and moved towards them. Izzy watched the careless, confident stride and her heart dropped like a stone. It was worse than a swagger. Swaggerers she could deal with. But that effortless superiority was something else. She wasn’t even going to try to deal with that.
‘He’s going to jump, too? You mean with me? Together?’
Josh nodded, pleased.
‘Oh, no, he isn’t,’ she said from the heart.
Josh looked alarmed.
‘But you’re friends.’
Izzy looked at the lazy predatory animal that was Dominic Templeton-Burke. ‘I very much doubt it,’ she said grimly.
Jemima had put on a lot of sophistication in the last few months, but she wasn’t in the tiger class yet. Not in her friendships, thought Izzy. Lovers, yes—Izzy could believe that. Newly dazzled by success, Jemima was quite capable of falling in love with a lord of the universe. But being his friend? No.
And Dominic Templeton-Burke did not look like the sort of man to settle for friendship with a gorgeous girl like Jemima either. So were she and this prowling sophisticate lovers?
I must have been mad.
She gave herself a mental shake. This was no time to lose her nerve! You make your own luck. That was what she always said to Jemima. So here was where she practised what she preached.
She swallowed hard and glared past Josh’s right shoulder straight into the mirrors where Dominic Templeton-Burke’s eyes should be.
Josh said worriedly, ‘Molly told me they said they had brought him in because you were nervous about the jump. They thought you’d be glad to have him along.’
‘Glad!’
Even to her own ears she sounded appalled. Josh looked startled.
Careful, Izzy! Nearly gave yourself away there!
Attack is the best form of defence, Izzy reminded herself. She said disagreeably, ‘Why is he dressed up like Rambo?’
And, of course, she said it just as Nightmare Man came within earshot. He stopped dead, and suddenly he was not so lazy any more. He stiffened, and the mirrored glasses trained on her like lasers.
Josh looked uneasy. ‘Who knows?’ he muttered, half under his breath. ‘They all say Dom is a law unto himself.’
‘Really?’ Izzy was back in her part now, the super-cool model-girl who never let anything throw her. She narrowed her eyes at the powerful figure and said deliberately, ‘That makes two of us.’
And stepped out of the limo like a queen.
‘Don’t antagonise him,’ besought Josh in an anguished undervoice. ‘You’ve no idea how hard we had to work to get him here. If you rub him up the wrong way he could walk. He doesn’t care what anybody thinks.’
She could believe it. The man had stopped and was just standing there, arms across his chest, unashamedly enjoying the view exposed by her flimsy floaty top.
Sexist pig, thought Izzy, wanting to hit him.
She didn’t. But she did tip her chin ever so slightly higher. And straighten, locking gazes with him.
She held her breath. This was the point at which he fell back crying, This woman is an impostor, and every photographer there closed in for the kill. She felt sick again. At once, Izzy reminded herself she’d faced things a whole lot worse than that and glared right into the masking sunglasses.
The man seemed to freeze.
Oh, God, here it comes, she thought.
It was difficult to tell, with those mirrored sunglasses masking his eyes, but she thought he was shocked. Swallowing, she braced herself…
And then, suddenly, the prowling predator turned human. He grinned, and two deep clefts appeared in his thin face.
‘Second thoughts?’ he said by way of greeting.
Izzy could not believe it. Not a word about, Who is this woman? or Where is Jemima? He sounded as if he thought her hostility was funny. Yet for some reason his voice wound the tension knots in her stomach even tighter.
‘If you’re asking whether I’ve lost my nerve,’ she snapped, ‘the answer is no.’
At once she was ashamed of herself. Nearly apologised, even. Then thought, No, model girls are allowed to be brattish. It was probably just what Josh and the tiger were expecting.
‘No?’
Dominic looked at his watch ostentatiously. It was a big thing, full of dials, and it glinted in the sun. But it was not his watch that Izzy was staring at.
It was his forearm, tanned and sinewy. He looked strong. Izzy swallowed. Not all strong, physical men are bullies, she told herself rapidly. You can’t judge every man in combat gear by one bad experience.
So— ‘No,’ she said fiercely, as much to herself as to him. ‘I never lose my nerve.’
‘I believe you.’ His tone said the reverse.
She could have danced with rage. ‘Never,’ she insisted.
He shrugged. ‘Then hurry up and weigh in and let’s get this show on the road.’
Izzy was taken aback. ‘Weigh in?’
‘Weight is important. That’s how they work out which bungee rope to use.’
She was instantly wary. ‘No one told me I’d have to be weighed.’
Dominic Templeton-Burke looked sardonic. ‘It’s painless.’
‘But—’
Josh misinterpreted her. ‘It’s okay. They’re not allowed to tell anyone else,’ he said reassuringly. ‘That’s in the contract.’
Dominic gave a snort of laughter. Izzy was disliking him more by the minute. And not just because of his choice of wardrobe.
‘There’s no need to snigger,’ she told him. ‘I’m trying to be professional here.’
He shrugged again, bored. ‘And your weight is a professional secret?’
That was a new thought. Izzy paused, momentarily uncertain. She would ce
rtainly be heavier that Jemima. Did the tabloids know what her sister weighed? Would the discrepancy give her away? Izzy could have groaned aloud.
But she didn’t. Instead, she decided to go on a charm offensive. She pushed back the soft red hair that smelled of Jemima’s conditioner and gave Dominic Templeton-Burke the best smile she could muster. Too little, too late, of course, but at least she could try.
‘No woman wants to broadcast her weight,’ she said, trying to sound conciliating.
He was not conciliated. ‘Whatever. Are we doing this jump or not?’
Not if I had a choice. I want to run away from you and your masked eyes and your horrible muscular arms and…
But she couldn’t. There was too much riding on this. Oh, not her pride. Her pride had taken a beating before and recovered. But there was Jemima to think about. So running wasn’t an option. She had no choice. She had to stick it out.
Just because he looked strong and dressed like a jungle fighter, that was no reason to be afraid of the man, Izzy told herself firmly. In fact, the exact opposite, she thought, warming to her theme. Who but a complete pillock needed camouflage gear on the South Bank of the Thames at eleven o’clock on a bright sunny morning?
He was just playing at being a soldier. And not even a real soldier, a Hollywood version, straight from Central Casting. It was pathetic!
Yes, that made her feel a lot better.
Dominic Templeton-Burke stayed in role, though. ‘Coming?’ he asked. It was—nearly—a taunt.
Izzy’s chin went so high it was almost vertical. ‘Of course,’ she said, not bothering to conciliate any more.
‘Then let’s go.’
CHAPTER FIVE
DOMINIC could not believe it. It was her.
His heart gave a great leap. At last—his lady in red!
He had found her! Just as he was beginning to think that his careful strategy had failed. Just as he was accepting that he would to have to ask spiky Molly di Peretti for the name of the woman she called Management but who was not—as his Internet researches had already established—Pepper Calhoun. Just as his patience was stretched to breaking point and his temper balanced on a knife edge. Suddenly, the wheel of chance spun again. His luck changed. And here she was.
Only— ‘Let’s go,’ she said. Let’s go! As if they had never met before. As if she had never melted into his arms as if she belonged there. As if she had never danced around him until their bodies pulsed to the same beat. Or driven his heart into a wild fandango.
He tried to make her meet his eyes. Look at me, he said to her silently, fiercely. Once she looked into his eyes she would have to give up pretending. She would have to acknowledge what was between them. Acknowledge him.
But it was no good. She appeared to be glaring straight at him, but she wasn’t. She was glaring at a Dominic-shaped space. And she looked as if she were spitting mad.
That was when his head caught up with his hormones.
What is going on here?
Behind her the lad from Culp and Christopher—what was his name? Josh?—said, ‘You and Dom go ahead. I’ll wait out here, Jemima.’
Dom stopped dead. Jemima?
Jemima?
His lady in red was never Jemima Dare! He knew Jemima Dare. He had danced with her in a desultory fashion at a charity ball in the winter. Or rather he had propped her up on her impossibly high heels while she waggled her head in time to the music. No abandoned dancer, she! And she had never made his heart skip a beat, much less go into that wild fandango.
This woman was not Jemima Dare. She had not been Jemima Dare when she drove him mad on that nightclub dance floor. And she was not Jemima Dare now.
Except…
People changed. He knew that. She had Jemima Dare’s height. She had the same pale, perfect skin. Okay, women changed their hair at the touch of a bottle, but she seemed to be another spectacular redhead. Could she have been Jemima Dare all along? Reinvented by the night and the music into a new woman before turning back into a dull celebrity at midnight?
Dom swung round, staring at her.
‘No!’ he said aloud, appalled.
She did not hear him. Or she didn’t want to hear him. Instead, she motioned him to lead the way into the wooden shack that served as an office, as if she had blanked their frantic embraces out of her memory.
Dom was outraged. They’d sent each other up in flames. She had to remember.
But they had reached the office and he saw, suddenly, just how nervous she was. Oh, she waved brightly enough to the photographers. But she was nervous.
Why? She was beautiful. Far more beautiful than the skinny kid in her glitter frock at the ball in February. She had curves, wonderful curves that he could sketch from memory. It wasn’t just her looks, either. This woman might not look at him but he could feel the turmoil inside her. She was a real bonfire of physical responses.
Now she sent Dom a defiant look as she stepped on the scales. She did not even glance at the figure as the efficient woman in charge wrote it in indelible marker on the back of her hand.
Dom was convinced. No professional model ever showed that lack of interest in her weight! He had partied with enough of them to know. Whoever she was, his lady in red was not Jemima Dare. His instincts were right, after all.
Suddenly his lips twitched.
‘You live an interesting life,’ he told her.
The woman who was not Jemima Dare glared at him suspiciously.
‘What?’
‘Infinite variety,’ he said smoothly. ‘From scented catwalk to a crane over the river.’ He paused. Then added softly, ‘With lots of bad behaviour in the back of taxis in between, no doubt.’
Disappointingly, she did not rise to that. ‘These days I’m strictly limousine class,’ she said with satisfaction.
He decided to probe a little. ‘No bad behaviour at all?’
She gave a short bark of laughter that disconcerted him. ‘Definitely not. I’ve always been the good girl. It’s my sister Izzy who does the bad stuff. Always has.’
‘She sounds like fun,’ he said politely, bored. ‘And you never kick your heels up at all?’
Her mouth tightened. ‘What makes you think I would discuss it with you, even if I did?’ She sent him a dark look. ‘Don’t you ever take those damned sunglasses off? They make you look like a total nerd. You can’t possibly need them in here!’
He whipped them off. ‘Absolutely.’
It took the wind out of her sails completely. Her head went back and her eyes narrowed as if he had taken up a challenge and she did not quite know what to do about it. He enjoyed that.
He also enjoyed saying in a kind voice, ‘Better concentrate on what she’s showing you. The safety harness is important, you know.’
She did not answer. But she made a sound under her breath that sounded like ‘Grrr.’
Dominic bit back a smile and instantly went into Best Pupil in the Class mode. For the first time in his life. Well, he tried. The woman who wasn’t Jemima was just too fascinating for him to concentrate on Sandy’s spiel about drag co-efficients. Especially as he knew most of it already.
Their instructress was clear and concise. She took them both through the buckles and failsafes of the harness. Then she outlined the safety procedures.
‘They’ll go through it again before you jump; don’t worry. Now, just a few questions about your present state of health.’
Izzy listened with gratitude. She kept trying to tell herself that Dominic Templeton-Burke was just a wannabe Hollywood hero and totally pathetic, but it wasn’t working. He didn’t feel pathetic. He felt like a powerhouse. And he was studying her as if she were a specimen under a microscope. She could feel her heart rate bouncing around all over the place under that too close inspection.
‘Stop looking at me and pay attention,’ she told him sharply. ‘This isn’t a game. It’s only sensible to know about the risks.’
His eyebrows flew up. She thought his lips twitched, to
o. Damn him, he was laughing at her.
Izzy turned her shoulder and paid ostentatious attention to the rest of the talk. And then she answered their questions with care as she ran her eye down the list they gave her.
‘No—no damage to my spinal column,’ she said, ticking the box. ‘My blood pressure’s normal.’
Well, it would be if Dominic Templeton-Burke weren’t standing so close that she could feel his breath skittering over Jemima’s hairspray to find the sensitive spot just below her ear.
‘No—no heart condition, no epilepsy. No, I’m not pregnant.’
A noise—no, not a noise, a slight shifting of the air—made her look up. It was Dominic Templeton-Burke, twice as sardonic now that he had removed his sunglasses. His eyes were limpid grey with little flecks of green. They met hers with undisguised amusement.
‘Don’t be silly, Sandy,’ he said to the efficient woman, though he was looking straight at Izzy. ‘Model girls at the height of their earning power don’t get pregnant. Bad for business.’
Izzy choked. It was only by a great effort of will that she kept the professionally indifferent mask in place.
‘You know so much about models, of course?’ she enquired with spurious politeness.
‘Doesn’t everyone?’
‘You don’t know anything at all about me,’ she flashed. It was out before she had time to reconsider. And, in the circumstances, it was probably a mistake.
He laughed aloud. ‘Don’t tell me! You’ve become a Buddhist since the last time I had my hands on you. And now you only care about things of the spirit.’
Their eyes locked: his quizzical, hers stunned.
‘The last time you had your hands on me?’ echoed Izzy. Her voice was hollow.
He struck an attitude. ‘You’ve forgotten,’ he said dramatically.
Izzy felt sick. Oh, God, he and Jemima must have been lovers. How was she going to busk her way through this one?
But she had prepared for this, she reminded herself. Or something like it. She had known there was bound to be a chance that she would bump into someone who was a risk to the deception. Okay, her preparation had not starred Tall, Dark and Handsome from the Marines. And she had not bargained on an ex-lover, either. But she could deal with anyone she had to, including him. Heck, he couldn’t read her mind. And so far he hadn’t noticed that she was not Jemima either.
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