And the fifth, he thought, though he wasn’t going to tell her yet, was: I want to take all that rumpled sweetness in my hands and rumple you some more until you scream with pleasure.
He wondered if she already knew that. Sometimes he thought she did. Sometimes he thought she was totally oblivious. Was she blanking him out deliberately while she pretended to be Jemima? Or had she really wiped him out of her memory?
Well, he was nearly as good at memory retrieval as he was at chess.
She said, ‘I let you off your promise.’
‘No good. I won’t. I keep every promise, however small.’
She bit her lip. ‘Such perfection! You must be hell to live with.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say so. I don’t make many promises.’
Dom swung the Jeep into an even smaller street. He reversed into the tightest possible parking space with negligent ease. He switched off the engine and turned to look at her.
She met his eyes defiantly. She was still wearing more make-up than she needed or he liked. But her hair was slightly tangled, with a hint of riotous curl reasserting itself. It brushed her creamy shoulders in a way that positively demanded audience participation.
What would she do if he gave in to his baser instincts? If he reached out and straightened a gleaming lock that had caught itself up behind her ear? If he ran his fingers through it?
‘What are you staring at?’
She might look defiant, but her voice gave her away. It jumped about all over the place. He was clearly making her nervous again.
Dom sighed. He did not straighten the alluring lock of hair. Instead he said, still pretending she was Jemima, ‘It’s a long time since we sat down across a table. I thought we might have a meal together. Catch up a bit. Chill out.’
‘Another meal,’ she said.
He held his breath. This could be where she said, You and I have never had a meal together. We’ve danced. And I drove you mad with lust. But we didn’t eat.
She didn’t.
Dom sucked his teeth. Where next? What would he say if she really were Jemima?
‘Do you only allow yourself one go at the lettuce leaf a day?’ he mocked, inspired.
‘No,’ she said, almost violently.
‘Good. Then you will enjoy this place. The food is great and we can sit outside.’
She looked over her shoulder at him. ‘Do you ever take no for an answer?’
‘Never—when it’s important.’
Dom might be curbing his baser instincts as far as that delinquent lock of hair was concerned, but he was not made of iron. She might not have meant it as a challenge, but that look reminded him that her silly floaty sleeves started halfway down her arms. Her bare shoulders just invited a man to touch. Dom was not the man to resist a challenge like that.
He danced his fingers along her naked skin. The moment was so fleeting that she barely had time to catch her breath. But she jerked as if he had lit a fuse.
Yes!
She could lie as much as she liked, thought Dom, jubilant. There was some level at which the woman couldn’t help herself. Her body told the truth, no matter what she did.
He jumped out of the car and grinned back at her.
But she did not grin back. She did not move. She looked stunned.
Slowly she lifted her eyes to meet his. And he was totally unprepared.
This was a game for him. A flirtatious chess game of move and counter move, with sexual awareness its tactic and supremacy its goal.
But Not-Jemima Dare looked as if she was carrying all the burdens of the world on her lightly freckled shoulders. Almost as if, just for a moment, she couldn’t bear it.
Dom’s grin died.
‘What is it?’ he said urgently. ‘What makes you look like that? Tell me.’
But she shook her head, and would not look at him as she walked beside him to the little bistro.
It was set on a little triangle of pedestrianised paving that had obviously once been a village square. The restaurant had put tables on the street, among tubs of bay trees, and Dom chose the most discreetly shaded corner. None of the other early diners took any notice of them.
‘See?’ he said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. ‘No fans. You’re safe.’
She responded gallantly, even gave a little choke of laughter. ‘Safe? Oh, sure.’
He put down the menu and steepled his fingers. ‘That’s an interesting attitude you’ve got there.’
‘Really?’
Time to bring their battle out into the open. ‘You seem to think I’m some sort of threat to you.’
Her jaw tightened. ‘That’s crazy.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ agreed Dom affably. ‘So I’d be glad if you’d explain it to me.’
She shrugged, looking away. The tension in her face was palpable. He said gently, ‘What are you afraid of?’
No answer.
He tried again. ‘I don’t kiss and tell, if that’s what worries you.’
He might as well have hit her. All the colour drained from her face with shocking speed. Suddenly he could see the map of careful cosmetics—cheekbones, eyelids, even a line of shading down the perfect nose. She looked as if she had been stripped to the bone. She looked—he really didn’t like this—defenceless.
He said sharply, ‘Don’t look like that.’
He could see that she was making the effort to pull herself together. It was a gallant attempt, but the lingering blankness was still in her eyes.
She said in a subdued voice, ‘I’m sorry. That damned jump must have upset me more than I realised.’
He looked at her shrewdly. ‘The jump? Or me?’
She tossed the wonderful hair. ‘Why should seeing you upset me?’ She made a good attempt at sounding scornful. But her eyes were watchful.
Dom met her eyes blandly. ‘Only you can answer that.’
She started to play with the cutlery, not looking at him. She seemed to be weighing her words. ‘Let me ask you something, then. When you said I’d changed—what exactly did you mean?’
He sighed inwardly. Why wouldn’t she tell him the truth? Now they were on their own, with no press and no PR people, why couldn’t she just come out and say it?
Jemima Dare has taken off to the Seychelles with a married magician and I’m giving her an alibi. Or, Jemima Dare has hives and I’m the body double. Did she think he would give them away?
Well, if she wouldn’t tell him now, he was going to raise the stakes.
He said carefully, ‘I got the feeling that you really didn’t want to jump with me this morning. And I couldn’t help remembering—you didn’t exactly refuse to come into my arms the last time.’
Her eyes flew up to meet his. She looked appalled. ‘What?
‘Very flattering it was,’ he said, his mouth tilting mischievously. ‘Had you all over me all evening.’
That was sort of half true. Jemima had been nervous at the big reception and he had been carelessly kind. They’d danced a lot. But not the same way he’d danced with his lady in red. If she would only admit it!
Probing as gently as if he were feeling for a lodged bullet, he said, ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?’
Her eyes flickered. ‘Of course not.’ But she wouldn’t look at him. Or tell him the truth, either.
‘And you weren’t afraid of me then.’
She sat bolt upright and stopped shunting her knife and fork. ‘I’m not afraid of you now!’
‘Sure?’
She looked him up and down in a way that he knew she meant to be insulting. It didn’t have quite the effect she desired. Rumpling time soon, he promised himself.
‘Of course I’m sure. Why would I be scared of a Rambo lookalike?’
He tried to focus on the conversation but it was an effort. When she tilted her chin like that she revealed a length of long white throat which was just begging to be kissed.
He said at random, ‘You don’t like universal soldier chic?’
&
nbsp; ‘I don’t like the military, full stop,’ she said with energy. ‘If fewer men ran around in uniforms, waving guns about, the world would be a happier place.’
She was trying to make a joke of it. But there was something in that crisp voice that was not amused at all.
Quite suddenly he forget that alluring throat. ‘You don’t like the military?’ he echoed.
‘No.’ She was mocking. ‘Does that upset you? I suppose you think a woman ought to be bowled over by anything in combats? Machismo rules, yeah!’
‘That’s not quite the way I would have put my case—’
She was saying, ‘Guns and explosions and posturing in camouflage gear. It makes me sick.’
And she did indeed look sick.
He stayed watchful but said lightly, ‘Don’t tell me! You had a schoolgirl crush on a Marine and he dumped you?’
She barely listened. She was shaking. She made a contemptuous gesture. There was no doubt at all that she meant it for his jungle camouflage gear.
‘Dress up in that stuff and a man thinks he’s got a right to make people jump through hoops if he feels like it. It’s insane. And cruel. And—’
She stopped dead suddenly.
Dom leaned back in his chair. Deliberately, he kept his voice idle, his body language calm. ‘As I said. It sounds like you’ve had an interesting life.’
‘I—’ She looked horrified.
‘Because this is not just a vivid imagination, is it?’
But no matter how calm and idle and low key he kept it, he could not do anything about the turmoil her own words had called up. She stood up. Her eyes had a blind look.
She moistened her lips and did not look at him.
‘Got to go. Sorry.’
And before he could get to his feet or say a word to stop her, she was gone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DOMINIC had been right. It was impossible to find a taxi.
Actually, it turned out be a blessing in disguise. Steaming along the crowded pavements, Izzy found herself calming down.
Why on earth had she let him get to her like that? He didn’t matter. He was only set-dressing for Jemima’s bungee jump. She wished she’d said that at the time, come to think of it. Why did she only ever think of the really snappy come backs after a twenty-minute delay?
She gave a rather shaky laugh, stopped, and took more measured stock of her situation. It was a lovely golden autumn day. She could walk back to one of the bridges through Battersea Park, if she could only work out in which direction to go. Or she could go home. She didn’t recognise the street, but she knew she had to be fifteen, twenty minutes’ walk away, tops.
She nearly did. The lure of hot chocolate and her own room was almost overwhelming.
But she had promised Jemima and, like Dominic Templeton-Burke, Izzy kept her promises. She sighed heavily, squared her shoulders and went back to finish her undertaking. Though she did allow herself a brief detour under the green and golden trees.
They had their usual effect. By the time she reached the gate that led out onto Chelsea Bridge Izzy was restored to her normal optimistic state. He had needled her, fine. But she had fought her corner. Needled him right back.
She walked over the Thames and took a bus north, running their conversation over and over in her mind. He had not suspected she was not Jemima. She was sure of that. Well, nearly sure. And she had certainly stopped him patronising her. By the time she got back to the hotel Izzy had convinced herself that she had handled Dominic Templeton-Burke rather well.
She tried to call Jemima, to tell her how well she had dealt with Dominic, but the only number she had was the doctor’s, and his PA said she could not find either her employer or Jemima.
Oh, well, it didn’t matter, Izzy thought. She didn’t really need to talk about him. And whether she had done well or made a complete dog’s breakfast of it made no difference now. She would not be seeing Dominic again. As a reward, she got to go home.
In fact, she was off the hook as of now. All she had to do was check out of the hotel and go back to the flat. And she could go back to being Isabel Dare again. It was such a wonderful thought that she felt her eyes fill with tears.
She began to rush round the suite, flinging open cupboards and drawers. She felt as if she was being let out of prison.
‘Goodbye Jemima Mark II,’ sang Izzy, to the tune of ‘Goodbye Yellow Brick Road’, packing enthusiastically.
She divided the things between four suitcases, which were Jemima’s contribution to their mutual wardrobe, and an airport carry-on which was her own. It looked as if a lot of Jemima’s stuff was only on loan from designers. Out of the Attic had taught he to recognise the signs. She hesitated, then rang Jemima’s agency.
Certainly Beastly Basil’s assistant had no suspicion. Izzy did not even have to say who she was.
‘Oh, hi, Jemima,’ said the assistant as soon as she heard her voice.
Izzy explained her dilemma.
‘Sure, we’ll send someone round to pick up the stuff. But don’t you want to use any of it over the weekend?’
Izzy looked down at a burnt orange micro skirt and shuddered. ‘Don’t think so, thank you. I’m—er—going to the country,’ she said, inspired.
‘I think Basil was expecting you to wait for him there,’ said the assistant, taken aback.
Izzy nearly said, Tough. She was very tempted. But Jemima would never say ‘tough’ in a month of Sundays, especially not to Basil. So instead she took a deep breath and cooed, ‘Oh, I didn’t know he wanted to see me. It’s too late to change my plans now.’
‘He won’t be pleased,’ said the assistant warningly. ‘You know what he said about not getting too involved with Pepper’s business.’
Izzy glared at her image in the mirror. Beastly Basil. Just the thought of what he had done to her gentle sister made her fingers curl into claws. If she ever came face to face with the man she might not be able to resist…
But now was not the time to think about revenge, however alluring the prospect. Now she had to broadcast interference.
‘I only wish I’d known earlier…’ She couldn’t manage regretful, but she did quite a good job of sounding nervous.
‘Oh, well, can’t be helped. Going away with someone nice?’
‘Gorgeous,’ said Izzy.
A brief picture of Dominic Templeton-Burke flashed up on her inner movie screen. It was followed by an exciting skirmish in which she let herself go on the combat gear and he ended up naked and in her power. She grinned naughtily at the mirror. ‘Can’t wait to get my hands on him,’ she said with feeling, which was all the sweeter because absolutely nobody but her would ever know about it.
‘Good for you.’ The assistant sounded startled. ‘New man in your life, then?’
In her fantasy Dominic was locking the door and turning to her…
‘You betcha,’ said Izzy, suddenly breathless.
Maybe this had better stop. Fantasies were all very well, but they weren’t supposed to take over your head quite so comprehensively. She switched off Dominic Templeton-Burke—reluctantly—and said, ‘When is Basil due in?’
‘We aren’t sure. Maybe Monday. Go off and enjoy yourself. I won’t tell him you bunked off,’ said the assistant kindly. ‘Just don’t forget to keep your phone switched on. And don’t let lover-boy answer it. You know how Basil gets about boyfriends.’
‘Right,’ said Izzy, who was beginning to realise exactly how Basil was about every aspect of his models’ lives. If he didn’t control it, they weren’t allowed to do it.
Still, with a bit of luck, by Monday Jemima would be taking her own calls and finding the strength to tell Basil to take a hike. Well, tell him that she was moving to a better agency, anyway.
Izzy arranged a time for the agency’s wardrobe to be picked up, then tried to call Jemima again. This time she got through.
Jemima sounded tense.
‘Is Basil back?’
‘No not yet. Monday, probably
. Jay Jay, I’m afraid I had a run-in with a friend of yours. Dominic Templeton-Burke? I think I coped, but—’
‘Monday. Oh, God. Have you talked to him? Does he suspect anything?’
Izzy sighed. ‘Basil’s away. I told you. I talked to the agency. No one there suspects a thing. I’m not quite so sure about Dominic, though—’
‘Are you sure? How can you be sure?’
‘Easy,’ said Izzy with total conviction. ‘They think you’re skiving off with a brilliant new bloke.’
But Jemima was too jumpy to believe her. ‘Basil is going to be so mad at me, Izzy!’
It stopped Izzy dead in her tracks. This sounded like serious backtracking. ‘It doesn’t matter how mad he is,’ she said robustly. ‘You’re getting away from him.’
There was silence.
‘Jemima? You still there?’
‘Yes.’ It was a breathy little whisper.
‘And you’re getting a new manager. Like next week. Right?’
Another, longer silence.
Izzy forgot all about going home, hot chocolate and even sexy Dominic Templeton-Burke. ‘I’ll be right over,’ she said.
When she got to the clinic there was a message waiting for her. Her sister’s consultant wanted to see her. As soon as the receptionist buzzed him, he came to meet her.
‘This,’ he told Izzy, ‘is more complicated than I thought. She seems terrified of this man—her manager. I can’t tell how much of that is the state she’s in and how much is because the man really is a nasty customer.’
Izzy twisted her hands. ‘I don’t know either,’ she admitted. ‘I’d like to scratch his eyes out. But—’
‘But you don’t know what sort of contract he’s tied her up with,’ agreed the consultant calmly. ‘Look, I’ve been thinking about this one. I think she needs to see a lawyer. Have you got one?’
Izzy spread her hands helplessly. ‘I’ve never needed one.’
‘Well, find one. And not one of the glitzy guys either. A good solid family practitioner whom you can trust,’ he advised. ‘Get him here, pronto. I’d say we could be looking at an injunction to keep that manager away from her. But nobody can do that until Monday. So can you keep up the pretence in the meantime? Just for the weekend.’
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