Double Take: A Raw Romance

by Penny Henry

  Gable turned to look into her eyes. "I'll look forward to it."

  "Sorry I'm all over the place today. I'm usually such an organized person. Even though you've only got my word for it"

  "I'm sure you are. What with all those difficult pop stars you have to cope with." Then he coolly left and shut the door behind him.

  Imogen stood at the door lost for words. How did he know that? The thrill she had felt of being in Gable’s company evaporated. She was suddenly feeling cold. She knew nothing about him other than that he was the brother of the penthouse tenant. Yet he knew who she was, what she did for a living, and now precisely where and how she lived. Who the hell was he exactly? She had to be more careful. There was a thief running round the building and a weirdo that had been bothering her for months. How could she be certain that Gable wasn't either one of them?” What really bugged her was that they had got on so well. She felt safe and relaxed in his company. There was a familiarity about him that she couldn't put her finger on.

  She turned round to think about switching on the computer, crossing the floor and absent-mindedly stopping to tidy the magazines where Gable had sat. A smile of realization came to her face. She was embarrassed by her foolishness. Gable had been left to amuse himself in the lounge and he had left his seat in a hurry when she had dropped the coffee. He hadn't put music on but he had looked through the magazines. A music industry magazine was on top of the pile. Naturally it had to be the issue that carried a four page spread on up and coming bands and what was intended as brief comment by Imogen that had turned into a lifestyle interview. She had regretted mentioning the diamond-studded Rolex given to her by a top US entertainer. But then she had considered that if all the snippets and interviews she had given in the last couple of years were gathered together it would provide a pretty extensive dossier on her life. Gable had been left with plenty of time to look in on Imogen's life. She pictured him chuckling over some of the less flattering observations. Though, she had to admit, the photographs were pretty good. Imogen returned to what she was doing in a happier frame of mind. She picked up the folder she had brought from work and seated herself at the computer before booting it into life while looking through the papers she’d brought home. She penciled in her amendments and turned to the screen. Her nimble fingers spelt out the changed itinerary in simple words that John Lomax would have no difficulty in understanding.

  John could be pedantic and difficult at the best of times. He had frittered away his five minutes of fame when his band had gone straight to the top of the charts in the wave of New Romantics in the early eighties. John had taken to drugs like a bird to flight. It had been Rose Stone that had dragged him out of the gutter, paid for his rehabilitation and given him a job. There was history between John Lomax and Rose that nobody mentioned and Imogen had never asked about. She was more concerned at keeping John at arm's length since noticing his eyes devouring her body whenever he thought he was unobserved. Connie was of the same opinion and together they contrived to keep the chain-smoking Lomax on the road as much as possible. For the moment Imogen's mind was on more important matters. She had to make sure the document was attached to the e-mail. Her last attempt had been disastrous. It was unfortunate that Gable had been unable to help her out. Perhaps she could get his brother to give her some advice. She would be surprised if the geek wasn't a computer wizard. He had to posses at least one redeeming quality. In any case it was all the reason she needed to take advantage of Gable's invitation. Imogen recalled that she had promised herself some quality time on her own. She glanced at her watch. She had been laboring at the computer for two hours. That was ample time on her own for any red-blooded woman. She pressed the send key and closed down the computer. It was time to get changed. She wouldn't want to miss the opportunity to finally meet and exchange pleasantries with her penthouse neighbor of two years. And, of course, Gable would be there. Wasn't that a happy coincidence?

  Chapter Three

  The chic black cocktail dress was the third outfit that Imogen tried. Too much flesh, she decided. She pushed the ribbon straps from her shoulders and allowed the dress to crumple to the floor. She stepped out of the circle of black material and flicked her eyes along the collection of designer dresses. She was looking for something casual yet sexy enough to put a gleam in Gable's eye. Then again, she was only going for a neighborly drink, wasn't she? Imogen reminded herself that men were off the menu. She had enough to do repelling Karl Wainscot’s daily calls. This week he was due in London to fulfill a schedule of promotional engagements. That was something to which she was definitely not looking forward. Her fear was that Karl would turn up out of the blue and she wasn’t sure how she would respond. He had always possessed the power to twist her emotions to his will. The emotional burns he had inflicted had not healed quite as well as she told herself. Karl could cause her breath to come in short gasps and the blood to rush to her head with the merest whisper of his fingers over her shoulders. She didn't love Karl. She had probably never truly loved him. But there had been no one since the day she had walked out on him that inflamed her passion in the same way - other than Connie. For good or bad she had decided that a permanent relationship with Connie would simply attract too much flak.

  With Karl it had been hard to walk away. When she had finally left him it had taken all of her resolve not to run back weeping into his cruel embrace. It was not just the film star looks that he preserved with a discreet nip and tuck. There had been an animal magnetism she had mistaken for something more. Imogen was a physical woman with powerful needs. Karl had been the first to ignite her hidden passion. There had been men that had wined and dined her since, showering her with expensive gifts and pledging eternal devotion. She had even taken the occasional female lover. But no one had excited her in the same way. She had gone off the rails big time. It had been Rose that had pulled her to one side and read the riot act. Rose had forced her to take a long, hard look at herself. She had made her choice and never looked back. She was still lusted after by arrogant pop stars and their lecherous management but now she had something more valuable. Imogen had earned the respect of the music industry.

  The poison letter writer had brought it all back. There was an implied threat in his writing. It would only take an indiscreet word to the wrong person to bring Imogen's world tumbling down. Even Rose could not protect her protégé from the scandal-hungry music press. The letters had stirred the memories and made Imogen feel cheap again. Whoever her attacker was he or she knew how to hurt in the most callous way. She was not going to allow the gutless writer to win. She had risen above her promiscuous start in the business and her job was everything. Perhaps it was the way the scribbler was trying to make her feel that made Imogen close the door on her extensive wardrobe and alter her decision on what to wear. First she needed a shower. She stripped off her jeans and top before padding to the en suite bathroom.

  The incident on the Tube came flooding back as Imogen’s hands slid across her body. She allowed her fingers to stray between her legs. She had been wet at the time and unable to do anything about it. She thought about the rampant erection that had pressed against her buttocks. She had even considered reaching behind to unzip him and lift the back of her skirt to feel its length against her skin. She had wisely reconsidered and enjoyed the feeling of power she had exerted over a stranger. She closed her eyes as her fingers went deeper and faster. In her mind she turned her head and it was Gable’s hot breath on her neck. She halted her hand as the tremors racked her body before slowly withdrawing them and sensuously soaping herself. Her mind cleared and she thought of work. She couldn’t keep her mind on one thing for long. She began to drift, enjoying the freedom of her hands on her body. Her cares and hang-ups were like targets in a computer game. One by one they fell until all that was left was the image of a tall dark man with piercing blue eyes that looked into her soul. The sexuality trapped in Gable's physical presence burned glorious patterns of sexual fantasy across Imogen's mind. She h
adn't experienced this kind of reaction to a man since— She blocked her turn of thought and zeroed in on Gable's vibrant attraction. Her hooded eyes fluttered shut as her hands again took on a life of their own.

  This time she took it slower, lifting her breasts against each other, plucking her nipples into solid rolls of flesh with her fingertips and dipping her head to flick her tongue across the tingling nubs. Her breath shortened as one hand fell from her breasts to circle on her lower body. Her palm pushed down across the landing strip of trimmed hair and ground its heel against her groin. Then the folded the knowing fingers into her burning flesh and rocked against them, fanning the flames that had spontaneously ignited in her loins. She leant back on parted legs, steadying herself with an outflung hand as the fingers of the other plunged into the cauldron of fire carried by her hips. She rolled her head against the surface of the tiles as her legs threatened to collapse. Her breathing faltered as the white heat generated by the furnace inside her exploded in a wave of pleasure that raced through her glowing body. She clenched her teeth against the aftermath of rolling sensations and raised her fingertips to her trembling lips, tasting the essence of her femininity. Gradually the heatwave subsided and Imogen rested in an aftermath of satisfaction. Sometimes she missed having a man in her life. There were other times that she wondered why they were needed at all. She reached for the shower adjustment tap and turned up the cold. She soaped her body quickly and rinsed herself under the cool spray. She felt calm and relaxed. An invigorating shower always did her the power of good.

  She closed the fire door behind her and rapped on the inside door. The fire door ran directly into the penthouse as a convenient escape route. She had opened it to be greeted by the inside door that Gable had mentioned. The door was locked and Imogen waited patiently. She was entirely composed and feeling good about herself. Gable had been right about the fire stairs. It had only taken a minute to lock her apartment and nip up the staircase to the penthouse floor. The key to her door was lodged in her hip pocket and she clutched a small purse that contained her essentials. She had slipped back into her jeans and flattering top before donning a pair of designer trainers. She didn't want to appear too keen and the outfit struck just the right balance of looking good in a casual kind of way. Her glossy hair had a bounce and her makeup was light but perfectly applied. She was keen to compare the two apartments. She checked her watch and hoped that Gable hadn't given up on her. He was taking an absolute age to answer her knock.

  As if in response to her anxiety the sound of the door being unlocked came to her ears. Gable was probably unfamiliar with the workings of his brother's apartment. The door was pulled back and Gable's face appeared round the edge. His hair was wet. She had a feeling he’d just stepped out of the shower. She felt a twinge of guilt and worried that she had disturbed him getting ready for bed. She glanced at her watch again. It was only nine-thirty.

  "Hi, Imogen, I was just about to give up on you."

  She stilled the ripple in her stomach that his smile had triggered and beamed cheekily. "You wouldn't be the first. I haven’t disturbed you, have I?"

  "No, not at all." His reply was quick and his smile was easy. “I was hoping you’d make it."

  "I got delayed. Are you sure it’s not too late?"

  Gable shook his head. "Not one little bit. I’m happy you’re here.” He held the door open. “Come inside and sit down. I won't be a minute. I've just got to finish drying my hair. I'll be back before you can change your mind."

  "Okay, that’s fine." She stepped through the door as she spoke, looking round the plush surroundings of the penthouse. Gable shut the door and followed her through to the lounge. She saw no sign of Gable's wimpy brother or caught a sound of movement above the music of Elton John. She spun on the balls of her feet to look directly into his eyes. Her attention was caught by his coal-black eyelashes. They were long and curled with a silken sheen. They looked like might have been tinted for a theatrical performance. Or, as it suddenly dawned on her, professionally colored for a photo shoot. She would put her money on Gable being a male model. He looked the type. He was tall and rangy with a drop-dead sexy smile. He was incredibly handsome and he would look good in anything. But even perfection needed a helping hand under the glare of the photographer's lamps.

  "Take your time." she said as Gable slid past her to walk across the lounge. She hoped he wasn't the kind of man that spent ages in the bathroom peering into the mirror for a sign of a blemish or, heaven forbid, a wrinkle. He seemed much too nice to fit the stereotype, but male vanity was treacherous ground for a woman to tread.

  "I'll be one minute. Make yourself at home."

  Imogen took him at his word. She dropped her purse on the couch and cast her eye round the penthouse lounge. It was a lot bigger than her apartment. The views from the windows would be much the same but the biggest difference was in the quality of the finish. It wasn’t to Imogen’s taste but she could have made good use of the built-in shelving and hand-crafted cupboards. The furniture was tasteful. If anything it was a bit sparse. A typical male's apartment, she supposed - Spartan and serviceable. Pride of place was given to the wide leather couch with a matching armchair. There was a huge HD TV, a 3D blu-ray player, what looked like a digital recorder and a state-of-the-art sound system. The geek certainly liked his home entertainment. Maybe he didn’t have any friends. The thought made Imogen a little sad. Strangely enough, there was no sign of a computer. An antique writing desk complete with roll-top lid stood against one wall and a fully stocked bar was fitted into a corner. Several nondescript prints hung from the walls and the shelves were filled with framed photographs. A couple of small tables were dotted around the plush blue carpet and there wasn't a speck of dust to be seen. Imogen’s impression was of an apartment that might have been used as the town home of a wealthy businessman - or the residence of a particularly fastidious tenant. Imogen rather thought the second option was exactly how she imagined Gable's brother to be. She smiled wryly and strolled across to the display of photographs. There was one or two of a handsome middle-aged couple that Imogen fancied would be their parents. The man was tall and dark with thinning hair, and the equally tall woman had a healthy head of blonde hair that was streaked with grey. The clarity and warmth of the woman's pale blue eyes struck Imogen immediately. They were smiling at the camera and might have been on holiday. The remaining frames held pictures of the twins at every conceivable tourist location in London. The first thing to impress Imogen was how unusual it was that so many photographs of them were on display. There were pictures of the twins in Trafalgar Square, the boys on the Embankment, the boys in front of the London Eye. Strangely enough there was none of the twins as young lads. They were all recent photographs and Gable looked incredible in all of them. He was amazingly photogenic and struck a model pose in every picture.

  Imogen's imagination had the boys torn apart at an early age and recently reunited in tragic circumstances. It was a convenient fantasy that Imogen tucked into her mind as she wandered round the room inspecting the furniture. The music system looked new and prompted her to think that she had never once heard the sound of music from above her head. She progressed to the bar unit and noticed that every bottle was full and unopened. It occurred to her that maybe Gable was making changes in his brother's lifestyle. The roll-top writing bureau was the next thing to attract her attention. Her fingers had strayed to the polished slats of the lid when she noticed a small bookcase in one corner of the lounge. She walked across to study the brother’s reading habits and was vaguely disappointed to find the narrow shelves filled with well-used technical manuals. There was not a single novel among the volumes of computer and photography handbooks. She was crouched in front of the bookcase when Gable's soft footfalls fell behind her.

  "Interested in computer technology?"

  Imogen stood up and faced him. He was smiling and twinkling from both good eyes. The damage had been repaired and he looked every inch the professional model. "No
more than I have to be. I was hoping your brother might be able to give me some pointers. Where is he by the way? I was looking forward to meeting him."

  Gable chuckled deep in his chest. "Don't ask, he got called away on a job and he was none too pleased. Anyway, I don't think Roger would be of much help. As you can see," he waved his arm to encompass the room, "Not a computer in sight. Roger likes to keep abreast of the latest developments in science and technology but that's as far as it goes. I'm convinced it's the sign of a missed vocation."

  His name was Roger. At least she had learnt something - even if she had got the computer bit wrong. She wondered what else she had wrongly assumed.

  "You surprise me. I always imagined your brother to be huddled over a computer in some dreary office all day. What does he do for a job?"

  The question was straightforward and Imogen would have made do with a simple answer. She waited expectantly as Gable hesitated. His eyes lighted on the bookcase. "Books," he jerked out. "Roger is a book finder."

  "A what?" blurted out Imogen before she could think of anything clever to say. She seemed to remember hearing the term at some time but couldn't recall exactly when. She presumed that they must exist. She had no reason to think otherwise.

  "He finds rare books for collectors and negotiates on their behalf. It's all very clandestine. Apparently certain rare volumes are almost impossible to obtain and fetch incredible prices. It’s a cut-throat business that appears to pay very well."

  "Obviously," Imogen was quick to agree. "I would never have guessed your broth— that Roger was so cunning." She couldn't resist a giggle at the thought of grown men employing covert measures to lay their hands on a book that would probably never again see the light of day.

  "You should never judge a book by its cover."

  "Oh, very aptly put." She tilted her head and fixed Gable with an impish smile. "And what do you do to earn your keep, Gable Winter?" she asked, sinking into the pools of deep blue liquid that he used for eyes.