‘But Imogen, we have to …’
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘We don’t.’ She fought the urge to put her hands over her ears so she wouldn’t hear anything else he might say. She could barely bring herself to look at him, but hearing his voice – so calm, so gentle, so different from the tone he used to use with her – made everything even worse.
He stilled, his eyes searching her face, sadness and resignation eventually reigning while hers remained blank and cold. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk later.’
‘Maybe,’ she managed to reply, although the word was barely audible and her whole body trembled with the effort. Maybe she’d be able to talk about this in time, but right now all she could focus on was self-loathing and regret.
It took all Gibson’s willpower to turn away from Imogen and walk out of the pub. The way she was acting right now – as if she couldn’t bear to look at him, never mind be in the same room – told him everything he needed to know.
Regret was plastered all over her face.
And the realisation made him feel like the flystrike he’d been checking his stock for. Dammit, he should have steered clear, stayed firm in his resolve not to touch her. But when she’d propositioned him, he hadn’t been able to help himself. He swallowed at the recollection. Considering he’d just experienced the best sex of his life, Gibson had never felt so crap. He wanted to turn back, to reach out to Imogen again and try to fix his mistakes, but the way she’d flinched from him moments earlier stopped him.
How could things go from so right to so wrong in a matter of hours? He wanted to push it. He wanted to make her talk about the feelings that were troubling her – he’d bet top dollar that number one was guilt, which she had no need to feel – but he didn’t want to widen the gap between them any further.
For a short window of time, he’d been on top of the universe, thinking he’d found the perfect woman – one who wanted his body, wanted the pleasure he could offer, but didn’t want commitment he couldn’t give. Of course it was too good to be true. He had to accept that Friends-With-Benefits were fictional things. In real life, you couldn’t have sex without complications. At least, women couldn’t.
Although it killed him to go, he accepted that Imogen needed time and space. He’d give it to her today, maybe even tomorrow if she still insisted on it, but he wouldn’t be a stranger in the pub anymore. He wouldn’t change his plans, wouldn’t alter his visits to Charlie just because being near him made her uncomfortable. Avoidance hadn’t worked the first time round and he could see no reason it would work better now. Gibson’s Find was a tiny town and, despite his initial assumptions, neither of them were going anywhere fast.
They’d have to learn to live with each other, but truthfully, Gibson wanted more than that. In Imogen Bates, he hoped he’d found a friend, and he didn’t plan on letting outstanding sex get in the way.
Chapter Fifteen
Imogen spent much of the next week on the telephone, pulling together her first matchmaking weekend. She’d run the idea past Charlie, Karen, Pauli and Cal after her return from Perth, and they all agreed it was a fabulous one.
After much brainstorming, her team came up with a name for the weekend. Imogen worried it was a little corny, but Jenna assured her it had the catchy vibe they needed in order to attract women from the city. Thus, the first Man Drought weekend was scheduled for April.
A PR friend of Jenna’s had drafted up press releases and was eagerly helping spread the word. They’d even set up a Facebook page. Each day, more people phoned, faxed, emailed and even wrote letters requesting information about the event. Half the tickets were booked before they’d officially gone on sale. Imogen could barely believe it.
She didn’t know who was more excited by the idea: herself, the local boys, or the girls she’d spoken to from the city. The whole town got behind her and from every direction she had offers of help and suggestions. The few residual members of the CWA had offered to help with the catering and some locals had offered beds for accommodation once The Majestic’s rooms were filled. As word spread, offers had been coming from further afield, and as a result, she managed to book two bands (one for each night) at a fraction of the cost she budgeted. With tickets almost gone, Jenna already had ideas about a second event.
Happy for the diversion from thoughts of Gibson Black, Imogen embraced the busyness. Although she went out of her way not to talk to him, Gibson resumed his visits to Charlie, spending most nights perched on a stool at one end of the bar. She steered clear of that end – leaving the service up to Cal or Charlie – but she couldn’t help but overhear snippets of conversation. And Cal, who now thought Gibson’s grouchiness a hoot – much to Imogen’s irritation – insisted on passing on exactly what he thought of her Man Drought ideas.
He’d apparently christened the venture a joke, telling Cal, Charlie and anyone who’d listen that the lure of food, wine, partying and men would not attract the kind of women who’d ever want to make a life out here in the bush.
Imogen disagreed. Almost all of the women she’d spoken to so far seemed genuinely to be looking for a change of direction in their lives and were excited about the prospect of visiting the country. She desperately wanted to tell him so, but in the name of self-preservation, she refused to take his bait. She had the feeling his ribbing was solely for the purpose of getting her to break her silence. Yes, he may not have loved the idea as much as everyone, but he wasn’t usually this vocal about anything. He seemed to have loosened up since their lapse of judgement – that was how she tried to think of it – but it could just have been her imagination. He stole glimpses of her as he chatted with the bar staff and his mates. She saw because she unwittingly found herself doing the same, then flushing hot when he caught her.
And tonight, the flushes were coming fast and furious. He’d arrived at the bar an hour or so later than usual – she’d been checking her damn watch – and it was immediately obvious he’d come straight from the shower. She was collecting glasses when he strode past, offered the briefest nod of acknowledgement and continued to the bar before she had time to contemplate a response. His hair was wet and he left a tantalising aroma of clean male in his wake. His stubble told Imogen he hadn’t taken the time to shave and she wondered why he was in such a rush. Was he meeting someone?
She hated that she cared, but couldn’t deny that she did. If she didn’t want him, was it fair to hope that no one else had him either? Annoyed at herself, annoyed at him, annoyed at the world, she checked that Cal and Charlie had everything under control at the bar and then went into the storeroom under the guise of stocktaking. Really, she needed a moment (or ten) to calm herself. This constant edginess whenever he stepped into her world drained her energies when she had so much else she needed to focus on.
Switching on the light, Imogen immediately got to work, rearranging cartons of beer in order to see what needed restocking. As she lifted the third carton, she sensed movement behind her. Although she didn’t feel threatened, as such, she gripped the carton against her stomach, ready to react. As she twisted, a tall, dark figure came into view and every reflex in her body slowed. The man she’d been avoiding for days stood centimetres away, every bit as impressive as her body remembered. Her conscience simply had no idea what to do with him. Still frozen, she could do nothing but watch as his hands reached out and came to rest on hers over the box. Her skin tingled at his touch and she sucked in a detrimental breath – detrimental because it filled her head with his arousing scent.
‘Here, let me help,’ he said, trying to ease the carton from her grip.
She held on tight and yanked the box back against her, grateful for its presence between them. ‘No, I’m fine. Really.’ Yeah, that’s exactly how you sound.
While her heart stampeded, his hands dropped to his sides, but he didn’t step away and she was up against the wall so she couldn’t go back any further. He peered right into her eyes, as if wanting access to her soul. His close proximity made it al
most impossible to look anywhere else. For a few long moments she wished that things were different, wished she could be like Jenna and simply live life to the full, simply enjoy Gibson, without guilt.
‘This has to stop.’
Blinking, she gulped and shrugged one shoulder. Did he mean her body’s ridiculous reaction to him? ‘What does?’
He sighed, took the box while her guard was down and placed it on top of the pile beside them. She folded her arms, hoping he’d read her body language and wouldn’t try anything on. The faint noise of country rock drifted from the bar, reminding her how far they were from anyone. How alone. Her traitorous stomach tumble-turned at the realisation.
‘This denial.’ His voice was low, seductively so, and she took a second to get her brain back to the conversation. ‘We need to talk about what we did. Please?’
The desperate plea in his voice sent her gaze snapping to his. Her mouth went dry at what she saw. Gone was the cockiness he usually wore like a shield and in its place was raw hurt. Desperation. Holy shit, she’d been a complete bitch. If a man had treated one of her friends like she was treating him, she’d have chopped him up into little bits. And this wasn’t even his fault. She dropped her head, shame making it heavy, as she sunk down onto a carton and flopped her hands into her lap.
Gibson smiled a slightly victorious grin and went to shut the door. As it clanged into place, she almost demanded that he open it again. But he wasn’t dangerous, not exactly, and being alone with him had to be better than risking someone overhearing their conversation.
For a few moments, silence reigned, as if he were expecting her to go first. It should have been easy, because she’d hardly thought of anything or anyone else for the last few days. Despite the pub business cranking and her need to focus on the Man Drought event, Gibson and the guilt he summoned inside her had never been far from her mind.
‘I wanted to apologise, but you haven’t given me the chance.’ His words penetrated her thoughts as he smiled slightly, perhaps trying to erode the pained expression she noted in his eyes. ‘I’d be forgiven for thinking I smell.’
Anything but, she thought, immediately breathing in the fragrance she’d been desperate to ignore. His scent could be funnelled into a bottle and labelled Aphrodisiac. She swallowed and shook her head. ‘I’m the one that should be apologising.’ Her throat felt clogged as emotion rushed there. It wasn’t an easy conversation, which was why she’d been avoiding it. ‘I just …’
‘I understand. You weren’t ready.’ Regret laced his words as he knelt down and reached out to hold one of her hands.
His touch was comforting, and although he stroked his thumb against her skin, she understood he wasn’t aiming for seduction.
‘And it’s okay,’ he continued, ‘but please don’t ignore me. We’re adults, so we slept together …’ He wiggled his eyebrows in good nature and she shivered at the recollection. ‘Yes, I’d like to do it again,’ he admitted, with a wry grin.
She winced inwardly, but thankfully, he went on before she had to respond.
‘But I respect that you don’t feel the same.’ He paused a moment. ‘At least, that’s the vibe I’m getting.’
She opened her mouth to speak, but shut it again when she realised she didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to do it again, she just couldn’t.
Eventually, she managed, ‘I should be the one apologising. I’ve treated you terribly. I overreacted.’ Her cheeks burned at the thought of how childish she’d been. She hung her head, unable to meet his gaze. ‘It was good, Gibson – really good – but I can’t deal with this right now. I’m not ready. I know you’re not after a relationship,’ she rushed to add before he could remind her he wasn’t looking for one, ‘but Jamie’s still my man. And I know he’s dead, I know that, but I can’t betray him.’
He nodded. ‘I get that, I do. Jamie’s one lucky guy.’
She squeezed his hand and whispered, ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m man enough to deal with rejection.’ He released her and laughed before his look turned serious. ‘But I don’t want you to ignore me anymore. I want us to be adults and move on.’
She nodded. His idea sounded good in theory, but she had no experience dealing with a guy after they’d slept together. Except with Jamie, but obviously that was different.
‘I don’t know about you,’ Gibson said, pushing into a stand, ‘but I really enjoyed the trip back from Perth. You’re a cool chick, Imogen, and I’d rather have you as friend than foe. What do you say? Can we give friendship a red-hot go?’
Imogen found herself staring at his long, sexy legs – recalling them pressed against hers in the heat of passion – and for a second, wondered if she was insane for writing off the option of more. Then she stood, forcing her eyes upwards and her thoughts back to the present. She could handle it; she’d make sure she could. And with Jenna and Amy miles away, she’d be stupid to ignore the friendship of a good, kind man. ‘Yes, I’d like that.’
‘Awesome.’ His lips curled into a slow, easy smile.
They stared at each other for a few moments and she wondered how they were going to go about this so-called friendship. How she was ever going to ignore the attraction.
‘Imogen!’ A shout from the corridor had them both turning to look at the closed door.
‘Charlie,’ Imogen hissed to Gibson. She flushed at the thought of what he might think, finding her alone with his grandson like this.
He nodded and they both froze as the door handle twisted.
‘You in there, Imogen?’ The door swung back and Charlie appeared in the doorway. His eyebrows shot up and he looked from Gibson to Imogen and then back again. ‘Sorry if I’m interrupting anything,’ he said gruffly.
Gibson smirked like he thought the situation hilarious, but Imogen didn’t want any of her employees thinking badly of her. Unlike some, she’d never had sex in a stockroom, and wasn’t about to start.
‘No, of course you’re not,’ she said, perhaps a tad too emphatically. She swallowed, trying to inject moisture into her dry throat. ‘Gibson was just helping me move the heavy stock.’
‘I see.’ The disapproval written on Charlie’s face told her he didn’t believe her.
‘Anyway, is there a problem, Charlie?’ She hoped to distract his thoughts. ‘Why’d you come looking for me?’
Charlie scratched the top of his head, which was usually covered by his terry-towelling hat. ‘Um. I … I’m sorry, I can’t remember.’
‘Never mind.’ Imogen took a quick breath and smiled at him. ‘We’d best get back out there to help Cal.’
Without another glance at either man, she headed out for the bar, silently praying that Charlie’s on-again-off-again memory didn’t choose to stick on this.
Chapter Sixteen
Gibson’s hand froze on the spanner as he listened from his position underneath the seeding rig. He’d been replacing knife points, but at the sound of a vehicle approaching, he cocked his head to try and hear better. He recognised it instantly as Charlie’s beat-up old Holden – the one he’d always vowed to restore but never got round to doing. It was a mystery how the old girl still started, but it wasn’t a mystery why Charlie was putting in an unscheduled visit. From the moment Charlie found him in the stockroom with Imogen last night, Gibson had been expecting this.
He dropped the wrench and slid out from under the big machine. He pulled his sunglasses down from their resting place on top of his head and watched as the car approached.
‘You slacking again?’ Charlie chuckled to himself as he got out of his car and wiped his hands down the front of his pants.
Gibson shrugged. ‘It’s what I do best.’ Which they both knew was a lie. He closed the distance between them and slapped his hand on Charlie’s back. ‘So, what about you? To what do I owe the pleasure?’ If he knew Charlie, there’d be at least ten minutes of bush-beating before he got to his point.
‘Haven’t been round for a while. Thought I s
hould come out and check everything’s in order. I see you’re servicing the rig.’ Charlie nodded towards the farm vehicles in the shed.
‘Yeah. I want to start seeding early this year. They’re predicting rain.’
‘Good boy,’ Charlie mused, which proved he was distracted, because usually he chose teasing Gibson over flattery any day.
Rather than raising the topic of Imogen – which was presumably the reason for the visit – Gibson opted for diversion tactics. ‘Granddad, come for a drive with me. I’d like your advice on a couple of things.’
‘Sure.’ Charlie straightened his hat and turned towards Gibson’s ute.
As they drove towards the far end of the property, Gibson outlined his cropping plans for this season and the next. Charlie offered a few suggestions, but agreed overall that Gibson had the right ideas. Then all of a sudden he leaned forward and switched off the stereo, which had been playing an old Cold Chisel CD.
Gibson’s gut churned slightly – here came The Talk.
‘I was thinking you could offer Roseglen for the Man Drought weekend,’ Charlie said, breaking the silence.
Gibson blinked. ‘You thought what?’ This was not the lecture he’d been expecting.
‘You heard me. Imogen’s struggling to find a property to hold her farm visit – all the blokes round here want in on the weekend, and that precludes them offering their farms.’
‘Granddad, you know I think it’s a big joke right? And all the girls that’ll flock here will be jokes, as well. Why would I want to be part of that?’
‘For Imogen,’ Charlie answered sternly. ‘And not all women are like Serena, Gibson. It’s time you got that through your thick skull.’
As Charlie continued, Gibson fought the urge to turn the stereo back on. He’d heard this spiel one too many times. The fact was, women weren’t really the problem. Granddad didn’t know the full truth about why Serena left, so Gibson would likely have to listen to this tired speech a hundred times more. Maybe he should just have told him, but something always stopped him. It wasn’t the easiest thing to talk about, especially with a bloke you’d always admired and looked up to.
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