What had happened? Why had her father never said anything?
It was a wonder he could stand Imogen, considering she’d caused the death of his one true love.
“You okay, Imogen?” Piper’s cautious query brought her back to the room.
“No.” She slumped down in the chair in response to the other shock.
She had a family.
Her mother had had parents and brothers – people Imogen had never known existed. Her father had always said she had no family on either side.
Were they still alive? She hoped so. She’d always longed for cousins to play with.
But why had he kept them a secret? Perhaps her mother hadn’t got along with them.
The confusion was a whirlpool in her mind. It made no sense. What else was her father hiding from her?
“Do you want to keep looking?”
Did she? She wasn’t sure she had the strength.
“You look.” Imogen honestly didn’t think she would take anything in.
“Sure.”
It didn’t take long for Piper to skim through a few more days of papers; there was only a small article about the funeral, which she printed. She turned off the machine and put the microfilm back in the cabinet. “Do you want to come to my place?”
Imogen nodded. The thought of returning to the chateau made her feel ill. She needed time away from Remy – time to figure out what the hell was going on.
They each drove to Piper’s apartment but Imogen didn’t remember the journey. She parked outside the building and joined her friend at the front door. Piper went straight through to the kitchen and put on the kettle. “Do you want something stronger?”
Imogen did, but she also wanted a clear head to think. “No.”
Piper busied herself making the drinks. “I didn’t know you had relatives on your mother’s side.”
“Neither did I.” Her voice was flat.
Piper gaped at her. “What?”
“Papa always swore there was no family. None on his side, none on her side.” So what had happened to them? Had they died as well?
“Wow. I always knew your father was controlling, but this is ridiculous.”
“We don’t know the reason yet.” Ugh. She was still coming to his defense – it was her automatic reaction. He’d been the only one in her life for so long, the only one she could rely on, and now … She didn’t know what he was.
“Do you want to find out?”
Imogen hesitated. It could get worse but she might as well keep going. “Yes.”
“Are you going to confront your father?”
Imogen shuddered. He was already mad at her simply because she wanted her independence. How would he react when he found out she’d been digging up the past? Her head ached.
“Not yet.” She took the mug Piper handed her and sank down on her sofa. She blew into it, but her hands were shaking. Carefully she put the tea down on the coffee table, took a deep shuddery breath and calmed herself.
“I’m here for you, honey.” Piper’s voice was full of sympathy and strength. “I can do some investigation if you like.”
“Yes, please.” She didn’t want to do it on her own. She curled her feet up underneath herself on the couch. Christian’s face flashed across her mind. She’d love a hug from him right now.
“I’ll let you know what I find.”
They sat quietly while they sipped their drinks. Imogen’s thoughts kept going around in a loop: about her father lying to her again and again; about her mother, about her family, about Christian. Was he even the man she believed him to be?
“So,” Piper said with a cautious smile, “I’ve been dying to ask you something.”
Her eyes twinkled and Imogen knew she was trying to lighten the mood. “Yes?”
“Have you seen Chris lately?” She waggled her eyebrows in a suggestive way.
“As a matter of fact, we Skyped this morning.”
“Skyped? Sounds kinky. Tell me more.” She leaned forward, eyes eager.
Imogen laughed and let herself be distracted for a while. Her issues weren’t going to go away any time soon, but she needed some relief.
“Well, it’s like this …”
***
Imogen wanted to call in sick on Monday; she didn’t want to see her father and pretend everything was all right, but her sense of loyalty was too strong. She shut herself in her office and spent the morning on the phone, calling their stockists and confirming they would take this year’s winter collection, and getting numbers.
She didn’t mind this kind of work. She’d formed good relationships with the retailers she dealt with and the phone calls were as much about networking and catching up with news as about selling. Many of the people she spoke with knew what would sell and what wouldn’t; they’d tell her which were their most popular items and what people were looking for. It often gave her ideas for the next season’s collection.
Then she confirmed the Tour de Force table numbers for a big charity fashion event being held on Friday. In a fit of defiance she added an extra ticket. If Christian wasn’t back by then, she was sure Piper would jump at the chance. And that way Imogen wouldn’t have to spend the night on her father’s arm.
At lunch she noticed Christian’s email. He’d managed to convince everyone involved to settle the matter and was flying home; he would arrive Wednesday night. Imogen grinned.
After lunch she collected samples of fabrics that had been sent for their approval. There were a couple of gorgeous ones that Imogen would love to use, but she knew it wouldn’t suit Tour de Force. She took down the details for her own label before attending a meeting with her father, Abigail, Jacques and Derek. Jacques was doing a fabulous job with the collection. It was fresh and interesting, and entirely on brand. When he talked about the designs, enthusiasm lit up his face. As much as she disliked the man, Jacques was Tour de Force.
He’d be the perfect person to take over from Remy.
Derek showed off a couple of the toiles he’d made up from Jacques’s designs. Remy tweaked them here and there, raising a hem and widening a collar. Jacques nodded in agreement.
“What fabrics have you got for us, Imogen?” her father asked.
Surprised he was talking to her, she opened the samples and took out a couple of woolens she thought would suit the coat. “How about these?”
Her father picked up the fabric, rubbed it between his fingers, pulled it to check if it would stretch and then held it up against the outfit. “It needs to be ocean-in-storm blue.”
Imogen made a note, used to her father’s way of describing colors.
“How are the rest of the patterns coming?” Remy asked Derek.
“Quite well. There are a couple of issues, but Jacques is going to come down and go through it with me later this afternoon.”
“Good.”
The meeting ended and Imogen gave the sample fabrics to her father so he could review them. He took them without a word.
Imogen caught the assessing look on Jacques’s face but she ignored him. She walked out of the room and went back to her office to phone the fabric supplier and ask them if they could do the wool in ocean-in-storm blue.
***
Chris was exhausted. He’d just disembarked from his long-haul flight home after finally convincing his company it would cost them more to fight the issue than to do what they said they would. It was close to midnight and all he wanted was to find a cab, get home and go to sleep.
He walked out of the passenger area pushing his luggage cart and headed toward the cab rank.
“Christian!”
At the sound of his name, Chris glanced over … and saw Imogen rushing toward him. The sight of her washed away some of his fatigue. Without thinking he opened his arms for a hug. As she dove into them he wondered what she was doing there. But then his thoughts disappeared as her warm, soft body pressed into his and he inhaled her sweet scent. He didn’t want to let go when she stepped back, but he loosened his
hold and she kissed him on the lips.
It felt so natural, so right, as if they’d been together for years rather than just meeting again.
“Surprise!” she said when she broke the kiss.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to pick you up. You said you were getting in today so I checked the flights and worked out which one you were on.” She turned and pushed his luggage toward the exit. “Come on.”
It took a second for Chris’s brain to catch up but he hurried after her and took over pushing the cart. “Let me get that.”
“The car’s this way.”
Chris followed her, a smile on his face as she strutted through the parking lot. It was a model’s walk but she did it unconsciously. She’d walked that way when they met. It had mesmerized him then, like it mesmerized him now. As she popped the trunk he came back to his senses.
He hadn’t ever had someone pick him up from the airport: it was too much of a hassle and he could claim the cab fare as a work expense. But having Imogen there was a thrill.
She squinted at the size of his suitcase. “It should fit.”
He laughed. “Have you ever considered getting a bigger car?”
She nodded in all seriousness. “Yeah, I might need to upsize soon.”
Chris put his luggage in the trunk and shut it. Imogen had already grabbed the cart and was returning it to the collection point. It was good to see her. He’d been cross when she’d ended their Skype call so suddenly, even though his anger had been of Remy’s making. When she got back to the car he wrapped her up in another hug, eager to touch her, and then lowered his mouth to hers.
Her lips parted on a sigh and Chris’s heart tightened. He explored her lips, touching, tasting, needing her. As his body stirred he forced himself to let go. “Thank you for picking me up.”
She looked flustered and swept her bangs out of her face. “Any time.” Her voice was breathless. Blinking, she came back to herself and said, “Hop in.” She went around to the driver’s side and climbed into the car.
On the journey to his apartment she kept up a light conversation, asking about his flight, and wanting more details about Australia. By the time they arrived, he realized he hadn’t asked her anything about what she’d been up to.
“So what’s been happening with you?”
She didn’t look at him. “We’ll chat about me later. You get upstairs and to bed.”
The image of Imogen in bed with him was instant and erotic. It wasn’t until she’d bundled him into the elevator and said goodbye that he came to his senses and realized she’d avoided his question, which meant there was something definitely happening with her.
He would have to talk to her about it tomorrow when his brain was more alert.
***
The next day he arrived at work jet-lagged and short-tempered. Samuel called him into his office straight away to be debriefed. He was not happy with the resolution but Chris didn’t care. It had been the right thing to do.
He reviewed the report he’d written on the flight home and checked what new work was waiting for him. There was an email from Imogen. He smiled and clicked on it.
Christian,
I didn’t want to call and wake you, so I’m sending you this instead. If you’re free Friday night, do you want to come to a fashion event with me? Dress is formal.
Imogen
Chris didn’t really care what the event was, as long as he had a chance to spend time with Imogen. He responded quickly.
Sure. Does that mean I need to get a penguin suit?
He grinned and clicked send, before concentrating on the other emails in his inbox.
Moments later the reply came.
Yes. It will look good on you.
Chris immediately searched for suit shops nearby. He had plenty of business suits, but no tuxedo. He browsed through an online catalogue and found one he liked; it was close enough to check out on his lunch break. Setting himself a reminder so he didn’t lose track of time, he focused on work.
When the reminder went off several hours later, Chris saved his document and grabbed his jacket before heading toward the elevator.
“Chris! Where are you off to?” someone called.
He turned to see a colleague hailing him from across the room. “Just grabbing some lunch. Won’t be long.” He stepped into the elevator and closed the doors before the guy could respond.
He sighed. There was definitely a problem when he’d rather go try on suits than stay and listen to what his workmate had to say.
On entering the shop he noticed the finely crafted wooden desk which served as the cash register counter, the thick plush carpet and the quiet, clean room where assistants hovered to serve. It screamed money.
Chris walked up to one of the attendants and told him what he wanted. The attendant showed a hint of surprise but hurried to retrieve the suit and showed Chris to the change room. It was a good fit and he had to admit it looked good. He let the attendant fuss around him for a moment.
“The trousers need to be taken up a touch,” the man told him.
Chris peered at the bottom of the pants. It was just touching the ground near the heel. “I need it for tomorrow night.”
The attendant was stricken. “We cannot do it for tomorrow. It’s the Homeless Foundation’s annual Fashion Auction tomorrow and everyone is preparing for it.”
Chris didn’t tell him he was attending as well. He also didn’t want to attend such an event with his pants too long. The people who went to these things lived and breathed fashion and would definitely notice a bad fit. And he wanted to make a good impression on Remy Fontaine.
“Can you recommend someone else?”
“No, no. Any common seamstress would butcher the job.”
Chris’s temper began to build. He was too tired for this. He just wanted to be with Imogen.
Imogen.
He whipped out his cell phone and dialed her number, walking away from the attendant as he did so. When she answered he said, “You know this thing you want me to go to tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“I need you to do me a favor so I can come.”
She wasn’t the least bit cautious when she replied, “Sure, what is it?”
“Can you take up the bottom of the pants I’m about to buy for it?”
She laughed. “It’s the least I can do. Why don’t you come to my place this evening about seven?”
Chris hesitated. He’d not been back to Chateau Fontaine since they’d been thrown out. “All right.” He couldn’t very well ask her to bring her sewing machine to his place.
“Great. Buzz the guesthouse when you get to the gate and I’ll let you in.”
Chris hung up and turned to the attendant. “I’ll take it.”
***
That night Chris pressed the button for the guesthouse and looked through the wrought-iron gate to where the roof of the chateau rose over the trees. He’d loved living there, even if they’d only had a small section of the garden away from the main house. He used to pretend it was all theirs and that they had chosen to live in the small gardener’s house rather than the French mansion.
Imogen’s face appeared on the intercom. “Come in. Take the driveway to the left.”
The gates swung inward and Chris drove his car through, slowly making his way up the drive as memories of his childhood assaulted him. He shook them away when Imogen’s guesthouse came into view.
It was extraordinary. A tiny replica of the chateau, but still probably bigger than the average suburban house. Imogen came out the front as he parked his car.
He retrieved the suit out of the passenger’s side and moved up the stairs, pulling her close for a kiss. “Hi.”
Imogen grinned at him. “Hi. Come in. Do you want something to eat first or do you want to do the pants?”
There was a tomato-pasta smell coming from somewhere in the house and he inhaled it deeply. “You didn’t need to cook.”
“I w
as making it for myself so I did a little extra.”
He breathed in again and said, “We should do the pants first. I might not fit into them after I’ve eaten.”
She smiled and beckoned him with a wave. “Come into my workshop then.”
He followed her down a hallway into a room probably meant as a dining room. It was large and rectangular and had a huge table in the center, covered in machines and fabrics. Every piece of wall space was covered in storage and there were materials and threads all over the place, but everything was neatly ordered. “Wow.”
“I have a bit of an obsession with fabrics,” she admitted with a guilty grin. “If I find something I like I buy it, even if I don’t know what I’m going to do with it yet.” She turned to him. “Show me the pants.”
He laid the garment bag on the table and unzipped it, a little bit nervous about how she was going to react to his purchase.
She stroked the fabric and breathed out. “Lovely,” she said. “This is a Chantelle Vision, isn’t it?”
He shrugged and Imogen checked the discreet label with a nod. “I thought so. She does fabulous men’s clothes.”
Imogen grabbed a few reels of thread from her massive wheel. They all looked the same color black to Chris but when she held them up against the tuxedo he could see the difference. When she’d chosen the thread, she said, “Put on the whole suit while I thread the machine.” She pointed to a doorway he hadn’t noticed.
“Don’t you just need the pants?”
She shook her head. “I want to see the whole thing.”
With a shrug he went into the next room and changed into the suit and the dress shirt he’d bought to wear with it.
When he came out, Imogen turned toward him and stopped. Her eyes slowly panned up and down.
He waited for her verdict as she came closer, her steps almost stalking. He glanced down to check if there was something wrong with the way the suit was fitting and her arms came around his neck, bringing his head down so her lips met his.
Chapter 9
The kiss was scalding. Taken completely by surprise, Chris desperately tried to keep up. Her tongue danced with his, sending heat straight to his groin, and he groaned.
Then she stopped and gazed at him. “The suit works,” she said, her voice husky.
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