by Lily Harlem
“A dress. What sort of dress?” Clarris sat on the edge of the sofa and leaned forward.
“Something pretty.”
“Okay…” She looked thoughtful. “When for?”
“Now, well, not now, tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“He’s taking me out?”
“Kane Ward?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“During the day?”
“Yes.”
“And it has to be a dress and it has to be pretty? Why?”
“Yes. Blimey, slow down with the questions.” Imogen had another sip of wine.
“Just trying to help.” Clarris raised her hands as if in surrender. Her wine sloshed to the side of the glass.
“I haven’t got anything,” Imogen said with a sigh. “And that’s all he said, wear something pretty because I need your advice.”
“Your advice?” Clarris said, frowning.
“Yes, a new business venture that only I can help him with. So he said.”
“And he wants you to wear something pretty to this meeting?”
“And a hat.”
“A hat! What the…?” Clarris set her drink on the table and rubbed her hands together. “This is so exciting. The Kane Ward wants you to be dressed all pretty, and in a hat, and is taking you out to discuss a new business venture. Fucking hell, this is the stuff of your wet dreams, girl.”
“How would you know?” Imogen frowned.
Clarris gave Imogen a look that said Don’t try to deny it.
Imogen huffed. Was she really so transparent? “That kind of sums it up, yes, but I’m still no nearer to a pretty dress.” She wafted her hand down her body. “All I have is work stuff or casual stuff.”
“I wonder why…?” Clarris frowned. “What kind of place would a billionaire take a sexy woman dressed pretty in the middle of the day—?”
“Well, I don’t know if he thinks I’m sexy, it’s just business.”
“Oh, shut up. Have you stood in front of a mirror lately?”
“I—”
“You’re bloody gorgeous and he’s damn lucky to be taking you out. Successful, independent, and single. Single because you never have time to date.”
Imogen felt arguments stacking up on her tongue. She didn’t date because no one had taken her fancy. If someone had, she’d have time, she’d make the time.
“And if you ask me,” Clarris continued quickly. “Kane Ward is a brilliantly smart man tricking you into going on a date by telling you it’s business. Seems to me that’s the surest way to get you to say yes.”
“It is business.” Imogen frowned.
Clarris stood, set down her wine, put her hands on her hips. “Oh, no, this isn’t business, this is horse racing.”
“What?”
“It’s June and that means one thing, the sport of kings.”
“You’re talking in riddles.”
“It’s Royal Ascot this week and tomorrow is Ladies’ Day. I’ve sent one of my team to cover it.”
“But why would he take me there?” Imogen rubbed her temple. She’d never been to the races in her life. Why on earth would Kane Ward want to take her? “You can’t be right.”
“Oh, but I am. And the weather forecast is lovely, perfect for a pretty dress and a hat. He’s going to spoil you rotten in the place to be seen in June.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I’d bet Katie’s best teddy on it. He’s not the sort of man, from what I gather, to take a girl for a pizza or a walk in the park. He’ll only do anything if it’s the best.”
“Fuck.”
“Language, you’re a lady, remember. Or at least he thinks that.” She reached for Imogen’s hand. “Come on. I can help. You’ve come to the right place.”
“I have?” Imogen said, thoughts of what tomorrow would entail rushing through her mind. Could Clarris be right? Was Kane taking her to the races? She wouldn’t have a clue what to do. Would she be expected to bet? Surely they were just going to lunch somewhere. He’d said he liked power dressing; perhaps he was just living up to his reputation for making demands and having them met by ordering her to wear something different, just to see if she would.
“I’m really not sure about this,” Imogen said.
“Of course you are. Come on, I haven’t got much. You see me going to work, I’m a black suit kind of gal, and of course this.” She gestured at her tatty jeans and frayed sweater. “But I have got that dress I wore to my sister’s wedding last year, when I was a bridesmaid. That’s pretty, beyond pretty.”
“Is it pink?” Imogen’s heart sank. She knew it was. She remembered the flowery number. Had seen it in the photographs. She really couldn’t imagine wearing anything so girly.
“Behave and stop pouting,” Clarris said, standing. “And come this way.” She gripped Imogen’s hand tighter and whizzed her through to the bedroom.
The place was a tip. Clothes and makeup and hair products everywhere and the bed unmade, the duvet a mountain-like twist in the center. It smelled of perfume and hairspray and fabric conditioner.
“It’s in here,” Clarris said, letting go of Imogen and kicking a pair of long black patent boots out of the way so she could get to a wardrobe. She pulled out a sheer chiffon dress in the palest pink. Cerise flowers circled the hem then thinned and became smaller as they dissipated toward the waist. It had a slim white belt, and the material became so pale that by the time it rose in scallops over the chest it was nearly white. In fact, the delicate spaghetti straps were white.
It wasn’t nearly as over the top as Imogen remembered. “Oh…” she said. “It is pretty.” Imogen took it and surveyed it at arm’s length. It looked her size; luckily she and Clarris were both roughly the same height and weight.
“Very, my sister was pink crazy but we talked her down from the ledge on this one and compromised.” Clarris reached upward to a shelf and grabbed a hatbox.
“This,” Clarris said, dumping the box on the bed, “is perfect for Ladies’ Day.” She pulled out a small but fancy hat. It had pretty loops made of stiff lace set in an intricate bow at an angle, a narrow upturned brim, and was the same shade as the darker flowers on the dress.
Imogen stared at it and her heart beat faster. It wasn’t something she had ever thought of wearing, but now she looked at it she suddenly wanted to, desperately. She was going to the races with Kane Ward—a man she’d secretly fantasized about, and in the dead of night touched herself and imagined his hands on her, bringing her release.
None of it she’d thought would actually be in her future. But it seemed it was, and now all she had to do was maintain control and make sure she stayed businesslike and professional at all times. Kane wasn’t a man who liked weak or easily manipulated people around him, so she had to show him she wasn’t.
Chapter Two
Imogen had set her alarm clock, her iPhone, and had asked Clarris to call her at seven o’clock, just to be sure she didn’t oversleep. As it was, she was awake before any of the alarms went off. She was eager to get on with the day, keen to see if Clarris had been right and a trip to Ascot really was the plan.
“Have fun,” Clarris said, when she called.
“I’m sure I will. But it’s business, remember, even if it is somewhere lovely.”
“Yeah, yeah, you just keep telling yourself that.”
“It is.”
“Okay, but like I said, have fun, flirt a little. It will do you good.”
“What do you mean?”
“To have some male company. Handsome male company. And let’s face it, you could do a lot worse.”
Imogen was quiet. Clarris was, of course, right.
“And if you are at Ascot, Imogen, drop me a text and let me know where, which stand. I can send my rover there to take a paparazzi shot. It will be worth good money, a pic of Kane Ward and his new squeeze.”
“Er… no, I won’t. Because I’m not hi
s new squeeze.” Imogen shook her head. She was at a loss as to what to say to her incorrigible friend. She didn’t know whether to laugh or be cross.
Clarris giggled. “See you later. And if he wants to use his tongue, let him.”
“Clarris!”
The phone line went dead. Imogen stared at the receiver. She was hardly going to kiss Kane while they were at a meeting discussing his new business venture. She glanced down at her right hand and stroked over her knuckles. But could she be sure? Yesterday he’d done just that. Lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over her skin. She could still feel his touch, remembered his warm breath, and the way he’d studied her, as though fascinated by her reaction. That had been—wow, that look had been hot. For a moment it had felt like time had stood still, like they were the only two people in the world. For a moment, anything could have happened.
Which was, of course, ridiculous, fanciful thinking. Nothing would have, or was, going to happen.
She checked the time then jumped in the shower. She took extra care shampooing and conditioning, applied a face mask, then ensured not a body hair was out of place.
After drying and applying expensive sweet-smelling body butter, she pulled on white lacy underwear and a pair of sheer hold-up stockings. After drying her hair and creating big, bubbled curls, she pinned them loosely. She kept her makeup minimal, but her lipstick was dramatic and matched the deep pink on the dress.
She ate a slice of toast and drank a cup of tea then realized the time was ticking on. She slipped into the dress, which thankfully fit beautifully, stepped into pale silvery sandals and grabbed a shawl, just in case the weather changed. She added the hat at a jaunty angle and secured it with a pin.
She checked outside. The sky was a rich, deep blue and the sun was forecast to shine unhindered by clouds for the entire day.
A long black car pulling up at the entrance to Bellview Towers caught her attention. She checked the time. It was spot on ten.
Was that Kane? Had he arrived?
Quickly, she applied a squirt of Eternity, scooped up her iPhone and purse, then left the apartment. Her breathing had picked up and she hoped she wouldn’t get flushed and sweaty. The last thing she needed were cheeks that looked as though they’d been slapped.
But unfortunately just the thought of Kane Ward outside her building, within yards of her—and her bedroom—was enough to send sexy thoughts spiraling around her mind and had her cheeks tingling. He was here. He really had arrived.
She took the elevator to the ground floor, fiddling with the position of her hat as she studied her reflection in the mirrored doors.
Once in the lobby, she took a deep breath. There really was no need to be nervous. She fit Kane’s brief despite the short time frame he’d given her to find a dress, the sun was shining, and all that was required of her was to wear her business manager smile and treat her customer’s assets as if they were her own—with respect, consideration, and minimizing risk at all times.
The sun warmed her shoulders as she stepped into the open. She saw that it was no ordinary car but a sleek black limousine complete with top-hatted driver.
The chauffeur, an older man with a smart black mustache, spotted her.
“Ms. White?” he asked.
“Yes.” Imogen glanced at the blacked-out windows. Why was she surprised? Of course Kane would have a limo. It went with the territory when a person was as wealthy as he was.
“Mr. Ward is expecting you.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t see into the car. Did that mean he wasn’t in there?
The driver pulled open the rear door, exposing shiny black leather seats and a huge expanse of legroom. No Kane.
“Mr. Ward sends his apologies. An urgent conference call came up and he was delayed. He’s waiting for you at our destination.”
“That’s okay. Business first,” Imogen said, smiling the way she would at work, to a client.
“Yes, ma’am.” He indicated that she get into the car. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
Imogen climbed in and set her purse on the seat next to her. There was enough room for about eight people in the back of the car, and when the driver shut the door it went dark for a moment, then small lights at feet level illuminated the floor as did several spots in the ceiling.
She crossed her legs and reached for her seatbelt. Once fastened, she held it forward so it didn’t crease her dress. She’d been in a limo once before, but it had been years ago. One of her university friends had gotten married and on the hen night they’d all dressed up, drunk cheap sparkling wine, and driven around London for an hour before getting dropped off at Dover Street Bar. It had been fun, but it had been different to this. Now she felt tiny in the big car, as though it had swallowed her up.
She could see the back of the driver’s head through a darkened screen. She wondered if Kane ever brought women into the back of this car and kissed them, touched them, whispered dark deeds into their ears.
Imogen skimmed her hand over the cool leather at her side and imagined him sitting there. Imagined that she was one of those women and he was looking at her in that intense way of his. Reaching for her, slipping his hand behind the back of her neck and pulling her close. She could almost taste him, smell him. She wondered what it would be like to be one of those women, a list of names and faces that must surely be endless. He could have his pick of females the world over from A-listers to supermodels to royalty and starlets on the TV.
The driver took the car over Wandsworth Bridge and headed east. She’d never seen Kane Ward officially linked to anyone, though. She’d only heard rumors. His private life was just that, private. Clarris was off her trolley if she thought Imogen would let their location be known so he could get a photo. If indeed it was Ascot they were going to. For all she knew they could be going to a conference center or a hotel meeting room.
As they drove she began to feel less sure about her outfit. She hoped she hadn’t dressed ridiculously over the top. Perhaps he’d meant something more casual, a meeting room dress that just wasn’t as formal and the whole hat thing might have been his perverse idea of a joke? She glanced down at the dress and traced one of the flowers over her thigh. Well, if that was the case she’d just make the most of it. Take the hat off and hope her hair stayed elegantly up and wrap the shawl around her shoulders. She’d adapt. She had in the past when the need had been called upon.
On and on the driver went, expertly moving around London traffic.
Imogen looked out of the shadowed windows. She didn’t often venture toward Battersea. There was nothing there that she could think of in terms of elegant meeting rooms. Maybe the business venture was in this area and they were going straight to the guts of it to have a look around.
But why the dress?
Eventually, the limo slowed and turned into a concrete car park. In the distance, power station towers loomed large, and in front of her, sat on long, sleek skids, was a helicopter. It was black and shiny with a gold stripe running horizontally around it.
The place seemed deserted. No sign of Kane or anyone else.
The car was pulled to a halt. She released her seatbelt. Through the tinted windows she could make out what appeared to be a low building, a reception area maybe. Was Kane thinking of going into the executive helicopter business? If so, she’d highly recommend it. There were plenty of VIPs and celebs that would be glad of vertical routes in and out of the capital. It would be a good investment for sure.
“Ma’am,” the driver said, opening the door.
“Thank you,” she said, stepping out and breathing in the warm air that was a direct contrast to the air conditioning she’d been sitting in.
“Mr. Ward is waiting.” The driver indicated behind her.
Imogen turned.
Standing in the shadows of a perimeter wall was Kane. He had his back to her and was talking on the phone. He was perfectly still, though the low timbre of his voice filtered her way.
Suddenl
y he turned. His attention settled on her. “I have to go.” He slipped his phone into his breast pocket and pushed the center of his shades, sliding them up a little. He stepped from the darkness into the sunlight.
Imogen swallowed as he approached and a wave of shyness washed through her. Damn, the guy was so seriously good-looking he could have just walked off an Armani advert. What the hell was she doing having lusty thoughts about him? He was way out of her league. He may as well be the king of England for all the chance she had with him.
“Imogen,” he said, his voice low and husky. “You’re here.”
She couldn’t tell if he was pleased or displeased with the fact she was there. His eyes were hidden behind black lenses and his mouth was a dead straight line. He’d revealed nothing in the way he’d spoken.
“You look,” he said, poking out the tip of his tongue and dampening his bottom lip, “exquisite.”
Heat prickled between Imogen’s breasts and her belly tensed. “Will it be suitable?” She breezed her hand over her waist, smoothing the already flat material.
“It’s perfect.” He smiled.
A sense of delight went through her at having pleased the great Mr. Ward, but also a feeling of having been captured, like a butterfly in a net. She’d flitted and fussed but had no real chance of escape. He’d known he’d get her to agree to this day.
“Shall we?” he said, gesturing to the helicopter.
“We’re going up in that?” she asked, eyeing the blades as they started to turn slowly.
“Yes. I can’t bear London traffic. If I can drop in somewhere from the sky, I do.”
“Well, yes, good idea.” Imogen had never been in a helicopter. It didn’t exactly frighten her, but as heights were not her thing she couldn’t help a few trepidations.
“You’ll be perfectly fine,” he said, skimming his hand against her lower back and urging her forward. “She’s a state-of-the-art Sikorsky. Peter and Joel have been flying her for over a year now.”
Imogen looked at the front window and spotted a pilot wearing a headset. “I’m okay,” she said, as much to herself as to Kane.
“Are you sure? I would hate you to do something you didn’t want to or weren’t comfortable with.”