LITMIR.BIZ

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that she thought about it, over the last couple of days she’d been so caught up with thoughts of Jack and the way he made her feel that Max and Connie and their forthcoming nuptials had barely crossed her mind.

      She cast her memory back to the traumatic afternoon she’d discovered they’d got engaged, and to her bewilderment she felt nothing. Not a pang, not a twinge, not an ache. Which was as unnerving as it was a relief.

      ‘Or at least I was,’ she added, thinking that since Jack had come to her rescue so splendidly and as it no longer appeared to hurt perhaps she owed him the rest as well. ‘The afternoon we met at the gallery when I was a little, ah …’ She paused as she searched for any word that wouldn’t make her sound demented.

      ‘Unhinged?’

      ‘Vulnerable,’ she corrected, flashing a glare at him, ‘I’d just found out they’d got engaged.’

      ‘I see.’

      ‘And it kind of threw me.’

      ‘Well, that explains a lot,’ he said with a satisfied nod.

      ‘Don’t look so pleased with yourself,’ she said archly. ‘You didn’t exactly help.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘You reminded me of Max.’

      Jack’s eyebrows shot up and then he scowled. ‘I’m nothing like Max.’

      He looked so affronted she couldn’t hold back a smile. ‘Well, I realise that now, but I didn’t know that at the time, did I? All I could see then was that you were both good-looking, charming with a fine line in banter, and heartbreaking players.’

      Jack flinched. ‘You jumped to an awful lot of conclusions.’

      ‘And you didn’t?’ she countered as she thought of the character flaws he’d flung at her.

      He frowned. Tilted his head as he stared at her with such an intense expression on his face her stomach squeezed. ‘You’re right. I did. I’m sorry.’

      Mollified, Imogen gazed up at him until something that had been niggling away at her ever since he’d pitched up at her side struck her again. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’ she said. ‘I don’t remember seeing your name on the original guest list.’

      ‘It wasn’t. My ticket was a last-minute thing.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘I wanted to see you.’

      His eyes darkened and the glint appeared. As the air seemed to thicken around them Imogen gulped, her heart rate rocketing.

      ‘What for?’ she said a little huskily. ‘You must think I’m insane.’

      He pushed himself off the wall and turned so that he was standing so close she could feel the heat radiating off him. ‘I don’t think you’re anything of the sort.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Really.’ He tilted his head and gave her a smile that frazzled her senses. ‘Would you like to know what I do think?’

      She’d love to. ‘I’d be fascinated,’ she said evenly, trying not to sound too desperate.

      ‘I think you must have had a rough time recently.’

      ‘Oh, I have.’ That he appeared to understand was doing strange things to her brain.

      ‘And I think you’re beautiful.’

      Every bone in her body melted. ‘You do?’

      ‘I do.’ His gaze dropped to her mouth and his eyes darkened to navy. ‘I also think that you and I have unfinished business.’

      Oh, heavens. Perhaps she hadn’t sunk quite as low in his estimation as she’d imagined. ‘Do we?’

      ‘I think so.’

      ‘In what way?’

      ‘We started something on Tuesday night. Something that got held up by misunderstandings and assumptions.’ He reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear and she jumped. ‘But now,’ he added, lowering his hand to her wrist and slowly stroking it up to her shoulder, ‘it seems to me that there isn’t anything standing in the way of the basic facts any longer.’

      ‘What basic facts?’ she breathed because, although she was getting a pretty good idea, she was finding it hard to concentrate with his hand gliding over her skin.

      ‘That I want you and you want me.’

      Relief flooded through her. ‘Ah, those facts.’ His fingers were now spreading over her skin where her neck met her shoulder and his thumb was on the pulse that hammered there. ‘I hope you’re not going to try and dispute them again.’

      Imogen swallowed. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ What would be the point? He was right. She did want him. More than she’d ever wanted anyone ever before. Had done for ages. And right now she wanted every smidgeon of danger, excitement and fun that that glint had to offer, because the realisation that he wanted it, too, was destroying what little was left of her self-control.

      ‘Jack—’ she said hoarsely.

      But as his thumb circled relentlessly over her skin her head swam and she couldn’t remember what she’d been intending to say. Still only touching her along her collarbone, he reached behind her and opened the door and backed her into whatever lay behind it.

      ‘What are you doing?’ she breathed as she stepped into darkness.

      ‘Finishing that business we started. Do you have any objections?’

      Somewhere through the fog swirling around her head, she was pretty sure she did. Not least because of where she was and what she was supposed to be doing. Reason made one pathetic last-ditch attempt to do the right thing. ‘Dinner’s about to begin.’

      His gaze dropped to her mouth. ‘You’re so right.’

      She shivered at that. ‘I’m the guest of honour. I can’t hide out in a—’ she glanced round, her eyes adjusting to the dimness ‘—in a broom cupboard.’

      ‘Five minutes,’ he murmured, holding her transfixed with a look of pure need.

      Oh, God, she thought, her heart beginning to thud crazily. Her nerve endings were sizzling so manically that the idea that she might be able to resist him was laughable. ‘Two.’

      ‘We’ll see.’

      And then he lowered his head to hers and all Imogen could see was him. Enveloping her and intoxicating her.

      Her breath caught, her heart stopped and just when she thought she might pass out with the sheer weight of anticipation, his lips brushed hers. Lightly. Fleetingly. She trembled and let out a breathy little sigh. So he did it again. And again. The third time her moan was one of frustration because surely after all the build-up he wasn’t planning to spend the whole two minutes doing that, was he?

      But just in case that was his plan, just in case he was intending to give her only a tantalising hint of what he had to offer and truly drive her insane, Imogen reached up and wound her arms around his neck. She threaded her fingers through his hair, then tilted her hips and wiggled.

      Which seemed to do the trick.

      The hand that was on her shoulder whipped round to the nape of her neck while his other arm snapped around her and then to her delight and relief she was being hauled against him. Stunned by the speed and suddenness with which he moved, Imogen let out a startled gasp, which he took advantage of immediately by slamming his mouth down on hers.

      The minute his lips met hers, properly this time, the remaining fragments of her brain disintegrated. As their tongues tangled and devoured, heat shot through her from head to toe. Her heart crashed against her ribs while her stomach swooped.

      Barely

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