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that she looked a little sleeker, a little crisper, but she was a more than adequate substitute in most things, so he had postponed the decision about replacing her for now. Her image might be unprofessional, but she got the job done, and for Tom that was what mattered most.

      ‘You’re a sensible woman,’ he told her. ‘I’m prepared to go on your recommendation.’

      Sensible? It wasn’t exactly a compliment to make the heart beat faster, was it? thought Imogen, disgruntled. Why couldn’t he think of her as glamorous, or mysterious, or sexy, or exciting? Anything but sensible!

      Still, it would amuse Amanda, who was always telling her how very un-sensible she was when it came to men.

      Tom Maddison might look like the kind of man you yearned to sweep you off your feet, but a girl wanted a little romance. A man who thought sensible was a compliment and was clearly baffled by the idea of a romantic holiday wouldn’t be that much fun to be with in reality, no matter how toe-curling his mouth, or spine-shivering his hands.

      No, some men were better in your fantasies than in real life. In her fantasies, Tom had slowly unbuttoned her blouse and pressed hot kisses to her throat. He had pressed her up against a door and reduced her to a puddle of lust with the merest graze of his fingers. My God, but you’re beautiful! he had cried as he’d thrown her across the bed.

      Not once in her fantasies had he told her she was a sensible woman!

      It would serve Tom Maddison right if she recommended a B&B in Skegness as the perfect honeymoon destination for sensible people! Not that she could do that to the unknown Julia, who obviously had a lot to put up with from her fiancé. Imogen was beginning to really feel for the poor woman.

      ‘I did read about a lovely place the other day,’ she told Tom.

      It had been a fairly typical evening in the flat; Imogen lay on the sofa, flicking through magazines while Amanda painted her nails, both of them bemoaning their lack of a glamorous social life while secretly relieved that neither of them had to miss the latest episode of Eastenders. Imogen had seen the piece about the ultimate romantic getaways and shown it to Amanda, who had sighed enviously and nearly passed out when she saw how much it cost.

      ‘It was terribly expensive, though.’ Imogen felt she should warn Tom.

      He waved a dismissive hand, as if nothing were too much to pay to save him from having to think about a romantic destination for himself.

      It probably wasn’t, thought Imogen. She didn’t deal with his personal finances, but it was common knowledge that Tom Maddison was worth millions. It wasn’t as if he ever spent any of them, either. All he seemed to do was work. She never booked fancy restaurants or theatre tickets or arranged for him to fly in private jets or cruise in luxury yachts.

      He went to New York occasionally, but Imogen had always assumed that was for work. She had obviously been wrong about that. Perhaps Tom lavished jewels and expensive gifts on Julia? Imogen couldn’t imagine it, but she might be wrong about that too.

      ‘If money is no object, Coconut Island was described as the ultimate place for a romantic getaway,’ she said. ‘It’s tiny, with just one incredibly stylish house and a little jetty, and you can hire the whole island just for yourself. There’s a luxury hotel on a bigger island nearby, and they send someone over on a boat every day to service the house and stock the fridge with fabulous food. They’ll stay and cook for you if you want, but most people there are honeymooners, and they just want to be on their own.

      ‘I saw a picture of it in this magazine,’ Imogen went on, remembering. ‘It looked absolutely fabulous! There was this perfect turquoise lagoon with a white sand beach and a hammock under the coconut palms…’

      Clutching the pile of papers she still held to her chest, she sighed dreamily at the memory of that picture. ‘Honestly, it was paradise! I’d love to go somewhere like that, where there’s nothing to do all day but laze and swim and read and…’

      About to say make love, she trailed off awkwardly, wondering if that might be getting a bit intimate, given that her exchanges with Tom had so far been limited entirely to business matters. He wasn’t the kind of boss you could chat to about sex.

      ‘…and…er…well, you know…’ she finished uncomfortably.

      Tom lifted an eyebrow at Imogen’s blush. ‘I know,’ he agreed in a dry voice and, for the first time ever, she could swear she caught a glint of amusement in the cool grey eyes. It changed his expression in a quite startling way, and Imogen felt her pulse give an odd little kick.

      It was amazing what a difference a glimpse of humour made, she reflected. If she had seen that look before, her fantasies might have been a lot more dangerous! Just as well he was safely engaged now.

      The next moment, though, he had reverted to type. ‘It sounds fine,’ he said briskly. ‘Book it for me.’

      Imogen hesitated. This was his honeymoon they were talking about. ‘Wouldn’t you rather do it yourself?’

      ‘No,’ said Tom with emphasis, ‘I’d rather get on with some work.’

      ‘But a honeymoon is such a personal thing,’ she protested.

      ‘Yes, and you’re my personal assistant,’ he pointed out. ‘That means you assist me personally, so I suggest that’s what you do. Now, the wedding is on…’

      To Imogen’s amazement, he actually consulted his computer about a date that ought to be engraved on his heart. ‘Ah, yes, twenty-seventh of February. Julia is talking about having it at some castle in Gloucestershire, but we can get to Heathrow easily enough from there, so book a flight that night.

      ‘I don’t want to know about how much everything costs,’ he added as Imogen opened her mouth. ‘I can’t be bothered with the details. Just book whatever you think and charge it to my account.’

      ‘Very well,’ said Imogen, the perfect PA once more. ‘If that’s what you want.’

      ‘What I want,’ said Tom grouchily, ‘is not to be distracted. We’ve got an important contract to negotiate before I can get married, so let’s get on with that.’

      ‘And I’ve booked the honeymoon for you,’ Imogen finished after handing Tom the last message. He had been out of the office in meetings all day, and the phone had been ringing constantly.

      ‘Good, good,’ said Tom absently, flicking through the messages. He was still wearing his overcoat, and his shoulders still glistened with raindrops in the harsh overhead light.

      ‘Don’t you want the details?’

      He frowned. ‘I suppose I’d better have them,’ he decided. ‘Julia might ask what I’ve arranged. Can you put it all in a file for me?’

      ‘I’ve got it here.’ Imogen handed the file over the desk. ‘I do hope you’ll enjoy it,’ she said. ‘I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be, especially with the weather the way it is at the moment,’ she added, nodding to where the January rain was still splattering against the window.

      Tom only grunted as he opened the file and scanned the arrangements that she had typed up. His ferocious brows rose at the cost, Imogen noticed, but to her relief he made no comment. What would it be like to barely blink at spending a hefty five-figure sum on a holiday?

      He turned to the next page. ‘Leaving on the twenty-seventh…’ his voice sharpened ‘…back on the nineteenth of March?’

      ‘You told me to book whatever I thought would be most appropriate,’ she reminded him.

      ‘I can’t believe you thought it would be appropriate for me to be away from the office for three weeks!’

      Imogen refused to quail. ‘It’s your honeymoon,’ she said. ‘It’s a special time. It’s important to get your marriage off to the right start if you can afford

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