Hard Deal

by Stefanie London

  “There’s a big difference between one person and ten...or nineteen.”

  Caleb’s body revolted at though he’d been sucker punched. Nineteen? That was far too specific a number to have been plucked from thin air. Of course, it had been obvious that Imogen herself had been a victim of cheating, given her determination to catch her brother-in-law. But she was right, there was a big difference between one and nineteen.

  “How did you find out?” he asked.

  He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d thrown up the shutters and locked him out. It wasn’t any of his business and it was obviously painful for her to talk about. But she rested her dessert spoon against the porcelain dish and sucked in a breath.

  “I got a call,” she said. “He’d given an STD to one of the women he was sleeping with and she was furious because he’d told her he was clean. So her ‘revenge’ was alerting me to his affairs.”

  Fucking hell. What a way to find out.

  “I was gobsmacked. I knew our marriage wasn’t all sunshine and roses, and we weren’t having the amount of sex that newlyweds were supposed to be having...or any sex at all, really. But I didn’t think we were doing that badly.”

  “I had no idea you were married,” he said.

  “I was nineteen and he was thirty. The marriage only lasted a year, so it’s not exactly something I put on my résumé.” She attempted to smile but it came off as more of a grimace. “The woman who called told me he was using that affair site, the one where married people go to cheat on their partners. So not only was he cheating on me but it was with multiple women, and he was paying for the privilege. I managed to find the messages of all the women he’d agreed to meet with, but there could have been more that he met off the site. He was away at conferences a lot.”

  Caleb blinked. It wasn’t often that he was rendered speechless, but this had thrown him for a loop. No wonder Imogen was so standoffish when he’d teased and flirted with her. She obviously guarded her heart closely.

  “And then I spent an agonizing few weeks getting tested to make sure he hadn’t passed anything on to me. I’d never thought I would be so grateful that he lost interest in sleeping with me the second we got married.”

  “Oh God, Imogen. I’m so sorry.” He raked a hand through his hair and shook his head. “What a bastard.”

  “I was young and naive.” She shrugged. “I thought he loved me, but he proved that everyone had been right. I was too young, I didn’t know what I was doing and I shouldn’t have gotten married.”

  “Your parents gave you a hard time?”

  “They were supportive considering they’d warned me off him. But a few of my aunts and uncles were quite vocal. They baulked at the age difference and thought I should have waited longer. It was kind of a whirlwind.” She sighed. “But you think you’re invincible at that age.”

  “It certainly explains why you’re going to such extremes to find out about Daniel.”

  “I know it seems over the top, but I’ve tried to talk to Penny and she won’t listen. I was exactly the same before I got married. Wouldn’t even consider that I might be wrong about my future husband.” She sighed. “But now I have hindsight, and if I can save Penny from getting her heart broken then it’s worth being a little crazy.”

  They ate their desserts in silence for a moment before she looked at him with a sheepish grin. “See, this isn’t a real date. I’ve already veered into inappropriate conversation.”

  He chuckled. “I’m quite fond of inappropriate things.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” She cocked her head, studying him for a moment. Her intensity stirred his blood in all the right places. Normally Imogen glossed over him, her eyes always darting away or focusing on something else. But now she looked at him like she could really see him, for the first time. “Why aren’t you in a relationship?”

  “I haven’t found the right person. And, contrary to popular belief, I also have high standards.”

  “And yet here you are with me,” Imogen joked. But he wasn’t about to let her hide behind self-deprecating humour.

  “The only way I could convince you to come on a date was to swap a favour. If I wasn’t interested, why would I have bothered? I’ll be honest, I’m not hard up for dates but I’d never say yes if I didn’t feel any attraction.”

  “Are you saying you’re attracted to me?” Her brows shot up.

  Was she that blind?

  “You want me to spell it out? You’re far sexier than you give yourself credit for. All those jokes I’ve made about us getting together weren’t really jokes and I think you have a kick-ass personality. I appreciate that you’re smart and hardworking, and it gets me quite hot and bothered that you have this prim and proper thing going on when I get the distinct impression it’s nothing but an act.”

  Imogen’s mouth hung open. “Okay, wow.”

  “Too much?”

  “I...” She took a gulp of her wine. “Well, like I said when we were in the archive room, you’d only ever teased me. So I assumed it was because you were joking.”

  “For such a smart woman you’re pretty terrible at picking up on signals.”

  “Lack of experience,” she said. “I guess when men don’t throw many signals in your direction it’s difficult to decipher them.”

  That was an easy fix. Caleb dropped his spoon down next to the unfinished dessert and stood.

  “Come on,” he said, holding out a hand. “Let’s get you some signal practice.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IMOGEN HAD EXPERIENCED a few key types of dates since forcing herself to get back into the scene a year ago. There was the “bad match” date where conversation halted more than it flowed. Awkward, and usually done by 9:00 p.m.

  There was the “oh dear God this is so bad someone is probably live-tweeting us right now” date, which she’d experienced twice. The first time with a guy who’d quizzed her like it was a job interview, and the second with a doctor who thought it important to tell her that they should skip dessert for “the sake of her health.”

  Lastly, there were the dates that seemed positive until it came to the end of the night, when it was clear things wouldn’t be going further. She liked to think of these as Gandalf dates. You shall not pass.

  They were the most disappointing ones of all, because Imogen usually saw potential. Unfortunately, she wasn’t good at holding people’s interest.

  Until tonight.

  After cutting dessert short, Caleb dragged her to a club that managed to avoid all the things she hated about regular clubs. There was no questionably sticky carpet, no jostling at the bar, no beefcakes invading her personal space. It was classy, fun...and sexy.

  The people in this club were impossibly attractive. The entry line snaked down the street, but Caleb sailed past it with her by his side. After a quick joke with the bouncer they were in. A stone settled in the back of her throat. This was exactly how things had started with her ex—the fancy venues, being swept away and treated like a princess...

  “So, signal practice.” Caleb took their drinks from the bartender and they found a secluded spot in the corner of the room to people watch. “What do you think is going on there?”

  He nodded to a couple at a stand-up table. It looked like they were on a date, and the guy was talking animatedly while the girl smiled on. “It’s going well?”

  “Are you asking or telling?”

  Imogen wrinkled her nose. “Telling. She’s smiling and they’re talking a lot, which is a good sign.”

  Caleb made a buzzer sound. “Wrong. He’s talking. Watch his mouth—he barely takes a breath. She’s bored but trying to be polite. The smile is fake, though. She’s tapping her nail against her leg. I give this date one star, would not reach date two.”

  “You don’t know that.” Imogen sipped her drink. She hated to admit it, but
Caleb could read people like no one else she’d ever met. Maybe that was why he was so effective in winding her up?

  They watched as the woman’s phone started ringing. A second later, she gathered her things and headed out of the club in short, hurried steps. Once her back was to the table, her serious expression melted into relief.

  “Oh no, family emergency. What bad timing,” Caleb said with a smug smile as he drew a checkmark in the air. “Score one for me. That was most definitely a get out of jail call.”

  “Okay, fine, smarty-pants. What about them?” As subtly as she could, she nodded to a couple seated at a booth a few feet away. They looked blissfully unaware of the world around them.

  “She’s pregnant.”

  “Huh? But we’re in a club.”

  He leaned closer so it wasn’t obvious they were talking about the people around them. The scent of his aftershave, which was faded and warm, coiled inside Imogen’s belly. It stirred her butterflies and kicked her pulse up a few notches.

  “She’s not drinking. That glass of wine hasn’t been touched, and she keeps reaching for her water. Plus, that dress she’s wearing is very loose.”

  “So? Lots of women like loose dresses.”

  Then the woman cradled her stomach under the table. She didn’t have much of a bump at all, but that protective, maternal gesture could not be mistaken.

  “Maybe he doesn’t know it yet...or maybe the baby isn’t his,” Caleb mused.

  A second later the man excused himself from the table, and the woman stealthily tipped some of her drink into his. Then she pressed the glass against her lip so some of her lipstick transferred.

  Caleb made a motion of drawing another mark in the air. “Convinced yet?”

  “Let’s try one more. Two could be a fluke.” She scanned the room.

  Usually Imogen’s black dress was perfect on a date—it was one of those clothing items that fit well, was comfortable and still looked pretty and put-together. But gazing out over the fashionable Melbourne crowd made her LBD look a little...frumpy. The women here were diamonds and she was a cubic zirconia in need of a clean.

  Swallowing her insecurities, Imogen found a couple for Caleb to assess. “Those three. The guy in the blue shirt with the two women.”

  A brunette in a floaty green dress stood to one side of the man, and a redhead in a silver mini skirt was on the other. The dynamic was unusual—the man appeared to be in his element and the other two women seemed a little...off.

  “Good one.” He slung his arm around her shoulder, and pulled her farther along the bar. “Let’s get a closer look.”

  “This is what you do on a Saturday night, huh? Stalk unsuspecting people while you pick apart their personal lives?”

  “A guy’s got to have fun.”

  The man chuckled and sipped his drink. There was definitely tension there. Even Imogen could see that.

  “He’s dating the brunette, but he wants to fuck the redhead,” Caleb said.

  “You don’t think they’re having an affair already?”

  The brunette sidled up to the man and slung her arm around his waist, but her fingers were digging in. Possessive. A stamp of ownership. The redhead continued to bat her lashes, however.

  “No, I don’t think so. If they’d gotten to that stage already he would be more subtle.” He turned to Imogen. “Maybe he’s trying to convince them to have a threesome.”

  “What? Out in the open?”

  “Well, they might be doing negotiations out in the open but I’m sure they’d get a room. I doubt it’ll happen, though—the girlfriend is not feeling it.”

  “She’s probably jealous. Who wants to share the attention with someone else?” Imogen snapped her mouth shut, suddenly aware that she’d revealed something of herself. Saying too much around a guy like Caleb was dangerous. “How did you get to be so good at reading people?”

  “Don’t think I missed that little statement, Miss I Want to Be the Centre of Attention.” His arm was still around her shoulders and it took all of her willpower not to melt against him. “And people reading is a necessary skill in my family. When no one wants to say what’s really going on, you have to read between the lines.”

  “I’m not very good at that.” She frowned.

  “True. But then I always know where I stand with you.”

  Did he, though? Did he know that she willed herself not to be attracted to him? That she’d thought about him every night since they’d kissed? That she tried to convince herself it would be better to lust after his brother instead?

  “So why the fake jokes about us going out?” she asked. “Why not come out and ask me seriously?”

  “I knew you’d say no.”

  He was right, she would have said no. “Then you got lucky at the masquerade ball.”

  Grinning, he took the cocktail glass from her hand and placed it on the bar with his. The brush of his fingertips made her insides turn to goo. It was soft and subtle, but undoubtedly intentional. He knew every string to tug, every button to push, every bell to ring. Her body was an instrument for him to play. Her desire his to shape.

  The breath stuck in the back of her throat as he pulled her closer, his hand snaking around her. Memories of the ball flashed in her mind—of his sharp jaw beneath that incredible mask, his lips firm and demanding on hers. His body hard between her legs.

  “If I’d gotten lucky at the ball then I wouldn’t have felt the need to touch myself every night while thinking about what I would do to you, given the chance.” The words were like sparks, like little flares of energy threatening to start a fire. Threatening to burn her to the ground. “About how many different ways I could make you scream my name.”

  “There’s more than one way?” The question popped out before Imogen could think about how juvenile and inexperienced it made her sound. She cringed. “Forget that.”

  “Not on your life.” His hand stroked up and down her back, not going low or high enough to frighten her into pulling away. But rather, creating a soothing, sensual burn at the base of her spine that radiated all through her body, melting her slowly, but steadily, into his arms. “That’s one thing I’ve realised about you, Imogen. I couldn’t forget, even if I tried.”

  Slipping his hand into hers, he pulled her toward the dance floor. The music playing overhead wasn’t the typical bass-heavy club thump. It was more relaxed, a slower grind but no less sensual. Caleb pulled her to the middle of the floor, into the heart of the crush.

  Oh God, no. Not dancing.

  While she’d been blessed with her father’s eye for detail and a sharp memory, she’d also inherited his two left feet.

  “I don’t dance,” she said, trying to raise her voice above the music, but Caleb tapped his ear and shrugged as though he couldn’t hear her. Bastard.

  People pressed in from all sides, pushing her closer to Caleb. He moved easily, as though he conducted the music and allowed it to flow through him. It was sexy as hell and when he pulled her against him, his hips brushing against hers, a tremor ran through her. The pulsing flicker of strobe lights made his hair flash gold. A lock curled forward, stubbornly brushing his forehead no matter how many times he tried to push it back. The desire to reach up and tug at it ripped through her.

  Maybe it was due to the shelter of the dim lighting, the inhibition-loosening effects of the alcohol, or the fact that he’d finally gained an ounce of her trust...but she melted. It was hard to worry about consequences in the middle of a dance floor where the crowd granted anonymity.

  He dipped his head, forehead pressing against hers, and she sucked it all in. Cologne and sweat on his skin, the scent of whisky on his breath, the wicked curve of his lips. He reached behind her, finding the elastic band holding her ponytail and tugging until it came loose. Her hair spilled over her shoulders and into his hands. He ran his fingers through it, gently p
ulling so her face angled up. He pressed his lips to her neck, holding her captive, and she fisted her hands in his shirt. Was this what it was like to fall?

  Because she was inches from the edge of the cliff, ready to tumble into the deep abyss below.

  “Don’t dance, huh?” he growled into her ear. “We’ll see about that.”

  He nudged her legs apart with his thigh as they moved. The crush closed in, people crowding from all directions but the second that Imogen’s mouth popped open, a silent moan causing her eyes to flutter shut, everything dissolved around them.

  The bass from the dance music created a rhythm in her blood. There was nothing tangible left, only sensation. The flicker of lights, the tightening grip of his hands at her waist, the rub of his thigh against her sex, the vibration of a moan in the back of her throat. The club was warm, the scent of booze permeating the air, intoxicating her. Imogen wrapped her arms around Caleb’s neck and followed his lead, swinging her hips and losing herself in the music.

  She rubbed against him, letting her body revel in their mismatched state. While she was languid, liquid softness, he was hard. Everywhere. His teeth scraped her neck, stubble roughing up her skin. His hands were full of her, tugging, pulling, biting. She’d never thought dancing was like this—that it was a precursor to sex. Foreplay.

  Caleb Allbrook’s seduction had begun.

  * * *

  Watching Imogen’s outer layer dissolve was truly fascinating. The difference between now and the night of the ball was that before she’d been fuelled by frustration. Anger. Lust. Things squarely in the defensive category.

  But now, with her olive green eyes turning slowly black with excitement and her body softening under his touch, this was raw Imogen. The real Imogen. The woman she tried so damn hard to hide away. That was the woman he wanted. And he was certain with every cell in his body that she wanted him, too.

  Her face tipped up to his, eyes wide as her lips moved. But he could only hear snatches of what she said—something about not being the dancing type. Something told him there were a lot of things in her “not my type” list. He was going to shred that list to pieces.