In Expert Hands

by Lily Harlem

  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.”

  “I’m perfectly fine.” She added a little pace to her stride. She didn’t want him to think she was a scaredy cat, because she wasn’t. She was a strong, independent woman.

  “Good.” He paused as a pilot dressed in a black suit and peaked cap, like the chauffeur, pulled open a door, revealing the interior.

  It was not as Imogen had expected—much more opulent. The four huge seats were wide and made of beige leather. The walls were reddish-colored wood, and between two of the chairs was what appeared to be a bar complete with glasses and optics and a golden K.W. embossed into the wood. A screen hung on the wall and the floor was covered in plush cream carpet.

  “Please,” Kane said, “come in and make yourself comfortable.” He stepped in and held out his hand.

  Imogen pressed her hat as the slight breeze from the ambling rotor blades shifted it slightly. She took his hand.

  He held her gently but firmly as she climbed up into the helicopter. “It’s…big,” she said. It was pure decadence. There was enough space for possibly ten seats yet it had so few and the pilot compartment was screened off.

  “It’s the best money can buy in this size range.”

  “I’m sure.” She looked at him. “But that’s what I would expect from you. The best money can buy.” She’d seen enough of his accounts to know that was the way he operated. Everything he owned was the best of the best. He didn’t do compromise.

  He smiled and indicated one of the forward-facing seats. “Would you like a drink?”

  “No. I’m fine. Thank you.” Imogen sat. The leather was exquisitely soft and also cool.

  Kane sat, crossed his legs and nodded at the pilot who was standing sentry-like on the tarmac.

  The door was shut.

  “So where do you think our destination is today?” he asked, his gaze seeming to slide down her legs and settle on her foot.

  She noticed she was bouncing her toe slightly but quickly stopped. “I don’t know. You said you wanted to discuss a new business venture. But we can talk anywhere, we could have discussed it yesterday in my office.”

  “Ah, yes. Your office.”

  “What about my office?” She turned to him.

  “When did you last have a day out of it? And I’m not talking about that trip to Thailand, your first holiday in three years. I mean a Monday to Friday that you weren’t there?”

  Imogen stared at him. “How did you—?”

  “Know? Easy. I wanted the information so I found it.”

  Imogen tightened her fingers around her purse. “But why would you be interested in how much time I spend in my office?”

  “Because…” He leaned forward and settled his attention on her face again. “I’m interested in you.”

  Suddenly the engine roared and Imogen felt the huge machine shift. She released her purse and gripped the arms of the seat. “Bloody hell.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, smiling and resting his hand over hers. “It’s supposed to do that.” He had to raise his voice a little, over the sound of the rotors.

  “You sure?” She liked the weight and heat of his hand, but still her stomach lurched.

  “Yes.” He chuckled. “Maybe I should get you that drink?”

  “No, no I’m fine, really.”

  The noise increased and Imogen tipped forward as the helicopter took off. She sucked in a breath and bit on her bottom lip.

  Kane sat back but kept his hand over hers. He smiled.

  “It’s okay for you,” she said. “This is my first time.”

  “New experiences are always of benefit to one’s soul.”

  “I suppose.” She looked out of the window at the ground shrinking into the distance.

  The vehicle leaned to the right and the wide, muddy Thames came into view. They then seemed to follow its meander, heading inland. Imogen studied St Paul’s Cathedral peeking from the rooftops as they flew past. “Wow, that’s amazing.”

  “Great view, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, it’s incredible.” Her nerves subsided as the beauty of London, looking so handsome in the sunshine, stunned her. “I love this city,” she said. “I always have done and always will.” She leaned to see past him and gestured to the London Eye.

  “Have you been for a spin?” he asked, finally lifting his hand from hers.

  She missed his warm touch. It had been both comforting and sensual. “I haven’t had the time. Which is shameful, really.”

  “You work too hard, that’s what I’ve decided.”

  “Oh, you’ve decided, have you?” She turned to him. “Do I get an opinion?”

  “Of course, but it’s unlikely to change mine.” A slight frown plowed across his usually smooth brow.

  She shook her head. If there was one thing she’d suspected previously about Kane Ward, it was that he was stubborn. Now she was pretty damn sure of her deduction.

  “I work hard,” she said, “because I owe that to the bank and to the clients.”

  “But all work and no play could make Imogen a dull girl.”

  “You think I’m dull?” Her heart sank. She didn’t think she was dull, but to a man like Kane, who could do anything, go anywhere and have whatever he wanted, then she probably was…very.

  “On the contrary.” He placed the tip of his finger on her first knuckle and traced over the rise of her wrist then slowly up her forearm.

  Each tiny section of flesh he touched fizzed and tingled. She held her breath.

  “I think you’re very interesting, Imogen,” he said. “I also value your opinion on all matters, so please don’t ever think that I don’t.”

  She slowly let her breath out. “Okay.”

  That was the second time he’d touched her in a way that was not entirely appropriately for a client to touch his bank manager. Not that she was about to protest. She was just confused. And what about this new business venture?

  He lifted his hand from hers and placed it on the arm of his chair.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Where do you think?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You must have an idea.”

  “I suppose.”

  “And, what is that idea?” He removed his glasses then slotted them into the inside pocket of his jacket.

  “I feel like I’m dressed for the races.” Damn, she hoped she hadn’t been too presumptuous. What if they were going to some factory to look around, or for a business lunch just out of the City? She stared into his eyes, hoping for a clue now that she could finally see them.

  He nodded, slowly. “Clever thing. I knew you’d get it.”

  “So we are going to Ascot?”r />
  “Of course, it’s Ladies’ Day. Every gentleman needs a beautiful lady on his arm on Ladies’ Day.”

  Fuck. Did he just call her beautiful? Blood simmered to the surface of her cheeks. It raced there, hot and vital, and before she knew it her face was on fire.

  Oh, how she hated being a blusher. It didn’t matter how sophisticated she looked or how elegantly she was trying to behave, her skin just pinked up of its own volition. It prickled and itched and felt like fire had been thrown over her. Hell, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been called beautiful before—just not by Kane Ward.

  Kane raised his eyebrows.

  She looked away, out of the window. “How long will it take to get there?”

  “Another ten minutes at the most.”

  “Okay.” She’d just have to feign fascination in the passing landscape until her face stopped resembling a beetroot. But he’d seen, she knew he had. Now he’d think she was a silly little girl.

  Drat and double drat.

  Chapter Three

  Why had Imogen never been to the races before? The atmosphere was electric and the sense of excitement and anticipation seemed to make the air crackle. She loved it instantly.

  Once off the helicopter, despite being offered a ride to the hospitality suite, she’d suggested they walk. Imogen wanted to soak up the ambience, catch a glimpse of the horses being shown off in the parade ring, and see the outfits and hats on display.

  And wow, what a selection of hats. Hers, although pretty and detailed, was positively plain in comparison to some. Not that she was complaining; she had other things on her mind rather than worrying about giving someone concussion with her headwear.

  She pointed out a particularly large, feathered hat to Kane. It looked like a peacock was sitting on the woman’s head. “What do you think?”

  “Ridiculous,” he said, continuing to stride forward.

  Imogen quickened her pace to keep up with him.

  “I’m sure it will get her picture in the paper though,” he said over his shoulder.

  “And she’ll no doubt be thrilled.”

  A man, with a flat cap and Racing Post under his arm, bumped shoulders with Kane. It was a heavy connection and Kane shifted to the right.

  “Sorry.” The man huffed, kept his head down and didn’t pause.

  Kane halted and clenched his fists. His body tensed. He stared straight ahead at the swarming crowd.

  “You okay?” Imogen asked, drawing level with him.

  “We should have taken the ride.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You should have said.”

  “It’s okay. But come on. This way.” He took her hand and set off at a brisk pace. His grip was tight and squeezed her bones.

  “I wouldn’t have minded catching a ride,” she said. “If that’s what you would have preferred.”

  “You wanted to walk. We’re walking.”

  “But—”

  “It’s okay. I just don’t generally have to be near people I don’t know, don’t employ or don’t want to be around.”

  Up until a minute ago, Imogen wouldn’t have imagined anything could have bothered Kane Ward. But now she knew differently. He really wasn’t enjoying milling with the masses. If the air at Ascot was crackling with excitement, he was crackling with discomfort.

  Soon they approached a thick white rope stretched between two posts. A race official was guarding it and he held a clipboard against his chest.

  Kane strode straight up to him. “Ward,” he all but barked.

  “Ah yes, sir. We’ve been expecting you.” The official smiled and unhooked the rope. He hadn’t needed to consult his list.

  As soon as Kane stepped onto the privileged section of the course—free from touts and gamblers and excited, hatted ladies—his body language changed. His shoulders relaxed, as did his grip on Imogen’s hand.

  “If you’d like to follow me, sir,” the official said, turning.

  Kane pulled in a deep breath and smiled at Imogen. He appeared back to his usual, charming, composed self. “Shall we?” He gestured forward.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Imogen walked in line behind the official, who led them into a red-bricked building, up a staircase then into a large room that had one round table in the center. It was dressed in white linen, set for two, held a silver candelabra and the seats had plush gray cushions on them. Beyond the table were large French doors leading onto a balcony containing several terracotta pots bursting with summer bedding. Like the helicopter, the room appeared to be designed to house many more people than it was prepared for.

  “I trust everything is as instructed?” the official said, almost bowing at Kane.

  Kane glanced around. His gaze settled on a long, low red velvet sofa that was angled to face the doors. “Perfect.”

  “Champagne, madam?”

  Imogen turned to her right. A young woman dressed entirely in black and with pale lipstick held a silver tray. Upon the tray were two flutes of sparkling liquid that had bubbling mist popping over the rims.

  “Thank you,” Imogen said, taking one.

  Kane also helped himself then slipped his hand to the small of Imogen’s back and steered her toward the French doors.

  Once outside, Imogen could see that they had a spectacular view of the course. The finish line was directly in front of them, as were, about three stories down, a mass of people. The noise from their chatter flew upward. Several bookies waved slips of paper in the air and a gaggle of gamblers crowded around them.

  Kane glanced at the crowd then at Imogen. She wondered if he was suppressing a shudder.

  “Cheers,” he said, tipping his flute to hers. “Here’s to Ascot.”

  “And for being away from the crowd.” Imogen smiled and took a sip of the wonderfully light, fizzy liquid. “Have you been here before?” she asked.

  “I have been to races before, Brunei being the last one if I remember correctly. But never Ascot.”

  “It’s wonderful.”

  “I hoped you would enjoy it.”

  “I am. I will.” Imogen watched as several horses cantered past on the outer edge of the course toward the starting line. The jockeys stood high in their stirrups and wore bright satin outfits with numbers on their backs. “The thing is, though, Kane.” She pulled in a deep breath. “I’m at your disposal, you don’t need to treat me to fancy days out to have my business advice.”

  “Mmm…I have you at my disposal,” he said, nodding slowly and not taking his attention off her. “Now there’s a temptation.”

  She frowned a little, though not in annoyance, more in confusion. He had a mischievous glint in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. “You know what I meant.”

  “I’ll pretend that I do.” He sipped on his drink, a smile hovering on his lips. “But today you’re my guest.”

  “Which is very flattering, but you said you wanted to discuss your new venture.”

  “And indeed I do. But after we’ve eaten. There’s plenty of time for work talk.” He glanced at the girl who held the champagne tray and gave her a quick nod.

  “Are you sure?” Imogen asked. “I’m happy to eat and talk shop.”

  “Well I’m not. I’d much rather talk about you.”

  “Really?” She couldn’t help the surprise in her voice.

  “Yes. Tell me, where did you grow up? Do you have any brothers or sisters? What led you into the world of banking?”

  “I thought you’d have found all of that stuff out when you did my background check.”

  “Well, let’s just say I didn’t.”

  She frowned.

  Had he?

  “I didn’t,” he said with a slight shrug. “Tell me about you, Imogen Patricia White, not the bank manager who is at my beck and call, apparently, but you, what’s in there.” He nodded at her chest, his gaze lingering on the inch of cleavage on show. “What’s inside?”

  For a moment Imogen felt a flush on her neck but she turned to the light breeze and to
ok a sip of drink, squashing the feeling away. “Not much to tell. I grew up in Southend, always wanted to move to the City, and when I was eighteen I did. I completed a BSc in economics with a placement at Coutts, and they took me on as soon as I graduated. That was eleven years ago, and now I’m the youngest female to ever run a City branch.”

  “That’s very impressive.”

  “Kind of you to say so, but what you’ve achieved is also pretty impressive.”

  He smiled. “I’m glad you think that.”

  “I do.”

  There was a brief pause, then, “You omitted to tell me about siblings.”

  “I’m an only child.” She paused. “You?”

  “I have one brother, Taylor. I’m a little older than him and I knew he’d be snapping at my ankles as soon as he could. I suppose he stoked my competitive streak. We’re as determined as each other when it comes to success and building empires.”

  “And what an empire. You have an remarkable list of assets.”

  “I don’t like to feel as though I’m missing out on anything.” He shrugged, as though competitiveness was a trait he was a slave to yet enjoyed. “If something’s hot I want a slice of the action.”

  “Perhaps you should go into horse racing. Build your own track with a path directly from the heliport that’s just for you.”

  “Don’t tempt me.” He gave a small laugh then turned. “Our lunch is here.”

  Imogen’s stomach threatened to growl as the smell of sweet onions and freshly baked bread wafted toward her.

  Kane directed her back inside, out of the glare of the sun, and she allowed a smartly dressed waiter to pull out her chair and seat her.

  She looked at the large white dish that held delicate slivers of smoked salmon on a bed of salad leaves. Around the edge was a drizzle of lemon-colored sauce and a warm bread roll on a side plate.

  “This looks lovely,” Imogen said. “Salmon is my favorite.”

  “I aim to please.” Kane slipped off his jacket and handed it to the waiter. He sat, shook out his large napkin then placed it on his knee.

  Imogen leaned back and allowed another waiter to gracefully drop hers into place. Had Kane known salmon was her favorite fish? She couldn’t resist it on any menu.