by Jessica Hart
‘Welcome to Coconut Island,’ he said.
From the little wooden jetty, Imogen could see the curve of a blindingly white beach, overhung with the coconut palms that cast a jagged shade. A lagoon the colour of a glacier mint and as clear as glass was encircled by a reef, but beyond that there was just the Indian Ocean, stretching out to a horizon smudged with a few billowing clouds. They had been promised seclusion, and seclusion they certainly had.
Set back from the beach and half hidden by a tangle of tropical foliage, from the outside the house was a simple wooden structure with a thatched roof, but inside it was furnished with exquisite style and discreetly fitted with the latest technology from top designers.
The attention to detail made Imogen’s eyes pop as Ali showed them round. Outside, there was an infinity pool, a Jacuzzi and a second fabulous bathroom, open to the sky, with a wet area, a waterfall shower and a bath that would hold two easily, all perfectly designed with natural materials to blend into the foliage.
Inside, there was an immaculately equipped kitchen. There were polished wooden floors, long luxurious couches and low tables. There were huge ceiling fans, and a sound system the like of which Imogen had never seen before.
And there was a huge, beautiful bed.
It had to be at least seven feet wide, and made with white sheets of the softest and purest cotton and piled with inviting pillows. A bed made for love.
Imogen, who had been exclaiming with pleasure as Ali showed them round, fell suddenly silent.
She glanced at Tom. His expression was unreadable, but she could imagine all too well what he must be thinking. How could he not be imagining in his turn what it would have been like if Julia had been there with him? If they had been impatient for Ali to leave them alone so that they could fall across that wonderful bed and make love?
It would be heaven. Imogen swallowed, unable to stop herself wondering what it would be like if she and Tom really were on honeymoon, if she was here because he loved her, not because Julia had left him in the lurch.
Too polite to comment on the awkward silence that had developed in the bedroom, Ali continued the tour, showing them the meals that had been left in the fridge, discussing the menu for the next day and pointing out the generator. Then he got into the speedboat and headed back to the resort, leaving Tom and Imogen alone.
They watched the boat speed out through the reef and then veer right in the direction of the islands they had passed on their way, its wake foaming behind it, and then even the sound of its engine vanished.
Imogen listened hard. She could hear the ocean murmuring against the reef, and somewhere a bird called raucously, but otherwise it was utterly quiet.
‘Well,’ she said awkwardly.
‘Well,’ agreed Tom in a dry voice.
Biting her lip, she looked out over the lagoon, which was achingly clear and green in the glaring light of midday. A cat’s paw of breeze shivered over its surface and rustled the palms overhead, but then it was gone, leaving the scene still and dreamlike in the heat.
‘Do you think you can spend three weeks here?’ he asked her after a moment.
‘Oh, yes, of course! It’s absolutely beautiful,’ she said. ‘I feel as if I’ve stumbled into paradise! I just wish…’
Tom lifted an eyebrow as she hesitated. ‘What?’
‘I just wish things could be different for you,’ she told him impulsively. ‘I know how hard it must be for you to have me here instead of Julia.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Tom gruffly. ‘I’m more afraid that you’ll be bored.’
‘Bored?’ Imogen stared at him. ‘How could I be bored here?’ she asked, waving a hand at the view.
‘You’ve always struck me as a very sociable person,’ he explained to her surprise. She hadn’t realised he had observed her at all. ‘I see you chatting to people in the office and talking to your friends on the phone.’
Imogen grimaced at that bit. She had hoped Tom hadn’t realised how much time she spent on personal phone calls.
‘You seem like the kind of girl who likes to have fun,’ he went on, uncharacteristically hesitant. ‘There won’t be much fun with just me for company.’
The truth was, he hadn’t been thinking about Imogen. He had been so consumed with the bitterness of humiliation that he had thought only about getting away, and it was only now, very belatedly, that he was wondering if he had been selfish. Julia had often told him he needed to work on his social skills, but he had never been good at the kind of light-hearted conversation at which Imogen seemed to excel.
She made an unlikely PA, with that slightly chaotic air, but behind the warmth and the friendliness he had noted in her dealings with everyone from the most senior directors to the cleaners, she was unexpectedly practical, and Tom was grateful to her for the way she had dealt with the aftermath of Julia’s change of mind. She deserved a better time than he would be able to give her.
Not that there was much he could do about it now. Tom hunched a shoulder. He hated feeling that he had got things wrong. He liked to be in control and know what was going on, and as soon as any emotions were involved, he was neither.
‘You make it sound as if I’m a wild party animal,’ said Imogen, amused but also secretly flattered. ‘To be honest, I spend most evenings watching television with my flatmate and complaining about how nothing exciting ever happens to us. And now I’m here…’ She looked around her. ‘I couldn’t ask for more exciting than this!’
Unless it was someone to share that beautiful bed with, a sneaky voice in her mind had the temerity to point out before Imogen squashed it firmly.
‘I promise you I’m more than happy just to look at this view for three weeks,’ she told Tom. ‘Of course, I’m happy to work too,’ she added hastily, remembering their agreement.
‘There’s no need for you to work today,’ said Tom gruffly. ‘Since we’re here, we may as well make the most of it.’
Imogen beamed at him. ‘Sounds good to me.’
‘So…what would you like to do? Are you tired?’
‘A bit,’ she confessed, ‘but I want to swim first. I can’t wait to get in that water!’
Ali had put their cases together in the bedroom. Tom’s was sleek and black, Imogen’s squashy and battered, and they sat side by side, looking bizarrely mismatched and yet oddly intimate at the same time.
Imogen fished out her bikini and changed in the en suite bathroom. Adjusting the straps, she regarded her reflection in the mirror dubiously. Had this bikini been quite so revealing the year before? It certainly didn’t leave much to the imagination!
Why hadn’t she stuck more carefully to that diet she had planned in January? If she had known she would be dusting off her bikini in February, she would never have eaten her way through all those packets of chocolate biscuits.
On the other hand, they were all that had got her through some of those long winter afternoons.
It was too late now, anyway. Imogen pulled herself together. Tom already had his laptop open, and when he was working he wouldn’t notice if she walked past him stark naked. He certainly wouldn’t be eyeing her up and wondering if a one-piece in a bigger size wouldn’t have been a better choice, the way another woman would. There was a lot to be said for having a whole beach to yourself.
Still, she wrapped a sarong around her waist before heading out to the living area. Tom might not notice the way she spilled out of her bikini bottoms, but she would, and she didn’t want to have to hold her tummy in all the time.
Tom was on one of the couches, leaning forward and frowning intently at the laptop open on the coffee table in front of him, but he looked up as Imogen appeared.
‘Don’t you want a swim?’ she said, feeling self-conscious. He had barely glanced at her before returning his gaze to the screen, but it was enough to make her aware that the sarong was very thin and that, beneath it, she was practically naked.
‘Maybe later,’ he said. ‘I want to check the markets
first.’
‘OK. Well… I’ll be on the beach if you need me.’
When she had gone, Tom let out a long breath and slumped back against the cushions. He had been totally unprepared for the sight of Imogen, barefoot and wearing little more than a skimpy sarong. He recognised the brown hair tumbling to her shoulders, and the wide blue eyes, but had she always had that body? How had he never noticed before what luscious curves she had, or how lush and alluring her skin looked?
And now that he had noticed, how was he going to stop?
Tom scowled. He was still bruised from his last encounter with a woman, and he certainly didn’t intend to get entangled with another, especially not one who was his PA. It would be totally inappropriate.
He shouldn’t even be thinking about how she had looked. He certainly shouldn’t be wondering if she would feel as soft and warm as she looked, wondering what it would be like to unwind that sarong and explore that unexpectedly voluptuous body with his mouth and his hands.
Setting his teeth grimly, Tom forced his attention back to the screen. He must be suffering some kind of a delayed reaction to the last few days, he decided. Nothing else could explain the lust that had gripped him when he had looked up to see Imogen just now. It wasn’t even as if she was his type. He had never even thought about what she looked like before. His preference had always been for slender, sophisticated women-women who were cool and controlled. Women like Julia.
Julia. The thought of her was like a shock. Had it only been three days since he had been ready to marry her? Tom couldn’t believe that he was thinking lustfully about another woman already. He had to stop it, right now, he thought. They had another three weeks to get through-three weeks when he would have to keep his hands firmly to himself.
He could do it. He could do whatever he set his mind to, Tom reminded himself. Hadn’t he built an entire career on sheer willpower and determination, on a refusal to let himself be distracted from his goal? He had resisted a lot more tempting distractions than Imogen, and he would resist her too. Quite apart from anything else, he didn’t want to distract her. They had work to do.
And work was what Tom Maddison did best.
It was hard to concentrate on it right then, though. He was hot and his eyes felt gritty from the plane. A quick dip would refresh him, Tom decided. An image of the lagoon shimmered in his mind, but he dismissed it. Imogen was down there. He didn’t want to crowd her.
Odd how vividly he could picture her, he mused, remembering how she had looked, smiling on the boat, her hair tangled around her face and her eyes full of sunshine, how she had looked in that sarong with her shoulders bare.
Remembering that was a mistake.
Restlessly, Tom got to his feet and wandered outside. The infinity pool shimmered invitingly. He would cool off in there and then get back to work.
But the pool seemed empty somehow and when he hung in the water with his arms stretched along the edge he could see the lagoon through the palms and he found himself imagining Imogen down there, on her own.
Really, it was ridiculous to feel that he had to avoid her! They were going to have to get on together for the next three weeks.
It wasn’t as if there was a problem, not really. Tom had already rationalised his momentary surge of lust as the simple reaction of a bruised ego. He might be alone on a tropical island with Imogen, but they were both sensible adults. There was absolutely no reason why they shouldn’t have the same professional relationship they had always had, and get on with some work.
Work was what mattered.
Hauling himself out of the pool, Tom dried himself off and went into the kitchen. Imogen wouldn’t be able to work if she was suffering from dehydration. He would take her a drink.
He found her stretched out on a lounger in the jagged shade of a palm. She had discarded the sarong somewhere along the line and was wearing only a bright pink bikini. Tom’s hand wasn’t quite steady as he offered her a glass of fresh lime juice.
‘Thank you,’ she said, sitting up, but her smile as she took the glass from him was definitely tense.
It couldn’t be easy for her, stuck here with her boss, thought Tom.
He sat on the edge of the lounger set out beside hers and stared out at the lagoon while he sipped his own drink and willed the image of Imogen in that bikini to stop dancing before his eyes.
He could do this. It was just a matter of getting used to seeing his PA without her clothes on.
There was a strained silence.
‘What’s the water like?’ Tom asked eventually, uncomfortably aware that his voice came out as a rasp, and he cleared his throat.
‘Lovely.’ Imogen drained her glass and put it down in the sand as she stood up. ‘I was about to go back in for another swim,’ she said, then hesitated. ‘Why don’t you come?’
It might be better to do something rather than sit here trying not to look at her, Tom decided. ‘All right,’ he said, getting to his feet.
They walked over the hot sand together and into the water. It was so clear they could see their feet in extraordinary detail as they waded past the shallows.
‘It feels like silk against your skin, doesn’t it?’ said Imogen, trailing her fingers over the surface.
Tom wished she hadn’t mentioned her skin. It was hard enough to keep his eyes off it as it was. As soon as it was deep enough, he dived into the water and swam in a fast crawl out towards the reef.
It felt good to stretch himself physically. It certainly felt less dangerous than standing close to Imogen wearing little more than a few triangles of cloth.
When he stopped at last, he shook the hair out of his eyes and trod water. Here, it had deepened to jade, but he could still see right down to the bottom, some way below. The sun was bouncing off the surface and fracturing the water into silvery patterns, and he had to squint against the glare to find Imogen, who was floating dreamily on her back, legs and arms stretched out like a starfish.
It was very quiet. How long was it since he had stopped like this and just listened to the silence, just felt the sun on his shoulders? His life was so focused, so driven by the need to succeed that he had forgotten how to relax the way Imogen was relaxing. Maybe he had never known how to relax like that, thought Tom, but he had the strangest idea that the tight feeling that had gripped him for as long as he could remember was starting to loosen in the sunlight and the warm silky water.
CHAPTER FOUR
H E SWAM more slowly back to shore. By the time he got there, Imogen was lolling in the shallows. Leaning back on her hands, her head was tipped back as she lifted her face to the sun, but she opened her eyes at the sound of his approach.
‘It’s incredible, isn’t it?’ she said naturally enough, but there was still that constraint in her expression and her smile was guarded.
Tom knew how she felt. Imogen was his PA; he was her boss. It wasn’t as if they were strangers, but it occurred to him-very belatedly-that they had never had what could properly be called a conversation and now he wasn’t sure where to start. They had only ever talked about work, about practicalities, but they could hardly discuss either here, with the light rocking over the water and the hot breeze ruffling the palms.
The situation was more awkward than he had anticipated. The truth was that he had been so desperate to get away from the humiliation of a cancelled wedding that he hadn’t really thought what it would be like being alone with Imogen. He had imagined that there would be plenty of room for both of them on the island and, although there obviously was, he could hardly walk past her and ignore her, could he?
After a moment’s hesitation, he sat down next to her in the shallows. He would try and avoid her as much as possible, but they were still going to have to establish some kind of relationship for the next three weeks. They couldn’t spend their time together in silence. For now he had better try and make a bit of an effort.
Only it was harder than he thought when he was sitting right beside her. He had been careful
not to get too close, but he was quite near enough to see how the wet bikini clung to Imogen’s breasts.
Near enough to see the droplets of water on her skin and the curve of her mouth.
Near enough to see the sweep of her lashes, the pulse beating in her throat.
Tom cleared his throat and made himself look away. ‘The water’s very nice,’ he agreed.
Imogen dug her toes into the sand and marvelled at his innocuous choice of words. It was more than nice. It was magical.
Dazzled by the heat and the light and the colour, she felt as if she had stumbled into another world and she had been sitting very still, half afraid that if she moved it would disappear in a blink and she would find herself back on the Northern Line, battling her way up into the greyness and the rain with the other commuters.
It was all so perfect, the blues and the greens and the pure white beach behind her. The colours were clean and clear and the only sound was the ocean, muted beyond the reef, and the gentle ripple of the lagoon around her ankles.
The only jarring note was Tom. He belonged in the other grey day-to-day world, not in this colourful idyllic one.
Imogen slid a sideways glance at him under her lashes. He was looking out towards the reef, his arms resting casually on his knees, and he seemed at once startlingly familiar and a stranger.
The stern profile, the dark formidable features, the close-cropped hair were the same as ever, but she wasn’t used to seeing them etched against a perfect blue sky.
Or on top of a bare chest.
She had known that he was tall and lean, and she had assumed that he would have a decent body, but Imogen hadn’t realised quite how good until he had appeared by the lounger wearing only those swimming shorts. It had been impossible not to notice that his legs were long and straight, his chest broad and wonderfully solid-looking, with dark hairs arrowing down to an enviably flat, hard stomach. He had powerful shoulders too, and his skin looked tantalisingly wet and touchable.
Imogen’s mouth dried. She was desperately aware of him sitting in the water beside her. Normally she had no problem chatting to anyone, but Tom was hard work at the best of times and now that he was practically naked she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
