by Jessica Hart
‘I knew this would happen! You’re in love with him, aren’t you?’
Imogen opened her mouth to deny it and then admitted defeat. ‘Yes,’ she admitted, ‘I am.’ But her voice cracked and, in spite of herself, her brave smile wavered and collapsed miserably. ‘But it’s hopeless, I know that. He doesn’t want me now.’
It didn’t take long for Amanda to get the whole story out of her. ‘I don’t think you should give up so easily, Imo,’ she said when Imogen had finished and was scrubbing her wet cheeks with a tissue. ‘It sounds to me as if this Tom wanted you just as much as you wanted him.’
‘That was on the island. He made it very clear that it was just a temporary thing.’
Amanda sniffed. ‘Hmm, well, in my experience, it’s not what men say that matters, it’s what they do, and he wouldn’t have been sleeping with you unless that’s what he wanted. It’s all very well to decide that you’re going to forget it ever happened, but it’ll be a very different matter when you’re working together. If you’re going to be remembering what it was like, chances are that he’s going to be doing the same.’
Was it possible? Imogen wondered. Could Tom be missing her too? Or had he already filed her mentally under ‘finished business’? He had emotions, she knew, but he kept them locked tightly away, the way he had learnt to do ever since he was a small boy, learning that his mother wasn’t coming back. It would be too much to expect him to suddenly get in touch with his feelings, or to assume that those feelings might be about her. It wasn’t that long since he had been hurt by Julia, after all.
But…
But perhaps Amanda was right and she shouldn’t give up all hope, Imogen began to think tentatively. Surely Tom couldn’t have kissed her like that, made love to her like that, if he didn’t feel anything for her? He had never actually said what he felt, but the physical connection between them had been real enough.
She missed him dreadfully. She missed his lovely, solid male body next to hers. She missed the sound of his voice, reverberating over her skin. She missed the smile in his eyes when he drew her to him.
If she could have that again, might that not be enough? Imogen wondered as she lay achingly alone in her bed. If she could hold him again, feel him again, this awful ache might not be so bad. Tom might not be ready to fall in love, but perhaps he would consider continuing the arrangement they had had on the island…
The idea slid into Imogen’s mind and stayed there, impossible to dislodge. But why wouldn’t it work? she reasoned. She wouldn’t ask for commitment. She wouldn’t expect him to tell her he loved her. All she wanted was to be with him.
She couldn’t blurt it out, of course. Tom would be horrified if she went all emotional on him. She would have to see what he was like on Monday, but if he had missed her a fraction of the way she had missed him, perhaps there was a chance…
It was enough to set Imogen’s blood fizzing at the thought of seeing him again as the lift slid upwards. She was sharing it with two others and, although she only recognized them enough to smile, she was burningly aware of their interested glances. They obviously knew exactly who she was.
She had already had a taste of the speculation rife in the office about what she and Tom had got up to while they had been away. The girls on the reception desk had welcomed her back, exclaimed over her tan and clearly not believed a word of her insistence that it had been no more than a business trip.
There would be more of that to come, Imogen knew. Perhaps she should wait until the intense interest had died down before she said anything to Tom about resuming the relationship they had had on the island. She certainly wouldn’t embarrass him by acting all doe-eyed around him.
In fact, she should make it clear that she was sticking to their agreement to pretend that nothing had happened until she had some sense of what Tom himself wanted.
Still, her heart hitched in anticipation as she nodded goodbye to the others, stepped out of the lift and hurried along the opulent corridor to her office. The trouble was that she had been thinking too much. Better to just go in and be herself, instead of preparing what she would say. She hadn’t had to prepare on Coconut Island, so why start now?
But, after all that, Tom wasn’t in his office. Bitterly disappointed, Imogen sat at her desk and spun slowly in the chair.
It felt odd to be back. The island still seemed real, and all this a not wholly comfortable dream. She looked at her watch. This time the week before they had been snorkelling. She had a sudden vivid picture of Tom surfacing beside her, pulling off his mask, flicking the water out of his hair and smiling at her. The sunlight bouncing off the water had thrown a rocking pattern over his skin, and his eyelashes had been dark and spiky and a startling contrast to the silver-grey eyes.
The memory pierced Imogen like a skewer and she swung her chair back to face her desk and switched on her computer. Distraction, that was what she needed.
Her inbox was dauntingly full. It was a long time since she had last checked her email on Coconut Island, since Tom had pushed his laptop aside and suggested a swim instead. Imogen could still feel the delicious coolness of the lagoon as she sank into the wa-
But she wasn’t supposed to be wallowing in those memories. She caught herself up guiltily and scowled at the computer screen as she forced herself to concentrate. Working doggedly through the messages, she did so well that she didn’t even notice that Tom had arrived and was watching her from the doorway.
It had been the longest weekend of Tom’s life. He had spent it in his sterile apartment, trying to work out what was so different now and, when he did, it came as a shock.
He was lonely.
Tom was furious with himself. He had never been lonely. On the contrary, he’d always felt most comfortable on his own, but now…now he was used to Imogen being there. He missed her sweetness and her warmth, and without it he felt cold and somehow empty.
He told himself that he just needed a couple of days to adjust. He thought that he had, but the sight of Imogen at her desk left him feeling literally gutted, as if a great fist had reached inside him and wrenched out his entrails.
Engrossed in her emails, she looked composed and unfamiliar, as if she had never laughed in the sunshine, never rolled on top of him and let her hair tickle his bare chest, never teased him with soft kisses.
Never stood on that sandbar and promised to love him for ever.
The suit, the hair pulled back from her face, the air of efficiency all spelt a clear message. She was sticking to the agreement they had made. She was pretending that the past three weeks had never happened and that she was just his PA once more.
He should be grateful, Tom knew. Imogen was making things easy for him. This was his chance to step back and decide how he really felt, but all he could think was that she was making it impossible for him to stride over to the desk, yank her up and into his arms and kiss her the way he really wanted.
That would be madness, of course. It would be a ridiculous, rash, risky way to carry on. It would mean he had lost control altogether, and control was all he had to hang on to at the moment.
So in the end all he did was wish her a good morning from the safe distance of the doorway.
Imogen’s head jerked up and Tom was momentarily comforted by the blaze of expression in her blue eyes, but it was so quickly veiled that he wondered if he had imagined it just because he wanted to see it so much.
‘Good morning,’ she replied with some constraint. ‘Did you have a good weekend?’
Her cool politeness sent ice creeping over Tom’s heart. It was just as well he hadn’t grabbed her and kissed her.
‘Yes, thank you,’ he replied, equally polite, equally cool. There was no point now in confessing to Imogen that he had spent his entire time missing her. ‘And you?’
‘Fine, thanks,’ lied Imogen.
There was an awkward pause.
‘You’re in early,’ said Tom eventually.
‘I wanted to get on with things,’
she said. ‘There’s lots to do.’
CHAPTER TEN
T HE memory of the island was thundering around the room but Imogen wasn’t going to be the first to mention it. What could she say, anyway? Oh, remember how we lay on the beach and looked at the stars? Remember how it felt to hold hands and feel as if the earth was turning beneath us? Remember how we made love right there and then had to shower off all the sand before we went to bed?
So she smiled coolly without quite meeting his eyes and handed him a folder. ‘These are the most urgent messages.’
Daunted by her composure, Tom took the folder but didn’t open it. ‘Have you still got the key to Julia’s flat?’ he asked abruptly.
‘I should have.’ Imogen rummaged in her drawer. She had used the key when she had returned the wedding presents before they’d left for Coconut Island. ‘Yes, here it is,’ she said, producing the key and forcing her mind away from the island. Stupid how it took so little for the memories to come swirling back. ‘Do you need it back?’
‘I was wondering if you could do a job for me,’ said Tom, and she assembled a smile from somewhere.
‘That’s what I’m here for.’
‘I spoke to Julia at the weekend,’ he told her. ‘It turns out that Patrick is going to work in some out-of-the-way place in South America, and Julia’s going with him. I can’t see her lasting out there,’ he admitted, ‘but she seems determined to start a new life.
‘She hasn’t got time to come back to London and sort out the apartment before she goes,’ he went on, ‘and the agents need it to be cleared so that they can let it again. She just took a small bag with her when she went off with Patrick and, although she hadn’t moved everything over here, there will still be some clothes and other stuff left. She says she doesn’t want any of it,’ Tom finished, ‘so she asked if I would get rid of anything that’s there. It can all go to charity or the dump.’
Imogen ached at the distant note in Tom’s voice. Talking to Julia must have been difficult for him, she knew. He had told her that he didn’t love Julia, and Imogen believed him, but she knew how much the other woman’s rejection had hurt his pride. Imogen had found it hard settling back into normal life, but how much harder must it be for Tom, who had had to return to an empty flat and the reminder that the perfect life he had planned with Julia had fallen apart?
‘Would you like me to deal with that for you?’ she said, anticipating his request.
‘Thank you,’ said Tom.
His formality broke Imogen’s heart but she kept her smile in place. ‘I’ll get on with it as soon as I can.’
In fact, it wasn’t until after work that Thursday that Imogen had time to get to the exclusive apartment Julia had rented in Chelsea.
It had been a very long four days, and Imogen was exhausted with the effort of keeping a smile on her face and parrying the not-so-subtle questions of her colleagues, who were desperate to know more about the time she had spent with Tom. Which was hard when she was just as desperate not to think about it.
She and Tom had both been careful to avoid any reference to Coconut Island. Inevitably, the atmosphere in the office was strained, but Imogen didn’t think they had been doing too badly until one of their senior shareholders had come to see Tom earlier that afternoon. When the meeting was over, Tom had walked him out to Imogen’s office and helped him on with his coat while he’d continued to complain about protection orders.
‘The world’s run mad.’ He snorted. ‘Next thing we know, flies and slugs will have protection orders! Last year we had bats roosting in the roof and we weren’t allowed to get rid of them! Absolutely ridiculous,’ he grumbled. ‘Bats, I ask you! Horrible little things. Have you ever seen them?’
Over his shoulder, Tom’s eyes met Imogen’s. ‘Yes, I have’ was all he said, but it was as if they were both transported back to the veranda on Coconut Island, to the hot tropical dusk and the bats darting and diving in the air. Imogen could practically feel the chair beneath her thighs, almost smell the frangipani drifting through the darkness, and hear the insects whirring and chirruping.
She knew Tom was remembering too. She could see it in the silver-grey eyes as their gazes locked and there was just the two of them, held in thrall by the memory of those long, sweet evenings.
‘Well, I’d better get on,’ the shareholder was saying, digging in his pockets for his gloves. ‘Good to see you again, Tom. Oh, and by the way, I meant to say that I was very sorry to hear about that business in February,’ he added gruffly.
‘Business?’ Tom sounded distracted.
‘Your wedding…most unfortunate.’ He was obviously embarrassed at having to be specific.
‘Oh, that…yes…thank you.’
Imogen was thinking about that exchange as she put the key in the lock and let herself into Julia’s apartment.
Tom hadn’t said anything when he’d come back from escorting the shareholder to the lift but something had changed with that meeting of their eyes, Imogen was convinced, and she hugged the possibility to her. Perhaps she didn’t need to despair, after all.
Wandering from room to room in Julia’s gorgeous flat, Imogen let herself dream. Maybe she would go into the office tomorrow and be talking about work when Tom would throw the file they were discussing onto the desk and say he couldn’t bear it without her any more. He would sweep her into his arms and tell her she was the one he really wanted. He’d beg her to marry him and stay with him for ever.
Even if he didn’t tell her that he loved her, it would be enough, Imogen decided. A man like Tom couldn’t suddenly pull all his emotions out of a hat, but there had been a chemistry between them, and today it had seemed as if it was still there. They could build on that. She could teach him how to love. She didn’t care as long as they could be together.
They could live somewhere like this. Imogen loved this apartment. It had lots of space and light, with a wonderful view of the Thames. She couldn’t help comparing it with the flat she shared with Amanda. There was nothing wrong with that, but it was very small and a bit shabby. They had fun there, of course, but this was the kind of place you lived in when you were grown up, when you had made a success of your career and were going to marry a man like Tom.
Dreamily, Imogen opened the wardrobe in the bedroom. Julia hadn’t spent much time in London, but it was still full of beautiful clothes. Imogen whistled soundlessly as she checked the labels. Amanda would be wild with envy. This lot ought to raise a lot of money for some lucky charity shop.
Fantasising all the while about living there with Tom, Imogen folded the outfits carefully and put them on the bed, ready to be packed into boxes for collection. She would have to deal with Julia’s wedding dress separately. It was hanging in a gorgeous cover behind the door and was much too big to fit in any of the boxes.
Imogen couldn’t resist having a look at it. Drawing down the zip, she let out an involuntary sigh of longing. It was exquisite. Very gently she touched the shimmering ivory fabric, marvelling at the detail in the delicately beaded design. Julia had sent her a sketch of the design, but she hadn’t realised how beautiful it would be when it was made up. This was the wedding dress every girl dreamed of, a dress that would make you look like a princess-gorgeous and utterly romantic.
Lifting it down, she drew off the cover and held the dress up against her, imagining wearing it at her own wedding.
She was walking down the aisle on her father’s arm in the village church. He was bursting with pride, her mother was sniffing into a handkerchief, her brothers were rolling their eyes but happy for her anyway. Amanda was there too, ready to step up and take her bouquet when the moment came.
Imogen could practically feel the stone floor beneath her feet and smell that mixture of musty kneeling cushions, old hymn books and wooden pews worn smooth by generations.
In her mind, she looked towards the altar and there was Tom, looking devastating in an austere morning suit. For a moment, she wondered if it could possibly be true, b
ut then the stern features softened as he turned to watch her coming up the aisle, and he smiled at her, the silvery-grey eyes alight with love…
Reluctantly, Imogen wrenched herself from the dream and stroked the beautiful dress longingly. What would it be like to wear a dress like this?
Find out.
The thought slid insidiously into her head and lodged there. Why not try it on, after all? It wasn’t her dress…but Julia didn’t want it. What harm could it do, just to see what she would look like as a bride?
Imogen dithered, then made up her mind. Quickly, she pulled off her clothes and examined the dress in her bra and knickers. Unzipping it carefully, she stepped into the skirt and pulled up the bodice in front of the mirror. The heavy silk felt gorgeous against her skin.
Smiling at her reflection, Imogen reached for the side zip-and the dream promptly shattered under the crashing fist of reality.
There was no way this zip was ever going to do up with her inside it.
Imogen watched her smile wiped out by a wash of humiliation, and a blotchy tide of embarrassed colour surged up her throat. There might as well have been a crowd of spectators, pointing and jeering.
What had she been thinking? She knew how slender and elegant Julia was. She had to be a good three sizes bigger than Tom’s erstwhile fiancée. Of course she wasn’t going to fit into Julia’s dress.
Of course she wasn’t going to fit into Julia’s life.
Because that was what she really wanted, Imogen realised dully. She wanted to be slim and sophisticated and beautiful and clever and the kind of woman Tom really wanted to share his life. But she wasn’t any of those things. She had to face reality, and the reality was that Tom Maddison was out of her league. He was never going to love her. If he couldn’t love Julia, he couldn’t love anyone, and she would be fooling herself if she let herself believe otherwise.
And Imogen needed to be loved. That had been the dream, she understood now. It wasn’t the wedding, or the dress. It was that moment of looking at Tom and believing that he loved her.
