by Penny Henry
Imogen and Connie were comfortable as a couple and talked about moving in together. Then Karl had found out. He had threatened to create a fuss that would lose Connie her job. Her position was still relatively new and Imogen hadn’t been prepared to lose her completely. They had cooled their interest with aching hearts and gradually come to accept it. Imogen had moved on but Connie still carried the pain of losing the love of her life. She hid it well, occasionally closing her eyes as she leant across Imogen’s shoulder and inhaled her warm scent. It was something that Imogen sometimes registered but fought not to return. Sometimes when she was alone her fingers would slide to the tops of her thighs and it would be Connie’s touch she was imagining. She never allowed it to go any further.
There had never been anyone else for Connie. She had immersed herself in her career. She was a visual melody of blonde hair and long legs that turned men to putty in her hands and angry clients to puppy dogs. Her stunning looks got her invited to the best parties and her list of contacts was the envy of many a chat show producer and showbiz columnist. She adored Rose and would move heaven and earth for Imogen. She had the best job in the world and would do everything in her power to protect Imogen from the crank letters. But for all the majestic efforts of Connie and Rose the letters still came. And Imogen knew that they did.
Imogen sat in front of the mirror in her bedroom taking off her makeup and letting the world go by. Her mug of tea was empty and she was putting off a shower until she had tidied up. She had left in a rush that morning and the apartment was a mess. The thoughts of her moment in the elevator had receded to the back of her mind. The last thing she needed was the complications of a romantic encounter to add stress to her life. She had fitted nicely into the pattern of a bachelor girl. She had made her own set of rules and in two years had never invited a male friend to her apartment. She stood up from the mirror and tied her robe round her middle before picking up a couple of glossy magazines from her bedside table. She wandered through to the lounge to gather up other magazines scattered on the cushions of the couch that dominated the room. That was another advantage of the single life. Things were always where she left them. Except this time they weren't.
She froze in the action of adding the magazines that she had gathered up to the pile on the table. She had been leafing through Cosmopolitan the previous evening before tossing it on top of the pile and going to bed. She was positive. But it wasn't the magazine on top of the stack now. It seemed absurd but Imogen's attention to detail was a constant source of amusement to Rose and Connie. She patted the stack into line and straightened her back to take a long look round the lounge. Everything else was in its place. Imogen furrowed her brow and walked briskly into the kitchen. She retraced her steps to her bedroom and looked in on the bathroom. She popped her head round the door of the spare room and returned along the short passageway to the open lounge. The computer desk caught her eye and she checked the layout. Everything looked to be in order. Other than the issue of Cosmopolitan nothing appeared out of place.
She was becoming paranoid. She hated the thought that anyone had been in her apartment without her knowledge. The talk of a Rolex robber had scared her into taking her jewelry into work and storing it in the office safe. She had enough to worry about without wondering if anyone had been going though her stuff while she was out. The cowardly letter writer was a constant source of annoyance. She didn't dare to think that the writer had progressed to a fully-fledged stalker. Of the two options she preferred to think that the impersonal burglar had visited her apartment and left empty-handed.
.
Chapter Two
Imogen wasn't infallible. It had probably been nothing of the sort. She had been tired the previous evening and it was likely she had made a mistake. One thing was certain, Don Thornton would be receiving more than a complaint about the elevator lighting in the morning. She would demand her apartment be fitted with a high security lock immediately. It might be her imagination but she would sleep sounder and she could certainly do without the added stress. A cough from near the door instantly turned her head.
The tall dark figure that stood in her doorway now wasn’t a figment of Imogen's imagination. She didn't panic but instinctively pulled her robe tighter round her body and opened her mouth to order the intruder from her apartment. Then she caught herself. He was smiling the same amused look that he last wore when she saw him in the gloomy elevator. From one hand he dangled the Louis Vuitton bag that she had totally forgotten.
"Yours I believe." He drawled the words rather than spoke them. "The door was open. I'm sorry if I startled you - yet again. It seems to be becoming a habit."
The door! How could she have been so thoughtless? Here she was imagining all manner of interruptions in her life and she had carelessly left the door open. She had been distracted at the time. And now the same unwelcome flutter was back in her breast. If anything the feeling was more intense as she gazed into the incredibly blue and sexy eyes of the tall stranger. She let out an exasperated sigh. She couldn't allow herself to regard a man she hardly knew in such an intimate way. She had her rules.
"What's your name?" she asked bluntly.
"Gable, Gable Winter."
Of course it was. It couldn't be David, Nigel or John Smith, could it? He suited the name. "Thank you, Gable, but a knock would have been nice."
Gable stooped to stand the bag on the carpet. "Again, my apologies, Miss—" He quirked an eyebrow.
"Mercouri, Imogen Mercouri."
"It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Imogen. Perhaps we will share an elevator again some time." He beamed a smile that flipped her stomach and abruptly turned his back on her.
He can't just leave it at that, Imogen thought indignantly. He couldn't just walk into her life and leave her with a thousand questions buzzing through her head. For a second she was tempted to break her own rules and prolong the conversation. With an iron will she held back and simply said. "Thanks again."
Gable twisted his head round. "Maybe we could meet up for a drink sometime. That is if you're free to do so, of course."
Imogene could handle this approach. "You mean do I have a partner." She felt a sudden urge to bait him. "Of course you'd think so, wouldn't you - at my age?"
Gable grinned, swiping the feet from beneath her. "I'm sure they are crowding into the elevator as we speak."
Imogen returned his grin. He was quick as well as drop-dead gorgeous. "I wouldn’t exactly put it that way. I'm getting fussy in my old age."
"And that must be all of twenty-five," he said graciously.
Imogen took it as a compliment. "Why thank you, kind sir. I admire your taste." She was relaxing in his company even though he was standing in an open doorway and she was dressed in a toweling robe. "Look, why don't you come in for a minute. Give me a second to get changed and I'll make you a coffee or a cup of tea as a token of my gratitude."
"If you're sure," said Gable hesitantly. "I'd love a cup of coffee."
"I was about to make myself one," she lied. "It's no trouble. Make yourself comfortable. Put some music on. I won’t be a minute."
Gable pushed the door shut as Imogen walked calmly through the lounge. As soon as she was out of sight she dashed through to the kitchen and put on enough fresh coffee to fill the jug before sprinting to her bedroom. With the door shut Imogen went into overdrive. She threw off her robe and grabbed a pair of good jean. She wriggled into them, hopping on one foot in a mad search for the yellow vee-neck sweater that went so well with her golden skin. She spent a minute on her eyes before running a brush through her hair and flicked the raven locks to give it some lift. In five minutes Imogen leant forward to inspect her face in the mirror. Not bad, she reflected, even if I do say so myself. The shaking in her hands had stopped and she took a couple of breaths. Her heart was still pounding. She simply wasn't used to company. That was all it was.
She calmed herself and walked from her bedroom, rushing on tip-toes along the short pass
age to the kitchen. She realized that she hadn't asked how he liked his coffee. The momentary panic was quashed as she remembered she had a tray somewhere. She found a small round tray below the oven and whipped it onto the side, holding it with one hand as she reached for cups and saucers, spoons, sugar, milk and her favorite shortbread biscuits. There, that was everything. The coffee! Imogen lifted the steaming jug from the coffee machine and tried to wedge it onto the full tray, half on and half off the work surface. Damn! She saw the hot liquid wash from side to side and watched in horror as a wave of coffee spilled onto the folded hand gripping the edge of the tray. She instinctively pulled back her hand, screaming in pain as the burning liquid splashed her skin. The loaded tray fell to the floor with an ear-splitting crash. Imogen stood back to survey the wreckage and Gable came running. He took in the situation at a glance.
"Let me see your hand," he ordered.
"I've got to get this mess cleaned up," she protested weakly as he caught her wrist and inspected the red patch at the base of the thumb. She flicked her eyes to his handsome profile set in concentration. He didn't show any outward sign of the electric current that caused her arm to tingle and her fingers to tremble at his touch.
"That can wait," he said curtly. "Let's see to this first." He turned on the tap with his free hand and tugged on her wrist to hold the scalded flesh under the cold water. "This will take the sting out of it." He turned his face towards her wretched features and smiled gloriously. "Quite the little housewife, aren't we?"
Imogen screwed up her face. "I'm out of practice." Her hand still tingled from the grip he had held on her wrist and her breathing had lost its rhythm. The shock of the burn was probably more than she wanted to admit. She couldn't imagine any other reason for the shivers that ran up her spine
"Do you have any burns spray or cream? Or am I assuming too much?"
Imogen was busy trying to separate the smell of coffee from the masculine scent that rose to her nostrils inches from his chest. "I… Uh, yes I have actually. There’s something under the sink."
"My, you are full of surprises." He released her wrist and crouched down to retrieve an out-of-date tube of antiseptic cream from the cupboard at their feet. "This will do fine. It's only a couple of months out of date."
Imogen glared at him from beneath lowered lashes as he supported her arm and dried the spot with a hand towel before lightly rubbing the cream into her skin with a smooth, circular motion.
"That'll do," he announced, releasing her arm and screwing the cap back on the crinkled tube. "The shock is worse than the damage. I don’t think it’ll leave a mark. Now, let's see about cleaning this mess up."
"Thanks, Gable," said Imogen ruefully. "You must think I'm a complete idiot."
"Don't be silly. Accidents do happen, Imogen. And that’s even to the best of us."
She smiled her gratitude before crouching down to pick out the larger pieces of broken glass and crockery from the wreckage. "I'm afraid you're going to miss out on your coffee. That was the last of the ground coffee and I don't have any instant." She dropped the pieces she had collected and the sodden biscuits into the bin before standing up to find the dustpan and brush for the splinters.
"Let me do that," insisted Gable, taking the tools from her hands and bending to sweep the shards of glass and china from the wet carpet. "That’s about all I can see." He scanned the floor for tell tale sparkles.
Imogen filled a bowl with warm water and grabbed a sponge. She did her best to mop up the remaining liquid and remove the stain from the carpet. Then they stood side by side and surveyed their handiwork.
"Not a bad job," said Gable. "I reckon we’d make a good team." He turned his head, looking at Imogen and saying nothing more.
She felt the color going to her cheeks. "Yeah, like Laurel and Hardy." She turned to lead the way into the lounge. She was beginning to warm to the situation and towards Gable. He was an ordinary guy after all. Far from being the disaster she feared, the incident had created a bond between them. They had barely done more than introduce themselves, yet they had already survived a domestic drama that could have ended in tears instead of the smiles they shared. Imogen had a feeling that her rule book was about to go out of the window.
"I'm not normally so clumsy," she said as they stood facing each other in the lounge. "Honestly, I've had a stressful day and my mind must have been somewhere else." She didn't elaborate or give any weight to the overpowering scent of maleness that was playing havoc with her senses.
"I believe you," Gable answered her with the same half-smile playing on his lips. "Thousands wouldn't."
"Cheeky."
"You wouldn't want it any other way." He held a twinkle of devilment in his eye.
"I wasn't aware I had a choice," she told him with the cutest smile. She wasn't used to feeling like a teenager. She smiled demurely. "Do you ever take anything seriously?"
"Life is much too short to take things to heart. Have fun while you're young. That's my motto." He winked and gave her a wicked grin.
"Seriously, Gable, I really appreciate your help. And thanks for not treating me like an idiot.” She was gazing dreamily into the blue lagoons of his eyes. "There must be some way that I can show my appreciation." She surprised herself with her blatant come-on.
Gable cocked an eyebrow. Imogen suddenly realized how she must have sounded. God, she really needed to put the brakes on. She giggled girlishly. "I'm sure we can think of something if we put our heads together, don't you?" She just couldn’t stop herself.
She smiled into his handsome face. The physical resemblance between Gable and his sandy-haired brother was obvious. But Gable had been capable and considerate. He was fun to be with and oozed sex appeal. His brother was the antithesis of the charm that Gable exuded. She had never received more than a grunt from the geek in return to her bright greeting whenever their paths had crossed. She could thank her lucky stars that it had been Gable and not his timid twin that had witnessed her minor accident. She couldn't think which of them would have been most embarrassed. The geek would probably have fallen over himself in his eagerness to escape her apartment. She couldn't imagine Gable running away from anything.
"Do you like to eat out or do you prefer to home-cooked meals?" She tried to make her voice sound grown-up.
"Actually, I like to do both. I enjoy a meal with friends at a good restaurant like anyone else, but I'm also partial to the occasional intimate dinner with a special friend."
Imogen spotted an opening. "And would that be any special friend in particular?"
"All my friends are special. But no. There's no one in particular if that's what you’re asking."
Imogen blushed. "I didn't mean to pry. I was just wondering if you’d like to go out for a meal sometime."
"I'd love to." He gave her that twinkling grin. “I can’t imagine finding more engaging company. Just let me know when and I'll reschedule my diary for you."
"That would be great." She breathed a sigh of relief. That hadn't been too difficult. "I'm sorry about the coffee, Gable. Another time, maybe?"
"It's not a problem, Imogen. I'm sure I'll survive until I get upstairs."
Imogen sucked in a fresh supply of air. "I can offer you a cup of tea if you want to take a chance," she offered hopefully.
Gable smiled and Imogen's heart leapt like a salmon. "I'd love to, but I really have to go. I did only drop by to return your bag in the first place. I'm in the middle of something and I should really get on with it."
Imogen's hopes belly-flopped back to the water. She struggled to keep the disappointment from her voice. "Oh, okay. It was just a thought." She was trapped by his crystal blue gaze and finding it difficult to wrench her eyes away. She hadn't learnt a thing about him. She was sure, if she were to ask, that Gable’s geeky brother would vouch for him. And she really did want to see him again.
He seemed to pick up on her thought waves. "I'll tell you what." He seemed to turn it over in his head. “Give me an hour or
two then pop upstairs if you’re at a loose end. We can have a drink or I can make you a coffee. How would that suit you?"
"If you're sure your brother won't mind"
"No problem. My brother is an extremely generous host. I have the run of the place. It's entirely up to you, no pressure."
"Well, I have some work to do myself first. I have to do some e-mailing and I'm not great with the Internet. I don’t know how long it will take me." She said it in the hope that Gable might come to her assistance.
"I'd offer to help, but I'm not good with computers myself I'm ashamed to say."
Imogen’s faint hopes were dashed. She smoothly covered her disappointment. "Oh, I'm fine with computers it's the Internet that gives me a problem. We’ve got a girl in the office that usually does it for me. I really should pay more attention." Imogen shuddered at what Connie might say to being called a girl in the office.
"Well, the offer still stands. See how you get on. And if you get the time, pop up for a drink. If you use the fire stairs I'll know it’s you. There’s an inner door that leads straight into the penthouse. Just give a knock’"
“Oh, expecting a rush, are we?”
I wish." Gable chuckled. "I just thought it might save time with the elevator. I don't suppose the light has fixed itself."
"Good idea. I’d forgotten about that.” She walked him towards the door. "Hopefully, I'll see you later."
