conversation,which continued in a taxi. Then I got out and she carried on to wherever she was going. That was it. End of story.’
‘OK, great.’ Luke grinned and sat back, his mission clearly accomplished. ‘Because if you weren’t up for babysitting, I’m not sure what we’d have done.’
Which only went to prove how subtly Jack had been finessed. Not that he cared about that at this particular moment. The sudden contraction of his muscles had nothing to do with being skilfully finessed. Nor did the pounding of his head and the rocketing of his heart rate.
No. The cause of all that was the thought now ricocheting around his brain to the annihilation of everything else: what if it wasn’t the end of the story?
Jack went hot, then cold, and felt a bead of sweat trickle down his spine as the idea stopped racing round his head and began to take root.
Wow, he thought, his stomach churning. If it wasn’t and he did in fact consider Imogen unfinished business, then that would certainly explain his unease and his restlessness over the past twelve hours. Was it a coincidence that he’d started feeling like this the minute he’d left her? He didn’t think so.
As realisation dawned all the thoughts his subconscious had been keeping at bay broke though the fragile barrier it had erected and rained down on him.
If he’d done the right thing by getting out of that damn taxi last night, why had it felt the exact opposite? Why had he marched down that street towards his flat feeling as if he had hundred-tonne weights attached to his ankles? Why had the broken dreams he’d had during the moments of sleep he had managed to snatch been filled with such erotic images? Why did his blood heat and desire race though him at the mere thought of her? And why couldn’t he get the memory of her sprawled against him as the taxi had pulled away, her mouth inches from his and her hand clamped to his thigh, out of his head?
Oh, yes, he thought grimly, that definitely sounded like unfinished business.
‘But I can’t help wondering why.’
‘Why what?’ said Jack, dazed by the intensity with which he ached to finish what he’d started with Imogen.
‘Why you aren’t seeing her again. I’ve heard she’s very pretty.’
Imogen was more than pretty. She was beautiful, contrary, fascinating and as sexy as hell, and there was no point in denying it. A wave of heat rocked through him and he shifted on the chair to ease the pressure building in his lower body. ‘She is.’
‘Then what’s wrong with her?’
Jack inwardly winced. ‘She’s just not my type,’ he muttered, thinking that Luke might be his best friend but there was no way he was about to confess how badly he’d crashed and burned.
‘Not your type? She has a pulse, doesn’t she?’
‘Ha-ha.’ Jack frowned and tried to ignore the sting of the seriously lame joke.
‘Sorry. I couldn’t resist.’
‘Well, try.’
Luke’s eyebrows shot up at the sharp tone of Jack’s voice, as well they might. Luke, who was one of the few people who knew Jack wasn’t as dissolute as he’d have everyone believe, often took the mickey. Usually it never bothered him, so why did it now?
Telling himself to get a grip, Jack shot his friend an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Just knackered.’
‘No problem,’ said Luke with a quick smile of his own. ‘I shouldn’t have brought her up in the first place.’
Jack sighed and pushed his hands through his hair. ‘If you must know, I did ask her out. She turned me down.’
‘God, why?’
‘She disapproved of my reputation.’
‘I see.’ Luke nodded. Tilted his head and frowned. ‘Didn’t you set her straight?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then I don’t get it. What happened?’
Jack resisted the urge to grind his teeth. That was a billion-dollar question, and the one he’d been avoiding ever since he’d made the decision to get out of that taxi, if he was being brutally honest.
The truth of it was that he’d got spooked. He’d
‘OK, great.’ Luke grinned and sat back, his mission clearly accomplished. ‘Because if you weren’t up for babysitting, I’m not sure what we’d have done.’
Which only went to prove how subtly Jack had been finessed. Not that he cared about that at this particular moment. The sudden contraction of his muscles had nothing to do with being skilfully finessed. Nor did the pounding of his head and the rocketing of his heart rate.
No. The cause of all that was the thought now ricocheting around his brain to the annihilation of everything else: what if it wasn’t the end of the story?
Jack went hot, then cold, and felt a bead of sweat trickle down his spine as the idea stopped racing round his head and began to take root.
Wow, he thought, his stomach churning. If it wasn’t and he did in fact consider Imogen unfinished business, then that would certainly explain his unease and his restlessness over the past twelve hours. Was it a coincidence that he’d started feeling like this the minute he’d left her? He didn’t think so.
As realisation dawned all the thoughts his subconscious had been keeping at bay broke though the fragile barrier it had erected and rained down on him.
If he’d done the right thing by getting out of that damn taxi last night, why had it felt the exact opposite? Why had he marched down that street towards his flat feeling as if he had hundred-tonne weights attached to his ankles? Why had the broken dreams he’d had during the moments of sleep he had managed to snatch been filled with such erotic images? Why did his blood heat and desire race though him at the mere thought of her? And why couldn’t he get the memory of her sprawled against him as the taxi had pulled away, her mouth inches from his and her hand clamped to his thigh, out of his head?
Oh, yes, he thought grimly, that definitely sounded like unfinished business.
‘But I can’t help wondering why.’
‘Why what?’ said Jack, dazed by the intensity with which he ached to finish what he’d started with Imogen.
‘Why you aren’t seeing her again. I’ve heard she’s very pretty.’
Imogen was more than pretty. She was beautiful, contrary, fascinating and as sexy as hell, and there was no point in denying it. A wave of heat rocked through him and he shifted on the chair to ease the pressure building in his lower body. ‘She is.’
‘Then what’s wrong with her?’
Jack inwardly winced. ‘She’s just not my type,’ he muttered, thinking that Luke might be his best friend but there was no way he was about to confess how badly he’d crashed and burned.
‘Not your type? She has a pulse, doesn’t she?’
‘Ha-ha.’ Jack frowned and tried to ignore the sting of the seriously lame joke.
‘Sorry. I couldn’t resist.’
‘Well, try.’
Luke’s eyebrows shot up at the sharp tone of Jack’s voice, as well they might. Luke, who was one of the few people who knew Jack wasn’t as dissolute as he’d have everyone believe, often took the mickey. Usually it never bothered him, so why did it now?
Telling himself to get a grip, Jack shot his friend an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Just knackered.’
‘No problem,’ said Luke with a quick smile of his own. ‘I shouldn’t have brought her up in the first place.’
Jack sighed and pushed his hands through his hair. ‘If you must know, I did ask her out. She turned me down.’
‘God, why?’
‘She disapproved of my reputation.’
‘I see.’ Luke nodded. Tilted his head and frowned. ‘Didn’t you set her straight?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then I don’t get it. What happened?’
Jack resisted the urge to grind his teeth. That was a billion-dollar question, and the one he’d been avoiding ever since he’d made the decision to get out of that taxi, if he was being brutally honest.
The truth of it was that he’d got spooked. He’d
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