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‘So what do you do? Sit every eligible man down, ask for a copy of his bank statement and make him write an essay on his opinion of a white picket fence?’
‘Of course not.’ Against the odds her eyes narrowed further. ‘But, yes, I do need to know whether we have long-term compatibility. So of course I do an assessment.’
‘You don’t think that’s a bit clinical?’ To say nothing of a touch kooky.
‘No more clinical than only having one-night stands to serve a bodily function.’
The disdain in her voice touched a nerve.
‘A one-night stand is about way more than bodily functions.’
‘If you say so …’
Her nose wrinkled in distaste and defensiveness rose within him.
‘I do. It’s about passion and chemistry and spark.’
He allowed his gaze to linger on her mouth, heard her breath catch in the slender column of her throat.
‘When the scent of the other person turns you on, when the idea of touching them becomes consuming, when all you want to do is pull them into your arms and kiss them.’
Her tongue snaked out to moisten the bow of her lips and his willpower snapped. Maybe he could show her what she was dismissing with such contempt.
‘A bit like now,’ he growled.
And in one movement he hitched his chair around the curve of the wooden table and cupped her jaw in his hands, expelled a sigh at the silken texture of her skin beneath his fingers. He ran his thumb over the fullness of her lower lip, saw the quiver run through her body.
As he covered her lips with his own, Joe was dimly aware that this was a bad, bad idea—but then Imogen’s taste, her scent, her warmth eradicated all vestige of thought. All he wanted was to plunder the softness of her coffee-scented lips as they parted to allow him access.
Her tongue tentatively stroked his, and as she moaned into his mouth he was lost. He tangled his fingers in her smooth glossy hair as she twined her arms around his neck; her fingers brushed his nape and desire jolted through him.
‘Closer,’ she murmured, and he slid his hands over her shoulders and down, spanned her slender waist and pulled her onto his lap.
Who knew how long they remained, lips locked, lost in sheer pleasure? Until the clink and clatter of plates, the whir of the coffee machine penetrated his brain. What the hell was he doing? Melded against someone tantamount to being an employee. Someone whose job he had the power to take. Someone who could be trying to influence him to protect not just her own job but other people’s as well.
Hell and damnation.
Pulling backwards, he broke the kiss and she gave a small mewl of protest, her eyes pools of desire clouded with confusion.
Her breathing as ragged as his, she scrambled off him and stood, one hand gripping the table for support. ‘I … I …’
Joe hauled in air and willed his pulse-rate to slow down and his brain to move into gear. Imogen did not look like a woman out to seduce him for gain; she looked as shell-shocked as he felt. Surely that couldn’t be simulated?
Regardless … ‘That was a mistake,’ he said flatly.
Yet she looked so damn desirable still, with her hair dishevelled, her lips swollen from his kiss, that it took all his willpower to remain seated.
Chill, Joe. It was a kiss. One kiss. Even if it had been the kiss of all kisses it was not a deal-breaker. ‘Never Mix Business with Pleasure’ was still Rule Number One.
Yes, he’d erred; he’d let the line between professional and personal fuzz. Given Imogen a few hours to live the dream, agreed to visit a sex shop, shared laughter, discussed sex. Time to redraw that line in permanent marker. Of the fluorescent kind.
‘A mistake that we need to put behind us.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We’ve got a couple of hours. Let’s put them to good use and visit some places that will impress Richard Harvey.’ As opposed to a sex shop.
Imogen nodded, tugged the edges of her jacket together and smoothed down her trousers, visibly pulling herself together. ‘I think we should find the fabric shop, visit the cemetery and go to the Sacré Coeur.’
‘Done.’
Imogen walked up and up and up the calf-wrenching steps towards the top of the glorious domed cathedral. She welcomed the pain—welcomed even more the legitimate reason for her heart to pound against her ribcage.
