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Her fingers stilled, her head coming up as her eyes narrowed. ‘It was your idea to bring in Belinda.’
Joe shook his head. ‘I acknowledged that Richard was asking you to take on a lot and said I was thinking about bringing Belinda in. I haven’t made a decision.’
‘Oh.’
‘So, do you think you can pull this off?’
She hesitated, her features creased into worried lines as she manoeuvred the crumbs into a line. ‘It’s just such a big responsibility. What if I let you down?’
Watching the play of light over her features, he was gripped by the urge to reassure her, to tell her that of course she wouldn’t, to reach out and cup the delicate curve of her jaw.
Instead, ‘There are no guarantees, Imogen. It’s the risk you take. For what it’s worth, I think you have a better shot at it than Belinda.’
‘You do? You think I can pull this off?’
‘Yes.’
‘For real?’
‘For real.’
Her face lit up and her lips curved in a genuine smile that constricted his lungs.
‘I’ve seen your work and I’ve seen your rapport with Richard. I think that’s key. So, yes, I think you can do it. But if you feel more comfortable calling in Belinda that’s fine too.’
With a swoop of her hand she swept the crumbs into a small pile and nodded. ‘I’ll do it. And I’ll give it my very best shot. I promise.’
Joe lifted his glass as relief trickled over him—they were back in business. His gut told him that using Imogen was the right decision.
‘It’s a plan,’ he said.
‘Thank you …’
Leaning forward, she placed a hand on his forearm, her touch sparking awareness. A citrus burst of shampoo, a tendril of black hair tickled his nose as she placed her lips in a fleeting caress against his cheek.
‘For believing in me.’
CHAPTER SIX
BIG MISTAKE. FROM the second she slanted her body so close to his Imogen knew she might as well be juggling dynamite. His toned forearm tensed under her fingers and as her lips brushed the six o’clock stubble of his jaw need shivered through her.
The sensible thing to do would be to pull away, but the urge to nuzzle his skin, to take the opportunity to inhale that Joe scent, was nigh on overwhelming. Adrenalin swept through her tummy in a wave—this man wanted her as much as she wanted him, he believed in her, and he was so damn close that suddenly it seemed mad to fight this attraction. In this second she couldn’t even remember why they were.
His body stilled, and then with a murmured curse he pulled back. ‘Jeez, Imo. You are messing with my head.’ He shoved his hands through his hair and nodded towards the centre of the restaurant. ‘We’re in public—in Richard Harvey’s favourite restaurant. When Richard asks Marcel how we enjoyed our meal I’d like Marcel not to say we spent it in a clinch.’
Heat flushed her cheeks as she tried to quell the elation. She was messing with his head—who would have thought it? But …
‘You’re more than right. Here isn’t the place. But—’ She broke off as Marcel approached the table with a genial smile.
‘Here we have a selection of dishes. The amuse-bouches. Lemon, nuts, grapefruit and celery in a potato net. Haddock soufflé. And tuna in squid ink. Along with the best baguette in Paris.’
‘It looks fabulous, Marcel. Merci.’ Her words were spoken on automatic. Not even the scrumptious aroma that wafted up from the plate could distract her from the buzz her body radiated, the tingle of her lips where she’d brushed his cheek.
Once Marcel had gone, she met Joe’s gaze.
‘We have a problem,’ he said. ‘So I suggest we have a look round this apartment and then book separate rooms—preferably on separate floors—in a local hotel.’
‘What about Richard? Staying there is part of his plan.’
