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So … no regrets. Instead it was time to haul herself out of bed and start to concentrate on work.
Entering the bathroom, she did her very best to look at it with the eye of an interior designer.
But how could she when her skin tingled as it relived the memory of leaning back against those glittering mirrored tiles, water jetting down, Joe soaping her, his muscles under her fingers smooth, hard, delectable as she returned the favour. The memory made her dizzy her and she clenched her hands around the cool edge of the sink.
Come on.
Lists. That was the way forward. As she showered she focused on the minutiae of the bathroom. Mirrored tiles, wet room, scented candles, exotic shampoos.
Shower over, she tugged her hair into a ponytail, pulled on the simple jeans and striped T-shirt she’d purchased the day before and pushed the bedroom door open.
This was fifty shades of awkward—and her nerves tautened as she approached the kitchen. The aroma of strong coffee tickled her nostrils as she entered and walked across the marble floor to the open French doors.
She put one hand to the side of the door for balance as she took in the scene.
Joe sat at a circular wrought-iron table—damp from the shower, hair spiked up, jeans and navy T sculpting the toned strength of a body she knew by heart. There was a cup of coffee in front of him, his laptop was up and running, his phone was to his ear. So gorgeous … The temptation to grab him by the hand and drag him back to the bedroom had her tightening her grip on the doorjamb.
Moving on. Maybe she should concentrate on the exotic plants that hid the patio from the street, on the hum of traffic, the sunlight striping the verdant leaves. Anything but Joe.
He nodded as he spoke. ‘May the best man win. I’ll see you on Wednesday.’
He dropped the phone onto the table and suddenly Imogen knew she couldn’t face him just yet.
Coffee. The world would come into focus with the help of caffeine.
Hurriedly she turned and headed towards the coffee machine. She just needed a minute to regroup—breathe in, breathe out and repeat—then, coffee cup in hand, she headed outside to join him.
Joe was intent on his laptop, his conversation over, a frown creasing his forehead.
‘Morning,’ Imogen said, and foreboding weighted her stomach. Joe looked formidable—a far cry from the man she’d had a midnight picnic with in bed.
‘Good morning.’
Fighting the urge to turn and run, Imogen forced her unwilling legs forward, pulled out a chair and sat down.
What now? For the first time since they had entered the apartment Imogen wondered if she had screwed up monumentally by sleeping with Joe. ‘Um …’
His gaze was unreadable, his expression unyielding as he looked across the table at her, and Imogen felt the heat of embarrassment curdle her insides. This was not the expression she’d wanted to see.
Come on, Imo. What did you expect? The night was over and Joe was back in ruthless businessman mode—there was no reason for him to look at her with warmth.
Yet surely what they had shared last night had to mean something?
‘So how does this work?’ she blurted out. ‘This is uncharted territory for me. I don’t know the etiquette of the morning after. What usually happens?’
‘Breakfast and goodbye.’ He picked up his coffee cup. ‘Unfortunately not an option in this case.’
‘Unfortunately?’ Hurt crashed into anger and created fury.
For a second she thought she saw emotion flash across his face, and then the guard was back up, his jaw set, the outline of his mouth grim.
‘Come on, Imogen, let’s be grown-up about this. I could write a whole tick-list of my own with reasons why last night should not have happened.’ He closed his eyes and grimaced. ‘I can’t believe I said that. I meant a list—not a tick-list.’
Imogen forced herself not to flinch. She’d shared something important with him last night about her parents’ disastrous marriage and her need for a tick-list, and now he was mocking her.
‘I’d rather have a tick-list than some sort of cold, emotionless relationship avoidance criteria.’
A sigh gusted through the air as he pushed his chair back over the paved stones. ‘And this is exactly why last night was a mistake. We need to work together—not sit here trading emotional insults.’
