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That made perfect sense too—he’d had his twenties turned upside down, been emotionally and fiscally responsible for two grieving young girls. Of course he would avoid further commitment like the avian flu. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder if he had been more affected than he realised by Leila.
‘Anyway … What’s your decision? Three days in the Algarve at the wedding of the year? Surrounded by sunshine and the rich and famous? Showing Steve and Simone and the world that Steve is a dim and distant memory?’
When in doubt, eat pizza.
As she chewed Imogen tried to think. Every sensible bone in her body told her to scream aargghhh and run the hell away. But she couldn’t—she wasn’t made that way. Joe might be a ruthless corporate machine, but it turned out he was a human being too. A man who had undergone tragedy and stepped up to the plate to take on a responsibility beyond his years. Her heart ached for him—for the loss of his parents and all the attendant consequences.
Plus, for reasons she couldn’t fully fathom, the thought of abandoning him to the wedding—the thought of him being pursued by a line-up of women on the catch for him—had her teeth on edge. There was also the consideration that this wedding would garner publicity, and she’d be less than human if she didn’t want to cock a snook at all the people pitying her for Steve’s defection.
So what was holding her back, really? Fear that she’d rip all his clothes off? That wouldn’t happen. She’d learnt her lesson in Paris—realised that lust truly was dangerous and that all her theories were bang on the nail.
Joe didn’t tick any boxes on her tick-list and as such he was off-limits.
‘I’ll do it,’ she said.
His lips curved up into a smile that creased his eyes and flipped her tummy.
‘Provided we have separate rooms.’ No need to test her resolve too much.
‘Separate beds. Apparently I have been allocated a twin room in a villa. Leila and Howard are paying for everything for all their guests. I think separate rooms would defeat the purpose of the whole charade.’
‘Fair point.’
Joe reached for his tablet. ‘I’ll email Leila. Explain that I met you recently and it was love at first sight. We spend three days making sure she believes we’ve fallen for each other. She swans off into the sunset with full closure achieved.’
It all sounded so simple, and yet a faint flicker of foreboding ignited inside her.
‘This calls for a celebration,’ Joe stated, and strode across the boardroom to the fridge. ‘I bought a few bottles of champagne so the office could celebrate if we won the proposal. I think a toast is in order right now.’
Minutes later he handed her a glass of sparkling amber liquid and clinked his glass against hers. Only then did she realise the sheer error of letting herself get so close.
His sculpted chest was just millimetres from her fingers. His warm scent ignited a deep yearning. Images strobed in her brain. Paris. Champagne. Naked Joe. Naked Imogen.
His eyes darkened, his powerful chest rose and fell, and she wondered if his heart was pounding as hard as hers. Then his jaw clenched as he stepped backwards and raised his glass.
‘To the Harvey project,’ he said. ‘And to the Algarve.’
CHAPTER TEN
IMOGEN STARED OUT of the window of the aeroplane and tried to relax. Before her muscles cramped from the strain of keeping the maximum distance from Joe. Why couldn’t she focus on the glorious blue of the sky and the wisps of cotton wool cloud? As opposed to the glory of the toned body scant millimetres from her own and the wisps of ten days’ worth of dreams that clouded her brain.
Ten days during which she had managed to avoid him at Langley—relieved that he had held a lot of meetings off site, relieved that he’d spent a lot time closeted with Peter and Harry, walking them through the changes he’d made.
Maybe this hadn’t been the world’s best idea after all. Mel thought she’d lost the plot and her marbles, but Imogen had assured her she was in no danger. The irony wasn’t lost on her that she had been sucked into helping another man with his ex-girlfriend issues. But Joe wasn’t Steve and the situation was different. Imogen wasn’t interested in Joe—he had no long-term relationship potential and she certainly didn’t trust this damned attraction that had her practically squirming in her seat.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Peter tells me that the Paris apartment is going well?’
‘Yup.’ This would be the other reason why she’d been avoiding Joe. ‘Gosh. Look at that cloud. It looks a bit like a dragon, don’t you think?’
‘Nope.’ He turned his torso so that he faced her and didn’t so much as glance out of the window. ‘He also said that despite my interim report recommending that you work on the project you’ve refused.’
‘That’s right.’ Realising she’d folded her arms across her chest, she pushed down the absurd defensiveness and met his gaze full-on. ‘There’s no need. Peter is so excited by Richard’s apartment he’s back on form, and he and Belinda are working flat-out. Harry is back part-time and keeping an iron fist on finance, just as your report stated. Plus, there’s been an awful lot of admin work to do—especially with all the new procedures you’ve recommended. So I appreciate your suggestion but I’ve decided that isn’t the way forward for me. From now on I’m a PA and nothing more.’
An ominous frown creased his brow. ‘Why?’
‘Because …’
Because her time with Joe had terrified her on all sorts of levels and she’d run screaming back into her comfort zone and barricaded all the doors.
