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‘Spiel? It wasn’t a spiel. I told you the truth.’ Which hadn’t exactly been a picnic for him.
‘Hah! I just had the dubious pleasure of witnessing “the truth”.’
Frustration mixed with bewilderment and he expelled a sigh. ‘Imogen. If I wanted to get involved with Katrina why would I have brought you to the wedding at all?’
‘Maybe you hadn’t realised how attractive Katrina would be. Maybe you’re regretting bringing me.’ Imogen’s blue-grey eyes narrowed and she clicked her fingers. ‘Or maybe this is all a ploy to make Leila jealous. What are you hoping for, Joe? That she’ll realise that she still loves you?’
For a second sheer disbelief froze him to the spot. Then … ‘Enough!’
Propelled by sheer anger, Joe stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.
‘Stop it!’ Slamming her palms on his chest, she leant back against his hold. ‘No need to kiss me. Leila already believes we are an item.’
‘Never mind that,’ he growled. ‘I’m going to show you what a real kiss is—and then you can understand that I was not kissing Katrina.’
The idea that she really believed he was such a bastard made his blood simmer in his veins and he sealed her mouth in one harsh swoop. He revelled in the lushness of her lips, the taste of mint and strawberry. Her body stilled and then she tangled her fingers in his hair. The angry stroke of her tongue against his sent a shudder through him and he pulled her tight against him, so she could feel his body’s instant savage reaction.
OK. Stop now, Joe. Whilst you can. Point made.
Breaking the kiss, he stared down at her as their ragged breaths mingled in the evening breeze. ‘That’s a real kiss,’ he rasped. ‘Do you really believe I’d bring you here as my guest and then go off with someone else? Really?’
Her slim shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘Why wouldn’t you? If it was a tactic in your strategy to win Leila back, I’m sure you are more than ruthless enough to do just that.’
‘What strategy? I do not want to win Leila back. Even if I did I’m not a complete bastard. I have too much respect for you to treat you as a pawn. I am at this wedding for all the reasons I told you. I have no interest in Katrina. I am not Steve. You are not second-best. It’s your call whether you believe me or not.’
Before she could answer he saw Luis, wending his way through the tables towards them. ‘Ah, here you are,’ he said with a smile. ‘Leila sent me to find you. She’d like a chat with Imogen.’
Joe bit back the urge to tell Luis to tell Leila to take a hike; he and Imogen were in the midst of an important conversation. It mattered to him that Imogen believed him.
Imogen, on the other hand, practically leapt towards Luis, clearly relieved to be let off the conversational hook. ‘Of course. I’ll come straight away.’ As Luis started to thread his way through the crowds she turned and murmured, ‘Don’t worry, Joe. I’ll stick to my part of the bargain. Whatever your motivations for wanting me to.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘ALONG HERE,’ LUIS said, and led Imogen away from the thronged deck, where people shimmied and twisted to the beat of the music. Imogen followed on automatic, still processing what had just happened with Joe; trying to work out what to believe.
Instinct bade her to accept Joe’s version of events, but her instincts were hardly the most reliable—she’d trusted Steve implicitly and that hadn’t exactly ended well. Worse, it could be that her instincts had been skewed by that kiss, her brain deceived by a heady cloud of lust. Her lips—hell, her whole body—still buzzed from the aftershock.
The noise from the deck faded as she followed Luis down some stairs and into a private corridor. Come on, Imogen—get prepared. She’d told Joe she’d still play her allocated role—convince Leila that she was Joe’s muchloved girlfriend.
Her brain whirled. Did Joe have a point? Why would he have kissed Katrina if he wanted this charade to play out? Because he wanted Leila to realise that he wasn’t really in love with Imogen and that he was available? Her temples ached as she tried to work it out.
Luis pushed a door open. ‘In here.’
For a mad moment Imogen expected him to announce her, but instead he simply flashed a smile and withdrew. Still, the feeling of being a subject granted an audience, or in this case summoned, persisted.
The spacious conference room was dominated by a sleek oval cherrywood table, with Leila enthroned at one end on an ornate chair. She’d removed her veil, and also the train of her dress, so that now she was encased in a lace concoction that hit mid-thigh and moulded her model figure to perfection.
Suddenly the tangerine Bohemian look seemed a fashion disaster—maybe the black diamanté evening dress would have been better. She shook her head—why was she even thinking about this now? Maybe it was the slightly patronising I-am-more-beautiful-than-you-can-ever-be-and-we-both-know-it look in Leila’s green eyes. Shades of Simone’s cornflower-blue orbs, with their I-am-moreexciting-alluring-and-interesting-than-you-and-Steve-hasalways-loved-me expression.
‘Imogen. Thank you for seeing me in private.’
‘No problem.’ Choking back a sudden surge of hollow laughter, she tried to smile as she sat down.
‘Howard and I are leaving tonight, and before I go I need to make sure Joe is in good hands.’
‘Right. I see.’ Or rather … ‘Well, actually—no, I don’t. Joe’s happiness is not your responsibility.’ Unless, of course, Joe’s strategy was working and Leila was having second thoughts.
The blonde woman settled back on the chair and shook her head. ‘You see, that’s where you’re wrong. I dashed Joe’s hopes to the ground years ago—spurned his love—so I do feel that his happiness is very much my responsibility. He loved me so much. I was his world and then I rejected him.’
