Scandal In The Spotlight: The Couple Behind the Headlines / Redemption of a Hollywood Starlet / The Price of Fame. Kimberly Lang
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bristled and told herself that staring at the wedge of flesh now exposed at the base of his neck wasn’t going to achieve anything. ‘And you ought to know that I don’t use the term lightly. I had a stalker a few years ago and he ended up in jail.’ The memory of the man who for six long months had followed her, sent her horrible emails and repeatedly ignored the restraining order imposed on him flashed into her head and she shuddered.
He shot her a quick glance and the odd look in his eye made her pulse leap. ‘A stalker?’
‘A stalker.’
‘I guess that would explain your elbow in my stomach.’
‘Would it?’ she replied sweetly. Whatever that look had been it had better not have been pity. ‘Maybe I just don’t like you.’
He smiled. ‘Yes, you do. You might not want to, but you do.’ And then his expression turned serious. ‘I’m sorry if I scared you.’
She frowned and decided that getting into a no-I-don’t-yes-you-do kind of tussle about whether she liked him or not, which she didn’t of course, wasn’t going to get her anywhere. ‘You didn’t. You startled me. There’s a difference.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do.’
‘As a matter of interest, where are you going?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘Now, now, darling,’ he said with a grin. ‘You’re not being very friendly.’
‘You’ve practically hijacked my taxi. I’m not feeling very friendly.’
Although to be honest she wasn’t quite sure what she was feeling. Edgy, definitely. Skin-pricklingly aware of every inch of him as he sat back and ran his hands through his hair. All weirdly quivery, too.
Those ‘darlings’ had her wondering what it would be like to have him say them and mean them. They had her imagining him saying them in a whole load of other scenarios, all of which involved her naked and in his arms.
How on earth did he do it? she wondered dazedly. Yes, he was extraordinarily good-looking and his body was something else, but she’d met loads of handsome well-packaged men over the years and none of them had made her go fluttery and molten and teenagery like this.
All she wanted to do was clamber onto his lap, yank up his shirt and get her hands on him. While planting her mouth on his and kissing him as if her life depended on it. In fact it was taking every ounce of self-control she possessed not to slide across the leather and do precisely that.
Even more confusing was how she could react to him like this when she knew who he was and what he was really like. It was perverse.
But perhaps that was what chemistry was, she reflected, surreptitiously letting her eyes drift over him and almost scientifically noting her body’s inevitable response. A searing attraction that had no regard for logic or reason or circumstance.
Well, that was fine, she told herself, sliding her gaze down over the powerful muscles of his thighs, remembering the feel of those muscles tensing beneath her hand and wishing she could just switch herself off. She might be as attracted to him as an iron filing to a magnet, but she was simply going to have to defy the laws of physics and resist. It was a question of control. That was all.
‘If you’re not feeling very friendly, why are you eyeing me up?’
Jack’s voice jerked her out of her musings and Imogen felt her face blush a bright red. Thank goodness it was dark inside the taxi, she thought, and leaned forwards to lower the window a little. ‘No particular reason,’ she said and hoped she wouldn’t be struck down for the whopping lie. ‘I’m simply trying to work out what I’m—’ She stopped. Hmm. On reflection, ‘up against’, which was what she’d been about to say, didn’t seem all that prudent. ‘I’m simply trying to assess an adversary,’ she said instead.
Jack’s eyebrows rose. ‘You see this as a battle?’
Only an internal one, she thought darkly, pulling herself together and crossing her arms as if that might provide some kind of defence against his impact. And one she had to take control of. Now. Before the conversation headed down an avenue that led who knew where? ‘What do you want, Jack?’
‘What do you think I want?’
‘I have no idea,’ she said, lying for the second time in minutes.
‘I’d like an explanation.’
‘Oh? What for?’ As if she didn’t know.
‘All I did was ask you out for dinner.’
‘Really?’ she said, arching an eyebrow as she mentally revisited their conversation at the gallery. ‘It seemed to me like you were asking for a whole lot more than just dinner.’
‘Yes, well, it seemed to me that a whole lot more than just dinner was on offer.’
Imogen let out a gasp and her jaw nearly hit the floor. For a second she just gaped at him, her mind reeling. ‘My God,’ she breathed, ‘you really are incredible.’
‘Now why doesn’t that sound like a compliment?’
‘Because it isn’t,’ she all but snapped, feeling her temper beginning to stir as much at her own hopelessness as his outrageousness, and banking it down.
Jack shook his head in mock exasperation. ‘Imogen, Imogen, Imogen, what is your problem?’
She wished he wouldn’t say her name like that. She’d never thought of it as a particularly sexy name, but on his lips it sounded like every wicked thought she’d ever had. ‘I don’t have a problem.’ Although actually, she did. Because the way she was actually enjoying this whole conversation was just plain odd. ‘Is it really so hard to believe that I just don’t want to have dinner—or anything else—with you?’
He stared at her for a while, his expression utterly unfathomable, and then to her consternation a smile curved his mouth and his eyes took on a dangerous gleam. Achingly slowly, he began to run his gaze over her. Lingering on her face, then moving down, drifting over her breasts, her waist, her hips and her legs, right down to her toes.
Her body tingled, fizzed beneath the smouldering gaze, and the beat of something hot and achy thudded deep inside her. Helpless to do anything to stop him, Imogen watched him look, her heart pounding. As his gaze roamed back up her in the same languid way, flames of desire licked at her stomach and her bones melted. If it hadn’t been for the wool of her dress rubbing over her sensitised skin, she’d have thought he’d just stripped her naked and then set her on fire.
‘Frankly, yes,’ he murmured, and she bristled because the realisation that not even several layers of winter clothing could disguise the reaction of her body was frustrating in the extreme.
‘Well, believe it,’ she said sharply.
He gave her a knowing smile. ‘You might not want dinner, but you definitely want me.’
Imogen blinked as his words hit her brain and she yanked herself out of the rapidly unravelling sensual web he’d woven around her.
There it was again, she thought, giving herself a mental slap. The rock-solid conviction of a man who thought he knew everything about everything. Including her. And, quite suddenly, instead of wanting to scoot across the leather and snuggle up to him, she wanted to smack him across the head.
‘In your dreams,’ she said, jutting her chin up to add strength to her words. But all that did was jerk his gaze down to her mouth, which instantly tingled.
‘You know I could prove you wrong, don’t you?’ he murmured.
‘You could try,’ she said, arching a challenging eyebrow. She did not want to know what his mouth would feel like on hers. Definitely not. She’d focus on the button beneath that wedge of chest instead. ‘But I wouldn’t