Scandal In The Spotlight. Kimberly Lang
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GOING anywhere, however, when her bones had melted and her body had turned to one great quivering mass of need, was easier said than done, and by the time they reached the huge glass-and-steel building that housed Jack’s flat, Imogen was a mess.
After discarding the idea of booking a room at the hotel as way too risky and her house as way too far, they’d walked the five hundred metres or so to his. And even that had been agony.
She was so hot and itchy with desire, so dazed by the knowledge her fantasies were about to become reality that she didn’t think she could stand it, and if it hadn’t been for the threat of a lurking photographer she’d have given in to temptation, dragged Jack into a shadowy doorway and begged him to take her right then and there.
Jack, however, didn’t seem to be having nearly such a problem with self-control. He might have kissed her as if his life depended on it back in that conservatory, and he might want her equally badly, but he clearly wasn’t reduced to watery knees and dissolving bones by the experience.
While she’d been tottering around, swooning and losing her breath all over the place, there’d been nothing trembly or quivery about the way he’d marched her here. Nothing clumsy about his steps as he strode across the marble floor towards the lift. And nothing shaky about his fingers as they punched a series of numbers into the keypad.
Jack was eerily calm, as if he was used to doing this kind of thing all the time. Which he might well be, Imogen realised with a pang of envy that she quickly squashed. But so what if he was? It wasn’t as if she wanted him for ever. She just wanted one night of guaranteed great sex. Maybe two. Starting, with any luck, right now, because, as he’d pointed out earlier, their business needed finishing and what with the desire zooming around inside her she was more than ready to help.
The doors to the lift swished open and Imogen brushed past him, stepped in and leaned against one mirrored side. She gripped the rail in order to prevent herself from slithering to the floor and shivered as he stepped in after her and instantly took up more than his fair share of air.
The minute the doors closed behind him, the air that was left turned electric, heavy and hot. Jack leaned against the opposite side of the lift and stared at her, his eyes dark and intense, his face tight with desire, and Imogen trembled. A muscle pounded in his jaw, and as he curled his fingers around the rail she saw that his knuckles were white and she couldn’t help thinking that perhaps he wasn’t as cool as she’d thought.
‘Come here,’ he said hoarsely.
Hmm. Definitely not cool. She gripped harder on the rail, her heart hammering so wildly she thought it might be about to break free. ‘What if someone else wants to get in?’
‘Private lift. It stops at my floor only.’
‘Convenient.’
‘For getting to the penthouse, extremely.’
‘And for seducing unsuspecting innocents?’
His jaw clenched with tightly controlled effort. ‘Are you the unsuspecting innocent in this scenario?’
‘Could be,’ she said, although in reality she was neither unsuspecting nor innocent.
‘And I’m the seducer?’
‘So I’ve heard.’ She paused, then added with a slow smile, ‘So I’m hoping.’
‘Then why do I suddenly get the feeling that the roles are reversed?’ he said, tilting his head and staring at her as if he wanted to look into her soul.
At the suddenly serious expression on his face, Imogen’s heart skipped a beat and her mouth went dry. He had to be joking. Had to be. Because he couldn’t possibly think he was in any danger from her, could he? That was ridiculous. This was the legendary Jack Taylor. The man who left a trail of broken hearts wherever he went while his own remained completely untouched.
Of course he was joking, she told herself, because while she didn’t mind the idea of being the seducer at all, there was no way he was an unsuspecting innocent. Which was a good thing because the last thing she wanted was for either of them to be unsuspecting or innocent about this. This was simply about sex. Hot passionate sex.
And speaking of which …
‘I can’t imagine,’ she said, her pulse racing and her blood roaring in her ears as she let desire take over and gave him her most smouldering smile. ‘But if you feel like that,’ she added, sliding the zip at the side of her dress down and feeling the silk slither over her skin to fall in a black shimmering pool on the floor, ‘then you come here.’
How on earth had he ever thought Imogen was nothing more than a vacuous frothy socialite? Jack wondered, utterly stunned by the sight of her. She was gorgeous. Intriguing. Wholly unpredictable. And total dynamite.
And how had he ever thought that not seeing her again was a good idea? He must have been out of his tiny little mind. Because right now, with the four mirrored walls of the lift giving him every view of her he could possibly want, Jack thought he’d never seen anything so magnificent.
She was standing there wearing nothing but the strapless bra that barely contained her breasts, the tiniest excuse for knickers he’d ever come across, those black sky-high heels and a seductive smile, and he was about to collapse with need.
So much for fooling himself he was in some sort of control over this, that he was somehow in charge. For a while he’d actually thought he had it nailed. After all, it might have taken a Herculean effort, but he’d done a pretty good job of holding it together on the way here.
Now, however, with all that soft creamy skin encased in black lacy underwear on display and with Imogen smouldering at him, he was so riddled with desire and so wary of what might happen when his control snapped he didn’t dare move.
With an impatient little sigh, she arched an eyebrow and cocked a hip, and his vision blurred. ‘Well?’ she said softly.
What the hell? Who cared who was in charge anyway? This had been going on way too long and he’d had enough.
‘In agony, actually,’ he muttered, prising his fingers off the rail, lunging forwards to close the distance between them and slamming his mouth down on hers.
Oh, thank God for that, thought Imogen, closing her eyes and winding her arms round his neck as she kissed him back as hungrily as he was kissing her. For a moment she thought he’d been about to pass out and she’d had the stomach-curdling feeling that he’d been horrified by what she’d done and, even worse, by what he’d seen.
But to her relief and delight that didn’t seem to be the case. Not judging by the hot insistence of his mouth and the rock-hard length of his erection pressing against her pelvis.
His hands spanned her waist, holding her tight against him as his tongue and lips ravaged hers. Her ears popped and she wasn’t sure if it was from the lift zooming them up to the penthouse or the effect of his kiss. Either way her mind was being well and truly blown.
As Jack slid his hands round to her back, down over her bottom and pulled her hips even tighter to his Imogen writhed against him, rubbing herself up and down his hardness in a desperate attempt to assuage the ache that was throbbing between her legs.
The sound of the lift door swishing open dimly penetrated the fog of desire in her head and she felt his hands slip lower, curving round her upper thighs. He pressed her back against the wall of the lift for support and, pulling her legs up, wrapped them around his waist. Breaking off the kiss and breathing heavily, he took her weight and turned.
Imogen could feel the thundering of his heart against her chest and it made every muscle quiver, every nerve ending sizzle. As he carried her out of the lift she caught a glimpse of the image of the two of them so intimately entwined, Jack fully clothed, herself practically naked, reflected a thousand times over, and it turned her on even more.
And then he was striding with her across the hardwood floor of the apartment, making a beeline for