Scandal In The Spotlight. Kimberly Lang
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abdomen, down to the centre of her.
She moaned low in her throat when he slid his fingers into her, and she ground her bottom into his pelvis. He heard her breathing shallow. Felt her shake. And unable to take the burning pressure growing inside him any longer, he backed up a little, bent her forwards, and, gripping her hips, drove into her.
‘So, any excitements while I was gone?’ asked Jack, quite a while later.
Imogen watched him move around the kitchen, switching on the kettle and rummaging around in a cupboard for the coffee grounds with impressive efficiency, and frowned as she contemplated his question.
Any excitements other than the fact that at some point during the ten minutes he’d been out she’d clearly lost her mind? Because that surely was the only explanation for her complete inability to resist him.
There she’d been, in that shower, determinedly not thinking about what Jack might be up to later and telling herself she’d be calling a taxi the instant he returned with her stole, when he’d materialised behind her.
Seconds later she’d been lost. With the feel of his hard body enveloping her, his voice reaching right down inside her and winding round her nerves, and the erection hot and hard and pressing into her bottom, she’d folded like a pyramid of cards in a breath of wind.
And now look where she was. Perched on a bar stool in his kitchen and leaning against the counter, wearing nothing but one of his shirts and her knickers, her stomach rumbling at the prospect of breakfast.
Which so hadn’t been the plan.
Wishing her resistance were stronger, Imogen stifled a sigh. ‘You had a phone call.’
Jack glanced up from the cafetiere into which he was spooning coffee. ‘Who from?’
‘How should I know?’ she said, shrugging deliberately carelessly, then dragging her gaze from his and taking an avid interest in the granite surface of the breakfast bar. ‘They left a message, but I didn’t listen.’
‘How very admirable of you.’
The amusement in his voice told her he didn’t believe her for a second, but that was fine because that was her stand and she was sticking to it. ‘It didn’t seem polite.’
‘Of course it didn’t,’ he murmured, brushing past her to press the red button flashing on the base of the telephone that sat in the corner of the kitchen.
As Emily’s voice rang through the flat again, and all the scenarios she’d tried not to envisage came rushing back, Imogen forgot herself and winced. It sounded even worse the second time round, she thought, frowning and biting her lip.
‘Didn’t hear it, huh?’
She jerked her gaze to Jack’s, and to her mortification the blush that she’d been battling back broke free and flooded into her face. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘Well, that’s good,’ he said, coming back and pouring boiling water into the cafetiere, ‘because if I’d heard that message, I’d have jumped to some pretty spectacular conclusions.’
Imogen swallowed and felt her cheeks burn even more fiercely. ‘I’m sure you would, what with your imagination.’
Jack glanced at her and grinned. ‘I guess I’d be thinking threesomes. Foursomes even. Possibly an orgy or two.’
‘That would be that dirty mind of yours,’ she said primly, silently cursing her transparency. ‘My pure and innocent one would never have come up with anything so …’ She trailed off as she racked her brains for a word that wouldn’t inflame her already burning body any further.
‘Carnal?’
‘Complicated.’
His hand stilled mid-plunge, and his eyes gleamed and darkened in a way that made her think he was remembering last night. ‘As I think we’ve established,’ he said softly, ‘there’s nothing pure and innocent about you.’
‘You’ve corrupted me.’
‘No more than you’ve corrupted me.’ He reached for a couple of cups and then took a jug from the fridge. ‘Milk?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Anyway,’ he said, pouring coffee into the cups and adding milk to one, ‘I’m sure you’re not interested in the slightest but those conclusions—the ones you didn’t come to—would be wrong.’
‘Would they?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Why?’
Jack pushed the cup across the counter towards her and grinned. ‘I’ve never been good at sharing. I’m far too selfish.’
Imogen’s eyes widened. Selfish? Jack? No doubt he had flaws—who didn’t?—but after the attention he’d lavished on her last night, she didn’t think selfishness was one of them.
‘Something to do with being an only child I should think,’ he was saying, ‘but whatever the reason, more than one woman at a time has never appealed.’ He flashed her a lethally sexy smile. ‘And if there were two like you I doubt I’d survive.’
‘Then what are you doing tonight?’
Oh, no, thought Imogen, immediately clamping her lips together although it was far too late. That had just blown her protestations of innocence to smithereens, hadn’t it? And what the hell had happened to her supposed lack of interest in what he got up to?
Jack grinned triumphantly and pounced as she’d known he would the second the words had left her mouth. ‘Aha! I knew it.’
Inwardly fuming at the piteous nature of her will power, Imogen scowled. ‘Has anyone ever told you you can be unbelievably smug at times?’
Jack’s eyebrows rose. ‘Smug?’ he said. ‘Well, let me see …’ He frowned and tapped his fingers against his mouth as he pretended to consider. ‘I’ve been called arrogant, presumptuous, cold, callous and emotionally bankrupt, but smug?’ He paused and glanced up at the ceiling as if racking his brains, then gave his head a quick shake. ‘Nope, that’s one I haven’t heard before.’
As the memory of the insults she’d thrown at him flew into her head Imogen felt her blush turn to one of shame. How had she ever thought him all that? He was turning out to be so different from what she’d initially imagined. So much more. Yes, he was gorgeous and sexy, but he was also funny, thoughtful and surprisingly gallant.
She blinked and put a stop to her analysis of his considerable attributes because thinking of Jack as anything other than the guarantor of great sex was pointless on a dozen different levels.
‘So?’ she asked, sitting up and resolutely hauling herself back on the conversation.
‘I’m babysitting.’
Babysitting?
Imogen’s jaw dropped as she stared at him and she nearly fell off the stool. It was a good thing she’d just put her cup down otherwise there’d be shards of porcelain and coffee all over the floor. ‘Babysitting?’ she echoed.
‘That’s right.’
‘You?’
‘Me.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Totally.’ He paused, then tilted his head as he gauged her reaction. ‘You know,’ he added mildly, ‘your astonishment isn’t exactly flattering.’
Imogen pulled herself together and flashed him a quick smile. ‘Sorry, but I’m finding it a little difficult to get my head round the idea.’ Then she frowned as a disturbing thought crossed her mind. ‘Whose baby is it?’
‘Not mine, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘It wasn’t,’ she said with a speed that she suspected