Книга - Hard Deal

Hard Deal
Stefanie London


A deal with the devil…But who comes out on top?Imogen Hargrove agrees to go on a date with the infamous Caleb Allbrook if he’ll dig up dirt on her sister’s cheating fiancé. After leaving her own two-timing ex, Imogen is determined to save her sister from heartbreak. Caleb might be tempting…seductively charming, even. But Imogen won’t make the same mistake twice: no more playboys!







A deal with the devil...

But who comes out on top?

Imogen Hargrove agrees to go on a date with the infamous Caleb Allbrook if he’ll dig up dirt on her sister’s cheating fiancé. After leaving her own two-timing ex, Imogen is determined to save her sister from heartbreak. Caleb might be tempting...seductively charming, even. But Imogen won’t make the same mistake twice: no more playboys!

“DARE is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!”

—Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author


USA TODAY bestselling author STEFANIE LONDON is a voracious reader who has dreamed of being an author her whole life. After sneaking several English Lit subjects into her ‘very practical’ business degree, she got a job in corporate communications. But it wasn’t long before she turned to romance fiction. Originally from Melbourne, Australia, she now lives in Toronto and spends her days writing contemporary romances with humour, heat and heart. For more information on Stefanie and her books check out her website at stefanie-london.com (http://www.stefanie-london.com) or her Facebook page at facebook.com/stefanielondonauthor (http://www.facebook.com/stefanielondonauthor).


If you liked Hard Deal check out

Stefanie London’s previous Dare

Unmasked

Or why not try

My Royal Hook-Up by Riley Pine

Sins of the Flesh by J. Margot Critch

Legal Passion by Lisa Childs

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Hard Deal

Stefanie London






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07138-3

Hard Deal

© 2018 Stefanie Little

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Taryn.

For the Skype calls and hilarious GIFs,

and for always putting a smile on my face.

Thanks for being a great friend.


Contents

Cover (#uf2c71349-6d01-5393-b6e1-5c7d70e474c6)

Back Cover Text (#u50d617d3-55e7-5ad9-a8cd-55c2c12263a0)

About the Author (#u5b3cb1e1-3227-5039-806c-b0586d1fc272)

Booklist (#ubcbb504e-7414-5429-beb9-b35a4d318f0f)

Title Page (#u54cf49c9-c7a2-51eb-bb30-6c1e709ab173)

Copyright (#u2bf2f557-0f01-5587-8d4d-5b64d05e92cc)

Dedication (#u493578a3-e6b2-5072-8e10-c7d613de2071)

CHAPTER ONE (#uea9bb9ad-4e60-54ad-a5ae-5275cd851199)

CHAPTER TWO (#ua2cd0bfe-f78f-5253-94a1-613a49935c8a)

CHAPTER THREE (#u942fded9-6b03-532c-a27c-d6c0312d2cde)

CHAPTER FOUR (#uba258329-2f47-55dd-845b-0aeebd6cec31)

CHAPTER FIVE (#uf26da277-e5c2-5fa5-a965-85f70ad35ddf)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#u27465c54-0579-5814-9782-1841e0cc096a)

AS FAR AS Imogen Hargrove was concerned, this week could take a long walk off a short pier. Or go into space and take its helmet off. If she was a potty-mouthed kind of woman, she might’ve had a few more words to employ in explaining exactly how much she’d hated this week.

But alas, she could taste the soap in her mouth before any four-letter words had the chance to form.

“Breathe,” she said to herself as she tidied her desk. “The day is almost over.”

Most days she loved her job. Being an executive assistant to the CEO of the most respected architecture and construction firm in Australia had its perks. Like getting to work with a host of amazingly talented, smart and passionate people. Not to mention the little blue box that appeared on her employment anniversary every year.

But today had been the cherry on top of a giant pain-in-the-butt sundae. Not only had she managed to spill her morning cappuccino all over herself, but then she’d missed the start of the management meeting because she’d been frantically trying to get the stain out. Which wouldn’t have been so bad, except that her arch-nemesis had swooped in and made her look disorganised by handing out the wrong agenda. Imogen was positive he’d done it on purpose. Then—like a sign from the gods that she really should have stayed in bed—her boss had demanded she shuffle his entire afternoon five minutes before he was due to present at the finance team’s quarterly town hall.

Thank God Jason had been able to step in. Imogen bit back a smile as she thought of the CEO’s son. Apart from being a total hottie, he was being groomed to take over the company. Good looking and ambitious, traits that went together like peanut butter and chocolate as far as she was concerned. Chances were she’d be working for him. Intimately. All the long hours and late nights trapped together in the office sounded like a scene straight out of one of those raunchy books her friend Lainey loved to read.

You could do with something a little raunchy in your life. You’re one bad date away from becoming a born-again virgin.

Ugh. How was it her fault the dates she’d been on recently had less snap, crackle and pop than her morning bowl of Rice Bubbles? She’d tried to be funny and interesting and cute enough for a guy to take her to bed...but either she was picking the wrong guys, or she had no idea how to be any of those things.

She brushed her hands down the grey pencil skirt that covered her knees and matched the pearls around her neck. Her friends teased her for her “limited colour palette” but Imogen knew what worked for her. Monochrome made her mornings easier. Besides, it was important to look professional. She had a feeling Jason would appreciate that about her.

“What’s got you looking so dreamy, Imogen? Wait, don’t tell me.” Caleb Allbrook sauntered into her office with a swagger that made Imogen’s thighs automatically press together. “Daydreaming about me again?”

Then there was the CEO’s other son. The one who managed to get her feminine hormones singing like an opera of canaries at full volume even though he was bad news in every sense of the word.

The guy was trouble enough for an entire Taylor Swift album.

“I can barely restrain myself,” she said drily, not even attempting to keep the disdain out of her voice. “You should leave before I throw myself at your feet. It would be best for us both.”

Caleb raised a brow. He was as handsome as his brother, without a doubt. But whereas Jason was all serious, moody glances and smooth, in-command tones, Caleb was his polar-opposite. The younger Allbrook brother was always quick with a snappy comeback, and he didn’t take anything or anyone seriously. The guy oozed so much sex appeal he should be listed as a controlled substance. He was cocky as all get-out and most women in the office swooned whenever he walked past, which only inflated his giant ego further.

“Who am I to turn down a woman in need? Should I close the door or do you want an audience?” He wrapped a hand around the doorknob and waited for her response.

It was times like this that Imogen wondered if she should start swearing, because it seemed like the perfect time to use the F-word. Preferably with either a “you” or “off” following it. “What do you want, Caleb?”

His full lips curved into a wicked grin and Imogen had to tamp down the excitement zipping through her. Dammit, when was her body going to get the memo on this one?

Caleb Allbrook is not your type. It doesn’t matter if you never have another date in your life, he’s not for you.

“A moment of your precious time, Ms. Hargrove.” He walked over to her desk and planted both palms on the smooth, wooden surface.

“Miss Hargrove.”

“Single and loving it, huh? Good for you.”

She oscillated between wanting to run her fingers through his thick, wavy hair and needing to slap him across the face with her binder. As usual. The guy was her kryptonite. In every other scenario, Imogen prided herself on her poise and level-headedness. On her ability to be the cool cucumber in a room full of ticking bombs. But around Caleb Allbrook, her brain cells packed their bags and flew on a one-way ticket to Fiji.

“Can we get to the part where you tell me what you need so I can do it and go home?” she said, huffing.

“It’s dangerous to agree before knowing what I’m going to ask.” He chuckled. “Okay, fine. Enough with the death stare. I need you to help me find the marketing materials from the fifty-year anniversary campaign.”

“Shouldn’t someone from your team be able to assist you with that?” She raised a brow. “I assume at least one of the people you hired will have the requisite technical skills to navigate our shared folder system.”

“Now, now. There’s no need to be snippy, Miss Hargrove.” He smirked. “And I need the originals, not the files.”

She groaned internally. That meant a trip to the archive room in the building’s basement. The CEO was paranoid about people having access to it. Something to do with a fire-related accident before her time that resulted in a ton of tax paperwork being lost. Never mind the fact that smoking was now prohibited in offices and that they had sprinklers and fire alarms in every section of the building. Oh, and technological advancements meant they had electronic copies of everything. Regardless, there were only three keys to the archive room in the whole company. The CEO’s, Jason’s and hers.

Caleb hadn’t made the cut.

“Does it have to be done now?” she asked, glancing at her inbox. Imogen had a rule about Friday afternoons: never leave the office with outstanding tasks on the to-do list. But today she was itching to get out of there.

An image flickered in her mind—a mask hanging from her bedroom door. The white feathers, crystals and shimmering lengths of rose-gold chain were all waiting to adorn her.

“It’ll take five minutes,” he said, motioning for her to follow him. “If it gives you any more motivation, it’s for Jason. I believe you convinced him to present to the bean counters, so he couldn’t make the request himself.”

She sighed and pushed up from her chair. “Fine, but make it quick. I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Hot date?”

Hardly. After her last few dates had ended with a “you seem like a nice person but there’s no spark” conversation, she’d started to wonder if it was worth the bother. There was only so much rejection a woman could take before getting paranoid that she had some third head only other people could see. Just once she’d like a guy to get all hot and bothered over her. Just once she’d like to be the object of someone’s desire. Was that too much to ask?

No, tonight was definitely not a date. But she wasn’t about to tell Caleb about the sorry state of her love life. Undoubtedly, he’d laugh in her face. Because as much as he joked and teased and flirted, he’d never once asked her out. Never once made an actual move.

Why do you care? It’s not like you want him to ask.

Sure. But Imogen was sick of being ignored. Unfortunately, that seemed to be her lot in life. In any case, she’d put aside worries over her own lack of love life to focus on someone else’s love life. Her sister, Penny, was getting married in ten short weeks to Daniel the Duke of Douchetown.

It was bad enough that her future brother-in-law’s stuffy old-money family had given Penny hell when they’d first gotten engaged. She’d ended up at Imogen’s place in tears on more than one occasion after they’d made her feel unworthy. But now Imogen had a sneaking suspicion that her fiancé was cheating. She’d spotted him flirting with a blonde woman at a bar when he’d lied to Penny and told her he was in Sydney for work.

So, she’d hatched a plan to catch him in the act. In disguise, of course.

* * *

Caleb bit back a smile as his father’s assistant walked alongside him, her pink lips set into a flat line. The woman always looked as though she’d sucked on a lemon. Logically, it wasn’t a visual that should turn him on but there was something about Imogen’s overly prim persona that got him all hot and bothered. And hard as a rock. Maybe it was because he suspected that beneath the boring shirt and single strand of pearls, there was a spitfire lurking.

He had a talent for seeing the reality that people tried desperately to conceal. And the fact that a woman as hot as Imogen chose to hide behind an outfit better suited to a funeral director made him curious as hell.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she said.

“I can be your SOS. Message me if he turns out to be a foot shorter than his Tinder profile advertised.” He nudged her with his elbow as they waited for the elevator. “Or if he’s a close-talker. I know you hate those.”

“Who doesn’t hate a close-talker?” Her button nose wrinkled. “When I speak with someone, I don’t want to know what they had for lunch. Let alone experience it secondhand.”

The elevator opened. It was rammed, sardine-style. All his father’s obedient minions were clocking out at five-thirty on the dot. That tended to happen when Gerald Allbrook went off-site. Apparently, there’d been some shit storm with contract negotiations for a new residential tower on Collins street. The big man had stepped in, which wasn’t a good sign.

Not that Caleb should give a shit. He wasn’t going to have a hand in this company beyond his current puff position as head of marketing. It’d been a token gesture after making Jason managing director. AKA next in line. Jason was Prince William and Caleb was the redheaded kid who’d only ever sit on the throne if everyone else kicked the bucket.

“Who’s looking daydreamy now?” Imogen said as the elevator pinged at the next floor. Two more people squeezed in.

“I’m thinking about regaining my personal space,” he quipped.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. The elevator jerked to a stop again and Imogen glanced at the sweaty-looking man standing on her other side. Her nose was unfortunately armpit-height. Her head swung to Caleb and she sighed, shuffling closer.

“Good choice,” he whispered.

“You’ll never be a good choice,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Just the lesser of two evils.”

Ouch. Imogen had never bothered to hide the fact that she—like everyone else—viewed him as a layabout who was riding on the coattails of his family name, never to achieve anything of his own. But the upside of that meant he could do whatever the hell he wanted without pressure to perform like his prize show-pony brother.

“I love it when you play hard to get.”

“I know every other female in this office seems to be under the deluded impression that you’re God’s gift to cha-chas, but I’m not blinded by a pretty face.” She folded her arms across her chest.

He leaned closer as people streamed past him to get out at the ground floor. For once he was grateful that the archive rooms were shoved way down in the basement. “Cha-chas? Really?”

“I’m supposed to take language advice from a guy who wears novelty socks?” She shook her head. “How am I supposed to take you seriously when you wear tacos on your feet?”

He pulled up the leg of his designer suit pants to reveal a bright red sock with a T. Rex print. The socks were his “thing.” Plus, they had the added benefit of pissing off his father. The old man had strict requirements for his sons’ appearances. Even on “casual days,” where the whole damn company could wear denim, Caleb and Jason were supposed to suit up like penguins. So the funky socks were his way of giving the middle finger. And frankly, they were a talking point. A conversation starter. And Caleb liked talking to people.

“You know I only wear the tacos on Taco Tuesday.” He grinned. “Besides, how does my sense of fashion have anything to do with your inability to correctly name your body parts?”

“What do you want me to call it?” She turned her nose up but some of the bravado had disappeared. The pink flush in her cheeks didn’t match the defiant expression.

“How about you use the proper term?” They were alone in the elevator now, but Caleb continued to whisper as though there were people listening. “Pussy.”

Was it his imagination or did a tremor run through her? The pink turned from a sheer tint to bright splotches on her cheeks. “That’s highly inappropriate,” she spluttered. “And the proper term is vagina, not pussy.”

She blinked, as though surprised by her own words. Caleb grinned. “Did I succeed in getting the Prim Miss Hargrove to use a naughty word?”

“You’re a bad influence,” she said as the elevator came to its final stop. The doors slid open and she marched out ahead of him, her sensible low-heeled pumps click-clacking against the polished floor.

“You say that like it’s news.” He followed her, a step behind so he could watch her hips sway as she walked.

Her skirt wasn’t exactly tight fitting, but he knew for a fact that her shapely legs extended up to a pert backside. That beneath the crisp white shirt she hid a pair of perfect, bouncy breasts. That underneath all that spit and polish, the girl had a tattoo of a diamond on the side of her rib cage. He’d seen it once, during a team-building day when they’d been at a corporate retreat. She’d had on a basic black swimsuit that kept everything covered, but when she’d fallen off her paddleboard he’d caught a glimpse of it.

And ever since he’d been on a mission to find out more about Imogen Hargrove.


CHAPTER TWO (#u27465c54-0579-5814-9782-1841e0cc096a)

IMOGEN UNLOCKED THE door to the archive room and held it open for him, making a sweeping gesture with her hand as though she were leading him into a ballroom. “Now hurry up. It’s home time.”

Caleb chuckled to himself as he started hunting for the box of archived promotional materials. “You never did answer my question.”

“Which one?”

“About whether you had a date tonight.” He pulled the lid off a box and rifled through the contents. Nope, not that one.

“Why do you care about my love life?” She leaned against a steel rack that housed row after row of identical brown boxes. The way she folded her arms under her bust made the buttons strain on her shirt. “It’s not as interesting as yours.”

“Your love life isn’t interesting because you keep turning me down.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re all talk, Caleb. You make these pithy remarks and dirty little jokes but you haven’t actually asked me out. I’m not sure I would go so far as to use the C-word, but...”

“The C-word?”

“Chicken.”

Was the Prim Miss Hargrove calling his bluff? He raised a brow. “You sure I haven’t asked you out?”

“Nope, not once. And I know you have asked out other women in the office. Tiffany from accounts. Stella from payroll.” She ticked the names off with her fingers. “Bethany from the assistant pool. She was a temp, but I’m still counting it.”

“I had no idea you were keeping track.” That pleased him greatly. “Are you aware they all said yes?”

“I am. Seems nobody turns you down.”

“Except you.”

“I haven’t turned you down.” She clicked her nails against the metal shelf behind her. “Yet.”

“Yet.”

“You’re too busy beating around the bush to ask.”

“But you would turn me down?” He rifled through another box, acutely aware that he was being watched. “And stop staring at my ass.”

“Excuse me,” she spluttered. “I am not staring at your ass.”

She totally was. He could see her in the reflection off the thick poles that stabilised the shelves. “I should have HR write you up for that.”

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about.” She threw her hands up in the air. “You’re all talk, no action. Face it, I could unbutton my shirt right now and you wouldn’t do a damn thing about it.”

Ka-ching! “Try me.”

He turned and leaned against the shelving unit, mimicking her pose. The crappy florescent lighting of the archive room did nothing to hide the delicious flush in Imogen’s cheeks. The colour spread all the way down her neck, and he imagined farther past the modest neckline of her shirt.

“It’s an expression,” she muttered.

“Now who’s all talk?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You think I’m a chicken?”

“Free range, obviously. Possibly organic.” He grinned. “Definitely one hundred percent chicken.”

She licked her lips. Stalling. “There are cameras in here.”

“So turn the light off. Dad’s big on security but he’s too tight to spring for infrared.” He waited for her to back down. “No one will know.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of the exercise?”

Exercise. Like they were talking about a bloody fire drill. “I can see with my hands.”

She sucked in a quick breath. “You’re so full of it.”

“Think that honour goes to you, Miss Hargrove.” He laughed. “You talk a big game, but the second I try to pull the trigger you’re coming up with excuse after excuse. Don’t worry. I’m disappointed but I’ll live.”

Her nostrils flared. This was how things always were between them—simultaneously wary and oh so interested. Truth was he hadn’t ever asked her out. Because he knew what the answer would be. But today she’d decided to play his game. Whatever the reason, he wasn’t going to question it.

“Ugh, I’m sick of men acting interested and then backing off the second any conversation happens.” She stalked over to the door and Caleb was sure she was about to leave. But then the light went off. “Am I really that boring?”

Holy shit. Was this happening? The sound of fabric rustling in the dark got him hard as stone in an instant. He blinked, trying to force his eyes to adjust to the dark. But the archive room was like an underground cell. Not even a crack of light slipped in from the hallway outside.

“Stay by the door,” he said. He walked around the perimeter of the room, his hands trailing along the edge of the shelves so he knew where he was. “And don’t turn that light back on.”

Silence. For a second there was nothing. Then his hands brushed something warm. Bare skin.

“Found you,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “My, my. The Prim Miss Hargrove knows how to play a game of truth or dare.”

“Just dare,” she said. He stepped closer, his hand brushing her bare skin again. The area felt flat, possibly her stomach. God, he wanted to touch all of her. “And I play to win.”

She stayed stock still as his hand travelled up. There was a curve, something hard beneath her soft skin. Rib cage. Then his fingertips brushed over something soft and textured. Lace. The swell of her breast filled his palm perfectly—firm and round. His thumb grazed over a hard nipple and his cock shifted in response.

Imogen made a soft, strangled sound and it was like an arrow of excitement straight through him. How many times had he thought about doing this with her? How many times had he wondered what her soft, curvy body would feel like under his hungry grasp? It would be so easy to back her up against the door and lift her leg over his hip.

“See,” she said, though her voice trembled as his thumb brushed her nipple again. “Told you I’m not all talk.”

Caleb opened his mouth to respond when a loud knock came down on the other side of the door. The thud was so hard it seemed to rattle the door in its hinges. “Hello? This is Jim from security. Everything okay in there? We saw the lights go out on the security monitor.”

Fuck. He hadn’t thought anyone would be watching them.

“We’re fine!” Imogen’s shrill voice made Caleb wince. Then she shoved him away from her with one hand. “Just testing some new glow-in-the-dark promo items.”

A second later the light flicked back on and Imogen was buttoned up as if their game had never taken place. She yanked the door open and gave the security guard a charming smile. “Sorry, we should have warned you. We needed to test that the items glowed properly and the rooms upstairs don’t get dark enough.”

The security guard raised a brow as though he didn’t really believe the story, but she didn’t give him a chance to ask any more questions before marching out of the room, leaving both Caleb and the security guard in her dust.

* * *

Caleb pulled into the sweeping driveway of his parents’ Albert Park mansion with his head still spinning from the incident in the archive room. He needed to put it out of his mind, though, because it was family dinner night. And that meant being on his A-game.

It looked as though Jason had already arrived, since his brother’s black BMW was parked out front. It sat next to his mother’s gunmetal Mercedes and his father’s silver Audi. God, it was like someone had done a photo shoot of the world’s most boring vehicles.

He pulled his candy-apple-red Alfa Romeo into the empty spot next to the Merc. Like most things about Caleb’s life, it didn’t fit in with the rest of his family. In his world, he wasn’t the black sheep. More like lime green with purple polka dots.

“About time,” his brother called from the front door. “I thought we’d have to start without you.”

“That would make a change. Since when am I the last to arrive?”

Caleb and his mother often jokingly made bets about who would be later to dinner—Gerald or Jason. They were two peas in a pod, unable to tear themselves away from work even with the promise of a home-cooked meal. Well, a meal cooked in their home, anyway. No one had cooked in that house but their personal chef, Luis, since they moved in a decade ago.

“I went to the finance town hall and it finished up a little early. So, I stayed for a drink and then came straight over.” His brother slapped Caleb on the back as he entered the house. “Thought it might be nice not to hold up the show, for once.”

“And Dad’s here already?” They walked through the foyer and into the open-plan dining and living room. His parents were already seated, a bottle of wine open between them.

“Yeah, the negotiations turned out fine.”

Of course they did. There weren’t many people who could face down Gerald Allbrook and come out on top. His father had intimidation down to a fine art. The only difference between him and a mob boss was that he didn’t need henchmen. Or a gun.

“What held you up?” Jason asked.

“Had to get something from the archive room.” Caleb grinned at the memory. “Since you and Dad were gone, I had to get a key from Imogen.”

“You still don’t have a key?” Jason raised a brow. “Get Imogen to cut one for you.”

The whole key issue was representative of Caleb’s relationship with his father. Gerald had made a big song and dance about only wanting three keys and it turned out the old man trusted his assistant more than his youngest son.

“All good, mate,” he said loud enough for his father to hear. “It’s never a hardship to visit Dad’s lovely assistant.”

Gerald grunted from the table. His mother jumped up and enveloped Caleb into a hug—her earrings made jingling sounds as she squeezed him tight. The familiar scent of her perfume immediately lifted his mood.

“What’s that about Imogen?” she said. “Oh, we should have invited her for dinner.”

The Allbrooks were big fans of Imogen Hargrove. There’d been some chatter among staff that when Gerald had promoted her from the general assistant pool to be his dedicated executive assistant that it’d been due to her pretty face and shiny blond hair. But that rumour was quickly dispelled when it became evident that Imogen ran a tight ship and, despite being younger than almost everyone who worked at the company, she didn’t take shit from anyone. Not even Gerald himself. A fact that endeared her to Caleb greatly.

“I’m sure she’s got friends to hang out with.” Jason shook his head and pulled two beers from the fridge. He popped the caps and handed one bottle to Caleb. “Or her own family.”

“Oh, I know. But it would be nice to see her.” She waved a hand in the air, a stack of gold bracelets clinking with the movement. Caleb smiled. His mother was like a one-woman band with all the noise she made—she was always humming or wearing something that chimed when she walked. “Maybe we’d see her more often if you asked her out on a date.”

“Not sure how Dad would feel about that.” Jason’s eyes shifted to their father, who grunted. “Good assistants don’t grow on trees.”

Caleb’s stomach revolted against the idea. It was stupid. Outside their quick grope in a darkened room, they were hardly an item. And Jason and Imogen were about as perfectly matched as two people could be. They were both driven, serious types set on conquering the world. But the moment he even thought about his brother’s hands on her, it was like Caleb’s brain went into meltdown mode. An unfamiliar roar of jealousy surged through his body, squeezing his muscles and tightening his hands into fists.

“If either of you do anything to make her leave, I’ll have your hides,” Gerald replied, his gaze drifting purposefully toward Caleb.

“What the hell did I do?” He took a swig of his beer, the taste bitter on his tongue.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what happened with Neila.” Gerald pierced him with a gloomy stare. He and Jason had the same irises—light, nearly colourless. Eyes that gave nothing away. “She was a valued member of our team until you interfered.”

And by “interfered” he meant having a relationship with the woman, one that was supposed to be meaningful until he found out that she was using him to climb the ranks at work.

The memory shot through him like a bullet. He’d come back to the office to surprise her with flowers and a fancy dinner reservation. Neila’s voice had floated down the empty office corridor, her snide tone cutting him to the bone as she told someone he was her second choice. She’d wanted Jason because he would have given her a more solid foothold within the company. But at least Caleb was a good fuck. The way she’d laughed had shredded him into a million jagged little pieces.

Rather than admit that humiliation to anyone, he’d let his family assume he’d dumped her because he’d gotten bored.

“She didn’t have to leave,” Caleb drawled as he dropped into a seat next to his mother. “That was her call.”

As usual, his mother averted her eyes. Such was her role in every family argument. That was where she differed from Caleb. She’d let his father’s domineering personality water her down over the years. The boring car out front wasn’t her style, nor was their sleek modern mansion. His mother was a free spirit who loved colour and texture and clutter. But Gerald had pressed down on her until he’d squeezed the vibrancy out, until he’d moulded her into a version of his first wife—Jason’s mother.

But Caleb wouldn’t ever let that happen to him. He’d continue to bug the shit out of his father with his flashy car and too-loud socks and his refusal to be a carbon copy of Jason.

“You know what,” he said, leaning back and taking another long pull on his beer. “Maybe I will ask Imogen out. Practice makes perfect, right? Let’s see if I can get this one to last a whole month.”

His father glared at him. “If you don’t take anything seriously, how do you expect anyone to take you seriously?”

He’d wanted that at one point—willed it to happen by working as hard as he could in everything from soccer to biology to Scouts. But nothing had ever been good enough. He’d always be tarnished with the label of “unwanted.” Unplanned. He was the son who wasn’t supposed to exist. A product of the trophy wife who’d stepped outside of the bounds of their agreement by refusing to terminate her pregnancy.

“I take myself seriously, Dad. That’s good enough for me.”

An awkward quiet settled over the table as Luis delivered the food. The clack of cutlery against porcelain echoed against the house’s high ceiling, highlighting how little they all had to say. Caleb kept his expression neutral, even as his mother patted his arm out of sight of her husband.

Show no weakness, that was his motto. People like his father would only win if they got to see how much their words stung. And no matter what happened, Caleb would rot in hell before he gave them such satisfaction.


CHAPTER THREE (#u27465c54-0579-5814-9782-1841e0cc096a)

IF IMOGEN WAS going to do something as outrageous as gate-crashing the Carmina Masquerade Ball, then she was going to make sure she’d thought of everything. Each step of her plan had been meticulously combed through. Including how she’d convinced the head of the catering company to let her and her best friend, Lainey, pose as staff members to gain entry, in exchange for putting the company on the “preferred suppliers list” at work. She’d even studied the venue, Patterson House, by taking the online virtual tour to better understand the layout of the heritage-listed estate and ensure that she and Lainey would have a place to slip out of their catering uniforms and into their ball gowns without getting caught.

This was how she’d come to be walking along a secluded path, wearing a borrowed gown with a mask covering her face.

Tonight was exactly the distraction she needed after the incident with Caleb in the archive room. Any time her mind veered in the direction of what might’ve happened if they weren’t interrupted, she’d bring her focus back to “Operation Catch a Cheater.”

Everything was in place. Her dress was dark and vampy with panels of black lace and glossy black silk, allowing glimpses of bare legs, arms and back. It was sexy with a capital S and impossibly removed from her usual style, which was exactly why she’d chosen this dress over the dozens of others that were more muted or quietly elegant.

Her jewelled mask disguised her identity by covering the top half of her face from hairline to nose, and she’d opted for a dark plummy stain on her lips. Even her nails—which she always wore bare—were painted in an inky polish that shifted from navy to onyx in the light.

The devil is in the details.

Imogen walked carefully along the path that ran the length of Patterson House, where the Carmina Ball was hosted each year. The stately old building was something that would have made her stop and stare on any other day. But this evening was a different story.

Pausing at the corner which would lead her to the courtyard, she turned to look back at her friend. Lainey’s disguise was perfect—she’d recently dyed her hair a bright flame red. That coupled with her mask made her look like a totally new person. She had her own reasons for wanting to sneak into the ball, and had begged Imogen to let her tag along. Trouble loved company, right? Or was that misery? Imogen flashed Lainey a thumbs-up and got one in return. This was it. Time to get the show on the road.

Imogen fussed with the front of her dress, checking all the areas she’d stuck down to her skin with special skin-safe adhesive tape. The last thing she wanted was to accidentally flash anyone.

In fact, despite the sexier-than-sin dress she didn’t want to stand out at all. There were two reasons for that. One, she didn’t want to talk too much and risk Daniel catching her out. Two, she didn’t technically have an invite.

Okay, so that wasn’t a technicality. She didn’t—and would likely never—receive an invite to this event. The Carmina Ball was for rich people who could afford the five grand ticket price. For people like her future brother-in-law and his family, who enjoyed attending events which excluded the average person, like Imogen and her sister.

Penny hadn’t received an invite, either, and yet Daniel was going to be here. Why? That was what she was going to find out.

The thought of catching Daniel cheating on Penny made her stomach churn. It was one of those cases where finding out she was right wouldn’t make her feel any better. But for her sister’s sake, she had to know. There was no way in hell she’d let Penny go through that experience.

Imogen cringed as the memories assaulted her—the ghosts of old feelings like shame and despair that came back to life whenever she thought of her ex.

Not now. This isn’t the time for pity.

Sucking in a breath, she walked into the courtyard with her shoulders squared and her head held high, like there was no question of her belonging.

“Relax,” she said to herself. “All you have to do is blend in with the crowd. You’re good at that.”

A group of men in tuxedos stood at the edge of the courtyard, drinking and laughing. Some had white jackets and others were dressed all in black. Their masks ranged from simple Zorro-style bands, with cutouts for the eyes, to more elaborate designs. Though none of them compared to the artistry adorning most of the female guests.

Imogen had asked Daniel if she could see his mask earlier that week—feigning curiosity about the event. He’d been only too pleased to show her the “one of a kind” gold creation that looked like it belonged in the Roman Empire. The design had a crest with two horses and some elaborate scrollwork, making it far more interesting than what most of the men were wearing. Which would also make it easy to spot in the crowd.

Imogen hovered at the double doors which opened into the ballroom. The scene was like something out of a movie—the old estate was grand and richly decorated, the people elaborately dressed. It was like being transported back in time to a royal kingdom where princes and princesses held fancy parties.

“Remember why you’re here,” she said to herself. “It’s time to catch a cheater.”

* * *

Caleb had never thought it possible for a human’s head to pop from sheer frustration, but he had a feeling he might be about to witness it.

“But he said it was one of a kind,” Daniel Godfrey spluttered.

“I assume things that are handmade are one of a kind, because they can’t be exactly replicated. But that doesn’t mean the design won’t be reused,” Jason replied. “And there are slight differences.”

“They’re basically the same.” Daniel jabbed a finger in Caleb’s direction. “From a distance, you wouldn’t even be able to tell them apart.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Caleb tilted his head, touching his fingertip to the gold mask covering his face. “I think mine’s a bit bigger.”

Jason shot him a look.

Daniel had been livid to discover that the designer who’d created his “one of a kind” masquerade mask had sold similar designs to other people attending the Carmina Ball, Caleb included. Since men’s masks tended to run on the boring side, Caleb had been immediately attracted to the outlandish style of this artist’s creations. It suited his anti-wallflower personality. But Daniel wasn’t as amused by the whole thing, since he’d banked on being the only one with such a unique design.

Which was Daniel in a nutshell. He made snowflakes look hardy.

“Look at this bit,” Jason pointed out. “The scrollwork along the edge is different as is the shape here.”

Caleb stifled a laugh. The masks were pretty much the same, and his brother was only placating his friend. Typical Jase, always trying to keep everyone happy. He had no idea why his brother chose to hang out with someone like Daniel. The guy was a spoiled brat.

“I guess it is slightly different,” Daniel conceded with a sour tone. “But I won’t be going back to that place. It’s highway robbery what they charge considering the designs aren’t exclusive. I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

Caleb turned to face the crowded ballroom as he rolled his eyes. At this rate, he’d die of boredom before anything interesting happened. The Carmina Ball was supposed to be a big deal, but Caleb had come every year since his eighteenth birthday and had yet to understand why people were foaming at the mouth to get an invite. It was nothing but a bunch of stuffy old blue bloods standing around in expensive outfits while they talked about the same shit they discussed every other day of the week. Golf, investing, who bought a bigger yacht. Yawn.

“Where’s Penny?” Jason asked.

“Oh, she decided not to come,” Daniel replied. “I was hoping to show her off but I guess that’ll have to wait for the wedding.”

Daniel Godfrey was getting married? Caleb buried his surprise by rubbing a hand over his jaw. It wasn’t the fact that he was entering into a marriage that’d shocked him, but rather the fact that someone out there was willing to put up with his droning voice and constant complaints. He had to assume that the poor woman was also unaware off the fact that he wanted to “show her off” like a bloody trophy. The more he hung around this guy the less he liked him—and there hadn’t been a lot of positive feelings to begin with.

“Have you got a photo?” Caleb asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Sure.” Daniel pulled out his phone and produced a photo of himself next to a petite woman with light brown hair. She looked vaguely familiar. Sweet face with a cute smile and bright eyes. Pretty. But no further recognition sprang to mind. “This is my darling Penny. We’re getting married in two months.”

“Congratulations.” Caleb nodded.

“Weddings are such funny occasions,” Daniel said. “We had this quite extraordinary experience with choosing our menu...”

Kill me now.

Caleb flagged down a passing waiter and swapped his empty glass for a full one. In his experience, there was only one way to get through an event like this without completely climbing the walls. Make a drinking game of it.

“They suggested the chicken for the first course,” Daniel continued. “Can you believe it? Chicken! We already had that planned for the main. There was no way we could serve the same protein in two courses.”

Outrage over the most first world issue imaginable? Check.

Caleb took a swig of his drink. “Amateurs.”

“Oh, don’t even get me started.” Daniel huffed. “Then they wanted to use gold ribbons on the chairs when we’d specifically requested silver for the centrepieces. I mean, I’m no interior designer but even I know gold and silver don’t go together.”

Humble bragging. Check.

Stifling a laugh, Caleb took another sip. At this rate, he was going to be hammered before Daniel even finished his story. “I’m surprised you haven’t taken your business elsewhere,” he said, mimicking Daniel’s words from earlier.

“I should, but Penny really wants this venue. Apparently, it has special meaning to her.” He rolled his eyes. “And you know what they say about the old ball and chain—happy wife, happy life.”

Referring to his partner as a burden. Check. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the douchebag trifecta!

Before Caleb could raise the glass to his lips again, Daniel groaned suddenly.

“Oh God, my stomach.” He clutched his midsection. “My irritable bowel syndrome always acts up when I get stressed.”

Before anyone could comment, he darted off toward the ballroom’s exit. Jason sighed. “Did you have to wind him up?”

“He missed his calling in standup. Truly, the man is a comedic genius.” Caleb stifled a laugh. “How on earth are you friends with him?”

Jason shook his head. “Don’t start.”

“Do you not see what a pompous prima donna he is?” He raised a brow at his brother. “Let me reiterate so it’s clear.” He cleared his throat and puffed out his chest. “Oh, Jason, you simply have no idea how difficult the wedding folks are. The silver and gold clashes, my good chum. It clashes terribly.”

Jason’s lip twitched but he cleared his throat instead of laughing. “Stop it.”

“But, Jason, you don’t understand.” He’d gotten the “plum in the mouth” voice spot on. He even threw in a little of Daniel’s mannerisms to complete the picture—the rolling of his hand for emphasis, the jut of his chin into the air. Even the little head shake that punctuated his sentences. “Penny and I are delighted to be married and everything must be perfect for my darling ball and chain.”

This time Jason snorted. “Enough. I have to go to that wedding and I don’t want to be envisaging your performance during the ceremony, thank you very much.”

“Fine,” he said. “But you owe me big-time. If I have to spend another three hours with that man I’ll go certifiably crazy.”

“He might not make it back. Once the stomach troubles start he’s usually out for the night.” Jason sighed. “You pushed him too far.”

“By asking about his wedding?” Caleb rolled his hands around again. “But the silver and gold, Jason. Silver and gold!”

“I’m going to find Dad.” His brother laid a hand on his shoulder. “Want to come?”

Caleb knocked back the rest of his drink. “Hard pass.”

“Fine. But try not to make anyone else sick, okay?”

“No promises.” Caleb scanned the room as Jason walked away, a restless itch burrowing under his skin and causing him to shift from one foot to the other.

Next year he was going to find a concrete excuse not to come to this bloody thing. Nothing was worth standing around being bored out of his skull to keep his father happy. Why bother? It wasn’t like it would make a difference in the long run, anyway.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a woman looking at him. Putting on his most charming smile, he headed toward her. If the company wasn’t up to scratch, all he had to do was find new company.


CHAPTER FOUR (#u27465c54-0579-5814-9782-1841e0cc096a)

IMOGEN MOVED THROUGH the crowded ballroom, looking for the man with the golden mask. Was this how a glamorous spy in an old-school Bond movie felt? It was the most excitement she’d had for some time.

Excitement isn’t what you’re looking for, remember? You want reliability, security. Comfort.

She rolled her eyes behind her mask. It was a little disconcerting that her ideal life situation sounded like an ad for a Maxi Pad. Or a nursing home.

But she’d had excitement before. She’d had the wild thrill of an electric, charismatic man sweeping her off her feet and filling her head with false promises. A guy who flew in and out of her life as he pleased, drama and chaos nipping at his heels. It was exhilarating to be wanted by a man who could have anyone, sure. But it was also exhausting, stressful and left her heart shattered into a billion jagged pieces.

In other words, excitement was not all it was cracked up to be. Which was why she needed to focus on her mission.

Then she spotted him. The gold mask gleamed under the twinkling light of the grand chandelier. The design left part of his jaw free, and showed some of the styled hair at the back of his head. Imogen squinted. She hadn’t remembered Daniel’s hair being quite so fair, but he could have dyed it. It wouldn’t surprise her—the guy did get weekly manicures after all. He was also looking more trim than usual, but her sister had mentioned something about them being on a prewedding diet. No carbs or some such craziness.

She made her way forward, heading toward a waiter who was standing near Daniel and the man he was talking to. Smiling, she accepted a flute of champagne and took a delicate sip. Up close, the masked man looked broader and more athletic than she remembered of her future brother-in-law. Imogen bit down on her lip. He had said his mask was one of a kind, so this must be him. But something didn’t seem quite right.

“Oh my, I love your dress.” A woman in a long blue ball gown came over to get a closer look at Imogen’s borrowed outfit.

Grateful for the chance to better blend in, Imogen positioned herself so she was in earshot of the man in the golden mask. As the other woman started talking about designers and ball gowns, Imogen strained to listen to the conversation between the two men beside her.

“...you simply have no idea how difficult the wedding folks are. The silver and gold clashes, my good chum. It clashes terribly.” The man made a gesture with his hands, rolling them at the wrists. She’d recognise it anywhere. It was hard to hear what Daniel’s companion was saying, as he was farther away. “Penny and I are delighted to be married and everything must be perfect for my darling ball and chain.”

Penny. Imogen breathed a sigh of relief. She’d let it slide that he’d referred to her sister as a “ball and chain” for the moment. At least she knew she had her man.

“Don’t you think?” the woman in the blue ball gown asked. Oops! She’d been too busy eavesdropping to know how to respond. “I mean,” the woman continued, “I know they predicted last year that cerulean was going to be all the rage, but I rather prefer navy. It’s much more elegant.”

“I totally agree.” Imogen bobbed her head and took a sip of her champagne.

By the time she turned her head back to Daniel, he’d started walking away. Imogen smiled and made an interested mmm-hmm sound so the woman in the blue dress would keep talking.

“But we decided to go with this shade because it’s in the middle. Fashionable but still elegant, because I don’t want to be completely off-trend...”

Daniel stopped in front of a woman in a full-skirted dress in a vibrant pattern that looked like it could have been lifted directly from an Impressionist painting. Her mask was elaborately designed, with lace and ribbon in shades of soft pink, purple and yellow.

“But I mean this is the biggest event of the year. One must step out of their comfort zone.”

“Absolutely,” Imogen said, her eyes fixed on her brother-in-law as he chatted to the woman in the stunning dress.

Perhaps this was the blonde she’d seen him with at the bar a few weeks back. Between the mask and full-skirted gown, it was impossible to tell. But then he reached down and grabbed her hand, slipping his fingers between hers. It was an intimate gesture. Definitely not the kind of thing two strangers did.

Bile rushed up the back of her throat. Poor Penny. She was so in love with Daniel and here he was acting like she meant nothing at all—and after talking about her moments earlier, no less. Imogen drained the rest of her champagne and excused herself from the conversation with the woman in the blue dress.

Daniel might think he could keep someone on the side, but Imogen wouldn’t allow it. The memories rushed back—of finding her husband’s dating profile on a site specially for people wanting extramarital affairs. Counting the women he’d agreed to meet with...one, two, ten. Fifteen. More. He hadn’t even tried to deny it.

That one time she had used the F-word.

Daniel and the mystery woman made their way to the courtyard, heads bowed. His companion smiled, her perfect white teeth practically sparkling like in those cheesy toothpaste ads. Imogen could almost hear the ping sound-effect. Ugh.

Her stomach churned and a wave of uneasiness washed over her. How was she going to break the news to her big sister? Penny was so optimistic and caring and kind. The wedding was her whole world right now and this would shatter everything.

But what was the alternative? Letting her sister walk down the aisle with a guy who didn’t deserve her? Letting her have that sickening moment of discovering betrayal?

No. That couldn’t happen.

Imogen flagged down another waiter and snagged a glass of champagne. She hovered at the edge of the ballroom and kept her eyes on Daniel. It wouldn’t do to get too close in case they spotted her. If she spooked him now, there might not be another chance. Holding her champagne flute in one hand, she used her other hand to fish her phone out of her evening bag. Photographic evidence, that was what she needed.

Once he and the mystery woman walked into the courtyard and rounded a corner, Imogen set off again. The string quartet played a lively piece of music and people flocked to the dance floor. Judging by all the giggling and the unsteady way some women tottered in their heels, the circulating drinks were doing their job. Hopefully it would mean Imogen’s actions would go unnoticed.

She headed outside and made sure her steps were slow and easy. Like she had all the time in the world. Balmy air brushed her bare arms and caused the panels of her skirt to flutter around her ankles. The scent of white flowers enveloped her in a heady, intoxicating hug. Every detail of this ball had been meticulously thought through—from the white roses and gardenia trees dotting the courtyard to the tiny white cakes sitting pretty on silver trays. It was impossibly romantic. Like a grown-up version of Alice’s Wonderland.

For a moment Imogen stood there, sucking it all in. If only she was here for fun and frivolity, rather than amateur sleuthing—all because Daniel couldn’t keep it in his pants.

Draining the rest of the champagne, Imogen set the flute down on a table. Liquid courage acquired.

Refocusing, she scanned the courtyard. No gold mask or Impressionist dress. They must have snuck off for some privacy. Imogen followed a path that led deeper into the mansion’s gardens, all the way to the stables at the back of the property.

She toyed with her phone. How on earth was she supposed to get a picture of them without being completely obvious?

You’re a master of improvisation. You’ll think of something.

Flying by the seat of her pants—or in this case, by the skirt of her sexy lace gown—was so not her style. But she had to go with the flow, no matter how uncomfortable it made her.

The stables were set back on the property, away from the main building. But against the brown tones of wood and trees, the mystery woman’s dress was easily visible. From this angle, Imogen couldn’t see Daniel and she definitely couldn’t get a photo. The zoom on her iPhone camera wasn’t exactly paparazzi-worthy.

“Shoot,” she muttered. If she walked too much farther along the path she’d come into their view. There was only one option.

Sighing, Imogen hiked up her dress and bundled the length in one hand as she stepped onto the grass.

* * *

“I can’t believe you picked me out right away,” Caleb said.

Karolina made a snorting sound. “You’re wearing literally the most ostentatious mask I’ve ever seen, and I would know that cocky swagger anywhere.”

He chuckled. “Subtly isn’t one of my strong suits, huh?”

Karolina Petrov-Wells was a longtime friend of both his and Jason’s. She had a fun-loving, vibrant and vivacious personality and could make anyone smile. Which was why Caleb had crushed on her hard all through high school. But after sharing an awkward kiss in their university days, it was clear the romantic chemistry wasn’t there. They’d decided to remain friends and Caleb was happy it had turned out that way. She was the sister he’d never had.

“So, are you going to tell me why you dragged me out to the stables so we could ‘talk’? This doesn’t seem like the place where a lot of talking happens.” He waggled his brows in an exaggerated fashion that was about as far from sexy as he could possibly get. “Are you going to seduce me?”

“You wish.” She grinned. “Seriously though, I needed to escape for a minute. I swear, if my mother drags me over to one more ‘suitor’—”

“Suitor?”

“Yeah.” Karolina snorted. “She actually said that. Pretty sure she thinks we’re living in a Jane Austen novel.”

He shook his head. “I don’t see what the big rush is.”

“Well, I’ll be thirty next year, Caleb,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Apparently that means my uterus is about to shrivel up and die. I told her I didn’t need to get married in order to have a baby.”

Caleb stifled a laugh. “How did that go down?”

“Uh, not well.” She bobbed her head. “Not well at all. I don’t suppose you want to marry me?”

He raised a brow and Karolina burst into a laugh a second later. “Can you not even keep a straight face through your phony marriage proposal?”

“Sorry.” She pressed a hand to her stomach and shook her head. “The thought of it... We’d drive each other crazy.”

“We certainly would.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Besides, one sham marriage is enough for my family.”

Karolina made a tutting sound. “Stop that. Your parents are not in a sham marriage.”

“Okay, a one-sided marriage.”

“Not even that.” She placed a hand on his arm and squeezed. “Look, I know what they have isn’t perfect. But that doesn’t make it fake. Jase was telling me things have been tense between you and Gerald. You’re projecting. I bet he’s different when it’s the two of them.”

He made a noncommittal noise. “You sound like Jase.”

“That’s because he’s the smart one,” she said with a wink. She was winding him up now, the little minx.

“I’m not going to bite.”

“Damn, you’re getting too good for me.” She grinned. “I used to be able to tug on your strings a lot easier than that.”

“Not anymore, I’m afraid.” He slung an arm around her shoulder. “I’m awake to your tricks.”

“I guess we should go, huh? God, these things are such a drag.” Grinning, she turned her face up to his and planted a kiss on his jaw below his mask. She looked at him as if waiting for something, then she pressed her lips together. “Nope, nothing. Not even a little zing.”

He chuckled and wiped at his face where there was no doubt an imprint of Karolina’s bright pink lipstick. “Some people are meant to be friends, Karo.”

She sighed. “It would be easier if that wasn’t the case. Then we could get married and everyone would leave us alone.”

“No way,” he said. “You deserve the real deal. Hearts and flowers and all that shit.”

“And all that shit, huh?” She rested her head against his shoulder. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I wouldn’t object to having the perfect person land in my lap so I could skip the whole dating thing.”

At that moment there was a loud thud outside the stables followed by a high-pitched squeak. What the hell? Was someone spying on them?


CHAPTER FIVE (#u27465c54-0579-5814-9782-1841e0cc096a)

“JUST FREAKING GREAT.” Imogen planted a hand on the ground and tried to stand. She could already tell there’d be a grapefruit-size bruise on her butt.

But bruises were the least of her problems. Her dress was stuck on a bush and her shaking hands couldn’t free it.

Everything had been going along smoothly, too. She’d found a window to peer through that was clear enough for her phone camera to get a decent shot of what was going on inside the stables. It was a trade-off—she couldn’t hear what either person was saying, but she had more places to hide than if she’d approached the entrance.

When Daniel had put his arm around the woman and she’d kissed him, Imogen had taken a perfect shot. But in trying to get the best angle, her sandal had slipped on a loose rock and she’d gone down like a sack of potatoes.

“Graceful as a baby freaking elephant,” she muttered.

All she had to do was get her dress free, then she could slip back into the ball with her phone in hand. Hopefully Daniel and the mystery woman hadn’t heard her. She strained to listen, but the only thing her ears picked up were the distant notes of the string quartet.

She located the offending pieces of shrubbery holding her captive and carefully extracted the lace. There was a hole but it was tiny. The dress was a loaner, and Imogen couldn’t afford to drain her bank account because of a stupid bush. Breathing a sigh of relief, Imogen got to her feet and tried to see where her phone had landed.

“Fudge nuggets,” she muttered, glancing up at the window. Thankfully there wasn’t a face peering down at her, but she needed to find her phone. Now.

Hoisting her dress up, so it wouldn’t catch on the bush again, she searched the ground. The phone had bounced close to where she landed, so the blasted thing couldn’t have gone too far. Maybe it was on the grass behind her. The second Imogen turned her stomach plummeted.

Daniel stood in front of her, lips pressed into a hard line as he held her phone in one hand. Even though his face was mostly covered, he still managed to effectively radiate a “peeved as hell” vibe.

“I can explain,” she said, her mind kicking into overdrive. Which wasn’t a good thing—she tended to word-vomit when she got nervous.

“Go on,” he said, folding his arms across his chest and keeping her phone out of reach.

Out of the corner of her eye Imogen saw the mystery woman approaching, but Daniel waved her away. Once they were alone, Imogen sucked in a deep breath and pressed her hands to her stomach to quell the butterflies flapping up a storm.

“I don’t know how to say this, but I was following you.” Her mouth was drier than desert dust, but she forged on. “I know it was wrong, but I thought you’d lie if I confronted you. You have to understand, I’m looking out for Penny. I can’t have her marrying someone who’s cheating on her.”

Her words were met with a wall of silence, which only served to irritate her further. She balled her hands into fists as fury filtered through her veins. How could he stand there and not say a freaking thing? He wasn’t even defending himself.

“Seriously, did you think you could cheat and no one would ever find out? She loves you and you’re treating her like...like...” She shook her head. “Shite.”

“Shite?” The amusement in his voice made her see red.

“Yes, shite. And I’m not going to allow it.” She stuck her hand out. “Give me back my phone. Now.”

Silence.

She could rush him and hope that their size differential would be negated by the element of surprise. That might get her kicked out of the ball. Not that it mattered, now she had the evidence. But she needed to get her phone back...by any means necessary.

“If you don’t say something, this is going to end badly for you.” Her voice had taken on a shaky quality now. Adrenaline pumped through her body, preparing her fight response. Because she sure as hell wasn’t going to pick flight now. “Hand over the phone.”

“Who do you think I am?” he asked.

“Oh come on, Daniel,” she scoffed. “You’re really going to play that card? I heard you talking about Penny before. Ball and chain, huh? That’s real charming.”

* * *

Caleb wasn’t sure what kind of twilight zone fantasy land he’d ended up in, but this was a hell of a lot more interesting than what was going on inside the ballroom. After hearing the thud outside the stables, he’d gone to investigate only to find a woman in the sexiest black dress he’d ever seen on hands and knees, trying to disentangle herself from a bush. It wasn’t until he’d spotted the shiny silver case of a phone that he figured out what she’d been up to.

The mystery woman was an amateur paparazzo. He’d fully intended on handing the phone over. After all, it was clearly a case of mistaken identity. There wasn’t a person in the world who would care that he was having a “secret” meeting with Karolina Petrov-Wells. And the fact that she’d now called him “Daniel” was proof of that.

But the mistaken identity wasn’t the bit that interested him most about this situation. Oh no. What had his whole body buzzing was the glimpse of the diamond tattoo on this woman’s rib cage. It was clear she’d used that weird tape girls loved to keep her dress in place, but it must have come unstuck when she’d fallen and now the dress gaped enough to reveal the edge of some sexy, minimalist ink.

Prim Miss Imogen Hargrove.

If the tattoo hadn’t given her away, the self-righteous tone and use of shite would have done it. What the hell was she doing here?

And damn, her body was like a fucking midnight fantasy in that dress. The glossy black panels of silk and lace hugged her curvy figure, the plunging neckline giving him a good look at her gorgeous, full breasts.

The only problem was, if he said too much he’d give his identity away. And he wasn’t done with this bizarre exchange yet. So he bit his tongue, stifling a laugh as she got angrier and angrier at him.

“Seriously, what man refers to his future wife as a ball and chain?” She planted her hands on her hips and huffed when she didn’t get a response. “You have nothing to say for yourself?”

Ball and chain? Suddenly the penny dropped. No pun intended. She thought he was Jase’s friend Daniel. That would explain the identity mix-up. She must have seen the mask and overheard their conversation. He wanted to rub his hands together in glee. Anything that gave him leverage to stir up trouble with Imogen was a treat and today he’d hit the goddamn jackpot.

Never mind the fact that all he could think about was that moment in the archive room. With each move, her breasts shifted beneath the silky dress, stirring his memories and sending his blood south.

Caleb shrugged and steam practically rose out of Imogen’s ears. He pocketed her phone and stood there, curious as to what she’d do next.

You’re a horrible person, Caleb Allbrook. A despicable, no-good, dirty rotten scoundrel.

And fuck yeah did he love it.

“You...” Her lips were so pursed Caleb genuinely feared she’d cut off blood supply. “Smurfing smurf-face!”

Caleb couldn’t hold it in a second longer, a huge belly-deep laugh burst out of his lips. The woman was ridiculous in the best, most appealing way possible. Even now, she wouldn’t swear because people might hear. Not that there was much chance of it, since they were hiding behind the stables, where the garden turned into a lush bushland area, dense with trees and shrubs.

“Oh my God.” He bent forward, one hand braced on his knee as he laughed. “That’s brilliant. Smurfing—oof!”

Caleb jolted as his back hit the ground, the darkening evening sky now in his field of vision. Imogen was on top of him. What the hell? Had his favourite goodie two-shoes tackled a full-grown man to the ground? Colour him impressed.

He’d fantasised about getting her in this position many times. Admittedly, the circumstances had been a little different in his head.

“Give it back,” she demanded, wriggling on top of him as he tried to fend her off. She had him pinned down, one small hand braced on the ground next to his head and the other trying to worm into the inner pocket of his jacket.

Caleb grabbed her wrists and pulled them up by his head, forcing her to lean closer. Behind the elaborate mask, her olive green eyes were wide. Her ragged breathing caused her chest to rise and fall deeply, moving her breasts up and down against him. She straddled him, the full length of her dress bunched around her legs. Every last bit of blood in his body rushed south as she shifted, the sweet heat between her thighs brushing deliciously over his cock.

Truly despicable.

“Give me back my phone this second or I will scream blue murder,” she threatened. “Daniel—”

He yanked her hands higher, bringing her face even closer. They were nose to nose or, in this case, mask to mask. Her breath puffed over his cheek, and the scent of her perfume—something vanilla-like and softly feminine—wound through him like a drug.

He leaned forward, bringing his lips next to her ear. “Stop calling me that.”

“What?”

“My name isn’t Daniel.” With each word, his lips brushed over the shell of her ear. She stilled against him, her arms and legs going as rigid as steel. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

“You’re lying.” But her words were tinged with doubt. “Don’t think you can bluff your way out of this.”

“Do I sound like Daniel?” he asked. Would she place his voice or figure out that she’d made a mistake?

Part of him wanted her to know who he was, to see if she’d push him away or if she’d lean in farther. Had she been stewing on the way he’d touched her in the dark? Had she gotten hot and horny thinking about it?

“I...” She bit down on her lip. “I don’t know.”

“So you were spying on me, taking photos of a private meeting between two friends, and now you’ve tackled me to the ground, and yet you don’t know if I sound like the man you’re after?” He let his voice take on a growl and a tiny shudder ran through her. She shifted, her body rubbing against his erection so perfectly Caleb had to stifle a moan.

“But you’re wearing his mask,” she squeaked. “It’s one of a kind.”

“Apparently not. Daniel was pretty pissed about it, too.” He grinned. “Said it was highway robbery what they charged considering the designs weren’t exclusive.”

“Oh no,” she groaned. “That does sound like something he’d say.”

She looked at him dead on, confusion flashing in her eyes. He probably should clear up the mystery, hand her phone over and send her on her way. But she had both spied on him and knocked him over. In the grand scheme of things, his sins were matched by hers.

“She started it.” Really? Great justification, Allbrook. Totally solid.

He ignored the sarcastic voice in his head and met her stare.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

Damn it. He obviously hadn’t been doing a good enough job of disguising his voice. “I don’t know. Do you?” He spoke slowly, trying to use a gravelly tone to throw her off.

She huffed. “You’re impossible. Now let me go and give me back my phone. This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? You attacked me.”

“I didn’t attack you.” She tried to pull her hands back, but he held her tight. “I attempted to retrieve stolen property. You’re a thief.”

“And you’re a spy. Do you even have a ticket to this event?”

Her olive green eyes blinked and she sucked in a sharp breath. “Well...of course I do.”

Did Prim Miss Hargrove sneak into the Carmina Ball? The night was getting more and more interesting by the second. Her skin flushed pink and she stopped wriggling against him.

“I call bullshit,” he said. “And there’s a quick way to find out if you’re telling the truth.”

She swallowed, the delicate muscles in her neck pressing momentarily against her fair skin. “If you hand over my phone, I’ll leave now.”

“I’m not so sure I want you to leave. I could get used to being manhandled by a gorgeous woman.”

She rolled her eyes. “You can’t even see my face. Your flattery means nothing.”

But she was no longer struggling against him—her arms were soft in his, not straining or pulling. Her lips were parted and her tongue darted out to moisten them. Caleb had to force himself not to rub up against her.

“I don’t need to see your face,” he said. “Besides, it’s the whole package. I find feisty women incredibly attractive.”

“You think I’m feisty?” She cocked her head.

“Feisty, sexy. I bet you have men beating down your door.”

She snorted. “You’d be surprised.”

He would. Imogen might be a little—okay, a lot—tightly wound, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t hotter than the gates of hell. Besides, today had proven there was a whole lot more to her than met the eye. And he was going to make it his mission to get to the bottom of this new side of her.

“Still want your phone back?” he asked.

“I do.”

“What do I get out of it, huh?”

She narrowed her eyes. “How about the opportunity to keep your man parts intact?”

“Always appreciated.” He nodded. “But you’ve put me in a tight spot. I’m pretty confident that you’ve snuck into this ball, which isn’t allowed. People pay a lot of money to be here and if I let you go, I’m aiding and abetting a criminal.”





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/stefanie-london/hard-deal/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.