âI was about to go back in foranother swim,â Imogen said, then hesitated. âWhy donât you come?â
It might be better to do something than sit here trying not to look at her, Tom decided. âAll right,â he said, getting to his feet.
They walked over the hot sand together and into the water. It was so clear they could see their feet in extraordinary detail as they waded past the shallows.
âIt feels like silk against your skin, doesnât it?â said Imogen, trailing her fingers over the surface.
Tom wished she hadnât mentioned her skin. It was hard enough to keep his eyes off it as it was. As soon as it was deep enough, he dived into the water and swam in a fast crawl out towards the reef.
How long was it since he had stopped like this and just listened to the silence? Just felt the sun on his shoulders? His life was so focused, so driven by the need to succeed, that he had forgotten how to relax the way Imogen was relaxing. But he had the strangest impression that the tight feeling was starting to loosen the more time he spent with her on this idyllic islandâ¦
CHAPTER ONE
âWHERE would you like to go on honeymoon?â
Imogen paused in surprise, her arm still extended in the act of handing her boss a folder of letters across the desk. âHoneymoon?â she repeated cautiously, wondering if she had heard correctly.
It was unlike Tom Maddison to ask personal questions, let alone one so unexpected. Sometimes on a Monday morning he remembered to ask her if she had had a good weekend, but never as if he cared about the answer and she always said âYes, thank youâ in reply, even if it had been a disasterâas, frankly, it often was.
âYes, honeymoon,â said Tom with an edge of impatience. He took the folder and opened it. âYou know, after you get married.â
âErâ¦Iâm not getting married,â said Imogen.
Chance would be a fine thing, she thought wryly. All her friends seemed to be settling down, but she was obviously doomed to remain singleâ and it wasnât for lack of trying, whatever her best friend, Amanda, might say. Ever since Andrew had announced his engagement, she had thrown herself into the dating game, but no matter how promising her date seemed at first, Imogen always ended up making an excuse to leave early.
âPretend that you are,â said Tom, skimming the first letter and scrawling his signature at the bottom before looking up at her with the piercingly light eyes that always reminded Imogen of stainless steel, so cool and unyielding were they.
He put down his pen. âYouâre a woman,â he said, as if noticing the fact for the first time, which it probably was, Imogen thought. She was resigned now to the fact that, as far as Tom Maddison was concerned, she was little more than a walking, talking piece of office equipment.
âI have it on good authority that most women start planning their dream weddings when theyâre about six,â he said, âso you must have given it some thought.â
âThatâs true, but at six youâre only interested in pretty dresses,â Imogen pointed out. âYouâre not that concerned about the groom at that stage, let alone the honeymoon.â
Tom frowned as he pulled the next letter towards him. âSo you havenât thought about it since then?â
âWell, I wouldnât say that,â she admitted scrupulously, âbut my fantasies have never gone beyond getting married. Sadly, Iâve never been in a position where thereâs any point in planning a honeymoon.â
âYou are now.â Tom cast a cursory glance over the letter and signed it before reaching for the next one.
âPardon?â
âI want you to plan a honeymoon,â he said, his pen moving briskly over the paper.
âButâ¦who for?â
âFor me,â said Tom, as if it were obvious.
âFor you?â
Imogen stared at him. She shouldnât be surprised, she realised. Tom Maddison was thirty-six, single, straight and very, very rich. Why wouldnât he get married?
It wasnât as if he was unattractive, either. You couldnât call him handsome exactly, but he was tall and powerfully built and attractive in a way she couldnât quite explain. His stern face was dominated by a strong nose and those strange light eyes under formidable brows. So, no, he wasnât handsome. And yetâ¦
And yet there was something about the line of his mouth that made the breath stick in her throat sometimes, something about the big, square, capable hands and the angle of his cheek and jaw that prickled excitingly under her skin and sent a little shiver snaking down her spine.