The Couple Behind the Headlines
Spotted: Society sweetheart and playboy at exhibition.Admiring the art…or each other? It-girl Imogen Christie has been getting up-close-and-personal with financial hotshot Jack Taylor. Think that’s wise, Miss Christie? We all know what happened to your last hook-up…he’s now engaged to your best friend! Considering Jack’s history, it would be shocking if they lasted more than one night!But with the paparazzi spotting them all over London, the night before and the morning after, maybe Jack will have to add a new word to his vocabulary – ‘relationship’. Unless Imogen’s heart is in much more danger than she thinks…?“I love Lucy King novels – always sizzling with sexual tension.” – Abby, Author, Dublin
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‘Jack Taylor.’ He held out his hand.
‘Imogen Christie,’ she said, taking it.
For a moment she was so startled by the feel of his hand wrapped around hers and the energy that suddenly spun through her that the name didn’t register. She was too busy marvelling at the way every nerve-ending she possessed tingled, the way her whole body was suddenly coming alive, and thinking about how much fun dinner was going to be.
But when it did, seconds later, her smile froze and her stomach disappeared. Her heart sank and the heat pounding through her turned to ice.
Jack Taylor? Not the Jack Taylor? Not the one she’d read about? Heard about … Been warned about …
How typical was that? She reluctantly pulled her hand out of his as disappointment washed through her.
According to the financial press the man was some kind of investment superstar. He made millions on a daily basis, backing ventures most people wouldn’t touch with a bargepole and taking risks considered to be either insane or genius, depending on one’s point of view. His funds were huge and his successes were global.
As, apparently, were his extra-curricular activities.
According to her friends, and the kind of press that favoured gossip over finance, Jack Taylor was legendary. He was gorgeous and charming. Smooth and charismatic, yet ice-cool and elusive. He was, by all accounts, a true heartbreaker.
About the Author
LUCY KING spent her formative years lost in the world of Mills & Boon>® romance when she really ought to have been paying attention to her teachers. Up against sparkling heroines, gorgeous heroes and the magic of falling in love, trigonometry and absolute ablatives didn’t stand a chance.
But as she couldn’t live in a dream world for ever she eventually acquired a degree in languages and an eclectic collection of jobs. A stroll to the River Thames one Saturday morning led her to her very own hero. The minute she laid eyes on the hunky rower getting out of a boat, clad only in Lycra and carrying a three-metre oar as if it was a toothpick, she knew she’d met the man she was going to marry. Luckily the rower thought the same.
She will always be grateful to whatever it was that made her stop dithering and actually sit down to type Chapter One, because dreaming up her own sparkling heroines and gorgeous heroes is pretty much her idea of the perfect job.
Originally a Londoner, Lucy now lives in Spain, where she spends much of the time reading, failing to finish cryptic crosswords, and trying to convince herself that lying on the beach really is the best way to work.
Visit her at www.lucykingbooks.com
Recent titles by the same author:
SAY IT WITH DIAMONDS
THE CROWN AFFAIR PROPOSITIONED BY THE BILLIONAIRE BOUGHT: DAMSEL IN DISTRESS
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
For William
CHAPTER ONE
TWO hundred and fifty thousand pounds?
Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds?
Imogen gaped at the catalogue, her jaw practically hitting the floor. It had to be a mistake. A typo or something. Because surely no one could be expected to fork out a quarter of a million pounds for that … that thing.
Bracing herself, she turned back, stared at the canvas hanging on the wall, and winced. ‘The Sting in Society’ was so eye-poppingly ugly it made every cell in her body shrivel in protest. So primitive it looked as if it had been executed by her five-year-old nephew in one of his tantrums. So absolutely hideous that not even the copious amounts of vintage champagne on offer could dent its impact.
And it was enormous. The artist, who’d splashed a blaze of clashing colours onto the canvas in a seemingly random fashion, clearly felt his creativity was too great to contain, which while undoubtedly satisfying some sort of artistic bent for himself, was excruciating for everyone else.
It would be one thing if ‘The Sting in Society’ were a one-off. That she could just about deal with while fulfilling her aim to take every advantage of the free-flowing champagne. But it wasn’t. The plain white walls of the gallery were littered with the things. Beneath unforgivably bright lights hung two dozen canvases, all splattered with the same great swathes of colours, all equally dreadful, and all going for the same mind-blowing sums of money.
Imogen grimaced. She was the first to admit that she was no expert on modern art, but in her opinion whatever its worth, the whole lot should be consigned to the Thames.
Not that anyone else appeared to think so, she thought, glancing around at the trendily dressed throng. Everywhere she looked, people milled about, tilting their heads and tapping index fingers against their mouths while spouting esoteric nonsense about allegory and metaphysics.
Swinging her gaze back to the piece she was standing in front of, Imogen stifled a shudder. It was madness, she mused, narrowing her eyes as she tried to work out its appeal and failed. Complete insanity.
Who in their right mind would pay that amount of money for such a horrendous thing anyway?
