Page 55 of Hard Deal
“Trading services, I believe you called it.” Her fingertips toyed with the edge of her underwear. The damn woman would short-circuit his brain if he wasn’t careful. “And I’m glad you did. You opened my eyes, Caleb. I think I was sleep-living before that—each day was the same and I kept failing to move on from what’d happened. I had bad date after bad date and then there was you... I’ve never had sex like that before.”
“Glad I could be of service,” he said, unable to keep the bitter tone out of his voice.
If she was here because she wanted to sleep with him again, then he would do everything in his power to resist. He’d help her back into that gorgeous dress and send her packing. Because, as much as he wanted those sweet legs wrapped around his waist and her hands tangled in his hair, he wanted everything else, too.
And he was done with settling.
* * *
Imogen sucked in a breath, her mind moving so fast she was seriously concerned that it might zoom right out of her head. She’d assumed that once she got out of the dress the talking would stop...at least for a little bit. But now she was standing almost butt-naked in front of the man she cared deeply for, her nipples growing hard with a combination of excitement, fear and air-conditioning, feeling like she was in one of those weird public nudity nightmares.
“I’m doing a terrible job of this.” She bent down to grab the fabric of her dress, adrenaline pumping through her veins so hard it made her head spin.
But Caleb was in front of her in an instant, his hand wrapped around her wrist. “Stop.”
“I shouldn’t have done that.” Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, shame filtering through her system. She’d wanted so bad to break out of her shell, to be the seductive, confident one.
Why did you think you could come here and strip off and that would be enough? You think your boobs are going to make up for what happened?
“I...” Oh God, now the tears weren’t only pricking. They were spilling onto her cheeks.
She was naked and sniffling, struggling against his grip so she could attempt to regain some of her dignity. She pulled the dress up over her, slipping her arms into the straps so that even if she couldn’t get her trembling hands to deal with the zipper, all the important stuff was covered.
“You what?” His other hand came to her jaw as he tipped her face up to his.
“I thought...” She squeezed her eyes shut. It was now or never. “I’m sorry I talked about you behind your back and that I questioned you about the Neila thing. And...I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. That I haven’t trusted you.”
“I understand why that’s hard for you.”
“The thing is, instead of letting people start at zero and giving them a chance to win or lose my trust, I start them way down at negative fifty.” She swallowed. “It’s not fair to judge you on someone else’s actions.”
“Imogen, I accept your apology. But I’m not exactly blameless, either. I let people think the worst of me. Hell, I’ve played into it time and time again. I’ve set people up to have a low opinion. You can’t take all the responsibility.”
“Is that why you’re leaving?” she asked.
“Part of it. I need to do my own thing, be my own person. I can’t untangle all the shit at Allbrook—people’s perceptions of me and all that. It’s fine. I’ve made my bed, so now I’m going to find a new one.” A lopsided smile drifted across his lips. “Fresh start will do me good.”
She nodded and wrapped her arms around herself. Was that supposed to mean he wanted a clean break altogether, including from her? Was she part of the stuff he couldn’t untangle?
“That sounds good.” She bobbed her head. “Any chance I can get in on that? I’d like a fresh start, too.”
He raised a brow. “You want to leave Allbrook?”
“No.” She sucked in a breath, the pressure of all she wanted to say crowding her heart and her lungs. If she walked away now she’d always regret not going all in. Not giving this “new her” a fighting chance to have the man who’d made her see how much she held herself back. The man who’d opened her eyes and stolen her heart. It was because of him that she could even be here now, saying these words. Wearing this dress—well, half wearing it. “I want a fresh start with you.”
“Do you like me, Imogen Hargrove? Even though I wear taco socks and tease you mercilessly and give you fake excuses to trudge down to the storage room?”
“I knew you didn’t really need those files!” She swatted at him and he laughed.
“What can I say? I was smitten and I wanted an excuse to talk to you.” The lopsided grin morphed into full-fledged megawatt goodness.
“You could have told me that.”
“You wouldn’t have believed me,” he pointed out.
“True.” She nodded. “Okay, confession time. Every time you came into my office I would have to remind myself not to drool all over you.”
“That explains the strange face you used to make.” He threw his head back and laughed, and the soul-deep rumbling sound soothed her.