Let's Misbehave (16 page)

She felt herself rise again, feeling him grow ready to come himself.

It pushed her over. Moaning his name, she came again and a moment later he followed.

Spent, he covered her body with his. He kissed her shoulder, her cheek, and then her mouth.

Tears filled her eyes, feeling his affection. She snuggled closer to him, holding him tight, grateful for the gift he’d just given her.

Chapter Fifteen

The headline was a slap in the face.

It was the last thing Merrick expected to see after last night with Imogen. He stilled, holding his breath as he read it and looked at the picture.

The second time he read it, his jaw clenched. The third time he barely resisted putting a fist in the wall.

Imogen takes Dirk back!

He crinkled the newspaper in his fist. What the hell? Why was Imogen holding this man’s hand?

Holding his hand? Merrick glared at the picture. She was practically pressing herself against the man.

That body was
his
, and no one else was entitled access to it.

Who was the man? His tiger urged him to maul the other guy. His tiger urged him to claim Imogen, to put his mark on her so everyone knew she was his.

Which was insane, given their situation.

His phone rang, and he grabbed it. “What?” he growled.

There was startled silence on the other end, and then his secretary said, “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but the meeting you have scheduled with Lord Watley starts in five minutes.”

Bloody hell—he forgot about that the moment he opened the paper and saw Imogen’s picture. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Reschedule it, please. I’ve been detained.”

Another silence. “Is everything all right, sir?”

No, it wasn’t. He exhaled. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve been so focused on getting your safety act passed, but lately you seem less interested.”

“I’m not.” He cursed Imogen and the way she made him feel. “Just reschedule it for later this week.”

“Yes, sir.”

He hung up. Then he shoved the phone off his desk. “
Bloody hell.
”

The gnome grinned, jeering at him. He was about to throw it, too, when he heard the front door slam shut.

“Merrick,” Valerie called. “Where are you?”

“Where do you think?” he yelled back.

She sashayed into his office a moment later, looking smug and amused. “I take it you’ve seen the paper.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Remember that time when we all went skinny dipping and you got caught in roots?”

“I’d have drowned if you hadn’t helped me.” She walked in and sat on the edge of his desk, her leg swinging.

“I’m regretting that decision just now.”

Valerie grinned. “You love me.”

He snorted.

She picked up the garden gnome, which had migrated around his desk since it’d arrived. “Merrick,” Valerie said in a little voice, bobbing the statue up and down, “you’re sour. I had more fun standing outside in someone’s weeds than here in your house with you.”

“Valerie, does this visit have a point other than to aggravate me?”

“Valerie always has a point, Merrick,” she said in that annoying little voice, jiggling the gnome in front of his face. Then she set it down and said, “I came to see if you’d seen that headline.”

He heard his teeth grind. “How could I miss it?”

His so-called best friend grinned. “You didn’t like it, did you?”

“Of course I didn’t like it.” He shoved his chair back and began to stalk around the room. The walls were closing in on him, and Merrick wanted to punch a wall. “We had an agreement.”

“What sort of agreement?”

“Not seeing other people.” He growled and paced more furiously, thinking about her saying it. “She was the one who suggested it, and then she goes and breaks it?”

“How many times in the past few years have you warned me against jumping to conclusions?”

“Are you saying it may not be what it looks like?” When Valerie didn’t reply, he turned to face her. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she said as she tapped into her mobile.

Wait—that was
his
mobile. “What are you doing?” he said, reaching for her. “Give that back.”

“No.” Valerie darted out of his way, typing furiously. She avoided his hands, dancing back and forth as she kept his phone out of reach. Then she grinned triumphantly. “Done.”

“What did you do?” he asked with growing dread.

“Imogen is on her way over.” Valerie handed him the phone and patted his chest. “Ask her what’s going on.”

He glared at his friend. “My life is not a game.”

“Then stop screwing around and pay attention.” Valerie took him by the arms and stared deep in his eyes. “I have a really important question to ask you.”

“What?”

“Do you have enough condoms for make-up sex?”

He tried to swat her, but she jumped away from him, laughing. “This is so much fun,” she exclaimed. “Who knew you falling in love would be so entertaining?”

“I’m not in love,” he mumbled, sitting back down.

Valerie smirked at him. “Aren’t you?”

He didn’t know what he was. All he knew was that what he was feeling was driving him crazy.

“My work here is done.” Valerie picked up the gnome and spoke in that little voice again. “Don’t fuck this up, Merrick.”

He glanced at her. “Aren’t you leaving yet?”

She laughed all the way out of his house, her cackling punctuated by the slam of the door.

He heard the buzzer to his back door a short time later. He wanted to ignore it, angry Valerie manipulated him this way, but he was kidding himself by even considering turning Imogen away.

Imogen was bundled in black, wearing sunglasses even though it was dreary and wet out. “It’s daytime,” she pointed out as she shook her umbrella and closed it.

“I know.” He pulled her in and closed the door.

“This is about the newspaper article, isn’t it?” she said.

“Of course it is.” He strode through the dank hall, back to his office, very aware of her following behind him. He could
sense
the sway of her hips and his fingers itched to grab a hold of them. Feeling a growl at the pit of his throat, he stalked into his office and began to pace.

Imogen entered, quietly studying him as she took her coat off and draped it on a chair. “I had no idea there was anyone around when that picture was taken, you know.”

“At least you aren’t denying it happened.” He turned around and got caught in the heckling gaze of that damned gnome. The smug bastard.

“Of course I’m not denying it happened. The proof is in print.” Her eyes narrowed, her hands on her hips. “What are you insinuating here?”

“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m
saying
that we agreed not to see other people.” He picked up a book and threw it at the wall. He glared at the damn too-jolly gnome and silently warned him he was next.

She covered her mouth with a hand. “Merrick. You can’t possibly think there was something illicit going on.”

“Can’t I?” he growled.

“No, there wasn’t,” she shouted back. “Forget that it was Dirk, the man who sold pictures of me to the tabloids, a fact I’m sure you know, and that you’d think I’d even
consider
getting back together with him. I won’t even touch that. What I can’t believe is that you think I’d just turn to another man.”

“I see the pictures, and I don’t know what to think.” He pounded his desk with a fist. “You make me crazy, damn it.”

She walked up to him and stood toe-to-toe. “I can’t make you what you already are.”

His gaze narrowed. Did he swat her or kiss her? He couldn’t decide. “Are you calling me mad?”

“You’re the one throwing things because of a picture that has no meaning.” Her face was flushed, and fury blazed in her eyes.

“It does have meaning.” He took a step forward, willing her to take him on.

“If that’s what you think, you’re a fool, because, damn it, I like
you
.” She pushed him and headed for the door.

No
. He grabbed her before she could leave. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tight. He wrapped his hand in her hair and pulled her head back. “You. Are.
Mine.
”

He crushed his mouth to hers, tasting her, inhaling her, wanting to swallow her whole.

She relaxed against him, her arms stealing under his shirt. Her hands felt cool on him, which heated him up. Against his lips, she murmured, “Of course I’m yours. You really are an idiot to think otherwise.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, feeling the madness being replaced with desire.

“I guess you can’t help it. You’re a man.” She kissed him again, just as passionately.

He clenched her close, inhaling her.
Mine
, his beast declared again, urging him to take her.

“Merrick?”

“Hmm?” He nipped her lower lip as he pushed her sweater off her shoulders.

“Why is there a garden gnome on your desk?”

***

When Merrick woke up, it was dark out. He reached next to him in bed, but all he felt was the tangled sheets where Imogen had been.

Turning the bedside lamp on, he sat up, relaxing when he saw her clothing still strewn around his room. For a second he thought she’d snuck out on him again.

He wasn’t going to think what it meant that he wanted her to stay.

Pulling on a pair of workout shorts and sweatshirt, he went to look for her. He figured she’d be in the kitchen, but a quick search of the ground floor turned up nothing.

Then he noticed the light on at the top of the stairs, on the first floor.

He charged up the stairs for the first time in thirteen years. At the top, he heard the familiar strains of his piano.

The music room.

He stopped and listened, not so much to the tune she was playing but to his instrument. He closed his eyes, remembering her sound, the way she felt under his fingers, the sound of her when he caressed her.

A pang of sharp longing went through him.

He’d set all that aside though. He was a different person now. Stiffening his resolve, he went to stop Imogen.

She sat at his piano, wearing only his dress shirt, her fingers moving nimbly over the keys. The collar was open and her hair was mussed from their reconciliation. On the top of the piano, the gnome perched, grinning happily.

Merrick fisted his hands, needing to be next to her on the bench, needing to harmonize with her. In another lifetime, he’d have lifted her on top of the piano and had her every way possible. He closed his eyes, imagining his elation in music magnified by the joy of having Imogen at his side.

A longing so strong stung his heart—for things lost that could never be reclaimed. Even the air smelled differently, like dust instead of Michaela’s shampoo.

That made him saddest of all.

“Are you sleepwalking, or do you want to join me?” Imogen’s husky voice asked him.

He opened his eyes. “Stop playing.”

She tipped her head, watching him, her fingers still but poised. “Why don’t you join me instead?”

“I don’t play any longer.” He swallowed the sadness the statement inspired.

“Do you want to?”

Good God, did he. But he shook his head.

“I don’t believe you,” Imogen declared. “Neither does Malcolm.”

“Malcolm?”

She nodded at the gnome. “Not only does Malcolm think you’re completely full of it, he’s upset that you make him live in your dreary office when it’s so much nicer up here.”

“I don’t come up here anymore,” he said, not recognizing his own voice.

“Why not?”

Because it reminded him of Michaela. Every room held a memory of her. He couldn’t spend any time up there, but neither could he bring himself to redecorate it.

“Is this your sister?” she asked as her fingers resumed playing.

He followed her gaze to the framed picture on his piano. It was from Michaela’s twentieth birthday. She had a crown on her head and a piece of cake in her hand. There was icing smeared on her cheek and she was laughing as though it was the happiest day of her life.

“She died six months after that photo was taken,” he heard himself say.

Imogen stopped playing and turned around. Silently, she held her arms out to him.

He went to her. He hesitated for a moment before sitting, afraid of how the bench would feel—afraid it’d feel awkward and foreign.

It felt like home.

“She looks joyful,” Imogen said softly, holding his hands.

“She was the happiest person I’ve ever known.” He squeezed her hand. “Until I met you.”

“If she was so happy, she’d have hated that you turned this place into a mausoleum after she died.” At his frown, Imogen shrugged. “You can’t argue that this space is full of the love you two had for each other, but you don’t visit it. How would she feel about that?”

He drew his hands away. “You have no right to judge me.”

“I certainly don’t,” she agreed with a nod. “But you’re being an ass. Even Malcolm thinks so.”

He glanced at the gnome, who looked particularly condescending. “I don’t think a little man in such a goofy hat should cast stones.”

“Let me ask you this.” Imogen leaned toward him so her eyes filled his field of vision.

In his head, he heard a flash of music, a song not yet composed. Years ago, he’d have dropped everything and jotted it down. Now it’d remain unwritten. “What?”

“Why don’t you play anymore?”

His fingers flexed, urging him to turn around and just
touch
the keys, to play the insistent melody in his head. He crossed his arms, keeping himself in check. It was bad enough that he’d broken down and started riding his Ducati again. “It’s not the life I lead.”

“Why not?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

She rolled her eyes. “I can tell you love music. I’m an actor. I know body language, and right now your body language is telling me that shackles would be hard-pressed to keep you from playing the piano.”

He glanced down at the keys. Before he realized, his hand raised.

Shaking his head, he turned away.