The Duke Takes a Bride (Entitled Book 2) (16 page)

J
ulian missed her
. Badly.

For the past several days, he had crushed the need to call her and check how she was doing. Resisted the urge to go voyeur and watch her on the CCTV cameras installed in the penthouse.

But she had sent him several SMS asking how he was. He had sent back non-committal, generalized replies, telling her he was busy.

He had promised her time to think about his perceived “impulsive” proposal, and he was sabotaging it with passive-aggressive games. He was acting like a spoiled brat who wanted immediate gratification. He should be grateful Imogen was taking time out to carefully think over their arrangement, but in his head and somewhere in his gut, in a place where logic had no place, Julian knew. Imogen was his ideal wife. She would be friend, partner, and lover.

One thing she would never be though was a threat to his heart. Maintaining some distance was vital to any endeavor. If one became too close, too involved, objectivity was lost. If one let his heart rule his head, passion cloud his judgment, then one could make mistakes. The cost could become too high. Julian was not planning on making the same mistakes. He’d already learned his lesson.

The tent was a crush. A DJ played piper to the writhing mass of partygoers, intoxicated by their own beauty, wealth, and status. Imogen wasn’t dancing though. She was at the edge of the tent, nursing a champagne glass in one hand, just observing the antics of the people in the party, as if she was an anthropologist studying tribal customs.

He started making his way to where she was, avoiding eye contact with anyone. His progress was slow among the crush of bodies. He fought back the urge to shove people out of his way, his need to reach her side increasing with every step he took.

She must have felt his stare all the way across the crowded dance floor because she lifted them and locked her big brown eyes to his. Her full, small lips pulled into a wide smile. Julian knew she had been waiting for him, and it made him feel warm and …fuzzy, for God’s sake.

“Hello gorgeous.”

“Hello yourself,” he said, resisting the urge to grab her, lift up that poor excuse of a skirt, and take her in front of everyone.

Hell! The moratorium on sex was a really fucking bad idea.
Get a grip, Walkden.

“How’s the player who got injured? Diego, was it?” She had to raise her voice to be heard above the dance music blasting from the speakers.

He leaned down, even in heels she barely reached past his shoulders, and spoke near her ear. “He’s fine. Just a bit banged up but nothing serious.” She had perfume on. It smelled like flowers and spring and layered underneath, he could detect was the sweet scent of her skin.

“I’m sorry you didn’t win.”

“It’s just a game. The minute you forget it is is the minute you lose.”

“Very philosophical.”

“I don’t want to discuss anything philosophical.” He plucked the champagne glass from her hand and deposited it on one of the tall cocktail tables scattered around the edges of the dance floor. “Let’s dance.”

“I don’t know how to.”

“I haven’t danced in ages.”

“I’ll look silly.”

He held out his hand. “Then we’ll look silly together.” He cocked his head in a “come on” gesture. She took a deep breath and placed her hand in his.

They stepped into the crowd gyrating to pulsing club music. He pulled her close to prevent her from being jostled by the more enthusiastic dancers. And hey, any excuse to hold her. She glanced around her and studied one of the women who was moving sinuously. She started imitating her dance moves and was a quick study. She tossed her hair and flashed him an impudent grin.

“Get your groove on,” she taunted, her brown eyes flashing prettily without her spectacles, “old man.”

Julian made a show of glancing to the couple on his right, who was grinding sexily against each other. Imogen’s eyes widened when she followed his gaze. He grinned wickedly, twirled her around, and pulled her back against his chest. “I’ll show you some moves from this old man,” he said laughingly into her ear as he grabbed her hips.

But Julian’s laughter died as the sweet curve of her ass slammed against his shaft. He felt her stiffen momentarily and then she relaxed into him, her head leaning against his chest. Julian swallowed a groan. He couldn’t move, afraid he was going to embarrass himself on the dance floor. Bloody hell. He was acting like a horny teenager out on his first date. He unlocked his hands from her hips and snaked it around her waist instead, creating a modicum of space between them. Now he could breathe easier. Until he couldn’t. Again.

Imogen had covered his hands with her own, anchoring him to her. Julian felt coccooned in their own little world, swaying to their own special beat. Elsewhere the partygoers danced in a frenzy but with her, right this moment, they were creating their own music.

He was being bloody maudlin but he couldn’t help it, much as he couldn’t really help feeling things he shouldn’t be feeling around her. He leaned far down and touched his lips to her neck. She tilted her head, allowing him more access. He nipped the skin over her throbbing pulse with his teeth. A throaty gasp escaped her lips, razing a path straight to his cock. She did a little shimmy, bringing her pert backside in contact once more with his raging erection. Julian strangled his groan. Fuck the moratorium. He lifted his head, looking for the nearest exit out of the tent. They could be in his hotel suite in 15 minutes. If he could last that long without taking her in the car.

His gaze narrowed and swept across the dance floor, searching for the nearest break among the crush of bodies. He frowned and did a double take. Even from several feet away, his height made him noticeable despite the jampacked dance floor.
He had no idea Gray would make an appearance at the tournament.

He was dancing with Maggie, holding a beer bottle in one hand, but his eyes were fixed on someone else. Someone he was watching with such single minded absorption. Julian followed the trajectory of his gaze and swore.

He was watching Imogen.

Julian was hurtled back to the past. Images of a teenaged Imogen crying in the stables, begging Gray to give back her sketchbook. Julian had interfered, furious at his brother and perplexed why Gray was bullying a sweet, quiet Imogen. Julian despised bullies. They had made his and Stefan’s life in boarding school difficult in the beginning before they had learned to fight back.

And then he had visions of a younger Gray. Spoiled rotten by Olga. Throwing himself on the floor, kicking and screaming if he didn’t get what he wanted. And with a flash of intuition, Julian made the connection. His brother had wanted Imogen years ago.

And apparently still wanted her.

Sensing his stare, Gray lifted his gaze from Imogen and transferred it to him. He tipped his beer bottle towards him in a mocking salute before taking a swig from it.

Julian knew trouble was afoot.

O
lga Walkden
barely tolerated her when she had come visiting at Trennery Court but tonight, icicle bullets blasted from her dark eyes.

“Little Imogen Adams-Chudley?” Olga had exclaimed after air kissing Julian on the cheeks. She sounded the way Imogen imagined her sounding upon finding a slug under a rock. Not that Olga was the type to go gardening or have anything to do with activities that involved rocks and slugs.

“Hello, Olga,” she returned politely.

Olga didn’t bother to reply. She saw Julian frown. His stepmother had a good-looking, salt-and-pepper-haired male companion in tow that she introduced as William, CEO of a Fortune 500 company.

They were all in another tent beside the bigger one with the dance floor. A buffet was laid out for party goers who needed sustenance before heading back to the dancing. Imogen’s eyes swept across the round table as Olga and William took their seats. Maggie was nowhere in sight. Princess Lexie and her fiancé, the dashing team captain Nic Fernandez, were also occupying the same table. They were cooing into each other’s ears and looked so in love that Imogen found it painful to look at them.

Earlier, Imogen saw Julian bussing the princess on her cheek. She appeared tense, but Julian leaned down and whispered something in her ear. Her eyes widened, then she smiled and glanced at her. Since then the princess had been throwing her friendly yet speculative looks.

Imogen continued her inspection of the other occupants at the table, her gaze skimming over a middle-aged matron with a fascinator, a blonde bombshell, a handsome man with movie star looks who looked remarkably like—

“Chase.” Julian reached out and shook the actor’s hand. Chase Latimer rose and pumped his hand vigorously, a toothpaste commercial smile lighting up his face. It dimmed a little when he spied her. “This is Imogen.”

Chase frowned.

“From the beach,” Imogen clarified. “Minus the glasses.” He was still trying to place her. “And the windblown hair.” Still no spark of recognition. “Do I clean up that well?”

A wide grin split the actor’s lips. “I like your girl, Julian.”

“So do I,” Julian murmured. “Very much so.”

She blushed and Chase chuckled good-naturedly, as if conceding Julian to her like a good sport.

“Too bad about your player.” Chase said as they all took their seats. Imogen was sandwiched between the two men as they discussed the game. Chase and another actress, the blonde bombshell whom he introduced to them as Aneena Lewis, were endorsers of the watch company that had sponsored today’s tournament. After a few minutes, a corporate-looking type whisked them off for some photo ops with the head honchos of the watch company.

“Let’s get something to eat,” Julian said.

Imogen realized they had sat down without getting any food. And after the game, Julian must be famished. They helped themselves to the buffet, which was a substantial spread of cold and hot dishes. They were done with their meal when Prince Stefan took the seat beside Julian. He was alone.

Julian reached out for her hand on her lap while chatting with the taciturn Prince. He had given her a cordial smile when Julian introduced them earlier, but she felt his intelligent grey eyes sizing her up. She heard a small gasp beside her. Olga had noticed their linked hands. Shooting her a look of intense dislike, the older woman stood up, back ramrod straight, and walked away from the table followed by the CEO.

She glanced at Julian’s profile surreptitiously to check if he had noticed. He squeezed her hand briefly, and the amused quirk on one side of his lip told her he had done it on purpose to irk his stepmother.

Imogen’s relief at the departure of Olga was short-lived. Maggie, flushed, was bearing down on their table. Gray wasn’t far behind. Her hand tightened on Julian’s in reflex. He must have sensed her agitation because he stopped talking to the Prince and turned his head towards her, concern on his face. Her smile of reassurance was so far removed from what she was feeling – cornered with nowhere to go. But creating trouble between the brothers wasn’t what she wanted.

The royals said their goodbyes, claiming an early charity engagement the next day just as Maggie slid into the chair beside her. Gray took the one beside his sister, laying the beer bottle he had been carrying on the table.

“Ugh!” Maggie bolted upright from the chair she had just sat on a few seconds ago. “I have to go again. I can’t hold my drink. Literally.” She plucked her purse off the table and flounced off a bit unsteadily.

“Tell Maggie to lay off the alcohol. She’s had enough,” Julian bit out, addressing the younger man. “And that goes for you too, Gray.”

“You’re not my keeper, Julian.” He wasn’t drunk yet, but there was a hard glitter in his eyes that Imogen didn’t trust one bit. She carefully extracted her hand from Julian’s, but Gray didn’t miss anything. His mouth stretched into a thin smile. “But apparently you are Genie’s.”

Julian leveled his brother with an icy stare. “I don’t care for your assumptions, Gray.”

Gray shrugged. “I’ve learned not to care that you don’t, so no hard feelings.” He leaned back against his chair, gorgeous and dissolute looking. Julian shot him a look that clearly said there would be consequences for his impertinence in a less public place.

“So, Genie,” Gray said in a casual manner, angling his body towards her, “are you still fond of your little hobby?”

Several new arrivals at the table saved Imogen from answering. Julian’s attention was claimed by the man who sat beside him, the garrulous owner of the opposing polo team. He shot Gray a look that clearly said he was to behave or else.

Gray leaned closer, and the waft of alcohol assailed Imogen. “Do you still carry that secret little sketchbook with you everywhere you go?”

Gray’s taunting voice brought back memories she just wanted to forget.

She had been sixteen that summer, hiding in the stables, trying to sketch Julian’s favorite Arabian horse, when Gray had snuck up on her and had grabbed her sketchbook. He had held it high above his head, for he had shot up to his full height that summer, laughing and jeering as she tried to reach for it.

You think you’re such a clever girl, but I know your secret.
Gray ran to one end of the stables and started rifling through the pages, his face becoming darker as he scanned the pages.

“Give it back!”
she demanded, willing her trembling voice to sound commanding, but her knees were buckling with fear and shame.

“Or what? You’re going to call mummy and daddy?” Gray sneered.

There were pages and pages of her portraits of Julian in the sketchbook, rendered while she had been pouring her heart out on paper. Some of them when he was on horseback, or playing tennis, or his face in profile.

“I’m sure they will be very interested as to how their daughter managed to draw this very accurate picture of my brother.” He had opened the page to a sketch of Julian sleeping on a bed with his chest bare.

She wanted to scream at him that she used her imagination, idiot, but her throat was locked with the terror of discovery. Her parents would be mortified and God help her, she would die if Julian found out she was obsessing about him. Tears spurted down her cheeks. She didn’t wipe them away, hoping Gray wouldn’t notice. But he did. He appeared unsure for a moment.