Required to Wear the Tycoon's Ring (3 page)

But her hand visibly trembled as she reached for the bottle of brandy and she had to take a couple of deep breaths to steady herself. Seth Broden was the first man she'd ever invited back to the flat and she shouldn't forget that he was neither a friend nor a colleague.
He was practically a stranger
. And such was the contrast between the awe-inspiring mansion he owned and the modest flat she rented that it was bound to make her conscious of the difference between her life and his.

She reached up to the overhead shelf and retrieved a couple of glass tumblers and, taking the bottle of brandy with her, returned to the living room. Handing one of the glasses to Seth, she set the brandy down on the table beside him.

‘Please help yourself. I'm just going to hang up my coat. Want me to do the same for yours?'

He quirked what looked to be an amused eyebrow and said, ‘Thanks.'

When Imogen returned from hanging the garments on the coat stand the fire in the burner was nicely warming the room and, having helped himself to brandy, Seth had set down the book he'd been perusing. He'd also settled himself more comfortably on the couch. His hard-muscled legs were noticeably long in the smart black chinos he wore, she saw, and the width of his shoulders was impressive.

She would have had to be blind not to notice that fact. His girlfriend must have loved the sense of strength he exuded. No doubt it had made her feel protected.

‘I've poured you a drink,' he said as she sat down in the chintz-covered armchair. ‘Perhaps you'll make an exception tonight and join me?'

‘Sure.' Taking a tentative sip, she felt the slow burn of alcohol register in her gut as she swallowed it down. It was so powerful it immediately brought tears to her eyes.

‘You're not used to drinking at all, are you?' His tone was gently teasing.

Imogen felt like an idiot. A sophisticated woman she was
not
. Setting down her glass, she curled some of her hair round her ear. ‘No...I'm not.'

Thankfully, her guest didn't pursue the topic. ‘So, tell me, how long have you lived here?' he asked instead.

Trying to relax, she somehow found a smile. ‘About a year.'

‘And you work in the area?'

‘Yes, I do.'

Still cradling his drink, Seth leaned forward. The movement stirred the air with the scent of his arresting cologne. She didn't know what made it smell so alluring but she didn't have to... It had got her attention.

‘And what is it that you work at?'

‘I'm a secretary. I work for a legal practice.'

‘And you enjoy it?'

‘As a matter of fact, I do. I'm lucky enough to work for a very nice woman, and the work is genuinely interesting.'

‘I'm glad to hear it. I think if everyone enjoyed their work the world would go a long way to being a better place. I recently read that eighty per cent of the population hate their jobs. Thank God I'm not one of those. It's bad enough having to deal with all the other challenges that can come at you.'

‘What do you mean, exactly?'

‘I mean like pain and disappointment and the death of loved ones. Yes, all that can grind even the most stoic person down.'

He took a generous swig of brandy, and to Imogen's surprise she saw a sudden flare of pain in his diamond-bright eyes. His doleful words reminded her of the reason they had met—why he happened to be sitting there in her flat. Her heart squeezed in sympathy.

‘I agree. Life can seem unbearable sometimes. But we should never lose hope that things can get better.'

‘I admire your optimism, Imogen. Long may it last.'

Her guest looked to be candidly assessing her, and she suddenly found herself transfixed by him. What would it be like to have such a charismatic man's regard? she wondered.

Fearing she was becoming too entranced, she said quickly, ‘Anyway, you said that you appreciated a companionable silence and I've already been talking too much...'

‘Not necessarily. Your voice is actually very soothing.'

Taken aback by the compliment, she said quickly, ‘I've just remembered I've got a couple of things to do in the kitchen. Do you mind if I leave you on your own for a while?'

‘Not at all... That is, unless you'd prefer to stay and talk to me?'

Such a simply put invitation shouldn't make her insides flutter with the most intoxicating pleasure but it
did
, and her reaction warned her to tread very carefully where Seth Broden was concerned.

‘I don't have a preference, but I perfectly understand if you want some time on your own for a while. Just call me if you need anything.'

Seth blinked and glanced away. ‘As tempting as that offer sounds, sweetheart, there's nothing I really need right now other than the brandy.'

‘I'll leave you in peace, then.'

His gaze immediately found hers again and he looked far from reassured. ‘Not possible—but I appreciate the sentiment.'

Even as she left the room Imogen remembered the note he'd left for his girlfriend.

You're the only one who can calm the lightning in my soul and help me find peace.

That last remark he'd made confirmed he'd lost all faith in ever experiencing such an elusive concept again, and once more her foolish heart ached. Not just for Seth but for herself, too. No one could know the emotional wreckage that was left behind when faced with the loss of the person you loved...the hopelessness that ensued. A person had to experience it for themselves before they could even begin to understand.

* * *

It was blissfully quiet and oddly comforting as Seth sat in front of the wood burner, sipping brandy in Imogen's simple front room.

Ahead of his return to the UK he had booked a suite at a five-star hotel, where he might rest and relax and mull over what he was going to do with the Siddonses' house. He still hadn't decided whether he actually wanted to
live
in it. All he'd known when his estate agent friend had rung to tell him that the house was up for sale was that he simply
had
to have it. He didn't really know why, except that it was a significant part of his past and he wanted to right the wrong that had been done there.

But how did you right the wrong of a loved one being taken from the world too soon
?

He wouldn't even have the satisfaction of showing James Siddons that he'd exceeded his wealth, thereby proving that he'd kept his word about becoming successful. Who would have believed that a poor car mechanic would become an exceedingly rich dealer in some of the most desirable cars in the world—and friend to the rich and famous on the way?

But even as Seth reflected on what he'd achieved he couldn't deny that underneath it all there was still a sense of something
missing
.

Staring back into the autumn-coloured hues of the burner's flames, he wondered if Imogen had anyone significant in her life. She was a pretty little thing, and kind, too. He was a total stranger to her, but when he'd declared that he needed a drink she'd had no hesitation in offering him some brandy.

He'd been able to tell straight away that she was a compassionate woman. She was certainly nothing like the majority of well-heeled ‘high-maintenance' females he usually came into contact with in New York. Yes, he enjoyed the fact that they flocked round him like bees round a honeypot whenever he was socialising, but lately the ability to attract beautiful and sophisticated women had definitely begun to pall.

Maybe that was also why he'd returned to the UK? Hopefully he could move around unremarked. He didn't have such a glamorous profile here. Except that he might yet have to deal with the curiosity of the media when the citizens of his hometown noted that he'd returned...

The combination of the heat from the fire and the brandy he'd consumed couldn't help but make Seth's eyelids droop. Seconds later he'd fallen asleep, with his head resting against a diamond-patterned cushion he'd placed behind him.

He didn't register Imogen's return. Nor did he see the generous plate of sandwiches she'd brought with her from the kitchen. He'd fallen into the deepest sleep he'd had in years.

When he eventually stirred he couldn't believe the time. Evidenced by the morning light that he glimpsed behind the room's slatted rattan blinds, several hours had elapsed. The cosy fire in the burner had long perished and the room was decidedly chilly, despite the woollen throw that Imogen must have draped over his knees.

It took him aback to realise he must have been asleep for most of the night... How could that be? How could he have let his guard down like that in front of a complete stranger? It just didn't make sense.

Rubbing his hand round his beard-roughened jaw, he pushed the throw aside and sat up. Maintaining the same position for several hours had inevitably cramped his body. A dull ache that bordered on the painful throbbed through his entire being. Rising to his feet, he stretched his arms up high over his head and rolled his shoulders. His mouth was as dry as a sun-bleached riverbed and he was in dire need of water.

Strolling out into the kitchen, he flicked on the light and immediately saw the cling film–wrapped tray of sandwiches on the worktop. Had Imogen made those to share with him last night? Even as Seth had the thought he realised how hungry he was. What an idiot he was for falling asleep like that!

Pouring a glass of water, he gulped down several mouthfuls. His thirst sated, he helped himself to a couple of sandwiches and hungrily wolfed them down. Then he returned to the living room.

He was just rolling up the blinds when his hostess walked in, wearing lavender-coloured pyjamas and a matching dressing gown, her chestnut hair a mass of eye-catching curls. It stopped him in his tracks to notice that her skin was nothing less than flawless...even at this unearthly hour.

‘Good morning,' he greeted her huskily.

Her big brown eyes mirrored her astonishment. ‘You're still here!'

‘I'm afraid I am. You should have woken me and told me to go home.'

Imogen smiled delicately. ‘You were sleeping so soundly when I came back from the kitchen I didn't want to disturb you. You were obviously very tired. But shock can do that to a person.'

Seth was puzzled. ‘Shock?'

‘The note?' she reminded him gently.

Finding himself reacquainted with the letter he'd written to Louisa all those years ago and learning that she'd read it before she died must have been responsible for lowering his defences. He would never normally make himself so vulnerable
.
Undoubtedly the generous glass of brandy he'd drunk had helped...

CHAPTER THREE

G
RAVEL
VOICED
, S
ETH
COMMENTED
,
‘It's not every day that your past comes back to haunt you like that.'

Imogen frowned. ‘Would you like to keep the note? After all, it really belongs to you.'

He recalled that he'd automatically shoved it down into his coat pocket. ‘I'd better hold on to it. I wouldn't want to risk it falling into the wrong hands.'

The brunette's flawless brow crumpled. ‘I admit I'd hoped that I could keep it...' Hugging her arms over her chest, she was lost in thought for a moment. ‘It's the most romantic thing I've ever read. The words struck a chord. They gave me hope.'

‘What I felt for Louisa wasn't romantic. It was just true. I didn't want to
own
her, as though she was some possession. I wanted the very best for her, whatever that was.'

Swallowing down the lump that rose inside his throat, Seth sighed.

‘People think that I've mourned her for too long—that missing her is wasted time. Many times I've been told I should move on, find someone else to love. I won't deny that at times I've been tempted. There's been no shortage of takers, wanting me to commit, but so far I haven't been able to do it. Maybe I just loved her too much.'

Shaking his head, he found himself staring at the woman who had given him shelter the night before.

‘What did you mean when you said the letter gave you hope?'

‘It doesn't matter.'

‘But it does. You know my story... Will you tell me yours? Why do you need hope, Imogen?'

‘If you think it might help me to talk about things then you're wrong. I'm trying to put what happened behind me and move on. I don't want it to ruin the rest of my life.'

Her expression was peeved, her brown eyes defiant. Seth didn't know why, but he was intrigued. He realised that discussing feelings with a woman might potentially be like walking on broken glass.
Whatever angle you came from, it was a delicate issue.

Tunnelling his fingers through his hair, he realised that he really wanted to engage her—to get her to
like
him, even.

‘I don't profess to know whether it might help you to talk about things or not—all I'm saying is that if you do decide to I'm willing to listen. What you tell me won't go any further than these four walls... I give you my word.'

Mulling over his remarks, she turned still for a moment. ‘And why would you be interested in what happened to me? I'm nothing to you. I'm just some woman who wandered up to your house in the hope that I might find out who wrote the letter I found.'

Seth couldn't help smiling. Did she really not know how attractive she was? The longer he spent in her company, the more he sensed himself becoming attracted to her. He knew that most women wouldn't hesitate to use their physical attributes to their advantage if a man was wealthy or attractive, and he wasn't being falsely modest in realising that he was
both
. The fact that Imogen hadn't made a play for him piqued his interest even more.

‘Clearly you're not just “some woman”, Imogen. I already sense that you think deeply about things. A lot of men would find that quality very attractive...beguiling, even.'

The unexpected sizzle of desire that suddenly seized him caught him off guard, making him feel distinctly off centre for a minute. Studying her, he saw that even though her dark brown eyes shimmered briefly when she glanced back at him, it was clear Imogen wasn't troubled by the same disconcerting sensations.

Impatient, she moved towards the kitchen. But even as her hand curved round the brass doorknob, she suddenly paused. ‘Okay, I'll tell you my story. I owe you that much, since you trusted me with yours. But I'm surprised that you're not in a hurry to go home.'

‘I don't have a place here—not unless you count the mansion. For the past ten years I've been living in the States. At the moment home is a hotel suite. Elegant as it is, I'm in no hurry to go back there.'

‘You don't have any family that live nearby?'

‘My father died when I was a teenager. But, in truth, my mother raised me by herself. My father was far too preoccupied with his drinking and gambling to be of any use to anyone. She's long since moved away from here.'

‘What about brothers or sisters?'

‘There are none.'

Imogen fell silent again. Then she said, ‘I think I'll go and make some tea. Would you like some?'

‘I'd prefer coffee...black, no sugar.'

‘I'll go and see to it, then. I won't be long.'

‘Thanks.'

It wasn't like him actively to
invite
personal conversation, Seth reflected. It must be down to the peculiar intimacy that the dawn had evoked. Just like the night, it could entice a person into letting down their guard and lure them into spilling their innermost secrets...even to a stranger.

What innermost secret was Imogen going to reveal? he wondered.

Splashing his face with cold water and squeezing out some toothpaste to rub round his teeth, he paused to study himself in the bathroom mirror. To his mind, he looked haggard. Seeing the Siddonses' house again had been a real baptism of fire. And he'd gone and
bought
the place! Had he temporarily lost his mind? It was said that love and loss were apt to make people behave strangely...

Rinsing his mouth after using the toothpaste, he registered that he needed a shave. But it wasn't just overnight stubble that darkened his visage.

Even though his path had led him to become seriously wealthy and given him a lifestyle he couldn't have envisaged all those years ago when he'd striven to keep the wolf from the door for himself and his mother, the road had been paved with some gruelling obstacles. If he hadn't made himself impervious to the need for people's good opinion and focused instead on honing his skills and becoming expert at them, he would have been well and truly
lost.

Even so, living without genuine companionship these past ten years had taken its toll. From time to time basic necessity had driven him to seek out the kind of pleasure that only women could provide, but even great sex didn't come close to true intimacy.
The kind of intimacy that he'd shared with Louisa.

His muttered curse vented his frustration.

Having finished his ablutions, he returned to the living room. The enticing aroma of freshly ground coffee filled the air and his stomach growled with hunger.

At some point during Seth's absence Imogen had got dressed. Instead of the pretty lavender pyjamas and dressing gown, she now wore black skinny jeans and a knitted red sweater. Her dark hair was caught up in a hastily arranged topknot, and several loosely curling strands had drifted down over her ears. Her unmade-up complexion was nothing less than translucent, but she visibly coloured pink when she saw that he was silently appraising her.

‘All done?' she said quickly.

It was evident that she wanted to deflect his interest. Seth nodded.

‘Then I'll just go and use the bathroom myself. I've made your coffee. You'll find it brewing in the kitchen. I've also put some bread into the toaster, if you're hungry. Just help yourself.'

‘You must have read my mind. But try not to be too long. We have some talking to do, remember?' Electing not to reply, Imogen hurriedly left. He could already tell that she hadn't appreciated the reminder. Perhaps she wouldn't tell him her story after all?

* * *

Alone again, Imogen was aware that inside her chest her heart was thudding. It was undeniable that she was nervous. But even though the thought of relating to him the recent shattering events she'd endured filled her with something close to dread, she couldn't forget that Seth had shared his own sad story.

Perhaps she should take courage from that? He of all people must understand her reticence about revisiting hurtful events. Just listening to his heartfelt assertion that he would never love anyone as he'd loved the woman he'd lost had been unbearably poignant.

Once upon a time, Imogen had loved Greg with what she'd believed to be similar passionate devotion. However, the idyllic happy-ever-after that she'd hoped for hadn't transpired. Instead, the relationship had come to the most abrupt and devastating end. It would be a very long time—
if ever
—before she trusted another man again...certainly enough to consider sharing her life with him.

‘I made some toast for us to share.'

On her return, she saw her handsome visitor's glance was decidedly sheepish. He had filled the silver-plated toast rack with crisped slices of wholemeal bread and brought in the butter dish she'd left on the worktop, along with a pot of marmalade. He hadn't just poured coffee for himself but had made Imogen some tea.

The thoughtful gesture surprised her, and she dropped down into the armchair, taking her beverage with her. ‘Thanks. I never would have guessed that you were so domesticated.'

Helping himself to toast and slathering it with a generous portion of marmalade, Seth grinned. The gesture was so distracting it was like the sun bursting through the clouds on a rainy day. She was glad she was sitting down.

‘I like to disprove people's assumptions about me,' he drawled. ‘It keeps them on their toes.'

Silently sipping her tea, she owned to feeling an odd pleasure at the sight of the businessman enjoying his breakfast. The realisation made her pause. Talking of assumptions—was she
wrong
to think that he was a businessman? Although he dressed like a well-heeled broker in the city of London, the fact that she didn't know what he did made her remember how little she knew about him
.

Yet she'd trusted him enough to let him sleep undisturbed on her couch the whole night!

Before she shied away from quizzing him, she asked, ‘Do you mind if I ask what you do for a living?'

The wariness that stole across his sublimely carved features indicated his reluctance to answer. It came back to her that when he'd first met her he'd asked if she was a reporter.

‘No. I don't mind. I run several motor car dealerships in America.'

‘What kind of motor cars?'

‘High-end ones... Maserati, Ferrari and Lamborghini to name a few.'

Imogen's stomach lurched helplessly. If she'd needed a reminder that his affluent lifestyle must be about a trillion miles away from hers, then she'd just got one...

‘Is there a very big demand for such cars?'

‘Hell, yes!' Pausing to gulp down some coffee, Seth wiped the back of his hand across his lips. ‘I wouldn't be where I am today if there wasn't.'

He was gazing back at her, and she saw that the blue eyes that were the colour of the most exquisite sapphires glinted disturbingly. But whether it was because her question had irritated him or because he couldn't believe that she was naive enough to ask it, Imogen couldn't tell.

‘You mean that you've done well selling them...?'

His ensuing laugh was harsh. ‘You think that all I do is to sell cars?'

Her skin crawling with unease, she stared back at him. ‘Clearly you're more than just a salesman, but as I don't know very much about the world of fancy cars perhaps you'd enlighten me? I mean...I know you said you ran several dealerships, but—'

‘I should have explained. I employ managers to run the dealerships for me. I don't work for the company that sells these cars. I
own
it.'

Talk about having the wind taken out of her sails. With her mouth uncomfortably dry, she took a hasty mouthful of tea. ‘Then, it must have been quite a change for you to sleep on my landlord's old couch. I know it's not the most comfortable piece of furniture.'

Frowning, Seth's eyes were doubly piercing as he studied her. ‘I was very grateful that you invited me in and allowed me to sleep on it. Did you think I was looking down my nose at you?'

Reaching forward, Imogen stood her cup and saucer on the coffee table. Then she got nervously to her feet. ‘I hope you wouldn't be as unkind as that. Look...I'm not trying to rush you, but when you've finished your coffee it's probably best that you go. It's Saturday—my day for catching up with the housework.'

‘Haven't you forgotten something?'

Straight away Imogen knew what he meant. Twisting her hands together, she wished she
had
forgotten their agreement. But she immediately saw that Seth Broden
hadn't
. Now on his feet, there was nothing in his expression that told her he might be willing to change his mind.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she blurted out candidly, ‘So you really want to know my story, do you? Well, I'll tell you, then...'

Tightly folding her arms across her red sweater, she began.

‘I was jilted by my fiancé on our wedding day. Left waiting at the church as if I wore a sign that said Reject on it...'

She paused to take in a breath.

‘It was horrendous. I kept trying to ring him, to find out what was going on, but he wasn't taking my calls. And as I sat there, trying to work out what had happened and figure out the reason he wasn't there, the waiting started to feel like the most horrible nightmare that I couldn't wake up from. Time and time again I assured the vicar that he would definitely appear—that perhaps he'd slept through his alarm. But even as I said the words I knew I was only deluding myself. In those interminable few minutes, I went to hell and back. Then I began to do my own private autopsy... I
had
to. Had I missed something in the lead-up to the wedding that should have told me he wanted out?'

She looked forlorn for a second.

‘We'd talked about our plans so much. We'd even put a deposit down on a house. We were so excited that we were going to be together at last, in our own home. Greg seemed so happy... I never saw any signs that he wasn't. But apparently he'd been having doubts about us for months. He said that the time just never seemed right to tell me—that he didn't want to hurt me.