Chapter 2 #2
What was she supposed to do with this version of her former friend? The gangly, troubled young man had been replaced with a virile, cocky man who bothered her. Who inflicted chaos on her nervous system and roused her hunger for a man’s touch. His touch, damn him.
“By all means.” She snuck one last peek at his sculpted chest before turning around.
Clasping her hands behind her back, she distracted herself from the intimate sounds of him dressing by staring at the hole in the ceiling.
As if willpower alone would patch it right up. “What are you doing out here?”
“Business.”
“What sort of business?”
There was movement in the corner of her eye, and she tilted her head slightly to see what he was doing. He was crouched on the floor in his union suit, and he was placing what looked like a shiny satchel under her bed. He fluffed a blanket and laid it casually on top to hide it from view.
“I manage a bookshop.”
Imogen was glad he couldn’t see her expression, which most likely resembled a soprano who had forgotten the next note.
But how had he gone from barely literate when she’d known him to running a bookshop?
The dogged determination required for such a feat staggered her.
Made her feel…proud. But why would a bookshop manager need to hide a satchel under her bed?
“You can turn around now.”
She snapped her mouth shut and faced him with a raised brow. “All those afternoons we spent working on the alphabet must have paid off.”
“They did,” he said in a tone she couldn’t quite decipher. “More than you know, Genie.”
Genie.
The nickname he’d given her after she’d helped him stumble through her copy of Arabian Nights. He’d claimed that since she’d appeared in his life like a mystical being, she owed him three wishes. But they’d run out of time.
“You never did get those wishes,” she said, slowly drowning in his cerulean eyes. His expression contorted, as if assailed by the same multitude of memories as she was, and he took a step closer. Her breath caught.
Then he broke their gaze, rubbing a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “I never could decide between giving the mayor horns or resurrecting a ghost ship.”
She forced another laugh. Hunted for something to say. “Where are your trousers?”
If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she might have missed the mask that slid over his face. It dulled his features into a polished facade, the guise of an accomplished salesman. Or a liar.
“My horse spooked and threw me into a ravine. By the time I extracted myself, he was gone.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Why were you riding in your underwear?”
He met her stare without flinching. “There was a disturbance at my accommodations, and I had to leave in a rush.”
“You’re the redheaded scoundrel they’re talking about in town?”
The mask slipped. “What do you mean?”
“When Aunt Judith dropped off fresh supplies this morning, she also shared some scintillating gossip. Apparently, Mrs. Wigglesbottom has a long-winded tale about a guest who made her daughter promises, then slipped away before an engagement could be secured. Then there’s the stableboy, who claims the same man lulled his watch dogs to sleep by waving his hand and muttering an incantation.
And let’s not forget the baker, who swears the scoundrel stole three loaves of bread and his wife’s Christmas present on the way out.
” She swallowed a chuckle. Trust Tommy to get caught up in something so ridiculous. “I wonder which parts are true.”
Tommy, however, didn’t smile. “Is someone looking for me? Genie, I swear I didn’t touch that girl.”
Despite the painful way their relationship ended, Imogen knew in her heart he spoke the truth. Even if he had always lived by his own moral code, those weaker than himself were always treated kindly. She’d seen it too many times to discount it.
“I know,” she said finally. “But that doesn’t mean you can hide out here.”
“Of course not. I only need a favor.” His tone grew smoother and more persuasive with every word. “A wish granted, if you will.”
Her lips pressed into a firm line. He was using his charm on her? “What do you want? To go back in time and answer all the letters I sent you from boarding school?”
He winced, then tried to cover it by moving to stand before the snowflake-taped window. “I was obeying your father’s order to leave you alone.”
“Not that tired excuse again,” she scoffed.
“Don’t blame me for your family’s snobbery. What was it he said? Ah, yes. ‘Keep your filthy, ill-bred hands off my daughter.’”
“If you’d waited to kiss me until after my birthday party, we never would have ended up in that position!” He waved a dismissive hand in the air, and she gritted her teeth. “Just tell me what you want.”
“Clothing.” His words were clipped. “I must reach Seattle as quickly as possible.”
“Afraid Miss Wigglesbottom will come to demand your hand in marriage?”
“Among other things.”
The hidden satchel flashed across her mind.
She sighed and shook her head. Fate had clearly made a mistake bringing them back together.
She couldn’t possibly heal from her recent setbacks with Tommy’s presence opening up old wounds.
Besides, the oaf would put a serious dent in the time allocated for wallowing.
The words yes, of course, the sooner the better were on the tip of her tongue, but she paused.
His profile was lit by the glow of the afternoon sun, softening his rough edges while casting others in shadow.
As she stared, colors became more vibrant, textures more pronounced.
Something stirred in her breast, and she tilted her head to the side to consider its significance.
Before the recent onslaught of rejections, she’d been sure of herself and her art.
She’d even signed herself up for the Seattle Photography Exhibition, a fast-approaching event that put her images alongside those of the nation’s best photographers.
A successful showing could catapult her name nationwide.
Failure would ensure she slipped into obscurity, cursed to take boring family portraits for the rest of her life.
And she had nothing to show.
Her workstation in the corner of the room was stacked with rejected glass plates.
Each one uninspired, dull, second-rate. Solitude was supposed to provide clarity.
Galvanize her imagination. Instead, she’d lain around scratching her stomach and contemplating how bread dough worked.
A half-written letter of withdrawal sat beside the plates, though she hadn’t yet found the strength to finish it.
But as she stared at Tommy, so effortlessly elegant and photogenic in nothing but his underwear, her muse, dormant for weeks, stretched with catlike grace inside her.
Perhaps this morsel of inspiration was fate’s apology for bringing him back into her life?
A gift to explore once she was alone again?
“What do you say, Genie? Ready to finally grant me my wish?”
The smug, calculating look in his eye told her he expected her to fall at his feet, just like she had when she was a na?ve sixteen-year-old. Unfortunately for him, she’d learned her lesson only too well. Not only that, she was more than prepared to use his own tactics against him.
“I’ll give you all the clothing you need.” Her smile was mostly teeth. “After you tell me what’s in your satchel. You know, the one you hid when I wasn’t looking.”