‘I was about to go back in for another swim,’ Imogen said, then hesitated. ‘Why don’t you come?’

It might be better to do something than sit here trying not to look at her, Tom decided. ‘All right,’ he said, getting to his feet.

They walked over the hot sand together and into the water. It was so clear they could see their feet in extraordinary detail as they waded past the shallows.

‘It feels like silk against your skin, doesn’t it?’ said Imogen, trailing her fingers over the surface.

Tom wished she hadn’t mentioned her skin. It was hard enough to keep his eyes off it as it was. As soon as it was deep enough, he dived into the water and swam in a fast crawl out towards the reef.

How long was it since he had stopped like this and just listened to the silence? Just felt the sun on his shoulders? His life was so focused, so driven by the need to succeed, that he had forgotten how to relax the way Imogen was relaxing. But he had the strangest impression that the tight feeling was starting to loosen the more time he spent with her on this idyllic island…

Jessica Hart was born in West Africa, and has suffered from itchy feet ever since, travelling and working around the world in a wide variety of interesting but very lowly jobs, all of which have provided inspiration on which to draw when it comes to the settings and plots of her stories. Now she lives a rather more settled existence in York, where she has been able to pursue her interest in history, although she still yearns sometimes for wider horizons. If you’d like to know more about Jessica, visit her website www.jessicahart.co.uk

HONEYMOON WITH THE BOSS

BY

JESSICA HART

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This one is for Julia, who was there at the start

CHAPTER ONE

‘WHERE would you like to go on honeymoon?’

Imogen paused in surprise, her arm still extended in the act of handing her boss a folder of letters across the desk. ‘Honeymoon?’ she repeated cautiously, wondering if she had heard correctly.

It was unlike Tom Maddison to ask personal questions, let alone one so unexpected. Sometimes on a Monday morning he remembered to ask her if she had had a good weekend, but never as if he cared about the answer and she always said ‘Yes, thank you’ in reply, even if it had been a disaster—as, frankly, it often was.

‘Yes, honeymoon,’ said Tom with an edge of impatience. He took the folder and opened it. ‘You know, after you get married.’

‘Er…I’m not getting married,’ said Imogen.

Chance would be a fine thing, she thought wryly. All her friends seemed to be settling down, but she was obviously doomed to remain single— and it wasn’t for lack of trying, whatever her best friend, Amanda, might say. Ever since Andrew had announced his engagement, she had thrown herself into the dating game, but no matter how promising her date seemed at first, Imogen always ended up making an excuse to leave early.

‘Pretend that you are,’ said Tom, skimming the first letter and scrawling his signature at the bottom before looking up at her with the piercingly light eyes that always reminded Imogen of stainless steel, so cool and unyielding were they.

He put down his pen. ‘You’re a woman,’ he said, as if noticing the fact for the first time, which it probably was, Imogen thought. She was resigned now to the fact that, as far as Tom Maddison was concerned, she was little more than a walking, talking piece of office equipment.

‘I have it on good authority that most women start planning their dream weddings when they’re about six,’ he said, ‘so you must have given it some thought.’

‘That’s true, but at six you’re only interested in pretty dresses,’ Imogen pointed out. ‘You’re not that concerned about the groom at that stage, let alone the honeymoon.’

Tom frowned as he pulled the next letter towards him. ‘So you haven’t thought about it since then?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t say that,’ she admitted scrupulously, ‘but my fantasies have never gone beyond getting married. Sadly, I’ve never been in a position where there’s any point in planning a honeymoon.’

‘You are now.’ Tom cast a cursory glance over the letter and signed it before reaching for the next one.

‘Pardon?’

‘I want you to plan a honeymoon,’ he said, his pen moving briskly over the paper.

‘But…who for?’

‘For me,’ said Tom, as if it were obvious.

‘For you?’

Imogen stared at him. She shouldn’t be surprised, she realised. Tom Maddison was thirty-six, single, straight and very, very rich. Why wouldn’t he get married?

It wasn’t as if he was unattractive, either. You couldn’t call him handsome exactly, but he was tall and powerfully built and attractive in a way she couldn’t quite explain. His stern face was dominated by a strong nose and those strange light eyes under formidable brows. So, no, he wasn’t handsome. And yet…

And yet there was something about the line of his mouth that made the breath stick in her throat sometimes, something about the big, square, capable hands and the angle of his cheek and jaw that prickled excitingly under her skin and sent a little shiver snaking down her spine.

Offset against that was the fact that she had worked for Tom Maddison for six months without any indication that he had any emotions at all. Not once had he mentioned his personal life. It was only thanks to her friend Sue in Human Resources that Imogen even knew that he was single.

She knew all about his professional reputation, though. In the City, they called him the Iceman. He was famous for the chilly precision of his negotiations and his cold-blooded approach to the failing companies that he was brought in to turn around. She knew Tom had been in New York for a number of years, transforming the fortunes of a succession of firms familiar from the Dow-Jones Index, and that he had been lured back to London at a reputedly gigantic salary to be CEO of Collocom, which had been struggling in the competitive communications market.

But really, that was all she knew. Imogen had never met anyone so driven and focused. It was like working for a machine.

Maybe that wasn’t quite fair, she amended mentally. He was too brusque and impatient to be a machine. He was tough, even ruthless, but he was absolutely straight too. Tom Maddison wasn’t a man who played games, and she admired that. With Tom, what you saw was what you got.

Except now it turned out that there was another side to him.

‘You’re getting married?’ she asked him, just in case she had misunderstood. It was hard to imagine Tom unbending enough to even smile at a woman, let alone ask her to marry him. He must have had a conversation about something other than work. Amazing.

‘Didn’t I tell you?’

‘No,’ she said with careful restraint, ‘you didn’t.’

She was only his temporary PA, but he might have told her, she thought. Subsiding onto the chair, Imogen studied him across the desk as he scanned another letter and wondered what his fiancée was like.

Thin, no doubt. And probably beautiful, she decided glumly.

Funny how men with millions to squander never chose to spend them on average-looking girls who could do with losing a few pounds, wasn’t it?

‘Well…congratulations!’ she said brightly. ‘When did all this happen?’

‘At New Year.’ Tom looked uncomfortable with the personal turn of the conversation.

‘When you were in New York?’ Imogen asked, surprised. He had certainly gone on his own—she knew because she had booked his ticket—and he didn’t seem the type to spend a romantic weekend with a stranger, let alone rush into marriage.

‘I’ve known Julia for nearly a year,’ said Tom, as if reading her mind. He signed the last letter and sat turning the pen between his fingers with a brooding expression, giving a very bad impression of a besotted lover. ‘But we didn’t get together until just before I came back to London four months ago.’

‘Why didn’t you say anything before?’

‘There didn’t seem to be any need. We weren’t going to get married until next year. Julia is a financial analyst, and she obviously has to sort out what’s going to happen about her job if she moves over here, so I thought we had plenty of time.’

‘Oh.’ Imogen wasn’t sure what else to say. It certainly didn’t sound like a mad, passionate love affair, but perhaps Tom was different behind closed doors.

With a mouth like that, it would be a shame if he wasn’t.

‘So when are you getting married?’ she asked after a moment.

‘In six weeks.’

‘Six weeks!’ Maybe it was a mad, passionate affair after all! ‘Gosh, that’s not long.’

‘I know.’

Tom could hear the glumness in his own voice, and pulled himself up. He ought to be sounding more enthusiastic at the prospect. After all, getting married had been his idea.

It had made perfect sense at the time. Julia was a high-flyer, like him. She was beautiful, intelligent, successful. Independent. To Tom, she had seemed everything he wanted in a woman. Their relationship had been mutually satisfying, with neither making any demands on the other, and Tom couldn’t imagine ever meeting anyone who would fit into his life with so little effort.

But that was before he had asked her to marry him and wedding fever had gripped her, transforming her in an instant from a cool, competent businesswoman into a neurotic fiancée, obsessed with dresses and guest lists and flowers and fuss. It was all very alarming, and Tom just hoped that once the wedding was over, Julia would revert to normal.

‘Julia has set her heart on getting married at Stavely Castle,’ he told Imogen, who was obviously wondering what the rush was. ‘We just assumed it would be a year before we could book it, but it turns out that they’ve had a last-minute cancellation, so Julia jumped at the opportunity.’

That cancellation had thrown out all Tom’s calculations. He had planned his proposal with care, just as he planned everything. He preferred his life under strict control. He didn’t do spontaneous. So he had thought it all out, weighed up the advantages and disadvantages and prepared exactly what he would say to Julia. He had expected her to say yes, and she had.

What he hadn’t expected was her excitement. He had assumed that they could carry on much as before for a while, with Julia’s job in Manhattan and his work in London. There was no hurry. They could have a year or so to get used to being engaged and plan the perfect wedding with precision.

But Julia had thrown his plans into disarray. She had thrown herself into planning the wedding with alarming enthusiasm, her ideas becoming more and more extravagant by the day, and once she had heard that the castle would be available so soon, there was no stopping her.

Tom couldn’t understand it at all. He had thought that Julia shared his pragmatic attitude to marriage. She had certainly seemed to agree that they could have a successful relationship based on mutual respect, admiration and attraction. It wasn’t as if she was a silly, romantic girl expecting him to start gushing about love and all that hearts and flowers stuff. Which just made her enthusiasm for the wedding all the more baffling.

‘It’s all very exciting,’ said Imogen encouragingly.

‘Yes,’ Tom agreed, but he knew that he didn’t sound very excited. It was all right for Imogen. Her life hadn’t been thrown into disorder.

‘Julia is coming over next week to start planning the wedding,’ he told her. ‘She’ll be dividing her time between here and NewYork, so she may need your help arranging things.’

‘Of course,’ said Imogen. ‘Whatever I can do to help.’

‘You can sort out this honeymoon business for a start,’ said Tom, flicking open a file, evidently having had enough personal interaction. ‘Julia’s dealing with the wedding, but she tells me it’s up to me to organise the honeymoon.’

‘It’s traditional for the groom to do that,’ Imogen agreed, wondering a little at the undercurrent of irritation in his voice. Poor Julia. She wondered if his fiancée had any idea of just how unexcited Tom was about his wedding.

‘I don’t know anything about honeymoons,’ he was grumbling.

‘It’s not that hard,’ said Imogen with just a hint of asperity. ‘It’s just a holiday. You’ll want a chance to relax after the wedding, so all you need to do is find somewhere romantic where you can be alone.’

Tom frowned. ‘What do you mean by romantic?’

Imogen only just stopped herself from rolling her eyes in time. ‘That depends on you. Everyone’s got a different idea of what’s romantic. What does romance mean to you?’

‘It’s no use asking me,’ he said unhelpfully. ‘I haven’t got a clue.’

Well, there was a surprise!

Imogen sighed. ‘Just choose somewhere relaxing, in that case.’

‘It’s got to be “special”.’ Tom used his fingers to put hooks around the word, barely able to contain his discomfort with the idea. ‘I can’t just book it as if it were a normal holiday. Julia is obviously expecting me to arrange something fabulous.’

‘I expect she is.’

‘I haven’t got time to research fabulous holidays,’ Tom objected.

He studied Imogen with critical grey eyes. When he had first arrived at Collocom Imogen had been assigned as his temporary assistant until he appointed a PA of his own.

At first sight, he hadn’t been impressed, Tom had to admit. She was younger and infinitely more casual than any secretary he had had before, and she had no experience of working at a senior executive level. As far as Tom could work out, she had drifted into secretarial work and was utterly lacking in ambition. It was symptomatic of the failing firm that the best assistance they could offer their new Chief Executive was a temp whose only relevant experience was a two-week assignment in Human Resources, he had thought disapprovingly.

With that wayward brown hair and relaxed approach to the dress code, Imogen always seemed faintly messy to Tom. Her desk was an absolute disgrace, for instance, and in spite of her temporary status she appeared to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of every member of staff’s social life. If Tom hadn’t had his hands full taking over the reins of a company whose shares were plummeting in value on a daily basis, he would have insisted on a more professional PA, but stopping the slide and turning Collocom round was his priority for now.

When he had the time, he would be looking to appoint someone qualified and experienced who would act as a professional PA but, in the meantime, Imogen had proved to be surprisingly competent. Tom might wish that she looked a little sleeker, a little crisper, but she was a more than adequate substitute in most things, so he had postponed the decision about replacing her for now. Her image might be unprofessional, but she got the job done, and for Tom that was what mattered most.

‘You’re a sensible woman,’ he told her. ‘I’m prepared to go on your recommendation.’

Sensible? It wasn’t exactly a compliment to make the heart beat faster, was it? thought Imogen, disgruntled. Why couldn’t he think of her as glamorous, or mysterious, or sexy, or exciting? Anything but sensible!

Still, it would amuse Amanda, who was always telling her how very un-sensible she was when it came to men.

Tom Maddison might look like the kind of man you yearned to sweep you off your feet, but a girl wanted a little romance. A man who thought sensible was a compliment and was clearly baffled by the idea of a romantic holiday wouldn’t be that much fun to be with in reality, no matter how toe-curling his mouth, or spine-shivering his hands.

No, some men were better in your fantasies than in real life. In her fantasies, Tom had slowly unbuttoned her blouse and pressed hot kisses to her throat. He had pressed her up against a door and reduced her to a puddle of lust with the merest graze of his fingers. My God, but you’re beautiful! he had cried as he’d thrown her across the bed.

Not once in her fantasies had he told her she was a sensible woman!

It would serve Tom Maddison right if she recommended a B&B in Skegness as the perfect honeymoon destination for sensible people! Not that she could do that to the unknown Julia, who obviously had a lot to put up with from her fiancé. Imogen was beginning to really feel for the poor woman.

‘I did read about a lovely place the other day,’ she told Tom.

It had been a fairly typical evening in the flat; Imogen lay on the sofa, flicking through magazines while Amanda painted her nails, both of them bemoaning their lack of a glamorous social life while secretly relieved that neither of them had to miss the latest episode of Eastenders. Imogen had seen the piece about the ultimate romantic getaways and shown it to Amanda, who had sighed enviously and nearly passed out when she saw how much it cost.

‘It was terribly expensive, though.’ Imogen felt she should warn Tom.

He waved a dismissive hand, as if nothing were too much to pay to save him from having to think about a romantic destination for himself.

It probably wasn’t, thought Imogen. She didn’t deal with his personal finances, but it was common knowledge that Tom Maddison was worth millions. It wasn’t as if he ever spent any of them, either. All he seemed to do was work. She never booked fancy restaurants or theatre tickets or arranged for him to fly in private jets or cruise in luxury yachts.

He went to New York occasionally, but Imogen had always assumed that was for work. She had obviously been wrong about that. Perhaps Tom lavished jewels and expensive gifts on Julia? Imogen couldn’t imagine it, but she might be wrong about that too.

‘If money is no object, Coconut Island was described as the ultimate place for a romantic getaway,’ she said. ‘It’s tiny, with just one incredibly stylish house and a little jetty, and you can hire the whole island just for yourself. There’s a luxury hotel on a bigger island nearby, and they send someone over on a boat every day to service the house and stock the fridge with fabulous food. They’ll stay and cook for you if you want, but most people there are honeymooners, and they just want to be on their own.

‘I saw a picture of it in this magazine,’ Imogen went on, remembering. ‘It looked absolutely fabulous! There was this perfect turquoise lagoon with a white sand beach and a hammock under the coconut palms…’

Clutching the pile of papers she still held to her chest, she sighed dreamily at the memory of that picture. ‘Honestly, it was paradise! I’d love to go somewhere like that, where there’s nothing to do all day but laze and swim and read and…’

About to say make love, she trailed off awkwardly, wondering if that might be getting a bit intimate, given that her exchanges with Tom had so far been limited entirely to business matters. He wasn’t the kind of boss you could chat to about sex.

‘…and…er…well, you know…’ she finished uncomfortably.

Tom lifted an eyebrow at Imogen’s blush. ‘I know,’ he agreed in a dry voice and, for the first time ever, she could swear she caught a glint of amusement in the cool grey eyes. It changed his expression in a quite startling way, and Imogen felt her pulse give an odd little kick.

It was amazing what a difference a glimpse of humour made, she reflected. If she had seen that look before, her fantasies might have been a lot more dangerous! Just as well he was safely engaged now.

The next moment, though, he had reverted to type. ‘It sounds fine,’ he said briskly. ‘Book it for me.’

Imogen hesitated. This was his honeymoon they were talking about. ‘Wouldn’t you rather do it yourself?’

‘No,’ said Tom with emphasis, ‘I’d rather get on with some work.’

‘But a honeymoon is such a personal thing,’ she protested.

‘Yes, and you’re my personal assistant,’ he pointed out. ‘That means you assist me personally, so I suggest that’s what you do. Now, the wedding is on…’

To Imogen’s amazement, he actually consulted his computer about a date that ought to be engraved on his heart. ‘Ah, yes, twenty-seventh of February. Julia is talking about having it at some castle in Gloucestershire, but we can get to Heathrow easily enough from there, so book a flight that night.

‘I don’t want to know about how much everything costs,’ he added as Imogen opened her mouth. ‘I can’t be bothered with the details. Just book whatever you think and charge it to my account.’

‘Very well,’ said Imogen, the perfect PA once more. ‘If that’s what you want.’

‘What I want,’ said Tom grouchily, ‘is not to be distracted. We’ve got an important contract to negotiate before I can get married, so let’s get on with that.’

‘And I’ve booked the honeymoon for you,’ Imogen finished after handing Tom the last message. He had been out of the office in meetings all day, and the phone had been ringing constantly.

‘Good, good,’ said Tom absently, flicking through the messages. He was still wearing his overcoat, and his shoulders still glistened with raindrops in the harsh overhead light.

‘Don’t you want the details?’

He frowned. ‘I suppose I’d better have them,’ he decided. ‘Julia might ask what I’ve arranged. Can you put it all in a file for me?’

‘I’ve got it here.’ Imogen handed the file over the desk. ‘I do hope you’ll enjoy it,’ she said. ‘I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be, especially with the weather the way it is at the moment,’ she added, nodding to where the January rain was still splattering against the window.

Tom only grunted as he opened the file and scanned the arrangements that she had typed up. His ferocious brows rose at the cost, Imogen noticed, but to her relief he made no comment. What would it be like to barely blink at spending a hefty five-figure sum on a holiday?

He turned to the next page. ‘Leaving on the twenty-seventh…’ his voice sharpened ‘…back on the nineteenth of March?’

‘You told me to book whatever I thought would be most appropriate,’ she reminded him.

‘I can’t believe you thought it would be appropriate for me to be away from the office for three weeks!’

Imogen refused to quail. ‘It’s your honeymoon,’ she said. ‘It’s a special time. It’s important to get your marriage off to the right start if you can afford it, as you obviously can.’

‘I’m not talking about money,’ he said impatiently. ‘It’s time I can’t afford.’

‘I’m not talking about money either,’ said Imogen. ‘Collocom isn’t going to fall apart if you’re not here for three weeks, so you can afford the time. It’s a question of priorities. What matters more, Collocom or your marriage?’

Tom eyed his PA with something close to dislike. He knew how he was supposed to reply to that!

He thought wistfully of the days when he and Julia had had a successful long-distance relationship. Their weekends in New York had been mutually satisfying. Julia had her own busy life, and respected his space. He hadn’t been expected then to think about all this emotional stuff, or to reassess his priorities.

He hadn’t counted on all these changes. If he’d known, would he ever have thought about marriage? Tom wondered with an inward sigh.

It would be fine, he reassured himself. Julia was an incredible woman, and he was lucky to have met her. She would understand about the honeymoon.

‘I’ll talk to Julia about it,’ he told Imogen, closing the file with a snap. ‘Then you can rearrange the flights.’

But Julia was thrilled when he told her about Coconut Island. ‘Thank you for choosing somewhere so romantic, honey,’ she enthused. ‘And three weeks alone! I can’t wait! Won’t it be wonderful to spend that time together and get to know each other properly?’

Tom thought they did know each other. Why else would they be getting married?

He had been hoping that Julia would want to cut the honeymoon short. A drive for success was something they had in common—or, at least, it had been until Julia had gone wedding crazy. Now it appeared she would rather loll around on a beach for three weeks than get back to work! Wouldn’t she want to know what was happening in her absence? Wouldn’t she be concerned about deals being made without her, or the challenges and opportunities she would miss while she was sitting under some coconut palm?

This was Imogen’s fault, Tom thought darkly. If she hadn’t booked such a long stay, Julia would have been perfectly happy to return to normal after a week.

When Imogen asked him if he wanted her to rearrange the flights, he snapped at her but had to concede that the dates should stay as she had booked.

‘Leave it as it is,’ he snarled.

‘Oh-kay…good,’ said Imogen, eyeing him warily. Being engaged didn’t seem to be suiting him at all.

Tom’s foul mood continued for the next couple of days. He was so grouchy that Imogen began to wonder if Julia had called the engagement off. If Tom was like this with her, Imogen wouldn’t have blamed her!

Not that she had any intention of asking him if everything was all right. She valued her head too much. The only thing to do when Tom was like this was to keep her head down and be glad that she was only a very temporary secretary.

Think of the money, Imogen told herself. She was earning good money here and her travel fund was looking positively healthy. As soon as Tom got round to appointing a new PA she would be off to Australia and someone else could deal with him. Good luck to her!

It appeared, though, that the engagement was very much still on. Imogen was squinting at her shorthand a couple of days later when the phone rang.

‘Chief Executive’s office.’

‘Hi, is that Imogen?’ The warm American voice spilled out of the phone. ‘This is Julia, Tom’s fiancée, here. Tom said you might be able to help me with a few little things.’

Those ‘few little things’ turned out to be a list of details to check that extended to three pages. Imogen rolled her eyes as she scribbled down notes, but she had to admit that Julia was very friendly and appreciative. Unlike Tom, she was obviously thrilled at the prospect of a wedding.

‘I’m having a dress made here,’ she told Imogen excitedly. ‘It is so-o-o-o beautiful! I knew exactly what I wanted. In fact, I’ll email you the design—you’re being so helpful, I’m thinking of you as a kind of cyber bridesmaid! Would you like to see it?’

Imogen had little choice but to murmur politely that she would love to.

‘Don’t show Tom, though! It’s unlucky for him to see it before the wedding.’

Imogen tried, and failed, to imagine poring girlishly over a dress design with her boss. Tom must be very different with Julia if she thought he’d have the slightest interest in what anyone wore.

‘I won’t.’

‘Now, I’ve booked Stavely Castle for the wedding and reception,’ said Julia. ‘I visited last time I was in England and it was just so romantic. I decided there and then if I ever got married, that’s where I wanted the wedding!’

She rattled on, wanting Imogen to book a string quartet, find a supply of fresh rose petals, put her in touch with a cake designer, draw up a list of hotels in the area…

‘You’re so sweet to help me out like this,’ she told Imogen. ‘It’s difficult to sort out details like this from New York, and I’m just so busy at the moment, what with sorting out everything here before I come over to London. I had no idea how much work organising a wedding would be on top of it all!’

‘It’s a lot to do at such short notice,’ Imogen agreed, reflecting that Julia wasn’t the only busy one. Sadly, they didn’t all have fiancés with assistants they could fob off with all the time-consuming jobs!

‘I know, it’s crazy, isn’t it?’ Julia’s laugh sounded a little wild to Imogen. ‘But Stavely Castle suddenly had a cancellation and it just seemed meant somehow. As I said to Tom, when you know you’ve found the right person, why wait?’

Imogen murmured something noncommittal. It seemed to her that if you wanted a spontaneous wedding, it made sense to keep things simple and let the rose petals and the string quartets go. Still, it wasn’t her wedding, and Julia and Tom had plenty of money to throw at the problem, which always helped.

‘How is Tom?’ Julia was asking.

‘Er, he’s fine,’ said Imogen, wondering if she was expected to report that her boss was working himself into a frenzy of excitement about the wedding. ‘Working hard. You know what he’s like.’

Julia laughed. ‘I know. Isn’t he a darling? He’s so British sometimes!’

‘Absolutely,’ Imogen agreed, boggling at the phone. Tom Maddison, a darling? Julia must be in love!

‘Is he there?’

‘Of course. I’ll put you through.’

Putting Julia on hold, Imogen buzzed Tom. ‘I’ve got Julia on the line.’

‘Julia?’ he snapped.

‘Your fiancée,’ she reminded him.

‘What does she want?’

‘She didn’t say. I imagine she wants to talk to you.’

‘I can’t talk now,’ he said irritably. ‘Can’t it wait? Tell her I’m in a meeting.’

‘I’ve already said that I would put her through.’

He made an exasperated sound. ‘Oh, very well.’

Imogen grimaced as she put down the phone. Some darling!

She felt sorry for Julia. There had been a feverishness to the other woman’s voice that boded ill for a measured conversation with her fiancé. A few minutes’ conversation had been enough to show Imogen that Julia was a control freak, and already stressed by having to organise the perfect wedding at long distance. Right now, Julia needed calm reassurance, but Imogen was afraid she was unlikely to get it from Tom in his current mood.

Five minutes later, Tom banged out of his office, his mood clearly even worse than she had feared.

‘This wedding business is getting out of control,’ he snarled. ‘I haven’t got time to talk about invitations and vows and rehearsal dinners! And you’re spending far too much time on it, too,’ he added accusingly.

‘I don’t mind,’ she said quickly. ‘It’ll be easier when Julia is here.’

‘I hope to God you’re right!’

‘You have to make allowances.’ Imogen was beginning to feel like a counsellor. She certainly seemed to spend more time talking to Tom and to Julia than they were talking to each other. ‘A wedding is a big deal for any woman,’ she tried to placate Tom. ‘Julia’s giving up her life in New York to be with you, so it’s going to be an even more emotional time than usual for her. I know it seems like a lot of stress at the moment, but it will be worth it when you’re married, won’t it?’

Tom stopped pacing and imagined a time when he and Julia were safely married. Everything would be calm again, and he would go home every night to a beautiful, accomplished wife who understood what made a successful relationship and who would support him professionally and personally. He could rely on Julia to always say the right thing, and do the right thing. She was neat and orderly and sensible—except when it came to weddings, it seemed.

Perhaps Imogen was right, and it was just the stress of arranging a wedding at short notice that was making Julia so uncharacteristically emotional. Once this damned wedding was over, surely she would go back to the way she had been before?

It had taken Tom a long time to find just the right wife. Julia wouldn’t normally expect him to be all lovey-dovey. They had come to a very clear agreement about what they both wanted from marriage, so if it didn’t work with her, it was never going to work with anyone.

No, Julia was perfect. He didn’t want to lose her now.

He would just have to be more patient, Tom decided. He would try harder to show an interest in the wedding if that was what Julia wanted.

He could feel Imogen’s stern eye on him and remembered her question. It will be worth it, won’t it?

‘Of course it will,’ he said.

CHAPTER TWO

IMOGEN waved at the girls on Reception and pressed the button to call the lift. This was Tom’s last day in the office before the wedding, and the staff had planned a surprise champagne reception later that afternoon to wish him well.

She hoped Tom would appreciate the gesture and manage a smile for them. Most of the staff were terrified of his brusque manner, but they respected him, too. He was tough, but fair, and no one was in any doubt that he had transformed Collocom in the six months he had been there. Their boss’s wedding was an excuse to celebrate a much more secure future for them all.

It had been a busy few weeks. Imogen had spent most of them chasing up string quartets and florists and photographers. She was an expert now on everything from the design of the place settings to special licence arrangements, and she was on first-name terms with the staff at Stavely Castle after ringing on a daily basis to change or check endless details. Perhaps when she got back from her travels she could set up as a wedding planner?

There had been no word from Julia for a couple of days now, which was odd. Tom’s fiancée had been backwards and forwards between New York and London for the past few weeks, but ten days ago she had arrived, she said, to stay. Imogen had arranged for her to lease a fabulous flat in Chelsea Harbour so that she could prepare for the wedding, but she had still been on the phone several times a day. Imogen just hoped that—finally!—everything was ready and Julia could stop fretting.

Tom’s fiancée was very lovely, as slender as predicted, and beautifully dressed. There was a glossiness and a sheen to her that made Imogen feel gauche and faintly shabby in comparison. They were probably much the same age, but Julia was so much more sophisticated she seemed to come from a different world, one where first-class travel and designer clothes were the norm, and a million miles from Imogen’s life sharing a chaotic flat in south London.

In spite of the differences between them, Julia was determined to treat Imogen as her new best friend when they’d finally met in the office one day. She was warm and friendly, embarrassingly so at times, but Imogen sensed a tension to her and a frenetic undercurrent to her obsession with wedding arrangements, as if she were wound up like a tightly coiled spring. Imogen hoped she would be able to relax enough to enjoy the wedding.

Julia had brought Imogen a beautiful scarf to thank her for all her work. ‘I do hope you’ll come to the wedding, Imogen,’ she said, kissing her on both cheeks when she first met her. ‘It would mean the world to Tom and me if you were there. Wouldn’t it, Tom?’

It had clearly never crossed Tom’s mind to care one way or another, but he nodded. ‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘I know how hard Imogen has worked to make sure it all happens.’

There was a very faint edge to his voice. Imogen knew just how often he had been exasperated to find her tied up with wedding arrangements when he needed her to do something else, but she had to admit that he’d been making much more of an effort lately. She wondered if Julia realised quite how hard he was trying.

Julia had confided to Imogen in one of her many phone calls that she had wondered at one time if Tom had been having second thoughts about getting married. ‘But he’s been so sweet lately that I can see I was silly to have worried,’ she said. ‘He rings twice a day, and sends me a red rose every morning just so I know he’s thinking about me.’

Julia sighed with satisfaction. As well she might, Imogen reflected. She had arranged the delivery of the single roses herself and knew exactly how much it cost. Her mind boggled at the idea of Tom being sweet. He must really love Julia if he was prepared to change to such an extent, she thought wistfully.

She tried hard to be happy for them. It wasn’t Julia’s fault if she was thin, beautiful, wealthy, glamorous and had a man like Tom Maddison at her feet.

It wasn’t her fault if Imogen couldn’t stick to a diet, devoured a whole packet of chocolate digestives at a sitting and was reduced to dates with men who explained exactly how a mobile phone worked or who actually thought she would be interested in a detailed account of the intergalactic battles in Star Wars.

‘Your trouble is that you’re too picky,’ Amanda was always telling her. ‘You’re looking for a prince, and he’s just not going to turn up. You’ve got to be prepared to compromise a bit.’

‘I don’t want to compromise.’ Imogen could be stubborn too. ‘I want what I had with Andrew.’

Amanda sighed. ‘You’ve got to get over him, Imo.’

‘I am over him.’ She thought she was, anyway. ‘I know he’s happy with Sara. I know he’s not going to come back. But when you’ve had the perfect relationship, it’s hard to settle for anything less.’

‘If it had been the perfect relationship, Andrew wouldn’t have broken it off,’ Amanda invariably pointed out.

It was a good point. Imogen knew her friend was right, and she really was trying to meet someone new. It was just that the men she met seemed lacking in even the hint of a spark.

Still, perhaps she should give them more of a chance, Imogen had decided only the week before. Look at how Tom had changed and was trying hard to please Julia. He must be in love with her if he was prepared to make that kind of effort.

Sick of yearning after the unattainable, as Amanda put it, Imogen had vowed to try harder. There was no reason why she shouldn’t find someone she could have a real relationship with, perhaps even someone who might like to come travelling with her, but it hadn’t been going well. Last night she had let Amanda’s boyfriend set her up on yet another blind date, this time with an engineer who had spent most of his time telling her about his multiple allergies.

No wonder she was feeling depressed this morning.

It was nothing to do with the fact that Tom Maddison was getting married in a couple of days.

The lights were on in both offices when she went in. That meant Tom was here already. He had probably been here since at least seven, in fact, the way he usually was. He wasn’t the kind of man who would take it easy just because he was getting married.

Imogen tested a smile in the mirror as she hung up her coat. It didn’t look very convincing. She tried again, adding a little sparkle to her eyes. Better. She could almost pass for a girl who was genuinely pleased for her boss.

She wanted to be. Tom might be grouchy at times, but she admired his self-discipline and integrity. He wasn’t the friendliest of bosses, but you always knew where you were with him.

And he never mentioned an allergy or gave the slightest indication he had even seen Star Wars. He deserved a beautiful wife like Julia.

‘Good morning,’ she said brightly, as she knocked and went into his office. ‘Your last day before the wedding! Where would you like me to start?’

Tom looked up from the papers on his desk, and Imogen’s heart plummeted as she saw that his face looked as if it were carved out of stone.

‘You can start by cancelling the wedding,’ he said.

There was a catastrophic silence.

‘Cancel it?’ said Imogen, aghast, hoping against hope that she had misheard.

Tom nodded curtly. ‘Pull the plug on everything.’

‘But…what on earth has happened? Where’s Julia?’

‘On her way back to New York.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Probably taking off right now.’

‘She’ll come back,’ said Imogen, thinking that Julia would have to turn round as soon as she landed to get back in time for the wedding. ‘It must just be last-minute nerves.’

‘She doesn’t want to get married,’ said Tom flatly. ‘No, that’s not quite right,’ he corrected himself. ‘She does want to get married, just not to me.’

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice.

Imogen had been standing as if rooted to the spot, but at that she turned to close the door and, without waiting to be invited, sat down across the desk.

‘Are you sure there hasn’t been some kind of mistake?’ she asked carefully. ‘Is it possible you’ve misunderstood what the problem is?’

Tom gave a harsh, mirthless laugh. ‘Oh, no, she was crystal clear. I misunderstood the whole situation, it turns out, but not what she wants to do now.’

He couldn’t bear to be pitied. Swinging his chair round so that he wouldn’t have to look at the sympathy in Imogen’s face, he stared out of the window at the bleak February morning. It suited his mood exactly.

‘All of Julia’s family and friends are over for the wedding, and she’d arranged to spend the evening with them, so I wasn’t expecting to see her. But she turned up at my door at ten o’clock and said that we had to talk,’ he told Imogen. ‘It wasn’t the easiest of scenes. She said that she was sorry, but she couldn’t marry me because she was going to marry Patrick.’

‘Patrick?’ Imogen felt completely lost. This was all so unexpected it was difficult to grasp what he was telling her. ‘Who’s Patrick?’

‘Patrick is Julia’s best friend, always has been, ever since they were at college together. I met him in New York, and knew they spent lots of time together, but Julia always said that they had decided long ago not to spoil their friendship by sleeping together. It was always a platonic relationship, and they both dated other people, like me. That was one of the reasons she was always so happy with a long-distance relationship,’ Tom remembered. ‘When I wasn’t there, she had plenty of time to spend with Patrick, just “goofing around”, as she called it.’

Imogen could practically hear the quotation marks around the phrase, and she could understand his baffled distaste. Tom probably didn’t even know what goofing around was.

‘It turns out that Julia was in love with Patrick all along,’ he went on. ‘She didn’t say anything because she didn’t want to lose him as a friend, but she wasn’t getting any younger and she decided that if she wanted to get married and have a family, as she does, she would have to make a decision to commit to someone else. That’s when Muggins here came along.’

Tom couldn’t look at Imogen. He was burning with humiliation, furious with himself for not realising the truth, furious with Julia for making a fool of him. She had made such a fuss about the wedding, and invited half the world, so everyone would know that he was the man too stupid to realise his fiancée was in love with someone else, too weak to convince her to stay, too inept to build a successful relationship.

Now they would all know he was a failure.

They would know he hadn’t been able to control his own life.

His jaw was clenched, but he couldn’t stop the betraying muscle jumping frantically in his cheek. He wanted to bellow with rage, to punch his fist into a wall, but he couldn’t do that. Imogen would think he was upset and feel even sorrier for him.

‘When I asked her to marry me, she thought it was a good chance to get away from New York and Patrick, and start afresh,’ he went on after a moment. ‘She liked me, she said, and she liked sleeping with me. She thought we had a lot in common and would make a good team. I did, too,’ he remembered with bitterness. ‘Once she’d made that decision, she threw herself into the whole idea of getting married.’

‘To compensate for the fact that she really wanted to be marrying someone else?’ Imogen said numbly. The feverish edge to Julia’s planning was beginning to make more sense now. She must have been desperate to get married while she could still convince herself that she was making the right decision. No wonder she had been keen to have the wedding in England and so soon.

‘She certainly fooled me.’ Tom’s mouth twisted as he swung round to face Imogen once more. He would show her that he was in control. ‘I had no idea I wasn’t the one she really wanted to marry.’

‘So what changed?’

‘Apparently the prospect of losing her was too much for Patrick and he came to his senses. He realised that he was in love with her, too, and probably always had been. It’s quite a touching story, when you think about it.’

Tom smiled without humour. ‘Patrick came over for the wedding, but when he saw Julia he told her how he felt, and then of course she realised she couldn’t go through with marrying me. She said she was sorry,’ he added expressionlessly.

The look in his eyes made Imogen want to cry. ‘I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry,’ she said helplessly.

‘It’s probably all for the best,’ said Tom briskly. ‘Better for Julia to realise that she was making a mistake now than after the wedding. At least it’s saved us the hassle—and cost!—of a divorce.’

That would have been an admission of failure too. Either way, Julia would have made him look a loser.

And Tom was a winner. He didn’t like losing. He never had.

He picked up his pen, almost as if he intended to get on with some work, but put it down again after a moment. The truth was, he didn’t know how to deal with this. He was too angry and humiliated to work, but what else could he do?

Imogen swallowed. Tom wasn’t the kind of man who went in for emotional displays but she knew how hard he must be hurting. He had tried so hard to be what Julia wanted.

‘What can I do?’ she asked.

‘I’d be grateful if you would deal with telling everyone who needs to know.’ The curtness in Tom’s voice didn’t quite disguise his gratitude that she was going to stick to practicalities.

‘Of course.’

‘Here’s the key to Julia’s apartment. She left it with me last night.’

He pushed a key across the desk. Imogen recognised it from when she had arranged the short-term lease of the flat. Julia had wanted somewhere to stay where she could keep her wedding dress secret from Tom.

At the time, Imogen had rolled her eyes at the extravagance, which seemed to be taking tradition to extremes, but now she marvelled that she hadn’t seen the separate apartment as a warning sign. If Julia had been really in love with Tom, she wouldn’t have been able to wait to move in with him. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have the space. Imogen had been to his penthouse flat in the Docklands to collect some papers once, and there had been more than enough room to hide a dozen wedding dresses if necessary.

‘The flat is full of presents that will need to be returned. Presumably you’ve got a list of guests?’

Imogen nodded. ‘I’ll make sure they all know the wedding has been cancelled.’

‘You’d better deal with Stavely Castle first.’

‘I’ll do that.’ She got to her feet and hesitated, looking at him with concern. With anyone else, she would have offered the comfort of a hug, but she didn’t think Tom would welcome a gesture like that. He wasn’t a tactile man.

Still, this would be a devastating blow for a man of his pride. Imogen wished she could do something to help him, but she sensed the best thing she could do was deal with the practicalities and make as little fuss as possible.

She couldn’t go without saying something, though. ‘Will you be all right?’ she asked after a moment.

‘Of course,’ he said, as brusque as ever. ‘I’ve got plenty to do.’

‘You’re not really going to work, are you?’

‘What else is there to do?’ he said and even he could hear the bleakness in his voice.

Imogen came back a little while later with coffee and a couple of biscuits.

‘I never eat biscuits,’ said Tom, glancing up from his computer screen as she set them solicitously at his elbow.

‘You should have something to eat.’

‘I’m not an invalid, Imogen!’

‘You’ve had a shock,’ she said. ‘You need the sugar.’

‘I don’t need anything!’ The suggestion of neediness always caught Tom on the raw and he glared at Imogen. ‘I’m perfectly all right,’ he snapped. ‘There’s no need to treat me as if I’m about to faint or burst into tears.’

‘Eat them anyway,’ said Imogen, who thought it might be better if he did.

Tom Maddison was a difficult man to help. What was the point of pretending that you didn’t have feelings? He had retreated behind an even more ferocious mask than usual, bottling it all up inside, and was clearly going to lash out at anyone who dared to suggest that he might be hurt, or angry, or in need of comfort.

Well, she would just have to be lashed, Imogen decided. She had been spared Tom’s public humiliation, but she knew what it was like to realise that the person you loved didn’t love you back and never had. It hurt. It hurt a lot and, although no one could endure it for you, it helped to have someone by your side to see you through it.

Tom would never admit that he needed anyone, but he did.

Imogen wished she knew more about his private life. If only there was a friend she could call, someone who would come and be there for Tom, the way Amanda had been there for her. But it looked as if it was just her.

She transferred her notebook from under her arm and flicked it open. For now, she would stick with the practicalities.

‘I’ve spoken to the Castle, and cancelled all the arrangements there. I’m afraid that, at this stage, there’s no question of any refunds,’ she added apologetically.

‘God, what a waste of money!’ Tom threw himself back in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck as he thought of the cost. He hadn’t begrudged paying for Julia’s increasingly extravagant ideas, but what had been the point of it all? He had let Julia have whatever she wanted.

He hadn’t realised the only thing she really wanted was Patrick.

‘Then there’s the honeymoon…’

Imogen hesitated about raising the matter of the honeymoon, but that had been booked and paid for too, and Tom would have to make some decision. The cost of Coconut Island was phenomenal. It would make a dent in even Tom’s bank account, surely.

‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Tom, taking a biscuit without quite realising what he was doing. ‘You said it was somewhere you’d love to go,’ he reminded her.

Imogen squirmed. ‘I’m sorry it turned out to be so expensive.’

But really, how was she to know Julia would turn her back on the wedding of her dreams, the holiday of a lifetime and a man like Tom? Julia must really love Patrick to give up all that, she reflected. ‘I’ll see if it’s possible to get some money back, at least.’

If it had been her own holiday, she would have taken out insurance, but it had never occurred to her to think it would be an issue for Tom.

‘I’ll get on to the agents and see what the cancellation terms are,’ she said.

‘Don’t do that,’ said Tom, brushing biscuit crumbs from his fingers and making up his mind. ‘I don’t want you to cancel the trip.’

Imogen looked at him in concern. Surely he wasn’t planning to go anyway? It would be a disaster. Every time he turned round he would be reminded that Julia wasn’t there.

‘I’m not sure it’s a great idea for you to go on your own,’ she said cautiously.

‘I’m not planning to go on my own,’ he said. ‘You’re coming with me.’

‘What?’

‘I’ve wasted enough money on the wedding. I’ve spent a bloody fortune on that island, and I’m not going to waste that too. You said you’d like to go there. Well, now’s your chance.’

‘But…it’s booked as a honeymoon,’ stammered Imogen. ‘Everyone would assume that we were married.’

‘Who’s going to know, or care?’ Tom countered. ‘They’re only interested in my money. It’s not as if they’re going to ask to see the marriage certificate when we check in.’

‘Well, no, but…’ Imogen looked at him despairingly. Couldn’t he see how awkward it would be? ‘I booked it as a honeymoon, so they might make a fuss when we arrive.’

‘Let them,’ said Tom. ‘Surely the whole point of the exercise was that we would have complete privacy? This isn’t some B&B where we’d have no choice but to share a bed. At least, it had better not be for the price I’m paying for it!’ he added caustically. ‘OK, we may have to bluff it on arrival, but after that we should have a whole island to ourselves and no one will know that we’re not spending our whole time having sex.’

Imogen was mortified to feel her cheeks burning. Honestly, anyone would think she had never heard the word sex before! But somehow Tom talking about it made it all too easy to imagine Tom doing it.

She forced the image aside, not without some difficulty.

‘You make it all sound so reasonable,’ she protested.

‘Because it is reasonable. It’s a practical solution to the problem, and would be a good thing for both of us. What’s not reasonable about that?’

Imogen fiddled with her pen and tried to imagine what it would be like to go on holiday with her boss. ‘It would still be a bit…intimate,’ she said at last.

‘I don’t see why—’ Tom stopped as it occurred to him, somewhat belatedly, that Imogen might have a personal life of her own. He knew that she wasn’t married, but there might be a man on the scene, and that might complicate matters.

He frowned. ‘Are you worried about what a boyfriend might think?’

‘It’s not that,’ said Imogen. ‘There isn’t anyone else at the moment.’

‘Even better then,’ said Tom, relieved. ‘That means no one has any excuse to feel jealous or upset.’

‘Maybe not, but there’ll be plenty of people who’ll speculate about why we’re going on holiday together.’

Tom scowled. ‘Who on earth is going to care?’

‘The entire staff of Collocom for a start, I should think.’

‘What business is it of theirs what we do?’

‘None, of course, but that’s not going to stop them wondering. I’d wonder what was going on if my boss and his secretary disappeared to a tropical island for three weeks!’

‘Tell them it’s a business trip,’ Tom said indifferently.

‘Oh, yes, like they’ll believe that!’

‘Frankly, I’m not concerned with what they do and don’t believe,’ he said with a dismissive gesture. ‘The fact is that it will be a business trip. We’ll have a whole island between us. We can take our laptops, and if we’ve got access to the Internet there’s no reason why we shouldn’t get on with some work.’

Imogen looked dubious. ‘Do you think there’ll be an Internet connection?’ she asked, even as she realised that she had been lured into discussing details before they had really dealt with the issue at hand.

‘At that price there certainly ought to be!’

‘I don’t know,’ she said, still doubtful. ‘I can’t imagine many people hire a private island to work. It’s meant as a romantic hideaway,’ she reminded him. ‘I don’t think the idea is that you spend your time checking email.’

‘Then you’d better find out,’ said Tom, ‘because I have no intention of cutting myself off from work for three weeks. It’ll be a good chance to catch up on a few projects without the distraction of endless meetings.’

Pushing back his chair, he got to his feet and prowled over to the window, where he stood looking out at the sleety rain that splattered against the glass. ‘We might as well get something out of this whole fiasco.’

Imogen bit her lip as she regarded his back. Silhouetted against the window, he looked massive and solitary. Internet access, or lack of it, wasn’t the problem here.

‘Are you sure you’ve thought this through?’ she asked carefully.

Tom kept his gaze on the rain. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Have you considered how painful it’s going to be for you if I’m there instead of Julia?’

‘Not as painful as forking out however many thousand pounds and having absolutely nothing to show for it,’ he said, but he knew that Imogen had a point.

‘I suspect it’s going to be awkward to be around for a while,’ he went on, not without some difficulty. ‘It’ll be easier for everyone if I’m not here and then they don’t have to tell me they’re sorry or remember not to mention anything to do with weddings.’

He hesitated, his eyes on the wet pavements far below. The sun would be shining in the Maldives, he thought. What would it be like there? He hadn’t really thought about going with Julia but now he let himself imagine being there with Imogen.

It would be easier if he could work, and she could help him to do that. The beauty of modern technology was that you could work anywhere, so why not the Maldives? Imogen could be his PA there as well as here.

And while Tom might try and tell himself that he didn’t care what people thought, deep down his humiliation was still raw. It would be bad enough dealing with the sympathy here without having to explain himself all over again when he turned up for a honeymoon on his own.

He could feel Imogen watching him warily.

‘I could go to the island on my own,’ he said, turning back to face her, his hands in his pockets, ‘but then it really would be obvious that something was wrong. There would be fewer explanations if you came too.’

Dammit, he didn’t want to beg! ‘You’ve been doing all the work for this wedding, anyway,’ he ploughed on. ‘You deserve a break.’

‘I thought I was going to work?’

‘I’ll be working,’ he said. ‘You can do what you like.’

Imogen regarded him a little helplessly. It seemed all wrong to be taking another woman’s place on a honeymoon, but she sensed that Tom was too proud to ask her outright. The holiday would probably be a good thing for him, but he would lose face going alone, and she knew that would be difficult for him.

Was it so much to ask? She hated the thought of Tom being on his own at a time like this, and this way she could at least keep him company and offer support if he needed it.

And, when it came down to it, it was February and he was offering her three free weeks in luxurious surroundings in the Maldives. If nothing else, it would get her away from Star Wars fanatics and allergy sufferers.

She drew a breath. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘if you really would like me to go, I’ll go.’

‘Fine’ was all he said, but he couldn’t quite conceal the flash of relief in his eyes as he sat back down at his desk, and that made her feel better, or at least as if she was doing the right thing.

‘Transfer Julia’s ticket into your name,’ he said, ‘and tell anyone who asks that we’re going on a business trip.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘WELCOME, Mr and Mrs Maddison, and congratulations!’ The resort manager himself met Tom and Imogen as they stepped onto the jetty. The light was dazzling and the heat was both a relief and a shock after the air-conditioning on the flight. A flying boat had brought them from the airport on Malé to their base, and their luggage was already being transferred to a sleek speedboat that was waiting to take them on the last leg to Coconut Island itself.

Imogen averted her eyes from her battered old trolley bag. It was perfectly adequate for package holidays to Greece and Spain, but it looked very out of place here amongst the other designer cases and honeymooners’ matching luggage sets that were being unloaded from the seaplane.

She must look as out of place as her luggage, she realised. She was very conscious of her crumpled trousers and creased top. February wasn’t the best time to buy hot-weather clothes in London, so she had little choice but to bring the clothes she had worn to Greece the year before. They were cheap and cheerful, and had been perfect there, but she could see the other travellers eyeing her askance.

There was nothing cheap about this resort, where all the guests seemed to be beautifully dressed. Everyone seemed to be in couples, and they were uniformly lithe and golden and glowing with happiness.

Imogen shifted uncomfortably. In comparison, she knew she must look pasty, fat and frazzled by the tension of the last few days. There was no way anyone would take her for a radiant bride, that was for sure. They must all be wondering what on earth she was doing with someone like Tom Maddison.

Not that Tom fitted in any better than she did. He was actually wearing a suit! At least he had taken his jacket off now, but his shirtsleeves were still buttoned, his tie still knotted. Imogen wondered if he had ever been on holiday before.

Tom wasn’t giving a very good impression of a newlywed either, it had to be said. His expression was as forbidding as ever, but the power of his presence was such that the resort manager had picked him unerringly from all the couples who disembarked from the seaplane as the recently married Tom Maddison, who had hired the most luxurious and expensive accommodation available.

‘If you wouldn’t mind completing a few formalities…’ he said, politely concealing his disbelief at Tom Maddison’s new wife, who was clearly not what they had been expecting.

He led them ahead of everyone else to the spectacular reception area, which was all dark wood, lush tropical plants and understated glamour. It practically reeked of money, thought Imogen, trying not to stare. Fabulously expensive hotels would be ten a penny to the new Mrs Maddison.

‘As soon as this is done, you’ll be taken straight to Coconut Island, where you’ll be assured complete privacy during your stay,’ the manager went on. He gestured towards a slim young man dressed in pristine white, who was waiting to one side. ‘Ali will visit once a day and will make sure you have everything you need.’

Tom merely nodded, but Imogen felt as if she ought to show a little more enthusiasm. ‘Thank you,’ she said, plastering on a big smile. ‘I’m sure it will all be lovely.’

The manager, having obviously decided he wouldn’t get much small talk out of Tom, turned to Imogen with a courteous smile.

‘I hope you had a happy day for your wedding?’

There was a tiny pause. They had agreed on the plane that it would be easier not to go into complicated explanations, but surely it must be obvious that they weren’t actually married. Imogen felt as if there must be a neon sign flashing ‘liar’with an arrow pointing down right above her head, but she kept her smile in place somehow.

‘Er…yes…thank you,’ she said awkwardly, tucking her left hand away so that the manager wouldn’t notice the glaring absence of a wedding ring.

Tom glanced up from the form he was signing and, rather to Imogen’s surprise, seemed to pick up on her discomfort. Or perhaps he just didn’t think she was putting on a very convincing performance, because he reached out and put his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side.

‘Imogen’s very tired,’ he explained her lack of enthusiasm. ‘She’s had a busy time organising the wedding, and it was a long flight.’

‘Of course, of course.’ The manager beamed at them both. ‘But now you are here, you can be alone together and relax.’

Oh, yes, sure, thought Imogen, who had rarely felt less relaxed than she did at that moment. Tom had shaken her hand when they’d first met, but she didn’t think he had ever touched her since, and now his arm was warm and strong around her, holding her against a body that was leaner and harder and more solid than she could ever have imagined. His big hand rested casually, proprietorially, at her waist, exactly as a besotted husband’s would, and he seemed astonishingly natural, as if he knew her body as well as his own.

Imogen’s heart was pounding and her skin where she was pressed into his side, and beneath his hand, was tingling and twitching with awareness of him, of his warmth and his strength and the clean masculine smell of him. Her knees felt ridiculously weak and she was conscious of a bizarre and disturbing desire to turn into the hard security of his body, to hold him tight and burrow into him.

Her mouth dried at the very thought of it. Relax? Ha!

She managed a weak smile. ‘I can’t wait.’

‘You must let us know if there is anything—anything at all!—we can do to make your stay more comfortable.’

Imogen wondered wildly if she could ask if he would swap Tom for a less unsettling companion, one she could chat away to without her heart thudding and thumping with the memory of what it felt like to be held against him.

She was overreacting, Imogen scolded herself. She could blame it on jet lag. This was Tom, for heaven’s sake! Her boss.

The boss who had just had his heart broken, remember? Imogen felt a little ashamed to realise that she hadn’t given Julia a thought since she’d arrived. It had been such a thrill to fly over the islands. Pressing her nose against the seaplane’s window, she had gasped at the heart-stopping beauty of the scene.

They’d flown across islands fringed with dazzling white sand, while the water between them was so intensely coloured it seemed almost unreal: the deep, dark blue of the ocean beyond the reefs; bright aquamarine striped with violet and lilac over the sand bars; the pale, translucent emerald of the shallow lagoons. Far below, the little boats zipping over the sea had been tiny streaks flecking the surface with their wake, while the waves broke silently against the reef in a froth of white.

Caught up in amazement at it all, it wasn’t surprising that she had forgotten Julia, but Tom wouldn’t have done. How could he?

This must all be so difficult for him, she thought as, to her intense relief, Tom released her to complete the paperwork. How hard would it be to arrive in this beautiful place to spend what should have been three glorious weeks with his bride, knowing that whenever he turned his head, instead of the svelte, gorgeous Julia, he would just see his very ordinary PA? It would be like salt rubbing into the wound every time.

Imogen bit her lip. And here she was getting in a state about a brief hug! It was far, far worse for Tom. He must surely be regretting now that he had asked her to come.

She stood feeling miserably self-conscious as the resort manager outlined the arrangements that had been made for them. It was clear that Tom wasn’t listening any more than she was. ‘Yes, yes,’ he said with a trace of impatience as he signed the last form. ‘Whatever’s been arranged will be fine.’

‘Excellent. In that case, I’m sure you’re anxious to be left alone.’ The manager waved Ali over and they all trooped back down to the jetty, where the speedboat was already throbbing gently, ready for the off.

Tom put his hand lightly against her back to guide her to the steps leading down to the boat, and Imogen’s heart lurched into her throat once more. Telling herself not to be so stupid, she climbed into the boat, barely noticing the hand Ali put out to steady her, but burningly aware of Tom’s touch long after he had dropped his hand.

Willing the blush she could feel creeping up her cheeks to fade, Imogen sat stiffly on the luxurious seat as Tom jumped easily down into the boat and took his place beside her. She couldn’t let herself get into a state whenever he touched her! The next three weeks were going to be difficult enough as it was.

Three weeks alone with him.

What on earth was she doing here? It had made a warped kind of sense that day in London when she had agreed to come. Tom had needed to get away. She would help him save face. It was a purely business arrangement.

True, Amanda hadn’t seemed convinced. ‘Business?’ she said when Imogen told her that she would be away for three weeks. ‘On a tropical island?’

‘It’ll be just like being in the office,’ Imogen said. ‘But with better weather.’

‘Sure.’ Amanda’s tone reeked scepticism.

‘It will,’ she insisted. ‘I’ve got to take my laptop. I’ll have to work.’

‘And when you’re not working and there’s just the two of you alone in paradise? It sounds like this Tom Maddison is pretty hot,’ said Amanda. ‘How are you going to keep your hands off him? And don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it!’

‘I haven’t!’ And she hadn’t. Not since Tom had announced that he was getting married, anyway.

‘Honestly, Amanda, the man has just been jilted at the altar,’ Imogen went on a little huffily. ‘He won’t admit it, but he’s really hurt. The last thing he needs is me making things awkward for him! Besides, this is my boss we’re talking about.’

‘So?’

‘So there’s no question of anything like that. Tom’s too churned up about Julia and I’ve got more sense. OK, he is quite attractive,’ Imogen conceded, ‘but he’s out of my league, I know that.

‘Even if he wasn’t in love with someone else, I wouldn’t consider it,’ she went on. ‘Tom Maddison doesn’t even have a nodding acquaintance with his emotions. Look at how he’s suppressing everything now! A relationship with a man like him would be asking for trouble. I’d end up miserable, and I’ve had enough misery, thank you very much.

‘Quite apart from anything else, it would be unprofessional,’ Imogen finished primly. ‘It’s a well-paid job, and if I can stick it for another two or three months I’ll have enough money to take off for a year. There’s no way I’m risking that for the sake of a quick fling. No,’ she told Amanda, ‘I don’t think I’ll have any trouble keeping my hands to myself!’

Now her words rang a little hollowly in her ears. It had been easy to say in London. She had been so confident then, but that was before he had touched her, before the nerves beneath her skin had started jumping and jittering with awareness of him. Before that long flight, sitting right next to him.

They had travelled first-class, of course, and to Imogen, used to cheap package holidays, it had been absolute luxury. She had been thrilled, playing with her chair, opening her free bag of toiletries, accepting a glass of champagne.

Only she would have enjoyed it more if Amanda had been with her, say. Tom wasn’t the kind of person you could have a giggle with.

Understandably enough, he was looking forbidding when he’d come to pick her up from her flat in a chauffeur-driven limousine that had whisked them out to Heathrow. Conversation so far had been confined to practicalities about passports and boarding times. There had been no speculation about what to buy in Duty Free, no testing of perfumes or loitering in the bookshops. The First Class Lounge was very comfortable, but it wasn’t much fun, Imogen had decided.

Tom had sat down and opened his laptop and, apart from take-off and landing, he had worked steadily. To Imogen, it seemed as if the anger and hurt over Julia’s rejection was still buttoned up tightly inside him. She desperately wanted to help him but she didn’t know how. With anyone else she would offer a hug, but she hesitated even to lay a hand on Tom’s arm.

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