Let's Misbehave (21 page)

***

“I think Malcolm is growing on you,” Imogen said, stretching out alongside him.

Merrick looked at where the gnome sat on the bedside table, where Imogen had placed him after they’d made love—twice. “He’s bloody annoying but a smart chap.”

She rested her chin on his chest. “Have you given him his own bedroom yet?”

“I’m not that gone,” he said, running a hand down her hair.

She grinned at him. “Aren’t you the man who brought him along for the ride?”

“He did not watch the ride.” Merrick made an exaggerated movement to examine the gnome. “Although he seems to have an embarrassed flush on his face, so he must have heard. Granted, you weren’t exactly quiet.”

“Neither were you.” Imogen gave him a saucy smile that made his heart turn.

Made his heart turn
. He blinked, unsure how he should feel about that.

“I think you’re beginning to love him,” she declared, unaware of his inner turmoil.

He was beginning to love
her
.

Actually, there was no
beginning
, now that he thought about it. He couldn’t pinpoint when his feelings for her began, but he knew they ended in his heart. He clasped her to him tighter, his tiger growling
Mine
.

She made a contented sound. “You have so many layers,” she said, her lithe body shifting against his. “I wonder when I’ll reach the final one.”

He lifted her chin to look her in the eye. “Are you interested in trying?”

“I’m definitely interested.” She put her hand on his chest and nuzzled his side. “My sister Titania thinks I shouldn’t be.”

“Do you usually listen to your sister?”

She laughed, bright and amused. “Hardly ever. We’re all stubborn, although I’d say Titania has the hardest head. I hope you meet her one day. Despite the fact that she thinks you’re no good for me, you’d like each other.”

He frowned. “Why doesn’t she think I’m good for you?”

Imogen grinned at him. “Is Britain’s most upstanding politician upset that someone doesn’t find him suitable?”

Yes, he was. “I’m certainly a lot more suitable than Ricky Hazard ever was.”

“I’m not sure Titania would agree.” She rolled off him, getting up from the bed and slipping on her nightgown.

He sat up, the sheets pooled around his waist. “Why not?”

Imogen shrugged, holding out his trousers. “Does it matter? It’s a moot point.”

“It matters,” he said, taking the pants. He shoved the covers aside, aware of Imogen’s interested look as he put them on. “Your sister, who you obviously esteem, is advising you against me.”

“You’re not wearing your underwear.”

“Bugger the underwear.” He grabbed his shirt off the floor. “I want to know why she’d think Ricky Hazard was better for you.”

“Because she’d have found Ricky Hazard more authentic, all right?” Hands on her hips, she shook her head. “Why are you pressing this? We had such a nice time tonight and now you’re spoiling for a fight.”

He felt cagey, and he had no idea why.

That wasn’t true—he knew exactly why: he agreed with Titania. Ricky Hazard had been more authentic.

Imogen came up to him, her hands roving up over his chest to curl around the back of his neck. “Tonight was lovely. Don’t spoil it, please.”

He kissed her with a savagery he hadn’t exhibited in a long time. It felt so satisfying—so right—he lifted her off the floor and spent several minutes kissing the breath from her.

When he set her down, she was unsteady with a dazed look on her face.

Satisfied, he looked for his shoes. “I should leave.”

“Probably,” she murmured. She reached down and handed him one.

“Thank you.” He finished putting himself together, as best as he was able.

“You forgot these.” Imogen held up his boxers.

He stuffed them into a pocket. “Walk me down?”

Nodding, she took his hand and led him down. Silently, Imogen unlocked the door and turned to him.

He faced her, not wanting to go, unsure of what to say. He wrapped his hand in her hair and tilted her head up.

“I’m happy you came over,” she said softly.

He scowled. “Happy? That’s it?”

She shrugged. “That’s all you wanted.”

Yes, but it wasn’t enough.

Frustrated, angry, he did the only thing he could think of: he
took
her. He grabbed her in his arms and tried to imprint himself on her. He growled when she melted against him so instantly.

Opening his eyes, he ran a hand down her back, loving the feel of her. “I’m tempted to take you back upstairs.”

“Another kiss like that and I won’t even care if you make the third step creak.” Smiling, she touched his face. “You should go.”

No, he shouldn’t, but he nodded. She opened the door for him.

As he stepped outside a flash went off.

“Damn it.” Merrick stilled, scanning the bushes where it seemed to come from. Then he turned to Imogen.

She stood frozen, her face a horrified mask as she looked behind him.

He pushed her into the safety of the doorway to block her from another shot, even though he knew he was too late.

“Maybe we imagined that,” she said hopefully.

“Maybe.” But he knew it hadn’t been his imagination. He just hoped the damage wouldn’t be irreparable. In his experience, miracles happened—just not for him.

Chapter Twenty-two

When Gigi arrived down to the kitchen she didn’t have to be clairvoyant to know something was very wrong. If it wasn’t enough that her mother, Fran, Portia, and Summer were gathered around the corner, the way they all looked up at her gave it away.

She knew what it was, too. She didn’t need to go online to see it.

Some of the lingering euphoria from Merrick’s visit faded with the dread. She pasted a devil-may-care smile on her face and sashayed into the kitchen like she hadn’t messed up both hers and Merrick’s immediate futures. “How bad is it?” she asked as she poured herself juice.

Without a word, Portia handed over the paper.

The headline hit her first:
MERRICK GRAHAM CAUGHT IN THE ACT!

The picture was worse. It showed him walking out of the South Street house, Gigi leaning in the doorway behind him, wearing the thin peignoir. The part of her body that Merrick hadn’t been blocking looked practically naked in the lighting. Both of them looked heavy lidded and mussed, like they’d just had five-alarm sex.

A sick feeling churned in her stomach—the feeling of having her privacy violated. She should have been used to it; she’d lived in the public eye for so long. But whoever the photographer was had taken a private moment, something that had been sweet, and turned it into a shame.

This was the harlot the media was trying to define her as. She gritted her teeth, feeling hurt. Ridiculous—she should have been immune by now.

And she’d dragged Merrick into the mire with her.

She winced, thinking about his safety act and how that was compromised now because of her.

She shoved the paper away, feeling sick. “At least it’s flattering,” she said, forcing some juice down.

“That’s our porch,” Fran said. “When did you have a man over?”

Gigi rolled her eyes. “That’s the point to hone in on?”

Fran put her hands on her hips. “Isn’t that the most important thing?”

It was, actually, but she wasn’t going to admit that when she had the coven staring her down.

“What sort of man sneaks into a woman’s home without meeting her family?” her old nanny continued.

“Merrick Graham, apparently,” her mother replied, looking at the photo.

Fran turned on Jacqueline. “You know him?”

“I haven’t met him personally, but he’s an impassioned young MP.” Her mother glanced at her. “I wouldn’t have believed the rumors about him, but maybe I should have.”

Gigi shook her head. “Don’t pin this on him. I encouraged him, and I wasn’t ready to have anyone meet him yet.”

“Too late,” Portia said in a singsong voice.

She made a face at her sister. “You’re not helping matters.”

Her mother studied her silently, her expression visually debating how much she should ask. But before she decided, Beatrice swept into the kitchen. “I suppose everyone’s seen the paper,” her oldest sister said as she set her satchel on the table and unbelted her coat. “I thought the reporters had moved on and stopped camping out around the house.”

“We all did,” Fran said, indignantly. “I’ve a mind to take my shotgun and go hunt them.”

“You have a shotgun?” Portia asked, lighting up.

“I raised six beautiful girls.” Fran lifted her chin defiantly. “Of course I have a shotgun.”

Portia looked at their mother.

Jacqueline shook her head. “I leave the military actions to Fran.”

Bea poured herself some coffee. “What made the reporters come back?”

“I’ve been back in the press’s eye the past couple weeks,” Gigi pointed out, leaning against a counter.

“Yes, but something inspired them to return. They had to have a reason.” Her oldest sister looked at her like she was waiting to confess.

Gigi shook her head. “I’ve been seeing someone, but we’ve been discreet. Before anyone suggests otherwise, he can’t afford press any more than I can.”

“I don’t think Merrick Graham counts as just
someone
,” Bea said with a wry twist of her lips. “You know who he is, don’t you?”

She rolled her eyes as she took a sip of her bitter juice.

“Well, I had to ask,” her oldest sister said, nodding in thanks at Fran, who handed her a cup of coffee. “Because having an affair with the Bad Boy of Politics isn’t the most logical way to prove you’re a good girl.”

Portia snickered.

Gigi glared at her.

Which only made Portia shrug. “She’s got a point.”

Beatrice faced her. “Have you talked to Titania about doing a feature on you?”

“Actually, Titania suggested it as well.”

Fran nodded as she set a plate of scones on the table. “That girl was always a sharp one.”

“And you said yes?” Beatrice pressed her.

Sighing, she melodramatically collapsed onto a chair. “I’ll call her and have her come over today.”

“Good.” Bea squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll see if I can find out who’s leaking information to the press corps.”

“You can do that?” Summer asked.

“Of course.” Bea smiled at their newest sister. “Still happy to be part of the family?”

“Better to be part of it than against it.” Summer held up one of Fran’s scones. “Plus there are treats. Want one, Gigi?”

She shook her head. She couldn’t stomach the thought of food right now. “I have a workout scheduled. I should probably get to that.”

She slipped out of the kitchen, aware of their concerned gazes following her. In the hallway, she took out her mobile and texted Merrick.
You’ve seen the article?

He replied instantly.
Yes.

She worried her lip, waiting for him to expound. But the curt reply was all he sent. He was probably livid. She’d compromised everything he’d been working so hard toward—she’d tarnished what he wanted to accomplish in his sister’s name.

Swallowing her hurt, she tapped in
We should call it quits, at least until everything cools down.

His next reply wasn’t as quick to arrive.
Is that what you want?

No, she wanted him to choose her. But she knew how important Michaela was to him. If he didn’t succeed with this bill, he’d never forgive her.

She wouldn’t be able to forgive herself.

Blinking back the moisture in her eyes, she quickly typed
Definitely.

She waited for an answer.

Nothing.

Her sob escaped before she could hold it in. She covered her mouth, trying to breathe.

“Imogen?” her mother said behind her.

Waving her hand, she kept her back to the kitchen as she headed for her room. “Just texting Titania,” she lied in a blithe voice, knowing her tone didn’t match her expression, not caring that no one was aware of this Oscar-winning performance.

Chapter Twenty-three

Holly knew something was wrong the moment she entered the South Street house. The air inside was agitated.

Frowning, Holly went in search of someone—anyone. She didn’t have to go far: Gigi sat on a chair in the study, facing the door, with her oldest sister Beatrice standing behind her.

They were waiting for her—Holly knew it without a doubt. She slowed, dread building in her chest.

Any lingering hope that she was mistaken evaporated when Gigi said, “I trusted you, Holly. You’re a better actress than I am.”

“
No
.” She hurried in the room, hating how disappointed Gigi looked in her. “I’m really not.”

Beatrice put her hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Let’s just dispense with any excuses. We know that Imogen’s studio leaked the stories and photos to the press, and you’re her link to the studio.”

“How could you?” Gigi asked softly. “You knew how important it was for me to clean up my image.”

She felt wretched. “Yes, I did, but—”

“You’ll be hearing from Imogen’s lawyers.” The martial glare in Beatrice’s eyes meant business.

“Lawyers?” Holly repeated, feeling the blood draining from her face.

“I’m not sure I can get you for defamation,” Beatrice continued coldly, “but I think we can find something.”

Gigi put a hand on her sister’s arm. “I think it’s enough to ask Holly to leave.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Gigi,” Beatrice said, obviously not caring the Holly was there. “She sold you out and maybe ruined your chances of repositioning your career. Of course you’re suing for damages.”

Holly winced, feeling awful. She hadn’t meant to do anything to hurt Gigi.

But she’d still done it, hadn’t she? To advance her job. She’d caused the sadness in Gigi’s eyes. She cleared her throat, wanting to explain herself, but all she could say was, “I never meant that to happen.”

Beatrice raised her brow. “You should go, don’t you think?”

She wanted to explain herself but Gigi’s sister’s glare was more intimidating than the way her father had looked when she’d told him she was pregnant. So she nodded and left with her tail between her legs.