All That Sparkles: The Texan Quartet (13 page)

It was the perfect size for her sewing room.

Hank examined the structure. “Needs more weatherproofing,” he said and then they walked outside again to talk. Imogen clenched her hands together while she waited for a verdict.

“I’d say she’s structurally sound,” Hank said and he smiled at Imogen’s squeal of delight. “But you’ll probably need another sixty thousand to modernize her. I’m guessing you’ll want a new kitchen and bathrooms, plus the floors need a good sanding and the walls need painting. Then if you want to do the garden as well, there’ll be work and cost in that.”

She added the cost to the selling price. She could afford it. “If I did some of the work myself it would reduce the cost, wouldn’t it?”

Christian looked surprised.

“It’s not too hard to paint, is it?” She directed the question at Hank.

“Nope. Not hard at all: you just need to get the equipment. And if you can rope in a few volunteers,” he nudged Christian, “then you’ll be done in no time.”

“How long do you think it would take?” It was the downside of buying versus renting. If she rented she could move out next weekend but buying was a much longer lead time.

“If you got all the tradesmen lined up, maybe a month. I can help if you like. We don’t often do renovations but I’ll make an exception for you. I know all the good tradesmen in Houston.”

“That would be wonderful.” It didn’t matter how much he charged, she trusted he would do the right thing by her.

“So does that mean it’s a yes?” Christian asked.

“Give me a minute,” she said and wandered toward the magnolia tree. This was a big decision. The one thing she knew for certain was she had to move away from Chateau Fontaine. Her father’s increasingly erratic behavior meant she no longer felt she had a safe, secure place to live.

Renting would give her a secure place for as long as her lease lasted but might also mean she would have to move regularly, and if she
did
set up her own label, the disruption would be annoying at best.

She ran her hand over the bark of the magnolia tree and surveyed the backyard, not looking at Christian or Hank. The place sang to her. It needed work, a
lot
of work, but she could see the potential, see herself living there, and see children playing in the yard. She could bring it back to life.

Then there was the financial aspect. She’d never been a big spender. Her one guilty pleasure was buying clothes and half the time she made her own anyway. That meant she had enough capital to pay for the house and the repairs outright. But it reduced the amount she would have for her own label.

She wanted that: she wanted to design the clothes she wanted to design; she wanted control over the fabrics she bought, the shops she supplied, the whole process from idea to sale.

But her father had said it would kill him. Would he threaten to disown her like he had if she met with her mother’s family?

A month earlier she wouldn’t have considered it a possibility but now she wasn’t sure. He’d been so angry and upset. Part of her thought he
couldn’t
mean what he said but that was before she’d discovered he’d kept the existence of her mother’s family away from her. Now, she didn’t have a clue what he would do.

Imogen got out her phone and logged in to her bank accounts.

There was enough. Enough for the house, the renovations and to start her label, if she wanted to start small.

If she wanted to start it at all.

Imogen sent a thank you to her mother and pocketed her phone.

She could do this. She could have the house and not forgo her dream of her own business.

Walking back to the others, she smiled at them.

“Well?” Christian asked.

She nodded, elation building up like a wave forming. “Yes, I’ll take it.”

She was buying a house.

Chris drove Imogen to Nancy’s office, where it took another hour to get the paperwork sorted.

“I’d like to close the sale as quickly as possible,” Imogen said.

“The sooner you can get finance, the faster it will be,” Nancy said.

“I don’t need finance. I’ve got cash. I can arrange a cashier’s check on Monday.”

Chris didn’t hear the woman’s response; he was still reeling from Imogen’s statement. She could pay cash for a house? He couldn’t quite fathom it.

They operated in such different social circles, in such different financial circles. Was her father right, was he kidding himself if he thought he could keep someone like Imogen interested in him?

She couldn’t possibly comprehend where he’d come from, how hard it was not knowing where your next pay check was coming from. Did that mean she wouldn’t be able to understand him?

He wasn’t sure. But he needed to find out.

By the time they walked out of the office it was getting late.

“Want to go for dinner?” Chris asked Imogen.

“Yes, I’m starving.”

He laughed as he held the door of his car open so she could get in. Climbing in the other side, he said, “Do you have any preference where we go?”

“None at all.”

Chris started the car and headed for one of his favorite restaurants. It would be interesting to find out how Imogen liked it. It wasn’t a gourmet place but it had the best steaks in town.

He found a parking place and they went into the restaurant. It was bright and cheerful with mounted bull’s horns and rifles crossed on the wall. It was still early enough for it not to be too full.

Imogen scanned the room and she positively beamed. “This place looks fantastic.”

The part of him that was uptight, waiting for her to reject his favorite restaurant for not being classy enough, relaxed.

They settled at the table and took the menus.

“What’s good?” Imogen asked.

“Everything,” Chris said honestly. “The steaks practically melt in your mouth.”

When it came time to order, she chose steak with chips and salad and a bottle of wine for them to share.

Another part of him relaxed. He liked a woman with an appetite.

Imogen’s cell rang and she excused herself to answer it. “Hello, Nancy.”

He waited, holding his breath.

Imogen’s face broke out in a huge grin. “That’s wonderful news. Do you think I could go in again to measure up in the next few days?” A pause. “Lovely. Thank you so much. I’ll be in touch.”

She hung up. “They accepted the offer!”

Chris heart warmed at her delight. He raised his glass of wine. “Congratulations, Miss Fontaine. You are now a home owner.”

They clinked glasses and Chris took a sip, but Imogen’s face fell.

“What’s the matter?”

“How am I going to tell Papa?”

Chris wanted to curse the man for spoiling Imogen’s excitement. Instead he said, “How about, ‘Papa, I bought a house’?”

She grimaced at him but smiled.

“It’s going to take a while before it’s livable so if you tell him now it will give him a month or so to get used to the idea. It’s not as if you’re abandoning him. He’ll see you at work every day.”

She nodded. “You’re right. I shouldn’t worry.”

But she was worrying. He could tell by the slow, absent way she sipped her wine. Wanting to distract her, he asked, “What work do you want done on the house?”

His question had the desired effect. Imogen brightened and said, “The kitchen and bathrooms definitely need replacing and the roof will need to be checked for leaks.” She ticked off items on her fingers. “The outside needs painting and the floorboards inside need sanding.” She paused. “I was considering knocking down the wall between the formal dining and living to make one big room. Hank should be able to give me an idea of what is possible.”

“When can you close the sale?” Chris asked.

“Nancy said within two weeks, because I’ve got cash. Hank said he’d help me with the plans next week. That way we can have something drawn up and ready to go when I get the keys.” She was positively bubbling with excitement.

“Will you do much work yourself?” he asked, curious. He couldn’t picture Imogen with a hammer in her hand.

“I’d really like to, but the only DIY I’ve done is watching renovation shows on television.”

“Might be worth buying a book and taking some time off work when you’re ready to start. It can be draining.”

“You’ve done it before?”

“Yeah, I helped George with his house and Adrian with the place he had before Daniel died.”

“Maybe you could tell me what I need to do.”

“Hank’s the best person to do that.” At her disappointed look he added, “I did what I was told, but I can provide some muscle.”

“That would be great.”

The food arrived and Imogen got stuck in with the gusto of someone who hadn’t eaten for days. They held an easy conversation about her house renovations as they ate. It was comfortable, relaxing, and Chris could be himself around her. Why had he been worried about her money? She was still the Imogen he’d met as a teen, enthusiastic about life and wanting to experience it.

He remembered their date the next day. “If you could do one thing in Houston, what would it be?” he asked.

Imogen stopped eating. “Why?”

“We’re spending Sunday together, remember? So you don’t have to have brunch with your father.”

“You don’t have to – ”

“I want to. Unless you’ve got other plans.”

“No. No plans.” She pursed her lips together. “There is one thing I’ve always wanted to do.” She hunched her shoulders.

“What is it?”

“I’ve never been to Kemah Boardwalk.”

Chris leaned back. Kemah Boardwalk was on the Texas Gulf and full of arcades, amusement rides and restaurants.

She shrugged. “It could be fun. I’ve never been on a rollercoaster before.”

It amazed Chris how sheltered Imi had been. He grinned. He hadn’t been to the boardwalk in years but he was more than happy to take her. Especially on the rollercoaster.

“Great. The boardwalk it is.”

They finished the meal and Chris insisted on paying. It was still relatively early in the evening and though he was tired from the late night the night before, he wasn’t ready to say goodbye. “Do you want to grab a coffee?” he asked as they walked to the car.

Imogen turned to him. “Why don’t we go to my house for coffee?”

There was something in the way she said it that put Chris’s mind and body on alert. “Sure.”

Chris wasn’t sure whether it was simply an invitation for coffee or something more and it made him a little nervous.

This was Imogen. Someone he cared for. This wasn’t some fling; it wasn’t just a fun way to spend an evening, followed by goodbye in the morning.

Imogen buzzed him through the gates and he drove up to her guesthouse, ignoring the itchy nerves on his skin. They got out and Imogen led the way through to the kitchen, where she put the coffee on.

Chris sat at the table while she prepared the coffee. She motioned him to follow her as she carried the mugs into the living area and sat on the sofa, placing one mug in front of Chris.

“Do you think I made the right decision about the house?” she asked.

Surprised, Chris looked at her. “Do you doubt it?”

She nodded. “I probably should have viewed more places, done more research, rather than buying the first place I fell in love with.”

She was right to a certain extent, but Chris had seen the expression on her face when she’d gone through the house – which had frankly looked like it was about to fall down. He would have expected her to take one glance and run, but she’d seen past the scratched floors, peeling paint and 1950s-style kitchen and bathroom and recognized what she could do with it. In the neighborhood it was situated in, it was the worst house on a good street, and it wouldn’t have lasted on the market for long.

“It’s a great investment. With the work you do it will be worth so much more when you’re finished.”

“You’re not just saying that?” she asked, her voice uncertain.

“No. Why are you doubting yourself?”

She took a sip of her coffee. “I’ve never made such a big decision,” she said. “I’ve always had Papa telling me what I should do and even at Tour de Force I’m just confirming decisions someone else has made.”

Chris was astounded. She’d let her father have that much control over her life? No wonder she was worried now.

“Buying a house is one of the biggest decisions you’ll make in your life. But that place has great bones and you’ll dress it up perfectly.”

She smiled at him. “Dress it up.” She nodded, pleased at the way he’d phrased it. “If there’s one thing I can do, it’s dress things up.”

“Exactly.” He shuffled closer and put his arm around her. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll be here for you, helping when you need it.” It was true. He wanted to spend as much time as he could with her.

She put a hand on his cheek. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

He leaned in and kissed her. There was something about her lips that soothed and aroused him at the same time. He wanted more. So much more.

Her hand came up to his chest, fingers splayed. Would she push him away?

*

Imogen grabbed his shirt and pulled Christian closer. She wanted to be reckless and stop thinking – she wanted to just feel. He deepened the kiss, teased her mouth open and ran his hand up to her breast sending heat down to her toes.

She pressed in to him, arching her neck as he trailed kisses down her neck, nibbling at her earlobe. Her whole body was hot. She needed more.

Unzipping her jacket, she pushed him away. She shrugged out of her jacket, peeled off her T-shirt and pulled him to his feet. “This way.” She wanted him in her bed, she wanted to claim what they had nearly had so many years ago – she just wanted him.

He caught up with her halfway up the stairs and unclipped her bra as they entered her bedroom. She turned to him, sliding her bra off, and stood there, suddenly unsure. She’d had other lovers before, but this was Christian. It meant so much more.

“You are so beautiful, Imi,” Chris said, moving forward to crush her against him.

Any doubt disappeared as she kissed him again. She tugged at his T-shirt, slipping her hands underneath it and forcing him to step away so she could take it off. She didn’t want to wait, didn’t want to go slow, she wanted him now. Her hands explored his exposed chest, ran over his back and down to his buttock. He groaned and picked her up, carrying her to the bed and dropping her on to it.

*

Imogen sighed as Christian rolled over and cleaned up before sliding back onto the bed with her. He gathered her close to him and cuddled her. She didn’t want to let him go, didn’t want him to leave.

“That was amazing,” Imogen said, kissing him and snuggling closer. “Can you stay?”

“Of course.”

Imogen grinned. “Mmm, then let’s get under these covers.” Rather than getting up, she wriggled until the sheets had been pushed down and then pulled them up again. She turned to him and wrapped an arm around his waist. “I’m so tired. Is it rude if I go to sleep?” She was pretty sure he had to be exhausted.

“Be my guest.”

She smiled, closed her eyes and in minutes her breathing was even.

*

“What the hell is going on here?” The outraged yell of her father had Imogen sitting bolt upright in bed, clutching the sheet to her chest.

She blinked and someone moved next to her.

Christian.

Her vision cleared and she saw her outraged father at her bedroom door, staring at them. What was he doing there?

Blood rushed to her head and she said, “Papa, go to the kitchen. I’ll meet you there.”

For a moment she thought he was going to stay, demand an explanation, but then he straightened, turned on his heel and walked away.

How mortifying.

Imogen waited until the footsteps faded down the hall before she dared turn to Christian. There was an inferno under her skin.

“Ah,” she said, having no idea what to say, no idea why her father had walked into her house, into her
bedroom
, without invitation.

“I think your wake-up call could do with improvement. It was a little too abrupt for me.” His face was serious but there was a twinkle in his eye.

Imogen burst out laughing. It was too weird.

The first time she’d ever had a man stay over at her place and her father sprang them in bed together. It had obviously been a good decision to have her other liaisons away from the chateau. She groaned and put her hands to her hot cheeks. “This is awful.”

“You want me to come and help explain the birds and the bees to your father?” Christian joked.

She chuckled, amazed she could find any humor in the situation. “I’m going to take a quick shower and go and talk to him. It might be best for you to wait a little while before coming out.”

“Can I shower with you?”

The look he gave her had her considering it for a nanosecond before she remembered Papa in the kitchen. No. It would have to wait.

She washed quickly, terrified Christian might go and talk to her father, and then threw on three-quarter-length pants and a green top. Giving Christian a towel and a kiss, she took a breath and went to face her father.

He was pacing the kitchen.

“Good morning, Papa,” she said and turned the coffee machine on.

“What was that man doing in your bed?”

Imogen had considered what she was going to say while she was in the shower. “I think the more pertinent question is what were you doing coming into my house uninvited?”

“It is
my
house,” her father said. “I thought you might have changed your mind about brunch since you hadn’t left this morning.”

Imogen stared at him.
His
house. Of course it was. If she’d needed more reassurance that purchasing her own home was a good idea, this was it. She had no privacy here. He’d been keeping an eye on the gate again.

Imogen checked the time. It was already ten o’clock. Obviously they had both needed to catch up on some sleep. “No, I haven’t changed my mind. We’re having a late start.”