Let's Misbehave (8 page)

Gigi faced her handler. “I need to go to more charity events. I need to be reformed.”

“The studio is happy with you the way you are.” Holly set a cup of tea on the table.

“Yes, but they’d be happy if flesh-eating bacteria took my leg as long as it produced good revenue.” She glared at the tea.

“You want something stronger?” Holly asked.

“You’re trying to corrupt me.”

“I’m trying to keep you happy.”

“Then find me something positive to publicize.”

“The
Paris
movie would be positive.”

Gigi glared at the woman. “You’re supposed to be helpful.”

“I
am
helpful. You’re just being wilful.” Holly stood with her hands on her hips. “Do you want his number?”

Gigi stilled, Merrick’s face instantly in her mind’s eye. “Whose number?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

Holly rolled her eyes. “I’m the mother of a six year old. Do you really think that’s going to work on me?”

“I can try.” She began to pace again. “I feel like I’m going to go insane. I already did an hour and half of yoga. My voice coach doesn’t come by until later. What else can I do?”

“Maybe you can read the script the studio sent over.”

Gigi stopped and glared at the woman.

“Or not.” Holly held her hands in the air. “I give up. Want me to find the novel you were reading? The Greek one?”

“It was Russian,” she murmured absently, beginning to pace to try to work off some of the restlessness.

“You know Russian?”

She’d had a part in
Anna Karenina
a few years back and had wanted to understand the subtext in its original language. “I just read.”

“Well, it’s all Greek to me.” Holly collected a couple things as she walked out. “Call if you need me.”

A few minutes later, her niece Chloe shuffled in and dropped on the couch. “Holly told me to come play with you.”

“Where’s your mother?” Gigi asked, going to sit next to her.

The teenager’s face hardened. She shrugged as though she didn’t care. But she did—it didn’t take a genius to see that.

Chloe looked like a Summerhill. Same blonde hair, same regal nose and cheekbones, same blue eyes.

The piercing in her nose was all her own, though, as was the garish makeup. Gigi wore the most makeup of all of her sisters, but at her most painted she looked smoky, not Goth.

Despite the massive amounts of eyeliner Chloe wore, it was around her eyes that she looked most like her mother. Chloe and Viola both had the same sadness in their gaze, because they were going through a divorce.

“What are you doing?” Chloe muttered in her teenage way.

“Catching up on the news.” Sort of. She held up her phone.

“That’s lame,” the teenager proclaimed. She leaned over and looked at the picture of Merrick and Valerie on the screen. “They’re a cute couple.”

Gigi growled.

“Or not.” Chloe looked at her like she was insane. Then her eyes widened. “
Oh
. Is this the boy who sold pictures of you to the magazines?”

Gigi winced. “You know about that?”

Chloe looked at her with an expression that questioned her mental capacity. “Who doesn’t? He, like, sold your boobs to the world.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Gigi studied her niece. “What’s the lesson to learn there?”

“Don’t date a wanker.” Chloe grinned at her suddenly. Then she sobered. “Are you angry at him?”

“I was, because he betrayed my trust. A person’s love is a special thing, and you should never treat it lightly, even if you don’t reciprocate.”

“You loved him?”

“I did.” She thought so, anyway. She certainly cared about him a lot.

Chloe made a face. “That sucks. What if I fall in love with an ass?”

“That’s the thing about love. You can’t pick who you fall in love with, but you can decide whether he’s good enough for you.” Gigi pursed her lips as she considered it. “In the end, it was my fault, though, wasn’t it?”

“For trusting him?”

“No, for trusting the wrong person.” She glanced at Merrick’s photo and wondered if he was trustworthy. She suspected once he gave his word he kept it. He was probably overly honorable, despite the edge she sensed he had.

“It’s hard to know who to trust.” Chloe frowned at the newspaper.

“Are you thinking of your father?” she asked intuitively.

Chloe’s gaze hardened. “He’s not really worth thinking about.”

Sighing, Gigi put her arm around her niece and looked her in her eyes. “He’s your father, Chloe. Whatever he does, however poorly he acts, it doesn’t change that you’re stuck with him for life.”

“Like you were with yours?”

“Our father definitely had flaws, didn’t he?” Gigi said as noncommittally as she could. “Especially considering he had a hidden family.”

“My dad has a girlfriend.” The girl ducked her head.

She lifted her niece’s chin with a finger under it. “You are your own person. Whatever he does or doesn’t do has nothing to do with you and everything to do with what sort of man he is.”

“You’re saying I can’t help if he’s an ass.”

Gigi grinned. “Sorry.”

Chloe looked at her with clarity and knowing beyond her years. “Then you can’t help if your boyfriend is an ass either.”

“You’re right.” She nodded. “I can’t.”

Chloe looked at the newspaper. “He’s hot though, isn’t he?”

“Oh, that’s not Dirk.”

“You dated a someone named
Dirk
?” Her niece gaped at her. “Wasn’t that the first clue?”

Laughing, she hugged the girl. She smelled sweet and innocent, despite the makeup and hard exterior. Gigi closed her eyes and inhaled. “You’re pretty awesome, you know.”

Chloe hesitated and then curled into her. “You’re not bad, either.”

When they split apart, Chloe pointed at the mobile. “If he’s not your ass-boyfriend, who is he?”

Gigi looked at the paper. “He’s no one, really.”

“That sucks.”

She frowned at her niece. “Why?”

The girl shrugged. “I guess because you like him.”

Before she could formulate an answer, her mother knocked on the open door. Her mother always paused in the doorway of the old study. Not surprising—their father never allowed any of them to enter. It was probably instinctual.

“Am I interrupting?” her mother asked, holding a leather-bound book to her chest.

“No. Chloe and I were just talking.” Gigi smiled. “Come in.”

Jacqueline hesitated for a second before joining them. She smiled at her granddaughter and then cast a critical eye over Gigi as she sat. “Were you exercising again?”

She smiled blithely. “It’s part of my job.”

Her mother looked like she was going to say something, but then she turned to Chloe. “Sweetheart, Fran just took cinnamon bread out of the oven.”

“I guess you’re saying I want some.” The teenager hopped up. “Good luck, Aunt Gigi.”

Gigi laughed. “Thanks.”

“I love that child,” Jacqueline said, watching her granddaughter leave the room.

“She’s her own unique snowflake, there’s no disputing that.”

“Summerhill girls are built that way.” She faced Gigi. “But I didn’t come here to talk about the other girls.”

Gigi groaned. “You don’t need to manage me, Mum. I know what I want and I’m trying to achieve it.”

“Are you sure you know what that is?”

“I’ve always known.” She looked her mother in the eye. “You know I’ve always had my path set.”

“Yes, more so than the other girls. Even Titania.”

Gigi heard the sadness that nuanced her sister’s name. “She’s doing well. I asked her to come visit.”

Jacqueline smiled softly. “Titania was always the most headstrong of all of you. She won’t come until she’s ready.”

No, but Gigi could push her to readiness.

“I didn’t come to talk about Titania,” her mother said. “We need to talk about you.”

She held her hand up to forestall any lecture. “I have a plan.”

“That’s what I want to discuss. Maybe it’s time to get rid of the plan and do something different.”

“Different,” she repeated with a frown.

“Something not related to work.” Her mother smiled. “The word most people would use is
time off
.”

“That’s two words,” she replied with a saucy grin.

Her mother arched her brow.

Her grin faded, and she sighed. “I can’t relax now, Mum. I have too much at stake. I just need to push a little while longer to secure my position.”

“And then what?”

Gigi blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that there’s more to life than duty and responsibility. They don’t keep you company in the night.”

Gigi gaped at the woman she’d known all her life, but apparently didn’t know at all. “Mother, are you telling me to get a lover?”

“Would a lover help you enjoy life?”

If it were Merrick.

Merrick was out of the question. He made it clear she wasn’t what he needed. He wasn’t what she needed either, even if she
wanted
him.

“Imogen, when was the last time you ate any of Fran’s baked goods?”

“I’m on a regimen. You know that.”

“The only thing I know is that if you continue to eat as little as you do, you’ll fade away.”

“Now you sound like Fran.”

“Fran is wise.” Jacqueline stood, hugging her book to her chest. “You’re disciplined, Imogen. No one can dispute your work ethic. But what does any of it mean if you’re not happy?”

She opened her mouth to inform her mother that she was very happy, but she couldn’t manage to form the words.

“Imogen, I’ve lived my entire life for duty and responsibility, and look at where it’s left me. I just don’t want the same thing for you,” her mother said softly, her gaze downcast as she left the study.

Gigi was still frozen on the couch when Holly marched in and stuck a sticky note on the table in front of her.

“What’s this?” Gigi asked, picking it up and looking at the phone number written in Holly’s tidy handwriting.

“It’s Merrick Graham’s private mobile.”

Gigi looked up, frowning. “How did you get his private number?”

“That’d be like giving you a peek behind the curtain, wouldn’t it?” Grinning impishly, Holly left her, closing the study door behind her.

Gigi’s mobile sat on the table.

She looked at it. She picked up the note and ran a finger over the numbers.

She shouldn’t call him. It was a bad idea. She needed to stay away from scandal.

No one had to know …

Opening a blank text message, she shook her head. This was a bad idea. But she couldn’t stop herself from writing him. Fortunately, nothing would come of it, because he’d have better willpower.

Nice pic of you and your lady in the paper. Blue becomes you. ~Imogen

His call was instantaneous. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Playing with fire.” Obviously.

There was a pause, and she thought for sure he was going to brush her off, or be outraged over how she got his phone number.

But he shocked her by saying, “How close to the flame are you willing to get?”

She rolled the dice and took a gamble. “Come pick me up. Tonight.”

There was the barest pause. Then he said, “Give me your address.”

A shiver went up her spine and she felt the sharp pang of lust—or a stab of insanity. She wasn’t sure there was any difference between the two.

Chapter Eight

Merrick paused next to the curb, his motorcycle idling. What the hell was he doing?

Meeting Imogen Summerhill.

Flirting with danger, more like it. He sat up and unstrapped his helmet. There were good ideas and bad ideas, but this one was off-the-charts terrible. Even the fact that it was under the cover of night didn’t make this better.

And yet, here he was, on his Ducati, waiting for her like a teenager sneaking out on a school night.

He’d watched her video. He hadn’t been able to help himself.

It hadn’t been as overt as he’d expected. There was only one shot where you could see Imogen’s face, and the rest of it alluded to a bedroom scene. There was never anything direct, just silence punctuated by the occasional rustling or quiet sigh. The flash of curves.

Merrick could see why it was so popular. It was the suggestion of sex and not overt. It left everything to the imagination.

Certainly, his imagination had been stroked.

Shadows shifted, and the iron gate swung open. Imogen closed it and walked toward him. At least he thought it was Imogen—that or Zorro, given the wide tilted hat and cape.

She eyed his bike, her gaze devilish and bright. “How completely unexpected of you, Mr. MP.”

“I didn’t want anyone to recognize me.” If he’d taken his Jaguar someone might have noted the hour and wondered—at least that was how he’d decided to justify it. He handed her a helmet. “It’s easier slipping away on the bike.”

“More fun, too,” she added as she tossed her hat on top of a bush.

“Is your hat going to be safe there?” he asked, turning the engine on.

“Does it matter?” she asked as she strapped the helmet on. With a hand on his shoulder, she hiked her leg over. She squirmed against him, her feet on the pegs, winding her arms around his waist. Tight.

So was he. He could feel the soft press of her body against his back, closer than it needed to be. Her thighs gripped his, warm and snug. He tried not to extrapolate that into anything more than it was. Impossible not to, but he tried.

She snaked her hand under his jacket, under his shirt, to rest on his abdomen. “I’m ready,” she said near his ear.

So was he, and if she moved her hand any lower she’d discover that for herself.

This outing was a bad idea. Shaking his head, he kicked up the stand and took off.

“Where are we going?” Imogen asked, raising her voice over the wind.

“Somewhere we won’t be seen.”

She chuckled, a husky sound that gripped him low, just like it had the first time at the charity ball. Her hand splayed low on his belly, a proprietary touch he was enjoying too much. “Normally I’d be offended that you wouldn’t want to be seen with me in public, but in this I encourage your caution,” she said close into his ear.