Taken Identity (4 page)

“Not that I saw, and I saw as much as possible, I’d say.” Gray shrugged. “She wasn’t one to hide her assets. That’s one difference then.”

That was a relief. A tattoo where she has her own would be a bit too much for Jules to cope with. As far as she knew, only she and Seven, the tattoo artist, had seen the tiny daisy under her left breast. It had been a new year present to herself.

“I know we’re all supposed to have a double, but you never expect them to rear up and bite you in the bum. What did she do for a living?”

“She said she wrote children’s books. Showed me some. Although, I never saw her work on anything. She said she did it when I wasn’t around. Why? What’s the matter? You’ve gone as white as a sheet. Hell, woman, you’re shaking.” He pulled her close to him.

Even in her shaken state, Jules felt the reassuring beat of his heart under her cheek and smelled the citrusy aftershave he wore. Mixed with his macho-male assuredness, it was a heavy aphrodisiac. One she could do without.

“I write children’s books,” Jules said slowly. “Hold on.”

She left the room and walked up her narrow staircase into a tiny box of a room she laughingly called her study. There was just enough space for a desk to hold her computer, its comfortable swivel chair—a necessary extravagance as far as Jules was concerned—and a bookcase, its shelves overflowing. She could never bear to throw any book away. Within a minute, she was back, holding several brightly covered volumes in her hands. She thrust them at him and sat down again quickly. Jules hoped he didn’t notice she was trembling, but whether it with fear or anger, she couldn’t make her mind up.

He looked at the books, jerked his head in amazement and nodded. “Yeah, these.”

“What the
hell
is going on?” Jules said. The words burst out of her. If the mysterious woman had appeared in front of her at that moment, Jules reckoned she would probably be well on her way to being hauled up for GBH at the minimum. She’d never felt like hurting someone so much in her life. “This is sick. I feel sick. Raped.”

“Stop exaggerating. In the grand scheme of things, it’s a mere blip.”

“And you stop being so rational. How would you like to know that someone, somewhere, is using you…your identity? Who knows what the hell she is doing with it.”

With strength Jules didn’t know she possessed, she flung her cup at the wall. It shattered into tiny pieces of china, and coffee dregs dripped down the paint and created a mural of brown streaks over the once pristine ivory paint.

“Oh, shit.” The dismay that cursed through her was such a contrast to the rage she had experienced a few seconds earlier, that when, after a first, startled glance, Gray began to laugh, she reluctantly joined in.

“Although, it’s nothing to laugh about, is it?” she asked him as she tucked the bottom of her long skirt into the waistband, bringing it to knee-length and out of the way. Then she took a cloth and wiped the wall, as Gray picked up the shards of china.

“I guess I should be thankful she didn’t get my bank cards, as well.” She saw the sharp glance he gave her and understood it.

“No, Gray, she hasn’t. Or if she has, I’m not paying for them. I know what I spend and where. Believe me. I am
very
careful with my hard-earned money. What I can’t understand is why someone thinks it would be beneficial to steal my identity. Unless she’s a criminal, of course. Surely it can’t be easy to find such a good doppelganger as you say I am. As far as I can tell, there’s been no monetary gain. I still get my royalties, still have an excellent credit rating. Haven’t received any unusual requests to pay bills, open new bank accounts or confirm another mortgage. Weird, and scary.” His gaze followed her as she threw the coffee-sodden cloth into the bin and straightened up. She hoped he saw the resolution on her face.

“Okay then, what’s next?” she asked Gray. “I’ve just finished one book, not started another, so I’m all yours. In a strictly nonsexual way, of course.” Ha, and if he believed her, she had a bridge she could sell him. Gah, she hoped he didn’t take her at her word. His denim-clad derrière was giving her all sorts of ideas—carnal ones.

“Of course.” He wriggled slightly.

To adjust his jeans?
His reply hadn’t sounded at all convincing to her. Did that mean he was as turned on as she was?

“So, where do we begin?” she asked, worrying her top lip with her teeth. “I’ve no idea. I could ask my agent if there’s been anyone asking questions about me. I guess it would have been a couple of years ago, so it’s not likely anyone would remember now.”

“I don’t know the answer to that, Julia. If I did I’d be a lot happier. All I can do is contact Sean McGregor tomorrow—he’s the investigator who found you—and ask him to meet us. Then we can both hear what information he’s got and where he got it from. Okay? Meanwhile, I’ll get off your back.”

“Jules,” she said as a matter of course, and just stopped herself from adding he could get
on
her back anytime. “Always Jules, and even more so now.”

He smiled. “Okay, thank you. Jules it is. So, I’m going to check in at my hotel and get some sleep. Then maybe I could take you out to dinner?” He did the sexy, one raised eyebrow thing again. “Say yes. Give me a chance to undo the bad first impression I gave you.”

She considered.
As long as I can control my clit and make my nipples behave, why the hell not? Shit I must be a masochist, wanting to be near him so tamely, when all I really want is to fuck him senseless.

“All right then,” she said finally, as she wondered what clothes were clean and suitable for a dinner date. “What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“No, I’ll meet you there. Tell me where and when.”

He stood and made his way to the door. “Sense kicking in now, Jules? Strange man and all that. Jeffrey’s, at seven-fifteen. You know it?”

She knew
of
it. New, very expensive and almost impossible to get a table. Somewhat out of her reach, normally. “Yes, thank you. Seven-fifteen.”

“Thank you for breakfast.”

Jules nodded. “I think you’re welcome.”

* * * *

Jules walked into the restaurant, her long, tanned legs—courtesy of a certain fake tanning spray—bare, and her feet encased in vertiginous straps that could loosely be called shoes, that she hoped to hell she wouldn’t fall off of. Shoes this high were not made for walking. Showing off legs, looking sexy—she hoped—but not for putting one foot in front of the other and moving. Her short, floaty dress, she prayed hinted at rather than showed her body and she’d kept her makeup minimal. She might want a certain part of his anatomy to sit up and beg, but she didn’t want to make it too obvious. She still hadn’t made her mind up if she was stupid, or lacking sense because she fancied the socks off him.

Probably both.

Gray stood up as Jules entered the restaurant and walked toward where he waited. She tried to stop herself from drooling. If she’d thought he was drop-dead gorgeous that morning, when he was tired and irritable—well, she’d been deluding herself.
Be still, my heart,
she thought flippantly as she took in every last, luscious inch of him.

Bloody hell. I sound like a corny, cheesy chick flick, but sheesh, the man’s dynamite without even trying. Heaven help any woman if he turns on the charm
. Seen from a distance, he was pulse jumping. Up close, he was heart attack material. Just that lazy smile, those deep, dark eyes and that sexy mouth were enough to get a girl’s pussy eager for action. And if you added in that tight butt and toned body?
Oh my.
Jules mentally fanned herself.

She tried not to let any of her X-rated thoughts show as she allowed him to lead her to a deep comfy sofa. The hostess took her serape, and with a slight nod of thanks she held on to the bit of satin and ribbon laughingly called an evening clutch, which held her phone, keys and what her mother called ‘mad money’. Not money to spend madly, but to spend if she or her date got mad and she needed a taxi. A wise woman, her mother. Although she’d never needed to use it yet and didn’t think this would be the first time. She’d tucked the twenty-pound note and a credit card firmly in the inside, zippered pocket of the tiny bag. Jules didn’t go as far as her mum suggested by pinning the note inside her bra. She wasn’t that paranoid.

“Right on time,” she said lightly, as they followed the maître d’ to an intimate bar area. She was impressed and showed it. Jules thought there was no point in dissembling. If you appreciated something, why
not
show it? “Bloody hell, you are pulling out all the stops.” Nerves and excitement made her chatter nonstop. “Tables are like hen’s teeth here. How on earth did you manage to get a reservation?”

He gave a ghost of a smile. “Insider information. Jeff and I were at school together. I’m part owner of the restaurant.”

Jules considered his statement. Obviously a man of means, which from the top of the range Mercedes she had seen driving away from her gate earlier, to the material and cut of his suit, she had already deduced.

“What do you do for a living?” she asked. “You know what I do, where I live, the fact that I have an impersonator—who may or may not be going to get me into deep, er, um…trouble. But apart from your name, I know next to nothing about you. And as it’s your not-yet-ex-wife who is the one causing any not-yet-seen problems, a wee bit of info wouldn’t be amiss.”

She watched him consider his words. Did he know his nose crinkled when he was deep in thought?

Finally, he spoke. “I’m a businessman. I have very diverse interests, all over the world.”

Jules waited, but the clam impression continued.
Well, that tells me a lot. Info central he isn’t.
“Hence the restaurant and your visit to Melbourne?” She did her best to prompt him.

“Hence the restaurant and my visit to Melbourne,” he said, and then he gave his drink order to the wine waiter. “Champagne now and the rest I’ll choose when we decide on our meal. Thank you.”

So that, Jules my girl, is all you are going to get,
she thought, as he made no move to expound further. A smiling youth of around twenty came over to them and handed a set of keys to Gray. Jules tried not to look as if she wanted to know who he was and why he had what must be Gray’s car keys.

“Jeff’s nephew. I have him on the car hire insurance, so he can help me when needed.”

Obviously he had noticed.

“He’s parked the car and will drive us both back tonight. As a result, I can have a glass of champagne with you.”

Jules looked up at him, not commenting on the inference that they would drive home together, but noticing the way his body moved under the superbly fitted suit as he pocketed the keys.

“Who says I want champagne?” She felt a frisson of excitement run down her spine as he smiled back.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage a glass or two. To toast our, shall we say, collaboration?”

I’m a goner. Done and gone. Collaborated, under, over, any
which way, I’m your girl. And you are the man. Think, Jules, and not with your hormones. Use your brain. Ask him if he’s spoken to his investigator person.

“Of course.” He answered her question, one eyebrow raised as if to signify his surprise that she’d ever doubted him. “Before I flopped for an hour due to sleep deprivation—or tried to. You didn’t make it easy.”

His twinkling eyes made Jules think her first impression—and every one since—had been spot on. Sex on legs!

“Me?” She tried to look innocent, but inside she was shouting,
Yay!

“You, and those damn legs to your armpits, and that secret smile you have. I’ve been in a permanent state of arousal since I met you.”

She risked a quick glance toward his crotch. A definite outline of a hard cock showed beneath the material that covered it, and she swore it moved.

“Yeah.” He noticed her look. “Don’t worry. I won’t try to do anything about it—yet. Be warned… When I do, you’ll know about it. It won’t be easy, and you’ll need to be very sure it’s what you want.”

There was no answer to that. Not one she could utter in public, anyway.
Clear as mud.
Once more her mind harked back to those books and Jenny’s words. Dominant and dominant
.
Jules sipped her champagne and listened as, with a wry smile, he continued telling her about his phone call.

“So, really, it’s a case of waiting to see what Sean comes up with and waiting for you to open up to me. I won’t make the first move.”

“Too right you won’t. Hands off, buster. You’re married.” Who was she kidding? Once all this crap was sorted out, she’d be on her hands and knees and begging for him, if that was what he wanted. Jules was happy and secure in her own body, and although she tried to convince herself otherwise, she really was under no illusion that she needed a strong man to control her. Gray could well be that man.

“Am I?” he asked her wryly. “Married? Who knows? Anyway, Sean’s now going to follow up on a couple of more leads he’s found. He didn’t go into details, so I’ve told him I’ll get back to him tomorrow, after you and I have had time to talk.”

It was a pity he only had talk in mind.
Ah well, story of my life. Them that can, do and I blow them off, them that can’t, don’t
. Jules let her body tighten as she hoped there would be time for more than that later.
Talk about contradiction central. He’s bloody married. You don’t want to get involved.

* * * *

It was really hard to be objective when the gentleman who had wined and dined you had behaved, well, like a perfect gentleman, and not demurred when you said you would ring for a taxi from the service you always used. Then escorted you to your taxi door and saluted you with a chaste kiss on the cheek, saying, “I’ll ring you around eleven in the morning, if that’s convenient.” Even more so, when your body was tingling with anticipation from said chaste kiss and really wanted to be tingling from much more.

Never having been a fan of self-help, Jules resigned herself to a restless night.

She surprised herself and slept well, if you could count only waking up four or five times aching for something—or someone—just out of reach, as a good night’s sleep. By six o’clock, she knew she wasn’t going to have any more rest and after getting out of bed, she headed for the kitchen and coffee.