But callous, cold and emotionally bankrupt? That was going too far. He wasn’t either callous or cold. And so what if he kept his emotions to himself? Not everyone liked flaunting them left, right and centre.
‘I didn’t realise dinner called for much emotional depth,’ he said, his voice not betraying a hint of what he was thinking.
‘I doubt anything you do calls for much emotional depth,’ she said with faint amusement that did nothing to soften what sounded rather like an insult.
And where had she got this stuff from anyway? ‘You don’t even know me.’
‘I know men like you.’
‘Men like me?’ The idea he was a type was oddly distasteful. And wrong.
‘OK,’ she conceded. ‘Men with your reputation.’
Jack went still. ‘That’s what you’re basing your accusations on?’ he said deceptively mildly. ‘Gossip, rumour and hearsay?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s as good a place to start as any.’
No, it wasn’t. He wasn’t nearly as notorious as his reputation liked to make out. Not that he’d ever done anything to contradict it. Most of the time it suited him to have people—women especially—think the worst of him. Then unattainable expectations were less likely to arise. On either side.
Now, however, having people—Imogen—think the worst of him didn’t seem appealing at all.
‘You seem to have judged me exceptionally quickly,’ he said, unaccountably irritated by the notion because it had never bothered him before.
Imogen bit her lip and frowned. ‘Possibly. But I do have grounds.’
Oh, this he’d love to hear. ‘Which are?’
‘Amanda Hobbs, for one thing.’
Amanda Hobbs? He frowned as he racked his memory. Oh, yes. ‘What about her?’
‘You broke her heart.’
‘Did I?’ he said, knowing perfectly well he hadn’t because he never let things ever get to the stage where hearts became involved.
Her jaw dropped and she stared at him. ‘You mean you don’t know?’
‘I mean I really don’t know.’
Imogen spluttered in outrage, her grip on her control clearly unravelling. ‘I can’t believe you could be so callous as to not even acknowledge what you did.’
As far as he was aware he had nothing to acknowledge, but Imogen’s outrage and the way it made her eyes flash was utterly absorbing, and besides he was intrigued by what fresh rumours the mill had been grinding. ‘So enlighten me.’
‘Are there really so many women you can’t remember them?’ she said scathingly.
Not nearly as many as rumour would have it. But she didn’t need to know that right now, so Jack merely shrugged and smiled in a ‘what can I say?’ kind of way, which made her eyes flash even more.
‘OK, fine,’ she said, nodding and pushing herself upright. ‘You went out together. For three months.’ Three months? Jack’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You were about to move in together but then you ditched her. By text. Of all the rotten, lousy things to do.’ She glared at him, her chin up and her body quivering with emotion.
‘Anything else?’ he said.
‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘I’m sure you have more.’
‘Did you even care that the poor girl was heartbroken? That she was a complete wreck and had to flee to Italy to recover?’
Well, no, he didn’t. Why would he? And what was it to her anyway? Why was she so offended? Were they friends? They certainly shared the same melodramatic tendencies.
‘So you’re some sort of avenging angel? Getting your own back for all the crimes I’ve supposedly committed?’ he said. Was that really why she’d flung the ‘victim devouring’ comment at him? ‘Because let me assure you, sweetheart, there’s absolutely no need.’
‘Really,’ she said witheringly, obviously not believing him for a second.
Right. That was enough, Jack decided, twisting round and giving in to the increasingly pressing desire to set her straight. ‘Look, here are the facts. The facts,’ he repeated, fixing her with a stare, ‘not some twisted third-hand gossip.’
She opened her mouth to say something, but he was fed up with the accusations and the scorn so he uncrossed his arms and clamped a hand over it. ‘Quiet.’
Ignoring the feel of her soft skin and her mouth beneath his palm and the way her eyes were widening with shock and something else, Jack made himself focus on the facts.
‘Amanda and I went out two or three times,’ he said. ‘Four at the most.’ And even that was several times too many. Although beautiful, Amanda had been a drama queen with a penchant for flouncing, which was one of the reasons he’d stopped seeing her. ‘We didn’t have a relationship and we certainly never discussed moving in together.’
Which he knew was true because relationships and cohabitation didn’t feature in his game plan. Never had done and never would, even if he wanted them to. Which he didn’t.
Jack watched Imogen blink as her brain processed the information, and he felt her mouth move. Without taking his eyes off hers for a second he leaned a fraction closer. ‘That’s right,’ he said silkily. ‘Whatever Amanda is doing in Italy, it isn’t getting over me. OK?’
She tilted her head a little, stared at him for what felt like ages, then nodded.
‘And while we’re at it,’ he murmured, thinking he might as well set her straight on a few other things, too, seeing as he had her here, ‘my reputation, unlike my ego, is over-inflated.’
That was evidently one fact too many to digest, Jack thought, watching as Imogen’s eyes widened. ‘You don’t believe me?’ he said, tutting in mock disappointment.
She narrowed her eyes then shook her head.
‘I see,’ Jack said, nodding and frowning as if in deep thought. ‘I’ve heard that you’re shallow and vacuous. Nothing more than a party girl who leads an utterly pointless life.’ She tensed and narrowed her eyes even further. ‘I guess that’s all true, too.’
At the fiery dagger-shooting glare she gave him, he added with feigned ignorance, ‘You mean it isn’t?’
She shook her head again.
‘I see. So why would things be different for me?’
He waited while she thought it over. And when she shrugged, he leaned forwards a fraction and murmured, ‘Perhaps I’m not as bad as you’d like me to be.’
He felt a shudder run through her. Saw her eyes darken, thought he felt her mouth open, and lust burst through him.
Visions of what might happen if they were both as bad as could be bombarded his head, and again he wanted to slide his hand down her neck round to her nape and pull her head towards him. He wanted to slam his mouth down on hers and wrap her in his arms and assuage this desire that itched inside him.
Which would be the worst idea on the planet.
Quite why, Jack couldn’t fathom. If his reputation was largely fabricated, there was every chance hers was too. Despite what he’d heard, Imogen certainly didn’t come across as shallow and vacuous. She came across as spiky, fearless and utterly intriguing.
So if her reputation was as fabricated as his, there wasn’t anything stopping him from suggesting dinner again. Nothing to stop him persuading her to acknowledge