Forbidden or For Bedding? Read Free

knew. Knew by their iridescent wings, their flash as they caught the light.
    They were memories.
    So many memories.
    Stabbing and darting through her head. Memory after memory.
    As sharp as knives.
    Working backwards through time, taking her back, and back, and back.

CHAPTER ONE
    Six months earlier….
    â€˜D ARLING! You’ll never believe who I’ve bagged for you!’
    Imogen’s voice came gushing down the line. Alexa, the receiver crooked under her ear, concentrated on catching the sheen on a petal that was proving tricky.
    â€˜Alexa? Are you there? Did you hear what I said? You’ll never believe who—’
    Alexa, who knew that Imogen could no more be halted in full flight than she herself could be dragged to the phone when she was painting by anyone other than her friend and business manager, interrupted.
    â€˜Who?’ She knew Imogen was dying to be asked, so she could give the dramatic answer she was clearly bursting to give.
    â€˜He’s absolutely devastating !’ gushed Imogen. ‘A million, zillion miles from any of the usual boring old suits.’
    An extravagant sigh wafted down the line. Alexa wondered what Imogen was on about, then went back to working on the petal. She was dimly aware that Imogen was still in full flow, but didn’t pay attention. Imogen loved to gush, and Alexa let her get on with it while she focussed on what was important at the moment.
    Finally there was silence on the line.
    â€˜So?’ came Imogen’s prompt a moment later. ‘Are you over the moon or what?’
    Alexa frowned absently. ‘What?’
    An exasperated sign came into her ear. ‘Darling, do pay attention! Put the paintbrush down and listen for two minutes. Even you are going to be impressed, I promise. Guy de Rochement phoned. Well,’ Imogen temporised, ‘not him personally, of course, but his London PA.’ She paused. ‘So, tell me you’re impressed. Tell me—’ her voice changed and adopted a husky timbre ‘—you’re quivering all down your insides.’
    Alexa, her paintbrush reduced to hovering over the canvas, intensified her slight frown.
    â€˜Quivering?’ she echoed. ‘What for?’
    The exasperated sigh came again. ‘Oh, really, Alexa, don’t do that Little Miss Supercool with me! I’m not a bloke. And don’t even think you’ll be able to get away with it with Guy de Rochement. Not even you could do that. He’ll have you swooning just like the rest of the female population.’
    Alexa’s brow furrowed. ‘Am I supposed to know who this guy is?’
    Imogen gave a trill of laughter. ‘Darling—a pun! His name is Guy in English, but of course he’s French—well, mostly—so it’s pronounced with a long “ ee ”. Guy. ’ She gave it a Gallic slant. ‘Sounds so much sexier…’ She gave another gusty sigh.
    Alexa cut to the chase. She hadn’t a clue what was going on, and didn’t want any more of her time wasted.
    â€˜Imogen—who is he, why are you being so loopy about it, and what are you trying to tell me anyway?’
    Imogen sounded more disbelieving than indignant. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Guy de Rochement?He’s just all over the celeb mags! Only the posh ones, mind you! He’s a triple-A-lister. Total class!’
    â€˜I don’t read magazines like that,’ replied Alexa. ‘They’re all rubbish.’
    â€˜Ooh, look at you. Hoity-toity!’ shot back Imogen in mock admonition. ‘Well, if you did sully your pure artistic soul with such guff you’d know who I was talking about—and why. Listen, even at your elevated heights I take it you’ve heard of Rochement-Lorenz?’
    Recognition—not strong, but there all the same—was dredged into Alexa’s forebrain. ‘Mega-rich bankers all over the place and going way back into