‘I might have a snooze,’ she said, stepping back as if it would help her suck more oxygen into her lungs. ‘It’s all catching up with me now.’

‘Why don’t you go to bed for a couple of hours?’

Imogen managed to shake her head. She would never be able to relax in that bed, imagining what it would be like if things were different, if she could stretch out and wait for Tom to join her underneath that fine sheet, if he were to pull off those shorts and let her run her hands over that smooth, muscled body…

With some difficulty, she wrenched her mind away. ‘I like it down here,’ she said.

‘Up to you.’ Tom shrugged, plainly unbothered. ‘I’ll see you later, in that case.’

Imogen’s body was buzzing with a mixture of exhaustion and a prickly awareness, so she didn’t really expect to sleep when she lay on the lounger in the deep shade, but tiredness rolled over her like a wave the moment she closed her eyes, and when she opened them again it was to discover that it was nearly two hours later.

Groggily, she got to her feet, still squinting at her watch in case she had made a mistake, but the lengthening shadows told their own story. It looked as if she had had that snooze after all.

Vaguely aware of a lingering embarrassment, without really remembering why, Imogen made her way back to the house. The sun was low on the horizon and the sea lay flat and still while in the undergrowth unseen insects were warming up for a rasping, sawing, shrilling concert to mark the end of the day.

Tom had moved his laptop to the dining table and she could see him studying the screen intently. How many times had she seen him wear exactly that focused expression? Imogen wondered. The line between his brows, the pugnacious set of his jaw, the stern line of his mouth…they were all completely familiar to her after working with him for the last few months.

So why did the sight of him feel like a fist colliding with her stomach, driving the air out of her lungs and leaving her jolted and jarred with the sudden shock of it?

It must be the jet lag catching up on her, Imogen decided, and drew a steadying breath as she put a foot on the veranda steps.

Tom looked up when she appeared in the doorway.

‘That was a long snooze.’

‘I didn’t mean to sleep that long.’ Imogen was glad to see he had put on a shirt and shorts. He looked cool and comfortable while she felt hot and drowsy and crumpled after her sleep. At least discomfort helped her shake aside that odd feeling of shocking familiarity.

‘I think I’ll have a shower,’ she said. ‘I’m still feeling a bit dopey.’

‘You look it.’

His voice was cool, his glance faintly disapproving, and Imogen let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. It was a relief to realise that he was once more Tom, her irascible boss, a man impatient of weakness or frivolity.

So they had chatted in the shallows for a bit? What else were they supposed to do when they were all alone on a tropical island? Tom might have told her more about himself than she had ever known before, but he had just been making conversation and that wasn’t the same as being intimate, no matter what it had felt like.

She certainly wasn’t going to start being silly just because she had seen what a good body lurked beneath those suits he always wore. It had just been tiredness making her uncomfortably aware of him as a man rather than a boss, Imogen told herself. She would just have a cool shower and change into something sensible, and they would be back to their normal professional relationship in no time.

The light was fading rapidly as she made her way out to the bathroom. It was open to the sky and the subdued lights made the curving walls and clever tiling look wonderfully romantic. The lack of a door made Imogen a little uncomfortable, but Tom knew where she was, she reasoned. He was hardly likely to come barging in on her and, with no one else on the island, she could hardly ask for more privacy.

She turned her attention to the shower, peering at the controls in the dim light. There were no screens, no panels, just an enormous shower head that stuck out over the tiled floor that sloped slightly to drain. It would be like standing under a waterfall.

Imogen’s skin was hot and gritty, and her hair was full of sand. It was going to be wonderful, she told herself as she turned the controls and pulled off her bikini.

With a sigh of relief, she stepped under the cascade of water, only to feel something scuttle horribly underfoot. Something she hadn’t seen in the stupid lighting, which was suddenly not romantic at all, but downright dangerous.

Something that had a friend to scrabble over her foot as she jerked it away.

Imogen couldn’t help herself. She screamed and leapt out of the water, bolting to the other side of the bathroom without even stopping to grab a towel.

The next moment Tom came skidding round the curving bathroom wall. ‘What’s the ma-oh!’

He stopped dead at the realisation that Imogen was stark naked.

Imogen’s heart was galloping with a mixture of fright and the sheer shock of seeing Tom charge into the room, but for a long, excruciating moment she could only stare back at him from behind the Jacuzzi.

He wondered if she had any idea how she looked, with her hair damp and her skin wet and her eyes wide and dark with fright. Her hand was pressed to her throat where a pulse jumped wildly, and her breasts were rising and falling rapidly as she struggled for breath.

That bikini hadn’t left much to the imagination, but Tom was still unprepared for the glorious lushness of her body, and even though his brain was yelling at him to keep his eyes firmly on her face while he backed out, it didn’t stand a chance against the pull of instinct which dropped his gaze to skim over those lovely curves.

Imogen saw his eyes drop and, far too late, humiliation jerked her out of her paralysis.

‘God, I’m sorry,’ Tom managed as she snatched at a towel.

Of course it was far too small, and she had to hold it ridiculously in front of her while she pulled at one that looked big enough to wrap round her, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

‘I heard you scream,’ he tried to explain, backing out. ‘I thought something was wrong.’

‘I trod on something when I got in the shower.’ Imogen shuddered at the memory. ‘You can’t see a thing in this stupid light,’ she complained, forgetting how she had gasped at how pretty the room looked at first. ‘It was revolting.’

‘What was it?’ Tom had his voice under better control. At least she was covered by the towel now, not that it made that much difference. The image of her body was still vivid after he had stared like a grubby schoolboy. He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably, mortified by the memory.

‘I don’t know,’ said Imogen. ‘I didn’t stop to inspect it. It felt disgusting, whatever it was.’

Tom went over to turn the shower off. It gave him a good excuse to look away from Imogen, if nothing else. ‘Probably a cockroach,’ he said. ‘Yes, there he is.’ He pointed at the corner, where something dark and shiny lurked, antennae waving malevolently.

Imogen peered nervously round Tom’s shoulder. ‘Ugh! It’s horrible!’

‘It probably doesn’t think too much of you either after you trod on it.’ Tom was finding it hard to concentrate with her so close to him. ‘Do you want me to get rid of it for you?’

‘Would you?’ said Imogen gratefully. She had been wondering how to ask him to do just that without sounding pathetic.

Tom stepped towards the cockroach but it was too quick for him. It dashed for the other wall, and its sudden scuttle made Imogen squeak and jump back. The movement loosened the wretched towel, which promptly started to unwind.

‘Oh-!’ Imogen only just managed to bite back a curse as she grabbed the towel in the nick of time.

Fortunately Tom didn’t notice. He was too busy following the cockroach around the bathroom, but the faster he stamped, the quicker the insect moved and the more he missed. He muttered furiously under his breath as his shoes rang uselessly on the tiled floor. No cockroach was going to get the better of Tom Maddison!

He looked so ridiculous, stamping around the shower in frustration, and the situation was so bizarre, that Imogen’s sense of humour began to get the better of her. It might have been tiredness, or an edge of hysteria, but she could feel laughter bubbling up inside her.

‘Gosh,’ she said, ‘I didn’t know you could do flamenco.’

Distracted, Tom stopped in mid-stamp. ‘What?’

‘A ruthless businessman and a hot dancer.’ Imogen’s expression was innocent as she nodded at his feet. ‘You’ve got to admit, it’s quite a combination!’

For a moment Tom could only stare at her. The light was dim but it was enough to see the mischief glimmering in her eyes. A smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth, and all at once he realised how comical he must look, chasing an insect around the shower, watched by his PA, who was utterly naked beneath that skimpy towel.

Did anyone enjoy looking stupid? Tom certainly never had before but, in spite of his exasperation, he felt an answering smile twitch his lips. What an absurd situation to find himself in, but perhaps it was a fitting ending for what should have been his wedding day. It might have started in tragedy, but it was ending in farce.

Without thinking, he lifted his arms, snapped his fingers and stamped his heel dramatically. ‘Olé!’ he cried, striking a pose.

It was Imogen’s turn to stare, startled by his uncharacteristic lapse into absurdity, and then they both started to laugh at the same time.

They laughed and they laughed, until they were both almost doubled up. It wasn’t that funny, but at some level both were aware that their laughter came as much from the release from some unspoken tension as from the humour of the situation.

‘Oh dear,’ gasped Imogen at last, mopping her eyes with the edge of the towel. ‘I think I needed that!’

‘And, after all of that, the cockroach has legged it,’ Tom realised, looking around the room, as Imogen started to giggle again.

He was feeling a bit odd. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed like that-laughed uncontrollably. Usually, the whole notion of being out of control made him uncomfortable, but now, when he looked at Imogen, it wasn’t the scariness of losing control he was thinking about.

It was Imogen’s face, still alight with laughter.

It was Imogen’s body, beneath the towel that kept slipping dangerously.

He should go before she lost grip of it completely, Tom decided.

‘You can have that shower now,’ he told her, and then cocked an eyebrow at her hesitation. ‘Unless you’d prefer to use the one inside?’

‘I would, of course, but then you would think that I’m really pathetic.’

‘What, because you’re afraid of a little cockroach? Never!’

Imogen made a face at him. ‘See, I knew you’d say that! If I went to the other bathroom, I’d never be able to hold up my head again.’

‘I won’t say another word,’ promised Tom, holding up his hands.

‘No, no, I’m determined to shower here now. I’m a big, brave girl now, especially as I know that all it takes to see off a cockroach is a bit of bad dancing!’

He smiled as he turned to leave. ‘I’ll leave you to it then. Scream if you need me.’

She wouldn’t be screaming again, but she needed him, all right. She needed him to go back to being her brusque, irritable boss, thought Imogen, dropping the towel and stretching out her hand to test the temperature of the water. She needed him to stop smiling like that. She needed him to put his suit back on and make her forget that he had that great body.

Imogen had looked forward to the shower, but as she stood under the cascade of warm water she found herself thinking, not about how good it felt to wash the sun and the salt out of her hair but about Tom, and how he had laughed.

Who would have thought that the coolly calculating Tom Maddison would play the fool like that? Imogen smiled as she remembered him striking that flamenco dancer’s pose and shouting olé! He might have been a different man entirely from the one who barked instructions down the phone or wished her a curt good morning as he strode through her office in London.

This Tom had an unexpectedly wide smile with good teeth, and when he had thrown back his head and laughed, his eyes had creased and the harsh lines of his face had been transformed by amusement. Imogen felt something disturbing start to uncoil inside her at the mere memory, and she shivered uneasily.

The truth was that she was more afraid of that feeling than of the cockroach coming back.