Her smile was lopsided and before he could realize what she was doing, Imogen had stepped up onto a low, stone wall and was walking along the top of it. “The history is everywhere.” She lifted her hand and ran her fingertips along a wall to her side, feeling the uneven stones. “It wraps around you, don’t you think?”
Something was wrapping around him, but he would have described it more as magic. “I never thought about it like that.”
“Did you always live here?”
“No. Our family estate is to the North. I lived there until my parents’ divorce, and then for a year or two afterwards while they were coming to an agreement about custody and finances.”
“That sounds very civilized. Why do I think it wasn’t?”
His laugh was rough. “Because you’re perceptive.”
“Why’d they break up?”
“Depends. If you ask my mother, because my father’s a cheating bastard.”
“Was he?”
“I don’t know. Probably.” He shrugged. “I don’t think either of them was perfect.” He lifted a hand on autopilot as she neared the end of the wall and she took it, her fingers small in his. He held her as she stepped down, and her body brushed close to his. “Probably different to your experience growing up?”
“My parents are still together,” she nodded, the darkness of those days heavy in her heart. “But my father did cheat.” The confession pained and surprised her in equal measure; they were words she’d never uttered to another soul. Once out though, she found them impossible to stop, like trying to catch water with her fingertips. “It nearly killed my mum.”
“I’m sorry. Recently?”
“When I was seventeen. With her best friend.” She shook her head, pain ripping through her. “My mum went from being this incredibly confident, funny, forthright, intelligent woman to such a shadow. It killed her. She started to question everything about who she was and what she said. I’ve never seen such a transformation. I wouldn’t have thought it possible until then.”
“She stayed with him?”
“She loves him.” Imogen turned and began walking, her head dipped low, her eyes studying the uneven footpath at their feet. “And she loved him even through that. He claimed it was a mistake, but it had gone on for a long time.”
“And has their relationship recovered?”
Imogen fixed him with a level stare; a stare that belonged to someone at least twice her age. “How can a relationship recover from that kind of dishonesty? Her best friend. It was awful.”
Something like a cascade formed in his mind. “You told me you couldn’t go to university for personal reasons. This? This is why you stayed at home?”
Surprise briefly glimmered in the depths of her ocean-blue eyes and then she nodded stiffly. “I was worried about my mum. Worried about him. Through the whole mess of the affair, all that screaming and shouting and fighting, they would try to be normal around me. The more I was around, the more normal they were, until finally, they almost seemed to be my mum and dad again.” Her smile was bleak. “But I don’t know if that was the right decision, really. Maybe they should have broken up. I don’t know.”
“It’s not your decision to make,” he pointed out, but his voice cracked with sympathy. “And certainly not your cross to bear.
“I know.” She forced a bright smile to her face even when her heart was back in the past, aching with the pains it had carried for so long. “Do you see your dad often now?”
“Sure.” His shrug hid a world of betrayal; the pain of neglect. “I took over the family business but he’s a control freak from way back. We have brunch a couple of times a month.”
“Brunch?” Her smile was droll. “How very grand.”
“Quite.” He softened the pronouncement with a wink that made her toes curl.
“And does he know about me?”
“No.” Theo slowed his pace, his head tilted downwards. “Let’s get through my mother first, mmm?”
“Is that something I need to brace myself for?”
His smile was lopsided. “She’ll be civilized.”
A shiver of apprehension ran down Imogen’s spine but she covered it with a smile. “What’s she like?”
He tilted his head to hers, his eyes seeing everything she didn’t say. “She’s a product of her upbringing.” He turned his attention back in front of them and, as a car came rushing past, braced Imogen with a hand around her hip, clamping her protectively to his side.
Sparks simmered out from his touch, and it wasn’t long before they were cascading into a full-blown electrical meltdown. It was hotter than flame and far more imperative; it licked hungrily at her insides, demanding acknowledgement. Response. Release.
“I keep telling myself I can’t feel like this. I can’t want you,” he said thickly, lifting a hand to her hair and stroking it, as she’d hoped he would when she had chosen to leave it loose. “So why can’t I stop thinking about you?”
“It’s like that first night.” The words were hollow, her eyes enormous as unconsciously she swayed towards him.
“It can’t be.” He cupped her cheeks, his strong fingers stroking her gently, tentatively, with a sense of wonder that made her tummy backflip again and again. “I want to protect you. To look after you.”
Her smile was a small flicker but her body was too distracted to provide anything further. “I think this would qualify.”
His expression hardened and she knew he was fighting a losing battle.
“You’ve already kissed me once,” she pointed out, wrapping a hand around his back and pressing it tight to the warmth of his flesh, marveling at the illicit pleasure of the contact.
“And you told me you don’t want this.” A plea. A hoarse need to be released from her limitations. “You told me we can’t do this.”
“You’d just offered me money in exchange for … well. I don’t know. I was angry.”
“The money was not an exchange. It’s my responsibility.”
“I don’t see it that way.” Her eyes clashed with his and the need to kiss him was as fierce and strong as if she’d been punched.
“What are you saying?”
An excellent question. What did she want? A relationship with the father of her baby? A man who hadn’t even remembered making love to her?
Doubts threatened to swallow her up, but his nearness was pushing them away, reminding her that some things went beyond logic and sense. Maybe, just maybe, they were one of them.
Or were they just an accident? A mistake?
After all, in the normal course of events, a man like Theo Trevalyen would never look twice at Imogen. Even the night they’d made love, he’d obviously been beyond the point of rational thought. If he hadn’t been drinking? If she hadn’t hit on him? Not to mention the way he’d greeted her in the bar, the night she’d come to tell him about her pregnancy.
He’d looked at her like something on his shoe.
A shiver ran down her spine. Self-disgust at her own stupidity, her own willingness to get caught up in the hopes and dreams that were inhabiting her soul, flooded her system.
Imogen stifled a moan and stepped backwards. She’d made a fool of herself that night, and the consequences would be with them for the rest of her life.
She couldn’t – wouldn’t – humiliate herself again.
“I think we should go home,” she said softly, her eyes not quite meeting his, but her intention was obvious. Go home, and end this. Not begin it.
“Is that what you want?”
She nodded, but her insides churned. Anxiety and embarrassment had settled around her, and she wasn’t sure they’d ever go away again.
*
Imogen stood outside his room, nerves jangling through her like a power-line in a cyclone. She swallowed, or tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry and her throat thick. She lifted her hand to knock, but then dropped it again, shaking her head and stepping back.
This was silly.
She c
ould just email him.
Email him? When they lived in the same apartment? She’d been avoiding him since the night before, when they’d come home from the restaurant. She’d dumped her coat and bag and immediately gone to her room and shut the door, pressing her back against it as panic and frustration and need and impotence squashed her spirit.
What were they doing? Living together, flirting with one another? Pretending that this was normal? She didn’t want to be a noose around his neck. The murkiness of their situation had plagued her but hiding from him wasn’t an option.
She’d just speak to him. It would be fine. No big deal.
Her certainty lasted for about a nano-second, then the door wrenched inwards and Theo stepped out, bumping squarely into Imogen and knocking her sideways. She might have fallen had his instincts not been so spectacular. He reached out, steadying her around the waist, his expression quizzical as he stared down at her.
“Were you waiting for me?” A gruff, throaty question.
Oh, hell. He was naked. No, not naked. There were cotton boxer briefs covering his butt. His chest though was out, all tanned and broad, muscled and strong. She stared at his nipples – how could she help it? They were at her eye-height, after all, then forced herself to look higher, into his eyes.
She saw amusement crinkle the corners of his eyes but it was swallowed by the same awareness that was beating a drum inside of her.
There it was again! That sense of inevitability that had throbbed through her the first night they’d met was scratching its nails against her now.
“Imogen?”
She shook her head, blinking, and stepped out of his grip. Her breath burned in her lungs, despite the space she’d put between them, and her body was quivering with a need for his touch.
“Yes?”
“You were standing outside my room? Is everything okay?”
She blinked again. “Yes, yes, fine.”
He seemed unconvinced and his eyes drew over her face almost as though he could deduce from her features the purpose of the visit. Then, a small smile cracked his lips. “You worked today?”
“Yes.” Did he spend hours a day working out? How did someone in a desk job get that damned fit?
“So that explains this.” He grinned, lifting a hand to her hair and running his fingers through its lengths. When he removed them, his fingertips had glitter shimmering on them.
“Oh, yes.” She grimaced, self-consciously dusting the other side of her head with her palm. “A particularly industrious toddler found her way into the craft supplies.”
“It suits you,” he said with a sardonic laugh.
“Thanks. I’m thinking of making it a permanent addition.”
His grin unfurled slowly and spread like warm butter on toast. She sobered, putting a little more distance between them. And he understood the shift in mood; her need to keep things almost professional. It annoyed him, but he wasn’t going to risk upsetting her by pushing on with banter. The night before had shown him that he had to move slowly.
This was new and confusing for her, too. They had to go at Imogen’s pace, even when that was eating him alive.
“Did you need me for something?”
“Yes.” She expelled a sigh of relief. “I have an appointment tomorrow. For a scan.” Her cheeks slashed pink as she lifted them to his face. “I didn’t keep it from you on purpose. I got the dates mixed up. I put it in my phone wrong and it was only that they texted today to confirm it…”
“I didn’t think you’d kept it from me,” he interrupted, eager to ease her obvious discomfort. “Is the scan for any reason?”
“Just routine,” she said with a tight smile, her hand dropping protectively to her flat-stomach, running over it. “The obstetrician wants to review me as a new client.”
Theo was, unusually, struck with uncertainty. A desire to invite himself was at odds with his resolution to let her dictate the terms of their relationship; to go at her pace. “I see. I’ll look forward to hearing how it goes.”
Imogen’s eyes startled to his. “Oh. Right.” She nodded, her eyes awash with confusion. “Of course you’re probably too busy. If I’d got the date right, I could have given you more notice.”
She spun, walking away quickly, feeling foolish for her childish hope that this would be something they experienced together. He watched her graceful, hurried escape and then made a noise of frustration and moved after her. He curled a hand around her wrist, slowing her down. It had the unintended side effect of almost joining their bodies together, and in his current state of undress it wasn’t easy to hide his physical response. Tightness coiled through him.
“You want me to come with you?” The words emerged as hoarse, staccato beats.
“I wouldn’t have invited you if not.”
“You didn’t invite me,” he said gently, his fingers stroking her wrist of their own accord.
“What?” The desire he’d invoked the night before was back – flashing through her, simmering her blood, burning her alive. It was storming her system, overriding common sense. All she knew, in that moment, was that she wanted him and to hell with the consequences. She’d been living with him for weeks. How the heck was she going to last the rest of the pregnancy? And then beyond?
“You need to tell me what you want.”
She nodded, but the words had so many meanings. Was he referring to the appointment? Or to the sensual heat firing between them?
“What do you want?” He asked, pulling her wrist again so that her body moved closer to his. She shook her head, but her fingers lifted to his chest, stroking the naked flesh as though she had every right in the world to touch him.
“I don’t know. Or maybe I do.” She fluttered her eyes closed and all her body could do was feel. “I’m scared.” The confession was barely above a whisper.
Yet it shouted itself over them. He understood her fear. He felt it, too. This was unchartered territory for both of them; he needed her to know he was right there with her, as lost at sea as she was.
“I keep having these dreams,” he said, the words urgent. “Only I don’t know if they are dreams, or if they’re actually memories of that night.” His eyes clung to hers, watching, waiting for her to say something, as his fingers wrapped around her waist and pulled her close to his body.
“You said I lifted you against a wall and kissed you, hard. Was it like this?”
And he grabbed her easily, carrying her as though she were a tiny bird, wrapping her legs around his body and pinning her back to the wall behind them even as his lips sought hers. Or was it her lips seeking his?
He ground his arousal against her, and she groaned into the kiss; wet heat pooled between her legs. Her fingers tangled in his hair and his tongue lashed hers, ravaging her senses, bewildering her with the sheer power of their connection.
“Christ,” he groaned, dragging his lips down her throat, finding the pulse point at the base and flicking it with his tongue. “Please tell me you want this, agape. Tell me you need this as much as I do.”
She stood outside a door. Pleasure and passion on one side, but then what? She needed to stay strong, to say ‘no’, to heed her cautious side. To be smart, in a way she hadn’t been with him that night.
“I need you,” he groaned, dropping his head against her chest, his breathing labored. “But I need to know what you want. Tell me. Tell me, Imogen.”
She felt a sob in her throat and shook her head, but even then, she was reaching for him, drawing his mouth back up to hers. “I’m so scared. I don’t know what we are and I don’t know …”
“Me neither,” he kissed her gently now. “But I know it’s right. I know this feels better than anything I’ve ever done.”
She nodded, because that was exactly how it was for her, too. Something was pulling them together, binding them, and it had done so from the moment they’d met. “Take me to bed,” she whispered, and then she smiled, because the words were a key and somehow they opened a door to
confidence and certainty. “Take me to bed, now.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Theo pushed through the door, kissing her, needing her, pushing at her shirt, balling it in his fists and lifting it up her body as he eased her to the ground. He pushed it over her head, and groaned as he buried his head in the valley between her breasts.
She smelled like vanilla and memory. It kicked him hard in the side as flashes of familiarity played at the edges of his mind. And along with it, the sense that he was coming home. His fingers ran over the lace fabric of her bra, finding her hardened nipples and grazing them with his thumb until she cried out. “God, I need this.”
His laugh was hoarse and he nodded, reaching around and unclipping her bra, freeing her breasts. They were round and filled his palms; her warmth spread through him.
“I told you this would be better than last time, but Hell, agape, I don’t know if I can take this slow.”
“Don’t. Don’t tease me. Give me everything,” she begged, pushing at her jeans and stepping out of them at the same time. Her underwear was sensible white cotton, nothing high-end nor seductive about it, but to Theo it was the sexiest damned fabric he’d ever seen. He gripped the sides in the palm of his hand and pulled it, pushing his hands inside and cupping her arse as he lifted her back up, wrapping her legs around him and finding a wall to push her against.
She swore softly into the kiss and he tasted the word and understood its desperation.
“Yeah,” he grunted in acknowledgement, and now, with her pinned to the wall, he took one of her breasts into his mouth, rolling her nipple and sucking the sweet pinkness of her, grinding his arousal against her, holding her right against him.
“Please,” she cried out, arching her back and he understood. He got her desperation.
He carried her to the leather armchair at the foot of his bed and stood her on it, but when he let go she wobbled and then laughed as he righted her around the waist.
He didn’t laugh. He caught her underwear again and grazed it down her legs; they were smooth and soft and more memories flooded him. His eyes latched to hers and he leaned forward and kissed her inner-thigh, somehow just knowing it drove her wild.
His Nine Month Seduction Page 7
