by Annie West
Finally, his mouth curled up at the corner, and Imogen’s heart gave a flutter of relief. It took a while to notice the tension in his neck and jaw hadn’t eased.
* * *
They celebrated with lunch at the sort of restaurant Imogen had read about in guide books but never anticipated visiting. The service was impeccable, the food unlike anything she’d ever tasted and the ambience discreetly elegant. If the wine waiter was surprised they toasted her news with sparkling water, he didn’t show it.
Thierry was charming, urbane and witty and, by the time the chef came out to greet them, Imogen felt more relaxed than she had in ages.
It was as she was coming back from the ladies’ room that she saw Thierry in conversation with another diner, a fit-looking man with a shock of shaggy blond hair.
‘A friend?’ she asked as she sat down, watching the stranger walk out the door.
It struck her that she didn’t know Thierry’s friends. They’d spent all their time together, unless Thierry was working, as he did so many hours in the day.
‘Yes, someone from the old days.’
‘The old days?’ She wished she’d returned to the table sooner.
‘The days before I became a respectable businessman.’ It should have been a joke but it didn’t sound like it.
She tilted her head to one side. ‘What did you do before you became respectable?’
‘Whatever I pleased.’ When he saw her watching, he continued. ‘Skiing, parties, trekking, ballooning, more parties.’ He swallowed the last of his coffee. ‘In fact, I was just invited to a weekend climbing in the Alps.’
‘And are you going?’
He shrugged, but she didn’t miss the glitter in his eyes. It was the same look she’d seen when he’d told her about some of his far-flung adventures. ‘I have too much to do. Too many responsibilities.’
You’re one of those responsibilities.
You relied on him when you were desperate and look where that got you both—trapped in a marriage that should never have happened.
‘I think you should go.’ Imogen wasn’t aware of formulating the words but suddenly they were emerging from her mouth.
‘Pardon?’
‘Look at the hours you work.’ He might be meticulous about joining her for meals but he was usually back at work in the evening. When did he get time off? He’d made time in Paris but now his business seemed to consume most of his waking hours. That and being on hand for her.
‘That’s because I’ve got deadlines.’
‘Can’t they be put back a few days? Long enough for a short break?’ She watched his eyes narrow on the coffee cup he twisted with one hand. ‘Surely nothing will go wrong if you take a weekend off? What are two days?’
Besides, it would do her good to have a few days alone. She had a lot of thinking to do. After months getting used to the idea of dying, she had to get her head around the notion of living.
Then there was this situation they were in—man and wife in a marriage that now had no built-in end date. Marriage to a man who was protective and caring but no longer desired her.
‘You should go,’ she urged, her constricting throat making her voice husky.
‘Two days,’ he mused, frowning. ‘I admit, it’s tempting.’
* * *
Two days turned into four. In fact, it would be five by the time he returned. Tonight was his fourth night away.
After the freedom of the mountains, the thrill of pitting himself against the elements on some of the region’s most treacherous climbs, Thierry had been only too ready to agree when his friends had suggested an extra night at the resort before returning to his normal life.
Yet maybe he was getting too old for this. The hot shower tonight had been bliss on his sorely tried body. He couldn’t remember feeling this level of weariness after a few days’ climbing. Or maybe he felt out of sorts because he still grappled with the bizarre soap-opera storyline his life had become.
He swirled his cognac, inhaling its rich aroma, then knocked it back in one. The shot of heat to his belly was satisfyingly definite, unlike so much in his life now. He looked up, ignoring the party going on around him, and caught the bartender’s eye, gesturing for another.
Thierry rolled his shoulders but couldn’t shift the tension that had settled there. The sense of being weighed down. But worse was the roiling morass of feelings.
Thierry grimaced. His life had been simple and perfect. Yes, he’d had a little heartbreak in his youth but that had merely left him able to play the field, enjoying freedom in the bedroom as well as in his sports. Even the yoke of the family business hadn’t taken that away from him. He’d shouldered massive burdens but he was close to freeing himself of that.
His old life had beckoned. Until Imogen.
He lifted his glass and slugged back another mouthful, ignoring the fact this liquor deserved slow appreciation. He didn’t have the patience for that. He needed something to cut through the web of emotions tangling his brain.
He’d never felt such relief in his life as when the doctor had said Imogen was safe. That she and the baby would live. But the news hadn’t just brought relief.
Cool logic told him Imogen hadn’t deliberately set out to trap him into marriage. He’d been the one to persuade her and there’d been no mistaking her utter shock at the doctor’s pronouncement. It wasn’t her fault.
Damn it all, he could even sympathise with her walking out of that Sydney waiting room and heading for adventure rather than facing more appointments and treatment. It was the sort of thing he could imagine himself doing.
Yet no amount of logic could shift the sensation that he’d got caught in a net, in a situation far more complex than he’d anticipated. Marrying for the sake of a child was one thing. Acquiring a long-term wife was another. Then there were these feelings that clogged his chest. Half-formed ideas and sensations that were totally unfamiliar.
Thierry wanted his simple life back. Even in the beginning when he’d had to work soul-destroying hours to salvage the business he’d been certain of his purpose, and what little free time he’d had was his own to use as he chose.
Now he felt tethered. Tangled. Worse, he felt... He didn’t know what he felt. Just that he didn’t like it.
After the wedding he’d put Imogen in that box labelled ‘duty’. He’d been able to deal with her as his responsibility when she was off-limits. Now suddenly that label didn’t fit and all sorts of insidious ideas were weaving their way through his brain.
The waiter returned, and Thierry gestured for him to leave the bottle. Helping himself, he poured a double. His mouth twisted. He never drank this much. He preferred to keep his wits about him. But that hadn’t done much good lately. Maybe he’d find clarity this way. Something had to break this untenable bind he found himself in.
He’d lost count of his drinks when he heard a husky whisper beside him. ‘Is there enough for me to have a sip?’
He turned and for a second the edges of his vision blurred. But he had no trouble focusing on the woman beside him. Tall, slim, with cornflower-blue eyes and hair the colour of sunlight. Her mouth was wide and her expression aware. Exactly the sort of beautiful woman he’d always preferred. Given her height, he guessed she had long, lissom legs.
Thierry smiled and her pout of enquiry turned into a smile that would have melted the snow off Mont Blanc.
She put a glass on the bar, and he swiped up the cognac bottle, pouring her a measure without spilling a drop. He was congratulating himself on that feat when she leaned in to pick up her drink, pressing against him from breast to knee.
He felt the subtle stretch and arch of her body as she knocked back her drink, her breasts thrusting into his torso. Heat shot through him at that deliberate invitation.
She put her glass down and, ho
lding his eyes, slowly licked her lips. Her bottom lip shimmered, and Thierry felt a pounding in his head—or was it his chest?—as she slid her arms around his neck.
‘How about a private party?’ she whispered, her breath tickling his throat.
Then she reached up, pressing her mouth to his, and he found his hands clamping convulsively around her waist.
CHAPTER NINE
THIERRY DROVE ROUND to the offices at the back of the château.
He wasn’t really in a fit state for work but there’d be crucial matters for his attention after five days away. Two property deals were nearing conclusion and he wanted an update. Plus there’d be the revised schedule for the new ski resort to check.
Besides, he wasn’t ready to face his wife.
Wife. That word had become real in ways he’d never imagined when he and Imogen had married in that swift civil ceremony.
A wife was more than a temporary responsibility, a woman to be cared for in her hour of need.
Imogen had ceased being a responsibility and had again become a woman—with all the complications that entailed. Not a woman for a quick liaison but a woman with whom his life was now inextricably entangled.
Because he’d followed his instinct and decided on marriage. He’d spent his life acting on instinct, even in business, and it rarely let him down.
His mouth set. There was always a first time.
He parked and switched off the ignition. His head beat like a drum, the pounding an insistent, punishing beat reminding him how foolish he’d been last night.
As if alcohol would solve his problems! Not even climbing, one of his favourite sports, had cleared his mind. Instead of enjoying the challenge of the sport, he’d been distracted by thoughts of Imogen and the disturbing emotions she stirred.
As for that debacle in the bar last night!
He leaned back against the headrest, shoving his hand through his hair.
Even drunk, he’d known what the blonde wanted. How could he not? He was the master of the short-term affair.
Too much cognac was a convenient excuse for the fact he’d smiled right back and offered her a drink. As if tangling with one sexy woman would solve the problems he had with another!
He couldn’t remember if he’d felt a sizzle of anticipation as she’d sidled up to him, or what, if anything, had gone through his brain. All he knew was, the moment she’d pressed her mouth to his, revulsion had knifed him. Revulsion at her touch and, more, at himself.
His hands hadn’t been gentle as he’d shoved her away. He had a suspicion she might even bear bruises from his touch, though last night she’d looked too shocked to register pain.
Thierry scrubbed a hand over his face. It had just been a kiss, a split second of a kiss at that, yet for the first time in his life he’d felt guilty about being with a woman.
Guilt and anger, and that sick swirl in his belly he’d like to believe was the result of too much alcohol. Instead, he suspected it was due to something else entirely.
Shoving the car door open, he swung out, letting it slam, and strode to the offices. He needed an afternoon concentrating on reports, plans and the delicate power play of property negotiations. Anything to take his mind off personal matters.
He made it past most of the offices and had reached the threshold of his own when someone called his name.
Thierry paused, biting down an oath. He wanted privacy, but this was why he was here, to lead the team. He turned and saw one of the legal staff approaching, an envelope in his hand and an expression on his face that had Thierry instantly alert.
‘Is there a problem?’ Mentally, he flicked through the current investments—commercial property, high-end resorts, the Côte du Rhône vineyard and—
‘No problem.’ Yet the lawyer’s smile looked forced. ‘Just tying up loose ends.’ He offered the envelope and, to Thierry’s surprise, walked quickly away.
Thierry’s fingers tingled as he surveyed it. His staff here made a close-knit team, without the formality of the Paris office. They were relaxed and friendly, even in times of high workload. But his senior legal advisor was worried.
Thierry entered his office and shut the door. He strode to the window and slid the contents of the envelope into his hand.
It was just a few pages. Flicking to the back, he saw Imogen’s name and signature and a date two days ago, all witnessed. Thierry frowned and flipped to the front.
Minutes later he stood, staring, his hand carving through his hair to clutch his scalp. Dimly, he registered a cramping in his chest that reminded him to suck in air.
This was what his legal staff had done while he’d been away?
The paper crackled as it crumpled in his fist.
Imogen must have asked them to draw this up. No one else would have dared consider it.
He dragged in another breath and searched for calm. It eluded him. Why had she so ostentatiously cut herself off from his wealth, the material support he could provide? It should have felt like a reprieve yet in some obscure way it was a slap in the face, made more insulting because of the shame he felt after last night.
He told himself a single kiss with a stranger didn’t taint his honour, yet he felt...stained. It had to be because of this indignity Imogen had engineered. No doubt his employees were gossiping about the fiasco their boss’s marriage had become. Thierry had never in his life cared about gossip, but to be made a laughing stock in his own home...
The papers fell as he marched across the room, wrenched open the door and strode out.
* * *
She wasn’t in her room. A scan revealed nothing except her passport on the dresser beside her purse.
Thierry scowled. Why was her passport out?
The sound of running water penetrated and he stalked to the bathroom door, pushed it open and walked in.
Behind the clear glass of the shower screen, water sluiced down Imogen’s lush body. Her head arched back as she massaged shampoo from her long hair. The pose thrust her breasts out, silhouetting them against the window beyond.
Thierry stilled, his hand on the door knob. Everything inside him collapsed in on itself. Arousal, strong as the tug of the ocean’s inexorable current, dragged at his lower body. He didn’t notice the pounding in his head any more, just his lungs’ short, sharp grabs for oxygen and the thunder of his heartbeat rapping his ribs.
‘Thierry?’ Her eyes opened wide, and she stood transfixed, glistening and perfect. His gaze traced her raspberry-pink nipples that beaded as he watched, down the plane of her ribcage to her taut belly that showed no sign yet of his child inside.
His child.
His hand tightened on the door as she turned her back to wrench off the taps. The dip and curve of her glistening back was entrancing.
His wife.
The thought curled through him like a beckoning finger, inviting him into the room.
He scooped up a towel and pulled open the shower door. Amazingly, she crossed one arm over her breasts as she turned, her other hand covering her pubic area. As if he didn’t recall every slick curve and plane of that gorgeous body!
That was the problem. All this time dealing with Imogen the duty rather than Imogen the sensuous woman had left him sleep-deprived. No wonder he was out of sorts.
‘There’s no need for modesty, ma chère.’
Her chin tilted and something hot jabbed through him. He’d always responded to a challenge.
‘I’d prefer you to knock before you come in.’
‘It’s late for setting ground rules, Imogen. You’re my wife and I have a right to be here.’ The long walk through the château had fuelled his roaring indignation.
His eyes flicked down, taking in her pale skin, blush-pink from the shower, and her sinuous curves.
Reason and
patience retreated. He was tired of being patient. More, he was tired of the bitter stew of emotions he couldn’t banish. Emotions Imogen had created.
He didn’t do emotion. Not with women.
He should have followed through that night she’d kissed him in his bedroom. She wouldn’t be tying him in knots if he had. But telling himself his frustration levels were his own fault didn’t help. He’d needed that mental and physical distance to keep himself sane and ensure he looked after her as she deserved.
Mouth setting in a crooked line, she snatched the towel from him. He had one last glimpse of tip-tilted breasts jiggling deliciously before she wrapped the massive bath sheet around her, even covering her shoulders, as if knowing how her bare skin inflamed him.
She stared straight back, her look all hauteur, as if he’d crawled out of a Marseilles sewer.
Instead of freezing him, that stare ignited something dangerous. Thierry felt it like a whoosh of flame, razing his carefully nurtured restraint.
No woman looked at him like that. Ever. Especially not the woman for whom he’d done so much!
Thierry’s hands were hard and brown against the white towel as he grabbed her shoulders. He felt her fine bones, heard the flurry of her quickened breathing, and that sent fiery heat spilling through his veins.
‘What did you think you were doing, drawing up that...that...?’ Indignation stole his vocabulary.
‘That post-nuptial agreement?’ Her chin notched.
‘Were you deliberately trying to insult me?’
Her eyes widened. ‘Of course not. I don’t see the problem.’
‘You go to my staff and ask them to draw up a contract specifying you renounce any claim to my assets, weeks after we marry. You sign in front of witnesses, and you don’t see a problem?’ His voice rose and beneath his hold she flinched.
Good! How dared she make him an object of ridicule?
Yet if anything her mouth set tighter. Green fire sparked in her eyes.
