His secretary had been fielding calls all day from would-be investors.
“No,” she shook her head. “But I need to speak to you.”
“Fine. Speak.” Theo turned around and nodded at the barman. He appeared instantly, a young man of around twenty-two who, perhaps, picked Imogen as more like him than the usual crowd and gave her a charming smile. “Y’all right, miss?”
She leaned forward, so he could hear her over the din of the customers. “Just a sparkling water, thanks.”
Theo was absolutely certain she hadn’t meant to brush her breast against his hand as she’d leaned towards the barman, but the warm softness of her curves instantly made his gut clench and his dick hard.
He compressed his lips, impatience zipping through him faster now.
“Hendrick’s.” He spoke over her, then pushed back a little, giving her more room.
They stood in silence as the barman organized their drinks and then she reached for hers.
Her fingers were shaking.
She was nervous? He looked at her anew, studying her more carefully now. She was dressed like she’d strolled in from a lecture at university, and she wasn’t wearing make-up, besides a little mascara perhaps and some gloss on her lips.
So she hadn’t exactly gone to effort to impress him. But yes, she was definitely sweating on something.
“Well, Miss… what is your name?”
“Gen. Imogen,” she mumbled, sipping her water and forcing herself to meet his eyes.
“Miss Imogen,” he supplied, his eyes scanning hers, wondering at the hairs that stood up on the back of his neck. Her eyes darted towards the door, spearing him with impatience. If she wanted to get away from him so badly then why the hell had she approached him in the first place? “Why don’t you spit out whatever it is you came to say and then you can go again?”
“I’m trying.” Her smile was weak. Her pretty lips twisted almost as though she were in pain. “The thing is, Theo…”
And there it was again! The strangest sense of connection he’d ever known. His name on her lips was some kind of homing beacon. Like a key he could pick up and slide into a door; but a door to what?
“I’m pregnant.”
What was that sense of loss that dropped through him, pulling his gut lower in his body?
“Well, that’s … interesting,” he said with a shrug of the broad shoulders she’d dug her nails into again and again as he’d made her body ring with pleasure. “Am I supposed to congratulate you?”
“Good God, you’re an arrogant so and so.” She expelled an angry breath, and then her hands wrapped around the lapel of his coat and she yanked him down towards her, so she could whisper in his ear. “Let me paint a picture for you. You, me, smoked cheddar, Ed Sheeran…”
She let him go, stepping back to witness the impact of her words. And had the satisfaction of seeing all the colour drain from his face, his eyes sweep closed as he digested the Cliff’s Notes of the night they’d shared.
“You’re…”
“The girl from the pub,” she nodded awkwardly. But her pride was groaning, her whole body weakened from the insult of his pathetic recollection. And worse, her obvious lack of impact on him.
“You’re…”
“Remember? We slept together? Three months ago?”
“Hell.” He jerked his fingers through his hair and now she could see she had his full attention. Every single nerve in his body was honed on her, as though he could hear what she wasn’t saying if he listened hard enough. “You’re saying it’s mine?”
Her jaw dropped for a moment, then she recollected herself, her eyes drawing together. “No, dumbass. I’m just going around telling every guy I’ve ever slept with that I’m pregnant. Just for fun. You know? Why not? I loved spending hours of my life tracking you down. Thanks for leaving your number, by the way.”
Self-disgust darkened his cheek bones. “Contrary to your experience, I would think I was easy to find…”
“To find, sure. But to speak to? You’re more secure than Prince William.”
His lips twisted at the remark, but then, the shock began to recede and the reason she was standing in front of him clarified like glass clearing of fog. “You’re saying you’re pregnant. With my baby.”