“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.”