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.