He wouldn’t think about that. He pushed up on his elbows, then to a seated position, thrusting deeper into her, running his fingers through her hair, tangling in its lengths and pulling her head backward so that he could kiss all of her as he moved. He took her nipples in his mouth and he kissed higher, to her neck, her throat, chasing her earlobe with his tongue until finally his mouth found hers and he thrust his tongue into her as his body moved, possessing her as surely he ever had, and his fingers held her head still, as her feet dug into the bed beside him and she groaned. The sound was addictive. Everything about her was addictive.
And he was very willing to admit he was addicted.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IT WAS THE WORST possible timing, but all Theo could think about was Imogen. Her legs. Her smile. Her laugh. God, her laugh.
“You can’t be serious.” The woman across from him pouted, her perfect lips bright red, her finger nails a deathly black. Her lashes were long, naturally so, and curled towards her brows. She was beautiful, but Theo felt only impatience to get this conversation over with and be home.
Imogen had been asleep when he’d left that morning, her hair a golden skein across the white pillow, her eyes fluttering madly in her sleep. He’d hoped she was dreaming of him. He’d pressed a kiss against her forehead and she’d smiled, and he’d known she would awaken without regrets.
But to make sure of that, he did what he should have done the first time they’d made love. He left a note on his pillow.
You are perfection. I’ll meet you at the appointment.
“I mean, I can’t imagine why Elena would make such a thing up but surely it can’t be true?”
“Why not?” he couldn’t help but ask. “Did you think I’d be pining away for you after our divorce? Lonely and miserable?”
Her face blanched but he refused to care. Marie had destroyed every last shred of love he’d ever felt for her. Even sitting opposite her in a restaurant was something he could barely bring himself to do. And yet he did it now, purely to absolve his conscience. As if he ought to have any, where this woman was concerned!
Marie’s eyes narrowed with obvious disdain. “On the contrary, I can believe a lot of women would line up for a chance to get a slice of your family’s name and fortune. I just thought you knew better than to be suckered in by some kind of money-grabbing cow.”
His smile was involuntary, but the description of Imogen was so wrong it was almost comical. “I was suckered in by you, though I suppose your motives weren’t financial.”
She sucked in a breath and he hated that he took pleasure in her surprise. It was beneath him, but God, this woman made his skin crawl. How had he ever thought he loved her? Why had he married her?
“I loved you. Those were my motives.”
“Bullshit.” He leaned closer, his eyes sparking furiously with hers. “And I’m done talking about us. In case you needed any clearer proof: we’re finished. Over.”
“So now you’re all happy families with this … woman?”
“Imogen,” he said, again, the smile tickling his lips without his awareness.
“Are you in love with her?”
The words were strange. Unusual. He hadn’t thought of Imogen in that way; he supposed because everything had happened so quickly.
“I’m committed to raising our child together,” he said softly, the words holding a tension and danger that Marie ignored.
“That’s a no, then.”
“It’s a ‘none of your business’,” he corrected silkily. “Whatever I’m doing in my life no longer concerns you. I’ve moved on, and you should too.”
“I hate to see you falling into this trap. You’re making a fool of yourself, all for a woman you hardly know.”
“I do know her,” he said, the words a sharp caution. “And I know she would never be capable of your sort of crap. After you, she’s a breath of fresh air, believe me.”
The glass of wine was full and when it crashed over his face, he experienced a moment of surprise before releasing a sharp laugh. “That’s perfect.” He stood, wiping his face with a paper towel then tossing a handful of bank notes onto the table. “Look after yourself, Marie.”
He was at the door when she caught him, her hand grabbing his shoulder and slowing his progress. “Wait.” He froze, but his own temper was fuming.
“What for? I can’t see that anything’s served by me staying, can you?”
“I was angry,” she said softly, swallowing. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Look.” He thrust his hands into his pockets and looked around the restaurant, conscious of the stares they were drawing. Next would follow the ubiquitous cell-phones. “Come here.” He tucked a han