“Let me help.” Theo moved into the kitchen and sloshed water into the teacups Imogen had lined up, his eyes meeting hers with a silent communication.
“Tea, Theo? Since when?”
Imogen suppressed a grin.
“Imogen’s converting me. Allegedy,” he drawled, “I drink too much coffee.”
“Ten cups a day? I should say so,” Imogen winked up at him.
Elena’s lips tightened further. “You’ve always loved coffee.”
The undercurrent of tension was raging faster, threatening to pull Imogen into it. She lifted the cup from beneath the machine and handed it to Elena.
Nausea rose to the surface and acid burned her mouth.
“Oh God,” she mumbled. “Excuse me.” There were six bathrooms in Theo’s penthouse but the closest was still across the spacious lounge and around the corner. She only just made it, throwing the door open and kicking the toilet lid up before the nausea converted to vomit. She crouched down, her face flushed, her stomach retching, hugging the porcelain, her head pressed against the seat.
She groaned, a thick sound and then pushed to her knees as another lurch of illness had her vomiting into the bowl.
A pair of warm hands on her back made her pause. Theo’s shoes w
ere beside her.
“Ugh, you don’t need to see this. Go away.”
“Don’t you think I should get used to vomit?” She could hear the teasing smile in his voice. “Kids do a lot of that, right?”
“Ugh.” Imogen reached for a sheet of toilet paper and wiped it across her mouth and cheeks, then tossed it into the toilet, standing unsteadily. Her brow was lined with perspiration and her face was pale, but she felt a thousand times better than she had moments earlier.
Theo stroked her hair then turned away, running the faucet. When he came back to Imogen, he was holding a damp, cool flannel in one hand. He dabbed it across her forehead and the relief was blessed and wonderful.
“Thank you,” she croaked, swallowing as her eyes lifted to his. “I haven’t really been that sick. It just happens sometimes,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders.
“I’ll get you a cold glass of water.”
Imogen felt a lurch of affection and appreciation. A new wave of feelings that were being unlocked by each kind, thoughtful gesture he initiated. “That is exactly what I need. How did you know?”
He smiled. “I’ve never been pregnant, but I’ve had a few hangovers. I guess it’s pretty much the same thing.”
“Yeah, without the fun of getting drunk.”
“You’re saying it wasn’t fun getting this way?” He teased and colour bloomed in her cheeks.
“Looking for compliments again, Lord Trevalyen?”
“You know me,” he winked at her. “I’ll be right back.” But he hovered at the door, his eyes holding hers, and he waited as though he wanted to say something.
Something important.
Imogen held her breath, watching him, but then he smiled and spun, leaving her alone.
But not alone. His sweetness stayed with her, shrouding her in pleasure even as she stared at the relics of her face, gaping at the complete mess she was in. A quick splash of her face, brush of her teeth, and finger-combing her hair helped. She pinched her cheeks in an effort to return some life to them. A few minutes after Theo left, Imogen emerged just as Theo appeared at the door.
“You look better,” he said quietly, handing her the water.
Imogen nodded, her eyes flicking over his shoulder to where Elena was sitting, her eyes glued to them like her life depended on witnessing their interaction. It made something inside Imogen squeeze with emotions she didn’t understand.
The coldness from the older woman was unmistakable.