His eyes crinkled at the corner, his smile mesmerizing. “Do you know what I was thinking about before you called today?”
“All the work you have to do? The work you’re ignoring right now because you’re worried about me?”
“I was thinking about your parents.”
“My parents?” Imogen frowned. “Why?”
“I think it’s time.”
“Time?” She blinked, feeling like a dumb parrot but not comprehending what he was suggesting.
“For me to meet them.”
“Oh.” Imogen’s eyes were enormous in her face. “Really?”
“Yes, really. I promise I’ll be on my least-aristocratic behavior.” He lifted his hand in a boy-scout salute that was oddly convincing.
Imogen’s teeth sunk into her full lower lip. “I don’t know, Theo…”
Something like frustration flickered in his gaze. “You think the first time I meet them should be in the hospital? When they come to see their grandchild and you introduce me to them as the father?”
“Or maybe Watermelon’s first birthday,” Imogen muttered, dropping her gaze.
“No.” He put a hand on her lap, his thumb running over her thigh. “They deserve better than that. So does our baby. So do you. And so do I. Obviously I need to meet them. It makes sense.”
“But…”
“I know.” He nodded, his smile encouraging. “You’re worried. Worried they won’t like me, that they’ll be cross at you for falling for my Lordly charms.” His wink was the last word in all those Lordly charms and Imogen’s heart stuttered into line with his.
“Fine. But not here. Please not here.” She looked around his enormous, palatial home nervously.
“Why not here? I don’t want you moving from this sofa.”
“I can’t just sit down for two months, Theo. I have to walk. A little bit of walking is good. Exercise is good. I’m not talking about freaking running a marathon, but let’s at least go to the local pub for lunch with them.”
“Fine. You’ll set it up?”
And only then did Imogen realize how cleverly he’d played the situation. She lifted a finger to his lips and traced the outline. “Well, I don’t know,” she murmured. “Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. Of course, if you want me to promise…”
“Yes?”
“Well, it’ll cost you.”
His laugh was thick and throaty and she felt his desire flood towards her. “Oh, don’t worry, Imogen. In a few months, you’ll be beating me off with a stick.” He kissed her on the cheek and stood, running a hand down his pants. “I’ll get you a snack.”
*
“You don’t look at all like your mother,” Theo murmured, leaning closer to Imogen, his hand gripping hers beneath the table. Imogen’s eyes travelled across the busy pub, landing on her mother. Tall, slim and brunette, with a tanned complexion courtesy of her Spanish forebears, Didee Harper was nothing like Imogen.
“No. I’m definitely more like dad.”
Theo pulled a face. “That makes me feel distinctly weird for feeling like this,” and beneath the table he drew Imogen’s hand across his lap, glancing her fingertips over his rock-hard arousal.
Her eyes flew to his and a small groan escaped from the back of her throat. “That’s not fair,” she muttered, bringing her hand back to him.
“I wouldn’t touch me, unless you want things to get rather messy.” His wink had her stomach looping in knots.
“Probably not the best way to make a good impression.” Two weeks had passed since his ‘no sex’ declaration and Imogen was burning up with need for him. “But later…”