She pulled a face. “Who doesn’t like food?”
His smile was just a hint on his face. “I know lots of women who would run a mile from a slab of bread like that.”
Imogen’s heart dipped. “I’m sure you do.” She toyed with the napkin to her right, her eyes fixed on a point over his shoulder.
“Say it,” he prompted, wondering at what thoughts were making her mind wander and her eyes cloud with ideas unspoken. “Say what you are thinking.”
Her grey gaze flew back to his face. “How do you know I’m thinking anything?”
His laugh was a thick rumble that rattled her all the way to the tips of her toes. “Because you have a face that gives you away.” He reached across for a piece of bread at the same moment she did, so that their fingertips touched. She jerked away immediately, her cheeks flushed.
Something like frustration zipped through him and he hated, in that instant, that he couldn’t properly recall the night they’d shared. He sat back, his voice gravelly. “After you.”
“Thank you.” So prim. So cold. Out of nowhere he saw her with flushed cheeks, eyes fevered and he knew that it wasn’t always the case. She was capable of deep, soul-burning passion.
“That night…” He frowned, lifting his drink and sipping it. “I wasn’t myself.”
She looked away, deliberately not meeting his eye. “Weren’t you?”
Ghosts of the past pressed against him. “I’m afraid you were somewhere in the middle of a reasonably spectacular four-day bender.”
“I didn’t realize,” she said truthfully. “You didn’t seem…”
“No. I know.” He shook his head. “I should have known better than to have unprotected sex, no matter what state I was in.”
“You did. We didn’t…” She sucked in a deep breath, the embarrassment of discussing the fact they’d slept together at odds with the certainty they’d be sharing a child soon enough. “We used protection.” Her eyes stayed glued to the table top. “I guess it’s not always effective.”
“I see.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, the roughness of his stubble making a scratchy noise that fired desire in her blood. Need was a persistent hammer, beating against her chest. Memories of that night flashed through her mind and she tried her hardest to push them aside.
“I must say, I’m relieved,” he grunted. “I would have thought it impossible to forget something so basic. But… the state I was in…” He shrugged his broad shoulders apologetically.
“Right,” she nodded. “You’d only just divorced, right?”
“A little while before,” He nodded, the word thickened by emotions she didn’t want to analyse.
“I didn’t know that. I mean, that night. It’s only afterwards, since I’ve had to, um, google you…”
His laugh was a husk. “This is awkward for both of us, I know.” He reached across the table, surprising her by pressing a hand over hers. She stared down at their hands for a moment, his dark and large, hers fair and small. She felt his warmth and strength through the small gesture, and now her eyes moved, of their own accord, to lock w
ith his.
It was a mistake.
Touching. Staring.
Thud, thud, thud. Her pulse fired as though supercharged.
They’d done a lot of touching and staring that night.
How had he forgotten? It had been one of the most amazing nights of her life. She’d never felt such a strong connection with another soul, and it had meant nothing to him.
She cleared her throat, pulling her hand free on the pretense of reaching for her glass of water. She sipped it, dropping her eyes away, wishing she could so easily erase the effect of his touch on her body.
“It doesn’t have to be awkward. I’m not expecting anything from you, like I said.”
She wasn’t looking at him, so didn’t see the way his expression hardened momentarily. She didn’t see the way his eyes flashed with determination, an instant rejection of the words she’d offered.
“Listen, Imogen,” he kicked back in the seat, a study in relaxed contentment even when every line in his body was taut. “We don’t know each other well.” The assertion hung between them like a truth she wanted to bat away.