She gnawed her lip and dragged her gaze from his. Was she stupid, hoping he’d help? They’d had fun together but she’d been what—a diversion? An easy lay? Certainly something different from the women he was used to in his rarefied world of wealth and privilege.
With careful precision she put her glass on a nearby table and scooted to the edge of her seat, grabbing her bag from where she’d dropped it.
‘Where are you going?’
Imogen blinked, sanity returning.
She didn’t have the luxury of pride. This wasn’t just about her. She had a baby to consider.
‘Stop it.’ He crossed the space between them in a couple of long strides, making her crane her neck to look up at him.
‘What?’ Even as she said it his thumb brushed her bottom lip, making her register the salt tang of blood in her mouth. And more, the heady taste of his skin. Imogen had to fight not to dart out her tongue for a better taste.
‘Stop torturing that lovely mouth of yours.’
The unexpectedness of that made her blink and sit back. Lovely mouth?
‘I don’t...’ She shook her head.
Abruptly he dropped his hand and nodded, and Imogen was horrified at her sense of loss. Surely she was stronger than this?
Her mouth trembled, and she grabbed her glass, taking a long draught of the sparkling water, telling herself the sting of it where her teeth had grazed her skin was a timely reminder that she needed focus.
She straightened her shoulders and looked at a point near his perfectly knotted tie.
‘I’m happy to take a paternity test if you like.’ She paused, letting that sink in. ‘Then, when you believe me, I need your help.’
CHAPTER FOUR
HELP?
In the form of money, he assumed.
Thierry hadn’t missed her wide-eyed appraisal of his apartment, the way her hand lingered on the plush fabric of the designer-original lounger and her eyes on the masterpiece of Modernism over the fireplace.
But, if she carried his child, why shouldn’t she expect support?
He could afford it. He’d worked like the devil to turn around the family company, not just for his ageing grandparents and cousins, but for himself too. Duty had driven him, but he’d benefited. It had stunned him to discover the wealth he’d always taken for granted was in danger of slipping away while he travelled the world, following his own pursuits. Years of poor management as his grandfather’s health deteriorated had taken its toll on the family fortune.
But it was safe now.
Unlike Imogen. The sudden thought disturbed him.
Pregnancy wasn’t an illness. It was surely the most natural thing in the world. Yet the sight of her tension, the dark circles beneath her eyes and her pallor drew at something inside him, making him tense and restless.
He turned to stand by the windows. But it wasn’t the lights of early evening that he saw. It was her wan reflection. Her shoulders hunched again and she seemed to crumple. Not at all like the vivacious Imogen he’d known.
‘What sort of help do you want? To arrange an abortion?’ Alone in a foreign country, she could well ask for that sort of assistance. Especially if, as she’d said, her money had run out.
Thierry knocked back a slug of cognac, surprised to discover its taste had unaccountably turned sour.
He scowled at the glass, slamming it down onto a nearby table. He still reeled from the idea of her being pregnant. He hadn’t had time to begin imagining an actual child. Yet out of nowhere anger hit him. Anger that she could consider disposing of her baby. His baby, if his instincts were correct.
Her equanimity at the thought of a DNA test was convincing, as was his memory of her untutored loving. Imogen wasn’t a woman who flitted from man to man, no matter how easily she’d fallen into his arms.
He spun around. ‘Is that it? You want to get rid of the baby?’
It would solve his problems, remove any inconvenience. Yet his stomach twisted at the thought. He found himself looming over her, watching the convulsive movement of her pale throat.
‘I suppose that would be a solution,’ she whispered, looking down at her twisting hands. ‘Maybe it’s selfish to try...’
‘Try what?’ He hunkered before her, confused by his desire to take her in his arms even as he wanted to shake her for even considering destroying their baby.
Their baby! Was he really so easily convinced?
Perhaps he was. Adrenalin made his heart pound, just like it used to as he’d waited for the starter’s signal at the beginning of a downhill race, his eyes fixed on the treacherous snowy slope before him.