Hell! He was turning into a cold-blooded corporate type. Since when had his libido taken second place to business?
Except his libido wasn’t involved. That was the shocking thing. At thirty-four Thierry was in his prime. He enjoyed sex and his success with women showed he had a talent, even a reputation, for it. Yet he felt nothing when this gorgeous woman invited him into her bed.
Hadn’t he known taking on the family business would destroy him? It was sucking the life out of him. It was...
His gaze locked on a figure on the far side of the room, and his thoughts blurred. His pulse accelerated and his chest expanded as he hefted a startled breath.
His companion murmured something and stretched up to kiss his cheek. Automatically, Thierry returned the salutation, responding to her farewell as she joined a group who’d just entered the hotel ballroom.
Instantly, his gaze swung back to the far side of the room. The woman who’d caught his eye stood poised, her weight on one foot, as if about to leave.
He was already pushing his way through the crowd when she straightened and drew back her shoulders. Delectable, creamy shoulders they were, completely bared by that strapless dress. The white material was lustrous in the light of the chandeliers, drawing a man’s eyes to the way it fitted her breasts and small waist like a glove before flaring in an ultra-feminine swirl to the floor.
Thierry swallowed, his throat dry despite the champagne he’d drunk. A familiar tightness in his groin assured him that his libido was alive and kicking after all. Yet he barely registered relief. He was too busy drinking her in.
In a room packed with little black dresses and sleek, glittery outfits, this woman stood out like grand cru from cheap table wine.
She turned her head, presenting him with an engaging profile, and Thierry realised she was speaking. He halted, surprised that his walk had lengthened to an urgent stride.
Her companion was a gamine-faced woman, pointing out people to the woman in white. The woman in white and scarlet, he amended, taking in the pattern of red flowers cascading around her as she moved. There was white and scarlet on her arms too. She wore long gloves to her elbows, reminding him of photos he’d seen of his grand-mère at balls and parties decades ago.
Thierry’s gut clenched as the woman lifted one gloved hand to her throat in a curiously nervous gesture. Who knew gloves could be erotic? But there was no mistaking the weighted feeling in his lower body. He imagined stripping the glove down her arm, centimetre by slow centimetre, kissing his way to her fingers before divesting her of that dress and starting on her body.
Why was she nervous? A shy woman wouldn’t wear such a glorious, blatantly sexy concoction.
Heat sparked. His gaze roved her dark, glossy hair swept up from a slim neck. She had full red lips, a retroussé nose and heart-shaped face. Curves that made him ache to touch.
She wasn’t just pretty; she was sexy on a level he couldn’t resist.
The old Thierry Girard wasn’t dead after all.
* * *
‘You’re sure you don’t mind?’ Saskia sounded doubtful.
Imogen smiled. ‘Of course not. I appreciate all you’ve done these past few days but I’m fine. I’ll drink champagne and meet interesting people and enjoy myself.’ If she said it enough she might stop being daunted by the glittering crowd long enough to believe it. ‘Now go.’ She made a shooing gesture, nodding towards the knot of fashion buyers Saskia had pointed out. ‘Make the most of this opportunity.’
‘Well, for half an hour. I’ll look for you then.’
Imogen blinked, overwhelmed anew by the kindness of her sister Isabelle’s best friend. Saskia had not only shown her where Izzy had worked and lived, but shared stories about their time together, filling the black well of Imogen’s grief with tales that had made Imogen smile for the first time in months.
Saskia had even presented her with the dresses Izzy had made for herself, eye-catching outfits Imogen would never have considered wearing. But here, in Paris, it felt right, a homage to her talented sister. Imogen smoothed her hand down the fabulous satin dress.
‘Don’t be silly. Go and mingle, Saskia. I don’t expect to see you again tonight.’ She smiled, making a fair attempt at Izzy’s bantering tone, even tilting her head to mimic her sister. ‘Since you snaffled me an invitation, I intend to make the most of my only society event. I don’t need you cramping my style.’
‘Isabelle said you weren’t good with lots of new people but obviously you’ve changed.’ Saskia’s lips twitched. ‘Okay. But join me if you want. I’ll be around.’