Thierry had never wanted a woman to be with him for the rest of his days. Not since Sandrine. But he couldn’t say that to a woman whose life was measured in months rather than years. The truth was he’d do whatever it took to make her remaining time as easy as possible.
He didn’t just lust after Imogen. He didn’t just see her as a responsibility. He cared about her.
Which meant he had to keep his focus on her well-being.
‘Don’t forget the child is mine too. We’re in this together, Imogen.’
A little of the tension eased from her features, and he was stunned at how good it felt that he’d been able to do that for her.
‘You don’t have to worry about anything.’ He kept his voice soothing. ‘I’ll take care of everything.’ He paused, wondering whether to tell her his news.
‘What is it?’ She moved away from the door, her nightgown drifting around her like temptation.
‘Sorry?’
‘There’s something you’re not saying.’
Thierry frowned. Since when had she been able to read him? He prided himself on his ability to keep his thoughts to himself.
‘Nothing to worry about.’ But he saw she didn’t believe him. Perhaps she’d had so much bad news she now expected the worst. ‘Just that I’ve managed to get you an appointment with one of the country’s finest specialists. They’re sending to Australia for your medical records.’
‘I see.’ Her mouth twisted, and he wanted to reach out and smooth those plump lips with his thumb, stroke her hair and tell her everything would be all right. But the hell of it was he couldn’t.
‘That’s very good of you. Thanks.’ The huskiness had gone from her voice, leaving it flat.
Thierry’s muscles bunched as he fought the urge to reach for her. His embrace might soothe her temporarily but at the risk of him taking things too far. And her fragility was for once obvious in her delicate features.
‘Was there anything else you wanted to talk about? My grand-mère, perhaps?’
‘No. I just...’ She paused so long he began to wonder what was wrong.
In a flurry of lace and cotton she crossed the floor, planting her hands on his tense shoulders. She was so close he felt her like the earth felt the sun, drawn to her magnetic warmth. Her lashes lifted to reveal eyes of sherry-brown spangled with green that made him think of mountain streams and ecstasy. She cupped the back of his head, narrow fingers sliding through his hair, sending rivers of molten energy straight to his groin.
‘I needed to thank you.’ She opened her mouth as if to say more then shut it again, her gaze zeroing on his mouth.
An instant later she’d risen on her toes, leaning in so her breasts pushed, soft and enticing, against him. Her lips were hot and sweet on his, seeking, torturing with the promise of delight.
A quake rocked him to the soles of his feet. His hands fisted in his pockets so hard he thought they might never loosen again. He breathed in her scent, tasting her on his lips, and almost lost his resolve. He wanted this so badly. He wanted so much more than he should if he was to look after her as she deserved.
A lifetime’s experience in giving in to temptation had him dragging his hands out of his pockets, anchoring them at her sides where he felt the supple shift of toned muscle and the mind-destroying seduction of her in-curving waist.
Something like a growl erupted from the back of his throat and her tiny, answering moan just about undid him. All he had to do was open his mouth and...
With a surge of inexplicable strength he put her from him, stepping back so he held her at arm’s length. His arms were shaking and his heart galloped out of control, but he’d done it. By the skin of his teeth he’d actually done what he should have done all along. She didn’t have to thank him with the gift of her body. A better man wouldn’t have countenanced it even for a second.
‘There’s no need to thank me, Imogen.’ He barely recognised his voice as finally he managed to drag his hands away. ‘Not like this.’
Something flashed in her eyes. Something swift and raw that he felt like a smack to the face. But it was gone in a second. Her flushed features set in an expression he couldn’t read. Her lips were slightly parted as she dragged in air, and her hazel eyes looked past him as if the far wall fascinated her.
‘Truly, Imogen, there’s no need for that sort of thanks.’
Slowly, she nodded, then before he realised what she was about she was walking out the door, leaving his hands empty. ‘I understand. Goodnight, Thierry.’