Imogen rose on her elbows. ‘You should have woken me.’
Thierry didn’t answer. His gaze was on her breasts, uncovered now by the sheet that someone had pulled over her. Heat suffused Imogen. Because she was so exhausted by their love-making she didn’t even remember covering herself? Or because of the jangle of excitement when he looked at her that way—as if she were some delicacy for his enjoyment? She was so weak where he was concerned. Look how she’d gone up in flames in his arms!
Imogen grabbed the sheet and pulled it higher.
‘Don’t.’ His arm shot out, fingers circling her wrist. ‘Please.’ His deep voice grated.
She swallowed, a delicate shiver rippling through her as he let go her wrist to touch her breast with gentle fingers. Was it his touch or the pleading tone that made her hesitate?
A gasp caught in her throat as pleasure cascaded through her. Her nipple beaded to an aching pout as he circled her breast.
‘Thierry.’ It was half groan, half plea, and she didn’t have time to feel self-conscious about it because in another second he was there, his breath warm on her flesh, his eyes glittering greedily.
One arm pulled her close while the other cupped her breast as he lowered his mouth. Her skin tingled as he blew over her nipple, creating delicious quivers of reaction that spread across her back, down her belly and straight to her womb. Then his mouth was on her, drawing her in, offering bone-melting delight.
Imogen cradled his dark head in her hands, holding him to her while her hips turned towards him, pressing close through the bedclothes. She loved the softness of his hair in her hands, such a contrast to the hard muscle and bone of his powerful body.
When finally he dragged his head up her breathing was ragged and needy and she had trouble focusing on his expression.
‘I came here to talk,’ he murmured. ‘But that can wait.’ Already, he was peeling the sheet lower, his big, warm hand smoothing down her ribs.
She covered his fingers with hers, stopping his progress.
‘You want to talk?’
‘Later will do.’ A hungry smile curled the corner of Thierry’s mouth, and Imogen knew a compelling temptation simply to lie back and enjoy his attentions. Nothing in all her life made her feel so good as when he made love to her.
Except ever since the doctor’s news, she’d wanted to talk with Thierry. Not the casual chatter that he’d used to fill her ‘celebration’ lunch, but to sort out things between them.
Lustrous dark eyes surveyed her. Oh, the promise in that heated look! ‘It can wait.’
How she’d craved that from him all this time when he’d been punctiliously polite, like a courteous stranger.
Nerves stabbed her. He’d said he still desired her, had already proved it, yet maybe she wouldn’t like what he’d say. They needed to clear the air and decide where they went from here. It took all her courage to do what she knew she must.
‘No, it can’t.’ She put her hand on his shoulder, stopping him when he would have bent again to her breast. She felt the bunch and flex of muscle beneath her hand and knew she didn’t have the power to hold him off. Instead, he chose to respect her wishes.
Finally, she felt some of his urgency abate a fraction as he eased back, resignation on his face. ‘You choose the damnedest times to chat.’
A bubble of laughter rose to her lips but she smothered it, realising it was generated by nerves, not amusement. ‘You were the one who suggested we talk.’
‘That was before.’ He moved his hand to tweak her nipple. She gasped as a chord of erotic energy drew tight and alive to the core of her being. Slowly, Thierry smiled. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to talk later?’
Of course she wasn’t sure. She was only human.
Too human when it came to Thierry. For a woman who had no trouble resisting men, she found herself totally unstuck with this gorgeous hunk of a Frenchman. Even the lazy satisfaction of her well-used body didn’t prevent a quiver of anticipation at the look in his eyes.
‘We need to talk now.’ Her voice, throaty and full, gave her away but finally, after close scrutiny, he nodded and rolled away from her to sit up.
Imogen gnawed at her lip rather than howl her frustration at the distance between them.
This is what you wanted, remember!
Physically, she was besotted with the man. She yanked up the sheet, determined to cover herself, and almost groaned out loud at the sensual torture of crisp cotton against her aroused nipples.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw him watching. Was that a smirk?