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But the shocking, heart-twisting truth was that, when Raoul was in a room, he was the only man she was aware of.
It had been one hell of a mistake letting himself remember what she looked like under that robe, Raoul told himself, knowing that now he had remembered there was no chance of him forgetting again. Hell, as if he had needed to remember. The image of her tall, sexy body had been imprinted on his brain ever since those long, hot days—and even hotter nights—of the Corsican summer they had shared. He had only to close his eyes to see her again, even when they had been miles apart.
Now that they were in the same room, with the scent of her skin coiling around him, the sound of her softly accented voice in his ears, the recollection of the way it had felt to hold her close and the thunderous pounding of his heart were scrambling his thoughts. He needed to think but his body was one raw pulse of hunger, the primitive need that he hadn’t felt in so long.
Not since she had walked away from him without once ever looking back. Taking the child he hadn’t known she carried with her.
How could he still want such a woman? And want her with a hunger that was threatening to destroy his mind? Because his mind was not involved or, grâce à dieu, anything that could be described as his heart. He had come here telling himself that he wanted revenge for what Imogen had done to his child but standing here like this, feeling the thunder of blood at his temples, knowing that his body ached with a hunger he could barely control, he was forced to admit that there had been more to it than that.
It was about a much more primal need than he had ever been able to acknowledge until now. He still wanted Imogen O’Sullivan and he wasn’t going to leave until he had her in his bed again.
He could even cope with the way his mind seemed to split in two. Hating her for what she was, what she had done, and yet knowing he had never been able to forget her. He could never go back to Corsica until he had sated himself on that glorious body that still held him in thrall, no matter how much he might wish he could resist.
CHAPTER SIX
‘I HAVE TO GO…’
Imogen was looking towards the door, slender bare feet moving restlessly on the floor. He couldn’t let her go, not yet. For one thing, he knew that if she turned and walked away from him he might not be able to resist the primitive urge to go after her, grab her arm and haul her back against him. If his control shattered so badly then heaven knew what would happen as a result. Or did he mean hell?
‘And that’s it? You just go back to your room and—what?—go to bed?’
Her shrug seemed controlled, almost resigned. He wanted more from her, wanted to see her hurt as he’d been when Pierre had told him about the child. Apparently he’d learned of it from Ciara and Pierre had enjoyed telling his brother-in-law the black truth. Even knowing that his philandering brother-in-law had flung the vile story at him in an attempt to distract him from the fact that he had still been chasing after the younger O’Sullivan sister despite her leaving his employ, Raoul had felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest and he’d wanted her—the woman who had caused that pain—to feel the same. But now that he was face to face with her in the moment of success, the triumph he had wanted to experience wasn’t there.
He was on the verge of getting everything he’d wanted out of this and yet…he’d got nothing. This wouldn’t bring back the child he’d lost. The triumph he’d thought he’d feel tasted like dust in his mouth.
‘What else is there to do?’
‘I thought you said we needed to talk.’
‘We’ve talked!’
At last she was showing a spark of feeling, but not in the way he’d wanted. It did nothing to ease the cold, hard lump inside where his heart should be.
‘Not enough.’
An autocratic wave of his hand dismissed her protest.
‘What else is there?’ Imogen demanded.
‘Well, for one thing, you don’t seem exactly broken-hearted about Adnan’s defection.’
Did he really want to think she might have loved the other man? Or that he had loved her? Hell, no. He wouldn’t put another man through what he’d endured when she’d left him. He was damned sure that Imogen was not in love with Adnan.
