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There, and away again…or at least that was how it was supposed to be. That was the way she’d seen it in her mind before she’d embarked on this. The kiss she’d wanted since the first moment she’d seen him again in the church, and she was allowing herself to take just this one kiss—and then she would be gone… Everything going her way, at last, nothing his.
But in the moment her lips touched his—when the taste she had recalled became real, the warmth of his skin brushing against hers, his breath mingling with her own uncontrolled gasp—she knew that she’d overplayed her hand. That she’d lost. All thought of holding back vanished in a heartbeat. One kiss was not enough, would never be enough. She couldn’t just sip from that glass. Once she had tasted, she needed to drink deeply.
‘Raoul…’
The sigh escaped her in the same moment that his mouth formed her own name. Then he had moved, taken her arms, held her just where he wanted her. His dark head bent, his mouth closing over hers.
It was the gentleness that shocked her. There was no lust or demand in his kiss, nor was he holding back. Oh, dear Lord, but he was not holding back. His mouth took hers with a caress that seemed to draw out her soul and place it right in his hands. She had lost all sense of herself except where she ended and he began. It was as if they were just one person, two combined into one, perfectly aligned, perfectly absorbed.
Her bones seemed to melt as she leaned into him, feeling the warmth and the scent of his flesh enclose her, her breasts pressed close against his skin, which was exposed where his shirt hung open. It was like coming home, and yet it was the slow burn of a dormant ember, one that was being fanned back into life with every breath she took, every caress, every new pressure of his mouth. The slow, seductive slide of his tongue along the seam of her lips enticed her to open to him, taking in that taste, the warmth that was more intoxicating than any potent spirit sending her blood racing.
Had she kissed other men in the time they had been apart? She had to have done—there had been other guys who had tried to win her round from the pit of loneliness and darkness she’d fallen into when she had finally come home from London. There had even been Adnan…
But right now, Adnan was just a name to her. She couldn’t even conjure up the image of his face, his presence. Least of all, his kisses. It was as if he had been a dream and this—this was reality. The only reality she knew. The only reality she wanted.
‘Imogen…’
It was a murmur against her mouth as he adjusted his position slightly, just enough to ensure that every inch of her was pressed against him. There was still no pressure; he was so careful, so measured. That restraint was already fretting at her own control, fraying it at the edges, making her struggle with impatience, with the need for more.
His hands had curved over her shoulders, the heat of his palms burning through the fine scarlet silk and seeming to brand her skin, to mark her out as his. As they slid slowly down her back, smoothing along her spine, she couldn’t hold back the murmur of response that slipped from her as she lost all sense of control. With a little shimmy of her hips she moved closer still, feeling the hard heat of him pressed against her pelvis, noting the way his breath caught in his throat as he reacted to her enticement.
‘Want…’
It was all she could manage, all she could think. She was so far gone that she didn’t recognise the danger she had put herself into until she heard the faint sound of his soft laughter, felt him nod his head in dark agreement.
‘I know, ma belle. Je sais… And this will make it so much better—easier.’
Easier? The word exploded in Imogen’s thoughts. How could this be easier? Suddenly, the rush of realisation became a sense of shock and horror, despair flooding through her as she realised what she was doing, the depth of the trap into which she had fallen all over again.
She thought she’d come to terms with the gentle friendship she had for Adnan. Had told herself she could live with that and be happy. It was safer, kinder, than what she had known before with Raoul. But now there was no Adnan, there was only Raoul, and he had opened the door she had thought so firmly locked against her memories. Those memories were dragging her in and down into the same danger that she had known before.
