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Still, he could have waited until he returned tomorrow afternoon before revealing his plan and he had no ready answer as to why he hadn’t.
Probably he’d still been shocked from finding her with his child. That had to be it. He gulped down a mouthful of water from the bottle his staff had handed him upon boarding. He noticed that Imogen hadn’t accepted one and he frowned.
She hadn’t said boo to him since they’d left his apartment and that was fine with him. All except for the way she made him feel that she was being some sort of martyr in coming with him. And why would she be?
It didn’t make sense. Was she still playing him in some way? Acting hard to get to whet his appetite? Not that it had worked. That kiss... He scrubbed a hand across his face, gulped down more water. He hadn’t meant to kiss her before, let alone back her against the wall. And he didn’t like to admit that he’d got lost in that kiss. Only the fact that she had as well had salved his pride.
Damn, but she tasted sweet. Exactly as he’d remembered. Even now his body throbbed with an inexplicable urge to have her. It was like a driving need. All-consuming. It had always bothered him. The extent of his need. Needing people led to emotional weakness, which led to mistakes being made. He knew that better than anyone and yet fifteen months ago he’d let himself be drawn into her silken web anyway.
Of its own accord, his mind returned to the Sunday afternoon he had found out she was pregnant—an extraordinary blue-sky summer day in Paris. Not wanting to think about his later flight home to New York, they had wandered around Paname—as the Parisians affectionately called their city. He had shown Imogen some of his favourite haunts and she’d dragged him around what felt like every flea market in the known universe. That was where he’d learned she adored Aubergine Provençal and that she was a hoarder of ancient postcards and scarves. The afternoon had ended with her vomiting over his toilet bowl and a doctor announcing her condition with a happy flourish that had floored him.
And okay, he hadn’t taken the news that well. What contented bachelor would? So he’d flown back to New York and called his thousand-dollar-an-hour lawyer.
‘First, establish the kid is yours.’
When Nadir had told him that was going to be a nine-month wait, his lawyer had shaken his head. ‘Not so,’ he’d said. ‘Modern medicine has moved right along. There’s a test, see. It’s called some amnio thing. I had to arrange one for a client a few months back. Boy, was he relieved when the results came back negative. The lady had been sleeping around. Tried to pin him with someone else’s kid.’
His lawyer had tsked in disgust and Nadir had murmured some agreement. Asking Imogen to take the test had made sense. So he’d texted her with the request. Perfectly reasonable in his view.
Finding her gone without a trace when he’d flown back to Paris hadn’t been reasonable at all.
A dream he’d often had over the last fourteen months winged into his consciousness. It had always been about a child of indiscriminate gender. But the eyes had always been emerald-green and ringed with brown curly lashes. Usually the baby then became the woman, which was when he usually woke up. Usually sweating. Usually cursing.
* * *
He thought about her claim that she hadn’t run away from him. The different surname. His gut tightened. Was he being played for a fool? And what was up with the buffoon who had tried to defend her? The one who had trod off like a trained seal at her bidding.
Seeing Imogen with her arm linked through his, that sweet smile on her face that could fell an army of warriors...another screw in his gut turned.
She lived with him. He knew that and the water turned sour in his mouth. He’d nearly decked the guy when he’d tried to keep him from her. As if he’d had a chance. On some level he knew his reaction wasn’t logical, but logic had never been his firm friend when she was around.
He glanced over as she laughed at something Nadeena had done. He had always loved her laugh. Deep and throaty and redolent of all the pent-up passion of her personality. She had laughed a lot when they had been together. Laughed and teased him as no one else ever had. And she had done it right away, something he’d found as sexy as hell. As sexy as he found her now in faded denims and a simple cotton T-shirt. As sexy as he found her—
Breathing? a mocking voice in his head suggested.
No, Nadir silently snarled back.
And why was he even thinking like this? Brooding over things he couldn’t change wouldn’t make this whole situation any easier. It didn’t matter that he had never met a woman who affected him as strongly—or as quickly—as Imogen. It didn’t matter that she made him angry or frustrated or horny or hell—guilty. What mattered was that they get married and make the best of the situation.
