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His lips firmed. ‘Of course you don’t. You would rather deny what you truly want than give in to me. Is that it?’
That was exactly it.
And yet in that moment it felt like a battle that didn’t need to be fought. She was a starving woman fighting not to take a morsel off the veritable feast at her disposal.
How long was she going to sustain this hunger? When every argument she had put up felt like an exercise in unnecessary self-flagellation?
So what if she was the one who had stipulated the no sex between them? He’d honoured her request, had turned down the seduction dial, which had adversely maddened her of late. But that time had been enough to know, whatever his agenda was, it wasn’t to overwhelm her with sex. Or the promise of it. But if he was as tortured as she’d become lately...
Could she change her mind again now? Why not? She was a grown woman. Did she not have the right to change her mind? Especially if it was what they both wanted?
The voice of caution started to rise but he was still swaying them across the dance floor, maintaining an iron will on his control despite those hypnotic eyes coaxing her into sin. And with every minute that passed, she yearned harder to sink into the passionate chaos, to get a true taste of what it felt like to lose herself in the promise in his eyes.
Would she regret it at some point in the very near future? Possibly. But it was a mistake she was willing to confront when the time came.
And what if it grows past a mistake? What if you risk everything?
She wouldn’t, she promised herself.
‘Such a lengthy debate,’ he mused, but the clench of his face told her that he was anticipating her answer perhaps even more than she. Was gearing up to put up a fight if need be. ‘Do you have the balls to vocalise it so I might advocate for myself? Because I cannot take another night of torment.’
And the fact that he wanted her this much was a lit match held against the touchpaper of her desires. So when he swayed them for another handful of seconds and then growled, ‘Imogen,’ she knew there was only one answer to give.
‘Yes.’
His stare intensified, devouring her alive. ‘Yes, to what, exactly,eros mou?’
‘Yes, to whatever you want.’
His nostrils flared, and the light of triumph in his eyes turned them almost incandescent. Every cell in her body jerked to life, the promise in his gaze almost too much to bear. She gave the tiniest whimper when he stepped away but in the next breath he was taking her hand, tugging her off the dance floor.
‘Come,’ he commanded.
He nodded at the security that had become necessary after news of Zeph’s return had hit the world media. As predicted, the stocks had soared, the politely contrite board members delighted by their unexpected windfall. Speculation had been rife, prompting them to issue a press release stating the barest of facts and withholding the fact that Zeph Diamandis was suffering from amnesia. As far as he was concerned, it was nobody’s business but theirs.
His request for privacy hadn’t been heeded, of course, meaning that they were stealthier about when they came ashore. Like tonight.
The man spoke into a walkie-talkie and a minute later the luxury sedan was whisking them away, back to the yacht.
The moment they stepped aboard, Zeph swept her into his arms.
Surprised laughter left her throat. ‘It’d be much faster if I were to walk, you know?’
He looked down at her for a moment, then brushed his lips briefly over hers. ‘But then I wouldn’t have you close. And I need that,eros mou. I’ve needed that for far longer than is acceptable.’
The arrogance in those words wasn’t surprising. Hell, they triggered equal need in her so that by the time they arrived in their stateroom and he set her down on her feet, she was hopelessly damp between her legs and her chest rose and fell in pants that had his eyes darkening as they dropped to her chest.
The orange wraparound dress she wore came free under his urgent ministrations.
His eyes riveted on hers, Zeph tugged the flimsy cotton off her shoulders and tossed it away. And then his eyes dropped, his breath coming out raggedly when he took in the burnt-orange lace underwear shielding her nakedness.
‘Christos, you are breathtaking.’
A pulse of feminine power sent her shoulders back, arousal dripping deliciously through her as she displayed herself for him. Between one breath and the next, he dropped to his knees, his hands clasping her hips.
Boldly he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the apex of her thighs, his nostrils flaring as he decadently breathed her in.
Imogen gasped, her hands sinking into his hair to stop from toppling over. The brazenness of his arousal was both shocking and intoxicating.
