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Imogen took hold of him, her wet palm gliding over his rigid, veined flesh. A sizzling hiss erupted from him, and his thighs bunched as he fought for control.
Hot, heady power spiralled through her, the knowledge that even on her knees she could reduce him to such need triggering her own craving for this man.
But behind that power was a flare of panic. That she would want this a little too much to walk away from and return to their strained existence when their six months was up. That if she wasn’t careful too much yearning might wreck her beyond salvaging.
His thick groan echoed in the heated space and she allowed it to sweep those thoughts away. Pulling him deeper into her mouth, she laved him with her tongue, suckled him so thoroughly it drew a torrent of filthy words from his mouth.
And all through it, she watched him as he watched her, because that connection they seemed to find so easily was a heady addition she was growing addicted to.
And when the Greek god of the man who looked even more devastatingly beautiful beneath the torrent of water reached his climax and bellowed it without reserve, Imogen sensed she was on the precipice of a potential life-altering event.
Protect yourself. Now.
She would have to find the strength to step away. Had she been able to resist the gentle hands that drew her to her feet. The mouth that anointed hers with soft but firm, claiming kisses. The body that braced hers as he washed her from head to foot, dried her body, then swept her off her feet, carrying her into the bedroom and into their bed, before drawing soft sheets over her body.
She couldn’t have stopped herself from going into his arms right then if her life depended on it. So she didn’t bother to resist.
And when he woke in the night with another nightmare and she was done soothing him, she let him cling tightly to her, her heart aching for everything she couldn’t have. And the vital answer she was denying him.
Addicted.
Zeph was addicted to his wife. He’d searched for other words but kept alighting back on this one. Perhaps he’d sensed this was coming in that church when she’d stalked in on high heels and defiance to reclaim him. Perhaps that was why he’d made her jump through hoops before leaving with her.
Because now he was fighting a battle he was sure he would lose. A battle he wasn’t fully certain heeven wantedto fight. And that in itself was alarming. Because despite his lost memories, at every step in the past ten months he’d been sure of his every move. He either was for or against a decision. Either in or out.
But now...
He felt unstitched. Picked apart. As if his favourite clothes no longer fitted. Scratched and chafed. Uncomfortable. And yet he had nothing to replace it with. He was rummaging in the dark and coming up empty. Because someone else held the key to refitting him?
Imogen?
No. Only he held the key to his destiny. Didn’t he?
His heart thudded at the uncertainty that continued to flail inside him. It had expanded after they’d made love for the first time. And he couldn’t find anything to shore it.
Hoping to alleviate it by sheer willpower, he kept his gaze on the house rising from the cliffs on the horizon.
The property in Lake Como.
The one he’d felt drawn to since they’d started this journey. If he didn’t find answers there...then what?
Could he trust the strong urges that said Imogen was his key? And what if she left—?
Slim arms wound around his waist from behind, stalling his thoughts.
His heart leapt, even as dismay swelled like the waves rising against the hull of the yacht.
‘There you are. Everything all right?’
Was that trepidation in her voice or was he projecting? He wanted to turn around, make sure but, shockingly, he was reluctant to confirm. And still that chafing continued. Persistent. Harder.
‘Why shouldn’t it be?’ That emerged sharper than he’d intended, and he was unprepared for the deep flinch inside.
Imogen stiffened slightly, then, as he’d come to witness, she rallied. Far too effectively.
Really? Was he now jealous of his wife’s ability to bounce back from his thoughtlessness? He was inwardly shaking his head when she continued.
‘Everything is ready for the party tomorrow night,’ she said, still tucked up behind him, her head on his shoulder.
