His Nine Month Seduction Read online

  She shook her head, her lips pressed together in a firm line of disapproval. “I don’t think so. I find that kind of extravagance off-putting. Children don’t need expensive clothes. They need warmth and comfort; things that I won’t have to worry about getting torn or stained or damaged.”

  He looked at her as though she’d lost her mind, but Imogen was warming to the theme now. “It’s not about spoiling the baby with material things. Kids need so very little when they’re babies. A few, well-chosen toys that are age-appropriate. And lots of love and attention.”

  “Yet you’re going to go back to work as soon as you’ve had him?” He countered, careful not to push too hard even when his frustration was eating through his chest.

  “Not as soon as I’ve had him,” she pointed out. “When I’m ready.”

  “So there’ll be a time when you’re at home with the baby?”

  “Of course.”

  “And what will you do for money then?” He asked silkily.

  “Oh.” She blinked, tilting her head to face him, her features awash with uncertainty. An uncertainty that made Theo want to kiss her. The need came to him out of nowhere but it was strong and fierce. He wanted to push any doubts out of her mind; he wanted to make her see sense.

  Instead, he smiled reassuringly. “You knew I wanted to help you financially when you came to stay here. So why not let me?”

  She shook her head. “Because. It’s different when the baby’s here. But even then, if I’m honest, I don’t like the idea.” She bit down on her lip, her eyes filling with tears. “This is hopeless. I didn’t think it through. We’re too different. I should have stayed in Swan on Green. At least until the baby is born.”

  “No.” He groaned, shaking his head emphatically. “You made the right choice. We’re new to all this, that’s all. There’s going to be teething problems while we get to understand one another’s boundaries.”

  “I need to work,” she whispered, the words graveled with self-doubt. “I’ve worked for as long as I can remember and I don’t want to sit around your big, empty, very-beautiful penthouse all day. I need to keep busy.”

  He nodded, even though it went against every fiber in his body. “It’s your decision,” he soothed. “I would prefer you to stay here, rest, be comfortable and relaxed, knowing that it is no hardship to support you.”

  “Thank you.” It was a stiff rejoinder.

  “You act as though I’m suggesting you rip out your toenails.”

  Her brows lifted with mock agreement. “It feels about the same to me.”

  “Then you’d better start that job as soon as you can.”

  The air was warm but that wasn’t why Imogen’s body was suddenly flooded with heat. It was the fire of awareness that supercharged her temperature setting; her pulse carried lava through her body, spreading it eagerly.

  “I will.” A husky whisper that wasn’t necessary.

  He didn’t appear to have heard it. His eyes were dueling with hers, robbing her of strength and conversely giving it to her at the same time. Her breath lodged in her throat as she stared right back at him, powerless to look away, or even to move.

  “I wish…” He said quietly, so quietly she had to sway closer to hear properly. “I wish I could remember more from that night.” He lifted a hand then, pressing it beneath her chin, tilting her head higher, closer to his.

  What could she say? That she did too? That his total lack of recollection had made her feel that it hadn’t been special for him, when it had completely redefined the parameters of her world?

  His thumb stroked her lower lip and she made a small, purring noise in the base of her throat. Her eyes still clung to his, but now there was a silent plea in them. Only what did she want? For him to stop? Or for him to keep going?

  “I remember some things.” His hand moved to her hair, tucking an errant clump of blonde behind her ear.

  “Like what?” The words throbbed from her without her consent.

  His hand lifted higher, his fingers slipping into the tight elastic that kept her hair bundled together, and pulling at it. But it was stubborn, and he had to lift his other hand to help, which brought his whole body into contact with hers.

  Imogen froze as awareness robbed her of anything other than the ability to feel. Everything she was revolved around this moment. This feeling.

  Finally, he freed her hair. He ran his fingers through it, pulling it down her back and over her shoulders. “I remember the way your hair fell all around your face, like a magnificent halo, when you were on top of me.”

  She fluttered her eyes shut now, needing to block out the memories he was evoking. But they were everywhere. Behind her eyes, in her mind, deep in her heart and soul.

  “What else?” A throaty plea.

  “I remember your laugh.” And though Imogen’s eyes were closed, she could hear the amusement in his voice. “It was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.” His fingers tangled in the back of her hair, holding her head still.

  “We had fun,” she said, almost wistfully, but guilt for that night was a wave rolling across her, dampening desire. “I didn’t know you were so … intoxicated.”

  “I know.” He moved his body, closer to hers, so that his legs straddled her easily. She was so petite compared to his frame. “I wish I hadn’t been. I wish I’d been stone-cold sober so that every single minute of that night could be etched in my memories.”

  “They’re etched in mine,” she said quietly, a small moan of complete honesty. “I remember everything.”

  There was nothing. Just the sound of his breathing, as labored as hers. The air around them was thick and she forced herself to open her eyes. He was closer than she’d realized. His face just an inch or so from hers.

  “What do you remember?” The words breathed against her temple, and she swayed even closer.

  It was foolish; it was magic.

  “I remember you were strong,” she spoke without thinking, letting the words tumble out of her as the memories assailed her. “You lifted me up as though I weighed nothing and held me against my bedroom wall. You wrapped my legs around your waist and you kissed me hard. So hard I felt like you became a part of me.” Her cheeks flushed with the ludicrousness of the confession. Would she regret being so honest?

  “I did.” He dropped a hand to her stomach, brushing it over the exposed flesh.

  “Uh huh.”

  “What else do you remember?” His hand snaked around behind her, pressing his palm flat against the small of her back, holding her where she was.

  “The way you lay me down on the bed as though I was some kind of precious, valuable object.”

  He made a growling sound of agreement. “What else?” His hand at her back pushed her forward, so that she collided with the hard wall of strength that was him. He ground his hips against her belly; the hardness of his arousal pressed into her.

  She gasped.

  “Do you remember how it felt to come together?”

  She nodded, her eyes fogged with memories and tortured by the past.

  “And?” He prompted, rolling his hips again so she groaned audibly now, desire punching her hard in the gut.

  “It was amazing.” The words were drawn from her almost against her will.

  “I don’t know,” he said, moving his head incrementally closer to hers. “I think I could do better without the impediment of a gallon of scotch slowing me down.”

  “Believe me, you weren’t impaired in any way,” she assured him, but her heart was galloping hard in her chest at the very idea of a re-do.

  “But without a point of comparison…” And his mouth claimed hers then, just as it had the first time they’d kissed. It was a mark of possession; an ownership. She submitted to him completely, tilting her head back, her lips parted, willing to be his completely.

  His hand stayed pressed to the back of her head, holding her where he wanted her, and she whimpered low in her throat as need, fierce and sharp, drove through
her. The kiss was scorching and she was burning up. The kiss was a warning, too. A warning she didn’t want to heed.

  How could she, when the blood in her veins was pushing her forward, strumming through her with reminders of what they’d shared.

  But it was in the past.

  It had been a single night of madness. If she hadn’t conceived a baby, they’d have never seen one another again. Right?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SHE PULLED AWAY AND even as she did so her body turned on her, berating her from the inside out, shouting at her not to overthink what was happening.

  But she’d followed her instincts once before with Theo Trevalyen and she wasn’t sure it hadn’t been a huge mistake. Not the fact that they’d conceived; she already loved the baby they’d made. But sleeping with a man she’d just met? A man who snuck out in the middle of the night without leaving so much as a business card or note?

  She spun away from him so he wouldn’t observe the torture on her face, and drew in a deep, shaking breath. It rocked her to the core.

  “Imogen…”

  She shook her head. “We can’t do that.”

  She gripped the railing until her knuckles glowed white.

  His eyes were stormy as they took in every detail of her appearance. The hair he’d messed with his impatient fingers, the cheeks that were pink from their passion, the nipples that were hard and erect through the flimsy material of her bikini. The tiny little goose bumps that liberally covered the flesh of her arms.

  The way she wouldn’t look at him.

  “We can’t do that,” she said again, and he knew she was trying to convince herself as much, if not more, than him.

  “You don’t want to?”

  She spun around to face him, incredulity in the pout of her lips. “Of course I want to.” She swallowed and shook her head. “But it would be a mistake. We’d both regret it.”

  His eyes drew together but he said nothing.

  “That night meant nothing to you,” she forced herself to be brutally honest, even when the admission did something strange to her heart. “You didn’t remember me when I came to the bar. I’m nothing to you. I can’t ignore that, Theo. I can’t jump into your bed because it would feel good. I’d never forgive myself.”

  A muscle jerked in his cheek as he let her précis of their situation sink in. The truth of his life wasn’t something he wanted to bring up. It was his own grief; his own heartbreak. It would only tarnish the newness of what they were to share the darkness of his past.

  “I wasn’t myself back then,” he said after a moment, deciding a Cliff’s Notes version of the truth would have to suffice.

  “In what way?” She turned to face him, then wished she hadn’t when his eyes dropped unconsciously to her cleavage. With pink cheeks, she stalked across the terrace and scooped up her towel, wrapping it around her shoulders as she sat down on one of the loungers.

  His eyes followed her and then his body did, moving to the seat beside hers.

  “Marie and I were together a long time. Our break-up wasn’t exactly clean or amicable.”

  Imogen ignored the guilt knotting through her. It did her no credit. After all, what right did she have to envy the woman he’d loved? That he probably still loved?

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly, bunching the corners of the towel with her small fists, holding it tight as though that could ward off her pain.

  “Don’t be. These things happen.”

  “What happened?” She prompted, unable to contain the curiosity that was inside of her.

  His expression was grim. “Ultimately, we weren’t suited,” he said, as though that explained everything, when really, it told her nothing. “We should have ended it years earlier. But it was complicated by the fact my mother and her mother are best friends. Marie and I spent a lot of time together growing up and then, one day, we fell in love.” He grimaced. “Or perhaps we fell in love over the years of our childhood. Perhaps we only thought it was love.” He shook his head.

  “When we broke up, I was angry. Very angry with her.” His eyes briefly latched to Imogen’s and then he looked away, rubbing a hand over his square jaw. “I thought the best way to get her out of my system was to throw myself into the single life. I did that, and then some.” He grimaced when he saw the look of distaste on Imogen’s pretty face.

  “Did it work?” She asked after a moment.

  “Better than I’d anticipated.” He reached forward and pressed a palm to Imogen’s knee. “Marie is in my past. I just want you to understand that the way I was when I met you – it was just a brief phase of my life. Drinking like that.”

  “And sleeping around?”

  “Not my style. Ordinarily.” He stood, closing the distance between them. “I don’t remember much about that night, but I remember how you made me feel. I remember that it was different with us, right from the start.”

  Hope soared in her chest but she squashed it. It was a lie. It was all a lie. Because if he’d really thought she was different, and that they were special, why did he leave?

  “It doesn’t matter.” She was impressed by how cold the words sounded. “Let’s just agree that … that …” she waved distractedly to the spot on the terrace they’d stood at when he’d kissed her. “That’s a mistake.”

  *

  “Well, this is a surprise.” Lady Trevalyen (she’d kept her title and half the fortune in the divorce) watched as her only child slid into the seat opposite. Pride rose inside of her chest. He was immaculately dressed in a dark grey suit with a crisp white shirt and a steel-grey tie. He was so handsome; just like her father. He might have been born into British aristocracy, but the blood in his veins was pure Athonides, as Greek and ancient as the blood in her own veins.

  “Mother,” he nodded his greeting, reaching for the menu with his trademark impatience.

  Elena concealed a smile. Her son was busy; there was always something calling his attention.

  “Thank you for meeting me here. I know you don’t like to travel into the city.” He lifted a hand and called for a waiter’s attention. One appeared almost instantly.

  “Hendricks. Mother?”

  “Bellini,” she nodded crisply, then sat back and waited.

  “Well, Theo? What have you brought me here for?”

  His eyes lifted to hers and there was speculation in his gaze. “Out of curiosity, why do you think it’s anything specific?”

  Her laugh was charged with certainty. “You have only ever asked me to lunch four times in your life. Once, to tell me your father was re-marrying. Another time to tell me you were taking over from him at the Company. Then, to tell me you and Marie were … having difficulties. And now. So? I’m braced for whatever news it is you have to deliver. Let’s get it over with.”

  “It’s good news,” he assured her.

  “Is it?”

  They paused as the waiter re-appeared with their drinks. Once they were alone again, Theo laced his fingers together on top of the table, his gaze resting on his mother’s face. She’d spent a fortune on plastic surgery but it had been tastefully done. Just a little nip here and tuck there, maintaining an easy appearance of youth and vitality. She could have easily passed as his sister, rather than his mother.

  “You’re going to be a grandmother.”

  Her sharp intake of breath drew the attention of a nearby table and she instantly angled her body away, leaning closer to Theo and whispering when she spoke. “Marie’s pregnant?”

  “Marie?” He blanched. “No, mother. My ex-wife is not pregnant. At least, not that I know of.”

  Beneath her golden tan, Elena’s face was pale, her eyes enormous. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “After we divorced, I met someone else,” he said simply. “She’s pregnant.”

  “Someone else is pregnant. With your baby?”

  He nodded. “Just past three months.”

  “Three months.” Elena Trevalyen lifted her fingers to her lips, her imm
aculate nails like talons of blood against her mouth. “Who is she?”

  “No one you know.”

  “And does this no one have a name?”

  “Imogen,” he said with a curt nod.

  “Imogen.” A small flicker of approval briefly relaxed Elena’s features. It was a nice name. A cultured name. “And is she …”

  “Yes?” He waited for her finish, even when he suspected what she was going to say.

  “Well, who is she? What is her family?”

  “They’re publicans,” he said, suppressing the pleasure he got from rattling his own mother that way.

  “Publicans? You mean, as in, they run a pub?” Her face blanched visibly.

  He nodded. “And Imogen works in childcare.”

  “Childcare!” She shook her head, her fingers dropping to the table top where they beat a steady rhythm. “How in the world did this happen?”

  Theo’s expression was droll. “I should have thought the ‘how’ is self-explanatory.”

  “Stop it, Theo. I mean how did you meet her? How did you decide her a suitable mother to the heir of the Trevalyen fortune?”

  “I don’t think it was a conscious decision,” he said with a gruff laugh. “But nonetheless, that’s what she’s going to be.”

  “I see.” Only Elena didn’t. None of it made sense. At thirty-four, her son had the world at his fingertips. He was rich, handsome, successful, and came from one of the most distinguished families in England. “And how did Marie take the news?”

  Theo’s frown was natural. “I don’t suppose she is aware of it,” he said after a moment. “Why should she be? We no longer have anything to do with one another.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” Elena saw the future evaporating before her eyes. “She is the love of your life.”

  He laughed; a low sound of disagreement. “She is my ex-wife. Ex, mother. As in, in the past. I know you care for Marie, but she has nothing to do with this …situation.”

  “She still loves you,” Elena said urgently. “And you still love her.”