A Vow to Secure His Legacy

The words were barely out when his head swooped and his mouth met hers. Firmly, implacably, no teasing, just the sure, sensual demand of a man who knew what he wanted and, Imogen realised as her lips parted, who knew how to please a woman. The swipe of his tongue, the angle of his mouth, the possessive clasp of his hand around her skull were so right; she wondered how she’d gone her whole life without experiencing anything like it.

Whatever she and Scott had shared, it was nothing like this.

Thierry circled an arm around her, pulling her against his hard frame. Everywhere they touched, from her breasts to her thighs, exploded into tingling awareness, as if she’d brushed a live wire. Darts of fire shot to her nipples, her pelvis, even up the back of her neck as he massaged her scalp, and she heard herself moan into his mouth.

He tasted better than chocolate, rich, strong and addictive. She slid her arms around his neck and hung on tight as her knees gave way.

Instantly, the arm at her back tightened. He swung her off the ground, high in his arms, making her feel precious and feminine against his imposing masculinity. His mouth devoured hers, seeking, demanding, yet giving so much pleasure that exultation filled her.

This was a kiss. This was desire.

She was greedy for him, hungry for the passion he’d stoked so easily. She pushed her fingers through his hair, its soft thickness enticing.

‘More,’ she mumbled against his lips.

For answer she felt movement. Then she was on the bed and he over her, his weight pressing her down, his long legs imprisoning hers. She’d never felt anything as erotic as his hard length pinioning her, his breath hot on her neck as he grazed her with his teeth, making her jolt and squirm.

‘Thierry!’ That scraping little nip at the spot where her neck met her shoulders had her shuddering as great looping waves of delight coursed through her. They swamped her body, arrowing in to concentrate at the sensitive point between her legs.

He shifted his weight, settling low in the cradle of her hips, and she throbbed deep inside.

Urgently, Imogen arched, feeling the strong column of his arousal between her legs, and her brain shorted. She slid her hand down, wrapping around the solid weight of him, needing that contact. Desperate for more.

His breath hissed as he lifted his head. One large hand covered hers, holding her palm against him for a moment then dragging it away.

‘Patience, Imogen.’ She barely comprehended. His accent was so thick and her ears so full of her pulse pounding like the thud of a hammer on metal.

‘Yes, now.’ Was that reedy, desperate voice hers?

His eyes looked smoky, on the edge of focus, as he forced her arm wide, imprisoning her hand. When she shifted and brought her other hand down to touch him he pulled that arm wide too, so she lay spread-eagled.

The action pressed his groin against her pelvis, and her eyelids fluttered. Circling her hips, she moved against him, and to her amazement almost tipped over the edge into ecstasy. How could pleasure be so intense? So instantaneous? With Scott...

Thought died as Thierry murmured something in that lush, deep voice and lowered his head again. His breath feathered the sensitive flesh of her neck and then warm lips pressed just there and... Oh, yes, just there.

Again that powerful pulse through her pelvis, making every muscle clench and every erogenous zone shiver in anticipation.

‘No. Don’t!’ It was a gurgle of sound, a hoarse whisper scraped from the back of her throat, but he heard it. Stilled.

She felt him draw a deep breath, his chest expanding. His hands tightened as if in spasm before loosing their hold. Then he pulled back, lifting his head.

Gone was the urbane sophisticate. Gone was the man in control. The glittering eyes that met hers held an unfamiliar wildness. His lips were a twist of what looked like raw pain.

Imogen watched him open his mouth. He shut his eyes and swallowed. Fascinated, she followed the jerky movement of his throat. Then blazing, dark eyes met hers again. ‘You’ve changed your mind?’ Even his voice was unfamiliar.

‘Of course not.’ How could he even think it? ‘But I can’t wait. I need you now.’ Already she was running her hands over him, revelling in the heat of ridged muscle beneath his fine shirt. One hand dipped to his belt buckle and her fingers fumbled in their haste.

Thierry’s eyes widened, his body rigid, as if he couldn’t trust her words. Hadn’t he ever met a woman so eager for him? Impossible!

What was impossible was that she, Imogen Holgate, was so desperate she didn’t think she’d survive another minute of his seduction.