A Vow to Secure His Legacy

He’d almost locked it so he couldn’t be tempted to do something reprehensible like forget the state of her health and take what he hungered for.

He let his shirt drop back into place, even doing up some of the buttons again, which was when he noticed the tremor in his hands.

‘Thierry?’

He swung around. The door was ajar, and Imogen stood there, her hair tumbling about her shoulders and breasts in shining waves of ebony.

His gut clenched and a hammering started up in his chest. It took a split second to realise it was his heart, throbbing to an urgent new beat.

‘Are you okay?’ He paced towards her then pulled up short. He needed distance. That pale nightdress revealed too much. Her nipples pressed, proud and erect, against the light fabric and his palms tingled as he remembered how they felt, budding in his hands. How they tasted, sweet as sugar syrup and warm woman on his tongue.

He tried but couldn’t stop his gaze skating lower to the hint of the darkness at the apex of her thighs. Thierry swallowed at the memories of her naked in his bed. His lower body turned into cast metal. A film of sweat broke out across his brow and his throat turned desert dry.

‘What’s wrong?’ His voice was hoarse. ‘Do you need a doctor?’

She shook her head and, mesmerised, he watched the way those dark locks slid and separated around her pouting breasts. He knew Imogen had a body to please a man. It was only now, worn down by the weight of abstinence, that he realised it could torture just as well.

Never had he been as fervently eager for work as he had been since their wedding. He was actually grateful for the distraction it gave from his wife.

‘No, I’m not sick.’ Her words had that throaty edge she got when nervous or aroused. Adrenalin shot through him, and he had a battle not to cross the room and haul her close. Of course she wasn’t aroused. ‘I wanted to talk.’

‘Talk?’ The last thing he needed was an intimate chat here in his bedroom. ‘Can it wait till tomorrow?’

She shook her head and his breathing stalled as he watched her hair caress and frame her beautiful breasts.

Resolutely, he reminded himself that Imogen now fitted under the category of ‘duty’. She and their child were his responsibility. He couldn’t let himself be distracted by selfish cravings when he had a duty to care for them both. He’d spent years in the pursuit of pleasure. He could be utterly single-minded when it came to doing what he wanted. He couldn’t afford to lose focus now and give in to the urge for pleasure. He needed control, purpose, resolve.

Besides, he didn’t like the morass of emotions that threatened whenever he thought of Imogen the woman, rather than Imogen his responsibility. He didn’t deal in emotion, except for the frustrations and elations of his chosen sports.

‘Now’s not the time, Imogen. It’s late.’ He watched her stiffen and silently cursed his harsh tone.

He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. As if that made it easier to resist the temptation to touch! An ache started in his jaw from clenching his teeth too tight.

‘What’s bothering you? Is it Grand-mère? I know she can be overwhelming at first but she likes you.’

‘You can tell that?’

He nodded. ‘I think she liked the way you spoke your mind. She isn’t one for prevarication.’

‘So I gathered.’ Imogen gnawed the corner of her bottom lip, and he wanted to reach out and stop her.

‘She offended you?’

‘No. I rather liked her too, though she made me feel like a fashion disaster.’

‘No one expects you to dress up all the time.’ Imogen in high heels and that red, clingy dress was branded too clearly on his brain for anything like comfort. It had kept him awake too many nights. Besides, he liked her in jeans; liked the way they shaped her long legs and...

‘Just as well.’ Something like hurt glowed in her hazel eyes. ‘I feel like a fraud going along with her plans to improve me.’

‘She means well. And a tutor to help you with French is an excellent idea. I should have thought of it myself.’

‘It’s not that. I’d like to learn French.’ Her gaze slid from his then back. The impact of those eyes on his should have knocked him back on his feet. There was so much feeling there. It was like looking into her soul. ‘I just don’t feel right, pretending I’m your wife for real.’

‘You are my wife. Believe me, the ceremony was legally binding, even if it was brief.’

‘But I’m not the woman who’s going to be with you for the rest of your days. This is a temporary arrangement for my benefit.’