He made it past most of the offices and had reached the threshold of his own when someone called his name.
Thierry paused, biting down an oath. He wanted privacy, but this was why he was here, to lead the team. He turned and saw one of the legal staff approaching, an envelope in his hand and an expression on his face that had Thierry instantly alert.
‘Is there a problem?’ Mentally, he flicked through the current investments—commercial property, high-end resorts, the Côte du Rhône vineyard and—
‘No problem.’ Yet the lawyer’s smile looked forced. ‘Just tying up loose ends.’ He offered the envelope and, to Thierry’s surprise, walked quickly away.
Thierry’s fingers tingled as he surveyed it. His staff here made a close-knit team, without the formality of the Paris office. They were relaxed and friendly, even in times of high workload. But his senior legal advisor was worried.
Thierry entered his office and shut the door. He strode to the window and slid the contents of the envelope into his hand.
It was just a few pages. Flicking to the back, he saw Imogen’s name and signature and a date two days ago, all witnessed. Thierry frowned and flipped to the front.
Minutes later he stood, staring, his hand carving through his hair to clutch his scalp. Dimly, he registered a cramping in his chest that reminded him to suck in air.
This was what his legal staff had done while he’d been away?
The paper crackled as it crumpled in his fist.
Imogen must have asked them to draw this up. No one else would have dared consider it.
He dragged in another breath and searched for calm. It eluded him. Why had she so ostentatiously cut herself off from his wealth, the material support he could provide? It should have felt like a reprieve yet in some obscure way it was a slap in the face, made more insulting because of the shame he felt after last night.
He told himself a single kiss with a stranger didn’t taint his honour, yet he felt...stained. It had to be because of this indignity Imogen had engineered. No doubt his employees were gossiping about the fiasco their boss’s marriage had become. Thierry had never in his life cared about gossip, but to be made a laughing stock in his own home...
The papers fell as he marched across the room, wrenched open the door and strode out.
* * *
She wasn’t in her room. A scan revealed nothing except her passport on the dresser beside her purse.
Thierry scowled. Why was her passport out?
The sound of running water penetrated and he stalked to the bathroom door, pushed it open and walked in.
Behind the clear glass of the shower screen, water sluiced down Imogen’s lush body. Her head arched back as she massaged shampoo from her long hair. The pose thrust her breasts out, silhouetting them against the window beyond.
Thierry stilled, his hand on the door knob. Everything inside him collapsed in on itself. Arousal, strong as the tug of the ocean’s inexorable current, dragged at his lower body. He didn’t notice the pounding in his head any more, just his lungs’ short, sharp grabs for oxygen and the thunder of his heartbeat rapping his ribs.
‘Thierry?’ Her eyes opened wide, and she stood transfixed, glistening and perfect. His gaze traced her raspberry-pink nipples that beaded as he watched, down the plane of her ribcage to her taut belly that showed no sign yet of his child inside.
His child.
His hand tightened on the door as she turned her back to wrench off the taps. The dip and curve of her glistening back was entrancing.
His wife.
The thought curled through him like a beckoning finger, inviting him into the room.
He scooped up a towel and pulled open the shower door. Amazingly, she crossed one arm over her breasts as she turned, her other hand covering her pubic area. As if he didn’t recall every slick curve and plane of that gorgeous body!
That was the problem. All this time dealing with Imogen the duty rather than Imogen the sensuous woman had left him sleep-deprived. No wonder he was out of sorts.
‘There’s no need for modesty, ma chère.’
Her chin tilted and something hot jabbed through him. He’d always responded to a challenge.
‘I’d prefer you to knock before you come in.’
‘It’s late for setting ground rules, Imogen. You’re my wife and I have a right to be here.’ The long walk through the château had fuelled his roaring indignation.
His eyes flicked down, taking in her pale skin, blush-pink from the shower, and her sinuous curves.
Reason and patience retreated. He was tired of being patient. More, he was tired of the bitter stew of emotions he couldn’t banish. Emotions Imogen had created.