to toe. Did it linger here and there on the way? Imogen’s stomach tightened and her breasts swelled against the satin bodice as she drew a sharp breath. Strange how the lace of her strapless bra suddenly scratched at her nipples when it had been perfectly comfortable before.
‘You’re not acquainted with French property and commercial law, are you? The phrase “red tape” was invented to describe them. And the meetings...’ He shook his head.
‘You’re a lawyer?’ He didn’t look like any lawyer she’d seen, except in some high-budget courtroom film with a smoulderingly gorgeous hero.
Thierry laughed, that rich-as-chocolate sound doing strange things to her insides. ‘Me, a lawyer? That would be a match made in hell. It’s bad enough being a client. My first meeting tomorrow will go all morning. I’d much rather be out of the city.’
‘Really? You look like right at home here.’ Her gaze skated over his hard body in that made-to-measure dinner jacket. When she lifted her eyes she found him watching her, his quirk of a smile disarming.
‘This?’ One casual hand gestured to his impeccable tailoring. ‘This is camouflage.’
‘You’re saying you don’t belong?’ Her pulse raced at the idea of finding another outsider. For, try as she might, she couldn’t feel at home in this sophisticated crowd, despite her sister’s clothes.
He shrugged, and Imogen watched those wide, straight shoulders with something like hunger. She’d never felt needy for a man. Not even Scott. Was it this man or the unfamiliar setting that pulled her off-balance?
‘I’ve been forced to adapt. Business means I need to be in the city. But I prefer being outdoors. There’s nothing like pitting yourself against nature. It beats meetings hands-down.’
That explained those eyes. Not just the creases from sun exposure, but his deceptively lazy regard that seemed at the same time sharp and perceptive. As if from surveying distant views?
‘Each hour behind a desk is pure torture.’
‘You poor thing.’ Impulsively, she placed her hand on his arm, then regretted it as she felt the tense and flex of sinew and impressive muscle. There it was again, that little jolt, like an electric shock. Imogen jerked her hand back, frowning, and looked at her glass. Surely she hadn’t drunk enough to imagine it? Just enough to make her do something out of character, like touch a stranger.
Yet she couldn’t regret it. That fierce flick of heat made her feel more alive than...
‘You’d like another?’ Thierry gave their glasses to a waiter and snagged two more.
She took the glass he offered, carefully avoiding contact with his tanned fingers.
‘To red convertibles and champagne picnics and balloon rides.’ His eyes snared hers and her heart thumped. When he looked at her, the way she imagined men looked at truly beautiful women, she almost forgot what had brought her to Paris. She could lose herself in the moment.
Imogen raised her glass. ‘And to meetings that end quickly.’
‘I’ll drink to that.’ Thierry touched his glass to hers, watching her sip her wine. She took time to taste it. Her lips, a glossy bow, pouted delectably. Her dark eyelashes quivered, and he knew she was cataloguing the prickle of bubbles on the roof of her mouth. She gave a delicate shiver of appreciation, and he found himself leaning closer.
She was so avid. So tactile. Touching her through those long gloves had made his hand tingle! From anticipation and excitement, something he usually experienced while risking his neck outdoors.
Imogen Holgate was an intriguing mix of sensuality and guilelessness.
And he wanted her.
‘I can help with the ballooning.’
‘Really?’ Her eyes widened and he saw flecks of velvety green within the warm sherry-brown of her irises. It must be a trick of the light but her gaze seemed to glow brighter. ‘That would be marvellous.’
She took a half step closer, and his breathing hitched. He inhaled the scent of vanilla sugar and warm female flesh. His taste buds tingled and his gaze dropped to her lips, then to the faint, fast pulse at her creamy throat.
He wanted to taste her, right here, now, and discover if she was as delicious as he expected. He wanted to sweep her to some place where he could learn her secrets.
Hazel eyes and vanilla sugar as an aphrodisiac?
His tastes had changed. She was completely different from Sandrine and all the women since her. Yet sexual hunger honed his senses to a keen edge. He searched out the nearest exit, the part of his brain that was pure hunter planning how to cut her from the crowd when the time was ripe.
‘I’d appreciate it if you could.’ Her words interrupted his thoughts, or maybe it was that excited smile making her face glow. ‘I should have researched it earlier but this trip was on the spur of the moment. Can you recommend a company I could contact?’
It took longer than it should have to remember what they were talking about. ‘Better than that. A friend runs a balloon company outside Paris. We used to make balloon treks together.’
‘Really?’ Her eyes widened and there again was that trick of the light, for they seemed almost pure green now. How would they look when ecstasy took her? The tension in his lower body ratcheted up too many notches for comfort. ‘You’ve been ballooning? Tell me all about it. Please?’
She clutched his arm and that shimmer of sensation rippled up it.
Over the next twenty minutes she peppered him with questions. Not the usual What’s it like up there? and Aren’t you afraid of falling? but everything from safety procedures to the amount of fuel required, from measuring height to landing procedure. All the while her expression kept shifting. He didn’t know whether he preferred her serious, poutingly curious or dreamy-eyed excited.
She was enchanting. Refreshingly straightforward, yet complex and intriguing. And passionate.
He watched her lips as she spoke and desire exploded.
How long since he’d felt like this?
How long since he’d met a woman fascinated by him and his interest in adventure rather than money, social status or his reputation as a lover?
Plus she was passing through. She’d have no aspirations to tie him down.
Imogen was the perfect short-term diversion.
THE LIGHTS DIMMED and at the far end of the room a band struck up. The swell of the bass was incongruous in this ornate setting, but no one seemed surprised, even when beams of purple, blue and white light shot across the crowd.
A spotlight caught Imogen’s eyes and she flinched, moving closer to Thierry. Instantly, his arm curved protectively around her. She liked that too much, but she had no desire to pull away. Not when every nerve screamed at her to lean into him.
His arm was hard and
