tailored suit, there was no disguising that Thierry was all hard-muscled man.
His hands were a giveaway too. Neat, clean nails, but there were tiny, pale scars across his tanned skin, hinting he did more than wield a pen.
Imogen wondered how they’d feel on her bare flesh.
He said something she didn’t hear over a crescendo of music. At the same time the light show became more frenetic, a staccato pulse in time with the drums. Imogen felt it all swirl and coalesce like a living thing. Light stabbed her eyes.
Not now. Please not now!
Just a little more time. Was that too much to ask?
Her stomach cramped and her breathing jammed. She blinked. It wasn’t the light from the stage blinding her, it was the white-hot knife jabbing inside her skull. Her vision blurred, pain sawing through her.
‘Imogen?’ That arm at her back tightened. She caught a drift of something in her nostrils, some essence that reminded her of the outdoors, before the metallic taste of pain obliterated everything. Sheer willpower kept her on her feet, knees desperately locked.
‘I...’ It came out as a whisper. She tried again. ‘I’d like to leave.’
‘Of course.’ He took the glass from her unresisting hand. ‘This way.’ He turned her towards the exit but she stumbled, her legs not obeying.
Music shuddered through her, a screaming beat, and in her head the jab, jab, jab of that unseen knife.
Warmth engulfed her and it took a moment to realise it was from Thierry’s powerful body as he wrapped his arm around her waist and half carried her from the room.
Imagine what he could do with two arms.
And those hands. You’ve always had a thing for great hands.
That was her last coherent thought till they were in the peace of an anteroom. She couldn’t recall exactly how he’d got her there but the lean strength of his body made her feel anchored and safe, despite the lancing pain.
‘Imogen? What is it? Talk to me.’ His accent was more pronounced, slurring the words sexily. Even in her dazed state she heard his concern.
‘Headache. Sorry.’ She tilted her head up, trying to bring him into focus through slitted yes.
‘A migraine?’ Gently, he pulled her to him, resting her head on his shoulder and palming her hair in a rhythmic touch that amazingly seemed to make the pain recede a little.
She wanted never to move, just sink into his calm strength. The realisation she’d never be held like this again by anyone brought a sob rushing to her throat. She stifled it. Pity wouldn’t help.
‘Sorry.’ She sucked air through clenched teeth as she straightened. ‘Enjoy the rest of the party. It’s been—’
‘Where are you staying?’ His voice was low, soothing.
‘Here. Three-hundred and five.’ She fumbled in her purse, dragging out her key card. All she had to do was get to her room.
Had he read her befuddled mind? One minute she stood on trembling legs, the next she was swept up in his embrace. She felt bone and muscle, the tickle of his breath on her face. She should have objected. Breathing through excruciating pain, she merely slumped against him, grateful that for once she didn’t have to manage alone.
This past year she’d had to be strong, for her mother and more recently for herself. Leaning against Thierry, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath his jacket, she felt a little of the tightness racking her body ease. Was it her imagination or did the pain pull back a fraction? She shut her eyes, focusing on his iron-hard arms beneath her, the comfort of his embrace.
Another first. Being swept off your feet by a man.
Warm fingers touched hers as he shifted his hold and took the card from her hand.
‘Here we are.’ His deep voice wrapped around her. ‘Not long now.’ A door snicked closed and soon she was lowered onto a mattress. Smoothly, without hesitation, his hands withdrew and Imogen knew a moment’s craziness when she had to bite back a plea that he not let her go. There’d been such comfort in being held.
Her eyes shot open and she winced, even in the soft glow from a single bedside lamp. Thierry towered above her, concern lining his brow.
‘What do you need? Painkillers? Water?’
Gingerly, she moved, the smallest of nods. ‘Water, please.’ While he got it she fumbled open her bedside drawer and took out her medication with a shaking hand.
‘Let me.’ He squatted, popped the tablet and handed it to her. Then he raised her head while she swallowed it and sipped the water, his touch sure but gentle. Stupidly, tears clung to her lashes. Tears for this stranger’s tenderness. Tears for the extravagant fantasy she’d dared harbour, of ending the night in Thierry’s arms, making love with this sexy, fascinating, gorgeous man.
Fantasy wasn’t for her. Her reality was too stark for that. She’d have to make do with scraping whatever small pleasures she could from life before it was too late.
Defeated, she slumped against the pillow, forcing herself to meet his concerned gaze.
‘You’re very kind. Thank you, Thierry. I can manage from here.’
* * *
Kind be damned. He looked into drowning eyes shimmering green and golden-brown and his belly twisted. This woman had hooked him with her vibrancy, humour and enthusiasm, not to mention her flagrant sexiness. Even her slight hesitancy over his name appealed ridiculously. Her vulnerability was a punch to the gut, and not just because he’d aimed to spend the night with her.
‘Shut your eyes and relax.’
‘I will.’
As soon as you leave. The unspoken words hung between them and who could blame her? He was a virtual stranger. Except he felt curiously like he’d known her half his life or, more correctly, had waited that long to meet her.
A frisson of warning ripped through him but he ignored it. She was no threat. With her tear-spiked lashes and too-pale face, she was the picture of vulnerability. There were shadows beneath her eyes too that he hadn’t seen before.
‘What are you doing?’ Her voice was husky, doing dangerous things to his body. Thierry had to remind himself it was from pain, not arousal.
He put the house phone to his ear, dialling room service. ‘Getting you peppermint tea. My grand-mère suffers from migraines and that helps.’
‘That’s kind but...’ Her words petered out as he ordered the tea then replaced the phone.
‘Just try it, okay? If it doesn’t work you can leave it.’ He straightened and stepped back, putting distance between them. ‘I’ll stay till it’s delivered so you don’t have to get up.’
She opened her mouth then shut it, surveying him with pain-clouded eyes. Again that stab to his gut. He frowned and turned towards the bathroom, speaking over his shoulder. ‘You’re
