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I contemplated texting my driver, but he would take too long, and since he was also my bodyguard and I’d slipped out on him, he was probably pissed as fuck. I didn’t want to deal with his shit on top of everything with Imogene. Luck was on my side however, because a cab with a lit vacant sign turned the corner right as we reached the curb. I raised our joint hands in the air to flag him down. When I couldn’t extend my arm the whole distance, I glanced down at Imogene and it dawned on me how small she was in comparison to me. She was slender and lean, which made her appear taller until she was next to a behemoth like me.
My brain could only handle so much as I thought about how her little body would feel cradled against mine. Or pressed beneath it. All the emotions churning inside me brought months of pent up desire to the surface. I licked my lips, and my eyes swept over her sexy little body.
My pants were bursting at the seams as my shaft fought the confines of my zipper. It was like my head had passed a note to my cock and gave it a heads up (pun intended) that we would soon be near a bed.
The cab screeched to a stop in front of us, and I took a deep breath, willing my dick to back the fuck off. I turned and guided Imogene to the back of the cab. As I helped her in, I noticed her downturned head and the slump of her shoulders.
Shit. I knew I needed to smooth things over with her, but I had to get control of myself first.
I gave the driver my address and put the cab number into an app to pay automatically. Then I shot off a quick text to my contractor, instructing them to clear out of the house for the next few days, but continue to bill me. After putting it back in my pocket, I glanced at Imogene just as she turned watery eyes in my direction. “I’m really sorry, Thatcher. Where are you taking me? Please let me go. If I promise not to come anywhere near you from now on, can we just forget this ever happened?” she pleaded.
Forget? That wasn’t possible. There wasn’t one thing about Imogene that wasn’t burned into my mind. She shifted so she was facing me and put her unoccupied hand on my thigh. I stiffened and sucked in a deep breath. My skin burned underneath her touch, and all I wanted was to feel that heat on every inch of me.
“Don’t,” I said through clenched teeth. “I am hanging on by a thread. If you touch me, I’m going to fucking lose it.”
Chapter 4
Thatcher
Imogene’s hand flew back like she’d been burned, which was fitting since my leg felt like it had been singed where she’d touched it. Then she scooted to the far edge of the seat and curled into herself.
The cab driver was tossing suspicious glances at us, and I knew I needed to diffuse the situation quickly. Even though it was unlikely that he could hear anything we were saying, Imogene’s body language was probably sending up alarms.
I expelled a slow breath and pictured Imogene painting in our home. It was soothing and helped to ease my tension.
“Imogene,” I said softly as I reached out to draw my fingertips down her cheek. I wasn’t sure how I’d expected her to react, but I was elated when she instinctively leaned into my touch. “I’m taking you home, sugar.”
Her brows drew down, and her eyes darkened to amber as confusion floated across her face. “I don’t have a home.”
Her words caused an ache in my chest, but I reminded myself that it was all about to get better. “Yes, you do.”
Imogene shook her head in denial. “No. I mean, I did. But then my grandmother died, and they wouldn’t let me stay in her apartment in Queens”—a piece of the puzzle slid into place. Imogene Delaney must have been her grandmother—“and I don’t have a home now.”
“You do,” I insisted. “I’m going to make sure you don’t spend one more fucking night on the streets. You’re coming home with me, sugar.” And sleeping in our bed. But we’d get into that later.
Imogene gasped, gaping at me with disbelief. “I don’t even know you!”
I speared her with an intense stare. “Yes, you do. I know you feel what’s between us, Imogene. You may not have realized it, but you know me.”
Her expression turned less fierce, and there wasn’t much conviction in her tone when she said, “I don’t know what you mean.”
If I hadn’t seen her sketches of me, I might’ve had a moment of doubt. But I had, and they’d reinforced my certainty that we were meant to be together. Before she knew what was happening, I’d picked her up and put her on my lap so that she was straddling my legs. “I’ll prove it,” I growled before I cupped her face in my hands and crashed my mouth down over hers.
