Required To Wear The Tycoon's Ring. Maggie Cox

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СКАЧАТЬ shouldn’t make her insides flutter with the most intoxicating pleasure but it did, and her reaction warned her to tread very carefully where Seth Broden was concerned.

      ‘I don’t have a preference, but I perfectly understand if you want some time on your own for a while. Just call me if you need anything.’

      Seth blinked and glanced away. ‘As tempting as that offer sounds, sweetheart, there’s nothing I really need right now other than the brandy.’

      ‘I’ll leave you in peace, then.’

      His gaze immediately found hers again and he looked far from reassured. ‘Not possible—but I appreciate the sentiment.’

      Even as she left the room Imogen remembered the note he’d left for his girlfriend.

      You’re the only one who can calm the lightning in my soul and help me find peace.

      That last remark he’d made confirmed he’d lost all faith in ever experiencing such an elusive concept again, and once more her foolish heart ached. Not just for Seth but for herself, too. No one could know the emotional wreckage that was left behind when faced with the loss of the person you loved...the hopelessness that ensued. A person had to experience it for themselves before they could even begin to understand.

      * * *

      It was blissfully quiet and oddly comforting as Seth sat in front of the wood burner, sipping brandy in Imogen’s simple front room.

      Ahead of his return to the UK he had booked a suite at a five-star hotel, where he might rest and relax and mull over what he was going to do with the Siddonses’ house. He still hadn’t decided whether he actually wanted to live in it. All he’d known when his estate agent friend had rung to tell him that the house was up for sale was that he simply had to have it. He didn’t really know why, except that it was a significant part of his past and he wanted to right the wrong that had been done there.

      But how did you right the wrong of a loved one being taken from the world too soon?

      He wouldn’t even have the satisfaction of showing James Siddons that he’d exceeded his wealth, thereby proving that he’d kept his word about becoming successful. Who would have believed that a poor car mechanic would become an exceedingly rich dealer in some of the most desirable cars in the world—and friend to the rich and famous on the way?

      But even as Seth reflected on what he’d achieved he couldn’t deny that underneath it all there was still a sense of something missing.

      Staring back into the autumn-coloured hues of the burner’s flames, he wondered if Imogen had anyone significant in her life. She was a pretty little thing, and kind, too. He was a total stranger to her, but when he’d declared that he needed a drink she’d had no hesitation in offering him some brandy.

      He’d been able to tell straight away that she was a compassionate woman. She was certainly nothing like the majority of well-heeled ‘high-maintenance’ females he usually came into contact with in New York. Yes, he enjoyed the fact that they flocked round him like bees round a honeypot whenever he was socialising, but lately the ability to attract beautiful and sophisticated women had definitely begun to pall.

      Maybe that was also why he’d returned to the UK? Hopefully he could move around unremarked. He didn’t have such a glamorous profile here. Except that he might yet have to deal with the curiosity of the media when the citizens of his hometown noted that he’d returned...

      The combination of the heat from the fire and the brandy he’d consumed couldn’t help but make Seth’s eyelids droop. Seconds later he’d fallen asleep, with his head resting against a diamond-patterned cushion he’d placed behind him.

      He didn’t register Imogen’s return. Nor did he see the generous plate of sandwiches she’d brought with her from the kitchen. He’d fallen into the deepest sleep he’d had in years.

      When he eventually stirred he couldn’t believe the time. Evidenced by the morning light that he glimpsed behind the room’s slatted rattan blinds, several hours had elapsed. The cosy fire in the burner had long perished and the room was decidedly chilly, despite the woollen throw that Imogen must have draped over his knees.

      It took him aback to realise he must have been asleep for most of the night... How could that be? How could he have let his guard down like that in front of a complete stranger? It just didn’t make sense.

      Rubbing his hand round his beard-roughened jaw, he pushed the throw aside and sat up. Maintaining the same position for several hours had inevitably cramped his body. A dull ache that bordered on the painful throbbed through his entire being. Rising to his feet, he stretched his arms up high over his head and rolled his shoulders. His mouth was as dry as a sun-bleached riverbed and he was in dire need of water.

      Strolling out into the kitchen, he flicked on the light and immediately saw the cling film–wrapped tray of sandwiches on the worktop. Had Imogen made those to share with him last night? Even as Seth had the thought he realised how hungry he was. What an idiot he was for falling asleep like that!

      Pouring a glass of water, he gulped down several mouthfuls. His thirst sated, he helped himself to a couple of sandwiches and hungrily wolfed them down. Then he returned to the living room.

      He was just rolling up the blinds when his hostess walked in, wearing lavender-coloured pyjamas and a matching dressing gown, her chestnut hair a mass of eye-catching curls. It stopped him in his tracks to notice that her skin was nothing less than flawless...even at this unearthly hour.

      ‘Good morning,’ he greeted her huskily.

      Her big brown eyes mirrored her astonishment. ‘You’re still here!’

      ‘I’m afraid I am. You should have woken me and told me to go home.’

      Imogen smiled delicately. ‘You were sleeping so soundly when I came back from the kitchen I didn’t want to disturb you. You were obviously very tired. But shock can do that to a person.’

      Seth was puzzled. ‘Shock?’

      ‘The note?’ she reminded him gently.

      Finding himself reacquainted with the letter he’d written to Louisa all those years ago and learning that she’d read it before she died must have been responsible for lowering his defences. He would never normally make himself so vulnerable. Undoubtedly the generous glass of brandy he’d drunk had helped...

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