length of her slim toned thighs and the lush curves of her pert bottom in the dark pencil skirt she had worn. As he’d watched her move across the room he’d tugged the tie around his neck loose and thought, One door closes and another opens. Love had no longer been an integral part of his plan for the future, but he’d realised there was still sex.
It had been a cheering thought, one that might make a man get out of bed in the morning. For the months of his illness and subsequent chemo his libido had lain dormant, he hadn’t even thought about sex, but things had woken up dramatically—he had wanted her from the moment he saw her.
She had great legs and a great body—slim and supple; that much he could tell even though she’d had more clothes on than ninety per cent of the women in the room. The skirt she had worn reached her knee and her elegant cream silk blouse had been more office wear than nightclub, yet she had exuded some innate sensuality—he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her.
Their night together had been incredible and the fact that he had experienced more pleasure making love to a woman he felt nothing for than any before or since had proved to him that emotional involvement did not enhance sex. His recent disastrous engagement only illustrated that it was actually an encumbrance.
Roman had never managed to recreate anything approaching the hot, sizzling sex he had enjoyed with his mystery woman. And he hadn’t had sex for … not since … His brows lifted in surprise—he hadn’t realised it had been that long!
He’d just been too busy with work lately to notice. The six months he had taken off on medical advice as he’d gone through his treatment had always seemed excessive and had necessitated him delegating areas of responsibility.
He had adopted a less hands-on approach that should have given him more time to enjoy his life—a healthier work-leisure balance. In reality he’d found himself unable to let go. Spare time was for people who didn’t enjoy work or people with families and that was never going to be him.
On an intellectual level he knew that not being able to father a child did not make him any less a man, but it was not something a man felt on an intellectual level. When Roman had been given the news he had felt it in an icy fist in his gut, and even worse had been the prospect of telling his fiancée at that time, Lauren.
His lips twisted into a sardonic grimace as he played the scene over again in his head. Her understanding and support at the time had made him feel he might have misjudged her, but later he had discovered that not having children did not fill her with nearly the same sort of horror as the thought of how much weight she might put on during pregnancy.
Roman clenched his jaw and pushed away the thoughts—they belonged in another lifetime. His hungry gaze riveted on Izzy Fitzgerald again. She belonged in another lifetime too, but the memory of their night together had not faded, instead it had become something of a standard that he had measured every sexual encounter against since, and none had come near … Would the memory have exerted the same sort of fascination if he had known her name back then? He didn’t have a clue, but he knew that he wanted her. He didn’t waste time trying to figure out why. Time-wasting was anathema to Roman, who knew better than most what a precious commodity it was.
He could see the dark hair of the baby in her arms. Was it hers?
Roman did not do single mothers. Call him a cynic, but he could never quite believe that they were not out to bag a father for their child. Besides, he would be expected to pretend an interest in their kid and that just wasn’t his thing. The fact was there were a lot of women who didn’t come with the added complication of a child—so why complicate life?
But if Izzy Fitzgerald had a kid, would that be a deal breaker?
He smiled to himself as he watched her move, the wind plastering the blue dress she wore against the slender line of her legs. His temperature climbed several degrees as he remembered those legs wrapped around him, her nails digging into his shoulders, the expression of fierce concentration on her face as she fought her way towards climax.
He expelled a deep sigh. Dio, there were definitely exceptions to every rule. Did she have a husband? His brows twitched into a heavy frown; some rules he would not break.
But, God, it was going to kill him to walk away from this.
She had been the best sex he had ever had.
Izzy was about to get into one of the waiting cars that were lined up to whisk them to the reception when she realised that she didn’t have her handbag; her keys and phone were in it.
‘Damn, I think I left it in the church.’
Emma, who was standing with a shoe in one hand while she rubbed the toes of her shoeless foot with the other, looked up. ‘Have you lost something, Izzy?’
‘My bag—I think I left it in the church.’
Michelle, who was already in the car, leaned out with her arms outstretched. ‘Give me Lily while you go and get it. You only have yourself to blame, Emma. I told you those heels were too high.’
‘Thanks,’ Izzy said, handing her daughter over to the willing hands. ‘Don’t wait for me.’ Izzy blew a kiss to her daughter and mouthed, ‘I’ll catch up,’ through the closed window.
Michelle nodded, and her father, who was strapping Lily into a baby seat, waved. Izzy grinned in response before she began to retrace her steps back to the church. The hotel where the reception was being held was only a gentle stroll down the village high street and it wouldn’t take her long to meet up with the rest of the family.
Izzy pushed open the lychgate and ran on into the churchyard, which was totally deserted but for a solitary figure, the vicar, who was making his way on foot to the reception. She exchanged a few words with him before she went back inside the church, the quiet of the building acting as a balm to her frayed nerves.
The prospect of contacting Lily’s father and telling him she existed filled her with total dread, and then … then what? How would he react? How did she want him to react? Izzy clenched her hands into fists and wished fiercely that she had never learnt of his identity, that he had remained some dark dream, and felt immediately guilty for being so selfish. Of all people she should know that it was wrong to deprive a child of all knowledge of her father.
She breathed a slow deep breath. She’d do the right thing—whatever that was—but not today. Today she would party, dance and enjoy herself.
Izzy laughed, the sound echoing back at her as she thought, Who am I fooling? She could almost feel the draft from the proverbial sword hanging by a thread above her head.
Her handbag was not on the pew where she thought she had left it, but a quick frantic search revealed it on the floor where it had fallen and, other than a dusty footprint, it was none the worse for wear.
She dusted it off and once outside opened it to check the contents. She was just refastening the pretty pearl-encrusted clasp when a prickling on the back of her neck made her pause, and slowly she turned, lifting a hand to shade her eyes from the sun.
Somehow she wasn’t surprised at all to see Roman Petrelli standing only a few feet away.
Her heart was thudding like a sledgehammer against her ribs as she straightened her slender shoulders and lifted her chin. That fictional sword suddenly felt very real indeed!
Her earlier glimpse of him had left her with the impression of extreme elegance and raw male power, and now she could see that he possessed both those qualities in abundance. She could also see just how breathtakingly handsome his classically cut clean-shaven features were.
Of course, she already knew he was good-looking. That night in the bar he had been elegant, but crumpled in a dark, brooding way, his jaw shadowed and his hair worn a lot shorter then, sticking up in spiky tufts.
Izzy had no idea what demons he had been struggling to contain, but she had seen it in his taut body language and the vulnerability she had sensed was there behind the hard reckless glow in his eyes.
She recognised