Chapter Sixteen

      Maggie slept and slept and woke to find that, instead of being on a flight to London Heathrow, she was still in bed with Alex. Oops. They spent a languorous hour or two of Sunday making love, pausing to punctuate their love-fest with a delicious brunch courtesy of room service. For reasons of Britishness, Alex ordered scones with strawberry jam and cream especially for her.

      “Afternoon tea for brunch?”

      Alex picked up his watch from the bedside table and checked the time. “It is afternoon.”

      “You need to keep your strength up.” With a smirk on her face she spooned a dollop of cream onto a halved, jam-spread scone and passed it to him. She’d taken up residence in the middle of Alex’s big bed and, wrapped in a bed-sheet toga, she sat cross-legged, scoffing scones and feeling no inclination whatsoever to budge. She didn’t care that they were making crumbs.

      “You did put out the do-not-disturb sign, didn’t you?” she asked for the umpteenth time.

      “Check.” he replied, without impatience.

      He downed his last scone half, and gulped from a teacup in a not-so-genteel manner. “I’m going to take a shower. Care to join me?”

      She shook her head. She watched his smooth brown back disappear into the bathroom without her. She took in his height and the breadth of his shoulders with a touch of awe.

      Abandoning her sheet toga she ventured off her bed island and snatched up Alex’s discarded I Heart NY tee from the night of the premiere. She put it on. It swamped her. She gathered a fistful of fabric, pressed it to her nose and inhaled the manly-spiced scent he’d left behind.

      She wandered barefoot into the sitting room. In spite of the scone feast, she was ravenous. She chose a green apple from a fruit bowl on the coffee table and plonked herself on the sofa, legs tucked up under her on the cushions. She bit into the apple. It hit her taste buds with a fusion of sweetness and tang. She set it on the coffee table and picked up the laptop.

      Quickly she typed Alex Wells and New York. The search brought up a stack of hits.

      “Oh. My. Gosh.” She uttered the words between hyperventilating breaths as she clicked on the first one, then the second, and the third. It was the biggest shock seeing herself on a celebrity lifestyle page described as “Cinderella of New York City”.

      Fresh from the bathroom Alex walked into the room. A towel wrapped tantalizingly around his waist, he rubbed at his wet hair with another one, pushing dark strands that had fallen across one eye out of his face.

      She made to close the screen. Too quick for her, he peered over her shoulder, halting her action by reaching over and closing his hand over hers. “Catching up on celebrity gossip?”

      She picked up the apple, took another bite, and gulped. “Uh-huh.” She ate the last mouthfuls of her apple and tossed the core into a bin.

      “Anything interesting?” The rumble of his voice and his half-naked body ignited new sparks of desire in her.

      “Not really.” She tried to keep the tremble out of her voice as she added lightly, “Just some guy who plays a TV vampire, or something.”

      Alex massaged her neck. “What about him?”

      “He’s been bonking his stylist.” He rounded the sofa and sat next to her. She passed him the computer. “Allegedly.”

      He scrolled through the photos. “That takes the biscuit.” Color drained from his freshly shaven face.

      Maggie gawped at the screen. “Is Jago the Daddy?” She’d only just found out that she was pregnant and there was a picture of her going into the charity event at the Empire State Building with a baby bump the size of a beach ball.

      “What the …?”

      “They’ve altered the photo. It’s the press’s current favorite trick.” He closed the laptop. “It’s best not to look. Try not to let it bother you.”

      She was out of her depth. “That’s easy for you to say.”

      “This isn’t rhino hide.” He pinched the skin on the back of his hand. “Sometimes it’s best to ignore stuff. Wait for it to go away.”

      Maggie gently touched his hand with the pad of her thumb, moving it in circles over the spot that he’d pinched. “That’s why I told the reporter you’re not the dad. I thought the story would go away if they knew I’d had donor insemination.”

      Alex pulled his hand away abruptly. “Evidently that’s not the story they wanted to run.”

      Unsettled by his abrasive reaction, she jumped up and hurried to the bathroom. In the shower she closed her eyes and turned her face up into the comforting warmth of the water. The streams trickled over her. Sadness clouded her mind like a storm spoiling a perfect day. Some crazy, stupid, mixed-up part of her wanted Alex to be her baby’s dad. It was a bigger fantasy than trying to convince herself that last night she’d been making love to a vampire. Who was she kidding? That notion had been a non-starter from the micro-second after the moment she’d dreamt it up, and so was this. She and Alex had both accepted that no matter how good this was, it had no future.

      She lathered her hair with an excessive dollop of the hotel’s freebie shampoo. The citrus aroma filled the shower cubicle. She tipped back her head and ran her fingers into her hair, rinsing out the sudsy froth with grim determination. She’d given in to one night with Alex. She remained in control of her life. She felt more for him than she’d wanted to believe at first. A lot more. He could turn her beliefs about the non-existence of The One upside down with just one word – if he wanted to. She was in love with him. But she couldn’t make him love her. And she couldn’t make him feel something he didn’t. She was okay with that. She had to be. She’d always known she’d never have him. There was something about him. Something isolated, remote. He was hers for now. She’d given herself totally to him and in doing so her heart hadn’t shattered into a zillion tiny pieces.

      She wasn’t like one of those airhead girls his character seduced on the show. She was still standing. In charge of her world. Mistress of her own destiny. And undeterred by an intrusive story on the internet.

      Suddenly she felt his body. Strong. Smooth. Hard. Like hot marble.

      Incongruous. And tempting.

      His arms closed round her, drawing her close against him so that his erection jutted against the curve at the base of her spine. Hot, wet and naked in the shower with Alex she was powerless; unable to resist his potent sex appeal, the deep sensuality of his lips on the back of her neck. She turned into his arms and kissed his solid chest, moving her mouth gently over his sun-golden skin. Water showered over them.

      Her body responded to his magnetism. On automatic.

      “Get a condom,” she urged. He did as she bid.

      Clear. Decisive. She knew her own mind. She’d make love to him one last time. And leave.

      His mouth, softer than before, slippery, deeply sensual, closed over hers. He cupped his hands under her bum and lifted her. She entwined him with her legs. Water pooled in her cleavage and trickled over her