Her Pregnancy Surprise: His Pregnancy Bargain / The Pregnancy Secret / Their Pregnancy Bombshell. Barbara McMahon
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than you. There’s…’
When they reached the room her mother had allocated to him, she decided not to mention it was next to her own and that all the other guests were in a different wing entirely—she asked him to repeat the names of his fellow guests.
He ran his fingers across some carving in an ancient beam above the low doorway. ‘Is this a test?’
‘Were you actually listening to me?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘I was listening; your voice is like honey.’
Megan, her hand on the door handle, stilled. She was certain she had misheard what he had said. ‘Pardon…?’
‘You have a beautiful voice. It flows…’ His hands moved in an expressive fluid gesture before he sighed. ‘I could listen to it all day…’ Her voice was part of the reason he was here. Her voice—his eyes dropped—her legs and, yes, her mouth.
‘Will you stop that? It isn’t funny,’ she croaked crossly.
His glance moved upwards to the full soft pink contours of her lips. Yes, they had all been factors—they and the fact he thought that the sexy and stuck-up Dr Semple needed to be taught a lesson. You really shouldn’t judge by appearances.
‘Of course what you actually say isn’t always riveting,’ he conceded in an attitude of regret as he ducked to enter the bedroom. He looked around with interest.
‘Not bad!’ He walked over to the canopied half tester and patted the mattress. ‘Firm, but I like that.’
Megan responded to the fact he was looking at her body and not the bed when he said this with an irritated air. Actually she would have welcomed some irritation at that moment, if he said the things his seductive eyes managed to convey he could probably be arrested.
He fell back onto the bed and, crossing one leg over the other, tucked his hands behind his head so that he could look at her. ‘Where’s your room?’
‘Next door,’ she admitted reluctantly.
‘Handy.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘The moment you begin to believe that, you’re out of here.’
To her intense annoyance he seemed to find her threat wildly amusing. Maybe, she thought darkly, it was the idea of any woman saying no to him that struck him as funny…?
‘My mother is a firm believer in propinquity. I am not,’ she told him drily. ‘Perhaps we should lay down a few ground rules.’
‘I should tell you I’m not big on rules,’ he confided, stifling a yawn.
‘Now there’s a surprise.’
‘In fact,’ he admitted. ‘I see a rule and I feel this almost overwhelming desire to bend it a little,’ he returned, stretching with languid grace.
Megan felt her stomach muscles clench and looked at him in frustration. Without trying he could drive her crazy. What was going to happen if he took it into his head to try? It didn’t bear thinking about.
Her expression fixed she braced her hand on the back of a chair covered in faded tapestry. One day she might be able to work out why she had ever thought this was a good idea. Right now that day seemed awfully far off.
‘Why am I getting the idea you’re not taking this seriously…?’
‘I get the idea you take everything much too seriously,’ he retorted, looking at her curiously. ‘What do you do when you’re not looking down a microscope?’
‘I avoid men like you.’ Actually she had never met a man like him. Were there any other men like him…?
‘Have you seen the ghost?’
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘How do you know we have a ghost?’ she wanted to know.
‘Don’t all old places like this have a ghost…or several…?’
‘I suppose they do,’ she admitted. ‘But I’ve never seen one.’ And frankly a ghost would scare her less than this incredibly sexy man did. ‘Now, seriously, we should lay down some ground rules.’
His head went back, revealing his strong brown throat as he laughed. Oh, God, she thought, he really is just too attractive, in a dangerous what-the-hell-is-he-going-to-do-next sort of way.
‘Right, forget the rules, just keep it simple. If in doubt say nothing; better still, let me do all the talking.’
‘Won’t that make me appear as if I don’t have an opinion of my own?’
‘That’s the way I like my men.’
‘Under your thumb.’ He extended his aforementioned digit towards her.
He had nice hands, she noticed, but then he had nice everything. ‘I like the strong, silent type…’ she crisply corrected. ‘If in doubt just look enigmatic,’ she advised. Her frown deepened as she scanned his face. ‘Do you think you could do that?’
‘I could.’
‘But are you going to do?’ Or was he going to make a total fool out of her?
‘Is this suitably enigmatic…?’
‘You’re a natural,’ she assured him drily. This was all going to go terribly wrong.
‘Relax,’ he advised. ‘This is going to be fun.’
‘If you think this is fun you have a seriously warped mind. Now just try and remember,’ she pleaded, ‘you’re a famous author.’
‘I’m a famous author,’ he repeated solemnly. ‘Do you believe me?’
‘I know you’re not…I don’t count.’
‘Believe me, by the end of tonight I’ll be so good even you will believe I’m a famous author.’
‘Let’s not get too ambitious.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve got to get changed for dinner.’ She extended one denim-covered leg to prove the point. ‘I’ll come back for you in half an hour. Don’t,’ she added, wagging a warning finger at him, ‘move until I get here.’
Of course he did.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE French doors had been open all through dinner and the guests had drifted out onto the terrace to sip their drinks and chat. Despite the unpromising start the day had produced a perfect summer evening, warm and balmy, spoilt only by an unexpected shower, which was brief but heavy.
Luc and Megan were caught out in the open when the heavens opened. By the time they reached the shelter offered by the leafy canopy of the ancient oak tree it had stopped raining.
Luc, grinning, shook his head, sending droplets of water everywhere. ‘There’s something exhilarating about a summer shower.’
Easy for him to say, she thought.
Casting a resentful glance from under her lashes at Luc’s classically perfect profile, she pondered the unfairness that made him look incredible with his hair plastered damply to his skull. The moisture that clung to his naturally dark skin only served to emphasise the healthy glow.
She had gone for a vintage look tonight. With a sigh she looked down with distaste at her silk calf-length skirt; it clung damply to her legs. The chiffon overskirt with its beading detail might well be ruined—pity, it had been her favourite. She could feel the excess moisture from her wet hair running in a cold trickle down her neck, she didn’t even want to think about what it looked like.
Luc, his back set against the gnarled tree trunk, watched as she ran her hands down her bare arms to remove the excess moisture that clung to her pale smooth skin. She had great arms; like the rest of her body they were toned and firm.
At least the cotton halter-top