A Royal Baby For Christmas. Scarlet Wilson
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He held out his hand towards her. ‘I’m Seb.’
Seb. A suitable billionaire-type name. Most of the men in this hotel had a whole host of aristocratic names. Louis. Alexander. Hugo. Augustus.
She reached out to take his hand. ‘Sienna.’
His hand enveloped hers. What should have been a firm handshake was something else entirely. It was gentle. Almost like a caress. But there was a purpose to it. He didn’t let go. He kept holding, letting the warmth of his hand permeate through her chilled skin. His voice was husky. ‘You’ve been holding on to that wine glass too long.’ Before she could reply he continued. ‘Sienna. It doesn’t seem a particularly Scottish name.’
A furrow appeared on his brow. As if he were trying to connect something. After a second, he shook his head and concentrated on her again.
She tried not to fixate on the fact her hand was still in his. She liked it. She liked the way this man was one of the most direct flirts she’d ever met. He could have scrawled his intentions towards her with her lipstick on the mirrored gantry behind the bar and she wouldn’t have batted an eyelid because this was definitely a two-way street.
‘It’s not.’ She let her thumb brush over the back of his hand. ‘It’s Italian.’ She lifted her eyebrows. ‘I was conceived there. By accident—of course,’ she added.
A look of confusion swept his face as the barman set down the drinks, but he didn’t call her on her comment.
Sienna had a wave of disappointment as she had to pull her hand free of his and she turned to the peach concoction on the bar with a glimpse of red near the bottom. She lifted the tiny straws and gave it a little stir. ‘What is this, exactly?’
Those green eyes fixed on hers again. ‘Peach nectar, raspberry puree, fresh raspberries and champagne.’
She took a sip. Nectar was right. It hit the spot perfectly. Just like something else.
‘Are you here on business or pleasure, Sienna?’
She thought for a second. She was proud to be a surgeon. Most men she’d ever met had seemed impressed by her career. But tonight she didn’t want to talk about being a surgeon. Tonight she wanted to concentrate on something else entirely.
‘Business. But it’s almost concluded. I go home in a few days.’
He nodded carefully. ‘Have you enjoyed visiting Montanari?’
She couldn’t lie. Even today’s events hadn’t taken the shine off the beautiful country that she’d spent the last few weeks in. The rolling green hills, the spectacular volcanic mountain peak that overlooked the capital city and coastline next to the Mediterranean Sea made the kingdom one of the prettiest places she’d ever visited. She took another sip of her cocktail. ‘I have. It’s a beautiful country. I’m only sorry I haven’t seen enough of it.’
‘You haven’t?’
She shook her head. ‘Business is business. I’ve been busy.’ She stirred her drink. ‘What about you?’
He had an air about him. Something she hadn’t encountered before. An aura. She assumed he must be quite enigmatic as a businessman. He could probably charm the birds from the trees. At least, she was assuming he was a businessman. He looked the part and every other man she’d met in this exclusive hotel had been here to do one business deal or another.
But for a charmer, there was something else. An underlying sincerity in the back of his eyes. Somehow she felt if the volcanic peak overlooking the capital erupted right now she would be safe with this guy. Her instincts had always been good and it had been a long time since she’d felt like that.
‘I’ve been abroad on business. I’m just back.’
‘You stay here? In this hotel?’
He laughed and shook his head. ‘Oh, no. I live...close by. But I conduct much of my business in this hotel.’ He gave another gracious nod towards the barman. ‘They have the best facilities. The most professional staff. I’m comfortable here.’
It was a slightly odd thing to say. But she forgot about it in seconds as the barman came back to top up their glasses.
She took a deep breath and stared at her glass. ‘Maybe I should slow down a little.’
His gaze was steady. ‘The drink? Or something else?’
There it was. The hidden question between them. She ran her finger around the rim of the glass. ‘I came here to forget,’ she said quietly, exposing more of herself than she meant.
Her other hand was on the bar. His slid over the top, intertwining his fingers with hers. ‘And so did I. Maybe there are other ways to forget.’
She licked her lips, almost scared to look up and meet his gaze again. It would be like answering the unspoken question. The one she was sure that she wanted to answer.
His thumb slid under her palm, tracing little circles. In most circumstances it would be calming. But here, and now, it was anything but calming; it was almost erotic.
‘Sienna, you have a few days left. Have you seen the mountains yet? How about I show you some of the hidden pleasures that we keep secret from the tourists?’
It was the way he said it. His voice was low and husky, sending a host of tiny shivers of expectation up her spine.
She could almost hear the voices of her friends in her head. She was always the sensible one. Always cautious. If she told this tale a few months later and told them she’d made her excuses and walked away...
The cocktail glass was glistening in the warm sunset. The chandelier hanging above the bar sending a myriad of coloured prisms of light around the room.
The perfect setting. The perfect place. The perfect man.
A whole host of distraction.
Exactly what she’d been looking for.
She threw back her head and tried to remember if she was wearing matching underwear. Not that it mattered. But somehow she wanted all her memories about this to be perfect.
She met his green gaze. There should be rules about eyes like that. Eyes that pulled you in and held you there, while all the time giving a mischievous hint of exactly what he was thinking.
She stood up from her bar stool and moved closer. His hand dropped from the bar to her hip. She brushed her lips against his ear. ‘How many of Montanari’s pleasures are hidden?’
There it was. The intent.
It didn’t matter that her perfect red dress was hanging in the cupboard upstairs. It didn’t matter that her matching lipstick was at the bottom of her bag. It didn’t matter that her most expensive perfume was in the bathroom in her room.
Mr Sex-on-Legs liked her just the way she was.
He closed his eyes for a second. This time his voice was almost a growl, as if he were bathing in what she’d just said. ‘I could listen to your accent all day.’
She put her hand on his shoulder. ‘How about you listen to it all night instead?’
And the deed was done.
SHE STARED AT the stick again.
Yep. The second line was still there.
It wasn’t a figment of her imagination. Just as the missing period wasn’t a dream and the tender breasts weren’t a sign of an ill-fitting bra.
A baby. She was going to have a baby.
She stared out of her house window.
Her mortgage. She’d just moved in here. Her mortgage was huge. As soon as she’d seen the house she’d loved