‘Let me out. This is kidnapping!’

The words came out on an outraged squeak, which would have been embarrassing if she hadn’t been in a state of shock. ‘Where exactly are we going?’

He made one more turn, braked, and then backed into a parking space outside a six-storey Georgian terraced house. He switched off the engine and, slinging his arm over the steering wheel, angled his body towards her. ‘We’re here. The appointment’s not for another—’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Ten minutes,’ he announced, as if that explained everything.

She peered past him and read the street sign on the corner. ‘What are we doing in Harley Street?’

The house he’d stopped in front of had an ornate brass plaque listing two doctors’ names. That made sense. Harley Street was the domain of London’s most exclusive private medical practitioners. But nothing else did. Why had he brought her here?

He took his sunglasses off, flung them in the back seat. ‘Answer me one question,’ he said, his voice tight with annoyance. ‘Were you ever going to tell me about it?’

‘Tell you about what?’ Why was he looking at her as if she’d tried to steal the crown jewels and he’d caught her red-handed?

His gaze wandered down to her abdomen. She folded her arms, feeling oddly defensive. ‘About my baby, of course. What else?’

Heidi Rice was born and bred and still lives in London, England. She has two boys who love to bicker, a wonderful husband who, luckily for everyone, has loads of patience, and a supportive and ever-growing British/ French/Irish/American family. As much as Heidi adores ‘the Big Smoke’, she also loves America, and every two years or so she and her best friend leave hubby and kids behind and Thelma and Louise it across the States for a couple of weeks (although they always leave out the driving off a cliff bit). She’s been a film buff since her early teens, and a romance junkie for almost as long. She indulged her first love by being a film reviewer for ten years. Then two years ago she decided to spice up her life by writing romance. Discovering the fantastic sisterhood of romance writers (both published and unpublished) in Britain and America made it a wild and wonderful journey to her first Mills and Boon novel, and she’s looking forward to many more to come.

Recent books by the same author:

BEDDED BY A BAD BOY

THE MILE-HIGH CLUB

THE TYCOON’S VERY PERSONAL ASSISTANT

Dear Reader

There are a few magic moments in everyone’s life that they know they’ll remember for ever. For me, two of my most magical moments happened in the ultrasound suite at UCH hospital in London, when my husband and I saw our two sons for the first time.

A few months ago my boys and I were looking at their yellowing ultrasound photos and I had one of those ‘What if?’ moments a writer dreams of. What if you were having that magical ultrasound moment, meeting that precious little scrap of humanity growing inside you for the first time, and you hadn’t even realised you were pregnant? And what if the father of your precious scrap was sitting beside you, looking handsome and devastatingly sexy, but you hardly knew him—and what you did know you didn’t like?

So I had a great starting-off point for my story, but I knew my heroine would have to be someone really special to survive the emotional rollercoaster she was going to have to ride to her happy-ever-after. One woman instantly sprang to mind. When I wrote my second book, THE MILE-HIGH CLUB, the heroine’s best friend Louisa kept butting into the story. Flirty, funny, reckless, romantic, beautiful, and with a wicked sense of humour, Louisa was brave enough to cling on during all the swoops and bumps—and big-hearted enough to forge them into something wonderful to boot.

All that was left to do was find a hero man enough to take that wild ride with Louisa—and Luke Devereaux stepped up to the plate. I hope you take as much pleasure in reading about how they battled their way to true love.

If you want to tell me about your magic moments, or even tell me what you think of Louisa and Luke’s story, I’d love to hear from you. Visit my website at www.heidi-rice.com or e-mail me on heidi@heidi-rice.com

Cheers

Heidi x

PLEASURE, PREGNANCY AND A PROPOSITION

BY

HEIDI RICE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my dad, Peter Rice, who I wish I could talk to just one more time.

And to Julia, Kieran and Nemone, because talking to you guys is the next best thing.

CHAPTER ONE

‘QUICK, Lou, major hottie alert. Twelve o’clock.’

Louisa DiMarco’s fingers paused on the keyboard of her computer at the urgent whisper from her editorial assistant, Tracy. ‘I’m on deadline here, Trace,’ she muttered. ‘And I happen to take my work seriously.’

Louisa was a professional. One of Blush magazine’s most popular and well-respected feature writers. Just because this article about the pros and cons of breast enlargement was giving her a headache—what were the pros anyway?—she would not be distracted from it because Tracy had spotted some good-looking guy in the office.

‘We’re talking scorching,’ Tracy crooned. ‘You will not want to miss this guy.’

Louisa kept her head down and carried on typing. For about two seconds.

‘For goodness’ sake!’ She clicked on her screen to save. ‘All right, one quick peek. But this had better be good.’ Surely even a dedicated features writer like herself was entitled to some recreational pursuits on the hottest, stuffiest, most boring Friday afternoon in the history of the world ever?

Louisa peered round her computer to get a better view of the vast open-plan office, not expecting to be impressed. Tracy’s taste in men generally stank. Still, even Tracy’s idea of what constituted a hottie couldn’t make Louisa feel as queasy as the pictures she’d been looking at all afternoon. ‘Where is Adonis, then?’ she asked.

‘Over there.’ Tracy pointed to the far end of the office. ‘The bloke with Piers,’ she said, her voice hushed in reverence. ‘Isn’t he magnificent?’

Louisa sent her assistant a quick grin. Good to know she wasn’t the only stir-crazy female on the premises. She looked past the desks of journalists typing like crazy on the last Friday before press day, and spied two men with their backs to the room by the receptionist’s desk.

Louisa blinked. Tracy hadn’t just surprised her. She’d astonished her. Louisa was the office’s acknowledged hottie connoisseur and even she couldn’t fault the guy. Not from this angle anyway. Tall, dark and broad shouldered, with an expertly tailored navy-blue designer suit, Adonis was making their managing editor, Piers Parker, who was at least five foot ten, look like a midget.

‘What do you think?’ Tracy said impatiently.

Louisa tilted her head to one side to get a better look. Even from fifty feet away the man deserved an appreciative purr. ‘Well, he certainly qualifies from the rear,’ she purred. ‘But I think we’d need to see his face to make a final appraisal. As you know, no one enters the DiMarco Hottie Hall of Fame until they’ve passed the face test.’

Standing stiffly with his legs braced apart, Adonis chose that moment to thrust one fist into his trouser pocket. His body language radiated controlled irritation. Louisa didn’t care. The movement had made his jacket rise up over his butt, improving the view even more. Now, if he would just turn around and come a bit closer…

Something teased the edges of Louisa’s memory as she pressed her pen against her bottom lip and waited. She ignored it. This was definitely an improvement on silicone implants.

The clatter of computer keyboards and the buzz of conversation slowly tapered off as every woman in the place became aware of the designer-suited stranger in their midst. Louisa could almost hear a collective oestrogen-loaded sigh over the hum of expectation.

‘Maybe he’s the new assistant editor?’ Tracy said hopefully.

‘I doubt it. That suit’s new season Armani, and Piers is practically genuflecting—which means Adonis is either on the board of directors or he’s an Arsenal player,’ Louisa whispered back.

Although she wouldn’t be surprised if he was a sportsman, with that lean, athletic build, Louisa couldn’t imagine a professional footballer looking so debonair.

Louisa fluffed her hair instinctively. Goodness, she was actually holding her breath. It had been so long since she’d had the urge to flirt she almost didn’t recognise the feeling. How long had it been since she’d felt excited in the presence of a good-looking man?

The errant thought had an image forming that she instantly repressed. Do not go there. Her radar had been spectacularly off that day, but it had been over three months ago. Twelve weeks, four days and—she did a quick calculation—sixteen hours, to be exact. Luke Devereaux, the handsome, charming Lord of Berwick and bona fide snake in the grass, no longer had the power to upset her. But the prickle of memory developed into a nasty little thorn, scratching at her consciousness.

Louisa’s brow furrowed as Piers turned to point straight at her. How odd. Adonis followed in slow motion, but then a pair of piercing and painfully familiar grey eyes fixed on her face, and the little thorn became a jagged blade slicing through the sensual mist.

Louisa’s fingers went numb, her heart thudded like a sledgehammer, all her blood rocketed into her cheeks, and the hairs on the back of her neck felt as if a greedy fist had wrenched them out at the roots. And then heat blazed through her body as the memory she’d been repressing for the last three months hit her like a red-hot slap—strong fingers stroking her, insistent lips fastened on the pulse-point in her neck, and wave upon glorious wave of orgasm rocketing up from her core.

A tangle of nerves, fury and nausea snaked into a vicious knot in the pit of her stomach.

What was he doing here?

That was no Adonis. The man walking towards her was the devil incarnate.

‘Wow, he’s coming over here,’ Tracy announced over the pneumatic drill now shattering Louisa’s eardrums. ‘Oh-my-God! Isn’t that Lord What’s-his-name? You know—he was in your Britain’s Most Eligible Bachelors list in the May issue. Maybe he’s here to thank you.’

Hardly, Louisa thought bitterly. He’d already exacted his revenge for that list three months ago. Louisa’s spine snapped straight and she folded her legs tightly under her chair. The tap of her high-heeled leather boot against the chair’s stem sounded like the rat-a-tat-tat of a machine gun.

If he was here to take another cheap shot at her, he could forget it.

Louisa had seen him coming this time. He’d used her trusting nature, her innate flirtatiousness and her incendiary attraction to him against her three months ago. He would never catch her unawares again. This time she would fight back.

Luke Devereaux’s long, purposeful strides ate up the acres of industrial blue carpeting as he zeroed in on his prey. He barely noticed the managing editor scuffling along at his heels, or the sea of female faces swivelling round to gawp at him. All his concentration, all his irritation, was focussed on one particular female. That she looked as stunningly beautiful as he remembered her—shiny gold-streaked hair framing an angelic face, killer cleavage accentuated by a figure-hugging dress covered in a bold Lichtenstein-like cartoon print, and mile-long legs encased in knee-high boots—only made him more determined to keep his cool.

Appearances were deceiving. This woman was no angel. What she was planning to do to him qualified as the worst thing a woman could do to a man.

Okay, things had got spectacularly out of hand three months ago. And he had to take a large part of the blame for that. The plan had been to teach her a little lesson about respecting people’s privacy—not take advantage of her the way he had.

But she deserved a large part of the blame too. He’d never met anyone as reckless and impulsive before in his life. And he wasn’t a saint. When a woman looked like her, smelt like her and felt like she did, what did she think he’d do? He couldn’t imagine any bloke being able to think clearly under the same circumstances. How could he possibly have known she wasn’t as experienced as she appeared?

Well, one thing was for sure: he was through feeling guilty about his part in it.

After his little chat with their mutual friend Jack Devlin yesterday, all his guilt and all his regret over what had happened between them had given way to a slow-burning anger.

An innocent life was involved—and he’d do whatever he had to do to protect it.

Whatever hurts, whatever injustices he might have done her in the past, he had no qualms whatsoever about bending her to his will now. And the sooner she realised that, the better.

Louisa DiMarco was about to discover that Luke Devereaux never backed down from a fight.

What was it the late, unlamented Lord Berwick had said to him at their first and only meeting all those years ago? ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, boy.’ He’d learnt that lesson the hard way when he was only seven years old. Frightened and alone, in a world he didn’t know and didn’t understand, he’d had to toughen up fast or go under. It was about time Miss DiMarco learnt the same lesson.

He reached Louisa’s desk, saw the bright spark of fury in those stunning brown eyes, the smooth olive-toned skin mottled with temper and the elegant chin poked out in defiance. He imagined fisting his fingers in all those glorious blonde-brown curls and kissing her into submission.

To resist the urge he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and kept his eyes flat and expressionless. It was a casual, predatory look that he knew terrorised his business opponents. Louisa, he noted, didn’t even flinch.

The adrenalin rush he usually associated with a particularly tough new business challenge surged through his body. Teaching this woman how to face her responsibilities might actually be more of a pleasure than a pain. He was already anticipating the first lesson: getting Louisa to tell him what she should have told him weeks ago.

‘Miss DiMarco, I want a word with you.’

CHAPTER TWO

I’LL just bet you do.

Louisa ignored Tracy’s sharp intake of breath and looked her tormentor square in the eye.

‘Excuse me, but who are you?’ Louisa asked, as if she didn’t know.

‘This is Luke Devereaux, the new Lord Berwick,’ Piers supplied, announcing the information as if he were introducing the king of the universe. ‘Don’t you remember? We featured him in May’s Eligible Bachelors issue. He’s the new owner of—’

Devereaux lifted a hand, halting Piers’s sucking-up speech in mid-suck. ‘Devereaux will do. I don’t use the title,’ he said, his eyes still boring into Louisa and his deep voice as annoyingly distinctive as she remembered it.

To think she’d once thought that accent—crisp British vowels underlaid with a lazy, measured cadence that sounded oddly American—and that steely, impenetrable gaze were sexy. Somebody must have spiked her drink with Viagra that night. His voice didn’t sound compelling any more, just detached, while the icy blue-grey of his irises looked cold, not enigmatic.

All of which would explain why she was fighting the urge to shiver in the middle of August.

‘I’m sure that’s all very fascinating.’ She flicked her hair back. ‘But I’m afraid I’m terribly busy at the moment. And we only do one Eligible Bachelors issue a year. Maybe if you’re still eligible next year you could come back, and I’ll interview you then.’

Louisa congratulated herself on the deliberate insult. She knew how much he had despised being on her list. But she didn’t get as much satisfaction as she’d hoped. Instead of looking annoyed, he simply stared at her. Not by a single flicker of his eyelashes did he acknowledge the hit. Then, to her silent irritation, his mouth curved at the edges. He put his hand flat on her desk and leaned over her. The familiar citrus scent of the soap he used had her boot-heel tapping harder against the chair.

‘You want to have this discussion in public? That’s fine by me,’ he said, in a voice so low only she could hear it. ‘But then I’m not the one who works here.’

She didn’t have a clue what this was all about, but from his predatory smile she suspected the ‘discussion’ he intended to have would be personal. As much as she didn’t want to give him any quarter, at the same time she didn’t want to be humiliated in front of everyone she worked with.

‘All right, then, Mr Devereaux,’ she remarked loudly, swivelling to turn off her computer. ‘As luck would have it, I might be able to squeeze in an interview now. I could talk to our features editor—maybe she’ll consider putting it into next month’s issue. You’re obviously very keen to get your face out there, so the debutantes know what they’re missing.’

He straightened away from her. One muscle in his cheek twitched. She’d got her hit that time.

‘Which is not a lot,’ she continued under her breath, going for the jackpot.

She didn’t get it. The tension in his jaw disappeared and he smiled. ‘That’s very accommodating of you, Miss DiMarco,’ he said. ‘Believe me, I’ll make it worth your while.’

Ignoring the thinly veiled threat, Louisa turned to Tracy, who was doing a very good impression of a goldfish. ‘I’ll finish the article later, Trace. Tell Pam I should still make the five o’clock deadline.’

‘You won’t be back this afternoon,’ Devereaux announced from behind her.

Louisa had swung round to correct him when Piers butted in. ‘Mr Devereaux has asked that you take the rest of the day off. I’ve already approved it.’

‘But I’ve got an article due today,’ Louisa said, stunned. Piers was usually a total Nazi about copy deadlines.

He waved the remark away, looking harassed. ‘Pam’s going to stick in an extra page of ads. Your article can wait till next month. If Mr Devereaux needs you with him today we’ll have to accommodate him.’

What? Since when did the managing editor of Blush magazine take orders from aristocratic bullies like Luke Devereaux?

Devereaux, who’d been listening to their conversation with apparent indifference, chose that moment to pick her bag up from the desk. ‘Is this yours?’ he asked impatiently.

‘Yes,’ Louisa replied, still disorientated. What was going on here?

He took her arm and tugged her out of her chair. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, steering her out of the office with his hand clamped on her elbow.

She wanted to yank her arm out of his grip. She yearned to tell him where he could stick his Attila the Hun act. But everyone was staring at them. And Louisa would rather die than cause a scene in front of her colleagues. She was forced to submit to being marched out of the office and down the stairs like a disobedient schoolchild under the command of the headmaster.

It didn’t stop her fuming every single step of the way.

By the time they’d walked out onto Camden High Street, Louisa’s temper had reached boiling point. She wrestled her arm out of Devereaux’s grasp. ‘How dare you do that? Who do you think you are?’

He stopped by a flashy convertible sports car, parked in a no-parking zone at the front of the office. Opening the door, he flung Louisa’s bag into the back seat. ‘Get in the car.’

‘I will not.’ Of all the cheek! He was treating her as if she were one of his minions. Well, he could think again. Piers might obey his orders, but she most certainly did not. She crossed her arms over her chest, determined not to budge an inch.

His eyebrow lifted. ‘Get in the car, Louisa,’ he said, his voice deadly calm. ‘Unless you want me to pick you up and put you in there.’

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

She had barely finished the sentence before she was hoisted off her feet. She had just enough time to gasp, and slap her fist against the solid wall of his chest, when she was dumped like a sack of potatoes into the passenger seat. The door slammed and the locks clicked shut. She shot up onto her knees, determined to climb right back out again. Unfortunately her movements were somewhat restricted by the skin-tight pencil skirt of her much-loved designer dress. She’d barely wriggled it up past her knees when the car peeled away from the kerb and she was thrown back against the seat.

‘Put your belt on before you get hurt,’ he shouted above the engine noise.

‘Let me out. This is kidnapping!’ The words came out on an outraged squeak, which would have been embarrassing if she hadn’t been in a state of shock.

Handling the steering wheel with one hand, he reached across her with the other and pulled a pair of sunglasses out of the glove compartment. ‘Stop being melodramatic,’ he said, not even sparing her a glance as he put the glasses on.

‘Me-lo-dra…!’ She sputtered to a stop. No one but her father had ever treated her with such high-handedness. And she’d put a stop to that when she was a teenager. She certainly wasn’t going to put up with it now. ‘How dare you?’

He slowed the car to stop at a traffic light and turned to her, an annoyingly assured smile on his face. ‘I think we’ve already established that I would dare. Now, if you want we can have another tussle—which you won’t win,’ he added with complete certainty. ‘Or you can do what you’re told and save a little of your precious dignity.’

Before she could think of a pithy enough reply, he’d shifted into First and accelerated across the intersection.

Drat, she’d missed her chance to leap out.

‘Put your belt on.’ He repeated the words as he shot up a side street, narrowly missing some ambling pedestrians.

Grudgingly she put the belt on—not quite angry enough yet to get killed for the sake of her pride. He’d have to stop eventually, and then she’d let him have it. Until then she’d give him the silent treatment.

That plan worked for about five minutes. But after they’d wound their way through the back streets of Camden, sped down the wide tree-lined outer circle of Regent’s Park and crossed Euston Road into Bloomsbury, her curiosity had got the better of her.

‘Where exactly are we going? If lowly little me is allowed to ask, that is.’

The quick smile he flashed suggested he found her sarcasm amusing. ‘Lowly? You?’

She didn’t dignify that with a reply. ‘I have a right to know where you’re taking me.’ Forget sarcasm—he obviously didn’t have the intelligence to process it.

He made one more turn, braked, and then backed into a parking space outside a six-storey Georgian terraced house. He switched off the engine and, slinging his arm over the steering wheel, angled his body towards her. His shoulders looked even broader than she remembered them in the expertly fitted linen jacket and white shirt. Intimidated despite herself, she had to force herself not to shrink back into the seat.

‘We’re here. The appointment’s not for another—’ he glanced at his watch ‘—ten minutes,’ he announced, as if that explained everything.

She peered past him and read the street sign on the corner. ‘What are we doing in Harley Street?’

The house he’d stopped in front of had an ornate brass plaque listing two doctors’ names. That made sense. Harley Street was the domain of London’s most exclusive private medical practitioners. But nothing else did. Why had he brought her here?

He took his sunglasses off, flung them into the back seat. ‘Answer me one question,’ he said, his voice tight with annoyance. ‘Were you ever going to tell me about it?’

‘Tell you about what?’ Why was he looking at her as if she’d tried to steal the crown jewels and he’d caught her red-handed?

His gaze wandered down to her abdomen. She folded her arms, feeling oddly defensive.

Fierce grey eyes met hers. They looked colder than ever.

‘About my child, of course. What else?’

CHAPTER THREE

‘YOUR what? What child?’ Had she just entered The Twilight Zone? ‘Have you gone mad?’

Louisa turned to grab the door handle, determined to get out of the car before he started speaking in tongues or something.

His fingers clamped on her wrist. ‘Don’t act the innocent. I know about the pregnancy. I know about your mood swings, the supposed stomach bug you had a month ago, and the fact that you haven’t had a period in months.’ His eyes dipped to her breasts. ‘And there’s a few other giveaways I can see for myself.’

She wrestled her hand out of his grasp. ‘What have you been doing? Staking out my toilet?’

‘Jack told me.’

‘Jack Devlin told you I was pregnant?’ she shouted, past caring if the whole of Harley Street heard her.

The mention of her best friend Mel’s husband was the last straw. She’d forgotten that Jack and Devereaux were friends. It was how she and Devereaux had met—at a dinner party at Mel’s house. And now Jack had told Devereaux she was pregnant. Next time she saw Jack she would have to kill him.

‘Not in so many words,’ Devereaux said, impatience sharpening his voice. ‘We were talking about Mel’s pregnancy and he mentioned you. Seems Mel thinks you’re pregnant but that you’re keeping it a secret for some reason.’

Okay, now she would have to kill Mel too. ‘Please tell me you didn’t tell Jack about us.’

She’d been so humiliated she hadn’t told anyone. Not even Mel, and she usually told Mel everything.

But how did you tell your best friend that you’d slept with a man on a first date, that you’d discovered how incredible, how amazing sex could really be, that for ten rosy minutes of afterglow you’d deluded yourself into thinking you’d found the love of your life—and then been brought crashing down to earth when you discovered the truth. That Mr Right was actually Mr Dead Wrong in disguise. That he wasn’t the sexy, flirtatious, easy-going ordinary guy he’d pretended to be all evening, but rather a cold, manipulative, controlling member of the aristocracy, who’d seduced you for writing an article about him he didn’t like.

Humiliation didn’t even begin to cover it.

‘I didn’t talk to Jack about us,’ he snarled. ‘I was much more interested in hearing what he had to say about you.’ He was looking at her as if he had a right to his anger.

Suddenly sick of him, and his attitude, and the whole stupid mess, Louisa knew she just wanted to get away from him. ‘I’m not pregnant. Now, I’ve had enough of this idiotic conversation. I’m going back to work.’ She tried to turn away from him, but he grasped her wrist again. ‘Let go of me.’

‘When did you have your last period?’

‘I’m not answering that.’

She struggled. His fingers tightened on her wrist.

‘You’re not going anywhere until you do,’ he said firmly.

She stopped struggling. This was ridiculous. What were they arguing about?

Dropping her head back on the seat, she let her hand go limp and closed her eyes against the bright cloudless August afternoon. She wasn’t pregnant. All she had to do was convince him and he’d let her go. And then this whole horrible scene would be over. She’d never have to see him again.

Shielding her eyes, she rolled her head towards him. He looked as implacable and determined as ever. She tried to remember when her last period had been. A flush crept up her neck. Okay, maybe it had been a while ago. But she’d always had wildly irregular periods. It didn’t mean a thing. And anyway, she had definitely had one since they’d made love. Plus she’d taken a home pregnancy test. She wasn’t that stupid.

‘I took a home pregnancy test. Just in case. And it was negative.’ To her astonishment, instead of looking repentant, he narrowed his eyes.

‘When did you take it?’

‘I don’t know. A few days afterwards.’

‘And did you bother to read the instructions properly?’

‘Enough to know it was negative,’ she said firmly, the guilty blush spreading across her cheeks. Okay, she hadn’t read all the small print—but did anyone?

‘I thought not,’ he said.

Indignation seared through her and she stiffened in her seat. ‘Don’t talk to me as if I’m an imbecile. I took the test. It was negative. Plus I’ve had a period since that night, so it’s all academic anyway.’ Even if her period had been a light one, it had been enough to put her mind at rest.

She tried to wrestle her wrist free again.

He held fast and his brows lowered ominously. ‘That night was over three months ago, and you’re telling me you’ve only had one period since?’ Exasperation sharpened every word.

‘So what? I have irregular periods.’ The blush intensified. Why was she talking to this man about her menstrual cycle? And why was she going on the defensive? ‘Read my lips,’ she said. ‘There is no child.’ The possibility didn’t even bear thinking about.

He looked at the silver Rolex on his wrist again. ‘I’ve made you an appointment with the top obstetrician in the UK. She can start by doing a pregnancy test.’

‘Who on earth do you think you are?’

‘Quite possibly the father of your child,’ he shot back without even blinking. ‘The condom broke, Louisa,’ he said. ‘You know that.’ He let go of her wrist at last and proceeded to count off his points on the fingers of one hand. ‘You haven’t had a period in months. You had what could easily have been a bout of morning sickness a few weeks back, and your breasts are definitely fuller. You’re taking another pregnancy test. A proper one that you can’t muck up.’

The comment about her breasts had the flush blazing across her chest like a brush fire. ‘I’m not pregnant. And even if I were…’ which she most definitely was not ‘…what makes you so sure you’re the father? For all you know I could be a complete slapper. I could have slept with ten other guys since that night. I could have slept with twenty,’ she finished on a note of bravado.

‘Yeah, but you didn’t,’ he said, with such certainty she wanted to slap him.

‘Oh, I see.’ Did the man’s ego know no bounds? ‘You think you were so memorable you spoiled me for other guys. Is that it?’ She was prepared to lie through her teeth rather than let him know the truth. ‘Believe me, you weren’t.’

He huffed out a breath and stared out through the windshield. ‘Stop pretending you’re something you’re not.’ He turned back to her. Was that pity or regret she could see in his eyes? ‘I knew the flirting was an act the minute I got inside you.’

The blood burned in her cheeks, but she forced herself to flick a contemptuous glance at his crotch. ‘Right, so you’ve got radar down there, have you?’

He shook his head, gave a hollow laugh, but she was certain now the look in his eyes was pity. She hated him for it. ‘I wish I did. I would never have made love to you that night if I’d known how innocent you were.’

‘Well, isn’t that noble of you?’ she sneered back, only realising after the fact that she’d as good as agreed with him. ‘There’s no need to feel guilty on my account. I wasn’t a virgin,’ she said, trying to regain the ground.

‘I know, but you were the next best thing.’ He sighed again. ‘I’m sorry for what happened that night. I figured you knew the score. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

Yes, you did, she thought bitterly, but didn’t say it. This was all too personal. If he saw how vulnerable she was, it would only humiliate her more.

‘I’m sure this heart-to-heart is all very touching. But it doesn’t change the fact that we’ve got nothing left to discuss.’

‘We’ll decide that once you’ve had the pregnancy test.’

The he-who-shall-be-obeyed tone was back.

She could have argued with him. She probably should have. But she felt unbearably weary all of a sudden, and over-emotional. She just wanted to get this over with now. So she never, ever had to see this man again.

Submitting to a quick pregnancy test seemed like a relatively small price to pay. And she was already relishing exactly what she was going to say to him when it turned up negative.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘CONGRATULATIONS, Miss DiMarco, you’re pregnant.’

Louisa’s heartbeat kicked so hard in her chest she thought she might be having a heart attack. She gaped at Dr Lester’s encouraging smile, her hands fisting on the arms of her chair.

Forget The Twilight Zone—she’d just entered an alternative reality. She couldn’t possibly have heard that right. ‘Excuse me, what did you say?’ Her voice sounded small and far away. Appropriate, really, seeing as it was coming from another dimension.

‘You’re expecting a baby, my dear.’ The doctor glanced down at the test results, which had taken about ten minutes to come through from the on-site lab. ‘In fact it’s a very strong positive. From the hormone levels I’d say you’re at least three months pregnant. Either that, or you’re expecting twins.’

Louisa’s hands started to shake. She gripped the chair even harder, worried she might collapse in a heap on the floor.

‘Can you tell us the due date?’ Devereaux asked from beside her.

Louisa looked at him in a daze. She’d forgotten he was even there.

She hadn’t objected to him coming in with her to get the results. This was supposed to be her big I-told-you-so moment. She would have put up much more of a fight if she’d known what he would actually be witnessing was her life going in to freefall. He didn’t look smug, though, or particularly overjoyed with his victory. He looked calm and in complete control. His reaction, if he’d even had one, had been carefully masked. It almost made her wish for smug.

‘How about we do a quick ultrasound scan?’ the doctor replied. ‘We’ve got the equipment in the next room. We can check how the baby’s doing and give you a more exact date.’

‘Don’t be silly—there is no baby.’ Louisa cleared her throat, tried to halt the panic making her tongue go numb. ‘You must have made a mistake. I’m not pregnant. I took a pregnancy test myself. And I had a period…’ She paused. He would know how inexperienced she really was if she continued. Looking at the doctor’s encouraging smile, it occurred to her that what he did or didn’t know about her lack of a sex life since that night was probably academic now. And why should she care anyway? She forced herself to continue. ‘I haven’t been with anyone else since.’

The doctor sat down at her desk and steepled her fingers. ‘What brand of home pregnancy test did you use and when did you take it?’

‘I don’t…’ She hesitated, tried to remember, but all she could think about was how relieved she’d been when the stick had stayed clear. ‘I’m not sure about the brand. But I took the test about a week, or maybe a bit less, after we…’ She swallowed. This was hideous. ‘After our night together.’ She’d been frantic, after all.

‘Okay,’ Dr Lester said gently. ‘Some home test kits are very sensitive. Others aren’t. And they can give you what’s called a false negative if you take them too soon. Now.’ She propped her elbows on her desk, gave Louisa an enquiring look. ‘How heavy was the period you had, and when did it occur after intercourse?’

Louisa realised her face was probably vermilion by now. ‘Maybe a week or two afterwards, and it was fairly light.’

‘What you had was spotting. Not uncommon around the time of implantation.’

‘I thought you could only get pregnant in the middle, during ovulation.’ It was another of the reasons she had been sure she wasn’t pregnant.

The doctor simply smiled. ‘Fertilisation can occur at any time, my dear. Especially if the couple are young or exceptionally fertile.’

The blood pumped into her cheeks and spread out across her neck.

‘Does the spotting mean there could be harm to the baby?’ Devereaux said.

Louisa kept her eyes on the doctor, determined not to even look at him. The whole situation suddenly felt surreal. As if she were having an out-of-body experience. How could she be pregnant by this man? She who hadn’t intended to even think about the possibility of having children for at least another ten years. She was only twenty-six. She’d worked so hard to get where she was. Killed herself at school to take her A-levels a year early. Had slaved in odd jobs to pay her way through university, done night shifts and overtime at London Nights to establish herself in the mostly male world of local reporting, and then finally fled from the ‘anything for a story’ ethos to establish herself as a features writer on Blush. She was proud of what she’d achieved. Blush was a brilliantly written magazine that didn’t just concern itself with the things that made women look and feel good, but also with the whole realm of the female experience. Now all that was in jeopardy because she’d made a foolish, reckless mistake. She’d fallen for a man who not only didn’t care a hoot about her, but had the sperm of a prize-winning bull.

Fantastic, Louisa, you’ve really topped yourself this time.

‘Don’t worry about the spotting, Lord Berwick,’ the doctor said indulgently. ‘I’m sure your baby is fine. As I said, the test results show the pregnancy is firmly established. But I think an ultrasound scan will put everyone’s mind at rest.’ She smiled at Louisa, who was still processing the ‘your baby’ comment. ‘Why don’t you go through to the ultrasound suite, Miss DiMarco? It’s right next door.’

After that little speech Louisa was surprised the woman had even put a question mark at the end of her sentence. It was clear the good doctor knew who was paying the bill. Louisa debated refusing to submit to the procedure. She slanted a look at Devereaux, who was watching her, his mouth set in a thin line of determination.

Not just the sperm of a bull, but the stubbornness to match.

She gave a heavy sigh. ‘All right,’ she said, standing up.

She walked to the door the doctor had indicated on watery legs.

Maybe there was still a small chance that this was all a hideous mistake, and when the doctor got her ultrasound equipment out she wouldn’t find a baby after all.

‘There’s the head and the spine,’ the doctor said enthusiastically, pointing at the sepia-toned three-dimensional image.

‘That’s incredible,’ Devereaux said in hushed tones. ‘It’s so clear.’

‘We have the newest, most state-of-the-art equipment here. We’re very proud of…’

Louisa tuned out their conversation, transfixed by the bright, incandescent image.

The coolness of the gel on her skin, the press of the ultrasound wand, even the rapid ticks of the baby’s heartbeat being monitored by the machinery faded into oblivion as Louisa stared at the tiny arms and legs, the large head, the perfectly formed little body.

I’m looking at my baby.

The words flickered in her consciousness, and then a dizzying sense of awe surged through the dense fog of self-pity.

The doctor adjusted the wand and then tapped a few buttons. A close-up of the baby’s face appeared as if by magic. Its eyes were closed, one tiny little fist covering its nose and mouth.

‘What’s it doing?’ Louisa heard her voice coming from miles away.

The doctor laughed. ‘Why, I think it’s trying to suck its thumb.’

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.

Tears stung Louisa’s eyes and she tried to blink them back. All this time she’d been thinking about herself, about how this whole situation was going to affect her, when there was a much more important life at stake—that of her child.

The baby hadn’t seemed real until this moment, but now guilt engulfed her. Whatever her problems with Devereaux—however much this pregnancy would change her life, her dreams—she would never regret the miracle growing inside her. But she’d be bringing this perfect little person into the world without any of the things she herself had taken for granted—a loving two-parent home, a stable family life.

As it always did, thoughts of her childhood brought back memories of her mother. Louisa let out a shaky sigh. If only she could talk to her mother now, just one more time. She trembled, the echo of long-remembered grief making the tears spill over her lids and run down her face. She reached up to wipe her cheeks, but strong fingers took hold of her wrist.

She looked up to see Devereaux staring down at her from his seat beside the couch, his expression unreadable in the darkened room. He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and dabbed at her hairline, then skimmed the clean-smelling linen across her temples. When he’d finished, he put the handkerchief in her hand and closed his fist around her shaking fingers.

He squeezed and let go. ‘You okay?’ he asked quietly.

Hardly, she thought, but sniffed, burying her nose in his handkerchief to buy time. All she needed now was for him to be nice to her and she’d turn into a gibbering wreck.

‘Yes, of course,’ she said, as soon as she could speak, struggling to sound as matter-of-fact as possible while her insides were turning to mush.

He watched her a moment longer, those steely eyes giving absolutely nothing away, then turned back to the doctor, who was busy fiddling with her state-of-the-art equipment.

‘Right, I’ve checked all the vital organs and everything seems to be developing well,’ the doctor said at last, swinging round to address them both. ‘I must say the foetus is a little long for dates.’ She smiled benignly at Louisa, then spoke to Devereaux. ‘Can I ask how tall you are, Lord Berwick?’

‘Call me Luke,’ he said absently. ‘I’m six-three.’

‘That explains it, then,’ the doctor said, putting the ultrasound wand back in its holder. She wiped the remaining gel off Louisa’s belly and then gave her an indulgent smile. ‘As long as Miss DiMarco’s sure she couldn’t have conceived a week or so earlier?’

Try three years, Louisa thought grimly.

‘The baby’s mine,’ Devereaux said with absolute certainty, before Louisa had a chance to answer. ‘It was conceived on the twenty-fifth of May.’

Louisa’s fingers clutched the robe as she wrapped it around her abdomen, all her soft feelings towards him squashed flat. He really was the most arrogant man on the planet. She wanted to tell him where he could shove his assumptions, but she couldn’t. Unfortunately he was right. The beautiful little human being on the screen in front of her was his child.

Louisa sucked in a deep breath, let it out slowly.

As the doctor began to waffle on about due dates, percentile growth scales and antenatal vitamins, Louisa watched Devereaux listening to the doctor’s instructions, his harshly handsome face illuminated by the frozen image of their baby.

Their baby.

She sighed and stared at the screen again. The child growing in her womb meant that no matter what she did, no matter where she went, she would always have a connection to this man. This demanding, domineering, ruthless man who had hurt her so terribly once. A man who had tricked her into thinking he was the man of her dreams and then made her feel like a fool.

Exactly what kind of father had she given her unborn child?

Tears clogged her throat again. She couldn’t think about that now; it was too big a question to contemplate and far too soon to worry about it. She gulped the tears down hastily.

How ironic, though, that the most incredible, the most amazing moment of her life had also turned out to be the most devastating. Now she knew how David must have felt when he was aiming his pea-shooter at Goliath.

CHAPTER FIVE

LUKE shifted into second gear to take the turn into Regent’s Park and glanced at the woman sitting silently in the passenger seat. Only the high curve of her cheekbone was visible behind the glossy curtain of hair. The burnished blonde highlights haloed round her head in the sunshine. She’d been staring out the window for the last ten minutes. Not only that, but she’d said barely three words since they’d left the ultrasound suite.

It was starting to worry him.

From his short association with Louisa DiMarco he knew she wasn’t the quiet type. On their one and only date he’d been captivated by her bright, sharply witty and pretty much non-stop chatter despite himself. Of course he’d witnessed a much sharper side to her tongue once he’d told her who he was. But he’d still prefer those rapier-sharp barbs to this oppressive silence.

He pressed his foot on the accelerator. The park had a twenty-mile-per-hour speed limit, but at three o’clock on a Friday afternoon, and with the weathermen forecasting glorious sunshine across the country for the whole weekend, the sweltering city was already deserted.

As the majestic avenue of oak and maple trees whisked past, the dappled shade bringing some respite from the afternoon heat, Luke contemplated Louisa’s reaction. Maybe her silence was a blessing in disguise. He needed a chance to regroup, reanalyse the situation, rethink his position as well.

In all the time he’d spent brooding since yesterday—his resentment building at her irresponsible behaviour—it had never even occurred to him that she might not know she was expecting a child. Weren’t women supposed to have a sixth sense about this sort of thing?

But she’d had absolutely no clue—no inkling. As she’d lain on the doctor’s couch, looking fragile in the oversized robe, the naked shock on her face had been genuine.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked from beside him, interrupting his train of thought. She still wasn’t looking at him.

‘To your place,’ he said.

She turned, then, looking mildly surprised. ‘Do you remember where it is?’

He nodded, not quite able to speak as he took in the stunning face that he could now admit had been lodged in his brain for twelve agonising weeks—the rich chocolate-brown eyes, the full lips, the high cheekbones and the honey-toned skin that he knew tasted as sweet as it looked.

He remembered every detail from that night—not just her address. The chilly spring air as they had strolled through Regent’s Park after leaving Mel and Jack’s. The feel of her warm, lush young body pressed against his side. The fresh scent of the petal blossom that had blown over them in the breeze. Her captivating laughter when she’d tried to catch it as she danced down the path in front of him, her arms outstretched. The rich taste of the late-night cappuccino they’d shared on Camden High Street, and the flirtatious way she’d licked the milky foam off her lips.

And even more devastating than those memories were the ones that had come after.

Her arms clinging around his neck as he carried her into her tiny flat. The taste of her mouth on his—strong coffee and sultry innocence—as he bared her breasts in the cramped hallway. Those shocked sobs she’d given as he’d stroked her to her first climax, and then the feel of her, tight as a velvet fist around him, as he rocked them both to a brutal, devastating finish.

Yes, he remembered a lot more than just her address.

She stared out the window again. ‘I need to go back to the office, actually. I’d appreciate it if you’d drop me there.’

‘I’m taking you to Havensmere.’ He might have to rethink a few things, but his main plan was still solid. ‘We’re only stopping at your place to pick up your stuff.’

Her head whipped round, her eyes darkening to a vivid black. He braced himself, more than ready for the onslaught.

Louisa’s insides were still pretty much mush, but the indignation sprinting up her backbone gave her energy levels a considerable boost. ‘You know what, Devereaux? I don’t have to do what you tell me. So you’d better get over that little delusion right now.’

She watched him brake at the lights. His eyes flicked to her waist. ‘Under the circumstances, you should call me Luke,’ he said calmly.

‘I’ll call you what I like, Devereaux.’ It was petty and rude, and she knew it, but she didn’t want to call him Luke. She’d called him Luke that night.

He didn’t rise to the challenge, didn’t even bother to reply, but left her fuming until he whipped the car onto her street and parked a few doors down from her flat.

‘You’re tired and you’re over-emotional,’ he said, in the same measured tone that so infuriated her. ‘You’ve had a shock. I understand that.’

He certainly had a lot to learn about her, she thought, if he figured accusing her of being virtually hysterical was going to calm her down. She crossed her arms and fumed in stony silence.

‘I don’t want to fight with you about this,’ he continued. ‘But we’ve got a lot to discuss, and Havensmere is where we’re going to do it.’

She straightened, uncrossing her arms and bracing them on the seat, ready for battle. ‘Don’t you get it? I don’t want to go anywhere with you.’

He pushed the thick hair off his brow, pulled the key out of the ignition and gave a heavy sigh. ‘I know.’

For the first time she noticed the lines of fatigue around his eyes. When he looked at her she noticed something else—something that surprised her. Was that concern? Had he been as deeply affected by today’s events as she had? she wondered.

‘Whether we like it or not,’ he continued, his tone rigid, ‘we’ve made a child together, and we’re going to have to deal with the consequences. You need to lose the hostility. It’s counterproductive.’

Good grief, he’d done it again. Just when she was starting to feel ever so slightly sympathetic towards him, he’d made her mad. It was as if he had an innate skill for winding her up. But she held on to the caustic retort that wanted to spit out.

Something he’d said had sent a tremor of fear skidding down her spine. What did he mean by ‘dealing with the consequences’? He was rich, influential, and he’d already taken the initiative with her medical treatment. She’d been in a trance back at the doctor’s office, but she had heard him setting up another appointment with the receptionist.

Was he even now planning to pressure her into an abortion?

The thought that he might not want this baby should have made her angry, but instead it made her feel unbearably sad—and bone-sappingly weary. The brief spurt of temper that had sustained her fizzled out.

As much as she hated to admit it, he was right about a few things. She was tired and over-emotional—and frankly in shock. All of which meant she was in no fit state to argue with him now—a man who was obviously an expert at getting his own way. She needed to get a decent night’s sleep first—marshal her forces. Going to his stately home in Wiltshire would buy her some time in that regard.

But there was one thing she wanted to get clear before she gave in to any more of his demands.

‘Frankly, I find your patronising, pushy behaviour “counterproductive”. Maybe if you stopped treating me as if you owned me, I’d “lose the hostility”.’ Well, a bit of it, at any rate.

His eyebrow shot up, and she could see he wasn’t pleased with her assessment of his character. His jaw hardened as he controlled his response.

The muscle twitching in his cheek brought on a brutal flash of memory from that night. He’d looked exactly the same when he’d been buried inside her, filling her unbearably, desperately holding back his orgasm while her body burst into flames. The physical reaction that followed the blast of memory shocked Louisa into silence. Her thigh muscles loosened, her nipples hardened and she felt a long liquid pull low in her belly that could only mean one thing.

Arousal.

She clenched her thigh muscles, wrapped her arms round her waist. What was wrong with her? He’d used her, hurt her, and now he was about to try and force her to abort her baby and still her body yearned for him.

Ignore it.

‘What’s wrong?’ His deep, urgent voice reached her through the turmoil. ‘Are you sick?’

Louisa forced the panic down. ‘I’m fine,’ she murmured.

He brushed his fingertip down her cheek. ‘You look pale. Are you still suffering from morning sickness?’

She pulled away from the electric touch. ‘No.’ She certainly wasn’t feeling sick at the moment. Far from it.

She took in the frown on his face and noticed the clean, lemony scent of his soap. Of course. That was it. The sudden jolt of desire had to be the pregnancy hormones mucking about with her libido. Hadn’t she read somewhere that pregnant women responded instinctively to the scent of their child’s father? Something to do with pheromones? The panic edged back and she eased the death grip of her arms around her midriff. She wasn’t attracted to him. It was just some weird chemical reaction. But as she tried to relax in her seat her erogenous zones continued to rebel.

‘I have staff at the house,’ he said, watching her intently. ‘The place has close to sixty rooms and over a hundred acres of grounds. We’ll have the time, space and privacy we need to discuss this properly and make the necessary arrangements.’

‘I’m not in the mood to talk tonight,’ she blurted out, panic seizing her at the thought of what he might mean by ‘necessary arrangements’.

His lips lifted in a wry grin and she realised she’d just agreed to go. ‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘Neither am I. But I want to drive down tonight, and I’d like you to come with me.’ He hesitated. ‘Please.’

After her ridiculous reaction to him Louisa wasn’t so sure agreeing to spend the weekend with him was the smart choice, but the look in his eyes when he said please tipped the balance. She had the distinct impression it wasn’t a word he was all that familiar with. That he’d said it to her made her feel as if she’d won some monumental victory. Added to that, exhaustion was beginning to settle over her like a heavy blanket. She didn’t have the strength to argue with him. ‘Okay, I’ll come. But only for one night.’

He nodded, got out of the car. She bent to gather her bag. He’d walked around the car and whisked the passenger door open before she had a chance to do it herself. He took her elbow as she stepped out. She dismissed the flutter in her stomach at his gallantry. She’d been fooled into thinking his good manners meant something once before.

He fell into step beside her as she walked to the Georgian terraced house where she rented the top-floor flat.

‘You should wait by the car,’ she said. The last thing she wanted was for him to come into her flat. The memories of that night were far too fresh already. ‘You’ll get a parking ticket if you don’t have a permit.’

He didn’t even break stride. ‘I’ll risk it.’

She stopped at the door, fiddled with the strap of her bag. He was going to make her say it. ‘I’d like to get my stuff alone, if you don’t mind. I’d prefer you didn’t come up to the flat.’

He studied her for several agonising seconds. ‘All right, I’ll wait here,’ he said, then tucked his forefinger under her chin. He stroked his thumb along her jaw. ‘But don’t be too long.’

She twisted her head away, disturbed by the sizzle of sensation the slight touch had caused. ‘I’ll take as long as I like, Devereaux.’

As a parting shot it wasn’t great, but it would have to do.

She stomped into the house and tried to concentrate on her irritation as she tramped wearily up the two flights of stairs to her flat. But as she threw some clothes and toiletries into an overnight bag she found she couldn’t block out the residual hum of arousal making her ache.

Louisa locked the front door to the house and picked up her overnight bag with a tired sigh. She spied Devereaux leaning on his flashy car, his butt perched on the glossy black paintwork and his face in profile as he spoke quietly into his mobile phone. From this distance she couldn’t hear what he was saying, but with his legs crossed at the ankles, his shirtsleeves rolled up and his sunglasses on he looked relaxed and confident. The thought made Louisa’s temper kick in at last. Here she was, facing the biggest, scariest, most awe-inspiring challenge of her life, and the man responsible was conducting business as usual. Her world had changed beyond all recognition in the space of an afternoon and he looked as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The fact that he looked so dashing, the insouciant pose accentuating his tall, lean build and the August sunshine highlighting that dramatic face and the perfectly cut waves of dark hair, only pushed Louisa’s temper further over the edge. How could he look so composed when she felt as if she’d been through an emotional wringer in the last hour?

Bolstering her exhaustion with resentment, Louisa marched to the car, her boot heels clacking on the pavement like a warning volley.

‘We’ll probably get there around eight,’ Luke said to his housekeeper. ‘Prepare the adjoining suite. I’ll see you in a couple of hours, Mrs Roberts.’ He ended the call and turned to watch Louisa’s approach, alerted by the harsh click of her heels in the summer stillness. With her head held high, her eyes boring holes into him and her hips swaying enticingly in the skimpy dress, she looked like an enraged Amazon.

He considered it a big improvement on fragile and exhausted.

He pushed away from the car, ready and willing to handle whatever she might want to throw at him.

‘All set?’ he said, in a deliberately neutral voice.

Her eyes flashed hot. ‘Here.’ She thrust a small leather holdall at him, then marched round to the passenger side. ‘Let’s get this over with, then,’ she said, jerking open the door and getting in.

He dumped her bag in the back and got in too. ‘I thought we agreed to ditch the hostility?’ he said mildly, turning on the ignition and pulling the car out onto the street.

‘Oh, did we? I must have missed that command. Sorry.’

Temper suited her, he thought. It gave her cheeks a becoming glow, made the caramel colour of her eyes even more striking, and had her glorious bosom heaving in a way that was—well, distracting.

He couldn’t help it. He chuckled.

‘Do you think this is funny?’ she demanded, as outraged as she was incredulous.

Luke stifled a laugh. She was right, it was hardly appropriate in the circumstances, but still he couldn’t resist saying, ‘You look great when you’re angry. I thought so that first night and I think so now.’

‘If that’s your cock-eyed idea of a compliment, I pity any woman unfortunate enough to get involved with you.’

‘Like you, you mean?’ he asked lightly, letting the insult pass.

‘One quickie does not an involvement make,’ she snapped.

‘As I recall it wasn’t quick.’

She didn’t say a word as he stopped at the set of traffic lights leading onto the Westway. He pressed the button on the dash to raise the convertible’s roof.

‘I don’t want to talk about that night,’ she said at last. The temper seemed to have drained out of her. Luke had to strain to hear her over the hydraulic hum. ‘I’ve been trying to forget it for the last three months,’ she finished.

‘Sounds like you’ve had about as much luck with that as I have,’ he said gently. He could see confusion and panic in her gaze when she turned to look at him. It gave him the leverage he needed. ‘I guess there’ll be no forgetting it now. For either of us.’

She sighed. ‘I suppose not. But that doesn’t mean we have to repeat the same mistake twice.’

Until she’d said the words, issued the challenge, it hadn’t even occurred to Luke how much he wanted to repeat their so-called mistake.

Yes, he found her incredibly attractive. Yes, she tantalised him as much as she infuriated him. And, yes, he hadn’t been able to forget her. But after the way their night together had ended he’d decided not to pursue her. He wasn’t a masochist.

But as she sat in his car, watching him—her chin stuck out, her eyes wary, her bottom lip trembling just enough to give her away—he knew he’d been fooling himself. It wasn’t just Jack’s offhand comments during their weekly game of squash that had got him clearing his calendar for the week, calling Harley Street and then storming into her office this afternoon. And it wasn’t the flickering image of their baby in the doctor’s surgery either.

He still wanted her. In fact he’d never stopped wanting her, and it was about time he admitted it.

When he’d seen the baby on the ultrasound screen there had been shock, sure, but right along with it had been a wave of masculine satisfaction that he couldn’t explain.

This baby was going to complicate his life. No question about it. He was no romantic fool, and he wasn’t a family man either. He didn’t even know what family meant. So why, on some elemental level, was he pleased about this pregnancy?

The answer was painfully obvious. His reaction to the baby—to his baby, he now realised—had been instinctive and purely male. With her carrying his child she was bound to him in a way she hadn’t been before. He’d stamped his claim on her in the most basic, primitive way possible.

From her combative behaviour this afternoon, though, he could see persuading her of this simple fact was going to take patience, single-mindedness and a degree of ruthlessness.

It was a good thing he had plenty of all three.

‘What happened that night wasn’t a mistake,’ he said, punching the accelerator as they drove up the ramp onto the elevated motorway out of town. ‘Not for me and certainly not for you. Or did you want to spend the rest of your life faking your orgasms?’

Louisa sucked in a shocked breath as his terse comment sliced right through her defences.

She’d told him that in confidence. How could he bring it up now?

The urge to punch him was so strong she began to shake.

She wanted to ignore his asinine remark and the memories it triggered. But as she swallowed down the hot ball of humiliation that surged up her throat the memories came flooding back anyway.

CHAPTER SIX

Three months earlier

‘HOW much further is it to your flat? It’s getting chilly,’ Luke declared, squeezing Louisa’s shoulders.

She snuggled into the embrace. He felt so solid, so good, so right beside her.

‘Stop moaning,’ she teased. ‘It’s a beautiful night.’ But then the fresh spring breeze ruffled her hair and made her shiver.

‘You’re cold,’ he said. ‘Here.’

He pulled off his jacket and draped it over her, then gave her arms a vigorous rub. Well, that had certainly warmed her right up.

‘Come on,’ he said, slinging his arm back over her shoulders. ‘Let’s grab a cab and I’ll take you home.’

She could smell the hint of his soap, feel the warmth of his skin on the well-worn leather jacket. She stared at his profile as he scanned Camden High Street, looking for a cab, and knew that she didn’t want this evening to end. Not ever.

They climbed into the cab. She bent forward to give the driver directions. As she finished talking, warm hands clamped around her waist. ‘Come here.’

‘Oh!’ She gasped as she landed on his lap.

He wrapped his arms around her, anchoring her in place. ‘How do you feel about necking in the back seat of a cab?’ he whispered, nuzzling her ear.

Her bangles jingled as she threaded her fingers through the hair at his nape. ‘I’m all for it.’ His thigh muscles tensed beneath her bottom. ‘But unfortunately it’ll only take about two minutes to get there.’

‘That’s a shame,’ he whispered, but she could sense the smile on his lips as they touched hers.

Her mouth opened instinctively. He tasted of coffee and barely leashed passion as his tongue probed. Delicious little shock waves pulsed through her body, and her fingers trembled on his neck as the kiss deepened.

Framing her face, he broke away first. ‘We’d better stop,’ he murmured, his voice strained. ‘Two minutes isn’t going to be nearly long enough.’

Even in the dim light of the cab she could see his eyes had gone dark with arousal, the pupils so dilated the silvery-grey of his irises had all but disappeared.

A reckless thrill shimmered through her body, the solid ridge pressing against her bottom making her insides go all tingly. ‘Why don’t you come in for a coffee?’ she said.

The bold offer shocked her a little. She adored flirting—the long looks and secret touches, the sensual hum of anticipation—but over the years she’d become very discerning about taking it any further. For the simple reason that sex had always been such a huge disappointment.

At twenty-six she’d never had anything even approaching an orgasm. She’d stopped kissing frogs a few years back, because, frankly, faking her enjoyment had got old really fast. But despite that, in some small corner of her heart, she’d always known that she’d get her bells and whistles when she found her Mr Right.

Tonight, when she’d been introduced to Luke in Mel’s living room, his thick wavy hair falling over dark brows and the penetrating look in his smoky eyes making her pulse skitter, her heart had whispered, Could this be him?

They’d hit it off instantly, and become so absorbed in each other they’d virtually ignored the other dinner guests. Then he’d offered to walk her home. As they’d strolled through Regent’s Park together—the sky dusky with twilight, pink blossoms scenting the air and the comforting weight of his arm around her keeping her warm—everything had been so perfectly romantic, the connection between them so clear, she’d had no trouble at all convincing herself Prince Charming had finally put in an appearance. This potent zing of arousal was just the icing on the cake.

He frowned in the shadows, his hands slipping down to her shoulders. ‘Are you sure you want to ask me in?’

‘You don’t want to?’ Her heart stuttered. Wasn’t this where they had been headed all evening?

He gave a half-laugh, the sound pained. ‘Of course I do. But I should tell you…’ He paused. His thumb drew a lazy circle on her bare collarbone under the lapel of his jacket, making her skin burn. ‘Once we’re in your flat I won’t be all that interested in coffee.’

‘Phew, that’s a relief,’ she said, her heart pummelling. ‘Because I’m not even sure I’ve got any.’

He laughed softly. ‘I’m glad we got that settled,’ he said, nipping her earlobe as the taxi shuddered to a halt outside her house. Any reservations she had left dissolved in a liquid pool of lust.

He paid the driver as she stepped out of the cab, then led her up the front steps of the Georgian terraced house she indicated, his hand swinging in hers.

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