The Pregnancy Discovery

by Barbara Hannay

  ‘Good timing,’ she said lightly. ‘I’ve just finished an extra coat of mascara—for the benefit of the photographers, of course.’

  Her evening bag and a gauzy wrap lay ready on the dining table and she turned to gather them up. And heard his low whistle.

  ‘That’s some dress you’re wearing.’ His voice was rough as if he’d swallowed beach pebbles.

  Half turning back in his direction, she found him looking at her with a puzzled smile. His eyes were paying fascinated attention to her exposed back. And she read admiration and interest in his gaze. This was going to be worse than she expected!

  ‘You’re planning to dance with me this evening wearing this?’ He gestured to the criss-crossing of silvery ribbon that held her dress together. ‘And—and you expect me to avoid all those no-go areas on that list of yours?’

  ‘This is all I have that’s suitable,’ she muttered. ‘You’ll manage, Sam.’

  They stood looking at each other, while the room seemed to vibrate with a thousand things they’d left unsaid.

  Sam let out his breath. ‘Of course I’ll manage. As I’ve already warned you, I’ve never been known to knock back a challenge.’ He offered his elbow so that she could link her arm through his. ‘Allow me to escort you, Ms Bennet.’

  Scooping up her bag and wrap, she stepped towards him and rested a cautious hand on the inside of his elbow. Her fingers met the luxurious silk and wool blend of his coat. He murmured close to her ear, ‘You look much more beautiful than any soap star.’

  Just in time, she remembered not to smile. ‘No smooth talk, Prince Charming,’ she warned.

  ‘Spoilsport,’ he muttered back, and they left her place and made their way through the tropical gardens to the restaurant.

  A florid-faced Fred, dressed in an uncomfortably tight dinner suit and an outlandish rainbow-coloured bow tie, looked halfway between a clown and an Italian tenor as he rushed towards them. ‘Our VIPs!’ he gushed. He planted a noisy wet kiss on Meg’s cheek and embraced Sam as if he were a long-lost brother. ‘You two look great.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Have you got your act together? No bickering?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ replied Sam. He draped a possessive arm across Meg’s bare shoulders. ‘We’re totally smitten. Can’t keep our hands off each other.’

  Meg shot a scowl in his direction, but he wasn’t looking. He was too busy smiling at her boss, while his thumb trailed devastating, lazy circles around the nub of her shoulder.

  ‘Fantastic!’ Fred beamed. He gestured to the gaily decorated dining room. From every table balloons floated above old bottles encrusted with glued-on sand. Fred was proud of his stroke of decorative genius. The assembled guests, mainly business associates of Fred’s as well as the media, were all staring at Sam and Meg with undisguised curiosity.

  Fred winked at Sam. ‘Everyone’s dying to meet you.’

  As they progressed across the room, cameras flashed and Sam kept his arm firmly around Meg’s shoulders. Through her teeth, she muttered, ‘You’re getting a bit carried away!’

  ‘Don’t panic,’ he murmured, dropping his head so that his mouth was low against her ear. Her heart seemed to tremble in her chest when he whispered softly, as a lover might, ‘Just remember it’s only a game. And it will all be over in an hour or two.’

  In an hour or two? Meg feared by then all that would be left of her would be a melted puddle. She reminded herself that Sam had a string of girlfriends at home on the other side of the world and that was exactly why she had to resist his charm. That was what she had to concentrate on.

  ‘Don’t pull away from me,’ he ordered under his breath, as they reached a circle of guests. He dropped an unexpected kiss on her cheek. ‘That’s better. Just relax and enjoy.’

  Relax and enjoy? No way. She had been relaxed when she’d first met Sam Kirby. Red Riding Hood had been relaxed when she’d met the wolf. She and Red Riding Hood had both been very foolish young women. Tonight she planned to keep her alarm systems on high alert.

  But it was intensely annoying that Sam could play his part so easily.

  While dizzying, wild sensations danced along her skin, he remained cool and detached. He charmed Fred’s guests by answering their questions and showing polite interest in their businesses and, at the same time, he kept her at constant fever pitch with casual touches and killer smiles.

  When a photographer approached from behind, Sam had the audacity to run a daring finger down Meg’s exposed spine. And when she reacted sharply, he smiled and whispered, ‘Stay cool. This is just to keep Fred happy.’

  Several cameras flashed.

  A woman asked, ‘When you return to the States, will you take Meg with you?’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Meg responded quickly.

  Sam’s hand squeezed her shoulder as he hauled her companionably against him. ‘Meg and I have an understanding.’

  With some difficulty, Meg muffled a gasp of dismay. Up close against him, his tantalising aftershave was distressingly arousing and she had the greatest difficulty speaking two sensible words in a row. She offered the woman a shaky smile.

  ‘We’re going to hate to be apart,’ Sam added. His blue eyes twinkled as he smiled at Meg. ‘Aren’t we, sweetheart?’

  ‘I’ll—I’ll be counting the days till he comes back,’ she managed to reply.

  To her relief, a meal was served and there was a chance to remove herself from Sam and sit down. Not that she was hungry. With him still at her side, her stomach was so tied in knots, she doubted her food would stay down.

  ‘Having fun?’ he asked and Meg noticed he wasn’t having any difficulty wolfing down seafood and salad.

  She crumbled a bread roll with nervous fingers. ‘Not much.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘I think you’re overdoing it.’

  His eyes widened, pleading innocence, while his smile looked as guilty as sin. ‘Overdoing what exactly?’

  ‘As if you didn’t know.’

  ‘But I’ve stuck to your rules.’

  ‘You have not,’ she answered sharply. ‘You’re making up your own rules.’

  He leaned closer and his thumb caressed her lower lip. ‘You look gorgeous, Meg, but you’re pouting when you should be smiling. Don’t forget, as far as everyone here is concerned, we’re at the beginning of a thrilling new romance. You’re mad about me, baby.’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, I’m mad at you, not about you.’

  ‘It’s showing.’ He touched her frowning forehead. ‘The problem is,’ he said, in a roughened whisper, ‘I want to touch you and hold you and kiss you. It’s not an effort for me at all.’

  Meg dropped her gaze to her plate. Angrily she stabbed her fork into a pile of shredded lettuce. There could only be one reason why Sam found this ordeal so effortless.

  He wasn’t affected the way she was. She was burning up with every glance and touch, while he remained completely in control. This whole evening was just an amusing game for him. He was a love-’em-and-leave-’em millionaire, who was used to getting anything he wanted.

  ‘If you’ve had enough to eat, I’d love to dance with you, Meg.’

  She sighed. The band was playing a popular number and couples were leaving the tables for the dance floor. ‘Do we have to?’

  His gaze took in her dress. ‘That’s a dress designed for dancing.’ Standing, he held out his hand. ‘I promise this will be painless.’

  I very much doubt that, Sam. Slowly, she rose to her feet.

  His warm hand rested on her bare lower back as he steered her towards the dance floor. In a daze, she allowed him to take her hand in his, while she placed the other on his shoulder. She felt the hush of his breath against her hair. Slowly, without touching, their bodies swayed to the music. Then Sam began to move, leading her confidently. She sensed the strength and athletic grace of his body as he moved.

  ‘Now, this isn’t too difficult, is it?’ he teased.

  ‘No,’ she whispered, feeling a surge of
anger that gave her a new lease of strength.

  It suddenly occurred to her that this man was far too self-assured and smug for his own good. And if he could dredge up this kind of will-power then, by Jove, so could she. It was time to listen to her head instead of her hormones.

  It was payback time. Time to discover if Sam could handle the kind of treatment he’d been dishing out. Meg snuggled in a little closer.

  Immediately she sensed his surprise.

  ‘I’m going to play this your way,’ she whispered huskily. ‘After all, we only have this one night together, don’t we?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ He grunted his reply.

  Resting her head against his shoulder, she did her best to ignore how good it felt to nestle against his strength. ‘Is this what you want?’ she asked.

  Sam cleared his throat. ‘Sure.’

  ‘I admit I was being childish about all those rules,’ she murmured. When he didn’t reply, she slipped her hand out of his and wound both arms around his neck. By holding her breath, she was just able to keep the most sizzling zones of her body a hair’s breadth from his. ‘I must admit you have marvellous self-control.’

  ‘Meg,’ Sam asked, ‘have you been drinking?’

  ‘I’ve had half a glass of wine. Why?’

  ‘You’re acting—different.’

  ‘Am I?’ She raised innocent eyes to his.

  She realised it was a mistake as soon as she saw the heat flaring in Sam’s blue gaze.

  ‘You know you’re playing with fire.’ He growled the words and his hands cradled her hips and he hauled her closer. ‘This is how much control I have.’

  In a microsecond, her sensitive breasts were moulded against his hard chest…his thigh slid audaciously between hers…and dramatic evidence of his lack of control thrust against her.

  Shocked, Meg quivered. Hot shafts of equally out of control feelings raced through her. Before she could protest or gather her wits, Sam held her even closer and his lips lowered over hers.

  ‘Sam.’ She spluttered his name.

  ‘Keep your lips shut,’ he murmured against her mouth, ‘or you’re in deep, deep trouble.’

  But Meg knew she was already in all kinds of trouble. Leg-trembling, brain-melting trouble. The restaurant’s lights had been lowered and, to the background crooning of a sultry saxophone, Sam held her close and danced slowly—very, very slowly.

  Hardly conscious of her own movement, her senses were completely focused on the shocking yet wonderful way his body surged against hers and the way his mouth moved over her with admirable attention to detail.

  And she was matching each wicked move of his with one of her own.

  Vaguely, she realised that her plan to unsettle Sam was backfiring, but she was rapidly reaching a stage beyond caring. Her body was becoming fused with his in a slow meltdown that made common sense and the rest of the world fade away.

  She didn’t notice the music had stopped until a rude tap-tap-tapping on the microphone startled her out of her trance.

  ‘Can I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen?’

  As they looked up, Fred smirked in their direction.

  Meg stepped away from Sam. Feeling suddenly cold and foolish, she stood stiffly self-conscious among the dancers still on the floor.

  In the spotlight, Fred took a gulp from a wineglass and looked self-important. ‘You all know why we’re gathered here this evening. I’ve always been a sentimental sort of a bloke, and I wanted my friends to join me to celebrate this special occasion. Around sixty years ago, an American called Tom Kirby was facing the possibility of death in the middle of the Coral Sea and he sent a message—a love letter—to his wife. Two weeks ago, our very own Meg Bennet found that message.’

  He paused for a polite burst of applause.

  ‘And Tom’s grandson, Sam, has come here to claim this letter. It contains some very important information for his family. Now…’ Fred beamed, picking up the bottle and the letter from the table beside him ‘…if Sam could just come up here…’ He looked around. ‘Are the photographers ready?’

  Meg watched as Sam, with shoulders squared and dark head arrogantly high, made his way to the microphone. She stood, three fingers pressed against the lips he’d so recently been kissing, as he shook Fred’s hand, received the bottle and letter, and turned to the microphone. Fred adjusted it slightly to accommodate Sam’s extra height.

  When she’d first met him, she’d thought he looked like a film star. Tonight, he looked like a conquering hero as he waved the bottle triumphantly above his head and everyone cheered and clapped. ‘This is a very special moment,’ he began by saying. ‘Wars do terrible things to families and this war robbed my father of the chance to know his dad, Tom Kirby.’

  He paused and seemed to take a deep breath as he held the bottle out in front of him. ‘Soon, I’ll be able to place this bottle in my father’s hands. Dad will be able to read for himself the letter Tom wrote to my grandmother.’

  Meg’s heart swelled with emotion and tears filled her eyes. It was happening again. Every time she thought about the bottle and the time it had spent at sea, she became totally caught up in the magic mystery of it.

  ‘Of course none of this could have happened without one incredibly important person,’ Sam continued. ‘The woman who found the bottle—Meg Bennet.’

  The spotlight from the stage suddenly caught her in its glare. Sam was standing with his arm outstretched towards her. Everyone was looking at her. People were clapping. Sam was smiling his sexiest, most heart-wrenching smile. Prince Charming.

  She couldn’t smile back, she was too busy holding back tears.

  He looked down at the letter in his hand. The room was quiet, waiting for him to wrap up his speech.

  The spotlight drew back and Meg had never been so grateful for shadows. Her heart was beating so loudly, its drumming filled her ears. Sam was saying something else, but she couldn’t hear him. She was thinking of how she’d felt just now as she’d danced with him.

  Tonight, it seemed so fitting that the bottle had brought this beautiful man from across the sea. To her. She had a very strong feeling that she was as helpless as a rock plunging off a precipice. Despite her best efforts to resist, she was falling in love.

  Sam finished speaking. There was loud applause. He smiled some more, but, glad to get out of the limelight, he excused himself as soon as possible and made his way through the crowd towards Meg.

  He grinned and shook the letter at her. ‘Got it at last.’ Then he looked at her more closely and frowned. ‘You look upset. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She replied so faintly he probably couldn’t hear her. After all the fuss she’d made this morning about rules, how could she tell him she’d changed her mind? She suddenly wanted him to go on kissing and holding her for the rest of the century.

  He gave an embarrassed little shrug. ‘I got a bit carried away before on the dance floor.’

  Her gaze dropped to her hands, but she couldn’t stop her lips from twitching into a smile. ‘You were very badly behaved.’

  ‘You want to get out of here?’

  ‘Yes,’ she muttered quickly. ‘I’ll just get my things.’

  Together they made the necessary farewells and then walked back to Meg’s bungalow along lamp-lit paths that wound through tropical shrubbery.

  When they reached her door, she opened it and stepped inside. Sam followed quickly as if he expected her to try to lock him out.

  She didn’t have a clue what would happen now. And she wasn’t sure what she wanted to happen. Her mind was at war with her heart and her wayward body. In her head, she knew she should be politely showing Sam straight back out the front door. But her body was urging him to stay close. Really close.

  And her heart kept whispering to her about destiny.

  ‘Do you want to read the letter?’ she asked him.

  ‘Yeah. I’ll take a quick look at it.’

  Meg kept her distance, allowing Sam to read in
complete privacy.

  She knew half of it off by heart anyhow. The part she loved was where Tom had written, ’Sweetheart, I want you to know that meeting you, knowing you, loving you is the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. You’ve given my life shape and splendour.’

  ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ she asked when Sam looked up.

  He nodded his head slowly, his eyes returning to the piece of fragile paper.

  ‘Do you want to ring your lawyers or your family?’

  ‘Later.’ He placed it and the bottle carefully on her dining table and stood stiffly in the middle of her small living room, looking distractingly handsome in his dark evening suit. ‘Right now I want to figure out what’s going on in your head.’

  ‘About the letter?’ she asked, confused.

  ‘No. About us. About rules and conditions.’

  ‘I’m giving myself a strict lecture,’ she said quickly.

  ‘So you should,’ he replied with mock severity. ‘All those rules you’ve broken.’ His face broke into a cheeky, boyish smile. ‘But you know what they say about rules.’

  Warning bells pealed in her head. But, she couldn’t listen. Not any more. She couldn’t bear it if Sam walked away now. She had to ignore them. ‘I’ve heard that they are made to be broken.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he whispered. ‘And that’s what we’re going to do now, Meg.’ His smoky gaze roamed over her. ‘We’re going to break all your rules. One by one. Come here.’

  Unable to resist, she walked towards him, her eyes fixed on his, until she was within arm’s reach. Then she stopped.

  ‘I think the first rule was about holding hands,’ he murmured.

  ‘We were allowed to hold hands.’

  He held up his hands in front of him and, as her heart thumped, Meg placed her own against his, palm to palm. For heated seconds they stood, facing each other and her legs trembled. Slowly Sam slid his long fingers between each of hers till they were clasped, then he pulled her close till their lips touched and, against her mouth, he whispered, ‘Next we need to break your kissing rule.’