Her Pregnancy Surprise: His Pregnancy Bargain / The Pregnancy Secret / Their Pregnancy Bombshell

‘Yeah…yeah, you’re here now. Just bring it up.’ There was a buzz and the glass door swung open.

Megan shrugged and walked inside.

The lift rose smoothly and quickly, giving her no opportunity to change her mind. She knocked on the ajar door to the penthouse and heard the same impatient voice.

‘Just bring it in—the money’s on the table. If there are no extra anchovies don’t take the tip.’

Oh, God, he’s expecting a pizza and he’s got a woman who wants him to pretend to be desperately in love with her!

Megan cleared her throat and looked curiously around the vast open-plan living space. With its steel support columns and lofty vaulted ceiling, it wasn’t what she considered homey. She couldn’t imagine coming here after a tough day, kicking off her shoes, pouring a glass of wine and switching on the telly. No, this was strictly bachelor territory and a rich bachelor at that, she thought, but then by all accounts the owner was worth a small fortune.

It was hard to gauge his taste as what furniture there was was covered in dust-sheets. Her nose wrinkled; the place was permeated with the smell of paint and turps.

She cleared her throat and projected her voice to reach the invisible and grouchy presence. ‘Mr Patrick, I’m afraid…’ As the word left her mouth a lean, broad-shouldered figure materialised in a doorway.

Megan was pretty hopeless when it came to ages but she put this hunk somewhere in his early thirties. He was also tall, well over six feet, and dressed in tatty paint-stained jeans and a tee shirt that was clean but looked as though it had shrunk in the wash. The shrinkage meant it was impossible not to notice how well-developed his lean torso was. The tee shirt also revealed an inch or so of lean, flat belly and gave a glimpse of the thin line of dark hair that disappeared suggestively beneath the loose waistband of his jeans.

His dark flyaway brows drew together above a strong aquiline nose as he frowned suspiciously across at her.

‘Who the hell are you?’ he demanded as he dragged a hand through his collar-length sable hair that gleamed with health and was liberally speckled with blue paint. The jagged ends that rested on the nape of his brown neck suggested he hadn’t seen the inside of a hair salon for some time.

This was the sort of guy who had women falling out of upper-storey windows to get a better look at him.

His presence undetected at first Luc had had an opportunity to study his intruder. Dressed casually as she was in jeans, there was nothing to distinguish this young woman from any number of others you saw in the street, except perhaps that this one appeared to carry herself with a certain air of quiet assurance.

She was tall and slim with hair like warm honey and candid china-blue eyes, which widened as they met his. The colour was so dramatically intense it could almost constitute an assault on the senses, he decided. The eyes had the sort of impact that made you not notice at first that her nose was undistinguished and her jaw slightly too determined. As far as he could tell she wasn’t wearing any make-up, something she could get away with because her skin was smooth, the colour of milk and flawless.

Despite the fact she wasn’t his type Luc felt his interest sharpen.

Megan’s generous mouth tightened. Being a fairly direct person herself, she could appreciate the characteristic in others, but his question hadn’t been brusque, more downright rude!

Clearly she had not made a favourable first impression on the decorator…she’d have to do a lot better with his employer if this wasn’t going to be a total waste of time and energy.

‘I’m Dr Semple.’ Somehow what was meant to be a simple statement of fact emerged sounding pompous, but men this good-looking always made her feel slightly defensive…not that she had ever seen a man this good-looking.

His dark brows soared and the corners of his wide mouth twisted…something definitely cruel about that mouth, Megan decided, raising her glance hurriedly to eye level as something deep in her stomach twisted.

She sounded as cool and sure of herself as she looked. Luc liked her voice and found himself wondering what she would look like flustered. That hair spread out around her flushed…Don’t go there, Luc.

He spread his expressive hands wide, inviting her inspection. ‘Do I look like I have need of a doctor?’ she heard him demand with vitality leaking out of every gorgeous pore.

He looked, from the top of his dark head to his…Her eyes dropped and her tummy did a crazy little back flip as she registered that his feet were the same even, toasty brown as the rest of him—at least the bits she could see. Not that she had any desire to see any more—what she was seeing was quite enough!

No doubt he’d be standing there oozing the same level of self-assurance if he had been bare all over.

Megan lowered her eyes quickly as the image that accompanied this maverick thought brought a lick of heat to her pale cheeks.

‘I’m not that sort of doctor,’ she mumbled. With thoughts like hers it was just as well—she’d have been struck off!

When she looked up a moment later he was still surveying her in unfriendly silence. The moment and the silence lasted too long for her comfort. His expression remained vaguely hostile as he brushed a hand carelessly along his chiselled jaw—God, but this man had perfect bones!—leaving a faint smudge of paint against his olive skin.

For no logical reason she could figure, she found herself wondering what he would do if she licked her finger and wiped the offending mark away from his smooth, blemish-free skin. She took a deep breath, horrified by the direction of her wilful imagination.

It was time to take control here.

CHAPTER TWO

LUC had obviously reached the same conclusion and he got in before Megan.

‘I don’t know how you got in here, Doctor, but I’d like you to go back the way you came.’

Or else—unspoken but definite, the warning hung in the air.

It wasn’t his threatening posture that bothered Megan, it was the illicit and inexplicable little shiver that traced a path up her spine. Good looks, even ones as spectacular as his, she could take in her stride. At a subconscious level she recognised it was the earthy, sensual quality that he possessed in abundance that had her standing there like some inarticulate teenager.

She blinked, determined to rectify any false impression she had given that she was a brainless bimbo. Actually she had forgotten to breathe, which might account for the dizzy sensation; she took a deep, gulping gasp and immediately felt a little better.

‘Well, unless your short-term memory is shot to hell you ought to know…you asked me in,’ she reminded him.

A flicker of something that might have been surprise flickered behind his sensational eyes for a split second before shoulders that any athlete would have envied lifted fractionally. ‘And now I’m asking you to leave.’

This was no invitation—it was an order.

Megan’s chin went up the same way it had been doing, if her mother was to be believed, for twenty-nine years whenever she had been told what to do. ‘I came to see Mr Patrick.’

The grey eyes narrowed but stayed like lasers on her focused face. The dark rings surrounding his irises highlighted the pale metallic colour of his eyes.

Did he ever blink…?

He gave another graceful shrug. ‘Well, as you can see, I’m the only one here.’ He placed the towel he had been holding on a dust-cloth covered table and picked up a bottle of mineral water. He unscrewed the top and raised it to his lips.

So she’d been dismissed…? Did he actually think she was going to leave just because he told her to…? The angry glow in her eyes became distracted as she watched the contraction of muscles in his brown neck as he swallowed, there was a faint sheen of moisture on his skin. She looked away.

‘Is Mr Patrick likely to be home soon?’

‘Are you a friend of his or just a groupie?’

Her outraged attention swung back to his mocking, handsome face. His insulting cynicism brought an angry flush to her face, or did that rise in temperature have something to do with the beads of moisture he brushed off his sensual lips…?

‘I hardly think that’s any of your business,’ she retorted haughtily. ‘Perhaps you’d like to carry on with whatever Mr Patrick is paying you to do, other than eat pizzas.’

He looked amused. ‘Even a humble painter is allowed a lunch break, Doctor. Would you like me to give the boss a message?’ he offered, casually looping the towel around his neck. The action revealed another inch of smooth, hard flesh.

Megan swallowed and lowered her gaze. ‘It’s personal.’

‘You wish.’

Pale grey eyes clashed with turbulent blue.