His Pregnancy Bargain (4 page)

‘Perhaps if you could write it down for me?'

‘Very funny.' She sniffed. ‘Come on, I suppose I'd better show you to your room. We'll take the back stairs.'

‘Anyone would think you were ashamed of me,' he reproached.

Megan dished up a repressive glare but wasn't surprised
when he didn't look unduly subdued. ‘There are six other people staying other than you. There's…'

When they reached the room her mother had allocated to him, she decided not to mention it was next to her own and that all the other guests were in a different wing entirely—she asked him to repeat the names of his fellow guests.

He ran his fingers across some carving in an ancient beam above the low doorway. ‘Is this a test?'

‘Were you actually listening to me?' she asked suspiciously.

‘I was listening; your voice is like honey.'

Megan, her hand on the door handle, stilled. She was certain she had misheard what he had said.
‘Pardon…?'

‘You have a beautiful voice. It flows…' His hands moved in an expressive fluid gesture before he sighed. ‘I could listen to it all day…' Her voice was part of the reason he was here. Her voice—his eyes dropped—her legs and, yes, her mouth.

‘Will you stop that? It isn't funny,' she croaked crossly.

His glance moved upwards to the full soft pink contours of her lips. Yes, they had all been factors—they and the fact he thought that the sexy and stuck-up Dr Semple needed to be taught a lesson. You really shouldn't judge by appearances.

‘Of course what you actually say isn't always riveting,' he conceded in an attitude of regret as he ducked to enter the bedroom. He looked around with interest.

‘Not bad!' He walked over to the canopied half tester and patted the mattress. ‘Firm, but I like that.'

Megan responded to the fact he was looking at her body and not the bed when he said this with an irritated air. Actually she would have welcomed some irritation at that moment, if he said the things his seductive eyes managed to convey he could probably be arrested.

He fell back onto the bed and, crossing one leg over the
other, tucked his hands behind his head so that he could look at her. ‘Where's your room?'

‘Next door,' she admitted reluctantly.

‘Handy.'

Her eyes narrowed. ‘The moment you begin to believe that, you're out of here.'

To her intense annoyance he seemed to find her threat wildly amusing. Maybe, she thought darkly, it was the idea of any woman saying no to him that struck him as funny…?

‘My mother is a firm believer in propinquity. I am not,' she told him drily. ‘Perhaps we should lay down a few ground rules.'

‘I should tell you I'm not big on rules,' he confided, stifling a yawn.

‘Now there's a surprise.'

‘In fact,' he admitted. ‘I see a rule and I feel this almost overwhelming desire to bend it a little,' he returned, stretching with languid grace.

Megan felt her stomach muscles clench and looked at him in frustration. Without trying he could drive her crazy. What was going to happen if he took it into his head to try? It didn't bear thinking about.

Her expression fixed she braced her hand on the back of a chair covered in faded tapestry. One day she might be able to work out why she had ever thought this was a good idea. Right now that day seemed awfully far off.

‘Why am I getting the idea you're not taking this seriously…?'

‘I get the idea you take everything much
too
seriously,' he retorted, looking at her curiously. ‘What do you do when you're not looking down a microscope?'

‘I avoid men like you.' Actually she had never met a man like him. Were there any other men like him…?

‘Have you seen the ghost?'

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘How do you know we have a ghost?' she wanted to know.

‘Don't all old places like this have a ghost…or several…?'

‘I suppose they do,' she admitted. ‘But I've never seen one.' And frankly a ghost would scare her less than this incredibly sexy man did. ‘Now, seriously, we should lay down some ground rules.'

His head went back, revealing his strong brown throat as he laughed. Oh, God, she thought, he really is just too attractive, in a dangerous what-the-hell-is-he-going-to-do-next sort of way.

‘Right, forget the rules, just keep it simple. If in doubt say nothing; better still, let me do all the talking.'

‘Won't that make me appear as if I don't have an opinion of my own?'

‘That's the way I like my men.'

‘Under your thumb.' He extended his aforementioned digit towards her.

He had nice hands, she noticed, but then he had nice everything. ‘I like the strong, silent type…' she crisply corrected. ‘If in doubt just look enigmatic,' she advised. Her frown deepened as she scanned his face. ‘Do you think you could do that?'

‘I could.'

‘But are you going to do?' Or was he going to make a total fool out of her?

‘Is this suitably enigmatic…?'

‘You're a natural,' she assured him drily. This was all going to go terribly wrong.

‘Relax,' he advised. ‘This is going to be fun.'

‘If you think this is fun you have a seriously warped mind. Now just try and remember,' she pleaded, ‘you're a famous author.'

‘I'm a famous author,' he repeated solemnly. ‘Do you believe me?'

‘I know you're not…I don't count.'

‘Believe me, by the end of tonight I'll be so good even you will believe I'm a famous author.'

‘Let's not get too ambitious.' She glanced at her watch. ‘I've got to get changed for dinner.' She extended one denim-covered leg to prove the point. ‘I'll come back for you in half an hour. Don't,' she added, wagging a warning finger at him, ‘move until I get here.'

Of course he did.

T
HE
French doors had been open all through dinner and the guests had drifted out onto the terrace to sip their drinks and chat. Despite the unpromising start the day had produced a perfect summer evening, warm and balmy, spoilt only by an unexpected shower, which was brief but heavy.

Luc and Megan were caught out in the open when the heavens opened. By the time they reached the shelter offered by the leafy canopy of the ancient oak tree it had stopped raining.

Luc, grinning, shook his head, sending droplets of water everywhere. ‘There's something exhilarating about a summer shower.'

Easy for him to say, she thought.

Casting a resentful glance from under her lashes at Luc's classically perfect profile, she pondered the unfairness that made him look incredible with his hair plastered damply to his skull. The moisture that clung to his naturally dark skin only served to emphasise the healthy glow.

She had gone for a vintage look tonight. With a sigh she looked down with distaste at her silk calf-length skirt; it clung damply to her legs. The chiffon overskirt with its beading detail might well be ruined—pity, it had been her favourite. She could feel the excess moisture from her wet hair running in a cold trickle down her neck, she didn't even want to think about what it looked like.

Luc, his back set against the gnarled tree trunk, watched as she ran her hands down her bare arms to remove the excess moisture that clung to her pale smooth skin. She had great arms; like the rest of her body they were toned and firm.

At least the cotton halter-top wouldn't be ruined by the rain, Megan thought, concentrating on the positive. Which was more than could be said for her hair…negative thoughts refused to be
totally
banished.

‘Have you ever danced?'

A line forming between her feathery brows, Megan lifted her head to look at the tall figure standing in the shadows. ‘
Dance?
What on earth are you talking about?' She glared up at him, bristling with suspicion.

Luc registered the antagonistic glitter in her eyes, but didn't comment on it. ‘You're very graceful.'

Megan felt her cheeks grow hot. ‘Don't be ridiculous.'

‘I was simply making an observation. You carry yourself like a dancer. I was wondering if you trained at some point…?'

‘Me, a dancer!' She looked at him as though he had gone mad. ‘I'm a research scientist.'

‘Does being a boffin preclude you having a sense of rhythm?'

She dealt him a look of exasperation. ‘I don't dance. I…well, I did have a few lessons when I was a kid,' she conceded. ‘Singing lessons too. They were meant to help my asthma.'

‘Did they?'

‘Well, it got a lot better.'

‘You're shivering,' he observed as a fresh shudder ran visibly through her slender frame. ‘I'd offer you a jacket except…' his grin made him appear almost impossibly attractive ‘…I'm not wearing one.'

Megan watched him place his hand flat against his chest. A shaft of agonising awareness shot through her—she was conscious of every crease and fold of the white cotton that clung like a second skin to the broad expanse of his chest. She was even more painfully conscious of the shadow of body hair sprinkled over his broad chest and the suggestion of muscular definition.

Drawing a deep breath as she struggled to regain her composure, Megan developed a deep interest in his shoes.

‘You can have my shirt if you like.'

Her stomach flipped over at the thought of wearing something that was still warm from his skin, something that still bore the scent of his body.

An awful thought occurred to her. Did he know that she had just been mentally removing it? Had she been
that
obvious?

‘I don't like.' It wasn't just cold that made her teeth chatter violently, it was images of Luc standing there stripped to the waist, his golden skin gleaming his… Stop this, Megan! This was not the time or place to explore her darker emotions!

‘Do you want to go back to the house?' she asked him abruptly.

‘What's wrong with you?' Luc enquired, scanning her rigid face.

After his performance tonight Megan couldn't believe he had the cheek to ask. Of course she had known when she had gone back to his room and found it empty that she had made a terrible mistake. When she had come downstairs and found him surrounded by a laughing, admiring crowd who were hanging on his every word all her worst fears had been realised.

‘Nothing's wrong with
me
.' She sniffed.

‘I thought tonight went very well.'

Megan released a laugh of bitter incredulity at this self-congratulatory comment. ‘I noticed you were enjoying yourself.'

It would have been hard to miss it!

And to think she had been concerned that he might find himself a little out of his depth during dinner. The gathering had been typical of her mother's weekends. A diplomat, a poet and his lawyer wife, an actress…least said about the voluptuous Hilary, the better! A retired headmaster, and
someone who had written a number one rock ballad, then entered politics.

Far from being out of his depth, her fake lover had been totally at ease. His ability to converse on a wide range of subjects with authority and ease had astounded her and impressed the hell out of everyone else.

Of course she had already known that he was intelligent. Two seconds in his company revealed that. Now she knew that, though he might have no formal education to speak of, he was widely read and amazingly erudite with a sharp wit and deadly charm. Her lips pursed; the recollection of his
deadly
charm reminded her of how angry she was.

‘Come on, let's walk in the sun. It might warm you up.'

‘I'm not cold,' she denied, wrapping her arms around her trembling body.

‘Well, I am.'

After a short pause she followed him back out into the evening sun.

‘Are you going to tell me what I've done to make you mad?'

‘You need to ask?'

‘I just did.'

‘It might have slipped your memory that the reason—the
only
reason you are here is to establish that you find me irresistible. It might be a start if you had deigned to notice I was alive,' she ground out grimly.

Until he had asked her to take this stroll outside he had acted as though she were invisible. If she hadn't wanted to get him alone long enough to give him a piece of her mind, she'd have told him where he could stick his stroll!

His dark shapely brows moved towards his equally dark and at that moment damp hairline. ‘I haven't forgotten why I'm here.'

Megan's lips tightened. His dismissive attitude really got under her skin. ‘So ignoring me and spending the entire evening talking to someone else's cleavage is your idea of
seeming interested?
Interesting technique,'
she admired with heavy sarcasm.

The memory of his humiliating fascination with the actress's breasts increased the angry tightness in her aching throat. She'd probably hear that woman's awful laugh in her sleep tonight, she decided, thinking of the shrill, jarring sound. Why was it that every single time men went for
obvious
…?

Not, of course, that she gave a damn if he fancied the redhead—after all, that hardly placed him in a unique category. Hilary was the sort of woman who demanded and got male attention. No, Megan's legitimate grouch was the fact he wasn't fulfilling his end of the bargain. Her acting as an introduction agent for him, a fact she had every intention of pointing out, was not part of the deal.

For a moment her angry eyes met his before her lashes swept downwards and she turned and backed away.

‘Calm down,
chérie
.' He laughed, catching her arm and swinging her back.

Her shrill, ‘I am calm!' made him laugh again.

‘Not so as you'd notice.' The first time he'd seen her he'd wondered what she would look like without her upper-crust reserve intact and he had had ample opportunity to find out today. ‘Unreasonable and ratty is actually not a bad look for you.'

Something in his voice brought Megan's eyes back to his face. ‘I am neither unreasonable nor ratty!' She regarded him with simmering dislike. ‘I just don't like wasting my time,' she enunciated clearly.

‘I haven't been wasting anything.'

His patronising tone made her teeth clench. ‘Certainly no opportunity to chat up anything in a low-cut top.' And if he thought that cleavage was natural he was in for a nasty shock.

‘What we've established tonight is that you mind me showing an interest in another woman.'

His smugness made Megan want to scream.

‘Your reaction was perfect,' he commended calmly.

‘I didn't react,' she told him frigidly. Actually, now that she reviewed her behaviour during the interminable dinner, she had to concede that maybe her conduct hadn't been quite as adult as it might have been, but, in her defence, she had had a lot of provocation.

‘God, and to think I thought you had no sense of humour. Everyone there was aware of the friction.'

Megan inhaled deeply.
‘Friction…?'
she parroted.

Her cheeks turned a deeper pink as she looked significantly at the long brown fingers still curled over her bare upper arm. The fingers stayed where they were. God, but he had to be the most insensitive, thick-skinned man she had ever had the misfortune to encounter! The idea of respecting personal space was obviously a foreign concept to him.

Megan decided to bravely rise above it all. Rather than participate in an unseemly struggle, she forced herself to stand there passively even though his fingers felt like a white-hot brand against her skin.

‘You would have said black if I had said white. In fact I'm not sure you didn't!' he added wryly. ‘But don't worry—like I said, that's no problem. We're going to have a turbulent relationship—a classic case of opposites attracting. I predict a lot of really epic rows in public and some epic making up too.'

‘If you try to make up with me you'll end up in traction,' she promised. ‘And actually opposites don't attract, they end up making each other miserable. And just for the record,' she added grimly, ‘I realise that you think you're God's gift, but, trust me—the only thing I minded tonight was not being given value for money.'

‘Well, let me remind you,
chérie
, that you haven't bought me.' His narrowed gaze suddenly turned molten silver as he scanned her angry upturned features. ‘You're giving me
something I want and I'm giving you something you want…or I could if you let me.'

The suggestive drawl in his deep, musical voice sent a surge of heat through Megan's rigid frame.

‘That remains to be seen,' she gulped. Unable to bear the contact for another moment without crawling clear out of her skin, she tugged her arm free of his clasp. ‘And don't keep calling me
chérie
! I am not your darling and I have a name,' she said, standing there rubbing the invisible imprint of his fingers on her flesh.

‘And claws…' he observed in a soft, sibilant voice that made the invisible downy hairs on her skin stand erect.

Luc's silvered glance touched her small hands, which now hung tensely at her sides, balled tightly into fists. Her incredible eyes, shadowed in the fading light, were fixed on his face and her body language screamed hostility.

Against all the odds he experienced a surge of protective warmth. The reaction was inexplicable, but amazingly strong.

‘Chemistry, like ours, usually produces a few sparks…a lot if you're lucky,' he added as an amused afterthought.

‘Not for me it doesn't,' Megan rebutted firmly. She frowned. She hoped he wasn't forgetting this was all make believe. It would be very embarrassing if she had to remind him.

Her frown deepened.

‘You don't like sparks…?'

She didn't smile in response to his teasing tone, but looking at him standing there, so incredibly gorgeous, made her more conscious of the curious little ache, actually not so little, inside her. If she was honest not so curious considering he was just about just about the most attractive man on the planet.

‘I'm not a combustible person,' she told him before consulting the slim watch on her wrist. She had no intention of apologising just because she wasn't some sort of smoulder
ing sex bomb like Hilary. ‘We ought to be heading back, people will be wondering where we've got to.'

He smiled thinly. ‘They're meant to wonder what we're up to. It's all part of my master plan.'

‘Don't you think under the circumstances you ought to consult me about your master plan?' she queried tartly.

‘What, and lose the advantage of surprise?'

‘Surprise?' she repeated, a groove appearing above the bridge of her nose as she worriedly pondered his meaning.

‘You're really not a very good actress.'

‘That's because deceit doesn't come as easily to me as it does to you,' she retorted. ‘And,' she added, ‘I don't think I want to be surprised…actually, I
know
I don't want to be surprised, especially by you.' Fortunately Luc didn't appear to have registered her unwise addition.

‘Don't worry, I can think on my feet. I'm actually thought to be quite good at improvising.'

‘It's the thought of you improvising that worries me.'

He slanted her an amused look. Megan pursed her lips and glared back coldly. She couldn't share his light-hearted approach; this fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants thing just wasn't her. Unlike him she wasn't the type of person who got a buzz from living close to the edge. The constant fear of being caught out didn't give her an adrenaline rush, just a sick feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.