Valentino's Pregnancy Bombshell. Amy Andrews

tense abdominal muscles, was bad enough. Being pressed along the magnificent tuxedoed length of him? Frankly it scared the hell out of her.

      She felt gauche and unsophisticated and totally out of her depth next to his man-of-the-world, model-dating perfection.

      What if she stuffed up the steps? Or trod on his foot?

      What if she liked it too much?

      ‘You are worried your boyfriend will mind that we dance, yes?’

      Valentino’s comment snapped her out of the vision of her clinging to him like some sort of groupie as he pressed kisses down her neck. She glanced at him, startled.

      A big mistake.

      Thus far she’d managed not to look at him this close up. And now she knew why. This near, he was simply dazzling. Gorgeous hair the colour of midnight waved in haphazard glory, thick and lustrous with not a hint of grey. It brushed his forehead and collar and Paige finally understood the itch some women talked about to run their fingers through a man’s hair.

      Jet-black eyebrows quirked at her as her gaze widened to take in his square jaw line, heavy with five-o’clock shadow. His full lips curved upward and were bracketed by dimples that should be outlawed on anyone over five. His eyes, dark like a shot of the best Italian espresso, were fringed by long black lashes and promised fun and flirting.

      A buzz coursed through her veins at the fifteen different kinds of sin she could see in them.

      Valentino smiled at the little frown that knitted Paige’s caramel brows together and crinkled her forehead. She was a most intriguing woman. Her grey eyes were huge in her angular face dominated by prominent cheekbones and a wide mouth.

      She wore no eye make-up to enhance them, she didn’t need to. They drew the gaze regardless. Her strawberry-blonde hair had been severely styled into a pixie cut that feathered over her forehead and would have looked boyish on anyone else but only seemed to enhance the hugeness of her eyes and the vulnerability he saw there.

      She was no beauty. She certainly wasn’t his usual type. He liked them curvy. Everywhere. Not rail thin like Paige. And confident. Women who were secure in their sexuality, who smiled and flirted and enjoyed life. Women who knew the score.

      And yet…

      There was something about her that intrigued him. Not least of all the fact that she’d been the only female in the room who hadn’t clamoured to be closer to him.

      ‘I see you texting. All night,’ he prompted when she still didn’t say anything. ‘I figure a beautiful woman…’ He shrugged and shot her his best hey-baby grin, ‘it must be a boyfriend?’

      Paige shook her head to clear it as Valentino’s smile muddled her senses. ‘I’m a little old for a boyfriend, don’t you think?’

      ‘Paige. We are never too old for love.’

      The slight reprimand in his voice didn’t register. Nothing registered beyond the way he’d said her name. Paige. He had drawn it out a little at the end, giving it a very European flair, and it had stroked across every nerve ending in her pelvis.

      She shut her eyes. This was madness. He was just a man. God knew, she hadn’t even thought about the opposite sex since her husband had walked out on her. And, besides, she just didn’t have time for a man. Especially not a model-dating, Italian playboy whose interest in her would no doubt wane the minute after he had his way with her.

      Which wasn’t going to happen.

      Even if, deep down, in a secret, hidden part of her, she wanted it very, very badly.

      I am a single-mother of a high-needs child.

      I am a single mother of a high-needs child.

      She turned back to her champagne and took a long deep swallow, the bubbles pricking her throat as they slid down, matching the prick at the backs of her eyes. ‘I am.’

      Tonight, as always, Paige felt absolutely ancient. ‘Excuse me,’ she murmured, rising and headed for the refuge of the bathroom.

      

      Valentino watched his cousin dancing with his new wife, a gladness in his heart that Alessandro had finally found love after the train wreck of his first marriage.

      It always humbled him when he saw two people ready to make a lifetime commitment. Sure, after an early escape he’d worked out it wasn’t for him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t believe in it for others. His parents were, after all, still blissfully married after fifty years.

      He spotted Paige making her way back to the table and he was struck anew by how not his type she was. The crimson dress outlined a figure that had more angles then curves. Her breasts were small, her body one long, lean line, and she moved with purpose rather than grace.

      And yet…

      He rose as she approached the table and held out his hand. ‘I believe it’s our turn.’

      Paige’s heart thundered. His gaze had tracked her from all the way across the room and her heart beat as if she’d just dashed one hundred metres in less than ten seconds. She looked up at him, caution wrangling with temptation. How easy would it just be to surrender? To forget her mangled heart and the type of man who had mangled it in the first place and succumb to the invitation in Valentino’s eyes?

      But Paige had never been into masochism.

      She ignored his hand and headed towards the dance floor.

      Valentino grinned. If she thought for a moment that he couldn’t read every emotion, the battle in those large grey eyes, she was utterly deluded. He followed her to the floor, his gaze glued to the elegant length of her naked spine the dress afforded him, and wondered what it would take to convince her to let her guard down.

      Paige reluctantly let him shepherd her into the circle of his arms. His big hand sat low, just above her butt and just this side of decent. It was firm and hot and she felt a lurch in areas that hadn’t felt anything in a very long time.

      Valentino felt resistance as he tried to pull her a little closer. ‘Relax,’ he murmured to her temple.

      She jerked her head back slightly to forcibly remove the brush of his lips from her skin. Relax? He may as well have asked her to fly to the moon. She glared at him. ‘Let’s just get through this, okay?’

      Valentino chuckled. Paige wasn’t one for stroking egos. Another factor he was finding surprisingly appealing. He’d drifted through life never having to work for the attention of a woman—ever. From his mother to his sisters and cousins, to the girls at school and beyond, he’d always had them twisted around his finger.

      He was starting to realise how boring, how predictable, his life had been.

      They moved to the music and Paige automatically followed, her senses infused with Valentino’s clean male scent. She sought desperately for something to say to instil distance, to break the hypnotic pull of the music and his warm breath.

      Anything.

      ‘So, Valentino, Alessandro tells me you are a cochlear implant surgeon.’

      Valentino smiled at her robotic question. He looked down into grey eyes that were averted to a point beyond his shoulder. That she could see over his shoulder was a first for him too. Most women he’d dated, apart from Adrianna, had been shorter. At six feet two, he still had a few inches on her but the fact that it would just take one tantalising tilt of her chin to claim her mouth was an intriguing proposition.

      ‘Yes, Paige. Alessandro tells me you have a daughter who needs one?’

      Paige stumbled at the mention of McKenzie, grateful for a moment that Valentino’s body was there to lean into, to steady herself. But then aware, too aware, of the muscles beneath his shirt, the strength in his arms, the heat of him, the power of him.

      ‘Yes,’ she said, pushing away from his chest and holding herself as erect, as far away as was possible,