Pregnant by the Playboy Tycoon. Anne Oliver

sprang to her palms and she kept her eyes on the rear lights of the car in front. She could try turning down the car’s heating, but that would be like admitting he’d made her hot. Which wouldn’t have happened if she was alone.

      ‘Except you didn’t forget, did you?’ he continued in that rumbly voice. ‘You had no intention of calling me.’

      ‘I already told you, I don’t need a passenger. You could travel at your own speed and convenience. Fly like most business people. It’s not too late. I can—’

      ‘Maybe I don’t need a driving partner either.’ He cut her off, his tone sharp, all trace of humour gone. ‘Have you considered that maybe I only agreed to this because I want to put Cindy’s mind at rest, not to mention your father’s?’

      Guilt stabbed at Anneliese. She’d been so caught up in her own problems she hadn’t given Cindy a thought.

      They came to a snarl in the traffic and she slowed to a stop. ‘Okay,’ she conceded. ‘You’re right, I’m sorry. Perhaps you should call her. Tell her not to worry, big brother’s got everything under control.’

      ‘Too early yet. But I sent her a text before you opened the gate.’ The humour seemed to be back in his voice as he stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders.

      She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and steeled herself to look at him. ‘So sure of yourself, aren’t you?’

      He nodded. ‘Pretty much. Whereas you…’ He turned to her. ‘You’re not—never have been. Your face is an open book. A very pretty book, but open nonetheless.’

      His look was so potent, so knowing she wanted to shrivel up and die of embarrassment. Because he was right. Instead of the mask she usually retreated behind, anger bubbled up and she stared right back. ‘Maybe I wanted you to read the message that said: I don’t want you with me.’

      ‘True,’ he said slowly. ‘But then I’d have to ask myself why that is.’ His gaze dipped to her mouth, a glide of sensation as if his fingers were tracing the outline and texture.

      A tingle danced down her spine. How would his fingers feel against her lips? Warm or cool? Light and gentle or rough and sure? Would they feel the same on other parts of her body? No. She tipped up her chin. ‘Let me fill you in on why. You’re arrogant and intimidating and…earthy.’

      Oh, Lord, had she really voiced that last thought aloud? The corner of his mouth twitched. Yep, she’d said it.

      ‘Not the suave and sophisticated type you’re used to, Anneliese?’

      ‘That’s not what I meant.’ She refused to think about the earthy dream she’d had last night involving heat and hands and lots of body lotion. And Steve… ‘I don’t want company because I have a personal and private matter to take care of,’ she snapped, flushed and furious that they were having this conversation but unable to look away. It was as if he held her gaze with some sort of magnetic force.

      ‘I’m only your travelling companion,’ he said without taking his eyes off her. ‘Traffic’s moving.’

      ‘I’m aware of that.’ Jolting out of her semi-trance state, Anneliese returned her attention to the road. From the corner of her eye she saw him settle back in his seat as she inched the car forward again and said, ‘I don’t need your conversation taking my focus away from my driving.’ She didn’t need his conversation, period. The road cleared and she planted her foot on the accelerator.

      ‘By all means, focus away.’ He crossed his arms. ‘And we’re not trying to break any world speed records here. You might want to ease your dad’s worry and let him know I’m along for the ride.’

      Who was he to remind her of her responsibilities? Anneliese took a deep breath. Counted to three, let it out slowly, then said, ‘I intend to, as soon as we stop. Have you forgotten it’s dangerous, not to mention illegal, to use the phone while behind the wheel?’

      ‘No. Speaking of dangerous and illegal…do you always travel at this speed?’

      ‘When I’m under pressure, yes.’

      And no doubt Daddy paid her fines as well. Barely turning his head, Steve studied her covertly. What he was imagining doing to her right now was definitely dangerous, and no doubt illegal, too. But those neat little buttons on her prim little blouse begged to be popped. All the way to her navel. And when he’d eased down her bra and finished exploring her delectable body, he’d just bet that navel was as neat and prim as the rest of her…

      He closed his eyes. Quit now. She’s just your travelling companion.

      Not by choice, he reminded himself, for either of them.

      And she didn’t know it yet, but what she got up to when they arrived in Surfers Paradise was still his business. For the sake of Cindy and Marcus and the fact that Steve didn’t trust her not to get into trouble he’d just made it his business.

      Her perfume wafted beneath his nose and he felt the subtle air movement as she reached over the console to turn on a CD.

      Clean, crisp classical violin.

      He groaned inwardly. He might have guessed. This did not bode well for a long trip. Feeling constricted, tight, trapped, he yanked the zipper of his vest down. Yep. A very long trip.

      When he opened his eyes again the music was still classical but she’d turned the volume down and the landscape had changed from suburban to rural. Farming and grape-growing land. Rubbing his eyes, he checked his watch and their speed. If his estimation was correct they were somewhere in the Goulburn Valley. Signs of a town in the distance stirred his hunger. ‘Time for breakfast,’ he said, stretching out the kinks. ‘I’m thinking sausages, hash browns, bacon and eggs washed down with a hot frothy cappuccino.’

      ‘Better make an appointment to see Dad when you get back.’

      He turned to look at her to see if she was as serious as she sounded. She’d put on sunglasses so he couldn’t be sure. ‘I work it off. Don’t tell me you’re one of those women who skips breakfast.’

      ‘Of course not. But all that oily food… You’re hardly going to work it off sitting in a car all day. A balanced—’

      ‘I don’t need the lecture.’ Obviously she knew it by heart, living with an eminent heart surgeon. ‘I’ll jog when we stop for the night.’

      Tonight. He andAnneliese were going to be sleeping… Close.

      Disturbing—he might need to lengthen that jog this evening.

      ‘So you like the classics,’ he said, more to block out the direction his thoughts were taking than anything else.

      ‘Yes.’ Her answer was automatic, her eyes on the road.

      ‘Any other music? Rock and roll?’ he asked, hopefully. ‘Country and Western? Elvis?’ Heavy metal?

      ‘We only have classical at home.’ A statement, flatly spoken.

      ‘Yeah, but do you like it when you’re on your own?’

      ‘Mummy says classical’s…’ She trailed off, biting her lower lip and blinking rapidly. Swapped the CD in favour of the radio. When the speakers spat out static she turned it off.

      Hell. His fault. Please don’t let her cry. But Steve felt her heartache all the way inside. His own mother hadn’t been a part of his life in for ever. Circumstances might be different—Marlene Anderson had walked out on her husband and two kids twenty years ago—but he still remembered the pain. ‘Hey…’ he said softly, reaching out to soothe a thumb over her shoulder.

      A micro-moment as his fingers skimmed over the skin-warmed silk, feeling bone beneath flesh, a ridge of bra strap.

      A scant second for the jolt of that first contact to rewire his brain.

      He