Mills and Boon Christmas Joy Collection. Liz Fielding

As that familiar athletic frame entered the room, their eyes connected, locked, and suddenly Laura felt dizzier than she had all day. After six months together, Bishop still stirred in her this breathtaking, toe-curling effect, the kind of reaction that flooded her core with want and left her quivering like a half-set jelly.

      He looked as magnificent in that dark, custom-made suit as he had that first night, decked out in an impeccable tuxedo, a wicked gleam igniting his entrancing blue eyes when he’d affected a bow and had asked her to dance. Today his eyes were hooded in that same heart-pumping way, but his gaze didn’t glow with anything close to desire. In fact, his eyes seemed to reflect no emotion at all.

      A shiver crept over Laura’s skin.

      He was always so caring and attentive. Was he annoyed that she’d slipped? That she’d pulled him away from his work? Shaking herself, Laura broke the spell and touched the square bandage that sat above her left temple. She gave a sheepish smile.

      “Apparently I fell.”

      His dark brows swooped together then his head slowly cocked. “Apparently?”

      She hesitated at his single word reply and cast her mind back. “I…I can’t remember it now. The doctor said that’s not unusual. A person has a fall, knocks their head and they can’t recall the incident.”

      He was unbuttoning his suit jacket, running a deliberate palm down his crimson silk tie. His fingers were long and lean. His hands, large and skilled. She loved his hands. Loved the way they knew precisely where, and precisely how, to please. “So what do you recall?”

      Her gaze bounced back to his questioning expression and she examined the sterile but comfortable private room.

      “I remember arriving at the hospital. Meeting the doctor. Having a scan…and other tests.”

      Bishop’s mirror blue eyes narrowed.

      He wasn’t fond of tests, as she’d found out two months into their relationship—the night he’d proposed. He’d presented a dazzling white diamond ring and, overwhelmed with surprise and new love, she’d instantly agreed. Later that evening, curled up in his strong arms in his penthouse’s sumptuous bed, she’d told her fiancé about her heart condition—hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. Never one for attention or pity, she normally kept that information to herself. But if they were to be married, of course Bishop needed to know.

      “Grace said she saw you when she was driving up the path to the house,” Bishop said now, flicking back his jacket to slide his hands into his trouser pockets. “She saw you tumbling from the garden’s footbridge.”

      Laura nodded. A drop of around six feet. “That’s what she told me, too.” Like she’d said. She couldn’t remember.

      A pulse pumped once along the dark shadow of his jaw. “Grace also said you’re feeling fuzzy. That you seem…uncertain about some other things, too.”

      “I’m clear on everything else.” She pulled herself higher on the bank of pillows at her back. “In fact, I feel clearer today than I have in a long while.”

      His eyes flashed. She knew he’d heard the backbone in her tone, but he didn’t probe. More tellingly, he didn’t come near, gather her up and comfort her, the way he had that evening after he’d proposed.

      That night, when she’d confided in him about her illness, he’d drawn her extra close, had brushed his lips tenderly over her brow then had asked about the odds of any offspring inheriting her disorder. She’d done lots of research. Statistics attested to the fact that a baby could inherit the condition as she had done, however, screening precautions were available. An early termination, due to medical considerations, could be performed. Thankfully, from the hard set of his jaw, she’d gleaned he was as uncomfortable with that scenario as she was. But neither was he convinced that they should take a gamble and simply hope for the best.

      In the quiet of the hospital room now, Bishop’s head angled and he continued to study her as if he wasn’t certain who she was. As if she were some new and curious anomaly. Laura’s nerves frayed more and she thrust her hand out, beckoning. She couldn’t stand the distance a moment more.

      “Bishop, please come over here. We need to talk.”

      The ledge of his shoulders went back and, as an almost suspicious expression darkened his face, her stomach knotted more. When his eyes skimmed her brow, her cheek, her lips, her skin heated, and not in a pleasant way. The vibes he gave off…

      If she hadn’t known better, she’d think he disliked her.

      Finally he came forward, but his gait was guarded, as though he expected to be ambushed at any moment. Had the doctor spoken to him about more than her fall? If not, she’d better tell him now, herself, before someone else could. How would he react when she told him that, no more than an hour ago, she’d taken a pregnancy test?

      Pulling herself up, she swung her feet onto the floor so that they could sit side by side. Bishop cut the remaining distance separating them in three purposeful strides. Her stomach jumped when, in a commanding gesture, he cast the covers back more. Avoiding her gaze, he tipped his head at the sheets and a lock of his immaculately groomed hair fell over his brow.

      “Get back in bed.”

      She contained the inappropriate urge to laugh. This was absurd.

      “Bishop, I’m fine.”

      His gaze slid to hers and his brows lifted. “You are?”

      “Perfectly.”

      “Do you know where you are?”

      She suppressed a sigh. What was it with a knock on the head and endless questions? She’d been barraged by them half the day.

      “I’ve been through this already with the doctor.” As well as Grace and a handful of nurses. But when his implacable look held, she exhaled and supplied the name of the hospital and added, “Which is west of Sydney and east of the Blue Mountains.” Where they lived.

      “What’s my name?”

      She tacked on a smug smile and crossed her legs prettily.

      “Winston Churchill.”

      Familiar warmth rose up in his eyes—a comfortable, sensual glow that left her aching to reach for him. But then that serious line cut between his brows again and he cleared his throat like he did whenever he was uneasy.

      “No games.”

      She almost rolled her eyes. But anyone who knew Bishop knew his stubborn streak. The sooner this was over and he was assured, the sooner she could get her change of heart out in the open, the sooner they could work this issue through, and the sooner they could get on with their life together.

      God willing.

      “Your name is Samuel Coal Bishop,” she stated. “You enjoy reading the Financial Review cover to cover, long distance running and the occasional good bottle of wine. Furthermore, tonight you’re celebrating an anniversary.” She smiled…soft, inviting. “Three months ago today, you and I were married.”

      Her words hit Bishop squarely in the chest, knocking him completely off balance. It was all he could manage not to cough up his lungs and reel back from the blow. Instead he ran a rather unsteady hand through his hair.

      Good God in Heaven. She’d lost her mind.

      Grace, the nurse…they’d said Laura had hit her head and was a little hazy. No one told him that she’d lost two years of her life! That she thought they were still married. As for falling off that same footbridge…

      Bishop hid a cringe. Was this some kind of sick joke? Would the host of a lame candid-camera show jump out, sock him on the arm and point out a hidden lens?

      But looking into Laura’s unsuspecting emerald eyes now, Bishop knew she was deadly serious. Gazing up at him, with such unabashed innocence and adoration, was the face of the fair-haired angel he’d