Her Secret Pregnancy. Sharon Kendrick

she willing to be interrogated by him? To lay herself open to his opinion and probably his criticism. ‘I’d love to tell you about it, Marcus.’ She smiled as she realised that there were a million and one things she could be legitimately occupying herself with. ‘Pity I don’t have the time right now.’

      Something in her manner told him it wasn’t true. But no surprises there. Hadn’t she lied to him before? Only then he’d been too young and too blind with lust to see it. ‘I bet it’s nothing urgent,’ he commented silkily. ‘Nothing that can’t wait.’

      ‘But I might be rushing off to an urgent appointment,’ she objected.

      ‘Might be. But you’re not,’ he breathed, his voice thickening as he recalled the wasted opportunity of the one night he’d spent with her. ‘You’ve got the pampered air of a woman who has taken the day off work.’

      He pulled out the chair opposite her with a question in his eyes. ‘So, why don’t I join you for coffee now that your silver-tongued lawyer has flown?’ he suggested softly. ‘And then you can tell me exactly what you’re doing here.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      DONNA was torn. Wanting to stay—because when Marcus was in a room it was as though someone had just switched on the lights. Even now. Yet also wanting to run out of the restaurant as fast as her feet would carry her.

      And wouldn’t that just convince him that she was still an emotional teenager where he was concerned?

      Smoothing the cream silk dress down over her hips, she sat further back on her seat. ‘Okay, then,’ she answered coolly. ‘I will.’

      Marcus expelled a soft breath of triumph. He’d seen her hesitate before sliding that irresistible bottom back. So she had overriden her better judgement and decided to stay, had she? A pulse began to throb with slow excitement at his temple. The die had been cast. A smile curved the corners of his lips almost cruelly as he lowered his powerful frame into the chair facing her.

      He gave a barely perceptible nod across the room at a watching waitress, and that was the coffee taken care of, then found himself in the firing line of a pair of eyes which were as green as newly mown grass. Eyes which these days were darkened with mascara which had teased the lashes into sooty spikes. Not the bare, pale lashes he’d always used to tease her about.

      ‘You look completely different, Donna,’ he observed slowly.

      She gave him a disbelieving stare. ‘Well, of course I do! I’m nine years older, for a start. People change. Especially women.’ And yet for a moment back there she had felt just like the unsophisticated teenager he obviously remembered. ‘And I can’t look that different,’ she declared, in surprise. ‘Seeing as you recognised me straight away.’

      ‘Yeah.’ Just from one, swift glance across a busy restaurant. He’d surprised himself. Maybe it had been the unforgettable fire of her hair. Or the curves of her body. Or that rope of amber beads at her throat—golden beads as big as pebbles. He swallowed as he remembered the only other time he had seen her wearing those. ‘Maybe you’re just printed indelibly on my mind,’ he drawled.

      ‘I do tend to have that effect on people,’ she agreed, mock-seriously, and she could tell that her new-found sophistication surprised him.

      Marcus might not know it, but he’d been largely responsible for her transformation from chambermaid to business woman. How many times had she planned to knock him dead if ever she saw him again? Well, now he was sitting just a few feet away from her. Was he really as indifferent to her as he appeared to be?

      ‘So, how have I changed, Marcus?’ she asked him sweetly.

      He leaned back in the chair and took the opportunity to study her, which gave him far more pleasure than he felt comfortable with. Donna King had turned into a real little head-turner, he recognised wryly—despite her unconventional looks and her even more unconventional background.

      He’d worked long enough in the high-octane world of upmarket restaurants to recognise that the deceptive simplicity of her cream silk dress would cost what most people earned in a month. As would those sexy high-heeled shoes he’d glimpsed as she’d slid her ankles be-neath the table. Shoes like that cost money. He’d bet she had a handbag to match. He glanced at the floor to where, like most women, she had placed it, close to her feet. Yes, she did!

      She was looking at him expectantly, and he remembered her question.

      How had she changed?

      ‘You used to look cheap,’ he said honestly, not seeming to notice her frozen expression. ‘Now you look expensive. A high-maintenance woman. With expensive tastes,’ he added. ‘So who pays for it, Donna? Who’s the lucky man?’

      Donna bristled. ‘Heavens—but you’re behind the times!’ she scoffed. ‘Women don’t need to rely on men to pay for their finery, not these days. Everything I’m wearing I paid for myself!’

      Marcus swallowed. Then it was money well spent.

      Someone had threaded a cream satin ribbon though the fiery strands of her hair, sending out a seductive and confusing signal of schoolgirl sophistication. And her breasts were partially concealed behind a cleverly cut jacket. So that one moment he could see their erotic swell, only to have the jacket shield them when she moved her body slightly forward. It was maddening! He felt the intrusive jerk of desire, and willed it to go away.

      ‘And you’re wearing make-up,’ he observed, almost accusingly. ‘Yet you never used to wear a scrap!’

      Donna laughed. ‘Of course I didn’t! When you get up at six in the morning to start stripping the beds, slapping on make-up is the very last thing on your mind. Believe me—a chambermaid’s life doesn’t lend itself very well to glamour.’

      ‘Not unless you get lucky with the boss.’

      She stared at him. ‘But I didn’t get lucky, did I, Marcus? In fact the best bit of luck I had was having the courage to walk away from this place without a backward glance.’

      ‘Yet you’re here today?’ he said bluntly. ‘Why?’

      ‘I’m celebrating.’

      ‘How very intriguing,’ he murmured. ‘Shall I guess why, or are you going to tell me?’

      Well, he would find out soon enough, whatever she said—and then he might sit up and wipe that smug smile off his face and take notice of something other than her body—which she noticed he hadn’t stopped looking at.

      Donna had opened her mouth to reply, when a very beautiful woman wearing a sleek black dress carried a tray of coffee over to their table.

      Donna watched the woman’s gleaming black head, with its perfectly symmetrical centre parting, as she set down the tiny cups and the cafetière in front of them, and the plate of thin almond biscuits. Then she heard her ask, ‘Anything else for you, Marcus?’ in a soft French accent, and noticed that she looked at him with politely concealed lust shining from her dark eyes.

      ‘No, thanks!’ He shook his head, his attention momentarily distracted as he watched the girl glide away.

      ‘She seems very efficient,’ observed Donna.

      ‘Yes, she is.’

      ‘And very good-looking.’ Now why had she said that?

      He raised his eyebrows. ‘Very.’

      ‘But not one of the waitresses—judging by her dress,’ she probed.

      He gave her a perplexed smile. ‘Do you want to talk about my staff, Donna?’

      ‘Of course not.’

      He poured out the coffee, automatically offering Donna the sugar bowl, and she felt a little tug of nos-talgia as she