Her Pregnancy Surprise. Barbara McMahon

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 smouldering 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.

      ‘There is one thing I wouldn’t mind knowing…’ he admitted with a frown.

      The corners of his sensually sculpted lips twitched as his glance dropped. ‘You’re not a bad-looking woman…’ came the verdict after several uncomfortable moments.

      Megan batted her eyelashes. ‘Wow, thanks!’

      Underneath the gushing insincerity she was badly spooked by the way her body instantly reacted to his slow, insolent perusal. Could you class the strength leaving your shaking lower limbs and the ignition of a hot burning flame deep in your belly as spooked? Or was it something more serious? She was thinking terminal blind lust here…

      The acid interjection brought an answering flicker of humour to his deep-set eyes but didn’t deflect him from his purpose.

      ‘So I’m assuming that there are men in your life.’

      Megan was continually amazed and increasingly aggravated by his apparent belief that being a co-conspirator gave him the right to delve into all personal aspects of her life. She watched his expression grow reflective as he focused his thoughts on the subject of her love life.

      ‘Men compose half the population; it would be hard to avoid them even if I wanted to.’

      Luc acted as though she hadn’t spoken—something she had noticed he had a habit of doing—as he continued. ‘But you don’t bring them home to meet Mummy. Now I wonder why…?’ One dark brow elevated he turned his speculative gaze upon her face. ‘Married…?’

      Megan stiffened in outrage. ‘You th…th…think that I would go out with a m…m…married man?’ she demanded.

      Luc silently studied her rigid chalk white features for a moment before shrugging. ‘Apparently not,’ he observed drily. ‘I’ve got a mate…your classic commitment phobic who only dates married women. I thought that might be your problem.’

      ‘That you have that sort of mate does not surprise me.’

      ‘He’s a reformed character since he met the love of his life. So if they’re not married…what’s the problem? Not the right social class? Don’t they know which fork to use?’

      The amazing thing was he didn’t even seem to be aware he’d insulted her!

      Megan fixed him with a look of seething dislike. If she still had some of the power that the ancestors he despised had enjoyed and, she was the first to