Her Pregnancy Surprise. Barbara McMahon

Malcolm remarked, shaking his head.

      Megan, feeling physically sick, interposed herself between the two men in an instinctively protective gesture. She couldn’t let Luc take the blame, not when this had been her idea. Two bright patches of colour appeared on her cheeks.

      ‘I can explain…’ She paused, hoping for some inspired explanation, one that would let her emerge not looking like a duplicitous idiot who had to bribe someone to pretend to be her boyfriend.

      There was no inspiration.

      ‘It was my idea…’

      ‘To show me the art workshops,’ Luc completed smoothly for her. Hands thrust casually in his pockets, he stepped forward.

      At a time like this I can admire his bottom…I’ve clearly become a candidate for intensive therapy, she decided despairingly.

      ‘The flu turned out to be just a head cold, Mal. I popped a bit of vitamin C and here I am. I’ve been made to feel every bit as welcome as you said I would be. All that was missing was you.’

      To Luc’s amusement Malcolm shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, looking more like a guilty schoolboy than head of one of the most successful publishing houses in the country.

      ‘Sorry, I was…urgently, called away…business…only got back this morning. Naturally when I heard you were here…’ He leaned towards the younger man and murmured, ‘What the hell are you up to, Luc?’

      ‘A very good question, Mal.’ His attention drifted momentarily towards Megan. He didn’t elaborate.

      Megan looked from one man to the other, she pressed her fingers to her temples to relieve the growing pressure. This didn’t make sense.

      ‘You know one another…?’ she said blankly.

      ‘Of course they know one another,’ said her mother, who was standing a little apart from them. She scanned her daughter’s pale face with a frown. ‘Are you feeling all right? Heavens you’ve not caught this wretched cold bug, have you?’

      Megan wasn’t feeling all right. She doubted she had ever felt less all right in her life! She lifted her gaze to Luc. ‘So you are Lucas Patrick, the writer…?’

      He nodded.

      ‘Who else would he be?’ Laura asked.

       The man I just made love to?

      ‘A man who needs warming up,’ responded Hilary huskily. Her hungry eyes announced to everyone that it was a task she was only too willing to take on! ‘You look frozen, Luc!’ she purred.

      Megan watched in seething silence as the voluptuous woman trailed her scarlet-painted fingers slowly down Luc’s chest. She felt sick.

      ‘You feel cold too, darling.’

      Luc looked directly at Megan over the redhead’s glossy head. The expression in his deep-set eyes said, Save me! Megan smiled back heartlessly. Save him! Hilary could eat him alive as far as she was concerned!

      In the distance Megan was vaguely conscious of her mother asking if she had had a knock on the head. Someone else suggested that what she needed was a good stiff drink to warm her up.

      Good idea, Megan thought, reaching for the decanter of brandy on the bureau. In one smooth motion she filled her glass to the brim and lifted it to her lips.

      When the fiery liquid was pooling in her empty stomach, she became aware that nobody was talking. They were all looking at her.

      ‘You know, I feel better already,’ she said, angling a hard, accusing glance towards the silent figure who stood just to her right.

      It had all been a mistake; she felt the anger like a tight fist in her chest. He has done this to me, she thought hating him as much as she had wanted him earlier.

      ‘No, actually I do feel a bit hot and headachey now I think about it.’

      A maternal hand was immediately clamped to her forehead. ‘I don’t think you have a temperature, but you can’t be too careful.’ Laura watched with a fixed smile as her daughter refilled her glass. ‘Perhaps you should go and lie down…?’

      ‘You know, I think I might.’ Megan drained the glass and set it down with elaborate care on the table. ‘Lovely to see you, Jean Paul. Catch up later, Uncle Mal,’ she called out cheerily. She kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘I’m sure I’ll feel better after a quick nap.’

      She didn’t say anything to Luc. She knew if she did that all the fury seething inside her would explode.

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      MEGAN didn’t close the curtains. The moon had appeared and the leaded window was open. The soft breeze blowing through ruffled the heavy brocade curtains and cooled the warm, sticky night air.

      She had slept in this room most of her life and she knew every creak and groan the ancient building could make. So when she heard a soft creak, Megan knew immediately that someone had stepped on the uneven floorboard just outside her door. That creaky floorboard had saved her from being caught reading under the covers on more than one occasion.

      Mum, come to check up on me.

      Sometimes, Megan decided, hiding your head under the bedclothes really was the only sensible thing to do. Before she did exactly that she twitched one of the drapes on her half-tester bed closed.

      Lying there, eyes tightly closed she heard the door open. Though she strained her ears Megan couldn’t hear footsteps on the polished oak floor. Pretending to be asleep when you knew someone was in the room watching you had seemed a lot easier when she was ten, she reflected as she did her best to keep her breathing even and relaxed.

      The silent presence she sensed seemed to stand beside the bed for a very long time. It seemed as if hours had passed before she heard the door latch softly click closed. She exhaled a gusty sigh of relief.

      ‘Thank goodness for that!’ she breathed, rolling onto her back. With a soft grunt she pulled herself to her knees and drew back the curtain. It was as she pushed wayward strands of hair from her sticky, too-warm face with her forearm that Megan realised she wasn’t alone.

      Her midnight visitor was still there.

      For a split second she just froze at the sight of the tall intruder standing with his broad shoulders set against the panelled oak door. The paralysis only lasted a fraction of a second before a massive rush of adrenaline was released into her bloodstream. Megan was out of the bed and standing there her body ramrod stiff.

      Luc didn’t think he had ever seen anyone radiate loathing quite so effectively as Megan did at that moment. So maybe convincing her he had always intended to come clean might not be easy…?

      Easy? She’s going to call you a lying bastard!

      My God, had he messed up! It wasn’t that he had intended for things to go that far before he told her the truth; not doing so had been one of the stupidest things he had ever done and he was totally prepared to admit it. The fact was, for the first time in his life he had let sexual hunger overrule common sense.

      Megan watched as he lifted a hand to his forehead in a languid mocking salute. The colour seeped out of her skin, only emphasizing the sapphire shimmer of her eyes.

      This was all a joke to him. God, but she had been such a fool! She had knocked back God knew how many decent men who liked her for a man who hadn’t stopped lying to her from the moment they had met!

      First Brian, now Luc—am I doomed to go through life being attracted to lowlife scumbags—? It was a deeply depressing thought, though, if she was honest, nothing she had felt for Brian in or out of bed resembled the passion that this man was capable of wakening in her. She had never hated Brian, or for that matter loved him. Whereas she hated Luc and…

      ‘You lying, conniving rat!’ she blasted.