Her Pregnancy Surprise. Barbara McMahon

negotiated the path down the steep slope that led to the solitary habitation. The cottage, set on a rocky outcrop of higher ground, was situated just above the rocky seashore. The high tide lapped up against a low wall, which appeared to be the only defence against the sea. The low whitewashed building was not large, but its walls looked sturdy enough to withstand the worst the harsh elements could throw at it. It looked old enough to have been doing just that for a couple of hundred years at least.

      A mud-spattered four-wheel drive Megan immediately recognised stood on a small level area in front of the cheerily red-painted front door.

      Megan turned off the engine and pressed her hand flat to her chest. When your heart felt as if it were trying to escape from your chest it probably was not a good time to recall stories about apparently healthy people who dropped dead from undiagnosed heart complaints.

      Maybe I should rethink this plan…? Maybe I should drop it altogether.

      Calm down, Megan, you know exactly what you’re going to say. ‘Just a courtesy call—I’m going to have your baby.’

      Oh, dear…! Considering she had been working on the intro for the last three hundred miles, that could do with some work.

      She felt physically sick as she lifted the door knocker and let it fall. When nobody replied she walked around the building peering in the windows. There was no evidence of life. Was this a sign? Was some higher authority telling her she should go home? There did seem something awfully confrontational about rolling up on a man’s doorstep and telling him you were carrying his child.

      Megan wasn’t a confrontational person by nature.

      Sure, a letter was impersonal, but was impersonal such a bad idea in this instance? The impersonal method actually had a lot to recommend it—a letter was much neater and there would be much less opportunity for her to make a total fool of herself and do something embarrassing like burst into tears.

      After a brief struggle with herself, Megan decided to give it another half-hour and then return to the village she had passed through a few miles back and see if they had a room for the night. Even if she didn’t see Luc she was in no condition to drive back home tonight.

      Sitting in the car, she felt stiff and cold; within five minutes she lost all feeling in her extremities. Rubbing her hands together, she turned on the engine. The warmth blasted out by the heater going full throttle and the music on the radio had a predictably soporific effect.

      Megan was gently dozing off when the door of the car was wrenched open without warning. It stayed open as, hands pressed on the roof, Luc bent down until he was on eye level with Megan. She thought she had committed every detail, every impossibly symmetrical detail of his face to memory, but now his dark, hard-edged face was within inches of hers she realised that he was far, far more beautiful in the flesh.

      Thinking about flesh had not been a good move. Her stomach muscles quivered and shifted as images crowded in her head of smooth, sleek skin sheathing tight hard muscles. She had read that pregnancy could kill a girl’s libido stone-dead…it turned out she wasn’t one of this number!

      ‘It’s a very nice place you have here.’ Did those terminally stupid words come out of my mouth? This really wasn’t how this scene had played in her head.

      ‘And you just happened to be passing?’

      His deadly irony brought a flush to Megan’s pale cheeks.

      ‘I would have phoned.’

      Luc lifted a hand to his dark, wind-ruffled hair. It curled onto his neck. It didn’t look to Megan as though it had been cut since she saw him last. ‘I don’t use a phone for a reason…I don’t like to be disturbed by uninvited guests when I’m working.’

      She let her eyes slide over his olive-green waterproof jacket that was open at the neck to reveal a black sweater. Her examination moved lower, over his long legs encased in moleskins, and ended on his walking boots. He looked lean and fit, leaner maybe than the last time she had seen him…

      She watched, unwillingly riveted as he lifted a hand to his wind-ruffled hair. His face, too, seemed thinner, with the strong bones and angles seeming more pronounced. His eyes were the same, though…an illicit little shiver ran down her spine as she diverted her gaze to a point over his shoulder.

      ‘Are you working now?’

      ‘I’m a writer. Writers are always working,’ Luc lied calmly. He hadn’t written a word since he’d got down here. ‘For me a walk along the beach usually focuses my thoughts nicely.’ Recently they had only been on Megan’s eyes, her smell, her sweet softness…Of course this obsession would pass. The irresponsible part of him suggested he enjoyed it while it lasted. But it was easier to ignore that irresponsible voice when she was three hundred miles away.

      Everyone, he told himself, determinedly ignoring the ache in his groin, knew that recognising you had a problem was part of the cure.

      And Luc had recognised he had a problem with Megan from day one.

      ‘Inspiration strikes when you’re least expecting it.’

      Like love, Megan thought, and gave a disbelieving sniff. ‘What do you do, carry a notebook and jot things down? No wonder you’ve got so many friends,’ she muttered under her breath.

      Did he ever invite any of those selected few, and she was thinking female here, to this place? Did they spend weekends cosily shut away from the world together? What was there to do but walk on the beach and make love? Her hands clenched as she imagined those steamy lovers’ trysts.

      ‘No need for notes; I have an excellent memory.’

      His excellent memory was at that moment recalling the huskiness of her voice as she had called his name and said she’d never have enough of what he was doing to her. Never have enough of him, and begged him…He drew a deep breath and stopped thinking about the liquid heat of her tight around him.

      He was obviously an individual who was drawn to unsuitable women; first Grace, and now Megan. Was it genetic…?

      A man had to learn by his mistakes and Luc had made this mistake once before. At least last time he’d had extreme youth and rampant hormones to blame. This time around he was old enough and bruised enough by life to be able to know that instant attraction and great sex were not enough. There had to be more.

      What that more was he had yet to figure out.

      A shocking idea was forming in Megan’s head. My God, had she been part of his research for his latest book? The idea made her feel physically sick. ‘Well, if I ever discover someone who resembles me in one of your books I’ll sue,’ she told him fiercely.

      ‘I thought you didn’t read my stuff.’

      Megan shrugged at the taunt and watched as Luc, one hand braced at the base of his spine, straightened up and rotated his shoulders, as if the position he’d been hunched in had put a few kinks in his spine.

      ‘Only when my train is late,’ she retorted, grabbing her bag off the passenger seat and preparing to make best use of the fact he wasn’t guarding her exit.

      ‘Don’t even think about getting out,’ he growled.

      Megan stopped dead and lifted her glance to his. Luc’s expression held more hostility than she would have thought possible.

      He hates me…She swallowed past the emotional thickening in her throat and lifted her chin. So she hadn’t expected him to open the champagne, but neither had she expected this level of antagonism.

      ‘I’m going to do more than that,’ she promised him, flashing a smile that ached with insincerity.

      Not a single muscle moved in his stony expression. ‘Just turn the car around and go back home, Megan.’ He ran a hand over his jaw, his attitude now more weary than hostile. ‘We have nothing to say.’

      That’s all he knows! ‘My God, you’re rude!’

      He