Playboy Boss, Pregnancy of Passion. Kate Hardy

done this before?’ she asked, clearly surprised.

      ‘I guess when you live in a place, you take it for granted and don’t get round to doing the touristy things.’

      ‘True, and doing them on your own’s not such fun because you don’t get to share them and talk about them with someone.’ She reached out and took his hand for a moment, squeezing it. ‘Maybe we can come back together some time.’

      ‘That’d be nice.’

      What really shocked him was that he meant it. He wanted to spend time with her. He liked the sound of her voice and could’ve listened to her all day when she told him about the things that clearly grabbed her attention. And he really liked the touch of her skin against his.

      Ah, hell. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He didn’t do relationships. He always had brief and mutually satisfying affairs with women who knew the score. Women who moved in the same glittering social circles. Women who didn’t have wedding bells in their eyes or want him to meet their families.

      Sara Fleet was a mass of contradictions. Efficient and businesslike, and yet warm and touchy-feely at the same time. He still hadn’t quite recovered from that kiss on the cheek earlier that afternoon. God only knew how he’d stopped himself turning his face to hers and capturing her mouth.

      And right now her hand was curled round his.

      It was oh, so tempting. All he had to do was raise her hand to his lips. Kiss the backs of her fingers. Turn her wrist over and press his mouth to the pulse point, see if it jumped as hard and fast as his own heart was beating right then.

      It didn’t matter that they were standing in the middle of a public place. The rest of the world just faded away. He could pull her into his arms. Cup her face. Lower his mouth to hers. Taste the sweetness on offer…

      ‘Luke?’

      Uh. He really was losing the plot. He never, but never, allowed himself to be distracted like this. ‘Yeah, fine,’ he said, not really sure what he was agreeing to, but the warmth of her smile promised him it was something good. ‘Listen, I’d better let you go. You’ll need to pack for tomorrow.’

      ‘And you, no doubt, are planning to squeeze in some work.’

      ‘A teensy bit.’ Which might just stop him thinking about kissing her.

      ‘You,’ she said, ‘are impossible.’

      ‘So I’ve been told.’ He disentangled his fingers from hers and was dismayed to find that he actually missed their warmth and pressure.

      Not good at all.

      He was twenty-eight, not thirteen. Time he remembered that and acted like it. ‘Come on. I’ll put you in a taxi.’

      ‘I’m perfectly capable of getting the Tube.’

      ‘I know. But humour me.’

      ‘Depends.’

      ‘On what?’

      ‘I’ll take a taxi,’ she said, ‘if you agree to paddle in the sea with me on Saturday.’

      ‘And you say I’m impossible?’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Come on.’ He hailed a taxi, paid the driver and waved her goodbye.

      And the worst thing was, he couldn’t wait to see her tomorrow.

      ‘You,’ he told himself loudly, ‘need your head examined. She’s a complication you don’t need.’

      Though he had a nasty feeling that he was protesting just a little too much.