‘Let me out. This is kidnapping!’
The words came out on an outraged squeak, which would have been embarrassing if she hadn’t been in a state of shock. ‘Where exactly are we going?’
He made one more turn, braked, and then backed into a parking space outside a six-storey Georgian terraced house. He switched off the engine and, slinging his arm over the steering wheel, angled his body towards her. ‘We’re here. The appointment’s not for another—’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Ten minutes,’ he announced, as if that explained everything.
She peered past him and read the street sign on the corner. ‘What are we doing in Harley Street?’
The house he’d stopped in front of had an ornate brass plaque listing two doctors’ names. That made sense. Harley Street was the domain of London’s most exclusive private medical practitioners. But nothing else did. Why had he brought her here?
He took his sunglasses off, flung them in the back seat. ‘Answer me one question,’ he said, his voice tight with annoyance. ‘Were you ever going to tell me about it?’
‘Tell you about what?’ Why was he looking at her as if she’d tried to steal the crown jewels and he’d caught her red-handed?
His gaze wandered down to her abdomen. She folded her arms, feeling oddly defensive. ‘About my baby, of course. What else?’
Heidi Rice was born and bred and still lives in London, England. She has two boys who love to bicker, a wonderful husband who, luckily for everyone, has loads of patience, and a supportive and ever-growing British/ French/Irish/American family. As much as Heidi adores ‘the Big Smoke’, she also loves America, and every two years or so she and her best friend leave hubby and kids behind and Thelma and Louise it across the States for a couple of weeks (although they always leave out the driving off a cliff bit). She’s been a film buff since her early teens, and a romance junkie for almost as long. She indulged her first love by being a film reviewer for ten years. Then two years ago she decided to spice up her life by writing romance. Discovering the fantastic sisterhood of romance writers (both published and unpublished) in Britain and America made it a wild and wonderful journey to her first Mills and Boon novel, and she’s looking forward to many more to come.
Recent books by the same author:
BEDDED BY A BAD BOY
THE MILE-HIGH CLUB
THE TYCOON’S VERY PERSONAL ASSISTANT
Dear Reader
There are a few magic moments in everyone’s life that they know they’ll remember for ever. For me, two of my most magical moments happened in the ultrasound suite at UCH hospital in London, when my husband and I saw our two sons for the first time.
A few months ago my boys and I were looking at their yellowing ultrasound photos and I had one of those ‘What if?’ moments a writer dreams of. What if you were having that magical ultrasound moment, meeting that precious little scrap of humanity growing inside you for the first time, and you hadn’t even realised you were pregnant? And what if the father of your precious scrap was sitting beside you, looking handsome and devastatingly sexy, but you hardly knew him—and what you did know you didn’t like?
So I had a great starting-off point for my story, but I knew my heroine would have to be someone really special to survive the emotional rollercoaster she was going to have to ride to her happy-ever-after. One woman instantly sprang to mind. When I wrote my second book, THE MILE-HIGH CLUB, the heroine’s best friend Louisa kept butting into the story. Flirty, funny, reckless, romantic, beautiful, and with a wicked sense of humour, Louisa was brave enough to cling on during all the swoops and bumps—and big-hearted enough to forge them into something wonderful to boot.
All that was left to do was find a hero man enough to take that wild ride with Louisa—and Luke Devereaux stepped up to the plate. I hope you take as much pleasure in reading about how they battled their way to true love.
If you want to tell me about your magic moments, or even tell me what you think of Louisa and Luke’s story, I’d love to hear from you. Visit my website at www.heidi-rice.com or e-mail me on [email protected]
Cheers
Heidi x
PLEASURE, PREGNANCY AND A PROPOSITION
BY
HEIDI RICE
MILLS & BOON
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To my dad, Peter Rice, who I wish I could talk to just one more time.
And to Julia, Kieran and Nemone, because talking to you guys is the next best thing.
CHAPTER ONE
‘QUICK, Lou, major hottie alert. Twelve o’clock.’
Louisa DiMarco’s fingers paused on the keyboard of her computer at the urgent whisper from her editorial assistant, Tracy. ‘I’m on deadline here, Trace,’ she muttered. ‘And I happen to take my work seriously.’
Louisa was a professional. One of Blush magazine’s most popular and well-respected feature writers. Just because this article about the pros and cons of breast enlargement was giving her a headache—what were the pros anyway?—she would not be distracted from it because Tracy had spotted some good-looking guy in the office.
‘We’re talking scorching,’ Tracy crooned. ‘You will not want to miss this guy.’
Louisa kept her head down and carried on typing. For about two seconds.
‘For goodness’ sake!’ She clicked on her screen to save. ‘All right, one quick peek. But this had better be good.’ Surely even a dedicated features writer like herself was entitled to some recreational pursuits on the hottest, stuffiest, most boring Friday afternoon in the history of the world ever?
Louisa peered round her computer to get a better view of the vast open-plan office, not expecting to be impressed. Tracy’s taste in men generally stank. Still, even Tracy’s idea of what constituted a hottie couldn’t make Louisa feel as queasy as the pictures she’d been looking at all afternoon. ‘Where is Adonis, then?’ she asked.
‘Over there.’ Tracy pointed to the far end of the office. ‘The bloke with Piers,’ she said, her voice hushed in reverence. ‘Isn’t he magnificent?’
Louisa sent her assistant a quick grin. Good to know she wasn’t the only stir-crazy female on the premises. She looked past the desks of journalists typing like crazy on the last Friday before press day, and spied two men with their backs to the room by the receptionist’s desk.
Louisa blinked. Tracy hadn’t just surprised her. She’d astonished her. Louisa was the office’s acknowledged hottie connoisseur and even she couldn’t fault the guy. Not from this angle anyway. Tall, dark and broad shouldered, with an expertly tailored navy-blue designer suit, Adonis was making their managing editor, Piers Parker, who was