A Spanish Passion: A Spanish Marriage / A Spanish Engagement / Spanish Doctor, Pregnant Nurse. Carol Marinelli

slickly over the slight curve of her tummy before coming to rest on the soft, silky curls between her thighs, making all the breath rush out of her lungs.

      ‘I’ll be two seconds,’ he promised on a raw intake of air. ‘I won’t put you through another pregnancy scare,’ he imparted. Javier took a step away, against every instinct. Had to move before he lost the ability to think straight. ‘Have to protect you this time,’ he told her gently as she reached out to slip her hands beneath the hem of his T-shirt, the words that were about to tumble from her tongue, telling him that she wanted his baby with all her heart and soul dying in her throat as a raised female voice cut through the heavily charged atmosphere.

      Shocked into stillness, it was Javier who broke the sudden silence with a vehement oath in a language Zoe took to be Spanish, tacking on, ‘My mother!’

      The tap of high heels on the polished hardwood floorboards, the, ‘Javier! Teresa! Is no one here?’ had Zoe realising she was naked and scrambling to cover herself with the bath towel, just as the door swung open to frame Isabella Maria wearing an aqua silk two-piece and a delighted grin.

      ‘So there you are! The place was like the Marie Celeste. We’ve come to surprise you!’

      The hard flush that had stained Javier’s jutting cheekbones receding, he said drily, ‘Perfect timing, as usual, Mama.’ He draped an arm round Zoe’s shoulders and Isabella Maria, not recognising sarcasm when she heard it, broadened her smile.

      ‘Good! Your father said we wouldn’t be welcome. But I told him not to be so foolish. You’re well past the honeymoon stage and likely to shoot intruders on sight! You do realise, don’t you, that I haven’t seen either of you for a whole year?’

      ‘Is that so?’ Javier’s tone was dryer than the desert. ‘If you’ll excuse us, we were about to take a shower, weren’t we, darling?’

      At the increased pressure on her shoulder, Zoe swallowed a giggle, managed a nod, and managed not to explode with manic laughter when Javier instructed his parent, ‘Make breakfast, Mama. Zoe and I enjoy fending for ourselves, but as you’re here you might as well do it.’

      A series of decisive strides took him to Isabella Maria’s side. A hand clamped beneath her elbow, he escorted her back through the door, firmly closing it in her surprised wake.

      His hands spread, he turned to Zoe, his mouth wry as he murmured drolly, ‘What can I say?’

      ‘That you ought to fix padlocks on the doors?’ Zoe’s smile was wobbly because rivers of frustration were rushing through her veins, making her bones ache.