The Carides Pregnancy

‘Call it a perk of the job,’ he suggested, slinging his beautifully tailored jacket carelessly into the back seat. His tie, which he had unfastened from around his throat, rapidly joined it. After he had unfastened the top button of a pristine white shirt to reveal a discreet section of smooth brown flesh he turned the ignition.

‘Some perk,’ Becca muttered, pressing a hand to her wayward stomach as she concentrated on not noticing the shadow of body hair on his chest visible through the fine fabric of his shirt. She had noticed that the uncomfortably visceral effect this man’s brand of sexuality had on her had got worse since she’d got into the car.

Which rather begged the question, Why the hell did I get in?

He turned his head and looked directly into her eyes and smiled. It was a sinfully sexy smile. Becca vocalised her growing irritation.

‘I don’t know what I’m doing here with you.’

‘You can thank me later.’

‘After we’ve found my car?’

‘It’s probably been clamped and towed by now,’ he predicted. ‘You really don’t have the faintest idea where you parked?’

Becca flushed. He made it sound as though she made a habit of losing her car. ‘I’d been driving all night and I ran out of petrol, and—’ She stopped, her expression brightening.

‘I bought a parking ticket from one of those pay-and-display things. The stub will be in my—’ She looked around for her bag and her face dropped. ‘Oh, no!’

‘What’s wrong now?’ This woman, Christos decided, was a walking disaster area.

‘I’ve left my handbag back in the Cathedral. At least,’ she qualified, frowning as she mentally tried, without much success, to retrace her steps, ‘I think I have.’