His Little Miracle: The Billionaire's Baby

‘Maybe.’

He grinned as he took the proffered screwdriver, his fingers brushing hers, sending shards of electricity shooting up her arm as she struggled not to yank her hand back. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘With the pink tool kit?’

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his mouth twitching. ‘With the fact you knew which screwdriver to use.’

Puffing up like a true feminist, she said, ‘I’m not a helpless female. I know a Phillips head from a flathead.’

‘Obviously.’

She knew he was baiting her, teasing her as he had too many times to recall when they’d first met, and it felt good. It felt downright fantastic to be firing right back at him, to be swapping banter without guarding her words for fear of saying the wrong thing.

‘Think you can extend those tool-discriminating skills to hand me a wrench?’

‘Here you go, wise guy.’

She handed him the wrench, being careful to keep her fingers out of contact this time, and releasing a tiny sigh of disappointment when it worked.

For someone who knew her mind, went out and grabbed life with both hands, giving it a good shake-up along the way, she couldn’t believe how contrary he made her feel. She was wavering and vacillating all over the place, wishing for one thing, hoping for another.

If she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself agreeing to spend a little time with him…and they both knew exactly where that would lead.

Directly to matrimonial trouble.

With a soft grunt, he muttered, ‘Almost there,’ and she rued the fact considering she’d been enjoying the display of bulging biceps as he held the wrench steady, his back muscles shifting under his T-shirt as he turned the screwdriver with his other hand.

‘Got it.’

With a final twist of the screwdriver, he straightened, and she dragged her eyes upward with regret.

She’d got it all right—got it bad for her husband, who’d breezed into her life when she’d least expected or wanted it.

‘Thanks. I wouldn’t have had a hope of fixing it myself, would I?’

He smiled and handed her back the tools. ‘You did great—it had bent out of shape a tad and needed a bit of muscle power to get it back into alignment.’ He winked as he flexed his arm to display the said muscle. ‘Glad I could oblige.’

‘Uh-huh,’ she mumbled, unable to drag her gaze away from the muscle play in his upper arm, the yearning she’d managed to dampen flaring in a second.

‘Want a coffee?’ she blurted, springing up from her haunches like a jack-in-the-box, needing the safety of doing a routine, everyday activity to steady her shredded resolve.

She’d made a decision not to contact him, closely followed by a need to search out those old divorce papers and put an end to this once and for all. But now she’d seen him again in the flesh—so to speak—her intentions were shot.

The sparks resurrected between them the other night were still there, had intensified if anything, and with a little fanning could burst into a raging inferno of mutual passion, the type of passion she’d only ever had with this one special guy.

‘I’d love one, thanks.’

Grateful she had her back turned so he couldn’t see her scorching cheeks, she tried to concentrate on operating the machine, letting out an almighty yell when he sneaked up behind her and placed his hands on her waist.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Apart from the fact you just scared me half to death?’

She whirled to face him, her unjustified indignation melting away as she looked into his eyes, the desire she glimpsed taking her breath away.

‘You seem jumpy.’

With his hands burning a hole through her flimsy silk top, the smell of cedar enveloping her in a heady cloud and making her wish she could work outdoors right alongside him, she tilted her chin up, willing her arms to stay by her sides and not reach up and slide around his waist.

‘Just tired.’

It sounded like the pathetic excuse it was.

‘You sure that’s all it is?’

What could she say? That he had her so physically aware of him she was tied up in knots?

That she’d barely slept all week for dreaming of him? Remembering how good it had been between them? Wishing it could be again? Yet knowing it could never be, not with her infertility an ever-present shadow looming over her, no matter how much she’d come to terms with it herself.

‘Uh-huh.’

She took a step back, leaving him no option but to drop his hands.

‘Espresso? Or would you like me to whip you up one of our signature coffees? I make a mean café latte fredo.’

Thankfully, he bought her distraction. ‘What’s in it?’

‘One part espresso, five parts cold milk, shaken with ice.’

‘Done.’

He stepped back, giving her room to move, and she grabbed the cocktail shaker, scooped in the ice, and set about making the coffee in record time so she could re-establish some kind of equilibrium.

‘What’s that you’re having?’

‘A doppio. Double shot of espresso.’ As if she needed to stay awake all night again. ‘So what do I owe you?’

‘Nothing.’

Her hand stilled on the espresso machine, and she sent him her best ‘don’t mess with me’ glare.

‘I have to pay you. It’s only fair.’

‘Payment, huh?’

She didn’t like the gleam in his eyes or the cunning smile spreading across his face. Both could give a girl ideas—very naughty ideas.

‘Fine. My payment is dinner.’