His Little Miracle: The Billionaire's Baby

It had been too long since she’d had a night off, let alone the freedom to watch a chick-flick, and, what with Blane called out for an emergency meeting, this had been too good an opportunity to pass up.

Not that he hadn’t made her feel welcome or not told her to make herself at home. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to ensure she treated the penthouse as her own for however long she needed to be here.

Not long, if she had any say it.

Quite simply, living with Blane was pure and utter torture. Oh, not in the rooming sense, for he was the perfect housemate: own bathroom, clean kitchen, stocked fridge where he didn’t touch her stuff, toilet seat always thoughtfully down.

Throw in the fact he respected her privacy, didn’t expect her to make small talk in the morning when she was at her grumpiest, and didn’t hound her for leaving a trail of magazines around the place, and he was nigh on perfect in her eyes.

But therein lay the problem.

Blane was perfect, from the top of his mussed hair to the bottom of his sexy bare feet as he padded from his bedroom to the kitchen in the middle of the night for a drink of water.

She’d lie awake in bed, listening to his soft footfall against the polished boards, holding her breath as he passed her room, the small, traitorous part of her wishing he’d enter on some flimsy excuse.

Pathetic.

Considering she’d been the one to reinforce the ‘just friends’ mantra when she moved in, it was rather ironic she was having the most difficulty sticking to it.

She’d see him first thing in the morning, his jaw covered in stubble, and want to caress his cheek. She’d smell him fresh out of the shower as he left a fragrant cloud of steam in his wake as she walked past the bathroom door and will herself not to inhale deep lungfuls of the heady stuff.

She’d hear him humming softly to himself as he got dressed and try to blot out the vivid mental image that sprang to mind of what he looked like without clothes.

Shaking her head, she stuffed a handful of popcorn in her mouth and hit Play on the remote. She needed to chill-out with this romantic comedy, have a few laughs, and forget about Blane for two hours.

However, like most of her plans these days, they didn’t run smoothly, and as the opening credits rolled onto the screen, she heard the front door swing open.

‘Hey, there. What are you watching?’

Her heart galloped as he plopped onto the couch beside her, looking wind-tossed and deliciously dishevelled in his rumpled tan T-shirt and faded denim, resident smile in place.

‘Some girly movie Anna recommended to me about three years ago.’

He laughed. ‘Don’t get much time to watch DVDs, huh?’

‘Try never.’

‘Mind if I watch it with you?’

Great. She’d look like a churlish cow if she refused, but what happened to her Blane-free time? Not only would she be forced to sit through one hundred and twenty minutes of having him less than three feet away, she could actually smell him, the faintest waft of cedar instantly transporting her back to a time she shouldn’t be remembering let alone craving.

‘What are you thinking?’

Her gaze flew to his, her breath catching at the tenderness she glimpsed there, and, while it would be smarter to fob him off, she was too caught up in the moment to lie.

‘Remember that old cedar tree?’

His eyes crinkled, his smile warm. ‘The one with the old tyre? Sure. You used to love playing princess, ordering me around like some lowly serf to push you for ages.’

She chuckled at the memory, catapulted back to a time where they had nothing better to do than tease each other, laugh with each other, at total ease, secure in their love.

What she wouldn’t give for a step back in time.

‘There were times you used to order me around, like when we used to walk miles through the National Park on the outskirts of town.’

‘Yeah.’ His eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘Though you made me haul a ten-tonne picnic on my back every time.’

‘That’s because you were always starving.’

The minute the words popped out of her mouth, his eyes darkened to smoky grey, and she knew in an instant he was thinking of other appetites beside food.

‘Speaking of being starving, here, have some popcorn.’

She shoved the bowl towards him, not surprised her hand trembled.

He had that effect on her, always had, and she clamped her lips together to refrain from saying anything else she might regret.

‘Thanks.’

He tossed a few kernels up in the air, tilted his head back, and caught them as they dropped into his mouth, like he’d always done, and, once again, she was transported back in time, to the weekly movie sessions at the town hall where they’d sat in the back stalls, holding hands so tightly her fingers had tingled, her head resting on his shoulder, snuggling into his warmth.

Those had been good times, amazing times, and for those magical three months he’d held her spellbound, caught up in a whirlwind of passion and laughter and friendship the likes of which she’d never known.

But he’d left, leaving a gaping hole in her life, a soul-deep emptiness which haunted her to this day, and, while she’d accepted his rationale for leaving, it didn’t mean she had a desire to go back there again.

A good, sound decision. If only her body would agree, and sitting this close to him was doing serious damage to her equilibrium.

Faking a yawn, she stretched. ‘Actually, I think I’m pretty beat. I might give the movie a miss.’

He was on to her.

She could see it in the slight narrowing of his eyes, the uncharacteristic downturn of his beautiful mouth.

‘Cam, you can’t go on avoiding me for ever. We live in the same apartment, and I rarely see you.’

Reaching out, he covered her hand with his where it rested on the sofa, and she struggled not to snatch it away.

His touch on top of her wavering hormones was not a good combination, oh, no sirree.

‘What happened to hanging out as friends? Surely we can do that?’

‘Of course,’ she murmured, clamping down on the strongest urge to turn her hand palm up and intertwine her fingers with his. ‘I’ve just been super-busy, that’s all.’

He could have pushed the issue, made her confront the truth, but he was too much of a nice guy, and she knew it.

Giving a gentle tug on her hand, leaving her no option but to lean towards him, he said, ‘So you’re not running scared?’

‘Of what?’