His Little Miracle: The Billionaire's Baby

‘I think you know exactly how hard it is.’

He could have shown her if he shifted his pelvis a fraction to the left, but she was driving him beyond the limits any red-blooded male in his right mind could tolerate, so he settled for a quick, blistering kiss, chuckling when she gasped after he released her, and twirled her towards the car, giving her a gentle pat on her very cute butt for good measure.

‘I’ll give you two minutes to change. You take any longer, and I won’t be responsible for my actions.’

She flung a saucy look over her shoulder. ‘Is that a threat or a promise?’

‘Change!’ He pointed to the car before his good intentions to romance her in the style she deserved went up in flames along with his libido.

‘I’ll be over that sand dune.’ He held up two fingers. ‘Two minutes, that’s it.’

With a fake pout, she puffed out an exaggerated sigh before reaching for the zip and slowly, agonisingly, drawing it downwards inch by excruciating inch.

He stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear his gaze away from her fingertips, the nails short, practical and unadorned, wrapped around that tiny piece of black metal, sliding downwards in a deliberate, unhurried tease.

She reached the tantalising dip between her breasts, the hint of cleavage making him grit his teeth to stop himself from groaning.

‘Remember that time we went skinny-dipping after the Labour Day picnic?’

Remember? How could he forget? Instant memories swamped him: sharing hot nachos down by the creek, licking the spicy salsa off each other’s fingers, flickering moonlight playing over her exquisite features, him daring her to join him in the frigid water, buck naked…

‘Cam…’ He took a step towards her, barely managing to stop when she waggled a finger at him and pointed over his shoulder.

‘I think there’s a sand dune over there with your name written all over it.’

With a frustrated growl, he turned away from her teasing grin and marched over the hot sand, putting as much distance between the gorgeous temptress and himself as possible.

He might be a romantic but he wasn’t a saint, and if that zip had gone any further, he couldn’t have been held accountable for his actions.

Cam might like to tease him, to push things along but he had all the time in the world.

Like for ever.

Camryn wondered if she’d made a mistake.

When Blane drove through the tiny coastal town of Barwon Heads on their way back for lunch with its single main street dotted with a bakery, pub, grocer and a few cafés for the holidaymakers who probably frequented the quiet town in the summer, she’d had the distinct feeling he was trying to recapture their past.

The streets had been almost deserted, the foreshore home to a few seagulls too lazy to raise a squawk, and as the car had stopped at the lone roundabout to let a helmetless kid on a bike through, it had taken every ounce of her willpower not to interrogate him on the spot.

Barwon Heads was reminiscent of Rainbow Creek, from the few old guys loitering around the rusty anchor in the town’s sole park, making desultory small talk over cigarettes, to the curious glances cast their way when Blane stopped for petrol.

And considering they’d first met in Rainbow Creek, it didn’t take a genius to figure out he was trying to take a trip down memory lane.

Not a bad thing in itself when she’d enjoyed every moment she’d spent in her errant husband’s company so far, and this weekend would prove no exception. The kicker lay in the fact her intentions to tread softly had flown out the window since the first time they’d kissed in his penthouse, and she hadn’t been able to recover her equilibrium since.

It was getting harder and harder to hold him off, to pretend she was just getting reacquainted with a friend and not falling deeper with every passing day.

‘Chardonnay or Shiraz?’

Smiling, she turned away from the wooden balcony and the panoramic view of the tiny town that lay out before them. ‘Chardonnay would be lovely.’

‘Coming right up.’

He tipped a finger to his head in a salute before padding back into the kitchen, his bare feet making a soft padding sound against the old wooden boards.

Sighing, she leaned against the balcony, propped on her elbows, wondering if there was such a thing as happily ever after.

Was she crazy thinking about giving their marriage a second chance after what she’d been through first time around? Considering what she’d have to tell him if she was mad enough to give in to him?

What she did know was the heady attraction zinging between them since the first moment they’d met hadn’t waned. If anything it had intensified, the underlying heat needing little to burst into a raging conflagration of yearning and passion.

Not that he was pushing her, oh, no, far from it. Blane was categorically the nicest guy she’d ever met. Not to mention handsome in a rough-around-the-edges way she adored, funny, smart, thoughtful…throw in courteous, respectful, add some newly acquired chef skills to the list, and she knew she was in serious trouble.

Saying she had no interest in resurrecting their marriage was a crock, and she knew it.

To make matters worse, she’d agreed to spend the night. Not a big deal in itself, considering they’d been living together for the last month but, somehow, being housemates where they were both so busy with their respective businesses they rarely saw each other was completely different to this.

A weekend away, he’d said after she’d laughed off his fumigating excuse, time out from her busy schedule to kick back with no strings attached, and she’d foolishly agreed.

It had all seemed so simple saying yes over an espresso at the end of a long, tiring day when her body ached, her mind fogged and her soul exhausted, his offer just the thing for a workaholic who hadn’t had a day off in over a year.

However, now they were here at his mate’s holiday house after an incredibly fun afternoon at the beach, reality hit.

They’d be in each other’s company twenty-four/seven, without the excuse of work or meetings or late-night trading to hide behind. Not that she’d been avoiding him exactly; business at the Niche had been off the scale. She’d had regular meetings with the new project manager at her apartment to ensure everything ran smoothly and on time, and some of her staff had come down with a flu bug, and she’d had to do some serious juggling.

However, it had been late at night, when she’d all but fallen into bed, that she’d been all too aware of him sleeping across the hall from her, so close…so tantalisingly close…

Now here she was, sharing meals with him, sharing memories, those precious snapshots imprinted on her brain to be flicked through at will, and the self-imposed barriers she’d erected between them would come crashing down. Then what?

She didn’t stand a chance of holding him off.

‘Right, here you go, one chilled Chardonnay and a seafood platter for two.’

‘Thanks.’

She took the ice-cold glass from him and gulped the wine, the refreshing bite of the Hunter Valley grapes loosening her throat which had constricted at the thought of taking a risk of this magnitude.

With impeccable manners as always, he drew out a chair for her. ‘You better take it easy with that stuff. If my memory serves correct, you had two sips of champers on our honeymoon night and it went straight to your head.’

‘I didn’t hear you complaining.’

They locked gazes, hot, smouldering, instantly transported back to a time when they’d been ecstatically happy and totally free of responsibility, a time when it had just been the two of them so wrapped up in each other they’d been ready to tackle the world head on.

But that time had passed, the opportunity for the Blane and Cam team lost.

Or was it?

He cleared his throat and took the seat opposite. ‘You got that right. Those were special times, huh?’