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‘Hi,’ he said, his voice so hoarse it sounded as if he hadn’t used it for months. He cleared his throat, flashed her a quick smile of his own and then stepped back. ‘Come in.’

‘Thanks.’

She walked past him, looking up and around, at the pictures on the walls, at the furniture in the hall. Even though he’d been intending to take her straight into the kitchen and offer her a drink, when she veered into the sitting room he let her because something deep inside him, something he wasn’t keen on analysing too closely, wanted her to like what she saw.

He thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans, watched as she peered at photos, ran her gaze over his bookshelves and took in the furnishings, and he had to bite back the urge to ask her what she thought because he was pretty sure that she wasn’t here to discuss his interior design.

‘You have a nice house, Marcus,’ she said, once they’d made it into the kitchen and he’d handed her the glass of water she’d requested when he’d offered her something to drink.

‘You sound surprised,’ he said, the gratification that she liked it overriding the irritation that despite everything she still harboured some of the old impressions she’d had of him.

‘I am a bit, I guess. It’s big but somehow it feels cosy. Lived in.’ She lifted the glass and took a sip. ‘It’s unexpected.’

‘Why, what did you expect?’

She shrugged and shot him a smile. ‘I don’t know, really. Something more along the lines of a shag pad, I suppose.’

‘You haven’t seen the bedroom.’

The minute the words left his mouth he wished he could scoop them up and stuff them back in because that had sounded an awful lot like flirting, and what the hell he thought he was doing flirting with Celia, now, he had no idea.

She snapped her gaze to his, her eyes widening and her breath catching. ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘I haven’t.’

Marcus ignored the temptation to suggest that she go with him and check it out, and told himself to get a grip. He had to pull himself together. He really did. Before he made even more of a fool of himself.

‘So how are you feeling?’ he asked, folding his arms, leaning back against the granite counter and deciding that whatever it was that was affecting his ability to think straight it might be safer if he stuck to the likely reason she was here.

‘Better after a couple of good nights’ sleep,’ she said dryly, ‘but strange.’

‘Strange’ he could understand. He was feeling very strange indeed. A bit baffled by the way she was affecting him given the situation they were in. On edge and horribly awkward, which was a new one when it came to the things he felt around her. A new one for him generally, come to think of it. ‘How’s the headache?’

‘Gone.’

‘The palpitations?’

‘Receding.’

Thank goodness for that. ‘Nausea?’

‘No.’

He ran his gaze over her figure, taking in the summery dress that hung off her a bit too loosely, and frowned. ‘Are you eating?’

She nodded. ‘I am.’

‘Properly?’

‘Properly. I went to the supermarket this morning and everything. Scout’s honour.’

Good. ‘So no work today, then?’ he said, remembering it was Monday.

‘I took the day off.’

‘That must be a first.’

‘The first in two years.’ She shot him a quick wry smile. ‘Stuff on my mind, you know?’

He did. On his mind too, actually, and frankly he’d had enough of skirting around the issue with small talk and edginess. ‘So I imagine you’re here to talk about the pregnancy.’


Tags: Lucy King Billionaire Romance