EXPECTING HER ENEMY'S HEIR

        ‘It’s yours.’

        Cristo. That he hadn’t even considered any other possibility showed just how powerful a spell she had cast on him. He nodded to convey his understanding but still couldn’t look at her. He went to pull at his collar, to relieve the tightness around his throat, only to find that it was already open. Intensely disliking that she might have caught the sign of his discomfort, he moved his hand to the back of his neck, his fingers brushing against the cold sweat that was gathering there with alarming frequency whenever Amelia was near.

        Think it through. Be rational, he ordered himself. He had used a condom and even if she had lied about being on contraception, the chances were slim that pregnancy could have been a secured outcome. And after two years at his company, he might not know her—the real her—but she couldn’t hide the way she thought. He’d seen it in the choices she made, how she approached and assessed a project, the solutions she offered to problems. And at the very least he knew that she would never have created a plan around a possible pregnancy resulting from one single night with him, that couldn’t have been guaranteed in itself.

        ‘So Hong Kong was…’ he asked, wanting to know.

        She shook her head and looked away, a blush rising to her cheeks and the gentle shrug of her shoulder, the fine bones there marked by his oversized T-shirt. It appeared she was as unable to explain that night as he was.

        When she looked back at him, she was squinting up at him, the early morning Tuscan sun turning her brown hair into burnished gold, her pale skin into a sunburst as if even the morning were conspiring against him.

        ‘What now?’ she asked.

        That was a very good question.