It Started With A Kiss: The Secret Love-Child / Facing Up to Fatherhood / Not a Marrying Man. Miranda Lee

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      He moaned at the heat of it. And the wetness. It was like being sheathed in molten steel. He was going to come. He knew he was going to come.

      His raw cry of warning stopped her, leaving him dangling right on the edge.

      ‘You have a problem, lover?’ she drawled huskily as she reached for one of the condoms they kept beside the bed.

      He choked out a rueful laugh. ‘You’re cruel, do you know that?’

      ‘Now you know how I felt last night,’ she said as she protected them both. ‘Just as well my perfume acts as an effective insect repellent or I’d have been covered with insect bites.’

      ‘Instead, you have a few bites of another kind.’

      ‘Beast.’

      ‘You loved it.’

      ‘And you’re loving this. So why don’t you just lie back and enjoy?’

      He sucked in sharply when she bent to take him in her mouth once more.

      ‘No, don’t,’ he groaned, and her head lifted, her eyes surprised. ‘No?’

      ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Not like that.’

      He reached down and pulled her up and onto him, spreading her legs outside of his, then pushing his tormented flesh inside her once more. With a primal groan he grabbed her buttocks, kneading them as he rocked her quite roughly up and down on him. They came together, backs arching, mouths gaping wide apart, bodies throbbing wildly in unison.

      ‘Oh, Rafe,’ she cried, collapsing face down across his chest, her insides still spasming.

      He held her to him till she stopped, though a shudder still ran through her every now and then.

      Too much, he began thinking. This is all getting too much.

      ‘I have to go to the bathroom,’ he told her a bit brusquely.

      ‘No, don’t leave me,’ she begged, clinging to him.

      ‘Sorry. Nature calls.’ He was out of her and off the bed in a flash, lurching across the sea matting floor and into the bathroom. Closing the door, he leaned against it for a few air-sucking seconds before staggering over to the toilet, not really needing it except to do some essential personal housekeeping.

      When he went to do just that, he stared down at himself in horror.

      ‘Oh, no…’ he muttered.

      Not once had Rafe had a condom break before on him. Not once!

      Till now…

      His heart sinking, Rafe inspected the damage and it was the worst scenario possible. The darned thing had totally failed. Ripped asunder. Right across the tip.

      Immediately he thought of Isabel and in his mind’s eye he could see millions of eager little tadpoles careering through her cervix and into her womb, swimming around with more energy than the Olympic water-polo team, watching and waiting to score a home goal.

      What were the odds of their doing just that? he wondered frantically, his mind scouring his memory to recall what Isabel had said to him that Sunday just over two weeks ago. Something about her period being due that week. Probably early on in the week, he guessed. She’d said something about suffering from PMT that day.

      Rafe did some mental arithmetic and worked out that if Isabel was a normal regular female with a normal monthly cycle, then she had to have already entered, or be entering, her ‘most likely to conceive phase’ right now.

      Rafe sank down on the side of the spa bath. He might have just become a father!

      His head whirled. So did his stomach. She was going to kill him when he told her.

      Then don’t tell her, came the voice of male logic. It will only spoil everything. And there’s nothing you can do about it now. Besides, it might not happen. It might not be the right time. Even if it was, couples sometimes tried for years—hitting ovulation day right on the dot—and the woman didn’t fall pregnant. Let’s not be paranoid about this.

      But what if Isabel had fallen pregnant. What then?

      Cross that bridge when you come to it, Rafe.

      Right. Good advice.

      Rafe stood up, jumped into the shower and turned on the water. Picking up the shower gel, he poured a generous pool into his hands and slapped it onto his chest.

      But a baby, he began thinking as he washed himself. His baby. His and Isabel’s baby.

      Talk about the best plans of mice and men.

      Isabel lay there listening to Rafe in the shower and thinking she could do with a shower herself. She felt icky. But no way was she going to join him in there, not after the way she’d just carried on, clinging to him and pleading for him to stay with her like some lovesick cow.

      How typical of herself! And how humiliating!

      No wonder he’d bolted out of the bed.

      Rafe was right. It was high time they did something else instead of have sex. She was beginning to fall into old ways.

      Isabel sighed. If only he was less skilful in the lovemaking department. If only he didn’t know exactly the sort of thing which excited her unbearably. If only he didn’t always turn the tables on her such as just now.

      She’d thought she was being the boss in the bedroom, as she’d used to be sometimes with Luke, but in a flash Rafe had whipped control out of her hands and she’d become his willing little love slave again, as she’d been last night.

      Isabel’s face flamed as she thought how crazy it had been of her to let him tie her up like that. But, ooh, it had been so deliciously thrilling. And really, down deep, she’d never felt worried. There’d been no fear in her, only excitement.

      It had been a game, an erotic game. Just as this holiday together was a game. Rafe knew that. And she knew that.

      So why did she keep forgetting?

      No more, she resolved. From now on she would stick to the rules. And to the agreed agenda. As for any silly idea she’d been harbouring of seeing Rafe occasionally after this fortnight was over… That was not on. Experience warned her if she saw Rafe outside of this fantasy setting she was sure to fall in love with him, or start relying on him for her day-to-day happiness. She’d been there, done that, and she wasn’t ever going there again. Heaven help her, if she couldn’t learn from her past mistakes!

      Isabel was lying there under a sheet, feeling relatively in control once more, when Rafe emerged from the steaming bathroom, rubbing his brown hair dry with a bright orange towel, a lime-green one slung rather hazardously low around his hips.

      Wow, she thought as her gaze ran hungrily over him. He really was gorgeous, even more so now that he was sporting an all-over tan. She loved the long lean look on a man, loved broad bronzed shoulders which tapered down to a small waist. Loved tight little buns.

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