One-Amazing-Night Baby!: A Wild Night & A Marriage Ultimatum / Pregnant by the Playboy Tycoon / Pleasure, Pregnancy and a Proposition. Heidi Rice

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      He grinned. ‘I think they enjoyed the show.’

      God knows he had. That exit had been the first entirely wild thing he’d done in ages. He’d read somewhere that breaking loose every so often was a tonic for the soul. He had a feeling it could also be highly addictive, which—given his professional knowledge about impulsive behaviour—was probably not a good thing.

      She took him in, big green eyes luminous with shock. He was starting to wonder if it might be permanent when she smiled, then began to laugh. Her jiggling body, that infectious sound—he had to chuckle too.

      Eyes watery with effort, she finally got her breath. ‘I bet Penny’s jaw is still on the floor.’ She shook her head in astonishment. ‘I can’t believe we just did that.’ Then she frowned. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t warn me.’

      ‘You’d only have argued.’

      She dealt him that haughty look. ‘Maybe not.’

      If anything she was consistent.

      Consistently disagreeable.

      Normally he wouldn’t get involved, but the sight of an attractive woman on her own, a colourful bouquet sitting like a death sentence in her lap, had reeled him in. His heartstrings had tugged him all the way into asking her to dance. That he’d enjoyed their time together was a bonus, even after her stubborn streak had made it crystal-clear she most definitely was not ‘the one’.

      She wasn’t an advocate of tradition, marriage or, it seemed, even having a family. Most alarming … she believed a successful union was based on luck. A time bomb waiting to explode. He needed someone who looked at life and love level-headedly.

      A person made his own luck.

      Still, regardless of their differences, despite the fact there could be nothing between them, he couldn’t regret that kiss. Not that it would happen again.

      He inspected the closed lift doors. ‘So, up or down?’

      ‘To the lobby and a taxi … so, down.’

      Adrenaline was pumping through his body, bunching his muscles, firing the synapses over his skin. He wasn’t the least bit tired. They couldn’t go back to work off their energies at the wedding reception, however.

      ‘It’s too early to go home.’

      ‘It’s almost eleven.’

      Hardly late. ‘Are you tired?’

      Her mouth twisted to one side. ‘I thought I was.’

      Solution. ‘Join me for coffee.’

      ‘I don’t drink coffee.’

      He raised a brow. How could he forget? If he wanted to walk left, she would insist they go right.

      He persisted. ‘Something cool, then?’

      ‘Tell you what, put me down and I’ll think about it.’

      Cooper paused, then cleared his throat. How had that detail slipped his mind?

      He lowered her and she brushed off her gown. Her scent lingered—cinnamon and perhaps vanilla, a combination of spicy and sweet that suited her down to the ground.

      A spiral of hair spilled across her heart-shaped face as she angled her head to study him. ‘I’ll be honest. I don’t know how to take that invitation.’

      On the surface it might look like more pity, or an attempt to slip that notch on his bedpost, or, at best, a waste of time. But it was much simpler than that. Maybe it was seeing his friend happily married, but if she was feeling a little lonely tonight, so was he.

      He scooped his hands into his pockets.

      Of course, a more rational explanation was that he’d been working too hard for too long. But all that was too much information.

      ‘We know we’re not suited in a romantic sense, so you needn’t worry that we’ll somehow fall into bed.’ Hurt flooded her eyes and he inwardly cringed. Damn. And he’d thought her friend was tactless. He pushed on. ‘We’d just be two responsible adults, who have mutual friends, sharing a drink and some conversation after a wedding.’

      A faint line formed between her brows. She nibbled her lower lip and studied him.

      He withdrew his hands from his pockets. ‘Or I can ride with you down to the ground floor and see you get a cab.’

      The doubt in her face faded. She had the most exquisitely shaped lips—soft, luscious, made for kissing, not warring. But that was getting off-track.

      She tipped her head. ‘There’s a coffee shop off the lobby. Guess I could enjoy one quick hot chocolate on the way out.’

      Surprised, but pleased, he thumbed the lift button. ‘One quick one it is.’

      An elderly lady appeared and squeezed between them to hit the ‘up’ arrow. ‘That shop closes at ten,’ she told them, rearranging a cerise shawl around a pair of robust shoulders. ‘If you’re after hot chocolate, I recommend Room Service. Best I’ve tasted.’

      A lift arrived, and the lady disappeared behind the doors. At the same time the next lift pinged … going down.

      Cooper scrubbed his jaw. ‘Guess that does that.’

      ‘You have something against Room Service?’

      He looked at her hard. He must have it wrong. ‘Are you saying you’d come to my room?’

      ‘Depends. Do you have one?’

      ‘As a matter of fact, I do.’ Despite his attempt at blasé, surprise must have shown on his face.

      ‘We’re both over twenty-one,’ she pointed out calmly. ‘Besides, you just finished telling me seduction is the last thing on your mind. In case you’re worried, the same goes for me.’

      He grinned at her impudent look. Or was it saucy? If she wasn’t such a pain in the rear end …

      But she was right. He had a plan. A list. Now it was set in his mind, nothing would dissuade or distract him. He wouldn’t seduce her, though others might. He constantly cautioned his kid sister to be careful. Guys loved sex. Most would do almost anything to get it. And plenty ran a sprinter’s mile if precautions failed and suddenly baby made three.

      A couple of minutes later they arrived at the penthouse floor and he let her into the apartment. She crossed the Italian marble floor to sample the expansive harbour view that featured the Opera House’s majestic shells.

      ‘You reserved a whole loft apartment for the night?’ she asked, moving to the far wall to inspect his favourite painting—a warm, brightly hued abstract he’d picked up in Hanoi. ‘Must’ve cost a packet.’

      He shucked out of his jacket and hung it on the hall stand. ‘I own it.’

      ‘Oh, you do not.’ Her СКАЧАТЬ