The Pregnancy Discovery

by Barbara Hannay

  But an equally strong instinct urged him otherwise. She was already wary of him and a confession like that would make her clam up completely. Then he would miss this heaven-sent opportunity to pick up inside information about the bottle and its message before he tackled her boss.

  They reached the resort, Magnetic Rendezvous. She steered the car into a parking bay and, after turning the engine off, leaned forward, linking her arms across the top of the steering wheel. Sam got the distinct impression she was pleased to talk to someone about this bottle.

  She turned to look at him and he felt the full impact of her clear grey eyes. Yes, they were definitely grey, he decided—and sweetly framed by long dark lashes. And, he noticed uncomfortably, right now they were shimmering with a suspicious sheen.

  ‘I don’t know what made me pick the bottle up,’ she said softly. ‘I keep asking myself that and I know it sounds fanciful, but it was almost as if I was meant to find it.’

  Her face softened into a sad, dreamy smile and Sam felt a surprising constriction in his throat. In the flesh, Meg was even lovelier than her photo had suggested. The photo hadn’t shown the way she moved, light and graceful, with a sexy little sway of her hips. It couldn’t record the delightful warmth of her voice or capture the way her smile could dissolve into a sweetly serious frown when she was lost in thought.

  She was looking serious now when she said, ‘That bottle spent sixty years bobbing around in the ocean. I’m only—well—it’s more than twice my age.’

  ‘So how old does that make you?’

  ‘None of your business.’

  Sam grinned. At a guess, he’d put her age at around twenty-four or twenty-five. He was thirty-two, so she was a bit young for him—not that he was thinking of her in that way, of course.

  Then again…

  She was offering him a view of her delicate profile and, as he watched the way she nibbled at her soft bottom lip, a guy couldn’t help contemplating how nice it would be to try that himself sometime.

  Meg’s voice broke into his thoughts, dragging them away from highly unsuitable fantasies. ‘I guess I’m looking at this whole bottle business in a hopelessly romantic way.’ She flashed him a sudden smile.

  He couldn’t resist smiling back. ‘What’s wrong with romance?’

  For a long moment their gazes held. An unspoken, highly charged exchange flashed between them. Sam only just resisted an urge to lean forward and taste her soft, startled mouth.

  He couldn’t be sure who looked away first but, eventually, they both stared back out through the windscreen at the stretch of lawn dotted with coconut palms.

  He forced himself to remember that his family’s business was at stake. Which was why he was relaxing on a tropical island and deliberately misleading this lovely young woman. He definitely shouldn’t be planning to add seduction to his crime of deception.

  He cleared his throat. ‘So this message in the bottle, was it a love letter?’

  She nodded. ‘It’s beautiful. That man sure loved the woman he was writing to.’

  ‘He was writing to his wife, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but you can’t read her name. There’s some damage—from exposure to light we think.’

  He repressed an angry sigh. If Tom Kirby’s wife wasn’t named, sorting out this will could be really messy. It was the worst possible news.

  ‘You’d better not ask me any more about it,’ Meg said with sudden briskness, ‘I can’t say anything else, not when the grandson of Thomas Kirby, the man who wrote the message, is coming here soon—tomorrow, I think.’

  Sam’s stomach tightened guiltily.

  Meg added, ‘He’s the American VIP I was telling you about.’

  ‘You don’t say?’ he murmured, and he switched his attention to a rainbow lorikeet as it settled in a nearby tree. After promising himself, again, to come clean very soon, he asked, ‘So this guy is coming all the way out here just to pick up a sixty-year-old letter? Why couldn’t you have posted it to him special delivery?’

  Meg sighed loudly. ‘That would be too easy. My boss wouldn’t hear of it. He wants to get as much publicity mileage as he can out of this incident.’

  He stopped studying the bird and turned to frown at her. ‘What kind of publicity?’

  ‘He sees this as a great opportunity to get media attention for the resort. Magnetic Rendezvous isn’t doing all that well. The competition for the tourist dollar is very stiff.’

  So that was what this guy was after! ‘That’s cheeky.’

  ‘Oh, Fred’s cheeky all right. He wants shots of me and this bachelor millionaire with the bottle plastered in newspapers and on television screens all over the country. I’m not looking forward to it,’ she said with another sigh.

  ‘This man—this millionaire—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘He might—’ Sam hesitated, uncomfortably aware that if he kept on talking about himself, he was taking this whole subterfuge thing way too far.

  To his relief, Meg didn’t wait for him to finish. She jumped out of the doorless Moke and grinned at him. ‘I prefer not to think about him until I have to. Now, you’re going to miss out on lunch if you don’t get moving.’

  He hopped out of the car too, and strode around to the back where she had begun to sort out the tangle of snorkels and flippers. ‘There’s something I should explain.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  His eyes rested her. Her beauty was as fresh and natural, as untouched as the island itself. Tell her, an inner voice urged and he drew in a breath, ready to confess. ‘There’s something I should tell you…something I should get off my chest about why I’m here on the island.’

  Meg stopped counting flippers and looked up abruptly to frown at him. ‘Now you really have me intrigued.’ She touched his wrist lightly. ‘You’ll have to explain…Heavens! I’ve been rattling on to you and I can’t even remember your name. What did you say your name was again?’

  ‘Sam.’

  ‘OK, Sam.’ Her grey eyes looked directly into his. ‘Get it off your chest.’

  Her gaze suddenly locked with his and, just as he had earlier, Sam felt another startling sense of connection zap between them.

  Her warm hand was still lying on his wrist.

  Neither of them moved.

  Chemistry could play sneaky tricks on a guy. Sam would have liked to feel more in control of this situation. Getting to know a woman was usually a pleasant game where he called all the shots. Many considered him to be an expert.

  But right now, he had no idea where he was heading.

  Especially when, out of absolutely nowhere, the unmistakable idea of kissing hovered between them in the dappled sunlight.

  As if prompted by a magnetic force, he dipped his head towards Meg ever so slightly and, to his surprise, she didn’t pull back. When he leaned lower, she raised her face a breathless fraction higher.

  Their mouths met.

  It was a hello kind of kiss. More than friendly, but not exactly the exchange of lovers. Apart from their mouths and her hand on his, they weren’t touching. He smiled down at her and she smiled back and he felt the warmth and softness of her linger on his lips and the blood rush through his pulse points.

  Meg was looking at him in dazed alarm as if she was as startled as he was. Then she jumped back, glaring at him and she said shakily, ‘I make it a rule never to kiss guests.’

  The flustered, breathless way she spoke sounded so sexy Sam stepped back too, in case he gave in to any more urges. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’

  She grabbed a pile of flippers, as if she needed an armful of rubber to keep him at bay. ‘You said you wanted to tell me something important about why you’re here,’ she reminded him sharply. ‘What sort of work did you say you did?’

  ‘Er—don’t worry about my job. It’s boring,’ Sam replied hastily. ‘But my hobby is marine science. I haven’t studied it in depth, but I’d love to learn more about the life on the reef, underwater photography, salt-water aq
uariums—that sort of thing. We could make a great team. You could be my tutor.’

  ‘Bad idea.’ She scowled. And then, like a mother scolding a little boy, she added, ‘I suggest you go take a shower and have some lunch.’

  She looked so mad that any thought of confessing his identity seemed ridiculous now. But it also seemed important to set things straight with Meg. For some inexplicable reason, Sam really cared what she thought of him.

  A flipper dropped from the pile she was clutching and landed at his feet. He picked it up and held it for a moment, his fingers flexing the rubber. ‘Meg, what I meant to tell you was that this VIP you mentioned…’

  He could sense her wariness, as if she’d pulled it on like protective armour. From beneath ash-blonde curls streaked with gold, her grey gaze darkened to a stormy charcoal. ‘Don’t tell me it’s you,’ she whispered.

  ‘Yeah, ‘fraid so.’

  A red flush flared in her cheeks and he couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or just plain mad at him.

  ‘I’m sorry. I meant to tell you earlier.’

  ‘No one was stopping you,’ she snapped.

  ‘Maybe not, but I didn’t see why I should give you a perfect reason to hate me.’

  ‘Yes, but—’ Meg gulped.

  ‘And you handed me an excellent opportunity to check out the lie of the land. I don’t intend to just waltz in to your boss ready to dance to his tune. After all, there’s a lot at stake.’

  ‘A lot of money.’

  ‘More than just money. It’s complicated.’ He took a step closer and offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘But I have an even better excuse.’

  Meg didn’t smile back. She continued to stand stiffly to attention with her arms tightly wrapped around the flippers.

  ‘I really appreciated being able to see the reef just the way I did this morning—just like an ordinary tourist. I had a great time. Thank you. From what you’ve said, the media will be hanging around tomorrow. Things will be different.’ He smiled again.

  But it seemed the effort was wasted.

  Meg’s chin lifted and she eyed him with a haughty glare. ‘Things will be very different,’ she said. ‘For starters, you won’t even think about trying to kiss me.’

  He tucked the flipper into the bundle she was holding. ‘In that case, I’m sure neither of us will look forward to tomorrow.’

  Ignoring her startled gasp, he turned in the direction of his bungalow. And, as he walked away, Sam reflected that he’d been wise not to add a comment about just how slim Meg’s chances were if she expected to control his thoughts.

  Especially his thoughts about kissing her again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  AS SOON as she woke the next morning, Meg knew it was going to be a bad day. Her first clue was the way her mind flashed straight to Sam Kirby—exactly where she didn’t want it to be. He’d taken up far too much space in her head all night.

  Not even the rainbow lorrikeets that came to her kitchen window for their breakfast treat could lift her spirits. She watched the amazing birds peck daintily at tiny pieces of bread and honey. But this morning their bright purple heads, lime-green wings, and bright yellow chests, brush-stroked with scarlet, didn’t fill her with admiration as they usually did. She was too busy feeling angry.

  The cheek of the man—hiding his identity, encouraging her to talk about the bottle and then stealing that kiss—all in such a short space of time!

  If ever a man spelled danger for Meg, Sam Kirby did. He was a super-rich big businessman and an international resort guest—he summed up everything she went out of her way to avoid. So how on earth had she stood there like a ninny and let him kiss her?

  And the worst part was, it had been such a nice kiss.

  Despite her anger, she’d found herself thinking about it over and over as she’d drifted off to sleep. Again and again, she’d remembered the warm, sensual pressure of his slightly open lips on hers. Then there was the impact of those deep blue eyes up close. They had been breathtaking. They’d made her think about…finding somewhere private…somewhere beneath whispering palm trees…or in the shallows on a secluded sandy beach…somewhere…anywhere he could go on kissing her…

  But, for heaven’s sake! These were things she most certainly shouldn’t be thinking about on first meeting a man. Especially this man. She’d spent the rest of the night telling herself that.

  Remember who he is. A corporate high roller.

  A playboy millionaire. Forget him!

  He’ll be gone in a few days. Forget him, now!

  The fact that he’d come to the island to collect the letter in the bottle was a snag. She’d already agreed to her boss’s demands to pose with Sam for the publicity shots today, so she had little choice now, but to eat her breakfast, shower and get ready for the ordeal.

  But, as she did so, Meg kept up a continuous pep talk in her head. By the time she left her bungalow, she was determined to be mentally prepared to face Sam again.

  A swarm of journalists, television cameramen and photographers hovered around the reception area. When Meg arrived, some were pacing the slate tiles, while others settled back on the deep cane lounges to smoke and chat quietly.

  Her boss, Fred Raynor, dragged her excitedly into his office. ‘I was about to have you paged. All the media have turned up! They came over on the early boat. Isn’t this great?’

  He beamed and rubbed his pudgy hands together. ‘And these are just the local press. When their stories get out, there’ll be more.’ He flung a hand to the view of the resort’s tropical garden. ‘It’s going to be a beautiful day in paradise. We’ll get excellent outdoor shots.’

  ‘All we need is our millionaire,’ Meg added dryly.

  ‘He’ll be here any minute.’ Fred shook his head and ran a hand over his bulging stomach. ‘Boy, did that guy upset my digestion last night.’

  ‘Oh?’ Meg couldn’t help being curious.

  ‘He wanted the letter out of the bottle straight away and was wild as a cut snake when I said he could only have it after he posed for a few photos.’

  ‘Did he refuse to go ahead with the publicity?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘I finally got him to agree. I told him flat I’ve got possession. He can carry on about his lawyers and rights, but down here it’s finders keepers.’ Fred’s pale eyes gleamed as he looked at her meaningfully. ‘Actually, I think what won him round was the fact that it gives him a good excuse to hang around—er, here—for a day or two.’

  He looked over Meg’s shoulder as someone entered the office and he lowered his voice. ‘Here he is now.’

  Standing stiffly to attention, Meg clenched her hands into tight little fists at her sides as she turned to face Sam.

  ‘Morning,’ he said with his usual smile.

  ‘It’s going to be good one.’ Fred beamed.

  ‘Hello, Meg,’ Sam added when she didn’t respond. His eyes held a twinkling warmth.

  Meg nodded frostily. ‘Hi.’ She found herself needing to search for outward signs of wealth on Sam Kirby—things she might have overlooked yesterday—when she’d been taken up with his other attributes.

  His watch was a sophisticated diving watch, but many men wore similar accessories. His dark blue, open-necked shirt, stone-coloured shorts and navy trainers were probably expensive, but spoke of taste rather than money. There was no hint of jewellery around his neck, at his wrist, or on his fingers.

  So he wasn’t flashy. That still didn’t mean she could trust him.

  Fred slapped them both on the shoulder and grinned broadly. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’

  Feeling annoyingly self-conscious again, Meg followed the men out of the office. As she expected, Fred wanted plenty of publicity shots set up in front of the huge Magnetic Rendezvous sign. She was required to pose with Sam.

  ‘Smile into each other’s eyes now,’ a photographer called.

  Meg tried to force a smile and focused on a point beyond Sam’s shoulder. She
knew he was looking straight at her, smiling with those baby-blue, super-cute eyes, but she was determined not to let them affect her again.

  ‘Hey, miss, lighten up,’ a photographer scolded.

  She squeezed her smile muscles harder as Sam leaned closer.

  ‘They’re blue today.’ His voice was a sexy rumble close to her ear.

  Goose bumps prickled to unwilling life on her arms. Her gaze lifted to meet his. Gulp. No matter how she felt about him, Sam was still the best-looking guy she’d seen outside a cinema. ‘What are blue? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Your eyes,’ he said softly. ‘How do they do it?’

  ‘Do what?’ she muttered through her grimacing smile.

  ‘Change colour. I’ve been trying to work out what colour they are and yesterday I decided they were definitely grey, but today I swear they’re blue.’

  Meg couldn’t help it. She smiled.

  Cameras flashed all around them. ‘That’s great!’ someone shouted. ‘Hold that smile! Gorgeous!’ There were more flashes and clicks.

  As a photographer rearranged them into a slightly different pose, Sam asked, ‘How do they change like that?’

  He was doing it again. Trying to win her over with charm. Most men usually focused their attention somewhere between her neck and her knees. No man, in her memory, had ever paid such flattering attention to her eyes.

  ‘Does their colour depend on what you’re wearing?’ His approving gaze took in her aqua halter-necked top and shorts.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘That’s a really neat trick.’

  But Meg was determined not to be won over by a few throw-away lines about her eyes.

  Suddenly a female journalist in a trendy power suit stepped forward wielding a microphone. A cameraman and sound recorder crowded close behind.

  ‘Mr Kirby,’ the journalist asked silkily. ‘I understand you’ve dated film stars and celebrities in America? So what do you think of Australian girls?’