Page 2 of Prognosis Baby Daddy

Katya smiled. ‘Perfect. Give them to him. She’ll love them.’ Then then strode away, dragging her single suitcase behind her on its wheels, following the exit signs.

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Ben threw Katya’s medium-sized bag, which looked like it had seen better days, into the boot of his Alfa. ‘This is all you brought?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Why?’

Ben shrugged. ‘Most women I know need a bag this size just for their make-up.’

Katya found herself strangely irritated by his apparent knowledge of women and their luggage. ‘I don’t wear much make-up.’

Ben shut the boot and gave the metal an affectionate tap. He glanced up to see her staring at the vehicle. ‘What?’ he asked warily.

She shrugged. ‘I thought you’d drive a Ferrari or a Lamborghini.’

He smiled. ‘Disappointed?’

‘No. Surprised.’

Of course.Katya was truly the only woman he’d ever known who had been completely unimpressed with his title or his status. In fact, it had been obvious right from the start that she had resented his wealth. Had judged him harshly on the playboy image he projected through her jaded working-class eyes.

And the truth was, he had owned his share of status symbols, including a very sleek red Ferrari, but that had been in another time. Back when an indulgent, lavish lifestyle had been all he had known. But a lot of water had flowed under the bridge since then. And it bothered him that she found him wanting because of his bank account.

‘Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,’ he said, walking towards her and opening her door.

Katya raised an eyebrow. His entire time at MedSurg he’d been the epitome of a rich, spoiled playboy. The only time she had seen anything different had been the night they had made love. The night he’d received word of his brother’s death.

That night she had seen a vulnerability, a glimpse of the man beneath the façade. All his layers had been stripped away by the shocking news and he’d been raw, totally open. The playboy had gone and the man had emerged. And she’d given him her virginity without a second thought.

And that was the man she needed to be the father of her child.

‘Maybe I don’t,’ she conceded.

Ben was surprised by her concession. This was not the Katya he remembered. The sassy Katya. The Katya who gave him a hard time. The Katya who didn’t give him an inch. But he had seen this Katya once before. The night she had offered him comfort and solace.

They were close now and visions of that night swamped him. He could smell her familiar scent. Cinnamon, just as he remembered, and he had a sudden urge to see if she would taste as he remembered, too. Her open-necked shirt afforded him a view of pale skin and prominent collar-bone and he suddenly wanted to lean in and nuzzle along the hard ridge and the hollow above.

Katya looked into his slumberous brown eyes and could see the passion flaring to life in their smouldering depths. Read exactly what he was thinking. God knew, she was thinking it herself. She could feel herself sway, hear her breath roughen, hear his follow suit.

A horn blared behind them, echoing around the cold cement corners of the car park, and they both froze. Katya’s heart hammered as she pulled herself back from the brink. She was not here to pick up where they left off! She remembered how offhand he’d been the morning after, how confused she’d been by his casual job offer, like he’d just thrown money on her bedside table, and her determination to act like it hadn’t been a big deal.

She struggled to find that miraculous act again now. ‘How long will it take to get to Ravello?’ she asked as she slipped into the passenger seat on shaky legs.

‘We are staying in Positano tonight,’ he said when he joined her, ‘in my mother’s villa.’

He buckled up, noticing her body, which she’d been holding quite erect anyway, as if the luxury of the leather seats would taint her working-class skin, stiffen further.

‘This was not part of the plan,’ she said.

‘My mother wishes to welcome you to Italy. She is preparing a feast in your honour. Relax,’ he teased, and reached across to squeeze her denim-clad knee.

Katya glared at him and then at his hand, picked it up off her knee and put it back on the gear lever. ‘That is not necessary.’

‘My mother insists.’ He shrugged. ‘She will be very disappointed if we don’t stop. We will go to Ravello in the morning. It is only half an hour, depending on traffic.’

He saw the grim set to her mouth and knew from experience she was itching to say more. He’d seen that glitter in her eyes before and had been the recipient of the caustic dialogue that usually followed. But he could also tell that she didn’t want to offend his mother.

‘Your mother knows we are work colleagues only, da? I trust we will have separate rooms?’

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