Page 60 of Prognosis Christmas Baby

‘Damn straight you will,’ he muttered. ‘And I’m staying with you tonight.’

Maggie gave him an oh-will-you-now look. ‘Do you think my concussion is up to that?’

‘In a purely professional capacity, of course.’

Maggie smiled. Not if she could help it. If she could manage the ball, she could certainly manage what would inevitably come next if they were under the same roof.

‘Of course.’

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Maggie smoothed thebodice of the dress flat against her stomach for the hundredth time as she waited for Nash to arrive. She inspected her image from all angles in her dressing-table mirror. It was the sort of outfit that clung and had she been even another month along, she couldn’t have worn it.

She checked her watch, pleased that she’d been able to get herself ready in such a short time. She hadn’t been discharged till close to four and managing to convince Nash she’d be okay to get ready without him hovering like a mother hen had taken another hour.

He’d finally left at five-thirty, to go and get ready himself before heading back to pick her up.

A knock sounded on the door and a ball of nerves in her stomach tangled a little tighter. She gave herself a quick once-over and made her way through the house, switching out lights as she went.

Nash could see her coming towards him through the glass panels in the door and almost sagged against it in relief. He’d been nervous about leaving her alone and had torn home, showered quickly, thrown his clothes on and roared back. His heart had pounded as he’d strode up the path and before knocking he’d spent a second calculating how easy it would be to kick the door in if Maggie didn’t answer within the minute.

All his macho protective instincts, however, died a quick death when she opened the door. He went from picturing her lying unconscious somewhere in the house to picturing himself tearing her dress off and throwing her on the bed.

‘Bow chicka wow wow,’ he whispered.

She looked amazing. Her satiny, off-white floor-length gown looked very Rita Hayworth. Its halter neck dipped to reveal a hint of unfettered cleavage. It was fitted in a wide band around her waist and then fell to the floor, hugging the lines of her body and flaring in a slight fishtail at the hem.

The material shimmered with a pearl-like lustre and moved with her body. He wanted to reach out and touch it so badly he knew he wouldn’t be able to think of anything else all evening. How the silk would feel gliding against his hand, how her erect nipples would feel beneath the material, the warmth of the fabric beneath his touch, the give of her curves.

She wore a chunky three-strand choker of black pearls at her neck and he curled his hands into fists to stop himself from stroking them.

Maggie’s heart gave a wild gallop at his appreciative gaze. ‘Bow chicka wow, yourself,’ she murmured.

He looked like a model. It was the first time she’d seen him in anything remotely formal and the effect was mesmerising. His black tux was stunning and she couldn’t decide which Nash was more handsome — the Levi’s Nash or the tuxedo Nash. Her brain flashed another image on her inward eye and she gave herself a mental slap.

NakedNash, of course.

Nash’s gaze roved over her face, memorising every detail. She’d done her eyes up tonight with dark kohl and heavy mascara and they looked sultry and seductive. Luring him, tempting him to pick her up and spend all night here.

In bed.

Then he noticed the artful application of make-up on her temple and he pulled his mind out of his pants.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, lifting his hand to stroke her fringe back, inspecting the site closely.

Maggie pulled away from his touch. She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Are you sure?’ he pressed.

Maggie knew if they didn’t leave right now she was going to burst into tears. She couldn’t take his concern. Not when it was motivated out of friendship and some sense of honour or guilt. He looked dashing and sexy tonight and she wanted nothing more than to drag him inside by his lapels and forget the damn ball.

But she was in an emotionally precarious state. The last thing she wanted to do was blurt out how she felt about him —all that would do was complicate things even further.

‘Yes, Nash.’ She moved forward, forcing him to step back, shutting the door behind her then brushing past him as she headed for his car.

Nash turned and watched her progress. The dress was totally backless and he almost groaned aloud.

How was he supposed to keep his hands off that?

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