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Harlequin Presents January 2015 Box Set 3 of 4(238)

By:Lynne Graham


‘Thank you. And Happy Valentine’s Day to you too.’ They clinked     glasses and Lottie looked into the happy bubbles. ‘But perhaps I had better     not.’

‘I’m sure half a glass won’t hurt. Besides, you have to drink     pink champagne on Valentine’s Day. It’s the law.’

‘Is that right?’ Taking a couple of delicate sips, Lottie let     the dry fizz slip down her throat.

This was what happiness was—this little capsule that they were     in now...her, Rafael and the impending baby. Even though she knew that things     were going to be difficult, that she and Rafael faced all sorts of challenges     with the baby and with their relationship, she refused to think about that now.     This evening she was going to allow herself to be unquestioningly, unreservedly     happy.

Raising her head, she realised that Rafael was studying her,     his head tilted to one side, the champagne glass still in his hand. She looked     down again, for some reason feeling shy, worried that he might be able to read     her mind, but he reached across the table for her hand, covering it with his     own.

‘What were you thinking?’

Phew. Obviously he was lacking that particular     super-power.

‘Nothing.’ Nothing she was going to tell him. He was big-headed     enough as it was.

‘Happy?’

‘Yes.’ She looked at him solemnly. ‘You?’

‘More than you could ever believe. Thank you, Lottie.’

‘That’s okay. I didn’t exactly get pregnant all on my own, you     know.’

‘True. I suppose I should be a bit proud of myself too.’

‘I was talking about Dr Oveisi.’ Her eyes flashed     mischievously.

‘That is cruel, young lady, and you know it.’ He shot her a     heart-melting glance. ‘Now, start being nice to me or I will call that violinist     over and make him play for you all night.’

‘Don’t you dare.’ Rafael knew all too well that she found those     things toe-curlingly embarrassing. ‘From now on I promise to be sweetness and     light.’

They ate artichokes and roasted sea bass, shared forks full of     food and light-hearted chatter, and all the time the sensual sexual chemistry     fizzed between them just as it always did whenever they were together. Only this     time it went unchecked, insidiously binding them with its invisible threads,     pulling them closer and closer together.

They smiled at each other, teased and flirted, pulled faces     over the sharp coldness of the lemon gelato, drank tiny cups of bitter     coffee, then finally left arm in arm to stroll back to the wounded speedboat for     the short journey back to the villa.

‘Warm enough?’ As the boat hummed quietly through the water     Rafael looked across at Lottie.

‘Yes, fine.’ The night air was prickly with cold but she was     wearing Rafael’s thick woollen coat, cosily tucked in, loving the scent of him     that was coming off it. ‘Look at all those stars.’

Throwing back her head, she watched as they passed     overhead—thousands and thousands of them. They made her feel brave, somehow, as     if what they were doing was right, part of the future, part of a wider scheme of     things.

Returning her gaze to the front, she realised Rafael was     looking at her.

‘Oi—keep your eyes on the water, you.’

‘I hardly think you are in a position to tell me how to drive     this boat.’ Grinning, Rafael faced forward again. ‘The poor thing is still     bearing the scars of your little outing. Very expensive scars too, I might     add.’

‘Yeah, sorry about that. I suppose I was going a bit     fast.’

‘Totally out of control, more like it. Allow me to show you how     it should be done.’ He pulled down the throttle to no more than a gentle hum and     the boat slowed down immediately. Rafael guided it perfectly alongside the     mooring pole.

‘Show-off.’

Rafael shrugged his shoulders immodestly. Leaping out of the     boat, he secured it to the mooring pole and then held out a hand to Lottie.

This evening had been so perfect she realised she didn’t want     it to end. As they climbed the steps, walked along the terrace pathway and into     the villa, she felt as if she were in a fragile fairytale—one that might turn     into pumpkins and rats at any moment if she wasn’t careful.