Baby's On The Way!. Rebecca Winters

       CHAPTER ONE

      LOOK UP.

      He commanded her to feel his gaze on her skin, to glance over and meet his eye. To make a connection with him. He’d been watching her for hours, biding his time until he could have her complete, undivided attention. Since the moment he’d first seen her striding round the room, her tablet computer and Bluetooth headset at odds with her black silk evening dress and staggeringly sexy heels, he’d been transfixed.

      The curve of her calves, the gleam of her skin and the fluid movement of her hair had caught his attention, but it was her fierce concentration that had held it. The way she’d managed the room and everyone in it with a gentle nudge here and a subtle pull there. With a glance at her watch and a whisper in the ear of a member of staff she’d averted disasters, negotiated tricky situations and ensured that every person she spoke to ended their conversation with a beaming grin. No doubt the charity the gala was fundraising for would make a fortune.

      Under normal circumstances, the thought of a to-do list and a watch filled his belly with apprehension, an unwelcome reminder of school days that had tormented him at the time, and still threatened the occasional nightmare more than ten years later. But worn as an accessory by a woman who seemed so effortlessly powerful, it was suddenly incredibly sexy.

      He’d waited for the perfect moment all night—watching groups where she was conversing, catching her eye across the room; at one point, he’d even headed towards her with a determined stride—only for her to abruptly change course and disappear into the kitchen. And now she was putting her head together with one of the other guests, consulting her tablet, tucking a curtain of shining hair behind her ear.

      She laughed, and the sound reached him as clear as if the room had been silent. Her face creased, her head dropped back, and humour radiated from her like a wave. He wanted to make her laugh. He was unreasonably jealous of the person who had inspired the sound, a man with pure silver hair and a walking stick.

      The string band had started playing in a corner of the ballroom, and a few couples were heading towards the dance floor. His eyes flickered towards them, and he wondered whether she’d accept an invitation to dance.

      In the moment that his eyes left her, he felt her look at him.

      He whipped around to try and catch her gaze, but her eyes had already dropped to her tablet, as she scrolled up and down. She glanced at him again, and this time he caught it. He turned, his hands in his pockets, and his body relaxed under her stare, turning his stance into something languid and louche.

      He walked towards her, smiling, still refusing to look away. He would hold this contact until he could get his hands on something more solid.

      Just a couple of steps away from her, he was hit with unaccustomed nerves. It had been an age since he’d felt nervous talking to a woman. Things were pretty easy-come-easy-go in his love-life, much to the satisfaction of everyone involved. Nerves were thin on the ground when the most you were looking to gain or lose was a few nights or weeks of fun. The prospect of commitment, of expectations, of being caught in a situation with no simple way out—only the fix of her eyes on his kept a shiver from his spine.

      ‘Hi, I’m Rachel Archer.’ The words arrived in a rush as soon as he was within arm’s reach and she stuck out her hand for him to shake.

      ‘Leo.’ He just managed the one word, though it felt as if all breath had left his body at the feel of her hand in his. He observed her closely, looking for any clue that she was as affected by this meeting as he. But she had dropped her eyes, pulling her hand back—was that a fraction of a

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