Anne Oliver - Pregnant by the Playboy Tycoon

He appeared in the doorway in nothing but track pants.

Annie wished he’d put on a T-shirt at least, so she wouldn’t have to look at all that bronzed male nakedness.

‘Okay. What do you want to say?’

She sucked in a breath and forced herself to meet his eyes. ‘I’m pregnant.’ And, just in case he didn’t get it the first time, ‘I’m having a baby. Your baby. In about seven and a half months.’

Silence.

She watched, desperate for some sign, but it was as if Steve had turned to stone—except for his Adam’s apple, which bobbed once. His complexion had turned to a whiter shade of pale. And his wide-eyed gaze dipped to her waist.

She saw his emotion, held in check by rigid self-control. The tight fists and clenched jaw. And impossible to miss the wonder—and the fear—in his eyes.

‘Pregnant,’ he murmured. ‘Sweet heaven.’

When not teaching or writing, Anne Oliverloves nothing more than escaping into a book. She keeps a box of tissues handy—her favourite stories are intense, passionate, against-all-odds romances. Eight years ago she began creating her own characters in paranormal and time travel adventures, before turning to contemporary romance. Other interests include quilting, astronomy, all things Scottish, and eating anything she doesn’t have to cook. Sharing her characters’ journeys with readers all over the world is a privilege…and a dream come true. Anne lives in Adelaide, South Australia, and has two adult children. Visit her website at www.anne-oliver.com. She loves to hear from readers. E-mail her at anne@anne-oliver.com

You can read Anneliese’s sister Abby’s story in Anne Oliver’s previous novel:

BUSINESS IN THE BEDROOM

Dear Reader

I love digging into my family history. Looking at photographs of my pioneering ancestors. Reading their names on the family tree that on one branch stretches back eight hundred years to English royalty. I’ve enjoyed many happy hours of research, discovering snippets in century-old Australian newspapers and visiting old family sites in England. They’re part of me and I’m a part of them.

But how would I feel if I discovered I was adopted now? As an adult? If my biological family was a mystery and that sense of belonging was ripped away? Before I’d finished Abby’s story, in BUSINESS IN THE BEDROOM, I knew I had to create a sister to complete her happiness. Enter Anneliese Duffield—the wealthy, indulged daughter of a renowned heart surgeon, who’s about to have to deal with the trauma of losing her mother and learning she has another family somewhere.

The next step was to give Anneliese a worthy hero to accompany her on that emotional journey of discovery, and to teach her that family is not about blood but about love. And who better than Steve Anderson, self-made millionaire and her secret night fantasy? Not that Anneliese wants him anywhere near her, because she always seems to fall apart when he’s around. Sorry, Annie, it’ll be okay, I promise…

Anne

www.anne-oliver.com

BY

ANNE OLIVER

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To family

CHAPTER ONE

STEVE ANDERSON needed sleep. And the last thing he needed after a frustrating day investigating a glitch in a client’s security system was his resident night-time fantasy interrupting that sleep.

He scowled at the sporty Honda parked outside the family home he shared with his sister, Cindy, before parking his ute in the garage. Anneliese Duffield, daughter of Melbourne’s renowned heart surgeon, Dr Marcus Duffield, had dropped by. Cindy’s best friend.

And sleep interrupter extraordinaire.

He passed the late-model silver vehicle on his way inside—an extravagant twenty-first birthday present from her parents—and scowled again, annoyed that he still remembered that evening so well.

They’d barely seen one another in those past three years—Anneliese had been overseas with her parents for eighteen months and he’d been frequently interstate on business. When they had, on the odd occasion, crossed paths, she’d made it blazingly clear she didn’t enjoy his company. But he’d seen her laughing and relaxed when she hadn’t known he was watching…and there was something about her besides the hot pull of lust. Something that always tied him up in knots…

Stabbing his key in the back door, he reminded himself she tied everyone up in knots because she didn’t possess an ounce of responsibility. Any resulting problems were sorted out by Mum and Dad.

But he could always smell the fragrance she left in the air. French, he imagined, and distinctively unique, as if she’d had it bottled exclusively. And perhaps she had—wouldn’t that be just like her? Whatever, it always seemed to lodge in his nostrils and settle beneath his skin like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He could see now that his sister and her friend were engrossed in conversation and cheesecake in the kitchen and oblivious to him. He warned himself he should keep walking, head straight to his room. Take a shower. Something. Anything. Instead, he leaned against the door frame and watched Anneliese.

Sharp cheekbones caught the kitchen light. Deep auburn hair, styled in a blunt chin-length bob, framed an oval face. Curves in all the right places. Perfection.

But it was her eyes that drew him. Not quite green, not quite blue. The colour of blue gums on a misty day. Eyes that could haunt his dreams.

If he let them.

Irritated because on too many occasions to count they’d done just that, he pushed away from the doorway with a brusque, ‘Hi.’

Anneliese’s head swivelled to face him, eyes wide and wary, which irritated him all over again, but he tried for amiable. ‘Can a hungry man get some of that?’

And, yep, no prizes for guessing how she’d interpret that question, he realised as soon as the words left his mouth, because just like that her eyes cooled, her posture stiffened. The spoon slid from her mouth, leaving a smear of cream on her lower lip before he was aware he’d been watching her mouth pout into that little moue of surprise.

Another strike against him.

Unable to resist adding to her discomfort, he tapped his own lip on the corresponding spot, saw the tip of her tongue dart out and lick it off. Her gaze remained locked with his, like a stunned rabbit’s.

Cindy, completely oblivious, bounced out of her chair, her dark pony-tail swinging, then reached up to kiss his cheek. ‘Of course you can. I was hoping you’d get here before Annie left. I’ll get another plate.’

And the view was clear again. Anneliese looked as sweet and innocent as icing on a wedding cake and he struggled against inappropriate images that fuelled his blood further. ‘How’s it going, Anneliese?’

‘Steve…’

She seemed to have trouble articulating his name. Her trademark perfume wafted to his nose like a summer-filled breeze. She was wearing well-tailored dark trousers and a soft-looking striped sweater in the colours of coconut ice. Gold highlights shone through her hair, courtesy of some expensive salon procedure, no doubt.

A flush tinged her cheeks and a frown formed between perfectly arched brows. She seemed to draw herself taller and retreat behind some kind of defence at the same time. ‘I better be go—’

‘Don’t let me interrupt whatever you were discussing. It sounded important.’ Steve held Anneliese’s eyes a moment longer, wondering what it would be like to break down that wall and—just once—see a smile directed at him that reached those eyes.

‘Here you are. Passion-fruit—your favourite.’

‘Thanks, sis.’ He remained standing as he took the plate Cindy held out to him. Carved off a mouthful of cheesecake from the box on the table with a spoon.