CAROL MARINELLI - Hot Single Docs - The Playboy's Redemption - St Piran's - Rescuing Pregnant Cinderella / St Piran's - Italian Surgeon, Forbidden Bride / St Piran's - Daredevil, Doctor...Dad!

Wasn’t it too soon?

And he liked straightforward, only this was anything but.

But he looked over to where she sat, not in the least offended that she wanted it over with, another thing to tick off her list as she moved on with her life. And again it wasn’t a time for arrogance or feigned modesty. He knew he was good, knew he could make her happy—and wasn’t happy part of their deal?

‘I’ll sleep with you on one condition.’

Why did he always make her smile?

‘That you never fake it for me.’

‘Or you.’

‘Er, Izzy,’ he said, and that made her blush and give an embarrassed laugh.

‘I mean, don’t pretend afterwards that it’s okay, just so you don’t upset me.’

Diego rolled his eyes, but he was smiling now too. ‘The talking doesn’t stop when we get to the bedroom. I can do both!’

And he knew then that they could talk about it for ever, but words could only reassure so far. This was so not what he had imagined for tonight. There was something almost clinical about it and yet Diego had so much confidence in her, in them, in all they were going to be, that if this was a hurdle for her, perhaps it was better to jump it.

He pulled her onto his lap, but his kisses weren’t working. He could feel her trying, feel her doing her very best to relax, but he wouldn’t put her through it. He pulled back his lips, looked into her eyes and feigned a martyred sigh ‘Shall we just get this over with?’

She almost wept with relief.

‘Please.’

‘Ring the hospital.’

Which took away her little excuse to suddenly stop later. Diego was onto her, she realised.

So she rang and, no, Tilia didn’t need her to come in.

Oh, God, what was she doing?

She felt as if she was walking into Theatre for surgery as he took her hand and they headed for the bedroom. Izzy half expected him to tell her to get undressed and pop on a gown and that he’d be back in five minutes.

Couldn’t it happen more seamlessly?

Couldn’t they just have had a kiss on the balcony and somehow ended up naked on his massive bed without the awkward bit in the middle? But that hadn’t worked and Izzy realised she would have been faking it because she would know where it would lead, to this, the bit she was dreading, the part that was holding her back from moving on.

God, it was a room built for nothing but a bed. Izzy gulped.

Massive windows, floorboards and one very large, very low bed and not much else, bar a table that doubled as a washing basket.

‘Where are your things?’ Izzy would rather deal with basics than the bed.

‘What things?’

‘Alarm clock, books...’ Her hands flailed. ‘A mirror, a wardrobe...’

‘Here’s the wardrobe.’

Okay, there it was, hidden in the wall, but apart from that...

‘Curtains?’ Izzy begged.

‘It looks out to the ocean,’ Diego said, and to her horror he was stripping off. ‘And I don’t need an alarm clock—I wake at five.’ He was unbuckling his belt, his top already off, stripping off like a professional and chatting about nothing as Izzy stood, champagne in hand, wishing she‘d never started this.

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