The Package Deal - Marion Lennox Mills & Boon By Request

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to the living room. He’d carried Mary’s duffel into her bedroom for her but her capacious purse was still on the bench. It looked shabby, worn, and it pricked his conscience as nothing else could.

      A folder was edging out the top.

      And suddenly he was back at the cave, waiting for Mary to come back from her interminable search of the island, hating himself that he couldn’t be with her. Distracting himself by reading Mary’s make-believe. He’d been the hero.

      ‘I wonder what I’ve done now?’ he said aloud, and looked at the purse again.

      She knew he’d read the beginning. It was sitting on the bench, an open invitation. She’d said he was facing dragons.

      He could just...read.

      But not here. The proximity to Mary—to a woman he hardly knew, he reminded himself—was doing his head in.

      He lifted the folder from her purse and put it in his briefcase.

      He’d just go...somewhere and disappear into Mary’s fictional world.

      Maybe Jake was right. Maybe reality had too much to answer for.

       CHAPTER TEN

      SHE WOKE AT MIDNIGHT, thirsty beyond measure, and also hungry. She woke regretting those nibbled lunchtime sandwiches.

      She headed out to the kitchen. The apartment was in darkness—or maybe not. Back in New Zealand the darkness at night was absolute. Here, the lights of the city glimmered through the drapes. Glamorous footlights were placed strategically around the skirting boards so no one could lose their way at night. There was a light on in the sitting room.

      She was in New York. More, she was in Ben’s fabulous apartment. Marble, glass, discreet lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park...

      Money plus.

      Her inheritance gaffe was still smarting. ‘I never should have come,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Of course he’ll think I’m after his money.’

      But it had seemed wrong not to. She’d needed to tell him and for some reason she’d felt she had to do it soon. Before the time had come where she could terminate?

      Not that she’d considered terminating. She wasn’t sure why this little life was so precious, why she’d discovered she was pregnant and felt joy rather than dismay, but she had.

      ‘And maybe I sort of wanted Ben to feel that way, too,’ she muttered.

      ‘Feel what way?’

      He was on a window seat in the sitting room, working on his laptop. Wearing a bathrobe. Silk. She was in a T-shirt and jogging pants.

      She felt like a poor relation.

      He looked...hot.

      Put it aside, she told herself, and somehow she stopped looking at him. It took an effort.

      ‘I’m hungry,’ she said, heading for the kitchen. She hauled open the massive refrigerator doors and thought, Whoa... ‘How many people live here?’

      ‘My housekeeper caters for every eventuality.’

      Yep, money.

      Get over it, she told herself. ‘I just need toast.’

      ‘I’ll make it for you.’

      ‘I can do it. Go back to bed.’

      ‘I don’t sleep much,’ he said.

      ‘It’s a biggie.’ She was staring into the refrigerator, thinking all sorts of things—like how hot he looked with his silk bathrobe open and...and forcing herself to think of condiments. Three types of jam. No, make that four. The raspberry looked good, but then there was quince...

      ‘What’s a biggie?’

      Deep breath. The conversation couldn’t all be about jam, and it surely couldn’t be about silk bathrobes. ‘Learning you’re about to be a dad.’

      He walked over and set about making toast while she went back to deciding on condiments. Tricky.

      She was so aware of his body.

      The island bench—approximately a mile long—gave her a couple of yards’ clearance from Ben. She hauled herself up on the bench to watch toast-making.

      ‘Most people sit on the stools,’ Ben said mildly.

      She peered behind the bench to see a row of fancy designer stools. Chrome and leather. Four different colours. Or make that shades. Designers did shades.

      ‘How could I choose which one to sit on?’ she demanded. ‘I had enough trouble with jam.’

      ‘You want tea?’

      ‘No, thanks.’ Actually, she would like tea but it’d mean she had to stay out here for longer. With this body.

      Um...Ben. His name was Ben.

      Maybe she should start calling him Mr Logan.

      ‘I’ve been thinking I’m glad you don’t want a termination,’ he said.

      She stilled. He was watching the toast. She was watching the breadth of his back. To all intents and purposes they were a couple talking cosy domestic things—like termination.

      ‘Why?’ she managed, and he abandoned the toast and turned to face her.

      ‘It’s been a shock,’ he said softly. ‘All afternoon...all tonight. Heaven knows how you slept but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t have wished for it but now it’s happened...I do want this child.’

      And he said it so fiercely that it was lucky she’d put the jam down.

      There was a lot to think about in that statement. A lot to make her heart falter.

      ‘One part of me’s pleased to hear you say that,’ she admitted at last. ‘I was never going to terminate, not for a moment, but in a way I think that’s why I came here so early in the pregnancy. I needed to know your reaction. I wanted my choice to be your choice.’

      ‘But the other part?’

      Say it like it is, she decided. Just say it. ‘Another part of me almost had a heart attack, just this minute,’ she admitted. ‘Do you want this child like you want another Logan? And how much do you want it? Enough to sue me for custody? I hadn’t even thought about that.’

      ‘I would never do that to you. And she’s your baby.’

      ‘She?’

      ‘I thought tonight...’ He looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but when he spoke, it was all tenderness. ‘I thought, what if she’s a girl, just like her mother?’

      What was there in that statement to take her breath away? What was there in that statement to make her forget toast and jam, to forget where she was, to forget everything except those words?

      What if she’s a girl, just like her mother?

      She’d been terrific when she’d found out she was pregnant, she’d decided. She’d surprised herself by how calm she’d been. She’d set about making plans, figuring how she could manage.

      She’d decided to tell Ben, rationally and coolly. She’d prided herself on her efficiency, getting a passport, deciding on flights, choosing the hotel Ben had so rudely rejected.

      She’d told him calmly. Everything was going as planned.

      But one little statement...

      What if she’s a girl, just like her mother?

      She sat on the bench and stared, and suddenly the cool control she’d kept herself under for the last couple of months snapped.

      She couldn’t

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