Accidental Baby. KIM LAWRENCEЧитать онлайн книгу.

      CHAPTER ONE

      LIAM RAFFERTY stared down at the sleeping figure beside him with a stunned expression. In a distracted manner he ran his fingers through his tousled dark hair. In profile her nose was tip-tilted and covered with a light sprinkling of freckles. Her long, dark eyelashes were tipped with gold and when her eyes opened he knew they would be deep green flecked with bronze.

      When she woke . . . His fist went to his mouth and he bit back a groan. Abruptly the sleeping figure began to move, unfurling from the foetal position and rolling onto her back—arms above her head with her fingers pushed into the shoulder-length Titian-red tangle of curls that covered her small head. The sinuous undulations of her shm body caused the cotton sheet to slide down.

      Liam, who had been about to do something sensible and decisive—like get some clothes on—paused. Not even the harshest critic could have found anything to criticise about her breasts, and Liam was by no means harsh. Her skin was milky pale and the light sprinkling of freckles over the uppermost curves was kind of cute. In the dark they’d just about fitted into the palm of—whoa, boy! He firmly shut off access to that particular memory.

      Don’t panic, just think sensibly, calmly, he told himself firmly. Problem was the visual feast on offer was incredibly distracting. Would she wake if I just sort of pulled up the...? Too late! At least his eyes had been on her face when her sleepy eyes opened. If she’d caught him ogling!

      A dreamy smile curved Jo Smith’s generous lips. ‘Hi, Liam,’ she murmured sleepily. She froze mid-stretch and her eyes opened to their fullest extent. ‘Liam?’ Her eyes ran down his bronzed torso and a strangled squeak escaped her lips. A firm, ‘We didn’t?’ was swiftly followed by a wail of, ‘We did!’

      This was one of those situations, he reflected, when your imagination couldn’t prepare you for just how bad a situation was going to be. Despite his best intentions, Liam’s self-control slipped for just a second. It had been doing that a lot recently! Jo’s eyes followed the direction of his gaze and she snatched up the sheet and pulled it up to her chin, giving him the sort of look that made him feel like a defiler of purity.

      ‘Try and keep this in proportion, Jo. It’s not that bad.’

      ‘Not that bad!’ She went pink. Was he mad? This was worse than bad—this was a disaster.

      ‘I don’t blame you for hating me. I deserve it . . .’ he began miserably.

      ‘Don’t be stupid, I don’t hate you,’ she returned impatiently.

      God, men could be so obtuse sometimes—even Liam. Couldn’t he see this changed everything? Things could never be the same again. They’d thrown away something precious and rare for a moment’s . . . The clarity of her thoughts lost a certain something as she honestly acknowledged it had taken more than a moment the first time, and as for the second! A tide of heat washed over her skin leaving it pink and tingling.

      ‘You don’t?’ That was something. He gave a sigh of relief, but the wariness in his blue eyes remained. ‘I wouldn’t blame you if you did,’ he continued, quite determined to shoulder full responsibility. ‘I took advantage of you when you were at your most vulnerable.’

      ‘The way I recall it I didn’t exactly fight you off with a stick,’ she responded drily.

      Liam cleared his throat and his gaze slid away from hers. I knew it! she thought He can’t even look at me. God, what have we done? One crazy, stupid slip and a lifetime’s friendship goes down the toilet.

      ‘That’s not the point,’ he said stiffly. ‘I’m to blame.’

      ‘Have you any idea how ridiculous you sound, Liam Rafferty, talking like a character in a Victorian melodrama when you’re stark, staring naked?’ Even in her present state of agitation she couldn’t help giving an appreciative little sigh at how amazingly good his body actually was—her appreciation was purely aesthetic, of course. She wriggled into sitting position, bringing the thin cotton sheet around her like a tent.

      ‘For pity’s sake, Jo, I’m trying to say I’m sorry!’ he said, regarding her with growing irritation.

      ‘Charming!’ she replied, choosing to take exception to this apology.

      ‘Meaning?’

      ‘Meaning it was that awful, was it?’ Her lower lip quivered ever so slightly. ‘Was it?’ She silently cursed the note of anxiety that had crept into her voice.

      ‘You know it wasn’t, Jo.’ This time it was Jo who couldn’t maintain eye contact.

      ‘Right, good, excellent . . . ’ Briefly she closed her eyes in silent despair. What do I sound like?

      The wooden bed-head creaked as Liam’s broad shoulders came to rest against it. ‘You’re not crying, are you, Jo?’

      ‘Of course