Prognosis Baby Daddy - Amy Andrews

CHAPTER ONE

KATYA PETROVA clutched her stomach as the plane hit a small air pocket. Her insides lurched and she felt a flutter down low as the plane continued its smooth journey.

The baby? She kept her hand in place and waited, every cell in her body straining to detect a tiny foetal movement. Come on, baby. The seconds ticked by. Nothing. A few more. Still nothing.

Well, duh! She removed her hand impatiently. As if there would be. She was just twelve weeks. The baby was only about ten centimetres long! She had a good few weeks yet, maybe even up to ten according to some books, before she’d feel his or her first movements.

She made a mental note to stop reading books. She needed to stop this fantasy land she kept drifting into. There was absolutely no point getting more attached than she was because there was no way she could be a mother to this baby.

No way.

It was bad enough that she already loved the baby more than her own life. She had to toughen up. Stop thinking of it as ‘the baby’ or ‘he’ or ‘she’. ‘It’ was so much more removed. And that’s what she needed to be — removed. Because she was doing the right thing here. When you loved somebody you wanted the best for them, right? And she was so not the best thing for this baby.

And that was why she was here on this plane flying to meet a man she barely knew. To find out if the best thing for the baby was its father.

By the time she disembarked an hour later and had gone through passport control and customs, Katya was feeling so tired and nauseated she wanted to scream. Now she was nearly in her second trimester the vomiting was settling but her extreme state of nervousness was a volatile mix for her delicate constitution.

It had been three months since she’d seen him, three months since she’d done the single most irresponsible thing she had ever done. And they had parted badly. And she was carrying his baby.

Being greeted by flowers did not improve her mood.

‘I said strictly business.’ She glared at him, hands on her hips, staring at the massive bouquet of red roses. She could smell their delicate fragrance wafting towards her and pressed her hands harder into the bone and flesh of her hips to stop herself reaching for them.

People jostled past and around them at the busy arrivals gate of Leonardo Da Vinci Airport, eager to greet loved ones. The two of them stood out in the crush, the only two people keeping their distance despite the press of bodies around them.

They did not embrace. They did not cry.

Count Benedetto Medici chuckled and feigned a wounded look. Just like he remembered her. Blunt. To the point. Her accented English making the words even more clipped. Someone who didn’t know her might even describe her as unemotional.

But he knew intimately that under the surface Katya Petrova was an intensely passionate woman. ‘Cara,’ he cajoled.

‘Do not darling me,’ Katya said briskly, ignoring the way his voice stroked heat across her skin. That’s what had got her into this mess in the first place.

Memories of their last night together played like a film in her head. Unfortunately time, distance and weeks of throwing up had not immunised her against his charms or dulled her reaction to the sexy purring quality of his very deep, very male voice.

‘But I bought them for you...as a welcome-to-my-country gift.’

Katya sniffed as his beguiling smile did funny things to her equilibrium. ‘I am here to work, Ben. There is no need for gifts.’

‘They are too beautiful to throw away,’ he said softly, thrusting them towards her again.

Katya could smell the crimson blooms and she was, oh, so tempted. But there was a principle here. Flowers were for lovers and they weren’t. Once did not count. Ben was a rich, attractive man —aristocracy for heaven’s sake — used to getting his own way. But she wasn’t here to be a rich man’s darling.

That was her mother’s specialty.

She was here on a fact-finding mission. Just because she couldn’t look after this baby, it didn’t mean she was just going to let anybody do it. Ben may be the father but she knew so little about him. Yes, he could obviously provide for it. But could he give it the other things?

The intangibles.

His love. His time. His devotion. His stories. His commitment. Katya knew too well what it was