Prognosis Baby Daddy - Amy Andrews Page 0,8

had aroused in him. She was right — no one who knew her would describe Katya as fun. Blunt. Efficient. Sharp-witted. Quick-tongued. A sense of humour that bordered on the sarcastic.

But fun? No.

‘Come on, then. If we leave now, we should be in Ravello in plenty of time to show you around before the first case.’

She followed him to the front door. ‘Shouldn’t we say goodbye to your mother?’

‘Mamma doesn’t rise before ten,’ he said, picking up Katya’s case.

Katya stared after him, the denim of his jeans clinging to the contours of his ass perfectly. It could be fun, whispered insidiously through her head as she pulled the door closed behind her.

Ben smiled to himself as he noticed Katya’s hands gripping the edge of her seat, her knuckles white. ‘Relax,’ he teased.

‘Easy for you to say.’

‘This is nothing,’ he said, changing gear as the traffic slowed a little on the outskirts of Amalfi. ‘Wait till we start to climb higher.’

‘Goody, goody gumdrops,’ Katya said, quoting a favoured expression of Dr Guillaume Remy, a colleague they had worked with at MedSurg.

Ben laughed at the slang pronounced in sexily accented English. ‘How are Guillaume and Harriet?’ he asked. ‘Are they pregnant yet?’

Katya nodded, feeling her spirits lift. ‘Their second cycle of IVF worked. Their baby is due in the New Year,’ she said, remembering how close Harriet and Gill had come to divorcing over the baby issue. And now here she was — also with a baby quandary.

At least she’d be able to return to MedSurg after the baby. Her colleagues there were the closest thing she’d ever had to a real family and it would be good to get straight back into the all-consuming work.

To forget that she’d left her baby with Ben.

‘That’s great,’ said Ben.

He remembered how much he had enjoyed his time with the aid

organisation and how good Gill had been with him. Performing surgery in the middle of a war zone had been a steep learning curve but he had flourished and learnt a lot.

Leaving had been hard, especially with the tempting presence of one Katya Petrova, and had his hand not been forced by his brother’s death, Ben would still be working for them. But he’d returned home, despite his decade-old vow not to, to a job he despised and a life he hadn’t wanted.

He could feel the familiar tension creep into his neck muscles and along his jaw and he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

The road came back down to sea level and he glanced over to the harbour on his right and saw his gleaming white boat, The Mermaid, bobbing in the calm water. He looked at her clean sleek lines and the knots in his muscles loosened.

‘My boat,’ he said to Katya and pointed. ‘I’ll take you out in it this weekend.’

‘Don’t bother.’ Her rejection was delivered with her usual bluntness. ‘I get seasick.’

Ben found her determination to keep things strictly business amusing and laughed as he changed gear. He looked at her face, her cute button nose, her beautiful blue eyes, her soft mouth with its tempting full lips, high cheekbones and blonde pixie cut that feathered around her face. She was sassy and sexy and had the mouth of a shrew and, God help him, he wanted her!

He remembered what else her mouth could do when it wasn’t busy putting him in his place. He remembered how she had kissed him with an intensity and reckless abandon that had stunned him and knew behind her no-nonsense façade lurked a very passionate woman.

He thought back to past relationships. How easy they’d been. How meaningless. He’d filled his life with pretty women since Bianca’s betrayal, trying to exorcise his demons. Women who had been eager and willing. Who’d enjoyed the favours of a rich, generous playboy. But not one of them had got beneath his skin like this unimpressed, practical Russian nurse. What the hell would it take to impress her?

And why the hell did it matter so much?

Katya shut her eyes as the mountain road narrowed even further than the coast road. It seemed like nothing more than a goat track in places. But every time her lids closed all she saw was his damn boat. Big and white and expensive. The type of boat she saw in magazines where royalty lounged on sundecks. She had half expected to see a movie star emerging from one of the galleys of the rows and rows of luxurious vessels.

She should be happy. Yet