The Surgeon's Miracle / Dr Di Angelo's Baby Bombshell by Caroline Anderson / Janice Lynn

dry up and stick to the roof of her mouth.
    ‘Did you steal them from the hospital?’ she asked, raising a brow at the impromptu PJs and trying to remember how to breathe, and he chuckled.
    ‘No, they’re from college. I found them in the drawer. I don’t—ah…’
    He trailed off, and she felt warmth brush her cheeks. He didn’t—what? Wear anything usually? She closed her eyes for a second and turned back the bedclothes, tugging her nightdress down over her legs even though it was more than respectable, and trying very hard not to think about him wearing nothing.
    ‘Do you have a dressing gown?’ he asked, and when she shook her head, he handed her the one off the back of the door and pulled on the jumper he’d been wearing the previous day. Better, but not much, she thought, the image of him burned on her retinas.
    She shrugged into the dressing gown and realised instantly it was his. His scent was on it, her warmth releasing a heady mixture of his signature cologne and that subtle masculine essence that was his alone. It was like having him wrapped around her, holding her close, she thought, and her heart picked up speed.
    She followed him through the house, along the dark corridor and down the stairs to the warm, cosy kitchen where they’d had breakfast the previous morning. The dogs greeted them sleepily, and Andrew sat her down at the table and put the kettle on the Aga, then pulled out another chair and stretched out his legs towards the warmth, tipping his head back and closing his eyes.
    ‘Bliss. I love the house when everyone’s asleep,’ he murmured.
    ‘I get the feeling that being awake at night is a habit for you, or am I wrong?’
    He shrugged. ‘No, you’re not wrong. I don’t tend to sleep well. Too busy, I suppose. I just felt thirsty, and my mind was working.’
    ‘Jacob?’
    He opened his eyes and levered himself upright again. ‘No. Well, a bit, but mostly family stuff. I was thinking about Mum, about all she’s done over the years.’
    About how she’d put him in the same room as Libby and left him to die of frustration…
    The kettle boiled and he got to his feet and made them tea—green tea for him, chamomile for Libby, so they weren’t awake for the rest of the night—then leant over Libby to put her cup down and got another drift of apples from her hair.
    Damn, he was going to embarrass himself at this rate, he thought, and turning the chair so he was facing the table, he sat down and propped his elbows on the scrubbed pine surface and sipped his tea until he was back under control.
    They didn’t talk, just sat in a comfortable silence as they had over their picnic, and drank their tea until it was finished. And then the tension, suddenly, was back.
    ‘I suppose we ought to get some more sleep,’ she said eventually, and he nodded.
    ‘Yes, we probably should.’
    They went back up to his room, the tension somehow ratcheting up with every step, and as they reached the door Libby’s heart was in her mouth. Would he kiss her? No. Why would he?
    But he hesitated, closing the door and standing there, his eyes locked with hers, and she could see the need in them.
    ‘Andrew?’ she said softly, his name an invitation, should he choose to accept it, but he closed his eyes fleetingly.
    ‘Libby, no,’ he murmured. ‘I promised you—’
    ‘I won’t hold you to it.’
    He shook his head. ‘I can’t—Libby, there are all sorts of reasons.’
    ‘Such as? Are you married and I don’t know?’
    He laughed at that, the sound soft, a little raw. ‘No, I’m not married.’
    ‘Then stay with me. Please?’
    ‘Libby, I—’ Oh, God, she didn’t know what she was asking of him. He saw the uncertainty in her eyes, knew how much it had taken for her to ask him, and he couldn’t do it, couldn’t leave her, couldn’t turn away from her in that moment no matter how stupid it was to stay. How dangerous.
    He held out his arms to her, and she went into them, warm and soft and