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

yielding, and he felt heat sear through him. ‘Libby—’
    Her lips found his, gentle at first, tentative, but then when he gave up fighting it and started to kiss her back she gave a little sob and arched against him, and he cradled her face in his hands and deepened the kiss, ravaging her mouth, tasting the sweetness, the satin softness, searching out the hot, honeyed depths, their tongues tangling as they duelled. Her legs parted to the pressure of his thigh, and he rocked against her, aching for her, needing her, needing to bury himself inside her and take the treasure she was offering.
    His hand left her face, feathering down over her throat, tracing the pulse that hammered beneath his fingertips, down over her collar bone, over the satin-soft skin of her chest until it reached the warm, enticing swell of her breast. The nightdress was in the way, tangled round her legs, hampering his hand at herbreast, and he pushed himself away, stripping back the bedclothes, peeling off his sweater and reaching for her, easing the dressing gown aside so it slid down her arms and puddled on the floor behind her.
    She held up her arms, her eyes locked with his, and with a tiny hiss of breath he reached for the hem of her nightdress and stripped it off her.
    He heard it rip, but he didn’t care. He was beyond caring, beyond anything except making the woman standing there beside him his. He tugged at the cord on his scrubs, the knot releasing so they fell to the floor with his dressing gown and the torn nightdress as he stood there drinking her in with his gaze. Her eyes were wide and liquid, her mouth softly swollen, her breasts full and yet yielding, perfect, the dusky rose nipples tightly pebbled and so, so tempting. He lowered his head, taking one in his mouth, drawing it in, suckling on her deeply as she arched against him, crying out.
    ‘Andrew, please!’
    His hand moved on, down over the smooth plane of her flank, across her hip, over the bowl of her pelvis, on again.
    She bucked against him, her legs jerking as his hand found her, found the secret, hidden depths, the moist heat of her most intimate places. His thumb grazed her and her eyes flew wide, her breath catching, and suddenly he couldn’t wait another moment.
    Scooping her up in his arms, he laid her gently on the bed, his eyes still fixed on hers, their breath mingling as he moved over her and entered her with one long, slow stroke, driving her over the edge, her body convulsing around him, her cries dragging him after her to join her in the wild tumult of their release…
    She woke for the second morning in a row to the sound of running water, and she lay and pictured him in the shower. She could do it better today, could see his body, knew it, every inch.
    Beautiful. Magnificent. Solidly powerful, lean and graceful, potent.
    Oh, lord.
    She heard the water stop, then gave him a moment and tapped on the door, tugging her ripped nightdress into place. ‘Are you decent? Can I come in?’
    ‘Yeah, sure.’
    She opened the door and sucked in her breath. ‘Oh! Sorry—I thought—’
    His mouth twisted into a wry, teasing smile and he lowered the towel from his hair. ‘I’ve just made love to you, Libby,’ he murmured softly. ‘Exactly which bit of me do you want covered up?’
    She felt the heat in her cheeks, but she held her ground and dragged her eyes from his body. ‘Actually, that was the thing I wanted to talk to you about. Last night, when we—you didn’t use—I’m not on the Pill,’ she muttered, floundering to an embarrassed halt.
    He put the towel he was holding in one hand back on the towel rail and let out a long, thoughtful sigh. ‘Well, I don’t think it’s an issue—not for you, at any rate. I—ah…’ He hesitated, gave a low laugh and met her eyes, his own carefully blank. ‘I can’t get you pregnant.’
    ‘What—? Why not?’
    ‘Because I’m infertile,’ he said quietly.
    She felt her mouth drop open with shock, and shut it