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

early—only half past seven, and they’d been up until aftermidnight, so she wondered if he’d had a call to go to the hospital.
    No. He wouldn’t be showering if that was the case, he’d just dress and run. A sunbeam slanted through a chink in the curtains, and she crept out of bed and opened them. It was a beautiful day—gloriously sunny, the sky a brilliant blue with scudding white clouds and the promise of spring.
    But only the promise. She shivered a little, realising that the sunshine was deceptive. The heating was on—she could hear the pipes creaking, but the old house must be as leaky as a sieve and trying to heat it was inevitably to fight a losing battle. She could feel the draught around the window frame as she stood looking out across the rolling parkland towards the river in the distance. The willows by the river were bursting into leaf, and she could hear birds singing.
    Beautiful, she thought, and smiled. Much better than Paris, and she’d still get her riverside walk. Pity about her cream jumper…
    The bathroom door opened and Andrew walked out, naked except for a towel wrapped round his waist and looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and full of the joys of spring. And mouthwateringly gorgeous.
    He grinned at her. ‘Morning. I didn’t expect that you’d be up yet. I hope I didn’t wake you.’
    She shook her head. ‘Not really. I never sleep late, and to be honest it’s so quiet here it’s a little eerie. There isn’t a soul about, only the birds.’
    ‘Will’s sure to be up. He always rides first thing, and he’s bound to be out today—it’s a gorgeous day.’
    She dragged her eyes off his chest. ‘So I see,’ she replied, turning back to the window and trying not tothink too much about that broad, muscular expanse under the scatter of dark hair glistening with water droplets. ‘Can we go for that walk you were talking about?’
    ‘Sure. I’ll throw my clothes on and leave you to get ready. I’ll be in the kitchen. I take it you can find your way?’
    ‘I’m sure I’ll manage. I’ll ring you on your mobile if I get lost,’ she joked. ‘Down the stairs and along the corridor?’
    ‘Go the easy way—turn left, straight to the end of the landing, down the back stairs and the kitchen’s at the bottom,’ he told her. ‘I’ll go and get the kettle on—do you want breakfast now or do you want to wait for the whole full English shindig with kippers and scrambled egg and Cousin Charlotte?’
    She laughed and turned away from the window. ‘I think we can avoid Cousin Charlotte. You do realise she’s in love with you, do you?’
    He gave a wry smile. ‘Oh, yes. She tells me every time she gets me alone, which is as infrequently as I can manage it. She’s been in love with me for years. So—fancy a cooked breakfast? I can probably rustle something up.’
    Libby shook her head. ‘No, I’m still full from last night. I’ll have a quick shower and join you in a minute, then could we have tea and toast?’
    ‘Sure. I’ll give you ten minutes.’ He went into the dressing room, pulling on a pair of well-worn jeans and his weary old loafers to the sound of running water in the shower, dragging a jumper over his head as he headed for the door and tried not to think of what she was doing behind the bathroom door.
    He needed to get out of there, to suck some air intohis lungs and forget about how she’d looked when he’d woken, her hair trailed across her pillow, the soft, silky strands fanned out against the white Egyptian cotton, her lashes lying like crescents against her pale cheeks—and then just a few minutes later, standing in front of the window with the early morning sun behind her, outlining her body perfectly through the fine fabric of her nightdress. Her long and perfectly respectable nightdress—if you didn’t count the effect of the sunlight streaming through it…
    He went down to the kitchen and let the dogs out, then put the kettle on the Aga and hummed