Her Christmas Baby Bump. Robin Gianna
to press her body even closer to his, along with an offer to show her one of them.
“Hmm, that’s a tough one. I’m good at my job, but I’m not sure that qualifies as a talent. I can kick a mean soccer ball and used to throw a damn good football spiral, too.” He lowered his head close to her ear, and her soft hair tickled his temple. “But probably my best talent?”
“I think I’m sorry I asked.” Her voice was a little breathy, and the sexy sound of it sent him sliding his palm from between her shoulder blades down to just above the curve of her shapely behind, bringing her body closer to his.
“Sorry, why?”
“Afraid that maybe your talent is something my innocent ears can’t handle.”
“Are your ears innocent?” He studied her, amused and curious. Innocent, no, as she clearly was used to sophisticated banter. But there was something guileless about her, a sweetness and sincerity that went beyond appealing. “Don’t worry, I’m a gentleman. Your ears are safe.”
Their bodies swaying together in a fit so perfect it was hard to tell where his body began and hers ended, they danced in silence for long minutes. Her sweet scent filled his nose, and he closed his eyes and breathed her in, holding her close enough to feel the brush of her breasts against his chest. Her forehead grazed his chin and her hand was tucked into his and pressed to his sternum as if they knew each other much better than two people who had met only ten minutes ago.
Aaron had been with quite a few women in his life, and he found himself studying the curve of her ear, the smoothness of her skin, trying to figure out what, exactly, made this feel somehow different. Had he ever felt a connection this instant and intense with anyone before? Or was he just not remembering?
The music drew to a close and they slowly separated, their eyes meeting. Her lips were parted, her skin seemed a little flushed, and it took every ounce of willpower for Aaron to remember they were in a public place in the middle of a hundred people. To remember he couldn’t pull her back into his arms and kiss her until neither of them could breathe.
“You still haven’t told me,” Hope said, apparently trying to bring normalcy back to the moment, replacing the chemistry that was pinging hot and fast between them.
“Told you what?”
“What your best talent is.”
Damn if the curve of her lips wasn’t pure temptation. Temptation to try to impress her by showing her at least one answer to that question.
HOPE’S HEART KEPT doing an uncontrollable little dance of its own as she looked up at Aaron Cartwright. At the smile in his rich brown eyes as they stared into hers. She wasn’t sure what had prompted her to ask that question. Again. She might not be a shy belle, but neither was she a flirtatious siren. Yet here she was, saying things that couldn’t be interpreted as anything but suggestive.
She’d hoped she might meet Aaron at this party. But she hadn’t expected to dance with the tall, ridiculously good-looking fertility specialist that practically every nurse and midwife at the hospital swooned over when he passed through the hallways.
She’d never have dreamed it possible, but the man was even more swoon-worthy in his tuxedo. And here she was, being held in his strong arms, dancing so closely they could have kissed by moving their faces barely an inch.
His deliciously male body radiating heat like a furnace, the way his big hand caught and held hers against his muscular chest, the deep, sexy rumble of his voice in her ear, all had combined to steal every molecule of breath from her lungs and, apparently, all sense from her brain as well. How else could she explain asking him—a second time, as though she really needed to know—what his best talent was?
Lord. She swallowed, embarrassment seeping through her body, adding to the heat that had nearly sent her up in flames. She stepped off the dance floor with him fluidly moving next to her and opened her mouth to say something, anything, that could possibly make him forget her last question, when he spoke.
“Punting.”
She stared up at him blankly. “Punting?”
“Maybe not my best talent, but yes, I’m very good at it.”
A nervous and relieved laugh escaped her throat. Thank heavens he wasn’t going to take her up on her unfortunate innuendo. “You already told me you’re good at kicking a football...er...soccer ball to Americans. Unless you mean gambling?”
“I never gamble. At least, not with money.” He slid her a teasing look, and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners messed with her breathing all over again. “The punting I’m referring to is in a boat. You may think only Cambridge residents and tourists enjoy lazily shoving themselves down a river, but we’ve been doing it back home for centuries, too.”
“And where is back home?” Since the midwives liked to talk about the various handsome men in the hospital, she knew he was American and from California, but not much other than that.
“Northern California. Wine country.”
“Wine country? And here I’d assumed being from California that you were a surfer dude.”
His eyes twinkled as the crinkles around them got deeper. “I’ve surfed, but I don’t think that moniker fits me. And do you have any idea how adorable the words ‘surfer dude’ sound in your wonderful British accent?”
“I don’t have an accent. You’re the one with an accent.” Which she found incredibly sexy, she had to admit, but wasn’t about to say that and embarrass herself all over again.
“If you say so.” He leaned closer. “But please let me hear you say ‘surfer dude’ one more time.”
She laughed and felt her face heat again, but this time she had a feeling it was from his closeness, and how wonderful he smelled and looked, and how it all made her heart beat a little faster. “So people punt in wine country? Are there little canals between the vineyards?” she joked.
“Yes. They’re filled with grape juice.” His wink and grin were so charming, she had a bad feeling she might swoon for real next time she saw him at the hospital, requiring a hefty dose of smelling salts. “The punting I did back home was in Denver, Colorado, where I went to med school. Learned on Cherry Creek, and eventually raced. All the punting here is one of the reasons I liked the idea of working in Cambridge for a while.”
“I find it hard to believe you consider punting a talent. I mean, how difficult could it be to shove a boat down a river with a pole?”
“You live here and don’t know the answer to that?” He stared at her. “Punting takes a lot of practice. And it’s excellent exercise. Surely you’ve tried it?”
“Well, no actually. I’ve been on the River Cam many times in the punts, but always had someone else manning the pole. Should I be embarrassed to admit that, since I was born and raised here?”
“This is shocking. And also unacceptable.” He shook his head as his warm palm slid down her arm to grasp her elbow, propelling her across the room. “I assume you have a coat checked?”
“Yes, but—”
“Do you have a car here?”
“No, I came with another midwife from the hospital. I—”
“Good.” They stopped at the coat check closet and he held out his hand. “May I have your ticket?”
She fumbled in her evening bag for it, wondering what in the world he was up to, and why she was getting out the ticket and giving it to him when she had no idea as to the answer. “The party’s only half over. Are you throwing me out because I’m a shame to the CRMU and the entire city of Cambridge?”
He flashed her a devastating smile. “You, Hope Sanders, are