With Love From Cape Town. Joss Wood

       Chapter One

      DR ROBINA ZONDI studied the austere man addressing the conference delegates and sucked in her breath. Dr Niall Ferguson, the keynote speaker and the man on whom the success of her book depended, was disturbingly good looking and surprisingly sexy. Somehow she had expected someone middle-aged, not this Adonis with a beak of a nose that prevented fine features from being too beautiful. He couldn’t be more than thirty—thirty-five tops. Young surely to exude such easy confidence. As he spoke, he pushed a lock of dark hair which kept flopping across his brow aside with impatient fingers.

      She had looked him up on the internet, but there had been no photographs accompanying the rather dry but impressively long list of credentials. She certainly hadn’t expected to be enthralled—as everyone else in the conference appeared to be—by his presentation. No polite, bored coughing had interrupted the smooth flow of words, as he emphasised key points in his lilting Scottish accent. It was a flawless and professional performance and as soon as the question-and-answer session was over, he was surrounded by journalists and attendees all vying for his attention.

      This was going to be harder than she’d anticipated. The butterflies that had been setting up home in her stomach were creating havoc. It was very likely that he would send her away with a flea in her ear, but Robina had never been one to give up without trying. If her easy-to-read guide on infertility were to be taken seriously, she needed someone of his stature to give it his seal of approval. Her publishing company had sent him a copy, but he hadn’t even had the decency to acknowledge its receipt. To be fair, he probably had loads of people wanting his views or his endorsement. When she had read on the internet that he was to attend a conference in Cape Town, the opportunity to ask him face to face had seemed too good to miss.

      Robina waited until he was finally alone before approaching him.

      ‘Dr Ferguson, may I have a word?’ Blue eyes, the colour of the rarest of Kimberley diamonds, looked up. He frowned as if trying to place who she was.

      ‘You don’t know me,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m Dr Robina Zondi. I know you’re a busy man, but could I have a minute?’

      He stood and Robina was disconcerted to find that he towered over her. Taller than he had appeared at the podium, he had to be at least six feet three. It was all she could do not to take a step back.

      ‘Of course,’ he said politely. ‘Please have a seat.’

      Robina dipped into her briefcase and pulled out a copy of her book.

      ‘I hope you don’t mind, Dr Ferguson,’ she said quickly before her courage failed her, ‘but I have a favour to ask you.’ She handed him the book.

      ‘A Guide to Infertility,’ he said quietly, glancing at the cover. ‘How can I help?’ He smiled encouragingly and his face relaxed, making him seem more human and even more devastatingly handsome.

      But before she could launch into her carefully prepared speech, a short, dark-skinned man appeared and