Feeling her baby's first kick was supposed to be a joyous moment for Colleen McKenna. When life dealt her the hardest blow, Colleen knew that she would have to summon up all her courage to cope with her pregnancy alone.
Now gorgeous millionaire Eamonn's kindness is testing her fierce independence. And having Eamonn Murphy's hand on her bump, feeling each tiny kick with her, makes every moment more special than the last....
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April 10, 2007
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Excerpt from Rescued Mother to Be (Baby on Board) by Trish Wylie
"Welcome home, Eamonn."
Colleen McKenna pinned a smile on her face and tilted her head back to look up at him where he stood, leaning against the doorway of the yard office. She had managed to keep her voice calm-- even thought she'd come across as welcoming. Which was the least he deserved, on his first visit home after so long.
He hadn't changed a bit, had he? Still disgustingly good-looking, still able to dominate by sheer presence as much as size. And still, after fifteen years, capable of making her mouth go dry and butterflies flutter their wings erratically in her stomach. it really wasn't fair.
Surely a thirty-year-old woman should have long since been over the unrequited love she'd felt as a fifteen-year-old? Shouldn't she?
She felt a sudden ridiculous urge to raise her hand to her hair, to straighten it, tuck a loose strand behind one ear. As if those simple actions would somehow make her look less dishevelled than she felt. But it wasn't as if Eamonn Murphy had ever cared how she looked before, was it?
And it wasn't as if she could hope to measure up to the breathtaking sight of him. Not while he was dressed in spotless walking boots, dark, low-slung jeans, and a thick chocolate-coloured sweater that hinted at the breadth of him as much as it hid.
He was glorious.
While Colleen knew she probably resembled a used teabag as much as she felt like one.
Hazel eyes, framed with thick dark lashes, pinned hers across the room, taking a brief moment to make an inventory of her face before a flicker of recognition arrived,
"Colleen McKenna." A small smile lifted the edges of his sensually curved mouth. "Well, you grew up, didn't you?"
"That happens, y'know. I could say the same thing about you." She leaned back a little in the ancient office chair, the bulk of her body still obscured by the ridiculously large desk, and allowed her eyes to stray over his face. She swallowed to dampen her mouth. Oh-boy-oh-boy.
Had he got better-looking as he'd got older? She searched her memory to see if his hair had curled that way before, in an uncontrolled mass of dark curls that framed his face and touched his collar. Curls that invited fingers to thread through them, that looked as if that was exactly how they'd got that way in the first place. Yes. She remembered that. it had been a little of that irresistibly sensual edge which had been such a big part of him, and of his attraction.
She continued her mental checklist of his attributes, comparing old memories to the reality. Had he been as tall? Oh, yes, that she remembered. he'd always stood head and shoulders above every other boy she'd known, before and after he'd left. But the lean edge to him was gone, replaced by wide shoulders and a broad chest that made him seem even larger than she remembered.
It wasn't fair that he'd aged so well. But some people really did get better with age. Like good wine was supposed to. Not that there was enough in Colleen's weekly budget to cover the screw-top variety, never mind the kind that deserved being swirled around in a glass and savoured before drinking. Not that she was allowed alcohol presently. Not that she couldn't have used large quantities of it for self-medication these last few months.
Maybe just as well. If she'd started drinking to cover her problems she might not have stopped.
Eamonn dragged his eyes from her face and looked around the office, his eyes taking in the usual disorganised chaos. And inwardly Colleen squirmed.
It was stupid of her. it wasn't as if she hadn't known he would appear some time soon. But she maybe could have cleared up, filed things away, thrown a cloth over a surface or two. But all it really would have been was window dressing.