Suddenly Expecting by Paula Roe

results came back positive. Because then she’d have to deal with that on top of everything else, and she was damn sure she didn’t want to put Marco through even a millionth of what she’d suffered, watching someone she loved slowly wither away.
    She walked over to the sink to rinse her bowl and unthinkingly settled her soft fingers on the warm flesh of his waist to nudge him out of her way.
    He jumped like a scalded cat, which in turn made her jump.
    “Sorry,” she said when he shot her a look. Her face was a hairbreadth away from his shoulder—within kissing distance, she realized dazedly. Yet his small shiver had her frowning as he slowly moved to her right.
    “Your hair,” he murmured, removing his plate from the sink. “Tickles.”
    “Sorry,” she said again unconvincingly, leaning down to open the dishwasher. Her breath caught when her arm skimmed his chest; she knew she’d gotten to him when she heard the snag in his throat.
    The heady feeling of power winded her. “You should put a jumper on.”
    “Huh?”
    She nodded at his bare arms, now littered with goose bumps. “If you’re cold you should put a jumper on.”
    He sent her a closed, indecipherable look that confused as much as aroused. How on earth had she been able to look at that face, into those dark eyes, without feeling her pulse spike before? But she had. She’d hugged, laughed and touched with impunity, secure in their platonic-friend zone. But now...now all she wanted to do was touch him. Kiss him.
    Get him into bed again.
    With a thick swallow, she called on her thinly shredded control and turned away.
    “Let’s watch that movie.”
    * * *
    From the very first minute, the very first strike of classical music booming through the speakers, she was hooked.
    Of course, it was all in French and Marco had to translate. Her breath caught every time he leaned in, his deep voice soft over the lilting on-screen French. The music was rich and powerful, the costumes beautifully flamboyant, and she could feel her senses spike in response. And of course, there was Marco sitting close, his body heat and faint cologne a frustrating accompaniment to the period drama. She had to stop herself from squirming after one intimate scene, to firmly focus on the screen and not turn and kiss him as he bent in to translate a particularly hot piece of dialogue.
    She swallowed, suppressed a shudder and made a move to rise. “I need a drink. Do you want a drink?”
    She squeaked when his arm went around her, pulling her back down. “No. Wait until after this scene. It’s awesome.”
    “Just let it play. I won’t be a second.”
    He groaned and clicked Pause. “You always do that. I hate it!”
    “It’s only a few seconds,” she said, grabbing his fingers and pulling. “Let me go.”
    “No. Louis is about to confront his mother. You’ll miss something important.”
    She worked at his fingers but he held her fast, and she couldn’t help but stifle a giggle. A giggle that rushed out in a gasp as he yanked and she ended up sprawled in his lap. “The drink can wait.”
    “But—”
    “Quiet, woman. I’m trying to watch the movie and you’re ruining the mood.”
    With an exaggerated sigh she settled her head on his thigh and watched the scene.
    When Marco casually draped his arm over her waist, an involuntary shiver coursed down her back. She was suddenly very much aware that his hand was curled at her hip, his hard thigh beneath her cheek and the back of her head in his lap.
    Oh, dear.
    She tried to focus on the movie, but it was no good. Amid the powerful scene, full of heightened tension, coupled with Marco’s soft translation, she could feel her body heat up.
    Her breath hitched. She couldn’t take her eyes off the screen, and she couldn’t switch off her senses because Marco was everywhere—his hand resting lightly on her hip. His scent, all male and clean. And that voice, so achingly intimate that her insides just seemed to shudder every time he