‘In fact, she’s not even called Emmaline.’ ‘She’s not your baby,’ she gently reminded Marty. Sophie Gibson touched her friend lightly on the shoulder. But would such a gorgeous hunk ever fall in love with Marty, who wasn’t very beautiful, or very tall, but who had taken the baby into her heart and would obviously make the perfect mother for the little girl? I had my doubts, but love is a wondrous thing and when these two were thrown together, and forced to fight for the baby’s welfare, even fight for her life, magic happened and they turned into perfect partners, in life, in work and in love. Imagine my delight when I realized that the father was a very sexy Spaniard-perfect hero material. Before I realized what had happened, I knew I had to write another book so I could find out more about the baby. While I was writing A Father by Christmas-I love writing Christmas books!-I found myself more and more interested in an unborn baby who was a very minor player in the book. He took her hand and drew her to her feet, not forcing her, but allowing no resistance, and then made the kiss a reality, his lips claiming hers with an arrogance that took her breath away. “You’re a woman, and I’m a man,” he said, determined to prove his point, although somewhere deep inside he was distressed she should make light of her appearance. “I mean, look at me-your archetypal plain Jane! I’m jeans and T-shirt, not high fashion-short and dumpy, not slim and willowy.” “You’d hardly want to,” she said, and although she spoke lightly, he guessed she, too, was trapped by a sudden shift in the atmosphere in the room.
He was standing above her, his body throbbing, taunted by the languorous look in her eyes. “Could I fire you with a kiss? Do you believe I could do it?”
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