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Emma tried to keep her feelings motherly as Daniel gently rubbed her stomach, following the kicks and movements of the baby. But with him standing over her, reaching down, she was surrounded by his body. Everywhere she looked there was forearm, broad chest, that amazing smell of him.
And this was wildly inappropriate, she told herself. He was only touching her, because she was carrying his child. As far as she knew, he saw her as nothing more than an incubator right now. It had certainly been weeks, months, since they had even spoken about the fact that they had once been so intimate with one another. She had no reason to think that he wanted anything other than friendship from her. So she should just pull these pregnancy hormones of hers in line and stop fantasising about the other parts of her body that hand could be touching right now.
Emma looked towards the ceiling, still trying to find a safe place for her gaze to rest. But it collided with Daniel's intense dark stare. His hand remained on her belly, but, somehow, the touch changed. No longer curious, it was suddenly sensual. Caressing rather than exploring.
They stared at each other for a while, then his hands dropped, a regretful glint in his eyes.
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