‘It looks great to me.’
‘It looked great to you the last time too, but my wife—who I’m pretty sure is your worst nightmare client—had other ideas.’
‘Oh, no, she isn’t, not at all. She’s just a perfectionist.’
‘Ignore him, Lawrence,’ Amy interrupted, throwing her husband a killer look. ‘I just wanted it to be right, and it’s perfect now.’
‘I’ll send you the proofs for a final review,’ the photographer promised her.
Amy turned to face her husband as the other man left. ‘Now you have my full attention.’
‘You know you take multitasking to a crazy level. A wedding, a christening and a photoshoot.’
She grinned. ‘Sorry, I had no idea he was going to roll up this morning. We had arranged it for next week, but he got his calendar confused.’
‘Will I pass?’
‘You have baby sick on your shoulder.’
‘Oh, God!’ he groaned, turning to try and see his shoulder. ‘Will anyone notice?’
‘I can smell it.’
‘Well, you have cream on your behind.’
‘I do not!’ she said, trying to resist the temptation to look and failing. ‘Oh, no! I knew I should have waited to change untilafterthe shoot.’
‘I can smell you as well, and you smell delicious. In fact, you make me hungry.’ She fell into his arms with a sigh as he framed her face, his long, tanned fingers pushing into her hair. ‘I love your witchy streak.’
‘Leo, I knew it was a bad idea to have this photoshoot today. I mean, who in their right mind writes a cookery book when they’re pregnant?’
He nuzzled her neck, the tiny moist bites sending sensual shudders throughout her body. Fighting the urge to relax into his embrace, which the small sane portion of her brain told her would be fatal, she pressed her hands to his shoulders, but the sinewy strength felt so good she ended up holding on, not pushing him away.
‘You do.’
Amy blinked. She had forgotten the question as her finger trailed down his freshly shaven cheek.
‘Admit it, you would have gone totally crazy on bed rest for all those months with no distractions.’
She laughed and returned his kiss with enthusiasm. ‘It’s true, I would have.’
It hadn’t just been the inactivity; it had been the constant fear of losing the baby. She had been utterly dismissive when Leo had first pitched the idea that she write a cookery book but, once she had begun, it had been a sanity-saver—a marvellous distraction. She had never expected that it would be published, that had been a bonus, and she was still nervous about the outcome.
But today wasn’t about the book, or the mouthwatering photos that seemed to now be in the bag, it was about the commitment they were about to make in front of, if not the world, the people that mattered in their lives, plus her father, who, despite everything he’d done, still mattered to her.
Amy was just grateful that Leo hadn’t vetoed his invitation and understood she needed him there, even though the two men were never going to be friends. In fact, Leo loved her so much that he’d also helped extricate her father—and Gourmet Gypsy—from all involvement with his former ‘friends’ from prison. Now, George Sinclair was living a legitimate, albeit very quiet, life in forced retirement.
A cry made them both turn to the pushchair, where plump legs were kicking.
‘But oh…it was worth it, wasn’t it, Leo?’
Leo’s eyes went to the small bundle with a mop of dark hair. ‘Worth it? My God…she is just so perfect—’ His fervent agreement morphed into a laugh when the perfect dark-haired bundle in the pushchair started to wail. ‘That child has a real set of lungs on her.’
She saw the expression in his eyes as he looked at their daughter and felt a burning ache of love in her chest.
‘She needs changing—’
‘No, let me,’ he said, leaning past her. ‘Your dress.’
‘I thought it was already ruined.’
The baby on his shoulder calmed as he patted her back. ‘I was joking—you look perfect. You always look perfect.’
She laughed. ‘Now I know you’re lying.’
His expression grew solemn. ‘You, my love, my life, are my truth.’
