Книга - The Pregnancy Plot

The Pregnancy Plot
Paula Roe


The best laid plans…After one mind-blowing night Matthew Cooper never expected to see AJ Reynolds again. But when they are unexpectedly thrown together at a wedding Matt is confident that it’s only a matter of time until the impossible attraction between them boils over.But AJ isn’t looking for a night back in his bed, and she refuses to succumb to Matt’s charms – he’s an extra complication she doesn’t need right now! Yet he can help her get the one thing she wants… if she’s willing to admit that one night wasn’t enough!Discover more at www.millsandboon.co.uk/paularoe







She’d made it clear what she wanted—and that didn’t include him.

But Matthew had worked hard to get where he was. Whenever he decided to pursue a goal he committed everything to it. And now here was AJ, a ghost from his past, offering up his deepest desire: a child … with her.

AJ had no idea. She still thought he was some career-driven workaholic. Yet he was no longer the man she’d known—that young, schedule-oriented, goal-driven man for whom studies and the great Cooper name came first and foremost.

You can’t tell her. His brutal honesty and stupid doubts had ruined things once before and he’d lost her. This time he’d do things right.

You’re actually going to make a woman fall in love with you?

He had no intention of walking away—didn’t want to walk away. She’d chosen him, come to him.

It was fate.


The Pregnancy Plot

Paula Roe




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Despite wanting to be a vet, a choreographer, a card shark, a hairdresser and an interior designer (although not simultaneously!), British-born, Aussie-bred PAULA ROE ended up as a personal assistant, an office manager, a software trainer and an aerobics instructor for thirteen interesting years.

Paula lives in western New South Wales, Australia, with her family, two opinionated cats and a garden full of dependent native birds. She still retains a deep love of filing systems, stationery and travelling, even though the latter doesn’t happen nearly as often as she’d like. She loves to hear from her readers—you can visit her at her website: www.paularoe.com (http://www.paularoe.com)


As always, my girls, The Coven, without whom I’d be a blubbering mess of plot confusion on the floor. But especially to Shannon for that late-night brainstorming, Deb for the sane wisdom of finishing the book, and Margie for her brilliant expertise about fertility treatment and medical procedures.

And a deep, heartfelt thank-you to the man who inadvertently saved me from my book slump: British singer, writer and actor Mat Baynton. Without the wonderful distraction of your show, Horrible Histories, and the beautiful, inspirational music that is Dog Ears, this book would have turned out most different and definitely lacking. You’re a lovely obsession. Thank you more than you’ll know.


Contents

Cover (#ub3413186-55d2-54f1-8b27-f4e19fa73eec)

Excerpt (#uc82d05ca-42df-59d9-af13-38826d389802)

Title Page (#uc8055288-868e-54a6-a5a6-b2ed1017f931)

About the Author (#ua234e81f-5d6d-5fd0-9d8b-d22fcda4d383)

Dedication (#u622aa0c1-07f0-55e0-8c48-575990e09963)

One (#u34aed16d-7da9-578b-9550-80bcf37329d7)

Two (#u92ff8010-d780-5147-a8a8-daf8ddd2d550)

Three (#ufce0f2d4-ea59-5356-af3a-774811e44eeb)

Four (#ued2df402-a770-5ee4-9c63-52994d0aa1ef)

Five (#uf92cdb9c-fa48-57f9-929d-cc3fe8cdfbc6)

Six (#u623a9815-6d36-57a5-8a66-156a9d6bb51f)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#ulink_9a3843b4-d131-5c22-8e9f-e30006ba68e6)

“That bridesmaid keeps checking you out. Do you know her?”

“Who?” Matthew Cooper turned from the huge skyline window, transferring his attention from the stunning seventy-eighth-floor view of Queensland’s Surfers Paradise to his sister, Paige. Her familiar teasing grin remained firmly in place as he gave a cursory glance at the impressively decked-out bridal party. The group of six was slowly making the rounds as a glorious sunset illuminated the aptly named Sunlight Room, Q-Deck’s premier reception area.

“The redhead,” Paige answered.

He shrugged, snagged a glass of champagne from the passing waiter’s tray, then went back to the commanding view. “I don’t know anyone here. The happy couple are your clients.”

Paige frowned. “And you’re depressing me. It’s a wedding, Matt. A celebration of love. Loosen up a little. Have a bit of fun.” She scanned the crowd again. “Go and chat up a bridesmaid.”

He raised one eyebrow, jammed a hand into his pants pocket and took a slow sip from his glass. “The redhead?”

“She is definitely interested.”

Matt murmured something noncommittal.

Paige sighed. “You are one sad guy. Here you are, thirty-six, prime of your life, attractive, single, excruciatingly rich—”

“Responsible. Successful—”

“And still work-obsessed,” she concluded as she watched him check his phone for the third time in half an hour. “I thought you left Saint Cat’s to get away from that.”

He frowned. “Running GEM is totally different.”

“Hmm...” Paige’s brown eyes blinked as she popped an appetizer in her mouth, then held up her palms, indicating scales. “On the one hand, heart surgery. On the other, running an international global rescue company.” She tipped one hand down, the other up. “Saving lives for the family business—parents overjoyed. Training emergency medical response teams in developing countries—parents pissed off.”

“I’m still saving lives, Paige. And I don’t need you on my case, too.”

“Seeing nasty, lying ex-wife every few weeks.” One of Paige’s palms dropped. “Skiving off to exotic locations and even more exotic women.” Her other hand shot up as she smiled. “Yet you’re still not happy.”

“I’m—”

“You’re not.” She touched his arm. “I may live in London but I still know you.”

Before he could answer, the bridal party shifted, a solid mass of movement and noise flowing in a singular wave.

It was Friday night in the middle of an unseasonably warm August, and instead of finalizing project details before he flew out to Perth on Monday, he was in a room full of strangers, celebrating the union of two people so obviously in love it was kind of nauseating.

A vague, irrational anger swept over him. The last wedding he’d attended had been his own—and look how that had turned out.

People parted to reveal the newlyweds, Emily and Zac Prescott, sharing a grinning kiss. As the guests cheered, Matthew’s jaw tightened, uncomfortable emotions welling in his throat. Why the hell had he agreed to be Paige’s plus-one?

“Your ring looks good,” he said to Paige, who’d fallen silent.

“As if you can tell from this distance.” Still, she visibly preened as they both studied the intricate, handmade Paige Cooper diamond band on Emily’s ring finger. “Look,” she added, sharply elbowing him in the arm. “There’s the redhead.”

The woman in question was partially hidden by Emily’s dress. Her head was turned, body angled away so he could only make out the sweep of neck and bare shoulders, the fiery red hair bundled up in a sleek knot at her nape.

Then she moved and a spear of golden sunlight sharpened her profile.

He gasped as everything went out of focus.

“You know her?” Paige asked sharply.

“No. Excuse me for a moment.” Ignoring Paige’s frown, he shoved his glass into her hand and moved purposely forward.

She was five feet away, lagging behind the rest of the wedding party and talking to a smooth-looking guy. He paused, head spinning as the past flooded in to seize his senses. Angelina Jayne Reynolds—AJ. Angel, he’d whispered in her ear, deep in the throes of passion as she’d writhed beneath him. The nickname suited her. From her pale ethereal skin, long elegant limbs and ice-blue eyes, to the deep auburn shock of hair that tumbled down her back in flaming waves, she was a mixture of heaven and hell all rolled into one. A woman who’d set his blood boiling with her joyous laugh and come-hither grin. A woman who’d driven him crazy for six whole months, burned up his sheets, then walked out of his life without a word. It had taken him close to a year to forget that.

But you didn’t really forget, did you?

He knew the moment she sensed him staring. Her back straightened and then her shoulders as she scanned the crowd with a faint frown. His gaze remained fixated on her nape, that spot where her gathered hair revealed vulnerable skin. He remembered kissing that spot, making her first giggle in delight, then sigh in rapturous pleasure....

Finally, she turned and the reality of all those missing years slammed into him, making the air whoosh from his lungs.

AJ had been gorgeous at twenty-three. But now she was...breathtaking. Life and experience had sharpened her features, accentuating her jaw and chin. Creamy skin and high cheekbones emphasized those blue cat’s eyes, the corners slanting up in a permanent air of mischief.

Then there was her mouth...a luscious swell of warmth and seduction painted a glossy shade of magenta that conjured up all sorts of dirty images.

Finally, her gaze met his. It registered brief feminine appreciation, skipped away then snapped back to him in wide-eyed shock.

He couldn’t help but smile.

Somehow, the distance between them disintegrated and he was suddenly standing right in front of her.

“AJ Reynolds. You look...” He paused, only half aware of the noise and movement pulsing around them. “Good.”

“Matthew Cooper.” Her voice came out rushed, slightly breathy, stirring something he’d buried long ago. “It’s been a long time.”

“Nearly ten years.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

She threaded her fingers in front of her, the perfect picture of demureness. He frowned, his eyes skimming over her elegant ice-blue dress, the small butterfly necklace at her throat, the tiny diamond stud earrings. Something was off.

“You’re not used to seeing me dressed like this.”

Visions of tangled sweaty limbs and hot breathless kisses caused a zing of desire to shoot through him. She must’ve sensed it because she quickly added, “I mean...the gown.”

With an inward curse, he got himself under control. “It is kind of...”

“Fancy?”

“Elegant.”

Her mouth twisted as she glanced fleetingly across the room. “I know you don’t know my sister. So how do you know Zac?”

The bride was her sister? “Through Paige Cooper.”

Her eyes widened. “The ring designer?”

“Yes.”

“Your wife is very talented.” She smiled politely.

“Sister.”

“Ah.” She glanced at the bridal party, her expression unreadable. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“There were lots of things we didn’t talk about.”

She simply nodded and smiled at a passing guest, her fingers still threaded in front of her.

Had she ever been this restrained? He remembered AJ as a colorful, passionate talker, using expression and movement to engage. But now it felt almost painfully polite.

Not surprising, considering how they’d parted.

He shoved his hands deep in his pockets.

“Well...” She shot a glance past his shoulder and when he followed it, he spotted Zac and Emily being seated at the bridal table. Off to the side, Paige was deep in conversation with a blinged-out teenager. “It was nice seeing you, Matthew.”

“Wait,” he said, curling his fingers around her arm. She stilled, her eyes snapping up to his, and he quickly released her. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She gave a slight laugh. “We have an open bar.”

“Later.” He held her gaze pointedly.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said, her smile slowly fading.

“A dance, then.”

“Why?”

Her directness startled him for one second before he remembered that it was just one of her many appealing traits. “Because I’d like to.”

What the hell was he doing? The rational part of his brain was telling him to just let her go. But the unsatisfied, something’s-missing part that had survived his marriage’s collapse and last week’s agonizing new client contract negotiations egged him on.

AJ wasn’t a part of his reality. She was a bright memory from his past—an idealistic, purposeful past full of ambition for the future. She was the beach, short shorts, laughter and sensual lovemaking. His present was vastly different. It was endless meetings and lonely foreign countries, the occasional life-threatening situation, a deceitful ex-wife and nosy parents who just couldn’t let the past go. He couldn’t let her leave. Not yet.

“A dance,” he repeated, fixing her with a firm look.

She studied him in silence. Odd. Wasn’t this the woman who gave new meaning to impulsive? Yet now she seemed downright cautious.

“Matthew, I’m being as polite as possible, given we’re at my sister’s wedding. But let me make this clear—I do not want to drink or dance with you. Now if you’ll excuse me...”

She smiled, then turned on her heel and headed over to the bridal table, leaving him speechless and frowning in her wake.

He glared at her gently swaying backside and the swish of ice-blue skirts billowing around her ankles.

Huh. Guess she’s still pissed off with you, then.


Two (#ulink_1f1f02ed-1ab2-5271-898e-caaee9dbff13)

Two long hours crawled by, one hundred and twenty agonizing minutes in which AJ wished more than once she still drank alcohol. A champagne buzz would definitely help get her past this irritating awareness of her ex.

His hair is longer, she reflected as she ate dessert. The shaggy style lent a romantic air to his bold features: the wide Roman nose, the dark eyebrows framing dreamy chocolate-brown eyes, the firm jaw shaded with stubble and the dimpled chin. Oh, he was still lean and angular, with elegant hands and expressive eyes that reminded her of chivalrous knights and romantic poets from days gone by, but in those ten years he’d broadened and matured. It suited him.

Not only was he gorgeous and hyper-smart, he was also a doctor. An actual heart surgeon, for heaven’s sake, every girl’s McDreamy with a deep, soothing English accent that made her shiver. Yet no TV character could hold a candle to the reality that was Matthew Cooper.

Maybe it was the memory of their mutual past. A past based purely on sex—they hadn’t been together long enough to crash and burn under the weight of inevitable relationship complications. Instead, Matthew had brutally cut her off at the knees.

Amazingly, she made it through her toast and then the official bridal party dance without a hitch. Her partner dutifully waltzed her around the dance floor as Zac and her sister glided by, smiling and whispering in that enviously intimate way of all newlyweds.

Eventually the DJ cranked up the music, the lights dimmed and everyone flocked to the dance floor. After refusing to dance with a chisel-jawed blond, she made her way to the bar and ordered a virgin cocktail.

“Having a good time, gorgeous?”The bartender grinned.

“Sure.” She smiled halfheartedly.

He placed the drink in front of her, but when she reached for it his hand lingered, his gaze intent. “Hey, what do you say to—”

Suddenly Matthew was there, easing onto the stool next to her, his polite smile aimed directly at the bartender. It was almost funny the way the other man yanked his hand away and quickly asked, “What can I get you, sir?” But when the bartender went to fix a coffee and Matt turned to face her, amusement was the last thing on her mind.

After the year she’d had, she was so not up to facing the man who’d dumped her nearly ten years ago.

AJ stared into her drink, watching the bubbles rise to the surface as she stirred it with the straw. She’d been good enough to have hot holiday sex with but not good enough to introduce to his parents or take out on an official date. To advertise as girlfriend material.

Ah, but it had been amazing sex.

The memories made her cheeks flush. With a small sigh she shoved the straw between her lips and took a sip, ignoring his gaze.

The bartender placed the coffee on the bar—espresso, no sugar—and her eyes were drawn to Matt’s long fingers curling around the cup. His scrutiny was beginning to unnerve her. Sure, he’d always been intense, examining things from every possible angle. It was part of what made him such a brilliant surgeon. But this...this...singular attention, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, was something different.

“Stop staring. I haven’t changed that much,” she finally said, irritated.

“You have.” He lifted the cup to his lips and took a chug, then carefully replaced the cup on the saucer.

“How?”

One eyebrow went up. “Fishing for compliments, AJ?”

“No.”

His expression changed. “Yeah, I remember that about you. You look...” He paused, and an inexplicable rush of anticipation stilled AJ’s breath. “Thirty-two suits you,” he finally said. “Very much.”

Oh. Perversely disappointed, she took another sip of her drink and smiled politely. “Thank you.”

“So how’ve you been?”

If you don’t count my surgery, my screaming biological clock and the fertility clinic appointment tomorrow? “Fine.” She eased off her chair and smiled once more, only this time it felt as if her face was about to crack. “Well. It was nice seeing you. Again. I—” When he muttered something under his breath, she frowned. “Sorry?”

“I said, crap. What the hell’s gotten into you, AJ? It wasn’t ‘nice’ seeing me again and you know it. So stop faking.”

AJ took a step back and crossed her arms, trying to rein in her irritation. “You know what? I’m not doing this with you. Not here, not now.” And she abruptly turned and stalked off.

Her heels barely made a sound on the stucco dance floor, the thumping music drowning out everything except the anger in her head. She managed to dodge a handful of dancers, then a tipsy guest, before making it through an archway at the far end of the room. With a vicious yank she pulled a door open and stepped inside the luxurious foyer that led to the restrooms.

Pausing at one of the full-length mirrors, she stared at her reflection, then cupped her cheeks, heat flaring beneath her palms.

Matthew Cooper was an arrogant ass. He was a trust-fund kid with upper-crust parents and a British ancestry dating back to the Battle of Hastings. An insanely intelligent silver-spooner who never knew what it was like to truly struggle...for a life, for control, for his next meal. He was the most self-centered, overbearing—

No. This wasn’t about him. Her life had been one insane rollercoaster ride since April: in the space of a week she’d gone from her normal checkup to being prepped for surgery to remove ovarian cysts. Determined to keep Emily’s happy prewedding bubble intact, she’d told no one, but her luck had run out when she’d run into Zac at the hospital, where he’d been donating some huge sum to the children’s ward and she’d been coming out of post-op. She’d sworn him to secrecy, but then the rat had insisted on paying for everything, including a week’s recuperation at a private health facility.

It’s highly unlikely you’ll be able to bear a child, Miss Reynolds.

Oh, her surgeon had his sympathetic bedside manner down pat, and a few years ago she would’ve brushed off his concern with barely a backward thought. The mere idea of her—Miss Single Girl, Life of the Party—having kids was laughable, right? Her fractured childhood notwithstanding, she loved the fact she could pick up stumps and move across the state on a whim, answering to no one, depending on no one and needing no one. Sure, there were those weird little pangs when she saw Emily and Zac together and she briefly yearned for something more. And it seemed like all her friends were dropping off her radar one by one, suddenly engrossed in getting married, falling in love or having babies.

Not AJ Reynolds. She didn’t need anyone.

Except now, the most basic choice of womanhood had been ripped from her and the sudden, inexplicable loss gaped like a jagged wound.

She’d started to question all the turns she’d taken to get to this point, every minute choice she’d made. That unfamiliar self-scrutiny had freaked her out, but finally, after a week of agonizing, she’d woken up one morning and known exactly what she wanted.

The heavy sucking sound of the door opening, followed by a sudden brief burst of music and laughter, broke through her thoughts. She narrowed her eyes at Matthew’s reflection in the mirror, refusing to turn around even when the silence lengthened and her skin itched with expectation.

“The men’s room is next door,” she said helpfully.

He ignored her comment. “You’re still angry with me.”

She whirled, ready to do battle, but took a calming breath at the last moment.

“Being angry means I still care.” She tipped her chin up, giving him her best down-the-nose glare, even though he was a good six inches taller. “And I don’t.”

“Right.”

His superiority grated. “Oh, get over yourself, Matt! It’s been ten years. I’ve moved on. Grown up. I’m living my life. You...” She waved a hand, taking in his perfectly suited frame. “You’re probably married to some socialite, chief of something by now and pleasing the pants off your parents—”

“Actually, I’m divorced and run an international medical response team.”

“—and honestly, I don’t think—” AJ paused then blinked. “What?”

“I run GEM. It’s a global emergency medical—”

“Wait, wait, wait. You quit Saint Catherine’s?”

He nodded. “Just over four years ago.”

AJ was stunned. “Holy crap. But you lived and breathed that place. It was your entire existence and you... Wow. What did your parents say?”

“Considerably more than ‘wow.’” The cloud in those hooded velvet eyes spoke volumes, belying the casual quirk of his lips.

“Wow,” she said again. He remained silent as she stared at him.

He’d been married. It was old news, but her heart still smarted. He’d loved someone enough to propose. He’d taken someone else to bed and been loved in return.

Was it wrong to hate someone she didn’t know?

AJ focused on his beautiful mouth. She knew the second his thoughts solidified: his brown eyes darkened, nostrils flaring as he slowly dragged in a breath. “Angel...”

She swallowed. “Don’t call me that.”

She heard a loud click and jumped as the room was suddenly plunged into pitch darkness.

The light timer had run its course. With a soft curse, AJ stuck out her hands and took a step forward.

“AJ?”

“I’m walking to the wall.” She took another step, then another...until she found something solid. And warm. Definitely not the wall.

She sprung back with a dismayed groan and would’ve lost her footing if not for Matt’s quick response. He grabbed her arms, steadying her. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yes, you are.” The blackness was absolute but she could still hear the smile in his voice.

Her breath hitched as his hands seared her skin. “You can let go now.”

“Okay.”

But he didn’t. Instead, he cupped her elbows and suddenly every one of her senses went on high alert.

His long sensual fingers were warm on her skin and his subtle scent beckoned. When she felt him shift, a wave of body heat swathed her, drawing her into a seductive web.

Damn it. Her heart pounded in familiar anticipation. She heard him draw in a breath, then slowly exhale. That gentle puff of air was way too close to her cheek.

“Matthew. Turn the light on.”

“I will.”

“Now.”

“You are still angry.”

“That doesn’t concern you.” She struggled in his grasp so that when he released her, she crashed into his chest and her lips collided with his.

She gasped and pulled back, a second too late. That fleeting moment of delight had done its job.

The door suddenly swung open, and the light automatically switched back on. They both blinked and turned to see Paige standing in the doorway.

Everyone froze in a strange tableau of embarrassment, followed by an immediate gathering of dignity as AJ and Matt both sprang apart.

“Oh, hey,” Paige said, way too casually. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Matt. The newlyweds are leaving. You want to go?”

“In a minute.” But he stayed where he was, studying AJ so thoroughly that she ended up smoothing down her perfectly straight skirts with nervous fingers.

AJ didn’t miss the way Paige’s speculative gaze swept over them or the small grin on her lips. Oh, great. “I should be going, too.”

“We could share a cab if you want,” Paige said.

“Oh, I still have the bridal car....”

“Really?” As Paige’s face lit up, AJ groaned inwardly. Damn.

“You could share with me, if you like,” she said reluctantly. Say no, say no, say no.

“That’d be great! Wouldn’t that be great, Matt?”

His gaze darted from AJ to his sister, and a small frown suddenly furrowed his brow. Then he stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Wonderful.”

* * *

At the last minute, Paige conveniently realized she’d forgotten her purse. With an “I’ll just grab a cab—don’t worry!” she slammed the door on their surprised expressions and the Bentley pulled away from the curb.

The silent drive was awkward. AJ kept her legs crossed, her body angled toward the door, her gaze firmly out the window, but it still didn’t stop her from casting furtive glances at Matt’s reflection in the glass.

There was something about this man, this one particular person with whom she’d shared her body so freely and willingly. Out of all the other guys, she’d actually liked this one. He had ample cause to be a complete jerk—money, breeding, genius-level IQ, brilliant career, lush looks. But he wasn’t.

At least, not until that night. And to be fair, she’d read far more into their fling than she should’ve. A mistake she’d avoided making for years afterward. Until Jesse.

She shook her head, refusing to think about her last stupid mistake. Instead, her thoughts wandered back to Matt. Who knew what had shaped him in those ten years? Something obviously huge, considering he’d thrown away a career he’d sacrificed everything for since high school.

Matthew finally broke the silence. “So what are you doing now?”

Crashing and burning. Feeling way too attracted to you. Wanting to touch— “Going to my hotel.”

“I meant for work,” he replied patiently.

She sighed and slowly turned to him. This was her punishment for bad judgment—death by small talk. “I have a stall at the Gold Coast markets.”

“Selling what?”

“Drawings.”

“You draw?”

“And paint. I even do a pretty good caricature, which is my best seller.”

“I didn’t know you were an artist. I mean,” he amended, “I saw you sketching once, but...”

“We just shared a bed, Matt, not our deepest thoughts about life and love.” She shrugged. “We had fun for a few months.”

She remained surprisingly calm under his scrutiny, even though her insides jumped as his fingers softly drummed on the door.

You’re not twenty-three anymore. You can hold a man’s gaze without backing down like a blushing virgin.

“We had fun,” he repeated slowly.

The heat of irritation crept up her neck. “Well, I did.”

His eyes darkened, mouth tilting into a knowing grin. “I know. I was there, remember?”

Unfortunately she’d been doing nothing but remembering ever since she’d clapped eyes on him. And if she were the old AJ, the one who’d lived and loved with careless abandon, she wouldn’t hesitate to follow through. Judging by the sensuous curl of his mouth and the way his gaze devoured her, he was thinking the same thing.

She took in his lopsided smile and the tiny dimple it made, the way his eyes roamed leisurely over her face and hair before coming to rest on her mouth. The way those eyes then darkened with a predatory gleam.

Growing up, she’d quickly learned how to read peoples’ expressions, predict a mood then act accordingly. This skill had been a good foil for her smart mouth, which had provoked the bulk of her mother’s slaps. That little girl desperate for a mother’s love was long, long gone.

The message she saw in Matt’s eyes was plain as day. He wanted her. And judging by that smile, he was reading her need as easily as the Sunday sports section.

It seemed he was about to say something more but instead glanced out the window. AJ followed his gaze, to the blazing lights of the Phoenician. Her time was up.

“This is my stop,” she said unnecessarily, her smile tight. “Well, goodbye. Have a safe trip back to Sydney.”

“Thanks.”

She eased from the car and, to her surprise, he followed.

“I’m perfectly capable of seeing myself to my room,” she said tartly.

He lifted his hand, her thin handbag strap dangling from one finger. “You know, that hairstyle really doesn’t suit you.”

She grasped her bag strap. “I’m supposed to be a demure bridesmaid.”

He refused to relinquish the bag. “Demure?”

She watched his gaze go past her shoulder to the people coming and going from the hotel. “Give me my bag.”

With a small tug, he drew her closer. “I’m staying at the Palazzo Versace. Have lunch with me tomorrow.”

Her heart leaped for one second before she ruthlessly shot down that eager spark. “No.”

“You have something else planned?”

“Yes.”

“You can tell me more about your paintings.”

Oh, you are smooth, Matthew Cooper. From his languid, willpower-melting smile to the way his head tilted, she knew he knew she was attracted. She’d made some colossal mistakes in her past, but denying her body’s desires was not one of them.

How long had it been?

Too long. A familiar sliver of excitement prickled just before she sighed and tugged at her bag again. In response, he tightened his grip and tugged back.

“Damn it, Matt, give me my—”

He took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. The gentle slide of warm flesh, the firm conviction as he curled his hand around hers had her blood leaping to life.

Matthew had beautiful hands, with smooth sun-darkened skin and lean fingers. Perfect surgeon’s hands, miracle instruments of power and talent, whether he was performing intricate lifesaving surgery or bringing her to a panting climax.

Her breath gurgled in her throat.

He began to stroke her knuckles with his thumb. That shockingly personal intimacy did her in, scattering all rational thought.

Then he firmly drew her forward and, in the middle of the hotel entrance in front of a dozen milling guests, placed a kiss square on her mouth.

Alarm made her pulse skyrocket, yet familiar desire dissolved any objections. His mouth was as warm and skillful as she remembered. Her whole body took barely a second to recover, to remember, then it was off and running, eager for more as her eyes fluttered closed and she kissed him back.

She didn’t care that his lips curved into a knowing, way-too-confident smile beneath hers. All she could think of was that mouth, tasting of coffee and something forbidden, urging hers wider, devouring her; then his tongue as he gently eased her open and dove inside.

Damn him. He knew how to turn a woman on.

A group of hotel guests abruptly surrounded them, cheering and whistling, edging past with alcohol-infused enthusiasm and bringing with them movement and noise and sudden clarity.

She pulled back and Matthew reached out to steady her, his breath warm across her cheek. When their hips bumped, then their shoulders, a frisson of delight shivered up her spine.

AJ barely noticed the brief, cheerful apologies as the crowd moved on. All she noticed were Matthew’s warm palms cupping her elbows, his soapy-fresh scent and his breath as it feathered across her bare shoulder.

“Want to change your mind about me seeing you to your room?” he murmured in her ear, his deep accented baritone making her nerves dance.

“No.”

He grinned. “So lunch tomorrow?”

“Contrary to popular belief, the world doesn’t revolve around you, Matthew Cooper.” She dug in her bag for her phone and checked the time. “I have things to do tomorrow.”

“Dinner, then.”

She sighed. Sharing food with him, making small talk, was the last thing on her wish list, especially after her appointment tomorrow.

He reached out and took her phone. She scowled. “What are you—?”

He flicked it on and dialed. “Here’s my number.” He paused and his phone trilled from somewhere inside his jacket. Then he returned hers. “Lunch tomorrow.”

With a confident grin, he turned and strode back to the car.

She glared at his broad back. Of all the arrogant...

The Bentley finally drove off. With a sigh, she turned on her heel and walked into the hotel foyer. This wasn’t a problem. She’d just call tomorrow and cancel. There’d be nothing he could do about it, after all.

Yet it didn’t stop the niggling feeling that she was throwing away the chance to have Matthew back in her bed again.

Irritated, she punched the elevator button. Sure, she’d lusted. She’d wanted. She’d desired. But she’d never completely offered him her heart and he’d never demanded it. She’d been young and reckless, reveling in life, and he’d been the perfect fling. Yet despite her oh-so-mature outlook on the whole affair, he’d still managed to bruise her.

Matthew Cooper was part of her past, not her future. If she was an expert at anything, it was moving on and letting the past stay buried.


Three (#ulink_ccc9649a-4bdd-5d8e-bf57-d19d5655cb70)

AJ perched on the edge of her chair in the discreet Brisbane fertility clinic, hands clasped firmly in her lap.

She’d managed to get a grasp on her emotions, wrapping them with prudent caution. Yet she couldn’t stop the edginess that rose up, catching her breath and making her heart kick.

Forget about Matthew Cooper and just get on with your original plan.

Dr. Sanjay flicked open the file on his desk. “How are you today, Miss Reynolds?”

“Fine. Nervous.”

He looked up from the file and peered over his glasses with a smile. “So, this is your second consult. Dr. McGregor did your full checkup and discussed the realities of getting pregnant with you?”

“Yes.”

He kept reading. “It says here you had surgery three months ago for ovarian cysts.”

“Yes, my surgeon did say my chances of conception were low. Thirty percent.”

“You have quite a bit of scarring—”

“But thirty percent is better than nothing, right?”

He sighed, then gave a reluctant nod. “It doesn’t mean it’s impossible—just difficult. But it will be time consuming, and fertilization may not happen the first, second or even the fifth time. And it can be draining, physically, mentally and financially.” He glanced back down at the file. “You’ve already chosen a donor from our files, I see.”

She nodded.

“Okay.” Sanjay flipped open the file, then frowned. “One moment.” He reached for the phone and made a call. When he hung up, he slowly removed his glasses, closed the folder and fixed her with a silent, considering gaze.

Uh-oh. She nervously twisted the handles of her handbag. “What’s wrong?”

“Miss Reynolds, I’m sorry but we cannot proceed at this time.”

Her mouth gaped. “Why not?”

“I’ve been advised your donor is no longer available.” He gave her a sympathetic smile.

“What?”

“Your donor cancelled his appointment,” Sanjay said calmly. “This means—”

AJ stared blankly at the manila folder as the doctor’s explanation faded into the background. No. No! This could not be happening.

“Miss Reynolds?” the doctor repeated gently. “Did you hear me? How do you want to proceed?”

“What do you mean?”

He paused, silently studying her as if trying to assess her mental state. “You’ll need to make another donor choice and then we can go from there. You’ll need to make another appointment with reception.”

He slid a business card across his desk, almost as if he’d been waiting for the cue, but all she could do was stare at him. “But...but...I don’t... It took me three months to get this one! Can’t I just—”

“I am sorry about the long wait time but we are fully booked. And I am legally bound to follow procedure.” He straightened the files on his desk, then fixed her with a polite smile. “You need time to make a decision and once you have, we can discuss everything at our next appointment. Now, can I help you with anything else?”

AJ shook her head and took the card, her fingers surprisingly steady.

When she finally strode outside, the bright morning sun seared away the vague clinical aroma and the doctor’s sympathetic but hands-tied expression. Slipping on her sunglasses, she crossed the road to the parking lot and dug out her phone.

She found her car—a third-hand, beat-up red Hyundai Getz—and slipped into the driver’s seat.

Just what was she going to do now?

She stared at the cracked steering wheel, her mind a total blank. Another three months. Could she wait that long? She’d done her research—she knew anxiety and worry played a huge factor in getting pregnant. And there was no guarantee the first time would work anyway. She’d been on a dozen different blogs and forums where women openly shared their stories—the injections, the schedules, prime ovulation times, family pressure, aching optimism and the deep, dark lows of constant negative tests. She’d read about women making the agonizing choice of stopping fertility treatments after years of stress, only to fall pregnant months later when the pressure was off. Her head had spun with overload.

She could spend years chasing this dream. And where would she get the money? She’d never had a loan in her life and there was no way she’d stoop to sponging off Emily. Big sisters looked out for the little ones; they didn’t demand handouts.

Her mind was a whirling mass of chaos, thoughts flying everywhere, so it took a few seconds to realize her phone was ringing. Confused, she finally grabbed it and stared at the screen.

Her sharp laugh shattered the still air. It was Matthew. Great.

“Yes?”

“Just checking you’ll be here for lunch.”

His deep voice, combined with that polished accent, sent her thoughts into further turmoil. She glanced at her watch. Ten o’clock. It felt like she’d been in there for hours. “Probably not. I’m in Brisbane.”

There was a pause. “Later, then. The Versace does an exceptional high tea.”

She opened her mouth to refuse, but a sudden insidious thought struck her speechless.

Oh. My. God.

She shook her head. No.

But wait! What if...? No, you can’t.

Sure, you can.

She took a deep breath, then another.

“AJ?”

“I’m thinking,” she replied, dragging a hand through her hair.

“Don’t take too long,” he murmured. “Time’s ticking away.”

Never a truer word was spoken. Her forbidden idea slowly took shape. Matthew Cooper had the power to grant her most desperate wish. He was the perfect male specimen. The perfect candidate. The key to her plan.

Matt could give me a baby.

Yes! No! Indecision warred inside before she finally overrode her doubts and chose a side.

“I’ll be there at one,” she said and turned the key in the ignition.

* * *

Matt hadn’t actually expected her to say yes. Now, as he waited in the Palazzo Versace’s opulent coffee lounge, he wondered if this was such a good idea.

His entire life was a study in cool-headed decision-making. He made plans, logical moves, well-informed choices. Choices that had furthered his career, challenged his intellect and increased his standing in the medical community. And when he’d reached his personal crisis point, that cool head had led him to a new calling.

Yet he’d impulsively asked AJ out. In the space of an evening, she’d managed to rub off on him.

Hell, he never could control himself around her.

He shook his head and glanced over at the reception area for the fifth time in as many minutes. Circular couches with plump sun-yellow cushions were scattered throughout the foyer and the sleek, intricately tiled marble entrance bore the familiar Versace logo. Some said this five-star Gold Coast hotel blurred the line between lavish and garish, but he loved it. It was private, the staff was discreet and service was top-notch. He never stayed anywhere else when he was in Surfers.

He glanced up again, and when he spotted a familiar figure walking through the huge glass doors, her low strappy heels clicking sharply on the tiled floor, his thoughts fled like predawn shadows at sunrise.

He’d recognize that distinctive red hair anywhere, even if it was tied back in a controlled ponytail. He also noticed how her brow was furrowed in concentration.

AJ had a habit of frowning when she didn’t agree with what was being said, those tiny disapproving lines momentarily creasing her forehead before she opened her mouth and began challenging, questioning.

She may look like a Renaissance painting, but her brain was firmly twenty-first century.

He ran his eyes over her, taking in the beacon of hair, the soft lemon cardigan over a modestly cut cream sundress, the silver sandals on her feet. She looked...demure. Again. A word he’d never consider for a woman who’d worn screaming-orange and electric-blue with impunity, who’d rocked short denim shirts and sexy off-the-shoulder tops, who laughed and loved equally with impulsive, joyous abandon.

Burning curiosity sparked in him as he strode across the foyer.

When she finally noticed his approach, a smile replaced her frown. It was all-encompassing, defining those high cheekbones and creasing her clear blue eyes. It felt as if he was the only guy in the world and she was smiling just for him. And yeah, it also jammed the words in his throat as if he were a boy with his first crush.

Irritating and arousing—that was AJ to a T.

So he did the only thing he could—smiled in return, took her arm and placed a kiss on her cheek. She stilled in surprise, and he immediately pulled back, decorum warring with craving.

“How...?” She swallowed then went on breathily, “How are you?”

Suddenly needing to do more than kiss your cheek.

“Hungry. Are you?” he asked thickly.

“Not particularly.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, AJ sensed the danger. It was like fire crackling to life, flaring up to bathe her in delicious heat. His eyes were dark, full of forbidden promise, and suddenly AJ recalled another time, another place, where they’d forgone food and instead feasted on each other until dawn crept into the sky.

She dropped her gaze.

His palm cupped her elbow in a soft caress. “I’ve arranged for us to eat outside. Come.”

She let him lead her past the huge windows with a view of a massive, Greco-Roman-style pool and fountains sparkling in the afternoon sun, then out the doors. A bead of sweat formed in the small of her back, and she slipped her sunglasses on. The water looked so inviting.

“Have you been here before?” he asked, his hand a warm brand on her as they wove their way through the pristine cabanas ringing the pool.

“Once, for dinner.” Zac and Emily had treated her, and she’d spent the whole time stroking the chair and lusting after the dinner plates.

They stopped in front of a cabana, where a female server greeted them. “Good afternoon, Dr. Cooper. Your afternoon tea is ready. Would you like me to serve you now?”

“No, that’s fine. Thank you.” When he smiled, AJ swore she saw a blush rise in the girl’s cheeks before she nodded and left them.

Their private air-conditioned cabana looked like a sheikh’s tent. She glanced around, noting the cotton-draped walls and roof and the table on the far side that held coffee and tea jugs warming on heating plates. A love seat against another wall was scattered with a dozen cushions displaying the distinctive Versace pattern. Two recliners flanked a low table that held an elegant three-tiered display of sweet and savory treats that made AJ’s mouth water.

Matt nodded to the chairs. “Take a seat.”

She hesitated, then toed off her shoes before settling into the lounge with a sigh. After her crazy morning this was a welcome respite, despite Matt’s surreal presence amid the luxurious five-star hotel aura.

He took a seat across from her at the low table. She focused on the spread before them.

“Is that smoked salmon? And cream cheese?”

“Your favorite, right?”

She sighed. “You always knew how to make me smile, Matthew Cooper.”

His mouth grazed her bottom lip before he reached for her coffee cup and began to fill it. “I’m planning on doing much more than that.”

Oh, wow. She didn’t care that her answering grin was full of girlish giddiness, nor that anticipation made her hand tremble as she took her cup.

“Really.” She took a sip, eyeing him over the rim.

“You told me you hated playing games, remember?” He met her firm look with one of his own. “I’m just being honest.”

Yes, he was. She looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. Here’s your chance. Ask him now. She replaced her cup and reached for a tiny smoked salmon sandwich. “So how long were you married?”

He paused, a sliver of bread roll halfway to his mouth. “Does it matter? It’s over.”

“It doesn’t.” She shrugged. “I’m just curious.”

“Her name was Katrina,” he finally said, then popped the food into his mouth and slowly chewed. “We were married for three years. You?”

“Oh, no. Not me.” A memory flashed by, but she swallowed the bitter ashes with a neutral expression as she selected another morsel from the platter. “And you left Saint Cat’s.” She nibbled on the finger sandwich. Chicken and pesto—delicious.

“To start my own company.”

But why? The question hovered on her tongue but she swallowed it back. Did she really need to know?

She took a sip of coffee, studiously avoiding his gaze as she finished the chicken and pesto, then picked a mini chocolate croissant. She bit into it and gave a small murmur as the buttery pastry crumbled in her mouth.

“Good?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I thought you’d like it.”

“Oh, you did?” She licked her bottom lip, picking up a stray crumb. And just as she expected, Matt’s gaze honed right on in, watching her as she slowly licked one finger, then her thumb.

Her breath staggered on the intake. There was nothing to stop her from leaning over the table and suggesting she was hungry for something more than food. Hell, this cabana was just as good as a private room—they could get naked right here, right now, and no one would suspect a thing.

Yet something made her hesitate. This was Matt. The guy she’d shared a bed with for six whole months. The guy she’d been prepared to let down all her defensive walls for, only to be dumped that same night. The guy who’d been her benchmark, who’d made her vow never to be that vulnerable again.

“Matt...” she began, then paused when he abruptly stood.

He was staring down at her with such intensity that the rest of her words gurgled in her throat. She knew that look. It still made her legs weak even after all these years.

“Come with me.”

When he rounded the table and held out his hand, she was lost.

His fingers wrapped firmly around hers, slowly drawing her to her feet, to him. Her heart hammered as she stared into those dark eyes, that crazy feeling of anticipation simultaneously scaring and exciting her.

Kiss me.

As if she’d spoken aloud his eyes dipped, then his head, and everything fell out of focus. She felt her eyes close, the familiar arousal bubbling up in her belly. Yet when he was barely a breath away, when her senses were full of his delicious scent, her breath ragged and her belly tight, he stopped.

She’d been leaning in, practically begging for him to kiss her. With a small sound of frustration, she opened her eyes and saw him grinning.

Then he turned and pulled her with him.

They left the cabana in silence, her shoes forgotten as they moved swiftly past the pool. AJ barely had time to register the scorching hot tiles beneath her feet before they were inside the cool foyer, Matt leading her to the long bank of elevators. He pressed the button and then looped his arm around her waist, pressing his warm body into her back.

His solid heat made her mind reel. It had been too long since she’d been this intimate with a man. She’d missed having a pair of strong arms hold her, a hot hard body intimately pressed against hers.

When the elevator pinged open, they rushed inside. He swiped his card, then turned to face her when the doors slid smoothly shut.

And she was staring right back at him.

He was tall, well over six feet, and although she was hardly short, her shoulder barely reached his bicep. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the elevator mirrors—conservative hairstyle, demure dress. Hardly the outfit for a seductress, yet he’d—

He swooped in and kissed her.

It was a hot, determined kiss designed to awaken and arouse, a kiss she recalled stirring her from sleep and into full-blown desire in seconds flat. It was just as good—no, even better than—last night. Her fingers curled around his biceps and the tension in those muscles matched the scorching pressure of his mouth. He took fierce control, forcing her mouth open, and with a squeak of surprise she let him in. Everything throbbed—her skin, her pulse, her groin. His arousal pressed between them, a hard reality against the thin barrier of their clothes.

“Angel,” he breathed. AJ groaned as memories engulfed her. It was the one word he’d always whispered when he brought her to climax again and again.

She barely registered the elevator had come to a stop. Matt suddenly pulled back, spinning her to face the front with a wicked gleam just before the doors slid open.

An elderly woman got on and AJ murmured a polite greeting, her face warm and her blood pounding. Matt was standing behind her, his hands stuck casually in his pant pockets, studying the glowing numbers as they continued their ascent. Yet his thigh nestled firmly against her bottom, heat searing through her thin dress.

She stared at the slowly changing floor numbers until her nerves felt so tight they began to scream.

What on earth do you think you’re doing?

She never dwelled on the past or rehashed it. Moving on was what she did, what she’d always done. She’d come to terms with it all, had matured, grown.

So why was she still thinking about it?

She’d been twenty-three. They’d both gone into their affair with a mutual understanding it was only temporary. Of course his career had come first. Saint Catherine’s up-and-coming neurosurgeon didn’t belong with an addict’s daughter and runaway thief.

When their fellow passenger got off on the tenth floor, AJ took an unsteady breath. I am me. AJ Reynolds. I am not the broken product of those awful people. I have a sister who loves me. I have friends. I am smart. I love animals. I don’t cheat or lie. I’m a good person.

So would a good person manipulate and seduce to get what she wanted?

Matt gently urged her forward, breaking into her thoughts. She glanced up to see they’d reached the top floor just before the doors quietly opened onto the long plush hallway.

Sweat popped out in the small of her back. She could feel the tickle as it slowly slid down, down, until her dress eventually absorbed it.

“AJ?”

She squeezed her eyes shut as his hand cupped her hip, the familiar firmness creating alternate bursts of doubt and desire in her belly.

You can do this.

The corridor was way too long, its walls adorned with exclusive hand-drawn Versace designs in gilt frames. Then finally they were at his door, a huge, dark wooden thing emblazoned with a fresco of classic Greek gods and a gold number three. He opened it with his card and she caught her first glimpse of the amazing decor inside the cavernous penthouse suite along with a sliver of blue sky from the huge patio windows. As she hesitated at the threshold, he gently pulled her against him. Her bottom connected with his groin and his lips went to her nape.

She gasped. With one hand braced on the door frame, he looped the other low across her belly.

“I want you in my bed, Angel,” he murmured in her ear, his hot breath and rough stubble sending tiny waves of longing over her skin. “I want to have you beneath me, above me, around me.”

He shifted, the truth of his arousal solid against her butt.

Sinful memories flooded in to hijack her senses. In his pool, slick and hot in the moonlight. On the beach at sunrise, a scratchy blanket against her bare back. And late one night in the kitchen, naked and laughing when they’d realized they’d left the blinds open so anyone walking past could catch an eyeful.

Yet she couldn’t ignore the overwhelming resonance of the final few months.

You can’t do it, not like this.

Her eyes flew open and she jerked forward, breaking the warm contact of his lips on her neck before quickly turning to face him. She saw confusion in his eyes.

Her fingers dug into the wood door frame, holding her up and keeping her steady while everything inside groaned in abject disappointment.

“I’m sorry, Matt. I...I can’t.”

“What?” He frowned as his hand slowly slid from the frame. “I thought—”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated lamely.

No! No, no, no. Her hands tightened on the door, breath caught in sudden hesitancy. He was right there in front of her, her memories a pale comparison to the reality of his warm body, skilled lips and practiced hands.

No. This wasn’t right.

It took all her willpower to steel herself against those seductive eyes and take a firm step past him, into the hall. “I can’t do this. I’m... Goodbye, Matthew.”

Then she turned on her heel and practically sprinted to the elevators.


Four (#ulink_adaaecc0-2926-5011-aa87-c2624f27b416)

It was Thursday, surgery roster day. It was always odd walking the halls of Saint Catherine’s as a visitor and not rushing on his way to surgery, post-op or a meeting. Matt had passed reception and greeted the nurses, their unspoken questions creating a tiny frisson of discomfort as they returned his smile and nodded. The corridors held that familiar polarizing smell—people either loathed the mix of antiseptic, antibiotics and clean linen or found it comforting. For him it was about adrenaline, the scent of new scrubs, the weird soapy smell in the washroom. The jitters that always hit him a second after he gowned up. Then the rush of complete and utter calm as he scrubbed, studied his notes and prepared to cut.

He automatically glanced at the door numbers, then turned his focus down the hall. Katrina’s office was at the end and, as always, he had to go past the Blue Room to get there.

He picked up the pace, studiously ignoring the innocuous door with its private sign. He’d always hated that room: a room where bad news got officially delivered, where parents learned their child’s illness was terminal, where brothers, sisters, husbands and wives broke down and cried. The other surgeons called it “the grief room” in private.

A room he associated with so many names—Kyle McClain. Denise Baxter. Eli Hughes. Valerie Bowman. And the rest. He remembered them all.

Head cloudy with memories, he barely heard his name being called until he spotted a middle-aged couple heading down a corridor on his left.

“Dr. Cooper?” the woman said again, and he paused as they approached. “I thought it was you. It’s Megan Ross,” she added with a smile. “This is Jeremy. I don’t know if you remember us—”

“Of course,” he said, shaking Jeremy Ross’s hand. “I operated on your son, Scott.” Matt paused, then asked cautiously, “Is he okay?”

“He’s perfect.” Scott’s father waved away his concern with a reassuring smile. “We’re just visiting a friend.”

He nodded, relieved. “Good. Scott would be what—fourteen now? Oh, okay—” He paused as Megan Ross enveloped him in a huge hug.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, face flushed as she let him go. “But it’s the least we can do for the man who saved Scotty’s life.”

He smiled. “That was my job, Mrs. Ross.”

“Oh, no, you did more than that. You walked us through the procedure, answered all our questions and reassured us we were doing the right thing.” Her voice wavered and she gulped in a breath, giving her husband a shaky smile when he reached out to rub her back. “You gave up your time, sitting with us, talking about silly, inconsequential things and keeping us occupied while we waited for Scotty to come out of post-op. We were here for a month and you were there for us every time. Not many doctors would do that.”

Matt’s heart squeezed for one moment, remembering the little boy with the brain tumor, one of his very last cases at Saint Cat’s. “You are quite welcome.”

“We’ve just come back from Greece, went to all those places you told us about that night,” Jeremy Ross added. “Scotty loved it.” He stuck his hand in his pocket and withdrew a small drawstring bag. “We got you something.”

He put up a hand, alarmed. “Oh, you didn’t have to—”

“Don’t you go refusing it,” Mrs. Ross chided. “Scott picked it out especially for you.”

Could he feel any more awkward? Yet as the parents beamed at him with gratitude, the feeling fragmented. He took the velvet bag Mr. Ross held out and tipped the contents onto his palm.

“It’s Saint Luke,” Mrs. Ross said. “Patron Saint of Physicians. We got it on Naxos. They make them from the crumbling stones of the Gateway to the Gods.”

“It’s beautiful,” he said, turning the cool stone figurine over in his fingers. Intricate carvings detailed the ancient saint’s intricately folded robe and beard. He had a beatific expression on his lined face and he held a thick book in his hand.

A wave of emotion hit the back of Matt’s throat. “Tell Scotty it’s perfect.”

“We will. You know he wants to be a doctor when he grows up?”

He nodded. “He’ll make a good one.”

After another hug and handshake, they left. And Matt was left standing there in the cool corridor, completely undone.

He remembered everything so clearly, every moment he’d spent in their company, deflecting their grief and uncertainty with hard facts, then with uncomplicated amusing stories of his sister’s travels. They were good people, easy to talk to and relax around. Eventually conversation had turned to his own hopes, his plans to travel and see the world—plans that were merely a pipe dream considering his insane workload and commitment to the hospital. And the Rosses had regaled him with their ten-year-old’s antics, his love of science and classic Doctor Who episodes, his obsession with all things ancient.

Had it really been four years ago? The desire had been planted then, only months before his brother Jack’s death, before his life had taken a one-eighty and he’d turned his back on his parents’ demands, his career and his marriage.

Matt dragged a hand through his hair and stared down the long corridor. He’d finally seen the world, been to places he’d desperately wanted to go. He’d spent a whole year doing nothing except experiencing life. These days, GEM ensured his travel bug was sufficiently fed: he handpicked his assignments and delegated the rest to his capable staff.

He’d achieved all his goals. Well, except one. One deep desire that burned in the back of his mind, one so powerful that it had contributed to his marriage’s downfall, turned Katrina so bitter and angry that she’d demanded way more in the divorce than she was legally entitled to. Wracked with guilt, he’d given it to her.

I don’t want kids. She’d made that clear from the very start. And he’d agreed. He’d witnessed the devastation of losing a child, seen the agony and pain every day. You couldn’t escape it in a place like this. Plus, where would they find the time to devote to parenthood? Their entire lives revolved around equally demanding careers.

Then Jack had died and life as he knew it came crashing to a halt.

No, Katrina had said calmly when he’d broached the subject. I told you. We agreed.

I know, he’d replied, unable to meet her accusing eyes. But I’ve changed my mind.

She’d sighed. Look, we should take a break. I’ll get Kylie to book us a holiday.... We could spend a few days in Bali—

I don’t want a holiday, he’d shot back. I want you to consider us having a baby.

Oh, the look he’d gotten from that! And when she’d slowly crossed her arms in that I’m-tired-of-this-topic way of hers, he knew before she opened her mouth that his marriage was over.

That will never, ever happen, Matthew.

His phone beeped, breaking into his thoughts. He glanced at it. He was five minutes late. Katrina hated tardiness.

With a sigh, he approached the conference room door and knocked, then walked straight on in.


Five (#ulink_fd0ce5f1-c764-5b97-8ca7-61ceaa955b3f)

“I’m sorry...do you have another meeting, Matthew?”

Matt glanced up from his watch to meet Katrina’s cool gaze before leaning back in his seat and crossing his ankles beneath the conference table. “No.”

Suddenly Matt and his ex-wife were the sole focus of attention in the room as the department heads’ soft chatter came to a halt. Matthew remained impassive in the silence. Sure, for most of the staff his history with Katrina was a nonissue, but there were a few who gleefully anticipated a domestic incident every time they assembled to discuss his company’s staffing needs, which Saint Cat’s played a large part in fulfilling.

They obviously didn’t know her. Or him. Their divorce had been polite, dispassionate and completely professional—just like their marriage.

He cocked one eyebrow up, inviting her to press the issue. She blinked a slow and icy dismissal before continuing with the agenda.

He furtively eyed his watch again. Half past one. Jeez, he hated these meetings. Every year admin rehashed the same concerns about working with GEM—low staff numbers, budgetary constraints, rostering conflicts—before finally signing on the dotted line. So as Katrina’s people squabbled over the same issues, he stared out the window and let his thoughts drift back to AJ.

Five days had passed. Five days of meetings, flights and a hundred other professional commitments that had succeeded in keeping his mind firmly on work. Not on a certain redhead who’d invaded his downtime and strengthened his interest despite her unceremonious rejection.

He shifted in his chair and crossed his arms, his gaze going to the stunning view of Sydney Harbour out the window of the twentieth-floor conference room.

Man, he’d been right, though. AJ had changed. She’d gone from a spontaneous free spirit to...what? She’d never talked about her dreams, her wants. Never even mentioned family. Until the wedding he’d had no idea she had a sister. Yet they’d been together six months. Surely they’d talked, right?

What he knew about her could fit on the head of a pin. Prior to working at the local café near his Central Coast house, she’d traveled up and down Australia from northern Queensland to Victoria, doing seasonal fruit picking, waitressing and cleaning. Her nomadic existence fascinated him, given all his plans and constant schedules.

He remembered calling her on his last shift and, no matter what the time, she’d be on his doorstep when he got home. They’d end up in bed, then eat, make love some more, and in the morning she’d be gone. And then there was the way he’d handled their breakup, which was, he admitted, sudden and with little finesse.

No wonder she shut you down.

When the meeting broke up ten minutes later, Matt sighed in relief and headed straight out the door, checking his phone messages as he went. Delete. Delete. Answer. Ignore.

He stopped abruptly, staring at the screen.

AJ was at GEM. He checked the time of his office manager’s text, then his watch. She’d been waiting in his office for two hours.

“Now that’s interesting,” he murmured.

A burst of anticipation quickened his blood, and he frowned. Forget it. You took a cold shower, spent the rest of the day in a black mood then moved on.

Apparently not.

* * *

He’d barely got a handle on his curiosity when he pushed through his office door at GEM’s Mascot headquarters half an hour later.

He paused, noting her small start before she swiveled in her seat and looked up at him with wide blue eyes. Tellingly, she’d chosen the rigid-backed visitor’s chair next to his desk instead of the comfy sofa flanking the far wall.

“Hi, Matt.”

He let silence do the talking as he cataloged her appearance, from the worn blue denims, plain white V-neck T-shirt and oversized worn navy jacket to that red hair tightly contained in a low knot.

Man, that was beginning to piss him off.

“What brings you to Sydney?” he finally asked.

“You.” She paused, a small frown marring her forehead. “Can you sit? I need to talk to you.”

He shrugged and walked over to his desk, lowering himself slowly into the plush leather seat.

Was she here for a do-over?

Pride nipped at his heels, making him frown. He had half a mind to ask her to leave, but at the last moment decided against it. No harm in letting her talk, right? He could always say no.

He remained expressionless as he eyeballed her. She returned his stare.

Damn it, he wanted to say no.

Yeah, who’re you kidding? If she was here to have another go of it, he’d make her stew a little. Then they’d do it his way.

His, imagination went into overdrive as he considered the endless possibilities. He’d take down that ridiculous hairdo for a start. And have her wear something...red. Yeah. A strapless body-hugging red dress that emphasized her delicate collarbone, with those crazy curls falling over her shoulders. And beneath the dress—

“Matt?”

“Yeah?” Her sharp tone snapped his attention back to the present. When he finally looked at her—really looked—her serious expression set off all kinds of alarms. “What’s going on?”

“I need your help with something.”

AJ chose her words carefully, instinctively moving to cross her arms before she realized what she was doing. She linked her fingers together in her lap instead.

No, that wasn’t right, either. So she recrossed her legs and slid her elbows onto the chair arms, her fingers lightly gripping the ends. Much better.

Her brief composure dissolved under the weight of Matthew’s loaded question. “My help?”

“Yes. Well, it’s more like a favor. Well, not a favor, which sounds a little trivial, but more like—”

“Take a breath.” His smooth, cultured voice flowed over her, bringing the nervousness down a notch. “You flew down to Sydney to ask me for a favor?”

“Yes.”

“What’s wrong with the phone?”

“This isn’t a phone kind of favor.”

His mouth suddenly tweaked. “I think I know what this is about.”

She blinked. “You do?”

“Yeah. But you used to come right out and say it, AJ. Hesitancy wasn’t one of your attributes.”

What? She shook her head with a frown. “I’m not entirely—”

“—convinced we should do it?” He leaned forward, planting his elbows on the desk and clasping his hands, an expectant gleam in his eyes. “Wouldn’t denial be worse?”

AJ opened her mouth but nothing came out. This was so not going the way she’d planned. Instead of calmly presenting her situation, then laying out the solution in a businesslike manner, she’d let him stall her with one quirk of his sensual lips. Not to mention the heated stare, which melted her senses and sent her body into an anticipatory tingle.

It was déjà vu, except now they were in his office instead of the Palazzo Versace’s private cabana. And just like before, that evil little voice echoed: you have him ready to go—you don’t actually have to tell him.

Yet through the growing tangle of desire another more powerful emotion grabbed hold. Honesty. It’s what had stopped her the first time. It’s what would always stop her.

“Matthew. I...uh....” She hesitated, casting her eyes over his desk. There was a small mountain of files, a laptop, phone, coffee cup, scattered pens and paper. No family photos, no personal mementoes. The wall behind him held his various diplomas, a crazy-looking yearly schedule, medical diagrams and charts; it was the office of someone who’d had a life plan since he was ten years old. He was Matthew Cooper, work-driven, goal-oriented. He had been—and always would be—a career guy. Ten years later that was still blindingly obvious.

That realization bolstered her courage. “I want a baby.”

His sharp inward breath was harsh in the sudden silence and she paused. If ever there was a moment-killer, this was it.

“What?” he choked out.

“I...” She pressed her lips together, working hard to contain the swelling emotion. A few seconds passed, then a few more before she finally got a handle on it. “I’m thirty-two and single. I’ve met guys but none who—” She swallowed and looked Matt straight in the eye. “I don’t want marriage or a husband—just a baby. I’ve done my homework, even went to a fertility clinic, but my time is running out and it’s so expensive and things fell through and—”

“And you want me to recommend a doctor for you?”

“No. I want you to be the donor.”

He shot to his feet so fast it made her gasp. She stood, too, even as the ferocity of his expression had her inwardly cringing. “I did have someone lined up,” she forged on. “But he—”

“Who?”

“Just some guy. A donor—”

“You thought I was more convenient than ‘just some guy’?”

She winced. “That’s not what I mean. I’ve been thinking—”

“Have you?” His lip curled, nostrils flaring. “Since when?”

“Since you called me the morning after Emily’s wedding.”

He said nothing, just put his hands on his hips and fixed her with such a furious glare that it felt like her face was on fire. “Look, Matt, I know your job is your life. You’ve invested everything in your career—it’s what you live and breathe every day. I totally get that. Don’t you see this is a perfect arrangement for us both? I’m not asking you to give anything up because I plan on raising this child by myself.”

She paused deliberately, putting on a brave show of outward calm while her insides hammered away like a windup toy. At his narrow-eyed silence, she pressed her point. “This isn’t a plan to trap you into marriage or demand child support, and I’ll sign anything you want to convince you of that. This would just be a simple...exchange. It wouldn’t disrupt your life. Once I’m pregnant, we’d go our separate ways.”

She was met with silence.

He crossed his arms, his expression cold. “You have got to be kidding.”

She bit her bottom lip. “Can we talk about this? I thought—”

“No.” He shook his head curtly. “This isn’t a favor, AJ. It’s a goddamn lifelong decision!”

“For me, yes. Not for you.”

His eyes raked her with such ferocity that she nearly flinched. “I was right. You have changed.”

Her bravado crumpled but she refused to let the hurt show. “What makes you so righteous? You don’t know what my life’s been like, Matt.”

“No, I don’t. I never did, remember? We were just in it for a good time.”

Another cheap shot. “Can you tell me what you have to lose? I’m not asking for a piece of your life. I don’t expect a relationship or marriage or anything except—”

“Except sex?”

“Yes.” She tipped her chin up. “We’ve done no-strings-attached sex before. Why not now?”

He said nothing as he stood there, hands back on hips, his mouth an angry slash. AJ met his fierce look with one of her own.

Finally, he glanced down at his watch. “I’m due in a meeting in twenty minutes. Sue at the front desk can arrange a cab for you.”

“But—”

He cut her off by striding to the door and swinging it wide-open. His expression had all the hallmarks of battered pride combined with tightly wound impatience.

She’d insulted him and now he wanted her gone.

With a dry swallow she cleared her throat, refusing to let the bitter disappointment take the form of tears.

“If you change your mind...” She started then snapped her mouth shut when he fixed her with a chilly glare. She tried not to let that affect her as she straightened her shoulders and walked out the door. It was only when she strode down the corridor and retreated to the cool privacy of the bathroom that everything inside her collapsed.

She leaned against the closed stall door, choking back her abject disappointment. It’s not the end. You still have the clinic. And Emily would help her, as much as she loathed asking for money. She’d just have to swallow her pride and her tightly held beliefs and ask.

Yeah, she really was Charlene’s daughter, wasn’t she? Begging for money, expecting a handout. The only difference was she’d honor her debt, not do a runner in the middle of the night to avoid it.

The bitter irony of it all made her heart ache.


Six (#ulink_bff1255a-87b2-5d14-8c93-6f015ac8ac28)

Matt paced his office, swinging from outrage to indignation then back again. He paused at the wall, did an about turn then continued pacing.

Damn room was way too small. He scrubbed at his chin, then his cheek, before running a hand into his hair.

What the hell had just happened?

He was insulted. No, more than that—he was deeply offended. Did she really think he was that kind of guy? He snorted, hands on his hips. These past few days all made sense now: AJ’s initial coldness, then suddenly agreeing to his invitation. She wanted a convenient stud. Not him—just what he could give her.

His hands curled into fists as fury overcame him.

And yet...

He must be the worst kind of idiot, letting his need lead him around like a dog on a leash because he still wanted her. Un-fricking-believable.

He stopped and glared out the window, studying the slow ascent of a Qantas jumbo jet as it climbed into the sky. So she thought he was some kind of mindless workaholic man whore, did she? That he’d jump at her offer then happily walk away when she’d gotten what she wanted?

With a curse, he collapsed into his chair, the leather protesting under the sudden weight. AJ Reynolds was trouble. Not worth the stress. Hell, he could pick up the phone and choose from a handful of willing women for an uncomplicated lay. Since his divorce it was all he’d been prepared to give. GEM occupied his every waking moment; he’d deliberately made it that way so there’d be no room to dwell on the bitter disappointment of Katrina’s rejection.

Yet something stirred inside, reminding him of his deeply buried dreams.

Dragging a hand over his chin, he tapped one finger on his bottom lip.

“Why me?” he muttered, his gaze skimming the blue skyline until it latched on to another plane in the distance. Surely there were dozens of eager guys queuing up for the pleasure. Yet when he tried to picture AJ with another man, doing all those things they’d done, touching her, making love to her, something nasty and painful twisted in his gut.

No.

A firm knock startled him from his reverie and he turned to see a familiar figure in the doorway. “Matt? Got a minute?”

“Sure.” He straightened his shoulders and nodded.

“Really?” His head of security, James Decker, tipped his chin down and peered over the rims of his dark aviator sunglasses. “Because it looks like you’re thinking hard about something important.”

Matt sighed. “I’ve had an offer. And I’m not sure I should take it.”

Decker stepped inside the office, closing the door behind him. As always, he was dressed in black—muscle T-shirt, army pants, boots and gun belt. Matt often teased Deck about his militant vigilante look, and the head of security would always come back with, “At least I save your ass.” The black was for show, for his team to project power and confidence to the public. It often meant the difference between success and failure when faced with life-threatening situations.

“What’s the offer?” Decker asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“A woman, no relationship strings attached.”

Decker’s whistle came out low. “Lucky bastard. A hot woman?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“And your problem is?”

“She’s...an old flame.”

Decker’s hands went to his hips. “Crazy chick, then?”

“God, no. She’s—” Matt paused, his mouth curving in remembrance. “AJ’s perfectly sane.”

“AJ?” Decker’s brow dipped. “Not the AJ?”

Crap. He’d wondered when that night would come back to bite him in the ass. A close call in Mexico, the hotel bar, expensive whiskey... He and Deck had gotten comfortably drunk and ended up comparing a handful of regrets.

“I take it from your silence it’s the same girl,” Decker said, his look knowing. “And you want strings.”

Matt grabbed the nearest paper and glared at it, feeling his neck flush. “Forget I said anything, okay?”

“Dude, this is me you’re talking to here.” Decker grabbed a chair, straddled it and crossed his arms over the back. “I’ve saved your life a dozen times. We’ve been in the middle of Vietnam, ass-deep in mud. We’ve run from Zimbabwean vigilantes, dodged bullets in East Timor.” He grinned. “And I wasn’t that drunk. I remember everything you said.”

Matt sighed. Decker was six feet of contained Yankee firepower, all cocky American attitude and muscle with a huge gun fetish. He also happened to be his best mate, not to mention one of the most brilliant strategists he’d ever met.

“She wants more than just sex,” Matt said.

“Marriage?”

“No. A baby.” Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Decker’s curse made Matt grin. “I knew that’d get you.”

“She straight up said she wants you to father her kid?”

“Yep.”

“What’s the catch?”

“Nothing. I get her pregnant, then I can walk away.”

Decker snorted. “Like that’s gonna happen.” He looked Matt over. “So tell her no. Unless...” His eyes turned shrewd. “You want a kid. With her.”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Did he want a baby with AJ?

Deck and he had shared some moments, but he’d never told anyone this. It meant he’d have to admit that the complicated wound of losing his brother and Katrina’s rejection was still fresh in his mind, even four years on.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Decker said.

Yeah, the guy wasn’t dumb. Not by a long shot.

Decker drummed his fingers on the back of the chair. “Is it possible she’s lying to trap you?”

Matt grunted. “Nope. She was painfully clear she just wants a donor.”

“Huh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You still have a thing for her.”

Matt’s frown deepened. “What makes you say that?”

Decker shrugged. “A, because of what you told me all those years ago, and B, because we’re still talking about it. You’ve never put this much thought into a woman before.”

“So I have a problem.”

“Not really. Dude, you live for a challenge. We wouldn’t have half our clients without your Mister Charm-and-Persuasion routine. And do I need to list all the women who’ve succumbed to your moody charm?” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Snooty French heiress. Billionaire ice queen. Italian model...”

“AJ’s different,” Matt interrupted.

“I’m getting that loud and clear. Are you?” Decker gave him a meaningful look. “There’s obviously something still there. You won’t know if you don’t make an effort.”





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/paula-roe/the-pregnancy-plot/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.