Expecting His Child: The Pregnancy Plot / Staking His Claim / A Tricky Proposition
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“Which is where I come in.”
“Yes. Matt, look. Maybe it was just a coincidence seeing you at Emily’s wedding. I’m not a believer in fate—”
“I am.”
She paused, digesting that interesting little snippet, then continued. “So if you want me to sign a contract, I will. I will not interfere with your life or your career. No one will have to know.”
“Keep us a secret?” His brow went up. “You didn’t like that idea last time.”
“You remember that?”
“You don’t?”
Every single moment I think of you. She swallowed the faint feeling of inadequacy, still there after all these years. “It was a long time ago. I’m older now. And I’m prepared to meet your terms.”
He remained silent for a moment, then said softly, “You don’t know what my terms are.”
She suppressed a shiver as his gaze passed over her face, taking in her features before focusing squarely on her eyes. Wait, did that mean—?
Her heart skipped a beat. “What are they?” she asked softly.
“Well, first—you have to be able to financially support a child.”
“I can.” Her calm response belied the growing butterflies in her stomach.
“Because I get the impression your income could be...” He paused, searching for a word. “Fickle.”
The implication stung. “Sometimes. But my bank account is decent. Do you want to check my balance?”
“No, that won’t be necessary.” His gaze skimmed her again. “And having Zac Prescott as financial backup wouldn’t hurt, I’m guessing.”
Oh, now she was more than stung. She was irritated. “Yeah, sponging off my brother-in-law is not—and never has been—an option, Matt. What’s your next condition?”
“Do you have an apartment? A place of your own?”
“I’m looking.”
He nodded.
“Saint Cat’s fertility specialist is the best in the state. I can get an appointment for a week Thursday.”
“That’s quick.”
His smile was brief. “The perks of being the former head of neurosurgery.”
With a nod she asked, “Is that all?” then immediately hated the way her voice came out all stuttery and unsure.
“No.” This time his eyes lingered on her cheek, then her lips. “We’re going to do this the old-fashioned way. No clinics, no cups. It’ll be just you, me and a bed. Or—” his mouth curved “—maybe not a bed. Depends where we are.”
AJ’s breath stilled. This was...unbelievable. Amazing.
“So you’re saying yes,” she said out loud. “We’re really going to do this.”
Matt nodded. “We are.”
He’d said yes. He’d actually said yes. Reality struck so hard and with such force that her throat closed up and she had to work to regain control of her overwhelming emotions.
One step. This was just one step.
Yet the yearning, the desperate desire, flickered to life, flaring into hope.
A baby. Her baby. A chubby, squirmy, drooly child who would know every day he was loved and wanted. A child who would never go hungry or thirsty. A child who would always come first. A child she’d hold and cuddle and never abandon to the foster system.
She quickly suppressed those bitter memories, locking them away so they wouldn’t taint the moment. “Thank you, Matt,” she choked out, her hand going to his arm. “Honestly, I cannot thank you enough. This means...” She blinked like crazy and took a breath as the skeins of control began to unwind. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry!
“Do you want me to draw up a formal agreement?”
She stilled as reality jolted her back to awareness. “Can you do that?” At his nod she said, “Oh, okay, then. Sure.”
Of course, having something down in writing made total sense. She withdrew her hand and glanced at her watch. “So I guess...well, I’m free right now. When do you want to...uh...”
His cough of surprise made her glance up. “AJ.”
“Yes?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s see what Dr. Adams says on Thursday.”
She could feel the warmth heat her cheeks.
“And anyway,” he added casually, “we’re going out first.”
“Going out? What, on a date?”
“Yes. Tonight. You, me, dinner. Dessert.”
AJ hesitated. “Although I appreciate the effort, you really don’t have to do that, you know.” She smiled, tempering her refusal. “At this stage, it’s safe to say I’m a sure thing.”
“But I want to. Big difference.”
She met his eyes, holding firm under his loaded gaze. So he was determined to wine and dine her before bedding her? AJ shrugged. “Fine,” she said in her best blasé voice. “Dinner.”
“Where are you staying?” Matt asked after a brief pause.
“I don’t know. I’ll have to make a call first.” She’d handed Zac’s apartment keys over to the building super. She’d have to call him, see if she could stay longer until she could work out something that didn’t involve taking advantage of her brother-in-law’s charity.
“You can always stay with me.”
“No!” she blurted out, then added more calmly, “No, that’s not necessary. I can find a cheap hotel someplace.”
“In Sydney?” He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I have a perfectly good apartment in Paddington you can use.”
She frowned. Surrounded by Matt’s things from his normal life? Bad idea.
“Or...” he added slowly. “There’s always my house at Pretty Beach.”
Oh, no. She shook her head. She needed her own space to keep up some emotional distance. His apartment would be bad enough, but being smack in the middle of the place where they’d made love and he’d scarred her vulnerable heart ten years ago?
Not going to happen.
“The apartment sounds fine. It’d only be for one night,” she added. “I’ve been staying at Zac’s place in Potts Point.”
He nodded. “You’ll need it for a few months, minimum.”
“A few months?”
“How long did you expect this to take, AJ?”
“Well, apparently the Reynolds women are breeders,” she muttered, recalling her mother’s irritating, oft-declared statement, which was always followed by a cackle and a wheeze.
With a bemused expression, he said, “We’re working with reality here, not a cute homily. Thirty percent is low but not impossible.” They stopped at the traffic light and he studied her intently, gauging her reaction. “We’ll need to take every single opportunity to ensure you get pregnant.”
That meant every possible moment having sex with Matt.
Was it bad that she was incredibly turned on right now? That she wanted nothing more than to lean across the seat, grab his tie and plant a kiss on those sensuous lips?
And just like all the times before, he read her intent as clearly as if she’d scrawled it across her face. His eyes darkened, a slow smile teasing the corner of his mouth. Then he deliberately dropped his gaze to her mouth, resting there for agonizing seconds before dragging it up to meet her eyes once more.
The interior of the car heated up by ten degrees.
The light changed and he abruptly turned back to the road. “I’ll drop you off at my place now.”
Hurry. “Okay.”
Twenty minutes later, when he parked in front of his apartment, gathered her bags and led the way into the lobby, her anticipation took a nosedive.
He placed the bags on the slate floor, pressed the elevator button and held out a key. “I’m on the fifteenth floor. I’ll see you at seven-thirty.”
Confused, she took the key, barely registering the brief contact their hands made. “But aren’t you...?”
“I have to get back to work.”
“Oh. Of course.” She bit back her disappointment and readjusted the strap on her shoulder. This is who he is, remember? The guy consumed with work. A perfect arrangement for you.
“AJ?”
“Yes?” She glanced up, and with a swift movement, Matt looped one finger in the top of her jeans and tugged her forward.
The kiss was brief, a mere millisecond of lips on lips. AJ registered the warmth, the seductive smell of his skin and the slight hitch in his breath. A haunting reminder of what they’d once had. And a promise of more to come.
Then it was over and Matt released her, stepping back with a grin as the elevator doors pinged open. “I’ll see you tonight. Wear a dress and heels.”
She could only nod numbly as she watched him stride through the lobby, all male efficiency and confidence. In stark contrast, emotion churned wildly in her gut, an annoying response to his kiss.
Get a grip, AJ. Put on your big girl panties and deal with this. With a nod, she yanked her suitcase handle and strode into the elevator, Matt’s apartment key firm in her clenched hand.
She would not expect anything more than what it was—a physical union to produce a baby. She’d enjoyed men before without the emotional commitment—she could do the same with Matthew Cooper.
Eight
AJ submerged herself in the huge spa bath so that only her mouth remained above the surface. The warm water lapped around her cheeks and over her eyelids, making her breath echo in her ears.
Matthew Cooper had said yes and she couldn’t quite believe it.
The doubt that had plagued her for the past half hour welled up again. This wouldn’t be a donation from a stranger—it was Matt. Someone she’d had a physical connection with. Someone whose DNA would form part of her child, someone who’d be reflected in the child’s face as he grew up.
A constant reminder of her past.
Was she completely insane or just way too focused on the end result not to have realized that before?
No. She ran her hands through her hair, the soft sodden strands floating around her face. Neither she nor Emily looked anything like her parents. Children were not clones—they were individuals with their own unique personalities.
Though her child would most likely have her curly red hair and blue eyes.
She felt the smile curve her mouth. All hers—no one else’s.
“Just concentrate on tonight,” she murmured, her voice bouncing off the tiled walls. Because Matt was actually taking her out. In public. On a date.
God, how she hated that word! The last time they’d had anything resembling a date was the night he’d broken up with her. Yes, she remembered it all, even if the edges had grown fuzzy with time and other lovers. She’d ordered Thai from their favorite takeaway, dressed up the table by the pool, then splurged on some fancy lingerie and wrapped herself in a satin robe, waiting for his return.
He’d been exhausted, dark circles emphasizing those poet’s eyes, brow furrowed from the pressures of his day. They’d eaten in silence while she practiced her speech over and over in her head, excitement and fear tempering her hunger.
Excitement because she’d never let someone this close before. Fear because...well, she’d never let someone this close before. Every survival instinct, every wrenching past disappointment had made its mark, scarring her subconscious and shaping her into the person she was. It was a sordid, painful minefield and she purposefully avoided that area.
Never count on anyone. Never let your guard down. Never, ever get comfortable.
Despite the walls she’d built, Matt had managed to worm his way in.
Damn right it was scary.
I’ve been thinking.... No, too cliché. What do you think about me moving in? She’d frowned into her pad thai. Too direct. She’d run through a few more, before settling on, I’ve decided to stay in town a bit longer. What do you think?
She’d smiled, taken a breath, then opened her mouth to make that scary leap off the cliff.
Matt had gotten there first.
AJ, I’m sorry, but this isn’t working for me anymore.
She abruptly sat up, sloshing water over the side of the tub. She was older now, wiser, with years of experience behind her. She’d thought they had meant something, but now she knew it’d all been in her head. No way would she be that vulnerable again. Ever.
With that thought she wrapped herself in a huge white towel, turbaned her hair in another and padded out into the living room. Late-afternoon sun streamed through the huge glass doors that led out onto a wrought-iron balcony housing a sleek state-of-the art Weber barbecue and a long entertainment area with an unhindered view of Sydney’s CBD, Centrepoint and the Harbour Bridge.
Like the rest of the buildings on Matt’s street, the 1920s facade was expertly restored. The theme continued inside the lobby, with art deco colors and marble stairs. Even the elevator, though modern, had been designed to reflect the period.
The interior of Matt’s apartment was beautiful, too, but in a clean, minimalistic way. She’d gone through every room, unashamedly poked into drawers, cupboards and shelves, yet her curiosity had been far from assuaged. The only art adorning the pale blue walls were black-and-white photographs of famous places—the Colosseum, the Great Wall of China, Stonehenge. As stunning as they were, they lacked the warmth and life of a painting. The Bondi Beach watercolor she’d done last year would bring things to life—if only it weren’t at home in Surfers, along with the majority of her paints and brushes.
And her clothes.
The limits of her shoestring travel wardrobe had obviously occurred to Matt, too, because he called about it ten minutes after she finished her bath. “If you need to go shopping, the concierge can—”
“Don’t worry,” she replied breezily. “I’ve got that covered.”
“Okay.” But he didn’t sound sure and his doubt irritated her. Didn’t he trust her to choose appropriate attire? They’d never been out, so he had no idea her tastes extended to more than jeans, tiny summer dresses and X-rated lingerie.
“A dress and heels, hey?” She’d hung up and readjusted her towel, tucking it tightly under her arm before tapping on her phone’s contacts list. “I’ll give you a dress and heels, Matthew Cooper.”
* * *
He hadn’t been so excited about date since...since forever, Matt thought, changing gears as he drove across Anzac Parade.
He barely recalled the details of that afternoon: a bunch of meetings, phone calls and schedule confirmations. Decker’s brief of their Italian job next Sunday. Good thing his office manager put it all in his online calendar; otherwise he’d be screwed.
Yes, for a second he’d experienced doubt but he quickly shut it down. Doubt never got him anywhere, and he wouldn’t start entertaining it now. This was their second chance and he was going to pull out all the stops to show her he’d changed and that the best thing for her baby was for both of them to be in its life.
A baby. He felt the crazy grin take shape before he clenched his jaw to kill it. A 30 percent chance of conception wasn’t a whole lot to work with but at least it was something.
Twenty minutes later he pulled up in front of his apartment building and yanked on the brake. Anticipation accelerated his step as he strode into the brightly lit lobby.
Then he stopped dead in his tracks.
He registered black heels, a long satiny black dress with one strap tied high on her shapely shoulder. Fiery curls tumbled down her back in thick, touchable waves and her generous mouth was coated in shiny cherry-red lipstick.
Wow.
She took a few steps forward and the slinky material rippled around her legs, revealing a smooth calf and dimpled knee. “I didn’t know what you had planned so...” She raised her arms a little, a tiny sparkly clutch in her hand.
“You look amazing.” He unashamedly took her in.
She smiled despite her skittering gaze. Ah, now he’d thrown her. Good.
“Still nervous with compliments?” He raised his brow.
“Yep.”
When he extended an arm, she barely hesitated before taking it. A bewitching smell of strawberries and something floral teased his senses, and he took a deep breath. “I like your hair like that.”
“I know.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “Honest, too.”
“I find it makes things less complicated that way.”
Yeah, he remembered that about her. So what would she have to say about his subterfuge? That he planned to put everything into seducing her, into making her fall in love with him?
“So, you just had a spare evening gown hanging around in your luggage?” He drew her toward the front door, her heels clicking on the smooth tiles.
“I have a girlfriend who’s a fashion buyer for David Jones.”
“Handy.”
“Indeed.” Her lips curved again, matching his smile, and his heart did a little flip at the thought of the coming evening.
* * *
Emily stared out the window as they crawled past an unobtrusive town house, light from a subdued neon sign streaming down onto the sidewalk. “We’re eating at Maxfield?”
“Yep.”
“George Evans’s restaurant? The guy who won last year’s Master Chef?” They turned the next corner.
“Yep.”
“And you got a table on short notice?”
“Yep.”
“Are you going to say anything else other than ‘yep’?”
“Yep.” He gave her a wink before pulling into a spare parking spot. She waited, enjoying the view as he came around the car, opened her door and offered his hand. She took it, swung her legs out and rose fluidly.
They walked hand in hand to the restaurant, the warm intimacy sending a steady thrum of delight over her skin. How could she calmly sit and eat a meal and not succumb to the desire of ripping his clothes off when he was so very close?
She thought back to ten years ago and how she’d sensed his interest the first time he’d come striding into her coffee shop. Lucy and Maz had fallen over themselves to serve him, but he’d focused on AJ, those dark, brooding eyes somehow detecting her lust concealed beneath her efficient barista facade. The next day he’d asked for her number. That night she’d ended up in his bed.
Just like tonight. Excitement surged at the thought.
He squeezed her hand, smiling down at her.
“Why are we having dinner again?” she asked, letting out a breath.
“Because I’m hungry.”
“Very funny. But that’s not what I meant.”
“I know. And we’ll get to that soon enough. But right now, can you just enjoy the evening?”
With a small huff, AJ could do nothing but nod.
* * *
The minutes dragged by, painful, boring moments in which they were seated, given menus and the wine list and then left to decide.
Matt folded his menu and turned his attention to her. “So, you have a sister.”
“Emily, yes.” She rearranged her cutlery, aligning it perfectly with her plate.
“Older or younger?”
“Younger.”
“And your parents? Are they—?”
“Not in the picture. Ever.”
When she put her elbows on the table and leaned forward, his gaze latched on to the tiny butterfly pendant at her throat as it swung gently, glinting in the light. “Matt, look, I’d prefer we don’t talk about my past.”
He brought his eyes back to her and frowned. “I’m just trying to get a conversation going here.”
“I know. But those people are off-limits.”
Those people? Matt’s brow ratcheted up but he said nothing. Take your time. You deal with setbacks and plan deviations every day. This one is no different.
“You and Emily are close.”
He heard her small sigh before she laid her arms on the table, cupping her elbows. “Now, yes.”
“And before?”
“We hadn’t talked in years. But we’re good now.” She waved a casually dismissive hand, but the deliberateness of the gesture sent up a red flag. He stored that snippet away for future reference.
“So where did you grow up?”
“Lots of places. Look, Matt—”
“Sydney? Brisbane?”
“Perth. I don’t think—”
When he leaned in he didn’t miss the way she ever so slightly leaned back. “Humor me, AJ. I just want a little background.”
“Why?”
“Because I really know nothing about you.”
“You know enough.”
“No, I don’t.” He focused on repositioning his wineglass in order to give her time to work out an answer without feeling the pressure of his scrutiny. “For example, where did you go to school? Did you have any pets when you were a kid? What’s your favorite movie? Book?”
When he finally glanced up, she was staring at him so hard, it almost felt like a rebuke. Yet he held firm and finally she said, “I stopped counting schools after six. We couldn’t afford to feed ourselves, let alone any pets. I must’ve seen The Wizard of Oz a hundred times. And my favorite book? The Magic Faraway Tree.”
“Enid Blyton?”
She nodded. “I always wanted a tree like that.”
“Didn’t every kid?” He smiled.
AJ remained grim. “No, I really wanted one.”
Before he could reply, a waitress appeared. “Are you ready to order?”
He clamped his mouth shut and gave the waitress a neutral smile.
They ordered. When they were alone again, silence reigned. Matt watched the way AJ’s gaze dropped, her eyelashes fanning down over her cheeks. She tucked her hands under the table and leaned forward, forearms pressed against the table edge. She still didn’t meet his eyes, instead focusing solely on the fractured light streaming through the blue glass water bottle centered on their table.
“So.” He poured a glass of water. “You’re an artist.”
She glanced up. “You could say that.”
“People buy your stuff, right? So I’d say that makes you one.” He pointed to her glass, and she nodded. They both watched him pour, the awkward tension punctuated only by the soft glug of water filling the glass. “What medium do you work in?”
“I don’t mind oils but much prefer watercolors.” She wrapped her fingers around her glass and pulled it across the table. “They dry quicker and the customers don’t have to wait long.”
“Did you study art at uni?”
“No. All self-taught.” She took a sip of water. “Story of my life, really.”
He was ready with a dozen more questions but he clamped his mouth shut instead.
A few more moments passed, moments in which she refused wine, then casually cast her eye around the restaurant, observing the diners, the staff, the decor. And he, in turn, took his time and studied her with leisurely pleasure. The curve of her cheek that he knew was just as soft as when he’d first touched it. The delicate earlobe full of sensitive nerves that made her alternately shiver then gasp. The stunning hair that curled around his fingers with a life of its own.
When her gaze finally returned to him, his expression must have given him away.
“What?”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Nothing.”
“Tell me,” she persisted, a cautious, curious smile matching his. So he crooked his finger, beckoning her closer.
“Ten years has made you more beautiful.” Startled, she pulled back, looking down at the table. “Angel, are you blushing?”
“I don’t blush.”
“I think you are.”
She snapped her gaze back to his, eyes sparkling. “Fine. I am.”
“I never knew a woman to take such offense at being called beautiful.”
“Oh? So you’re free and easy with your compliments, are you?”
“Women like compliments.”
“I’m sure they do,” she replied archly.
He grinned. “But you are...unique.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“You’re welcome, Angel.”
He heard her tiny intake of breath. “Can you stop calling me that?”
“Why? You liked it once.”
She tightened her grip on the glass and glared for a few seconds. Then she shrugged and took another sip of water. “Fine, whatever.”
Oh, he was getting to her, all right.
“Matt,” she started casually, steadily focused on rotating her wineglass by the stem.
“Yes?”
She paused, then shook her head. “It’s none of my business.”
Matt leaned in. “I’ll tell you if that’s the case. Ask me anyway.”
Her shoulders straightened, then she gave a little head tilt. “Why did you quit Saint Cat’s?”
He cupped his glass in his hand, swirling the contents. “Jack—my younger brother—died four years ago.”
Her gaze softened as she looked into his eyes. “Oh, Matt, I’m—”