“Here I am, right on track. Or was, until …”

“Until you met me.”

She nodded, but something about the familiar intimacy in his voice, the hint of remembered laughter, made her smile.

“So your first instinct was to make a new plan. You need it.”

“I … I do,” she admitted. “It seemed the only way to make sense of this whole situation. But seeing it through your eyes, it’s clear I need it a little too much, that there are times when going with the flow or being more flexible can have their place. But it’s not something I can just turn off. And trust me, I’ve never felt more like I need a plan than I have this week.”

“So we’ll work something out together.” His voice sounded rough, low, and she looked up to catch the concern on his face, mixed with a distance she hadn’t felt from him before. He shook his head, and when he looked back at her his expression was lighter, sunnier.

“When do we start?”

He laughed and leaned back on his arms, one of them nudging slightly behind her back. “How about not right this minute? If we say we’ll make a start today, is that enough of a plan for now?”

“It’ll do.” She grinned.

Bound by a Baby Bump

Ellie Darkins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ELLIE DARKINS spent her formative years devouring romance novels, and after completing her English degree she decided to make a living from her love of books. As a writer and editor her work now entails dreaming up romantic proposals, hot dates with alpha males and trips to the past with dashing heroes. When she’s not working she can usually be found at her local library or out for a run.

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For my family

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

LOOK UP.

He commanded her to feel his gaze on her skin, to glance over and meet his eye. To make a connection with him. He’d been watching her for hours, biding his time until he could have her complete, undivided attention. Since the moment he’d first seen her striding round the room, her tablet computer and Bluetooth headset at odds with her black silk evening dress and staggeringly sexy heels, he’d been transfixed.

The curve of her calves, the gleam of her skin and the fluid movement of her hair had caught his attention, but it was her fierce concentration that had held it. The way she’d managed the room and everyone in it with a gentle nudge here and a subtle pull there. With a glance at her watch and a whisper in the ear of a member of staff she’d averted disasters, negotiated tricky situations and ensured that every person she spoke to ended their conversation with a beaming grin. No doubt the charity the gala was fundraising for would make a fortune.

Under normal circumstances, the thought of a to-do list and a watch filled his belly with apprehension, an unwelcome reminder of school days that had tormented him at the time, and still threatened the occasional nightmare more than ten years later. But worn as an accessory by a woman who seemed so effortlessly powerful, it was suddenly incredibly sexy.

He’d waited for the perfect moment all night—watching groups where she was conversing, catching her eye across the room; at one point, he’d even headed towards her with a determined stride—only for her to abruptly change course and disappear into the kitchen. And now she was putting her head together with one of the other guests, consulting her tablet, tucking a curtain of shining hair behind her ear.

She laughed, and the sound reached him as clear as if the room had been silent. Her face creased, her head dropped back, and humour radiated from her like a wave. He wanted to make her laugh. He was unreasonably jealous of the person who had inspired the sound, a man with pure silver hair and a walking stick.

The string band had started playing in a corner of the ballroom, and a few couples were heading towards the dance floor. His eyes flickered towards them, and he wondered whether she’d accept an invitation to dance.

In the moment that his eyes left her, he felt her look at him.

He whipped around to try and catch her gaze, but her eyes had already dropped to her tablet, as she scrolled up and down. She glanced at him again, and this time he caught it. He turned, his hands in his pockets, and his body relaxed under her stare, turning his stance into something languid and louche.

He walked towards her, smiling, still refusing to look away. He would hold this contact until he could get his hands on something more solid.

Just a couple of steps away from her, he was hit with unaccustomed nerves. It had been an age since he’d felt nervous talking to a woman. Things were pretty easy-come-easy-go in his love-life, much to the satisfaction of everyone involved. Nerves were thin on the ground when the most you were looking to gain or lose was a few nights or weeks of fun. The prospect of commitment, of expectations, of being caught in a situation with no simple way out—only the fix of her eyes on his kept a shiver from his spine.

‘Hi, I’m Rachel Archer.’ The words arrived in a rush as soon as he was within arm’s reach and she stuck out her hand for him to shake.

‘Leo.’ He just managed the one word, though it felt as if all breath had left his body at the feel of her hand in his. He observed her closely, looking for any clue that she was as affected by this meeting as he. But she had dropped her eyes, pulling her hand back—was that a fraction of a hesitation?—and glancing down at her tablet.

‘So, are you enjoying crashing the party?’ She gave a throaty chuckle with the words, and he absorbed the sound, revelling in the delicious heat it inspired in his body. He was so focused on that sound that he almost missed the meaning of her words.

‘Crashing?’ he asked with a raised eyebrow and a smile. ‘Says who?’

‘Says me.’ No laugh this time, though a perfectly polite smile was still on her lips. He wanted a real one. ‘Tonight is strictly invitation only, though if you are here to contribute generously to the Julia House hospice, I’m sure we can make an exception.’

He returned his hands to his pockets; it was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he was there in place of his father, who was unwell and couldn’t attend. Normally, ‘representing the family’ wasn’t something he was interested in, but his father had promised the organisers that the family would be there with a generous donation—for a good cause he had been known to make an exception. He was intrigued, though. How did she know he was crashing—had she been asking questions about him?

‘I want to know more about why you think I’m crashing.’

‘Well...’ she said, pulling up another page on her tablet. ‘I planned the guest list. I sent the invitations, checked the RSVPs and wrote the table plan. There wasn’t a single Leo to be seen.’ Her eyes left her screen, and she looked him up and down, her eyes travelling from his face to his shoes, faltering slightly at his belt and chest. Encouraging.

‘Ah, so I must be crashing. I take it your lists are never wrong?’

‘Never,’ she agreed with a good-tempered nod, and just the merest hint of another chuckle.

‘Then I suppose I’ve got some making up to do. What will it take?’

‘Well, apart from your considerable contribution to Julia House, which I’m sure is already in hand...’

‘Naturally.’

‘I want an explanation.’

It was his turn to laugh. ‘That’s all?’ But she didn’t look equally amused. In fact a worry line had appeared between her brows, and she glanced again at her screen.

‘Tonight has been planned and re-planned, checked and double-checked. I want to know how you’re here, and how I didn’t know about it.’

He wanted that line gone. Wanted any evidence of discomfort wiped from her face. He still wanted to make her laugh.

‘I’ll tell you everything. Every dark secret and trick of the conman’s trade.’ He raised his eyebrows, attempting melodramatic villainy, and was rewarded with a lift at the corner of her lips. ‘All you have to do is dance with me.’

* * *

Rachel rested her hand stiffly on his shoulder as they started to move to the music, wondering—again—why she had agreed to this. She let her gaze travel up from his collar, over a tanned throat, blond stubbled jaw and endearingly crooked nose. Up to a pair of eyes as blue as a baking summer sky, and then remembered.

Somewhere along the line, somewhere between guest list and dessert, her system had fallen short. He was probably standing in for someone—she had a shortlist of faces she’d been expecting to see but hadn’t. But how had she made it to eleven o’clock without realising something was wrong?

‘So,’ she prompted, trying to keep her mind on the job, rather than on the confident way Leo was leading her around the floor, or the scent coming from his skin. Something salty, natural and that had, she guessed, never been anywhere near a Selfridges counter.

She faltered for a second as she caught him looking at her, and felt her cheeks warming under the intensity of his interest. She stilled, suddenly hyperaware of the pressure of his hand around hers, of his arm at her waist, the sound of him breathing close to her ear. Only the subtle squeeze of his arm reminded her she was supposed to be dancing. Forcing her feet to move, she glanced over his shoulder and spotted her boss, Will, and for a moment she was worried she was about to be caught slacking. But one look at his face told her she had nothing to worry about. He had eyes only for Maya, his partner, and she smiled. She couldn’t help but take a little credit for the happiness that was radiating from them both. She was the one who’d engineered Will into taking a cookery course he wasn’t interested in, all because it was run by a woman he definitely was.

She’d watched that relationship blossom, from first meeting to their elation tonight, and felt a little pang of...what? Loneliness? No, that wasn’t it. She had friends—she’d even shared a flat with her best friend, Laura, until she’d bought her own place a year ago—right on track for her five-year plan. Sometimes she even managed to schedule time for a date or two.

But she didn’t have that, whatever it was that made it look as if half the light in the room were emanating from them.

So no, she wasn’t lonely, but maybe she was curious. Intrigued enough by the possibilities that when the surfy-looking blond who’d been casting looks in her direction all night had asked her if she wanted to dance, she’d looked him up and down and considered it.

And she’d been intrigued enough by what she’d seen to fight down the urge to tell him that this wasn’t in her schedule, but to send him a smile instead.

There wasn’t actually much left of her schedule tonight. That was the benefit of being chronically well organised, she supposed. When everything was planned and prepared in advance, she could just sit back and watch all the results of her hard work fall into place. Like with Will and Maya: the consequences of her plan had far exceeded her expectations, and she’d only had to intervene a couple of times to keep everything moving in the right direction. Better still, her boss had barely even noticed her involvement. The sign of a great executive assistant, she told herself. Her work was practically invisible.

She was so engrossed with watching the results of her meticulous planning she almost, almost, forgot where she was and what she was doing.

That was until a warm, rough fingertip found its way under her chin and tilted her face upward.

‘Should I be worried about the competition?’ Her eyes snapped back to his, and she was taken aback again by their intense colour, and the way he looked at her, as if there was some part of her he was trying desperately to see.

‘So who were you watching?’ he asked, reminding her of his question.

‘Jealous?’ She drew out the word with a smile, enjoying for a moment the control that it gave her. She didn’t even know yet what she wanted to do with this blatant expression of interest, other than enjoy it for a moment. ‘I’m just enjoying a plan coming together.’

‘You planned that?’ he asked, as her boss leant down and kissed Maya gently on the lips. The kiss itself was chaste enough, but the blatant bedroom eyes on both sides nudged it towards obscene.

‘I may have helped a little.’

‘Well, I prefer your attention here,’ he said, attempting to soften his words with a cheeky grin.

‘Demanding, much?’ Okay, so her attention wasn’t such a ridiculous thing to expect. But she didn’t want him thinking he could just demand what he wanted and expect her to deliver. And she still wasn’t sure how she felt about his attention. Attracted, sure. But meeting a party crasher with a cute smile and a devastating way of watching her hadn’t featured in her plans for tonight. She’d had no advance warning, no time to think about what she wanted to do.

‘Absolutely.’ He remained completely straight-faced and Rachel recognised the challenge. ‘But I think if you’re going to agree to dance with me, it’s only fair you give it your full attention.’

‘Perhaps. But you’re not holding up your end of the bargain. The dance was in exchange for an explanation. So spill. How did you get in without me knowing about it?’

‘Grappling hook,’ he replied, deadpan and with no hesitation. She let out a laugh, leaning back against his arm, letting the humour arch her body and soften her indignation.

He teased and she laughed, until she could feel the tension of the night leaching from her body. She’d not checked her watch since he’d led her to the floor, and she had no idea how long they’d been up there. And she was dangerously close to not caring. His humour, the naughty light in his eyes, was forcing the strain of preparing this evening from her limbs, demanding she enjoy herself. That she enjoy him. Eventually, when she’d laughed off his latest suggestion for how he’d joined the party—something about an international jewel thief—he leaned in close, until she could feel his warm breath disturbing her hair, and the minutest brush of his lips against her ear. With a little shiver, she suspected the time for games was coming to an end. ‘Someone asked me to attend on their behalf. I couldn’t say no. Are you going to throw me out?’

His reply prompted a hundred questions in her mind, but the one that sprang unguarded to her lips surprised even her: ‘Where would you go if I did?’

His lips parted slightly and he chose his words carefully, she guessed, not wanting to break the connection crackling like electricity between them. ‘That depends.’

Of course she was meant to ask ‘on what’, but the blatant suggestion in his eyes made her falter, suddenly aware they weren’t playing any longer.

‘Would you come with me?’ he asked, deadly serious. He had given up on the dancing, too, and his hand had drifted up to her cheek, his thumb skittering across her skin. She had pulled her gaze away, unable to bear the close scrutiny of those huge, clear blue eyes, but now it snapped back up as she took a little half step away from him.

‘I can’t. I’m working.’ She didn’t even think before she spoke. The words came to her lips automatically as her heart rate spiked and her breath hitched. Her arms tensed where they rested against his body as she started to register the risk she’d taken coming up here with him. This man was chaos. She could see it in the haphazard drape of his tie and his mismatched cufflinks. The fact that even without being invited to the party he had got her away from her to-do list and onto the dance floor.

Her whereabouts and every action had been meticulously planned for the whole evening. She’d been in the right place and at the right time, with the right files and figures for just about every one of the past eighteen hours. She was currently partway through the hour that she’d marked ‘Networking, socialising, misc.’ And when it came to an end, she had planned to run through a couple of details with the venue manager before leaving for the night. Alone.

Leo smiled at her, cool and relaxed.

‘So you want to,’ he said, as if he’d just gained a small victory.

She narrowed her eyes. She hadn’t said that.

‘You said you can’t leave because you’re working. But you never said you don’t want to. I’ve been watching you all night. Waiting for the right moment to catch your attention; wanting to know what’s on that tablet of yours. How you keep a party like this moving with just a whisper and a look in the right direction. I’ve been completely hypnotised by you and all I want for the rest of the night is to find out more.’

Her eyes widened in surprise; she was completely taken aback by his words.

She’d spotted him early in the night, and wondered which name his face belonged to. As she’d worked round the room, meeting and greeting, discussing the practicalities of donations, nudging Will in the right direction, and keeping the company CEO, Sir Cuthbert Appleby, happy, her thoughts had drifted to the guy in the slightly crumpled suit, his wavy hair resisting any attempt at a style. But the more her gaze had been drawn to him, the more she’d fought it, forcing her eyes to her work, her schedule and smartphone. She’d recognised the danger in that pull, the need to stick to her plan and see out the night as she’d intended. But now? This dance was perfectly in line with her itinerary. She’d always expected to do some socialising. And after that? She had ten minutes’ work to do—tops.

So she could tell him she wasn’t interested, that she had barely noticed him and didn’t need to know any more than that. But it would be a lie. Because ever since his arm had captured her waist she’d been trying not to think about all the wicked things she’d like to do with his body. Her brain had thrown a dozen different suggestions at her, each one making her blush more than the last. Top of the list being to get his shirt off, so she could see if the contours of his body looked as good as they felt.

But she couldn’t just take off with him. She had responsibilities here, she thought, her heart rate picking up again, though from desire or panic she couldn’t tell. She had work she had to finish up. She couldn’t just take off because—

Ooh.

His thumb continued its exploration of her jaw, and dipped into her collarbone in a way that made her melt.

When she looked up and met his eyes, the danger there was obvious. But he spelled it out for her, anyway.

‘I want to make you shiver like that again,’ he said slowly. ‘I could try here, but...’ He stroked that magic spot again and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself groaning out load.

‘You see the problem?’

She nodded, but... ‘I can’t do this.’

‘You can’t? Or you don’t want to?’

Did it matter? ‘I have a plan for tonight.’ She took another half step away from him, knowing she needed distance. ‘This isn’t it.’

He pulled her back in and rested his forehead against hers. ‘Rachel, you’re killing me. At least come somewhere we can talk.’ His arm dropped from her waist abruptly, but before she could mourn its loss her hand was engulfed by his and she was striding with him across the ballroom.

When they reached the lobby, he whirled around, his lips stopping just inches from hers. Was he doing it on purpose? Tempting her until she lost her mind and gave in?

‘Help me here,’ he said, his voice soft and enticing. ‘You’re attracted to me.’ The lilt of his voice was just charming enough to compensate for his lack of modesty. ‘So what’s stopping you?’

She took her hand back, and a step away from him, understanding that being so close was doing nothing for her decision-making skills. This wasn’t a question of what she wanted; she couldn’t just drop everything and leave on a whim.

‘Nothing’s stopping me,’ she said, keeping her voice carefully even. There was no need for him to know the nagging dread that would start in the base of her brain if she decided to embrace spontaneity. No need for him to know that she’d not done anything without a plan, a back-up plan and a contingency plan since she was a teenager. ‘I’m working. I had some free time scheduled, and thank you for the dance, but now I have to get back.’

He looked at her carefully, and she held his gaze. ‘Do you always have a plan? A schedule?’

‘I do. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Oh, you mean except for the claustrophobia, the inflexibility, the stifling—’ Wisely, he stopped himself, probably remembering he should play to his audience. ‘So I wasn’t in your plan for tonight. But what if something unexpected comes up? That must happen sometimes, right? Meetings get cancelled, things run late. Contracts get lost in the post. What happens to your plans then?’

‘I make a new one,’ she said, wondering what was behind his cut-off outburst, the flash of panic she’d seen on his face.

‘You adapt to the circumstances—just like that. No stress. No panic.’

‘Of course.’ Working with Will could—and frequently did—send crises her way. She smoothed each problem until it fitted neatly into her existing plans, and all without anyone seeing that below the surface she was paddling like a racing swan.

Leo smiled at her as if he’d just scored a point. ‘So make a new plan for tonight. Nothing serious, no reason to change tomorrow’s plans, or any day after that. Just reschedule a couple of hours tonight to fit me in.’

‘A couple of hours?’ She raised an eyebrow at that: one night suited her just fine—her life was too full for anything more—but she had ideas enough already to fill more than a couple of hours. If she was going to do this, she was going to be sure it was worth her while.

And she was intrigued, because he was right. She’d altered plans before. She’d adapted to circumstances. Allowed for last-minute changes. So why shouldn’t she do that tonight? Through the window into the ballroom she caught sight of Will and Maya dancing and remembered what she’d felt earlier, that stab of curiosity, or loneliness, or... Perhaps the fact that she didn’t even know what it was made a good enough reason to do this.

‘I have a few things I have to finish up before I—’

With a smile, he swooped in and pressed a quick, hard kiss to her lips. ‘Just tell me when.’

CHAPTER TWO

LEO CRACKED AN eyelid and spotted a tangle of brown hair on the pillow beside him. Relaxing his head back, he was assailed by a stream of memories from the night before. Rachel meeting him outside the ballroom, belting her coat, telling him a cab was waiting for them. Him pressing a kiss to her neck as she unlocked her front door, too impatient to wait until they were inside. Her peeling off the silk of her dress with a teasing glint in her eyes.

He should be getting going, he thought, knowing that waiting round till breakfast could build unreasonable expectations that he might stay till lunch, and then dinner and then... His shoulders tensed, reminding him why breakfast was always a bad idea. Before he knew it, he could find himself trapped by expectations, unable to see his way out. The weight of claustrophobia sat on his chest as he remembered that feeling, of being stuck in a situation he couldn’t escape. Locked in a dorm with people who only wanted to cause him hurt. But that wouldn’t happen with Rachel, he reminded himself. She didn’t want to lock him into anything. They were both happy with just one night. It had been hard enough to persuade her to find a few hours.

A snuffling noise came from beneath the mass of hair, and he smiled, despite himself. Running out of the door might be the safest option—and he wanted that Exit sign well in sight—but as he was hit by more flashbacks, he realised staying could definitely have its advantages.

He glanced around the bedroom, half lit by the summer sun fighting the curtains, and noticed for the first time the neatly arranged furniture, coasters on the bedside tables, books on the shelf organised by size, not a hairbrush or handbag or discarded running shoe in sight. The only items out of place were the trail of clothes from door to bed. So she’d not been faking the control-freakery. He felt a twist of unease again in his belly at what that might mean, whether that control would be heading his way. But he’d been pretty clear last night that he was only after a bit of fun—and she’d been equally frank about not being able to clear more than one night from her schedule for him.

Then a smooth calf rubbed against his leg, and any thoughts of running for the door vanished. Rachel turned her head on the pillow, and he watched her face as her eyes blinked, waiting for the moment when they finally opened properly and focused on him.

‘Hi.’ The sensation of her skin on his was making him impatient, and he wondered if it normally took her this long to come round.

‘Morning.’ She spoke the word quickly, shaking her head and blinking, as if rapidly assessing the situation and devising several different scenario-dependent plans. And she pulled the duvet up higher, tucking it tight against her breasts. A bit late for that, Leo thought. There was nothing he hadn’t seen last night. More memories washed over him. Her skin, her taste, her smell.

‘Forget I was here?’ he asked, with a grin, propping himself up on one elbow.

‘I thought maybe...’ She flipped over and rubbed at her eyes, still sending him cautious looks, in between glancing at the door. Which told him exactly what she was thinking—the same as he’d been thinking not long before. ‘Never mind.’ She smiled, a little shyly, and glanced at the window. ‘I need to be getting up.’ She sat up properly and reached for her phone beside the bed, checking the time. At least he hoped that was all she was checking. He wasn’t sure he could take it if she was kicking him out so she could deal with email.

‘It’s the weekend—what’s the rush?’ He wrapped his arm around her waist under the cover and pulled her back to him, grinning as she relaxed slightly. He took advantage of her momentary acquiescence and leaned over her, pinning her in place with an arm either side of her.

‘I think you should stay,’ he murmured soothingly, suddenly feeling as if nothing was as important as convincing her to spend a few more hours with him. It must be the sex, he told himself—the promise of a repeat performance—that had him so desperate to stay. Nothing to do with the cold and hurt he’d felt when she’d pushed him away—emotionally, if not physically—just now. He leaned in closer, brushed his lips softly against hers. When he thought he had her attention, he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

‘We could pretend it’s not morning yet.’ He glanced at the window, where the sun was still making a concerted effort to reach them. She held his gaze for a long moment, and he could see that light in her eyes that told him she was coming up with a plan. He grinned, suddenly excited to know what she would come up with.

‘Well, maybe I could do with a little more sleep,’ she said with an exaggerated yawn.

He laughed. ‘Minx. Shut your eyes, then. Pretend it’s still night.’ Instead of closing them, she gave him a shrewd glance. Evaluation, he guessed. Assessing what this loss of control would cost her, and what she might stand to gain. Amending those plans of hers. He trailed a hand up the silky skin of her thigh, reminding her.

The moan that escaped her lips soothed his ego and brought a smile to his face.

Her eyelids drifted softly shut.

‘Still feeling sleepy?’

‘Maybe not quite sleepy...’

* * *

Afterwards, he held on to her tight. It was only as his eyes were drifting shut again that he remembered he’d planned to leave after...well, after.

‘Ahem.’

At the clearing of her throat he forced his eyes open, drank in the colours of her hair, mahogany, chestnut, teak, which pooled in the hollow above her collarbone.

‘Don’t you need to...er...?’

He raised an eyebrow. Was she trying to kick him out? Again? He tried to pull her closer, made an indiscriminate soothing noise, but she wriggled from his grasp.

‘I’m getting up. If you want the bathroom first...’

‘Right.’ No cuddling, no morning-after awkwardness or expectations. This was what he wanted, he reminded himself, fighting a sense of disappointment.

* * *

She watched his back, well, more specifically, she ogled his bottom, as he walked to the bathroom. Then dropped her head back on the pillow and draped her arm across her face, blocking out the world. Okay, so she’d made some slight adjustments to her plans last night—and this morning. But there was no reason not to get back on schedule now.

And she and Leo knew where they stood—they’d both been very clear last night exactly what was on the table. Now it was morning, properly morning, they could go their separate ways and enjoy the memories. Apart. Safe. With no plans to meet again. Because adapting to change once was just plenty, thank you, however nice the results might have been; but the thought of approaching more than one night with Leo, and the chaos and disorder she was sure followed him everywhere, started a cool mass of dread deep in her belly. It had been years, longer than she could remember, since she had approached life without an itinerary—and even contemplating what that might feel like now made sweat prickle on her forehead.

Hearing the flush of the toilet and not wanting to be in bed when Leo came out of the bathroom, she grabbed clothes from the dresser, hiding herself away in soft black yoga pants and a draped sweater.

By the time the shower stopped she’d picked up and folded their clothes, straightened the nightstand on his side of the bed, and stripped the sheets. She was just about to grab a fresh set when the bathroom door opened and Leo appeared, wet from the shower, his face grim.

‘We might have a bit of a problem.’

‘What sort of a problem?’ Though she could guess from his serious look that she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

‘The condom—it broke.’

‘Broke?’ She tried to keep her voice below a screech, but wasn’t sure that she managed it. ‘What do you mean it broke?’

‘I mean the condom had a tear in it. I thought you would want to know.’

She dropped the pillow she was holding and sat down heavily on the bed. Rubbing her fists against her eye sockets, she tried to take the information in and formulate a plan for what to do next. When she finally looked up, Leo was still standing in the doorway, watching her, a concerned look on his face.

‘Are you on the pill?’

‘No,’ she said firmly, picking up her phone and jabbing at the screen. ‘I’m not. But I’ll stop at a pharmacy on my way to work and get the morning-after pill.’

She then nudged him gently out of the bathroom doorway with her hip.

‘The door’s just on the latch,’ she said, desperate to be alone to gather her thoughts, and sure that Leo must be wanting to leave by now. She hadn’t expected him to stay even this long. ‘You can just pull it closed on your way out. Last night was lovely.’ She turned and reached up to kiss him gently on the cheek then shut the door behind her.

She went about her Sunday-morning routine with meticulous precision, determined to banish the butterflies left over from her going off-plan last night with the familiarity of her routine. Shower, exfoliate, hair mask, face mask, cuticle oil. The appearance of a slightly scruffy-looking man with the ability to keep her awake half the night didn’t mean her pores or her nails had to suffer.

It served as a timely reminder that she probably should have stuck to her plan A last night. Having a plan B was all good and well, but that didn’t mean one always had to use it. Responding to change was part of her job, but a plan was meant to create order, not the chaos that threatened at the edges of her morning.

She emerged from the bathroom half an hour later with face, body and mind scrubbed smooth. And nearly dropped her towel at the sight of Leo stretched out on her unmade bed, eyes shut, breathing heavily, with two cups of coffee and a plate of toast on a tray beside him. Looking outrageously tempting. If it wasn’t for the unease that gripped her shoulders, she might have been tempted to join him for round three. Instead she closed the door loudly, trying to wake him. He didn’t stir. Clutching her towel more tightly, she walked over to the bed and reached out to shake him. But his fingers captured her wrist before she could touch him.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, too genuinely surprised to try and sugar-coat her words.

‘You asked me back here. You had a plan, remember?’ She smiled, trying to convince her shoulders there was no reason for them to tense and bunch up.

‘No, I mean, why are you still here?’

‘How about because I’m enjoying your company?’ He reached and stretched behind him, then propped himself on his elbow, watching her from the bed as if he had every right to be there.

‘I’ve not been keeping you company. I’ve been in the bathroom.’

‘For an age. I know. What were you doing in there?’

‘Grooming,’ she replied with a quick, accidental glance at his tangle of hair, the stubble on his chin, the wrinkled shirt.

‘Meow.’ He laughed as he sat up on the unmade bed and reached for a coffee. ‘Are you always this mean in the morning?’

‘Are you always this annoying?’

Her scowl cracked into a grin as she sat beside him.

‘This will help.’ She reached for the other cup of coffee and took a long gulp. ‘And then I really do have to go. I have things to do at the office.’

‘The office? You know it’s a Sunday, right? I saw your boss last night. I bet he’s not going to be racing out of bed to get to work.’

‘Quite. All the more reason why I have to. I had to put a few things on the back burner in the lead-up to the fundraiser. I want to get them moving again.’

‘They’ll still be there tomorrow. I, on the other hand...’

‘Will be long gone—you were quite adamant about that last night, I remember. And yet here you are, holding me up when I want to get to work.’

‘You work too hard.’ The deliberate change of subject wasn’t lost on her.

‘Do you work at all?’ she asked, genuinely curious, and realising now how little she knew about him. Other than that he likely had a rich benefactor, of course.

He nodded as he took a gulp of coffee. ‘Sort of.’

‘Sort of? Anyone I know who “sort of” has a job has mainly been occupied spending a trust fund.’

He winced, she noticed.

‘So when you say “sort of”, you don’t have an actual job.’

‘You could say that.’ His grin told her that he was enjoying frustrating her, refusing to spill the details of his life. Not that it mattered to her what he did or didn’t do, she reminded herself. It was just she was curious, having spent the night with a man to whom the very idea of a plan near on brought him out in hives.

‘So how do you fill your days? When you’re not attending gala dinners, that is.’

He gave her a carefully nonchalant look. ‘I spend it at the beach.’

She nearly snorted her coffee with a good-natured laugh. ‘Well, I should have guessed that,’ she said, draining the dregs.

She hunted in her drawers for underwear and grabbed a simple shift dress from the wardrobe and then headed into the bathroom. When she emerged, dressed and perfectly coiffured, Leo was leaning against the kitchen counter, jacket and shoes on, the smile gone from his eyes.

* * *

‘I didn’t want to just disappear. I could walk you to the train? I have to get going.’ He hoped his voice sounded less conflicted than he felt. That he wasn’t giving away his battle between regret and impatience. Leo Fairfax didn’t do regrets. He was walking away because it was the only way to be safe. The only way to ensure he didn’t find himself in a situation that was intolerable, as he had at school. As much as last night and this morning had been exhilarating, wonderful, this had to end now.

He’d been perfectly frank last night that she shouldn’t expect anything lasting from him.

‘A walk to the station would be good. Are you ready to go?’

Leo reached for her hand as they walked along the leafy street, and wound his fingers with hers. It was only when he felt her hesitation, the tension in her muscles, that he realised what he’d done. He didn’t do holding hands. He didn’t do Shall I walk you to the station? because that led to expectation, and that was the very last thing that he wanted.

One morning like this led to another and another, until it became impossible to escape. But her hand felt right in his, her delicate, smooth palm lost in his huge, calloused, weather-worn grip. This was a choice, a pleasure, and he couldn’t make himself take it back or regret it. He let go briefly as they passed through the ticket barrier, and had to stop himself from wrapping an arm around her waist as they walked through the station.

‘I go north here,’ she said eventually, when they reached the stairs. ‘You want the southbound train, right?’

‘Right.’ He hesitated, no more willing to walk away from her now than he had been earlier in the morning. He tightened his hand around hers for a moment, the thought of waving her off causing an unexpected and unfamiliar pang. How could he want to keep hold of her and yet fear being tied to her at the same time?

Rachel wouldn’t settle for someone drifting in and out of her life on a whim or desire. Whoever she decided to share her life with, she’d want him as predictable as the tide—she’d never stake her luck on waves and weather.

If he wanted more of her, it would mean dates and calendars and plans. And contingency plans and comparing schedules and an itinerary agreed months in advance. The thought of those constrictions, of being tied into someone else’s expectations, demands...suddenly it was hard to breathe.

Since the day he’d left school, he hadn’t encountered anything, whether it was a woman, a job, or the thought of family, that had made him want to tie himself down, to trap himself into any situation where he didn’t have a clear and easy way out. He’d spent too many years in a hell he couldn’t escape, trapped in a boarding house with his bullies, and no one to listen to him, to believe him. And all the time, the person he should have been able to go to for help, the person who should have been unquestionably on his side, had been the ringleader.

He’d counted down the days until he could leave school on his calendar, and then had never used one again. He’d sworn that he would never allow himself to be trapped as he was at school. Never find himself in a situation where someone had the power to hurt him, and he couldn’t get away. So why was he gripping Rachel’s hand as if she were a life buoy to a drowning man?

When he looked over at her fidgeting on her heels, all the reasons he knew he should walk away seemed to fade. He knew the dangers, knew that he couldn’t hold on and expect to live untethered. He couldn’t want a future with her in it, but his body refused to accept it. He turned to her, until they were shoulder to shoulder and toe to toe, just millimetres separating their bodies. He could feel the draw of her skin, pulling him towards her, and his fingertips brushed against her cheekbones of their own accord. As his hands moved to cup her face, to turn her lips up to meet his, a screech of brakes broke into his thoughts. He glanced across and saw the train pull up to the southbound platform.

‘I have to go.’ The words came from his lips, though he couldn’t make himself believe them. But the train doors were closing, and with every piercing electronic beep he felt the walls of the station draw closer, his escape window closing.

With a wrench that he felt deep in his gut, he swept his lips across hers, pulled his hands away and then jogged down the stairs and through the doors of the train before either of them had a chance to say another word.

* * *

Rachel stood at the top of the stairs, watching as the train, and Leo, left the station. It was what she had wanted—him gone, and everything back to normal. But watching his train pull out of the station, she recognised the panicky feeling in her chest. He was gone, and she had no way of getting in touch with him. Despite everything, all the reasons she’d given herself that letting him into her life was a bad idea, despite the sense of panic that the thought of that man in her life caused, she wanted more of it. More of him.

Something caught her attention from the corner of her eye, and she started when she realised her train had already pulled up to the platform. She raced down the stairs, but the doors shut and locked with her on the wrong side. Even on his way out of her life Leo was disrupting her schedule. On second thought, she mused, maybe it was a good thing she wasn’t in touch with him. He’d caused quite enough chaos in the one night she’d known him. She glanced up at the information screen, wondering how long the next train would be. Typical Sunday service. She’d be stuck on the platform for an hour.

But maybe she could do something useful with the time. A quick search on her phone showed a pharmacy just around the corner that should be open. Walking quickly, she headed to the chemist—a few minutes and several rather personal questions later, she had emergency contraception and a bottle of water. She read quickly through the information on the packet as she waited in a quiet corner of the station. Ninety-five per cent effective. Not ideal—but in the circumstances, the best she was going to get. She swallowed the pill then forced the issue from her mind, and looked through both hers and Will’s schedules for the next week.

There were a couple of things she’d need to look into once she got to the office. Meetings that had been added at the last minute, when she was too busy with organising the fundraiser to pull together all the research and paperwork that she knew Will would need in order to prepare.

She worked through a few of her emails, making adjustments to her plan for the week as she went and slotting in new items for her Monday morning meeting with Will.

After the meeting she’d be able to plan out the rest of her week almost to the last minute. And her regular ‘contingency’ and ‘AOB’ slots meant that even the unexpected would have to bend to her plans and not the other way around.

She’d come to rely on that order, needed those careful plans to make her feel safe. Because without them what else was there?

It had been the only way for years that she’d been able to quiet her feelings of chaos and panic. The men who’d broken into her childhood home hadn’t planned to hurt anyone, the court had heard: they’d thought the house would be empty, had no idea that a fourteen-year-old Rachel was home alone. So when she’d startled one of them as he’d been rifling through the video collection, he’d panicked and lashed out at her. It was a pretty unpleasant knock to her head, but nothing serious. And eventually the nightmares she’d suffered had stopped, but that hadn’t stopped her parents’ guilt at leaving her at home. They’d fussed and smothered and, on occasion, wailed, insisting that Rachel inform them of her whereabouts at all times. Curfews were to be observed to the minute, unless she wanted to afflict a full-on panic-attack meltdown on her parents.

So she could be flexible if she had to be. ‘AOB’ and ‘unexpected’ had their own places in her plans, and that was all last night had been. But perhaps she shouldn’t do it again. Those slots should be kept strictly for emergencies. Not for blonds who were hard to forget in the morning.

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