Baby’s on the Way!

Bound By A Baby Bump

Ellie Darkins

Expecting The Prince’s Baby

Rebecca Winters

The Pregnant Witness

Lisa Childs

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Bound By a Baby Bump

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

Expecting The Prince’s Baby

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

The Pregnant Witness

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

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Copyright

Bound By A Baby Bump

Ellie Darkins

ELLIE DARKINS spent her formative years devouring romance novels, and after completing her English degree 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.

For my family

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.

CHAPTER THREE

RACHEL SCROLLED THROUGH the next two weeks of Will’s schedule, looking for a half-hour slot. She knew that she’d pencilled it in somewhere, knowing that this phone call would come at some point. Ah, there it was. The seventeenth. How could she have forgotten that? She put the details into the calendar, added links to the relevant paperwork on the servers, made sure that everyone involved in the project was copied into the invitation and saved everything. She smiled to herself, satisfied with her work. She’d been an executive assistant at Appleby and Associates, a financial services company in the city, for more than five years and prided herself on always knowing what Will needed before he did. If only everything was that easy, she thought, glancing again at the date. It won’t change, she told herself. It doesn’t matter how many times you look at it. She sat still and shut her eyes for a moment, concentrating on her body, not sure what she hoped, or even wanted to feel. Anything other than the hint of queasiness in her stomach and tiredness in her bones that had started to feel permanent. For the past week, seven full days since her period should have arrived, every day had been a whole load of nothing. And this after a half-hearted, barely-there appearance last month.

How long did she wait? she wondered. A week wasn’t that big a deal, was it? She’d been busier than ever since that night—with Will’s eye somewhat off the ball now he actually had a personal life. And then he and Maya had started coming up with more and more fundraising ideas to support the charity, and it felt as if she hadn’t had a moment to herself since then. It was just the stress. Except she wasn’t stressed. She’d just worked the new projects into their routine and it had been fine. She wasn’t stressed; she was just late. And it seemed like a little too much of a coincidence that the first time she’d ever been late coincided with her first ever sexual wardrobe malfunction. That ninety-five-per-cent figure had been haunting her thoughts for six days now.

She should probably talk to Leo, she thought. But she hadn’t asked for his number that night—could she face calling his father, whose gala invitation he had taken, to try and get hold of him?

At least at the moment she had nothing to tell. But she couldn’t leave it that way for long. She needed to know what she was dealing with. If—and it was still a big one—but if she was pregnant, then the sooner she knew, the sooner she could formulate a plan. It was twelve-thirty now, which gave her enough time to nip to the chemist’s around the corner, grab a pregnancy test and a sandwich, and be back at her desk well before Will’s two o’clock meeting. She locked her computer and grabbed her bag from her drawer, then headed out of the building.

Twenty minutes later she locked the cubicle door and sat on the lid of the toilet, reading through the packet instructions.

Pee, wait, read. And then she’d know.

She peed. She waited. The seconds on her phone stopwatch ticked by slowly, as if the whole universe wanted to put this off as much as she did.

At twelve fifty-nine she took a deep breath, closed her eyes for that last, long second, and then looked at the stick.

Pregnant.

She could barely see as she walked—dazed—out of the bathroom. She stopped at the coffee machine, as was her habit after lunch, and as she was about to select her usual order she stopped herself, blinked a couple of times, and selected decaf instead. She reached for the cup and took a sip, and felt the relief and comfort of her routine in place of the caffeine rush.

‘Got the jitters?’

She whipped around at the sound of that familiar voice and felt the blood drain from her face.

‘Leo, what a—’

She couldn’t finish the word, never mind the sentence. What was he doing here? Why today? Why right now? Why did he have to look even better than she remembered? Sun-bleached, tanned and twinkling with humour.

He was watching her with careful eyes. And he reached out and took the cup from her shaking hands. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. But you looked as if you were in a world of your own.’

‘No, it’s... It’s... Leo?’

He gave her a smug grin, and that helped her regain her senses somewhat. He wouldn’t be looking at me like that if he knew what I knew, she thought. If he knew that in a few short months he’d be dad to a bouncing baby boy or...

She felt her blood drain lower still, and had to lean back against the counter in the small kitchen to keep her balance. Leo took a step closer and set the coffee down beside her, before taking her hand and looking closely at her face.

‘You’re white as a sheet,’ he said. ‘I’d love to take the credit for you swooning and all, but I’m worried. Are you ill? Should I call someone?’

‘No, no,’ she said, trying to regain composure amid the rush of her thoughts and the swirl of sensation from his fingertips. ‘I’m surprised, that’s all. And in need of a coffee.’

‘So why are you drinking decaf?’

Great, she thought. Walked straight into that one. ‘Because I’ve already drunk too much today, and know that I’ll need a proper one before this afternoon’s over.’ Hopefully that would allay any more questions. She moved forwards tentatively, moving her weight from the counter to her feet, and almost smiled before she felt herself sway slightly. She really should have eaten that sandwich before taking the test, she thought. Because right now, despite her achingly empty stomach, and rather light head, she was sure she wouldn’t be able to keep even a mouthful down.

‘That’s it, you’re not well,’ Leo declared, eyeing her carefully. ‘You need to take the afternoon off.’ She gave a shaky laugh, tensing slightly at this reminder of Leo’s cavalier attitude to a nine-to-five.

‘I’m fine, honestly. I’ve just not had lunch yet.’

‘Then let me walk you to your desk, at least.’

‘Leo, please, just leave it.’

This wasn’t fair. She was careful. She was always careful. And then when events had conspired against her, she’d gone straight to the pharmacy and taken that pill. Why did she have to be that five per cent?

She had to tell him. He had a right to know. They had a right to make any decisions that needed to be made together. But did she have to do this just now, before she’d even had a chance to get used to it herself?

Leo was standing in front of her, close, too close, and she needed space to think about this. But she couldn’t do that, because her calendar was full all afternoon. And all of tomorrow, and the day after that. Every minute of every day was accounted for. And she liked it like that; she just wished that she’d known to schedule in time to adjust to pregnancy, to becoming a mother. At that thought her knees went, and even though it was only for a second she knew that Leo had seen it. He slipped his arm around her.

‘Where’s your desk?’ he asked.

She laid her hand on his at her waist, grateful for the support, but well aware that she couldn’t be half carried through her office. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and grabbed hold of her self-control. She pushed Leo’s arm away gently and stood up, forcing her heels into the floor, and walked across to her desk. Leo followed beside her looking concerned, but not trying to touch her.

‘So what are you doing here?’ she asked when she was safely back at her desk, looking for any excuse to draw the conversation away from herself. ‘You probably should have called first—I try and keep my personal life away from work.’

He gave her an assessing look and then leant back against her desk.

‘One, I couldn’t have called because you didn’t give me your number. And two, as delightful as it’s been running into you, I’m not here to see you.’

‘Oh.’ Just when she’d thought this day couldn’t get any worse. She thanked her forethought in ordering a perfectly fitted ergonomic chair that wouldn’t allow her to slump with disappointment even if she’d wanted to. Which, she told herself strictly, she absolutely didn’t.

‘Seeing you is just a very pleasant bonus,’ he added with a hot smile that softened her disappointment, reminded her of that night and reached right to her belly. ‘And as you haven’t eaten, can I take you for lunch?’

‘I’ve...I’ve already taken my lunch break. And if you’re not here to see me, then surely you have plans.’

‘Right,’ he said slowly, as if only just remembering. ‘I have a meeting with Will.’

‘No, you don’t.’

He laughed out loud. ‘I promise you I do. I called him this morning, told him I was in town unexpectedly. He wanted a chat about something I mentioned at the fundraiser so we said we’d grab a few minutes this afternoon. I’m sorry, should I have checked with you first?’

‘No, of course not. Will, however—’

‘Is the boss—last time I checked.’

She spun round at the sound of Will’s voice.

‘And entirely dependent on my secretarial talents. And knows how much I love surprises.’

‘Well, that’s me told.’ Will laughed, reaching out to shake Leo’s hand. ‘Sorry I’m a few minutes late, and, as I’m sure Rachel has already told you, I have another meeting in twenty minutes. But we can talk through a couple of ideas if you like and then follow up over Skype?’

‘Perfect,’ Leo said. ‘And then Rachel and I are going to head out for a bite to eat. Assuming that’s not a problem with the boss.’ Her eyes whipped to him, and her jaw dropped open at the sheer cheek of it.

‘No problem at all,’ Will said, with a raised eyebrow in her direction. ‘I assume everything’s set for my two o’clock?’

Professional pride forced her not to snap at either one of them. ‘Files are on your desk, electronic copies are attached to the calendar appointment. The access codes for the teleconferencing are in there, too, but I can dial in for you if you need me to.’ She fought the urge to tell Leo to sod off. Because much as his heavy-handed interference with Will rankled, if she didn’t go now, then when was she going to tell him? It needed doing, and she’d be surprised if she was presented with a better opportunity than this.

‘No, it’s fine. I’m sure I can manage on my own for a couple of hours, despite what you might think. You go, enjoy yourself,’ he said with a smirk that told her she was definitely not forgiven for interfering with his love-life.

Rachel looked pointedly at the clock. ‘Your next meeting is in fifteen minutes, Will. Do I need to contact everyone and let them know it’ll be late starting?’

He laughed, and she cursed the permanent good mood he’d been in since the night of the fundraiser. He had been so much easier to manage before. And she had no one to blame but herself.

‘Come on through, Leo,’ he said, with a smile in his voice that matched the grin on his face.

Rachel busied herself working through straining inboxes, her own, Will’s, as well as one of the generic admin accounts. Then she flicked through her hard-copy inbox, separating out her own items from Will’s, checking that the assistants had marked the correct pages for him to sign, adding sticky tabs where they hadn’t. Finally she tackled the outbox, dividing up the signed documents into the recipients they needed to be sent to next. The second hand on the clock above Will’s door crawled round, until she was certain that physics was working against her.

Except this was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To put this off—for ever, if that were an option. She didn’t want to see Leo. Didn’t want to have lunch with him. She wanted to never see him again, never feel the loss of control that she’d experienced that night. And that had had consequences just as frightening as she’d ever imagined.

A baby. Where was she meant to fit a baby into her life? The Friday-afternoon ‘catching up with the trade press’ hour? She wasn’t exactly experienced at motherhood, but she was pretty sure that a baby needed more than an hour a week. Even if she pulled together every single one of her contingency and emergency hours it was less than a day a week. No, having this baby meant ripping up everything that made her feel safe and secure, and starting over completely. She leant back in her chair, surveying the piles of paperwork covering her desk. What was the point to this? Because it wouldn’t matter how neat the piles, how precise and efficient her system. At some point, this would all fall apart.

She had choices. She didn’t have to do this, to have this baby. But even as she thought it, the tearing pain in her heart told her that it wasn’t the right choice for her.

She was having this baby.

Now she just had to tell Leo.

She glanced up at the clock again—one-fifty-eight—and wondered if Will would remember his call. Should she buzz through and remind him? So that he didn’t run late or so that she could get to lunch with Leo? She didn’t want to think too hard about the answer to that.

At two minutes past two the door opened and Leo walked out, a grin still on his face. But then what did he have to worry about? Who wouldn’t be happy if they could spend all day at the beach or dipping into their trust fund? Well, he might have to think about getting a little responsibility after today.

If he wanted to be involved, that was. She should really have used this time to think about what she was going to tell him, what she was going to ask him. What she wanted from him. She didn’t need him to do this. Frightening as it was, she knew it could be done alone. There were plenty of single mothers out there who balanced parenthood with careers. No doubt all that was needed were killer organisation skills, and she had that one wrapped up nicely.

She refused to look up at him, still annoyed with Leo for his heavy-handedness. Instead she kept her eyes firmly on her monitor as she continued with her work. But she hadn’t counted on a blond head with tanned skin and insanely blue eyes intruding into her field of vision.

‘Ready to go?’ Leo asked as he leaned nonchalantly forward and against her cubicle.

‘Su-u-u-re,’ she replied, buying herself extra milliseconds by dragging out that one syllable for as long as she could without seeming ridiculous. She saved and closed her documents, backed everything up, flicked through her inbox to make sure that nothing urgent had arrived in the past five minutes, and then logged off. She took a sneaky deep breath as she reached under her desk for her handbag and braced herself. She was going to tell him. That was non-negotiable. What happened after that, how Leo reacted, she had zero control over.

Her stomach churned and she wished that she could blame it on morning sickness, but this was just good old-fashioned nerves.

‘Will told me about this great place around the corner,’ Leo said as they walked out of the door and onto the street. Great. He was definitely interfering and it was definitely on purpose.

How was she supposed to do this? Did she just blurt it right out over starters? Ply him with wine beforehand to soften the blow? Maybe she should tell him before they even sat down—that would make it less embarrassing if he did a runner straight off.

And she couldn’t even have a glass of wine to steady her nerves.

Before she had a chance to realise how far they had walked they were passing through the doors of the restaurant and being shown to their table. Somehow in their fifteen-minute meeting, either he or Will had found a moment to call ahead. Perfect.

Now she sat trying to surreptitiously watch him over the top of her menu. He was in a good mood, and a smile was lighting up his face. She wondered at the reason for it. Was it the meeting with Will that had made him happy, or was it sitting here with her? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. She didn’t want to enjoy this, or for him to. Relationships meant chaos; they meant accommodating another person—something she generally didn’t do outside a boss-employee relationship. And even then she only worked with people who were really looking for her to manage them, rather than the other way around. So she indulged in friendships and occasional casual dalliances, knowing that she could get out the minute anything approaching chaos started to impinge on her life. Short flings were satisfying and easy to manage. Leo fitted beautifully into that first category, but was failing miserably with the second.

He looked up and caught her eye.

‘So, anything you fancy?’ he asked with a cheeky grin. She rolled her eyes at the lazy innuendo. He slouched back in his chair and she took a moment to really look at him, in a way she hadn’t allowed herself since the hazy early-morning hours after the fundraiser. She was desperate to smooth the chaotic curls that tumbled rebelliously over his forehead, but was aware at the same time he’d lose something of his charm if she were to do it.

Drawing her eyes away from him, she toyed with a breadstick as they waited in silence for the main courses to arrive. This was bad. This was a bad date. She was a bad date. How had she spent hours with this man, making love as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and now she was struggling to make small talk?

‘Is everything okay?’ Leo asked.

So her complete state of panic hadn’t gone entirely unnoticed. Well, the worried glances he’d been throwing at her for the past fifteen minutes should have been her first clue. She’d chosen to studiously ignore them, worried that acknowledging them would lead to talking about what was wrong. But still, she was surprised by the serious note to his voice, feeling his concern, the connection between them, all the way to her core. She remembered the way she had felt that morning at the railway station, watching his train pull away from the platform and knowing that however much she felt for him, she’d missed any opportunity to explore it. And then he’d waltzed back into her life on the day when exploring any connection between them seemed more impossible than ever.

She had to tell him, and now was as good a time as any. Actually, no, that wasn’t true. Now was the best chance she was going to get. She took a long, fortifying sip of her mineral water, wishing it could have been an ice-cold glass of Sauvignon Blanc, and opened her mouth to speak.

‘Leo, there’s something—’

‘Here we go—two tagliatelle al ragu? Would you like parmesan? Black pepper?’

She hid her frustration behind a smile as the waiter bustled and chatted at them good-naturedly. And then watched his retreating back in panic, flailing.

‘You were—’

‘I’m pregnant.’

She blurted the words out before Leo could finish his sentence, and instantly regretted it as Leo snorted his red wine.

‘Pregnant?’

‘Keep your voice down,’ she hissed, hoping that Will hadn’t told anyone else at the office about this place.

‘How can you be— I thought you were going to— What does— Pregnant?’ She waited out his rambling until he could form a complete sentence. ‘It’s not even been that long,’ he said. ‘Only a few weeks. Can you even be sure? I mean, how do these things work?’

‘It’s been seven weeks. I’m late, I took a test, it was positive,’ she said, trying to keep her temper, trying to remember that she’d not exactly been level-headed when she first found out, either. She couldn’t be disappointed that he’d not taken it well—she’d not expected beaming smiles. But perhaps some tiny part of her had hoped for something...more. More than this obvious horror.

‘Did you take the morning-after pill?’

‘Does it matter? I’m pregnant.’

He leaned back in his chair and she tried to remind herself that actually, yes, it wasn’t such an unreasonable question. After the condom fail, the contraceptive ball had been entirely in her court—there was nothing he could have done.

She softened her voice. ‘Yes. I took it that morning, about half an hour after your train left. I followed the instructions and did everything right. But it’s not a hundred per cent effective.’ She gave him a minute to absorb this, but then found she didn’t have anything else to say. She just waited for him to process.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked eventually, and she cracked a tiny smile, touched at the softness in his voice. She remembered it from that night.

‘I’m still trying to take it in,’ she said honestly.

‘When did you find out?’

She checked her watch. ‘A couple of hours ago. Right before—’

‘Right before I surprised you at the coffee machine. Jeez, no wonder you were a mess.’

‘A mess?’

‘You know, all...’ He waved a hand in the air, and she told herself it was probably better to be charitable and not to try and translate it.

‘Have you thought about...?’ From the careful way he spoke the words, and wouldn’t look up to meet her eye, she knew what he was asking.

‘I’m keeping it.’

As she said the words, she felt their truth. Felt that she could never give a different answer to that question. Parallel shivers of excitement and fear raced up her spine.

‘You’re keeping it,’ he repeated, his intonation just hinting at a question. ‘Isn’t this something I should expect to have a say in?’ he asked.

Rachel dropped her head into her hands and rubbed at her hair, unable to bear the intensity of his stare. ‘I’m not sure it’s the sort of thing you can compromise on. It’s sort of an either-or situation.’

‘Still,’ Leo said, his expression bordering on haggard when she peeked up through her fingers. ‘When did you decide this, if you only just found out? You can’t have had time to think it through.’

‘I haven’t. I don’t need to. I know some people would choose something different, and I totally respect the right to make that choice. But it’s not what I want.’ She couldn’t explain the fiercely protective instinct that told her she had to keep this baby, but that didn’t mean she didn’t recognise it. It had been there, lurking, since the minute she’d read the word ‘Pregnant’ on the test. It was the reason she’d had decaf coffee, and the reason she’d told Leo now, without needing time to think through their options.

‘Did you plan this?’ Leo’s question snapped her out of her thoughts in an instant, and cut straight to her heart. She gaped at him, affronted.

‘Why in God’s name would you think I planned this?’ He sat back against his chair again, letting it take his weight as if he were no longer able.

‘You plan everything else.’ His expression was hard and guarded—she flinched from the anger and the hurt she could see simmering below the surface. She wouldn’t stand for this. This was not her fault. They had both played their part in getting them to this point, and they would both have to deal with the consequences. She opened her mouth to tell him that, but he spoke first. ‘What was it—a big birthday on the horizon got your biological clock ticking? Did you reach the entry in your calendar that read “Start a family” and just pick up the next willing donor?’

She dropped her fork in shock, her mouth open as she tried—and failed—to put words to her hurt.

‘Do you really think I’m capable of that?’ Rachel asked, her voice low and throaty as she fought down tears, disbelieving that he could be capable of such cruelty. Of course she knew that she didn’t know him well, but she’d thought after that night she had a pretty good measure of him. Nowhere had she seen the capacity for such heartlessness. ‘Because I’m cutting you a hell of a lot of slack here by not throwing something.’

‘No. I don’t know. God.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I honestly don’t know what to think. I turn up at your office hoping for a smile and a flirt and maybe—if I played my cards right—a repeat performance of that night. And you tell me that I’m going to be a father, whether it’s what I want or not. I tell you, I’ve thought about you since that night, thought about you a lot, actually, but I never imagined...this.’

Rachel let out a long sigh. ‘How could you? I can barely imagine it now, barely believe that it’s true.’ She took another long sip of her water and picked disconsolately at her congealing pasta. ‘What are we going to do?’

She gave a little shudder at the sudden realisation she had no answer to that question. The next few months, years, decades of her life—which this morning had a predictable, reliable pattern—suddenly blurred, as she saw her plans for the future evaporating. To be replaced with...what? She had no idea what the next few days looked like now, never mind anything beyond that. A fist of fear gripped her lungs, and she struggled to draw in a breath. When she finally managed to drag in a couple of gasps of oxygen, she found that they were stuck there. She tried to force them out, but the effort tightened her chest further. One hand flew to her shirt, pulling at the collar as if it would somehow help the air move.

Her movement must have startled Leo, because his gaze flew from where it had been locked on the tablecloth to her face, and she saw her alarm reflected there. ‘Rachel?’ he asked urgently. ‘What’s wrong?’ His hand reached for hers across the table.

‘Can’t...breathe...’ she managed to gasp.

‘Did you swallow something?’

She shook her head and saw realisation dawn in his eyes. He gripped her hand harder and pulled her from her seat, throwing some notes on the table and leading her quickly to the door. Once outside, he pulled her through the gates of a small park and down beside him onto a bench. He placed his hand firmly on her face, his palm cupping her cheek.

‘Look at me,’ he ordered her, his voice steady and understanding. ‘Rachel?’ Her darting gaze locked onto him.

‘You can breathe just fine,’ he told her, his eyes fixed on hers, his voice calm but firm. ‘I’m going to count and you’re going to breathe out. Then you’re going to breathe in.’ She nodded, willing herself to believe him, listening to his voice rather than the racing of her mind as he counted ‘one...two...three...’ With her lungs so full she thought they might burst, she looked at his eyes, focused on his words, the simplicity and predictability of the numbers, and let her chest relax, let go of the solid tightness of her shoulders and the terror in her mind. As she gradually felt her body return to normal, she slumped back on the bench, and Leo did the same.

‘Thanks,’ she managed eventually.

‘Okay,’ Leo said. ‘I think one thing we have to agree on right now is that neither of us is particularly able to make important decisions at the moment.’

‘I—’

‘Just had a panic attack. Forgive me if I take that to mean we need a little time.’ She nodded slowly, unable to dispute his words. This might be easier if she were doing it alone, she thought. If she could make a plan exactly as she wanted, and then stick to it.

She knew without question that life couldn’t happen that way with Leo. He would throw her plans off course from the first possible moment, and insist on chaos as often as possible after that. Just the thought of it made her chest feel tight again.

‘Do you have to go back to the office or can I see you home?’ Not words to help her to breathe normally.

‘I have to get back,’ she said, thinking of her and Will’s schedule for the afternoon. She couldn’t just not turn up.

‘We need to talk, properly,’ Leo said, and reached for her hand—a spark of something half remembered flickered between their skin. Her first instinct was to snatch her hand back—his touch was too dangerous—but his fingers clamped around hers before she could. His other hand tucked her hair behind her ear, and smudged away a tear that was trickling over her cheek. He turned her to look at him, and she relaxed, thinking how easy it would be to lean forward, to brush her lips against his, to lose herself for a moment. Leo’s breathing quickened, and she knew he’d thought it, too. But, she told herself, the last thing this situation needed was more complications.

She dropped her gaze and pulled back slightly.

‘Perhaps we should talk in a few days, when we’ve had time to think...’ Her voice tailed off as she tried to reshape her view of the world to imagine how that conversation would go. ‘Are you coming up to London again?’

‘No,’ Leo said, with a small shake of his head. ‘Not for a while. But you could come down to my place in Dorset, get away for a few days.’

Rachel opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand to stop her. ‘Just hear me out. There’s space, fresh air and distance from your office. I’m not promising sea air has all the answers, but maybe a change of perspective...?’

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’

‘And I’m not sure what choice we have. I can’t see that getting to know each other is optional, now. I know where you live—where you work. I’ve even seen you in action. Don’t you think it’s fair that you see a little of my life, too?’

She nodded. ‘Perhaps I could come for the day.’

‘Honestly, by the time you’ve travelled, you’ll want to stay longer,’ Leo said. ‘Plan to come at the weekend. Stay Saturday night. I have a guest room,’ he added, no doubt noticing the refusal that was about to leave her lips.

She tried hard to think of some way to skewer this logic, some way to get out of this scenario that had her holed up with a man she found dangerously irresistible—the man who had got her pregnant. But whichever way she looked at it, she could see that he was right.

‘Okay,’ she said eventually. ‘I’ll come.’

CHAPTER FOUR

LEO COLLAPSED ONTO the sand, chest heaving and limbs comfortingly heavy.

A baby. He still couldn’t quite connect that concept with his life. How had that even...? Okay, so it wasn’t as if he needed a diagram, and it wasn’t as if he didn’t believe Rachel when she said she’d taken the morning-after pill. They were just that tiny fraction of a per cent that the maths for a double contraceptive fail worked out as. Maybe at the end of this weekend—he glanced at the sun; Rachel would be here in a few hours—it would feel more real.

He rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead as he tried to think, the rhythmic crash of the waves on the sand soothing in its familiarity. Was real—knowing that there was absolutely, definitely no way of getting out of this—going to feel better? How could it? He’d all but walked away from his family. Had been happy managing on his own. But what could he do now? He’d enjoyed every minute of what had got them here, and he would take responsibility for what they’d done.

His head should be spinning. These past few days he should have wanted to scream, or run, or, God, faint or something. But instead, he felt nothing. A blank, empty space filled his brain, keeping feelings at bay.

But as he sat, thinking, he noticed a warm yellow glow creeping around the edges of that numb void. A hint of some emotion that was waiting, just out of reach, but heading closer.

He flopped back onto the sand, covering his eyes from the intense glare of the sun with his arm. Part of him wanted to go. To turn around and walk away and just imagine he’d never laid eyes on Rachel. Pretend that one night, one night that had tied him into a lifetime of commitment, had never happened. But then a flash of memory assailed him—a gentle, lazy smile on Rachel’s lips in the dim early-morning light. Too tired for games, too sated for self-protection, he’d seen for the first time the real, unguarded woman, with no barriers, no motives, no second-guessing. He couldn’t make himself regret that moment, that instant connection.

And there went the ‘numb’ phase, as the memory of his desire and passion that night was chased from his body by nausea-inducing fear. He let out a long, unsteady breath. God, he wished he’d appreciated ‘dazed’ more.

For a moment the thought of that commitment, the inescapable permanency of it, threatened to paralyse him, bringing back every nightmare and the sleepless nights between. The last time Leo Fairfax had been this frightened of the future.

But he was going to be a father. He and Rachel—that fascinating, maddening, excessively disciplined woman he’d been unable to shake from his mind for weeks now, had somehow, against all her best-laid plans, and his lack of them, created a new human life. The magnitude of the realisation stole his breath for a few long moments as he looked up and out across the water, trying to imagine who he was, this whole new person that they had created. But the vision remained hazy, too unformed to be anything more than broad strokes of a life.

* * *

Rachel stepped out of the taxi—she’d insisted to Leo that she could, and would, get to his place under her own steam—and gasped in horror. He’d warned her on the phone that he was doing some renovations, but this was...it was ramshackle. The ground all around was either churned up or covered in bags of building materials, and the windows were still covered by plastic sheeting. Most concerning of all, the roof seemed to consist of a couple of blue tarpaulins, flapping gently in the breeze. She glanced up further, relieved to see that the sky was still a clear, sunny blue, without a cloud in sight.

Thank goodness she had a list of practically every hotel in Dorset, sorted by distance from the coastal village Leo’s postcode had directed her to. And a list of taxi companies, too. And train times back to London. As she’d saved them all on her tablet, just in case she found herself out of network coverage, she’d hoped that she wouldn’t actually need them. She wanted to use her time here to get to know Leo better—it was essential, in the circumstances. And staying in a hotel the whole weekend would mean less time together. But she wasn’t sure that a building site was the best place to get to know each other, either.

She’d give it a chance, she told herself, but double-checked that she had signal on her mobile, just in case. Tentatively, she picked her way along the path from the road, and as it passed around the corner of the cottage she stopped and dropped her bag. Okay, so this she could stay for. The cottage was perched on top of a rocky cliff, with views all around the bay, from majestic, prehistoric coastline at one end to brightly coloured beach huts and umbrellas at the other. The clumpy grass she’d been cursing for catching on her heels gave way to sand and rocks, and a path meandered down to the narrow sandy beach.

She breathed in a couple of good lungfuls of sea air, but her brief moment of tranquillity was interrupted by a mechanical scream from inside the house. The noise made her jump, but—curious—she ventured towards the door, certain that a whole crew of builders must be in there to make such a racket. A troop of roofers, she hoped, casting another glance at the tarp.

‘Hello?’ she shouted, once she’d grappled with her bag and made it to the door.

But when she caught sight of Leo, she fell silent, leaning against the door frame to enjoy the view. He wore jeans—faded and worn, moulded to his body in a way that told her they were well loved and often worn. His T-shirt was white, damp down the back and clinging in all the right ways. The powerful swimmer’s muscles of his shoulders and back were outlined by the soft cling of the jersey, and rippled as he handled planks of wood and an electric saw with ease.

All day her thoughts had flip-flopped between terror and excitement at the thought of seeing Leo again. They had drifted his way often in the weeks since she’d seen him, reliving that night over and over again. But it wasn’t just the sex that had stuck in her mind. It was the way he’d smiled at her on the dance floor as he’d figured her out, and found which buttons to press to help her change her mind. The sparkle in his eyes as he’d watched her figure him out, and find a way to take him home.

It was the way she’d let go as she’d moved in his arms, following his lead, taking it back, following her body and his, improvising. Exploring every possibility thrown up by this totally unplanned—she could admit it to herself, if not to him—encounter. But the things she’d found with him that night were exactly the reason she was nervous now. How would she keep control over the rest of her life when she’d failed so spectacularly to keep control even over her own body?

Well, she told herself, the first defence was easy—no repeat performances. She had to keep her head. Which meant she had to put the brakes on this little ogling session and somehow get his attention. Not easy when he was wearing ear protectors and making an unholy racket.

It didn’t seem wise to sneak up on a man when he was communing with the power-tool gods. But how long was she meant to stand there? How long could she watch him like this before her resolve began to falter? She was about to take a step forward when her gaze dropped from where it had been fixed on Leo, and her brain caught up with what her eyes were hinting was wrong with the picture. The floor—where was it? She hadn’t noticed it immediately because Leo was standing on a large piece of board, but between the door and him—nothing. Well, not quite nothing. A few joists, the odd floorboard balanced across them. Otherwise, just bare earth a few inches down.

She snatched her foot back and switched to plan B. While she waited for him to finish what he was doing with the saw, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and found his number. As soon as the whine of the tool stopped, she hit Dial, hoping that he had his phone on him, and set to vibrate. It gave her the perfect excuse to look at his bottom at least—trying to see if it had started buzzing, of course.

As she watched, Leo straightened and stretched his muscles, and then reached into his back pocket. Was it her imagination, or did his shoulders tense when he lifted the phone and saw the display? Regardless, hers tensed, too—sympathy stress. When Leo wrenched off the ear protectors, she cleared her throat and he finally turned to look at her.

She tried to read his expression—in business, a degree of mind-reading came in handy. And while she hadn’t quite cracked full-on ESP yet, she’d got pretty good at reading people. So she knew that the smile was genuine—but what he was feeling was more complex than his sunny grin implied. His mouth said he was happy to see her. The line of his shoulders and slight stiffness in his arms told her he was wary. Of her? Of the baby? Was there a difference any more? They came as a package deal—literally—for the next seven or so months.

But he was still smiling at her as he walked across the room—balancing on the joists like a gymnast on a beam.

‘Hi,’ he said as he got to the door. ‘I wasn’t expecting you yet. Sorry, I thought I’d be done for the day before you got here.’ She glanced at her watch. According to her travel schedule, which she’d sent over to him yesterday, she was right on time. But perhaps it was a little early in the trip to bring that up. She remembered the way he had stiffened when he’d seen she was calling and almost flinched herself. It was hardly flattering, knowing she was the cause of such trepidation. And she had no desire to kick off with anything other than small talk just yet. She’d put in a lot of thought, time and energy over the past few days, trying to come up with a plan that would suit both of them, all three of them, for the foreseeable future. There were a few scenarios for them to choose from, but she was satisfied that between the notes on her tablet and the scenario-planning charts she’d printed and bound she’d come up with something that they could work with. All she had to do now was convince Leo of that fact, and in doing so she was going to have to tread lightly.

‘Oh, it’s fine,’ she said, trying to be breezy about the lack of flooring. ‘So...new boards?’

‘It’s kind of a work in progress,’ Leo said, glancing about him, apparently unconcerned. ‘We found some rot and had to rip the old ones out. Then I found these incredible boards at a rec yard.’

She smiled and nodded, feeling the tension in her shoulders travel down her arms until her fingers were fighting against tight fists.

‘But isn’t it a little...inconvenient—not having a floor?’

‘It’s only temporary.’ He shrugged. ‘And it’s only one room—the rest of the house is fine. Are you coming in?’

Fine? From what she’d seen from the outside, this floor was the least of her worries. But she forced herself to take a deep breath, and keep her smile stuck on a little longer.

‘Sure.’ She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and looked at the floor in anticipation, mapping out the shortest and quickest route.

‘Leave your case—I’ll grab it. Isn’t there a “no heavy lifting” clause in this pregnancy thing?’

Her eyes flicked to his face, trying to read his expression. It was the first time either of them had mentioned the baby, and his voice hadn’t exactly sounded sure, almost as if he were testing the words, not quite believing them. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t, yet. Couldn’t face up to all the uncertainties that lay ahead of them.

She set a foot on the joist by the door. A couple of steps in she started to wish she’d kicked off her shoes as she wobbled a little on her stiletto heel. But just as she started to worry that she might not get that wobble back under control, Leo’s hand grabbed hers and held her steady. A shiver spread through her body at the feel of his hand, and she squeezed it tight, suddenly feeling less steady on her feet, not more. He swung the door open in front of them and she jumped across the last gap.

As she landed, she wobbled again, and this time Leo’s arm caught her around the waist. She’d put out a hand to break the fall she’d been sure was inevitable, but instead of hitting the floor it hit solid, warm muscle. She should have snatched it back, of course. Should definitely not have stretched her fingers and pressed her palm a little tighter against him, remembering the night she had spent held against that chest, the salty taste as she’d kissed it, how she’d pressed her palms to it as she’d...

Leo’s arm tightened around her and she wondered if he was remembering, too. She looked up and found his gaze intent on her, his eyes serious and the smile gone. Her lips parted, and her body begged her to stretch up, to press her lips against his, to lose herself in his body. But her brain screamed warnings thick and fast. Caught in the middle, she wavered, leaning back slightly against Leo’s arm as she met his gaze. Over his shoulder, she caught a glance of the room they had just left—the chaos, the power tools, the almost complete lack of floor—and she took a deliberate step backwards. Her life was chaotic enough. One night with Leo had shaken up everything she thought she knew about the future and dumped it back around her. The last thing she needed at the moment was for that to happen again.

Leo gave her a long look, his expression neither regretful nor pleased, but hovering somewhere around wary. After a beat, he turned from her and strode back across the joists to rescue her case from outside. Rachel dragged her eyes from him and, determined to distract herself, took a moment to look around the room she’d landed in so inelegantly. The contrast between the front room and this kitchen couldn’t be greater. From chaos, she’d stepped into a lifestyle magazine. Sunlight spilled in through wide windows with views out towards the bay, reflecting off the polished wooden worktops. A huge table, made of boards similar to the ones Leo was laying in the next room, occupied one half of the kitchen and an enormous range cooker occupied an inglenook fireplace. Glass doors opened out onto a small garden and a staircase wound up the wall in the corner of the room. It was beautiful, and when she looked at Leo it was with admiration for more than his well-developed lats.

He arrived back at the door to the kitchen with her case slung effortlessly over his shoulder. Okay, she was still admiring the lats, she realised, that perfect diagonal of muscle between underarm and waist—and reminded herself that all her future plans for her life came with a big fat No Repeat Performance clause. If she wanted to stay on track, she had to get her ogle under control.

‘Luckily for you, the kitchen and bathrooms were finished first,’ he said with a grin.

‘This is beautiful.’ She was still slightly taken aback by the contrast of this room with the building sites she’d seen so far, but determined to stay focused. ‘Did you do all the work yourself?’

He nodded. ‘Everything I legally can—an electrician did a couple of bits, but most of it was me.’

‘You’ve done a great job.’

‘Thanks.’ He smiled and nodded, without false modesty or undue pride. ‘Can I get you anything before I go and clean myself up? Coffee? Tea?’ He glanced down at his sawdust-caked jeans and T-shirt as he spoke.

She brushed off his offer, instead getting him to point her towards coffee and mugs. When he’d disappeared up the stairs, Rachel turned to the cupboard and started on the coffee, almost squealing with delight when the tin next to the kettle turned out to contain cake and biscuits. Her eyes threatened to fill with tears—stupid hormones. But she guessed he wasn’t the type to keep cake in the cupboard, and that meant it was only there for her sake. Butterflies were still causing havoc in her tummy, and she reluctantly admitted to herself that her nerves were more about the man, today, than the baby.

Once the initial gigantic I-don’t-know-what-the-hell-is-going-to-happen-next panic had receded slightly, the day after she’d taken the pregnancy test, she’d started to think more and more about the baby growing inside her. About bringing a new life into the world, and excitement had grown and grown. Her thoughts about Leo? Still bound up with an almighty warning sign. And seeing his home, the centre of his disorder, hadn’t helped. She rubbed her belly, thinking soothing thoughts, not wanting to inflict her worries on her baby. It seemed important already that she didn’t allow her concerns to become his, or hers. Not as her parents had with her.

She turned as she heard Leo’s footsteps on the stairs, and he appeared around the curve of the staircase in clean jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair a little damp.

‘Sorry to abandon you like that. I looked in the mirror and thought I’d gone prematurely grey so I jumped in the shower to get rid of the dust.’

She smiled as she transferred coffee pot, mugs and cake to the table. ‘And here was me thinking the shock had sent you all Marie Antoinette.’

He raised an eyebrow, questioning.

‘Hair went white overnight? Never mind, obscure reference. Coffee and cake?’

‘Sounds good,’ Leo said, pulling out a chair and dropping into it. She watched his hands as he hacked a couple of wedges of cake, impressed and wondering whether she now had a pregnancy get-out clause when it came to denying her sweet tooth. She pulled up the chair beside him and poured the coffee, sending him sideways glances, wondering if he was finding this sudden domesticity as strange as she was. Bizarre, she thought. That she could find something so ordinary as coffee and cake new and nerve-racking when they were already somehow a family.

Rachel sipped the coffee and flinched when it scalded her lips. But it was worth it for the familiar caffeine buzz. The smell, even the taste, made her feel more comfortable. More herself. And the act of sitting at a great big table with a hot cup of coffee was all she needed to get her brain in gear, and have her reaching for her tablet. She grabbed her handbag, which she’d left propped by the chair, and pulled out all the plans she’d made since she’d first read Pregnant on that test. They had a lot to discuss, and it made sense to start work, she thought. She pulled herself up slightly on the word work; technically this was personal. But her—their—new life was going to take so much organising that it might as well be work. It was easier to think of it that way. To slot Leo and their child and all the changes they represented into her life as she would any other project. Because what was the alternative—chucking out everything she thought she knew and starting again?

But when she’d spread out her tablet and binders and looked up, she found Leo staring at her, a grimace on his face. She faltered slightly at the hard lines of his brows. The white knuckles of his fists.

‘What are they?’ The words were forced through his teeth, none too friendly. She glanced down—a little confused about how this had caused so much hostility. It wasn’t as if he even knew what her plans contained. He’d gone white even at the thought of them.

‘It’s a tablet.’ She spoke slowly, treading carefully in light of his sudden shift in mood. Not wanting to upset things further. ‘And some charts. I had a few ideas about how we’re going to make this work. I thought you might want to talk them through.’

‘Oh, you did?’ He took a long sip of his coffee—diversionary tactic, she guessed. ‘And here was me thinking you were about to present me with a finished plan.’ She dropped her eyes and felt her cheeks warm—it had never occurred to her to wait until she’d spoken to him before drawing up their options. But now they were laid out in front of her, and Leo was so obviously fighting to keep his annoyance under control, she could see that he was right.

‘Did you just expect me to go along with everything you’d decided?’

Well, it wasn’t as if he’d made any suggestions—it had been all down to her.

But when could he have contributed? She’d not seen him since they’d found out the news; she hadn’t given him a chance. ‘I’m sorry. I should have spoken to you first.’ Her plans were good, though, thorough. They covered myriad scenarios with timetables, budgets and schedules. And of course Leo had a say. But she was the one carrying the baby. She was the one who would have to take time off for the birth. She was the one who would have to decide whether, and how, she could return to work.

She was the one who would have to put what little she recognised of her life back together after the baby was born.

And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t considered what Leo wanted. She’d given him plenty of options, with his involvement ranging from full-time parenting to ‘financial contribution only’. Even—though nothing she’d seen of Leo so far told her that she’d need it—a ‘no involvement’ plan.

‘I thought we were going to have a coffee.’ Leo’s tone was still harsh, and he gripped his mug as if struggling to keep his temper.

‘Can’t we drink and talk?’

‘Sure, we can drink and talk. But that’s not what you’re suggesting. You want to drink and work.’

He was beyond tense now, and heading directly for angry. His body language was defensive, closed, and she could see from the lines of fear on his face that she’d stumbled into deeper waters than she’d thought. He wasn’t just angry at her for doing this without him. Her temper had lit in response to his, but she forced it down, trying to keep neutral. Trying to understand what had him so wary. If she blew up, too, they’d never talk this through.

‘We don’t have to do this all today. But I’d like to make a start, if we can. We’ve got quite a lot to get through—’

‘Get through?’ He slammed his mug onto the table, and hot coffee spilled onto the wood, creeping towards her papers. She pulled them back, eyeing Leo, suddenly realising she’d completely underestimated how badly she’d read him, how much distance there was between them. How impossible it was going to be to create a family out of this mess. ‘I’m not a project, Rachel. I’m not a client or a boss or someone you’re giving a presentation to. This isn’t going to be solved over a working lunch and a follow-up email.’

‘But—’

‘No!’

Rachel set her cup down slowly, willing herself to remain calm in the face of his raw emotion, wishing she could understand what was making him react this way. She hadn’t expected this to be easy, but she hadn’t expected such vehement opposition, either. She shut her eyes and counted to ten, hoping that when she opened them again Leo would’ve lost the frightened, cornered, angry look that twisted his features—usually so effortlessly sexy—into something ugly.

She looked up. He had calmed a little, the redness draining from his face, but there were still deep creases between his brows, and his mouth was set in a harsh line.

‘I’m sorry, but I cannot have your plan dictated to me and just go along with it.’ The clipped consonants and snappy vowels gave away the effort that near-civility was costing him. ‘I know you need this. I know you want everything decided, booked, settled. But it’s not just you now. Can’t you see that?’ He could see it, and he didn’t know how to get away from it. ‘If we decide something, we have to do it together. I will not let you plan and schedule and itemise my life just because I happened to get you pregnant. That doesn’t give you the right to come in here and tell me how it’s going to be.’

‘I’ve given you choices...options.’ Finally she couldn’t keep the anger from her own voice. With the venom contained in his, it didn’t seem optional—it was a necessity. A way to fend off his biting accusations.

‘You don’t get to give me anything. That’s not how together works.’

‘What’s made you so scared?’ she asked. ‘Tell me why my having a plan freaks you out. Because as far as I can see, with us barely knowing each other, and living hours apart, and having an actual baby together, some idea of how we’re going to cope seems like a good idea. So why is it you blanch, pretty much start shaking and bite my head off?’

He scraped his chair backwards, leaving a good couple of feet between him and the table, the space acting like a force field around him. ‘I can’t do it like this, Rachel. I won’t. I can’t sit here, backed into a corner with no way out of what you’ve decided for us. I won’t be trapped.’

And with that he headed straight out of the door, leaving her sitting at the kitchen table wondering what the hell had just happened. Her heart was hammering in her chest, tears pricked at her eyes, and her fingers shook slightly when she reached for a cloth to mop up the spilled coffee.

How had they got here? They’d gone from almost kissing when she’d arrived to the point where they couldn’t be in the same room together.

And now she was scared—because nothing he had said or done made her believe that he was in any way glad about the fact they were having a baby. In the days since she’d found out she was expecting, she’d started to look forward to being a parent. Feel joy at the prospect of meeting the new life they had created. Of course there was an enormous dose of full-body-paralysis fear, not least when she tried to think about how she could possibly spend the next eighteen—or eighty—years trying to maintain some sort of contact with Leo.

The thought of having to live with the disorder and randomness that Leo so clearly needed threated to bring on another panic attack. But when he had headed for the door just now, her stomach had dropped and her heart had felt as if it had stopped. She had been filled with an overwhelming dread that he might not come back. That he was leaving her to have this baby alone. She knew that she could do it if she had to. But in the second that she thought that Leo might be walking away, she wanted him by her side. Chaos and all. They had made this new life together, and she wanted to find a way for them to be a family.

She cleared away a few pieces from the table—for no reason other than that she didn’t want to be just sitting waiting for him when he got back. So when she heard his footsteps at the door, she had her back to him, running something under the tap and holding her breath.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said eventually, in a shaky voice redolent of raw emotion.

She stared into the sink a little longer, gathering her thoughts, and fighting down the swell of tears that seemed to be climbing her throat. She couldn’t account for them, couldn’t reason why the croak of his voice made hers swell with sympathy.

‘I’m sorry, too.’ She turned off the tap and slumped back against the sink, relief washing through her. ‘I shouldn’t have made those plans without you.’

‘And I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I’m genuinely sorry. But there are some things we need to talk about if we’re going to make this work. I know you like to have everything all worked out, but I can’t do that.’

‘So what am I meant to do? Just wait and see if you turn up at my office again?’ She tried to laugh, to pretend she could live like that, but it sounded hollow even to her.

‘Would that be so bad? I’d make sure I was there when you—when the baby—needed me. Does everything need to be planned months in advance?’

Her spine straightened again; Leo’s presence was seemingly anathema to serenity. ‘And is that what I should tell my doctor? Oh, I’ll definitely come along at some point. An appointment? No. I’ll just arrive when I’m ready.’

‘And what about the baby—is he allowed to arrive when he’s ready, or are you going to hold him to whatever due date the doctors pull out of the air? I hope for his sake he isn’t late.’

She was about to snap back, when her train of thought faltered and her voice failed. ‘Wait, he?’ she asked, with the beginnings of a smile tweaking her lips. ‘Who says it’s a boy?’

His face softened, and for the first time she saw the hard expression around his eyes ease, and his usual humorous glint return. She found she was relieved to see it, had been worried for a few moments that she and the baby had caused its disappearance to become permanent. It had been his determination to make her laugh that had drawn them together that first night, and she was worried that without that humour between them the very foundations they were working on were unsteady.

‘I don’t know. In my head, when I think about how things will be, I just always see a boy.’

‘You’ve thought about it?’

His eyes bugged.

‘Have I thought about it? What else am I meant to think about? Have you thought about anything else?’

‘No,’ she admitted. ‘So what do you?’

He raised an eyebrow by way of a question. ‘What do I...?’

‘What do you think, when you think about it?’

He crossed to the table and dropped into a seat, reaching for his abandoned cup of coffee. A smile was creeping across her face at the sight of the hint of a grin on his. He thought about their baby. The knowledge glowed inside her. ‘I don’t know. Just flashes of things, I suppose.’

‘Good things?’

‘Mostly.’ They shared a long look, mutual happiness turning both their mouths up like a mirror. But they couldn’t leave it there. If they wanted this to work, they had to dig deeper than that. Learn to trust one another.

‘And the bad?’ she asked.

‘This.’ He motioned towards her colour-coded papers. ‘This is pretty much every bad thing I’ve imagined since Wednesday afternoon. I want you to know, Rachel, that I’m here for you and for the baby. But I will not do this entirely on your terms. We’re both going to have to compromise.’

‘And the first thing that’s got to go is any attempt at a plan?’ She couldn’t help her defensiveness—he was threatening the only thing that was keeping her in any way connected to sanity.

‘This plan? Yes. We didn’t discuss a single thing before you made it. Of course it has to go.’

She felt a wave of nausea as she realised what he was saying. Every plan she had made in the past few days. All the words and the numbers and the tidy tick-boxes that had soothed her mind—were going to be thrown out. Already panic was making the edges of her thoughts fuzzy, and that wave of nausea was starting to feel more like a tsunami. With a shock, she realised it was more than just nausea. She must have looked pretty green, because as her hand flew to her mouth Leo was already by her side, grabbing her free hand and pulling her to the stairs.

CHAPTER FIVE

LEO LEANED AGAINST the landing wall, trying not to hear the noises emanating from the bathroom, and wondering whether he was relieved or annoyed that Rachel had so easily brushed away his offer of help and slammed the bathroom door shut with him on the outside. Not that it sounded a particularly appealing place to be right now, but the knowledge that she was perfectly happy doing this alone—was happier doing it alone—made his chest uncomfortable. Because at the moment, it felt as if any involvement in his child’s life depended entirely on this woman’s opinion of him, and was entirely on her terms. He’d been terrified, was still terrified, when she’d told him that she was pregnant; but the thought of his child out there in the world not even knowing him was more frightening still.

He’d have to apologise for snapping at her like that. Losing his cool definitely didn’t help him get what he needed—but he had to get her to see his point, and to agree with it. Of course there were parts of this situation that he couldn’t avoid planning in advance—he was perfectly prepared to understand that a doctor’s appointment had to be made for a particular time. And though the thought of those appointments stretching out for years in the future didn’t do brilliant things to him, it didn’t fill him with the same queasy dread he’d felt when he’d glimpsed the plan she’d drawn up. Just the headings told him he was in trouble. Timing. Finance. Schooling. Schooling? He didn’t even know when the baby was due, and they were talking schooling already? Did she even know yet when it was due? Had she been to the doctor? Probably things he would know already if he hadn’t walked out on her. The bathroom had gone quiet, and he leaned back against the door.

‘Rachel?’ he shouted through the wood. ‘All okay in there?’

‘Fine,’ she replied and he could hear tears in her voice. Was that the sickness or something else?

‘Can I get you anything?’

‘No, I’m fine. I just need to catch my breath.’

He heard her lean back against the door, and he followed her down, until the old oak was supporting them both.

‘Then can I ask you a question?’

He took the mumble he could hear as a yes.

‘Tell me about the plans. Why do you need them? Help me understand.’

He held his breath, hoping that she would trust him. See that he was reaching out to her, and wanting her to reach back. He needed to understand her. To try and find out how they were going to manage to get along, now that they were tied together.

‘I don’t need them. I just like to have an idea of what’s going on. What’s wrong with that?’

‘There’d be nothing wrong with that. But that’s not how you felt downstairs just now, was it?’

He listened through the door, wishing he could see her face, wishing he could at least see her expression. Just as he was giving up hope that she would ever speak...

‘It makes me feel safe.’

He was almost tempted to laugh at that, the quirk of fate that had brought him together with a woman who could only feel safe if he felt bone-chillingly terrified. Instead he heard the trepidation in her voice, the hint of tears. He wanted to break down the door, wrap his arms around her and tell her that they would be okay. Or, failing that, tease and kiss her until the tension left her shoulders, until her limbs were heavy and languid, wrapped around him. Instead, he asked another question, hoping that the pain now would be worth it eventually.

‘Why?’

He pressed his head back against the solid wood of the door, wondering if she could feel how close he was. Whether she wanted him closer, the way he wanted her.

The memories of the night they had spent together had often played on his mind in the weeks after. Flashbacks, scents, snatches of songs all reminded him of the hours they’d spent wrapped around each other. And he couldn’t deny that these memories had something to do with why he’d been so keen to meet with Will and discuss the idea he’d had—to create a sculpture for the Julia House charity. They could keep it in the grounds, or auction it for money. Whatever they thought would benefit their patients most. He’d floated a couple of ideas to Will the night of the fundraiser—always with half an eye for whether Will’s assistant would take an interest in the conversation.

Then after he’d left Rachel at the station, the momentary relief he’d felt as his train had pulled away had faded quickly, leaving him dissatisfied, feeling as if he’d missed an opportunity. Maybe he’d been too hasty running from her then, he’d thought as he’d made the phone call to Will. Maybe they could have had a few more nights like the previous one before they inevitably went their separate ways. As he’d taken the train up to London, he’d let himself imagine how she’d react to seeing him again. And then a little longer thinking of everything they could get up to if she was of the same mind.

The shock of a baby in the works had seemingly done nothing to quell his fierce imagination.

He jumped up at the turning of the lock and was brushing off his jeans when the door opened and Rachel appeared, looking a little pale. ‘Morning sickness, I guess,’ she said as she walked out. He nodded as if he understood, but beyond the fact that he knew pregnant women were sick sometimes he was pretty much clueless. For a start, shouldn’t it happen in the morning? He didn’t know the exact time—he hadn’t worn a watch since he was a kid. It was probably past eleven when he left his workshop. And he’d laid floorboards and half carried a pregnant woman up a flight of stairs since then. It was definitely well past morning.

‘Sorry, it took me by surprise. It’s not happened before,’ she continued, as clipped and professional as if he’d called by her office. He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her face up to him.

‘I borrowed your toothbrush,’ she blurted, and he guessed from the rosy blush of her cheeks she’d not meant to confess. He laughed, the re-emergence of her human side relaxing him.

‘No worries.’ He smiled at her. ‘I think we’re a little past worrying about a shared toothbrush.’ He was gratified by her small smile, but a little uneasy at how his own insides relaxed at the sight of it.

‘So what now?’ she asked as they hovered on the landing. She looked lost, smaller somehow, as if she was losing a grip on what it was that allowed her to present her usual polished, professional, vibrant face to the world. He knew what she was missing—her plan—but he couldn’t bring himself to look at it yet. Not even for her. But he could offer her a distraction, a plan for the next hour or so. He hoped it would be enough.

‘What about a walk on the beach? An ice cream and fish and chips—if you’re hungry.’

She nodded and he remembered the night they met, when he’d heard the clear chime of her laugh and seen it as a challenge to get her to make that sound as many times as he could. The prospect seemed a distant one right now. But he’d made a connection with her before. Felt her relax in his arms. If they could do that again, find the connection that had strung between them that night and held strong until the next morning.

‘A walk and an ice cream,’ she repeated. ‘I think I can manage that. I just need to change. Where...?’ She glanced around the landing and he felt a stirring heat inside him. He wanted to curse the gentlemanly instinct that had made him tell her that he had a spare room, and had him working through the night for the past couple of days to get it ready for her. Even if it meant that he was sleeping on a mattress on bare floorboards.

He shook away the tempting image of sharing a room with her, and concentrated on their maintaining civility for the time being. That they couldn’t even make it through a cup of coffee without fighting had shown him all too clearly how fragile this relationship was—how easily it could fall apart around them. He’d had no ulterior motive in inviting Rachel to come and stay. He really did want to get to know her better. Now he was starting to realise that he’d been hoping to get her to do things his way. To show her his way of life and hope that she would want it. This had shown him how precarious their situation was.

He pushed open the door to the guest room and stood back to let her past him. ‘This is yours,’ he said, even as he was turning away. He tried to brush past her—suddenly unable to think of being alone in a bedroom with her, and cursed the narrow doorway as he found himself pressed against her. He dropped his hands to her hips as he attempted to get by, but kept his eyes on their feet—determined not to be drawn in, not yet.

But the press of her body was electric against his, and her hair beneath his face smelt fresh and fruity. On impulse he lifted a lock of it, twisting it around his fingers. Rachel’s eyes snapped up to his, and for a long moment their gazes held. All sensible considerations threatened to fall away in the onslaught of her body on his senses. But he couldn’t give in to it. Couldn’t lose sight of all the reasons getting any more involved with her was an impossibility. Dropping her hair, and pulling his eyes away, he jogged down the stairs and leaned back against the wall as he reached the kitchen. It was starting to look as if his bright idea had been a huge mistake.

He returned upstairs with her suitcase and a glass of water. Reaching out to knock on the open door, he caught sight of Rachel, silhouetted by the window, looking out over the water. The light was catching her hair, highlighting every shade of chocolate and chestnut, and a subtle smile turned the corners of her lips. She looked almost dreamy, and at that moment he would have given just about anything to know what she was thinking. But his foot hit a creaky floorboard, and she turned around, her relaxed expression replaced by something more guarded.

‘This is beautiful,’ she said, glancing round the room as she took in the furniture he’d found, sanded, painted and waxed. The light he’d sculpted from a block of driftwood, and the seascapes painted by a local artist friend, mounted in frames he’d made in his workshop. But her eyes hovered on the evidence of his labour only briefly. Because they were drawn inexorably to the window, and out over the water. The window itself was an exercise in love and commitment. The product of arguments with planning authorities, and then wrestling with metres-long expanses of timber and glass, all to create this huge, unbroken picture of the sea. It was calm today, just a few white-crested waves breaking up the expanse of ever-shifting blue-green.

If he’d known beforehand, though, what it would have taken to get the thing finished—the hearings and the plans, and the revised plans and rescheduled hearings—he wasn’t sure that he could have started.

He handed Rachel the glass of water, and his gaze rested on her face rather than being drawn out to sea. Her eyelashes were long and soft, and brushed the skin beneath her eyes when she blinked. There were faint shadows there, he realised. He wondered whether they were new, or whether he’d just not seen them before. But he was struck by a protective instinct, the desire to look after her, ensure she was sleeping. Her hair had been pulled back into a loose tail—a style that owed more to her morning sickness than anything else, he guessed. The navy dress she wore wouldn’t have been out of place among the stiff suits at her office. His eyes finally dropped to her belly—still as flat as he remembered it, but where her child, their child, was growing. It seemed almost impossible that a whole life could be growing with no outward sign.

She turned, and must have caught the direction of his gaze, because her hands dropped to her tummy. She spread her fingers and palms, stretching the fabric flat against her, and then looked up and caught his eye.

‘Nothing to see yet,’ she said with a small, cautious smile. ‘It’ll be a couple more months before I start to show.’ He nodded again, as if he had the faintest clue about any of this. As if at the sight of her hands on her belly he wasn’t remembering the last time he’d seen her fingers spread across her skin like that. He held her gaze, wondering if she remembered, too. But she gave a little start, pulling back her shoulders and straightening her posture—leaving him in no way uncertain that if she was remembering, she wasn’t too happy about it.

‘I’ll see you downstairs,’ he said, giving her the space her expression told him she needed.

CHAPTER SIX

AS THEY STROLLED along the beach, Rachel felt the tension of the past few hours draining from her limbs, being replaced by the gentle warm glow of summer sunshine. They’d walked down the coastal path from the cottage, barely exchanging a word, but somehow the silence felt companionable, rather than awkward. She was taken aback, as she had been at the window upstairs, by the beauty of Leo’s home. It perched on a cliff above the beach, and even with the tarpaulin for a roof, and the building materials dumped in the yard, the way it nestled into the rock and sand, shutters on the outside of the window, even the way the front door reflected the colour of the sea all helped it look as if it were a natural part of the landscape, as if it had emerged from the Jurassic rocks fully formed and—almost—habitable.

With the sun warming her hair, and the gentle exercise distracting her from the slight queasiness still troubling her stomach, she reached a decision. They were never going to be able to be friends if they didn’t understand each other. Leo had asked her a question, one she’d avoided answering up till now, but he wanted to know why she needed a plan so badly, and if she was to stand any chance of him cooperating with it, then she at least had to expect to tell him why.

‘You asked me why I need a plan,’ she said, as they stopped momentarily to step over a pool of spray that had gathered on the rocks.

‘To feel safe, you said.’

She nodded, wondering how she could explain, where to start.

‘When I was fourteen, my parents left me home alone while they went out. It wasn’t anything special, just cinema and dinner, I think. I’d gone to bed, but woke up when I heard a noise from my dad’s study. I went downstairs and disturbed a burglar.’

Leo had stopped on the sand, and turned to face her. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, his face lined with genuine concern. ‘That must have been awful for you.’

‘I got a nasty bump to the head—he lashed out as he tried to get away—but I recovered pretty quickly. Not that you would have believed that if you’d listened to my parents.’

She dropped to her bottom in the sand, shielding her eyes from the sun and looking out over the water.

‘They blamed themselves,’ she explained. ‘Thought that they never should have left me, that I’d been in huge amounts of danger and that I’d been lucky to survive.’

‘They must have been so relieved that you hadn’t been more seriously hurt.’

She shook her head, trying not to get drawn back into the suffocating anxiety her parents had forced on her.

‘It never felt that way. They spent so much time concentrating on all the terrible things that could have happened, it got harder and harder to remember.’ She fell quiet as she watched the waves, and glanced up a couple of times, following the path of the seagulls above the water. The sand was warm beneath her thighs, and she turned her face to the sun, letting the rays soak into her skin. Because she’d still not got to the difficult bit.

It had never occurred to her before that her planning might be a problem. That her need to know when and how the events in her life would unfold had become something that held her back, rather than helped her. It wasn’t until she’d seen the revulsion in Leo’s face when he’d glimpsed her plan that she’d realised how others might see her, how far from ‘normal’ her life had become. But it didn’t really matter what anyone else thought about it. Even when that person was the father of her child, because she didn’t know how to live any differently.

‘I understand it must have been a difficult time...’ Leo had dropped to the sand beside her, looking out over the water, as she was, so she didn’t have to worry about his intensely blue eyes following every emotion that fluttered across her face. She wanted him to understand, because she wanted, needed, them to be friends. So she fought away the instinct to hide what had happened next, to protect herself and her family, by skirting around the behaviour that had locked them all into their fears.

‘It was, but what happened next was harder.’ It was the first time she’d admitted that. That the love and care that her parents had shown her in the weeks after the burglary had been more difficult to cope with than the initial trauma.

‘My parents wouldn’t let me out of the house.’ She really hadn’t meant for that to sound so dramatic. And she knew from the way that Leo had turned sharply to look at her that he’d misunderstood. ‘They didn’t lock me in or anything,’ she clarified quickly, imagining a bevy of policemen or social workers or other officials turning up on her parents’ doorstep and accusing them of crimes they’d never committed. ‘They were just worried about me, and they liked to know where I was. They became anxious if I was out of the house too long, so I was never allowed to friends’ houses or after-school clubs—I didn’t really have any hobbies outside of home.’

‘I still don’t see what this has to do with the plan you presented this morning,’ Leo said. His voice was soft, and his hand twitched in the sand, as if he wanted to reach for her. For a moment, she wished that he would. That he would thread his fingers with hers. Somehow she thought that it might be easier, to draw on his strength, to face her past together. Ridiculous, she told herself. They had only known each other a few weeks. Had really spent only a few waking hours together. There was no reason she should feel stronger just for having him there. But she couldn’t deny how that twitch of his hand had affected her, how much she wished for the contact.

‘I’ll get to it, I will. It’s just all tied up with everything else. I don’t know how to tell you just that, if you see what I mean.’ She turned to look at him and he nodded. ‘I was still in school, they at least thought that I could be safe there, but I could see how much I was missing. I was losing touch with my friends, having to go straight home every night while they were meeting in parks and shopping centres and fast-food places. I was lonely, and I knew that things couldn’t carry on as they were, with me speaking to no one outside school but my parents. So I negotiated a system. I would be allowed out with my classmates and friends if I provided my parents with a schedule of where I would be and when. They would have the landline numbers of anywhere I would be so that they could call and check I was really there. I had a mobile as well, of course, so that they could always get hold of me.

‘If I was going out at the weekend, I’d plot out exactly what I’d be doing and when, give the itinerary to my parents, and then stick to it like my life depended on it. If they called and I wasn’t where I was supposed to be, I knew that all hell could break loose. It wasn’t just that they’d ground me—I knew that they would be terrified. And much as I didn’t agree with the way they were wrapping me in cotton wool, I knew that they were only doing it because they loved me. Everything they did was because they were terrified of me getting hurt and they only wanted the best for me. I would never do anything that would upset them. They’d been through enough. Or felt that they had, at least. I didn’t want to add to it.’

‘So how long did it take?’

She looked at Leo in confusion.

‘How long did what take?’

‘Until it rubbed off. Until you started to believe that the schedule kept you safe, the same way your parents did.’

She started a little, surprised that he’d understood so clearly.

‘Well, my friends all thought it was a little odd, that I had to be where I had to be and exactly on time. But when I was living at home, it wasn’t easy to see where my parents’ need ended and mine started. It wasn’t until I went to university full of ideas of living on the edge, of being spontaneous and pleasing no one but myself, that I realised that I needed the schedule as much as they had.’

‘Leaving home. I guess that was hard on you all.’

‘It was. Painfully so. I had no idea before I left just how hard it would be. I’d known all along that it would be for them. But I could also see how strong the apron strings were, how they would get harder to break as I got older. So I managed to convince them that I had to have a normal life. And I was eighteen—there was nothing much they could do about it anyway. I think perhaps they worried that if they didn’t let me go, I’d take myself off and they might lose contact with me. If I went with their blessing, I was more likely to keep in touch.’

‘So how was it?’ Leo’s voice was still low, gentle, but probing. Encouraging her to share, leaving her nowhere to hide her secrets.

She let out a long, slow breath as she remembered those first few weeks, when she’d clung to her class schedule and the fresher’s week itinerary as if they were a lifeline.

‘Hard. Really hard. I didn’t know anyone, and my teen years had been pretty sheltered. The only way I knew how to cope with the confusion, the novelty of it all, was to make a plan and stick to it. So I mapped out the weeks and the months. Looked ahead to the career that I wanted and the life that I wanted, and started filling in the days in my calendar. Fast forward a decade or so, and 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. Enough of a plan for you to feel comfortable and enough flexibility that it doesn’t feel like a prison to me.’ 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 leant 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.

‘Good, because I’m starving, and I’m guessing after your spell in the bathroom you could use a big portion of fish and chips. What do you say?’

‘I say you’re a mind-reader. Where’s good?’

Leo pushed to his feet and reached down to help her up. As she felt her hand disappear between his huge, roughened palms, her body shuddered. Pulled to her feet, she realised that—without her heels—Leo towered over her. He’d pulled her up to him, and now she was probably standing a little too close. She should take a step back, she thought. But seeing Leo here, there was something hypnotising about it. Until now, she’d only ever seen him in her world: her party, her flat, her work. Here, by his home, surrounded by the beach and the sea that he loved so much, it added an extra dimension of sexy. It brought out the gold shining in his hair, made his slightly wind-chapped cheeks more attractive, like a good wine bringing out the flavours in food.

The wind had caught her hair, and was playing it around her temples, tickling at her face. She was reaching up to tame it when Leo caught it and tucked it behind her ear. His hand rested there, and for a moment Rachel was more than tempted to turn her face into his palm, to press her skin against his, to re-find the pleasure of that night. But she held her breath and stepped away. There was too much at risk; she could get too hurt. They needed to be friends and there was no surer way to ruin a friendship than a disastrous romance.

His eyes lingered on hers for a moment as she moved back, and his expression told her he knew exactly what she had felt between them just now, told her exactly what had been on offer, had she wanted it. And that he knew she’d deliberately stepped back from it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

LEO SAT LISTENING to the kettle coming to the boil, wondering whether he should wake Rachel. After a long walk down the beach yesterday afternoon, and a portion of fish and chips for dinner, she’d crashed almost as soon as they’d arrived back at the house. And had been asleep more than twelve hours. He wondered whether she’d been working too hard. Weren’t pregnant women meant to take things easy? Perhaps she’d been overdoing it. Should he say something?

But what right did he have to even ask her that? Did the fact that she was carrying his child give him a right to question what she was doing? He shook his head. There were still so many things they hadn’t discussed. But discussing meant deciding. And deciding meant getting it in writing, laminating and deviating only on the point of death.

He made a coffee and decided to leave her. She’d wake when she was ready. And maybe he could subtly ask her later whether she thought she should be taking things easier. He really needed to know more about pregnancy, about babies. He’d never given any thought to starting a family; it had always seemed a distant, uncertain thing. And he’d never imagined he’d be facing it with someone he barely knew. Perhaps he could ask his mum these questions. He’d have to tell her. And his dad, too.

He gave a shudder as he acknowledged what he’d been trying to ignore since he’d first found out about the baby. He’d have to see his family. His brother. He’d avoided him for years, had barely seen him since he’d left school. He knew that he was hurting his parents, that they despaired of ever seeing their family all together again. But what else could he do—sit down to a happy family dinner with him? The man who had made his life miserable—who had led the school bullies. So miserable that when he’d left school, escaped them, he’d sworn that he’d never again find himself in a situation he didn’t like without an escape route. Which was why the news that Rachel was pregnant had terrified him. Because if there was any situation more impossible to escape than this one, he didn’t want to know about it.

She would want to make a start on that plan this morning. Even when she’d been falling-over tired last night she’d mentioned wanting to do it. It was only the interruption of an enormous yawn that had made her listen to him and finally take herself off to bed—and a promise that they could talk about it today.

He only knew one thing for certain—no child of his would be subjected to the experience he’d had. He wanted a better life for him, or her.

What were the other headings in Rachel’s magnum opus? Finance? She obviously knew—or thought she knew—that he was well off. After all, he’d made the generous donation she’d not so subtly hinted at the night of the fundraiser. But that was family money, not his. He’d always been happy to send his trust-fund proceeds the way of those who really needed them—but had never used it for himself.

He’d seen the damage done when people inherited money without responsibility. Stick a load of those with an inflated sense of self-worth together, with insufficient supervision, and you had a recipe for disaster—and emotional torture in his case. If Rachel thought that she’d found herself a meal ticket she would be sadly disappointed. But he didn’t really think that was what she was interested in.

Creaking floorboards upstairs told him that she was awake. He gave a start, half pleased at the thought of seeing her, half dreading the discussion he knew would inevitably come. Remembering the hour she’d spent in the bathroom the night he’d stayed at her flat, he expected a little more grace before he had to face her, but then he heard her footsteps on the stairs.

For half a second, he wondered if he’d be treated to the sight of her in some sort of skimpy nightwear. The sight of her perfectly prim jeans and soft sweater reminded him she’d come here prepared for a business meeting. At least she wasn’t clutching her tablet. In fact, he couldn’t even see her phone on her. Though looking for it gave him a brilliant excuse for thoroughly checking out the pockets of her jeans.

‘Morning,’ he said, standing up from the table. Once he was on his feet, he wasn’t sure why he had done it, except that it seemed impossible not to react to her, not to want to get close. ‘Can I get you anything?’

He bit his tongue to stop the flood of questions filling his mouth. She had more colour in her cheeks than she had the previous afternoon, but he was still worried. As he reached her side, he rested a gentle hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. ‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked, looking for any sign that she wasn’t completely recovered from yesterday. An overwhelming need to protect her swept over him, and the hand on her shoulder slipped to her waist, pulling her closer. Once her body was near enough that he felt her magnetic pull, all thoughts of protecting her flew out of his mind, and were replaced with something hotter, more urgent. He pulled the arm around her waist tight, and dipped his head. His eyes were already closing as his body remembered the feel of hers, as his lips tingled with remembered sensation.

And then he was cold, his body left bereft as Rachel turned and pulled away until his arms were empty.

‘I’ll make the coffee,’ she said, the shake in her voice at least showing that she wasn’t completely immune to him. ‘And I could murder some carbs. What is there for breakfast?’

He pulled his brain back to the real world, the one where they weren’t a lust-filled couple shacked up together for a fun weekend. To the world where an ill-thought-through night had led to a baby, a lifetime of commitment, and he was momentarily glad that her self-control had outwitted his libido. ‘Toast? Cereal?’ He tried to keep his voice level, to take her cue and pretend that his clumsy attempt at a kiss hadn’t happened. But he couldn’t forget it, couldn’t forget how it felt to be fractions of a second from bliss, and then left cold and wanting her.

She nodded, her body stiff, her smile a little forced. He threw bread into the toaster, dug around in the cupboard and put together a carb-loaded platter: muffins, crumpets, toast and cereal, anything to keep mind and body busy and away from her. They feasted on the breads, slathered in honey and jam, and conversation eventually started to flow between them almost as smooth.

He remembered the challenge he’d set himself that night. The way the sound of her laugh had so entranced him he was determined to make it happen again and again. The effect hadn’t worn off. Every smile and chuckle became a challenge to make it grow. He felt himself relax as she slouched a little more in her chair, as her words flowed easy and her smiles grew. Every chime of her laughter swelled a light in his chest, something primal and basic, something he couldn’t control, or make himself want to.

As they finished up with breakfast, he was tempted to hold his breath, to hold on to these moments of happiness, because something told him that this was borrowed contentment. That it wasn’t real. Maybe this was in her plan all along, softening him up before she started. No need to spook him by hitting him with talk about the plan the minute she was up. Instead she lulled him into a false sense of security, waiting until he entered a food coma until she made her move. With the prospect of having to make some sort of plan on the horizon, he couldn’t see what was real and what was his fear manifesting as paranoia.

She was fidgeting as they cleared the table, clearly getting more and more uncomfortable. There was tension in her shoulders and a tightness in her muscles that he didn’t like. And he knew the only thing that would get rid of it. She was still flailing after he’d ripped up her plan. Writing a new one would ease her worries, make her feel safe.

Of course he’d discovered one other way of finding the relaxed, happy, free Rachel. And he knew which of the two—drawing up a schedule for the rest of his life, or a long, languorous morning of lovemaking—he would prefer.

But he also knew which of the two Rachel needed today. So he swallowed the very tempting suggestion and did what he hoped was the right thing. ‘I think we should take a look at this plan.’ He ran his hands through his hair and left them at the back of his head. He supposed he was hoping for ‘oh, we don’t have to do that now,’ or, ‘maybe we could leave it for a bit’. Though of course what he actually got was a sigh of relief, a smile and darting glances at the stairs. ‘Grab whatever you need,’ he said, suddenly feeling distant and uncomfortable around her, with her need for control—and his fear of it—sitting between them like a threat. ‘I’ll make some more coffee.’

She hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Do you have any decaf?’

‘Sorry, I didn’t think.’

He leaned back against the kitchen counter as she went upstairs. Decaf? Another pregnancy thing, he assumed. Just one more part of this whole situation he was completely clueless about. Every good feeling he’d had when they’d shared breakfast had abandoned him, and even the house seemed darker and colder this side of the meal. Rachel re-emerged from the stairs a few moments later, clutching her bound-up papers, a notebook and her tablet.

‘Old-fashioned or new-fangled?’ she asked as she sat neatly at the table and set everything out in front of her. Death by fire or water? What did it matter?

But the smile had returned to her lips, her arms hung loosely at her sides, and she had lost the drawn, haunted look that told of a frightened woman.

‘You choose.’ He tried to keep the weighty, quavery feeling fluttering in his belly out of his voice. ‘You’re the expert here.’ He hoped it didn’t sound snarky. He didn’t mean it to. Didn’t mean to blame her for how uncomfortable he was. It didn’t make sense to be angry at her for the situation they found themselves in. It wasn’t her fault they were pregnant. It wasn’t her fault that the way she wanted to live her life was the opposite of his. They just had to find a way to make this work for both of them. All of them.

‘Old-fashioned, then.’ She opened the notebook out to a blank double spread and reached for her pen. He could tell she was itching to write her headings across the top of the page but seemed to be waiting for his okay to do so. ‘So...where do you want to start?’

He took a deep breath. She’d obviously spent a lot of time thinking about this. And to be honest her plan was probably as good as anything that they could come up with together. As he’d said—she was the expert here. But if he didn’t have his say now, then when would he? Would he find himself in ten years’ time on a path that she had chosen, and that he had never had any idea of where it was going? If he didn’t rein this in, if she couldn’t learn to live a little less rigidly, he’d find himself stifled and trapped. And if she couldn’t start compromising now, then he couldn’t see how this was ever going to work.

‘Perhaps we could start with the next few weeks,’ he said eventually, thinking that even he could manage with planning that far out, if he had to. ‘And anything that needs a specific date. Appointments, travel plans, that sort of thing.’

Rachel nodded and he could tell from the small smile on her face she already knew exactly how she expected the next few weeks to pan out. She probably had appointments lined up, time blocked out, and knew exactly where he should be and at what time. But she said none of this and instead waited for him to make a suggestion. At least she seemed willing to try as hard as he was to make this work.

‘Do you have any doctor’s appointments scheduled? I’m not really sure how this works but I’d like to be there if that’s what you want.’

‘I’ve an appointment with my GP in a few days. Probably won’t be much to tell at that stage, from what I’ve read. But generally they want to schedule the first scan at some point around twelve weeks.’

‘Twelve weeks?’ He raised a brow in question.

‘The twelfth week of the pregnancy. Not twelve weeks from now. Or, in fact, twelve weeks from when we...’ He smiled a little at her embarrassment. ‘The counting is weird,’ she continued, a light blush colouring her cheeks. ‘Right now I think I’m about nine weeks pregnant, even though it’s not that long since we... They count from the first day of your last...’

‘Are you going to finish a sentence today?’ He laughed at the sudden appearance of this bashfulness. ‘Or is there always going to be so much guesswork?’

‘I’m sorry. It seems stupid to be embarrassed talking about any of this when you’re the one, well, we’re the ones... Sorry.’

She laughed, too, and Leo relaxed into his chair as the tension in the air palpably lightened. What was it about her laugh that reached his spine and his heart?

‘I’m doing it again, aren’t I?’ He nodded. ‘They count from the first day of your last period, which means today is week nine of the pregnancy even though it’s not been that long since we...met. Which means they’ll want to schedule the scan for around three weeks’ time.’

‘I’d like to be there.’

‘Me, too.’ They both smiled, and he breathed a sigh of relief, glad that they’d found this common ground at last. Maybe they could do this. Maybe they could find a compromise to make them both happy. And if they did that, what next? What more could there be between them when they weren’t both terrified of what the other craved?

Rachel drew a column on the piece of paper and wrote the heading Appointments at the top; then clicked through the screen of her phone with one hand and wrote the date in the column with the other. She glanced up at him. ‘Do you want to make a note of the date?’

Or maybe they couldn’t. ‘What date? You haven’t got an appointment yet.’

‘No, but I’m sure they’ll make it that week. You could...’

‘Rachel, this is one of those times when you’re going to have to let me make a decision for myself. I’m perfectly capable of keeping in my head the fact that I will have to make some time approximately three weeks from now to attend the scan. It’s not something I’m likely to forget. Just because I’m not doing it your way doesn’t mean I’m doing something wrong.’

She concentrated hard on the page; going over and over one word with her pen until he feared the paper would dissolve. But she didn’t argue with him. The best he could hope for, for now, he supposed.

‘Okay, so that’s the appointments sorted for now. What next?’

‘I want to have the baby in London.’

‘Makes sense, considering you live there.’

‘So you’ll have to make arrangements to be up there, if you want to be around when it happens.’ He nodded, able to see the logic in that. He waited, wondering whether she’d want him to make some more definite plans, but she seemed happy—or at least reluctantly willing—to leave it at that for now. Though he did notice the way her pen ripped through the paper slightly as she wrote the next word.

‘Fine.’

‘Seems to me like we can’t really decide anything to do with dates until you’ve seen a doctor, though,’ Leo said. ‘So how about we leave that for now and move on to another part of the plan? What else is on your list that needs deciding now?’

When she didn’t reply, he looked up from where his eyes had been following her pen scoring into the paper, to find her sitting with her mouth open and a hesitant look on her face. ‘What?’

‘You’re right. We don’t need to decide everything now.’ She started to close the notebook, but Leo reached out and laid a hand across the page, trying not to notice the way that his skin tingled when it accidentally brushed against hers.

‘Something’s worrying you. Why don’t you tell me what it is?’ He tried to catch her eye, but she seemed determined not to meet his gaze. An alarm bell, deep in his belly, started ringing. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘It’s not a problem. It’s just—ʼ she took a deep breath and spat the words out ‘—I had all this worked out with scenarios, and different options and choices, and now that I’m sitting here at your kitchen table it feels weird.’

‘What? Now that I’m a real person and not just an item in your schedule? Now that I get a say?’

She nodded. ‘I am sorry. For turning up with it all finished and ready to present to you. I didn’t mean to cut you out, to tell you this is the way it has to be. I just had to see for myself how I was going to make this work. And the only way to do that was to work it all out and write it down. I can see how it must have looked, as if I was dictating the whole of the rest of your life to you. But I didn’t mean it that way.’

Her honesty eased that little knot of tension from his stomach, and he couldn’t tell her how grateful he was for this acknowledgement that maybe she didn’t have it all worked out after all. Funnily, her apology for creating the schedule in the first place made him want to help her with a replacement more than ever; he wanted to do whatever it took to make this work for them, even if it felt like seeing Exit signs being ripped down in front of him. Because what was an escape to him now? Sure, he could run. He could get far away from Rachel, throw money at the situation to keep the lawyers happy and have nothing to do with this woman and her child ever again. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

And just like that his relaxed feeling was gone. He sat a little straighter in his chair, the tension in his neck and shoulders not allowing him to lounge. There was no escape now. Nothing for it but to plough on, into whatever it was his life held for him. He couldn’t escape the facts: he was going to be a father. This woman, her plans and her notebooks, would be in his life for ever.

But not every part of his life. Rachel’s presence had become an accepted fact between that Italian lunch and her turning up here. But just because he had her in his life, didn’t mean he couldn’t keep parts of it for himself. Keep part of himself safe. So she would be the mother of his child. He couldn’t change that. But that was all she would be. He would stop these daydreams and night-time fantasies about that night. Forget the feel and taste of her lips and skin. He wouldn’t fall into a relationship with her just because she was carrying his child.

‘Let’s just get this over with,’ he said, forcing out the words. ‘We have to talk about it some time, and we’re both here now. What else did you have written down before?’

‘Well...there was one part of the plan I had trouble with,’ she admitted. ‘Without knowing your financial position it was difficult to be accurate, so I came up with a number of different scenarios.’

‘You should know, I’m not as well off as you might think.’ He wasn’t sure why he just threw the words out like that. Best defence perhaps, hoping to scare her off. Instead, he could see from her scowl that he’d offended her. He cursed under his breath. How could they misstep at every turn?

‘And how would you know what I think about your financial position?’

‘Well, we met at a fundraiser where the tickets cost two hundred quid a plate. It would be reasonable on your part to assume that I was loaded. I’m not,’ he added, watching her carefully to see her reaction. She didn’t even look surprised, never mind disappointed.

‘If you remember, I thought you were crashing. So the price of the ticket is neither here nor there.’

She was impossible to second-guess this morning, Leo realised. But nothing he’d seen so far screamed gold-digger. He was cautious of money, and those who wanted it. And he had every reason to be. He’d grown up surrounded by it, rich and miserable. When he’d turned twenty-one, and for the first time could decide for himself how much of the family money he wanted to use, he’d decided the answer was ‘none of it’.

He’d been selling his artwork since school, and when he’d left had set up a website and taken a few commissions, still trying to decide what he wanted to do with his life. When the paperwork had come through authorising his access to his trust fund, he’d decided once and for all that he didn’t want a penny of it for himself. So he’d set up donations to charities, funded a few local projects he was interested in, and left the remainder in the bank, waiting until he could decide the best place to send it.

He’d saved almost every penny he’d earned, and as the commissions for his work increased, so did the nest egg he was building up. He’d wanted to buy a home, somewhere completely his, where he could feel safe. All he could afford was this wreck, a shell of a place when they’d exchanged the contracts, but it was his, and he loved it. He worked the renovations around his commissions, and the time that he spent in his studio, so progress had been slow, but he had relished every minute of the work.

His art had gained a reputation now, and it had been a long time since he’d had to worry where that month’s mortgage payment would come from. And he could certainly support a child.

But he wouldn’t see his son or daughter grow up with the sense of entitlement—to money, to people, to anything they wanted—that he’d seen from the boys at school.

‘I’m not loaded, and I can’t give you a specific figure right now,’ he said eventually. ‘I pretty much just turn everything over to my accountant and let him worry about it. But I’ll do my bit, I can promise you that.’

* * *

Rachel reached down and pulled off her flip-flops; she threaded her fingers through the straps as she walked along the beach, swinging her arms and enjoying the feel of the sand between her toes. Well, Leo didn’t seem to be in any hurry for her to see whatever he wanted to show her, she thought, as they ambled down across the sand. The tide was out, and the beach stretched before her, flat and vast. A dark stripe of seaweed bisected the view, and as they grew closer she detected its smell—raw, salty, and not entirely pleasant. She couldn’t help but notice that Leo seemed to be getting more interested the closer they got. His eyes scanned the beach.

‘Looking for something?’

‘For anything,’ he corrected, though Rachel wasn’t any the wiser for this clarification.

‘Looking for anything.’ She spoke seriously and nodded as if this made perfect sense to her.

‘Come on, I’ll show you.’

Leo grabbed her hand and towed her the last few yards across the sand, dragging her, as far as she could tell, to the largest pile of stinking seaweed.

‘Ah, now I understand,’ she lied, looking down and laughing, still completely clueless about what they were doing here. She could hardly be expected to play detective when her hand was trapped in his. When her every nerve ending and neuron seemed intent on those few square inches of skin where their bodies were joined. ‘You love the seaweed. You think a city girl like me will be impressed by its...pungency?’

He laughed. ‘Exactly. I brought you all the way down to the coast to enjoy the finest seaweed this country has to offer. No, don’t be daft.’ He threw her another smile, and gestured to the stinking pile with their joined hands. ‘Let’s get stuck in.’ Abruptly, he dropped her hand and to his knees, before picking up a huge handful of the slimy green fronds and throwing it to one side.

She let out a bark of laughter, unable to hide her amusement at this grown man’s pleasure at rooting through rubbish. ‘And what exactly are we looking for?’ She crossed her legs and dropped beside him, gingerly picking through the nearest weeds.

‘Whatever the sea has sent us.’

She sat with the idea for a moment, trying to see if she could leave that statement as it was. If she could accept it. Nope.

‘You’re sure you’re not looking for something in particular.’

‘I’m sure. I’ve found all sorts down here. You never know what will turn up.’ He looked up and his gaze met hers. When he saw that she still didn’t understand, he rocked back on his heels. ‘If it helps you to have a bit more of a plan, look out for driftwood. Something big, rubbed smooth by the sea.’

She frowned a little. His answer had taken her by surprise, and she didn’t like the feeling. ‘What do you want it for?’

‘To make something beautiful. Something for the house, or something to sell. I’ve found all sorts out here,’ he went on—he must have seen she wasn’t yet convinced. ‘Jewellery, pottery, beautiful rocks and shells. Just have a dig around.’

Sitting on the sand, she couldn’t do more than pick through the pile directly in front of her, so she clambered up onto her knees, getting used to the feel of the weeds slipping through her fingers. She snuck a glance at Leo from the corner of her eye, still trying to see where this exercise was leading. As if there was some part of him that was a complete mystery to her. He was wandering along the line of debris, kicking it with his toes at times. Unable to see anything but weeds and the odd carrier bag, she decided to catch him up.

‘Any luck?’ he asked as she reached him.

‘Not—’ She started to speak but then a glint of something on the sand caught her eye. She dropped to a squat on her heels like a toddler and carefully pulled the glass out from under the detritus. As she cleaned it off, an antique bottle emerged in her hand. She stared at it, taken aback by the appearance of this beautiful object. Leo came to stand behind her and peered at the bottle over her shoulder.

‘Very nice.’ He reached out to take it. ‘May I?’

She handed it over and he turned it in his hands, brushing off a little more sand and scrutinising the lettering.

‘It’s been in the water a long time, I think,’ she said, just making out the figures ‘1909’ on one side. She took it back from Leo and tested its weight in her hands. ‘No message, though.’ She peered into the neck, wondering if it had once carried a slip of paper.

Energised by her find, hitting gold her first time beachcombing, she started walking again, stopping often to pull aside some stone or vegetation, offering up shells and rocks for Leo’s admiration.

Before long, she had pockets full of pretty shells, and her bottle tucked safely under her arm. She could feel the waves and the sand working their magic on her and Leo, as an easy chemistry and camaraderie grew between them. ‘Do you find a lot of stuff out here?’

‘Enough to keep me in hot meals and building materials.’ She raised an eyebrow in question, too relaxed to be frustrated by his cryptic answer. But then she’d been so...abrasive, that first time they’d met, she couldn’t blame him for being reticent about telling her about his life.

‘You know, you never really explained what you do. I know I wasn’t helping, being snippy about a trust fund and everything. I realise I got it wrong, then.’

He halted suddenly, evidently taken by surprise. When he started walking, there was something a little stiffer about his stride. ‘Not entirely wrong.’

‘But you said—’

‘I said I’m not loaded. What I didn’t tell you is that it’s out of choice.’

Her brows drew together in confusion, and she glanced at Leo, encouraging him to continue.

He sighed before starting to speak again. ‘My family has plenty of money. Pots of it, in fact. Too much. And I do have a trust fund.’ Not something that would normally cause such distress, she thought. ‘But I haven’t spent a penny of it for years.’

‘Why not?’ It was none of her business, but she could tell this was something big, for Leo. Perhaps the tip of an emotional iceberg, something he didn’t often talk about. And she wanted to know him.

‘It’s hard to explain. I want you to understand. I want you to know why I find it hard for you to pull out that plan... I’m not making life hard for the sake of it. It’s all connected.’

Her heart ached at the note of vulnerability in his voice, the pain that he was clearly hiding. And it soared a little, too, at the fact that he was sharing this with her. Opening up to her. But Leo’s shoulders had fallen forward, and a haunted look had crept over his face. She reached for his hand, refusing to acknowledge what that contact might signify, but needing him to know that she was there to support him. ‘I want to understand, Leo. Tell me anything you want.’

* * *

‘The money,’ Leo said. It seemed as good a place as any to start. He led them both away from the water, to the very edge of the beach, with the cliff creating a natural shelter around them. He sat on the warm sand, and pulled gently on Rachel’s hand until she was sitting beside him. ‘I grew up with people who had it—lots of it. Far too much. It didn’t make them happy, and it didn’t make them good. And there were people who thought I needed it, desperately...’ He paused but she didn’t say anything, just waited for him to continue. ‘I went to a very good school—and it was hell.’

He gripped her hand, and she squeezed it back. The warmth and comfort of her touch flowed from her skin to his—he couldn’t have let go of her at that moment if he’d had to. He wanted to pull her close, to bury his face in her hair and his body in hers. Forget everything about his past; ignore everything about their future. He wanted her lips on his, wanted to hear her chuckle with pleasure and sigh with satisfaction.

But he also wanted her to understand him. Wanted her to see why any hint of feeling trapped scared him so much. He needed her to know why he would never allow himself to be trapped in a relationship he couldn’t get out of. And he knew he had to tell her everything.

‘For some reason the other boys saw me as an easy—and early—target. To start with it was whispers about money. People accusing me of stealing from the other boys. Suggesting that money had gone missing from pockets and dorms. I tried to ignore it, thinking it would pass. And then they started talking about my mum. Insinuating that my “greed” ran in the family, that she was a shameless gold-digger who’d ensnared my dad for his money.

‘She’s from a different background from my dad, her family wasn’t well off and his is loaded, and she married him when he was a widow with a three-year-old. That seemed to be all the evidence the boys needed.

‘I couldn’t ignore these whispers. I started to fight back, to defend my mum and myself, and it escalated. The older boys were determined to show me that answering back would get me nowhere. It turned violent, and nasty. I hadn’t told anyone what was going on, but after a beating that left me bruised and heaving, I knew that I had to do something. My older brother—half-brother—was at school with me.’

‘Did he help?’

Leo steeled himself to answer, but found his throat was thick, and his eyes stung. Even after all this time, he still couldn’t think about what had happened without being close to tears.

‘I’m not sure I understand,’ Rachel said gently. ‘I’m sure it must have been terrible, but it was a long time ago. You left that place—’

‘Yes, and I will never go back.’

‘Of course not, Leo. You’re a grown man. No one can make you go back to school.’

He snatched his hand back, frustrated that after explaining the parts of his past that still caused the occasional nightmare, she could brush it off with ‘you don’t have to go back to school’.

‘But I had to go back then.’ The words burst out of him, just short of a roar. He’d had to go back time after time, year after year. Stuck in that place every day with the boys who hated him. Who thought up new and different ways to torture him.

‘Couldn’t you have left?’

‘You think I didn’t want that? Even when I eventually told my father what was going on he didn’t take it seriously. The bullies closed ranks when my parents spoke to the school. Told the headmaster that the bruises were from rugby. Or that I’d started a fight. They were so convincing. All the teachers fell for it. Sometimes even I found myself wondering if I was imagining it all. If I was going mad.

‘I was trapped. Every morning I’d wake up in that dorm, and knew how my torture would pan out for the day. Taunts in the bathroom during break. Starving at lunch, too scared to risk the dinner hall. A few kicks in the changing rooms after games, somewhere it wouldn’t show when I was dressed. And at night, I was locked in with them.

‘The days the school knew where I would be and when, they would know, too. And ever since—I’ve needed a way out. The thought of being trapped—’ He stopped abruptly. ‘It terrifies me, Rachel.’

‘You think I trapped you?’ Her voice was flat and sad, more disappointed than angry.

‘It doesn’t matter, does it? Whether you did or not, it doesn’t change the fact that—’

‘That you want to escape and you can’t.’

He rubbed his head in his hands, fighting against the fear to find the logic in his argument. ‘I don’t even know if I want to escape. What I would want if I wasn’t...’

‘Stuck.’

He nodded. ‘You probably think I’m a complete jerk for telling you all this.’ He felt like one. For admitting all the reasons he was terrified of what their lives were going to become.

She shook her head, though her expression was grim. ‘I don’t. I’m glad you told me how you feel. You can’t help thinking the way that you do. I just wish it were...different.’

He reached past her to pluck a small piece of driftwood from the sand. The light played on it as he turned it over, and he kept his eyes focused on that, rather than meeting Rachel’s gaze.

‘How did you cope—at school?’

He looked across at her now, surprised she wanted to know more after what he’d just told her.

‘I spent a lot of time at the beach.’

‘Surfing? Swimming?’

‘Some of the time. I was lucky in a way— the school was only a couple of miles from the coast, so I was able to spend a lot of time there. When I had to be on campus, I escaped to the art studio.’ She looked at him in surprise. For some reason, he enjoyed that, throwing off her preconceptions of him. He was even able to crack a smile at her gaping expression.

‘The art studio?’

‘Yes—I’m an artist, didn’t I mention that?’

‘An artist.’ She said the word as if it were something alien, obviously not believing him. He nodded, still playing with the driftwood as he took in her dropped jaw, her hands indignantly planted in the sand either side of her. ‘You’re an artist.’

A laugh escaped him, surprising him as much as her. ‘I’m sure I mentioned it before.’

‘And I’m certain that you didn’t. What sort of artist?’ She still hadn’t wiped the incredulity from her face and he wasn’t sure whether to be amused or annoyed that she found the idea of his occupation, vocation—whatever you wanted to call it—so laughable.

‘A successful one, thankfully. That’s what I wanted to show you this afternoon—my studio’s down here rather than up on the cliff.’

‘Right.’ She drew the syllable out, as she examined his face, looking for hints of his artistic temperament perhaps. ‘And the beachcombing, where does that fit into this?’

He breathed a sigh of relief that they were back on safer conversational ground. That she’d listened to his painful story, offered support, but moved on when he needed to. And his work he could talk about for hours. ‘It’s one of my favourite ways to find inspiration for my work and materials for the house. I’ve incorporated a lot of driftwood in the build. It’s an ecologically sound way of working.’

‘But doesn’t it leave you at the mercy of the tides, or the water gods, or whatever force it is that throws up driftwood onto beaches? Wouldn’t it just be easy to order the whole lot at once? I’m sure that there are suppliers with good green credentials.’

‘I could do, I suppose, but I’m happy just taking opportunities as they arise. You never know what you’re going to find. Like the floorboards for the living room. They just turned up in a reclamation yard. I could have bought brand-new timber last week and would have missed out on all that gorgeous character.’

‘Yes, but you would have had a floor for a week by now.’

He threw her a grin and nudged her with his shoulder. ‘What is it, princess? Upset that the place wasn’t perfect for you?’

‘Oh, don’t give me “princess”. I just think that while your way of doing things sounds lovely, in theory, when you have no real responsibilities, sometimes practical matters have to take a higher priority. Like a roof that doesn’t leak. And a floor beyond the front door.’ Not in the mood to joke about the house, then, he surmised.

‘Well, then, I count myself lucky that you don’t get a say in how I renovate my house.’

He stared her down, daring her to argue with him, so that he could remind her again that he would not be tied down by her. She might be carrying his baby, but that didn’t mean that she could come down here and start telling him how to live his life, any more than he would dream of going up to London and telling her how to live hers.

She didn’t take the bait. Instead she stood and started brushing sand from her jeans, and then walked back to the cliff path. He watched her for a few moments; then jogged to catch her up.

‘Wait, I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me. If you still want to, I’d like to show you the studio.’

She paused and glanced up at the house. Then looked back at him and softened. ‘I’d like to see it. I can’t believe I didn’t know you’re an artist. You didn’t finish telling me how that happened.’

He started down the twisting path that led along the bottom of the cliff to his studio and workshop, wondering whether he could talk about his introduction to the world of art without reliving more of the pain he’d suffered at that time. He’d try, for her, for them.

‘I told you I used to hide out in the art studio... None of the other boys seemed too keen to follow me there. Perhaps something to do with the belligerent old teacher who rarely left the room, Mr Henderson. I found it peaceful—it had these huge windows that let in the light, and you could see the sea in the distance. I’d spend lunchtimes hiding out in there and playing around with whatever materials the professor had in that week. One week, when I arrived, this huge hunk of driftwood was sitting on one of the tables. When I walked in the room, Mr Henderson looked at me, then at the wood, and then walked into the store room and left me there with it. Does that sound weird?’

She raised her eyebrow slightly. He’d take that as a yes.

‘Okay, so it sounds kind of weird. I’ll warn you, it might get weirder. I just wanted to touch the wood. It was as if I could see, no, feel, something beneath the surface. So I got some tools and started carving. It was as if the wood came to life under my fingers, and I found something beneath the surface that no one else could see until I revealed it.’

‘You’re right. Weird.’

He laughed.

‘In a good way,’ Rachel clarified, bumping Leo with her hip as they walked along. ‘Weird, but cool. And there’s a market for this? Secrets lurking in driftwood.’

‘I know, it surprised me, too.’ Leo smiled, thrilling at the energy Rachel’s smile and teasing could create in him. ‘But there is. A bigger one than I’d imagined, actually. Enough for me to put down a deposit on a shell of a house and to keep me in tarpaulin until I stumble upon some roof tiles. Anyway, we’re here,’ he declared as they rounded a corner and the studio came into view.

* * *

She ran a hand along the workbench, and enjoyed the sensation of the wood—warm, dry and gritty on the soft pads of her fingers. It was like meeting Leo afresh, seeing this room, and for the first time she was aware of how much she’d underestimated him. One glance at his beach-ready hair and surfers’ tan and she’d written him off as a beach-bum trust-fund kid.

But this room showed her how wrong she’d been. It wasn’t just the evidence of how much work had gone into the place—hours to fit out the studio: floor-to-ceiling window panels, cupboards and work surfaces. It was the art itself, each piece like a little peephole into Leo’s character. Almost every surface carried pieces in various states of completion. The centre of the room was dominated by an enormous piece of wood. It must have been three feet across, and was nearly as tall as she was. And it seemed to be moving. It wasn’t, she saw as she moved closer. It was just light playing over the wave-like carvings that made it seem that way. Constantly changing; constantly keeping her guessing. As she took another step closer she realised that it wasn’t just one piece of wood, it was many, woven and flowing together. She wanted to glance across at Leo, to tell him she thought it was beautiful—more than that, it was astonishing—but she couldn’t drag her eyes away. At last she reached out, wanting to feel the waves and light beneath her fingers, but Leo gently grabbed her wrist and stopped her.

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just—’

‘Normally I’d say touch away. But I treated the wood this morning. So, what do you think?’

She finally managed to pull her eyes away from the piece and flicked her gaze up to his face. He looked a little anxious, she realised, as he waited for her verdict on his work.

‘Leo, it’s beautiful. I had no idea.’

‘Ah, well, you know, I only come down here when the waves are rubbish.’

He was still standing close, his fingers still wrapped around her palm, and she pushed him lightly with her other hand. ‘If I remember rightly, you told me you “sort of” had a job. I’m sorry, but this isn’t sort of anything. You are an artist.’

He nodded. ‘Like I said back on the beach. This is worth the scavenging, then?’

She nodded, her gaze fixed back on the waves, trying to see what it was that made the solid wood seem to shift before her eyes. Leo finally nudged her with his hip—‘Earth to Rachel. I’m glad you like it. Really, I am.’

Suddenly she was aware how close he’d stepped to stop her touching the sculpture. How his hand still gripped hers, although it must be minutes—longer—since she’d dropped it away from the driftwood.

Though she’d felt hypnotised by the piece, it slowly filtered through to her that it and Leo couldn’t be separated. The beauty of his work was part of who he was. And something about that made her feel as if she didn’t know him at all. Didn’t understand him. As if she no longer understood the situation they found themselves in.

She turned her face up to his, and tried to see the Leo she thought she knew in the features of this talented, passionate artist. She thought back to how quickly she’d written him off as spoiled and undisciplined when he’d told her he “sort of” had a job, and could have kicked herself for that lazy assumption. If she’d taken the time and care to actually ask him more about himself, she wouldn’t be so blindsided now.

She’d turned her body when she looked up at him, and could almost feel the attraction pulling them together. He seemed taller—much taller—when she was in her flats, and from here she had a perfect view of his broad chest and shoulders, courtesy, no doubt, of hours in the water. Leo seemed to be studying her as closely as she was him, though she wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t the one who’d just had his entire perception of their circumstances change—again. But the intensity of his gaze was intoxicating, and she found that once her eyes met his she couldn’t look away.

‘I’m sorry—’ Rachel hoped that speaking out loud might break the dangerous connection. Help her to re-establish some sort of calm. But Leo laid a gentle finger on her lips.

‘You don’t need to apologise.’ The finger was replaced by a thumb, which rubbed across her lower lip, bringing sensation and longing with it. She felt her flesh swelling beneath his touch, ready for his kiss, begging for it. And Leo was reading the message loud and clear. He dipped his head, and Rachel let out a little sigh, remembering all too clearly exactly what one of Leo’s kisses promised. As she breathed in, and got two lungfuls of his salty, sea-tanged scent, she was tempted—God, so tempted—to forget the last point she’d made in her plan. The one she’d set in red, bold and underlined: NO SEX.

Leo’s lips brushed against hers and she turned her head, so his kiss grazed across the corner of her lips and her cheek. She stifled a groan, half kicking herself for writing that into the plan, and half impressed with herself for making a decision when she was thinking more clearly than she was right now. Because she strongly suspected if she hadn’t had a plan to follow in that moment, she would have been in serious danger of repeating past mistakes.

She took a deliberate step away from him, still not quite able to trust her commitment to her plan. Leo raised an eyebrow in question when she finally lifted her face to meet his gaze.

‘I’m sorry. I should have been clearer before now.’ Rachel took another step away and leant back against one of Leo’s workbenches to steady herself. ‘I enjoy your company, and I’m glad we’re getting to know one another. I hope that we can be friends. But that’s all that’s on the table—friendship.’

Leo’s hands dug into his pockets and he watched her from under heavy brows. ‘You enjoy my company?’ She could sense embarrassment washing over her features at the slow, deliberate way he spoke the words, conjuring memories of every pleasurable moment of their first and only night together.

His voice was low and gravelly as he spoke again. ‘I would have thought a decision as important as that would have been in your plan.’

She opened her mouth to tell him that if he’d made it to the last page, he would have seen, would have known that it was. But he obviously read her expression too well and finally lost his serious look, bursting into an unexpected laugh.

‘You did! You wrote “no sex” into the plan. You astound me, Rachel, honestly.’ Except he looked more amused than astounded, what with the laughing and everything.

‘It’s important to know where we stand,’ she told him, a little offended, if she was honest, that he could laugh so soon after their aborted kiss.

‘Well, consider me well informed.’

Shouldn’t he be a bit more...disappointed? Rachel thought as Leo walked over to the other side of the studio and started sorting through a stack of driftwood and bric-a-brac in one corner. It didn’t make sense, the hollow, sinking feeling in her belly. Because a purely platonic relationship was exactly what she’d wanted. But Leo’s easy acceptance of her rejection was as good as a rejection in itself.

‘Here they are. I knew there were a couple in here.’ From the pile he pulled two glass bottles, similar to the one she’d just plucked from the beach. ‘They look nice together, don’t you think? Perhaps for the windowsill in your room?’

He lined them up on the bench, but she was more interested in why he’d been so keen to walk away from that kiss. He was the one who’d started it, wasn’t he?

‘So you’re happy to just be friends. You’re not interested in anything more.’ She tried to keep the words casual. To show only the friendly interest her head told her was reasonable, and not the roiling discomfort her heart demanded. ‘Because I think if there’s anything we need to talk about, we should do it now.’

The smile actually dropped from his face, and he looked a little worried, she realised.

‘“More” is an interesting concept.’

Interesting? Of all the words she would use to describe what happened when they went for ‘more’, interesting would not be high on her list.

‘If “more” is another night like that one back at your place, then I’m all for “more”. As much “more” as is on offer.’

She actually felt her cheeks warm again—she’d not blushed like this since she was a girl.

‘But I suspect that for you, “more” is something, well...more than that. If we can’t do one without the other, then you’re right. Friends is best.’

And again with the sinking disappointment. So he wouldn’t mind more sex, but he didn’t want a relationship with her. Well, then, they were in perfect agreement.

‘Back to the house?’ she asked, faking a jollity she didn’t feel. ‘My train’s in an hour, so I probably need to make a move.’

‘Of course. Don’t forget your bottles.’ She scooped up the antique glass and with a last look at the sculpture in the centre of room, she swept out.

‘What’s the hurry?’ Leo jogged up the path behind her, lagging behind because he’d had to lock up the studio.

‘Oh, I didn’t realise I was.’ A lie, of course. Because much as she knew that she couldn’t allow herself to want a relationship with Leo, as much as the thought of being involved with someone who was happy to live with no roof till the right tiles came along filled her with dread, she still wanted a little time and space to lick her wounds. Just because she’d decided not to want him didn’t mean she didn’t want him to want her—however ridiculous that might be.

As they turned the corner and the house came into view, the sight of it made her feel better and worse at the same time.

‘So the roof,’ she said, as Leo overtook her along the path and held out a hand to help her over a small crop of rocks. ‘Is there a...?’

‘A plan?’

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

Not exactly what she wanted to hear. No, she didn’t technically get a say in how he wanted to renovate his home. But if she were to come back here—and they were having a baby, how could she not?—it would be nice if the place was watertight. And there would be a baby before next summer. She was reassessing the way she made decisions, the way she relied on her plans, but was it unreasonable to expect that there might be a roof to sleep under?

‘Don’t worry, Rachel. The roof should be done any time now. I can absolutely promise it’ll be finished by the next time you visit. The floor, too.’

She laughed, though still wasn’t convinced. ‘Sounds like luxury. So...I’ll see you in London in a couple of weeks, for the scan? Do you want me to book you a hotel? I don’t have a guest room. But you’re welcome to my couch.’

‘Don’t worry; I’ll sort somewhere to stay.’

‘Are you sure? Because I—’

‘I don’t need you to organise anything. Relax. I’ll take care of it. Do you want a lift to the station?’

‘Oh, no need. I’ve already arranged a cab.’

He gave her a smile she wasn’t sure how to interpret. ‘Of course you have.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘SO THIS “NO-SEX” THING. Remind me again, what kind of a rule are we talking about—a law, guideline or EU directive?’

Rachel shot Laura a look over her decaf Americano. It still took her by surprise sometimes that her slight, quiet, almost mousy best friend could cut to the chase quite so sharply. Laura had been thrilled for Rachel when she’d seen how happy she was about the baby, but too fascinated by far by her relationship with the father. ‘Why are you bringing this up now? It’s whichever one of those means that it’s not happening. Ever.’

‘I’m bringing this up because I’m about to meet him for the first time and you still fancy him.’

She took a couple of deep breaths, until she was sure she could speak impassively. ‘He is quite attractive.’

Laura rolled her eyes. ‘He got you home from that party. I’m willing to put money on him being pretty special.’

Okay, so she was crazy to think she could pull the wool over her best friend’s eyes. ‘He’s gorgeous, all right. I freely admit that he’s gorgeous. But that wasn’t why...’ She trailed off, not wanting to incriminate herself by admitting to anything other than the most carnal feelings about Leo.

She glanced at her phone again, wondering what was taking him so long. All he had to do was show up. How hard could it be? So hard that the last time they’d had a scan appointment he’d called with a barrelful of excuses and then missed the first look at their baby.

With ten minutes to go before their previous appointment, she’d hit redial again and again. Voicemail. It had gone straight through to his messages ever since Leo had lost signal as he’d passed through a tunnel the last time he’d called. Two hours before. He couldn’t have still been in that tunnel, so there was no reason for it not to have rung. She had tried to fight her anger down—it hadn’t been Leo’s fault that floods had closed all the train lines from the south-west. That the motorways had been clogged. That trees had been blown down and were blocking roads. But none of that changed the fact that she had needed him, and he hadn’t been there. She needed a partner, her co-parent. She’d been excited for weeks about the scan, counting down the days until she would get a first glimpse of her baby. But in those past few hours since Leo had called with the news about the trains, all she’d been able to think about were her fears—what if the stick had lied to her, and she wasn’t pregnant after all? What if they saw there was something wrong with the baby, if there wasn’t a heartbeat? What if she had to face bad news without him?

She had hit redial again—and still there had been no response.

Checking the time as she’d hung up, she had taken a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She had to do this one on her own. Not that she’d had a choice; those last few hours had taught her something she should have faced long before then. She couldn’t rely on Leo. It didn’t matter how enthusiastic he was about the pregnancy, how good his intentions had been, she had to rely on herself, and no one else.

She’d gone into the ultrasound room alone and upset. The first glimpse of her baby should have filled her with complete joy, and it had; it was magical, emotional. But she hadn’t been able to help but feel the loss of Leo by her side. When he’d finally arrived, Leo had promised her that he’d tried everything humanly possible to get there, but now, with less than five minutes to go until she was meant to meet him for their second scan, she was becoming nervous. What if he let her down again? What would she do if she couldn’t trust him to be there when she—when they—needed him?

This time she’d asked Laura to come with her, to give her the support she knew she couldn’t rely on Leo for.

‘Oh, now, this is interesting.’ Laura dragged her thoughts back to their conversation. ‘This is new. If you didn’t take him home because you were mad for his body, then this is something else entirely. I thought you told me that it was a moment of lust, not to be repeated.’

‘It was!’

‘No.’ Rachel waited as Laura took a long sip of her coffee, and could practically see the words flying behind her eyes as she picked through them carefully, analysing, choosing an angle. ‘You just said, or didn’t say, that isn’t true. So, what was it about him that caught your eye, other than his “quite attractive” looks? I know you, remember, and I know you don’t make decisions like that at the drop of a hat.’

Rachel thought back to that night—the way Leo had teased her and made her laugh, made her relax. Fooled her into thinking that just for a night she could change her plan with no repercussions.

‘He made me laugh; we were having a good time. I didn’t expect—’

‘For him to start baking in your oven.’

Rachel coughed as her coffee made a bid for escape through her nose.

‘Thank you. Beautifully put.’

‘Seriously, though.’ Laura placed her coffee carefully on the table and held her gaze with a shrewd look. ‘Are you sure that “just friends” is really the answer? You like him.’ She held up a firm hand to stop Rachel’s blustering protests. ‘You can deny it all you want and I still won’t believe you. And you have no reason to think that he doesn’t like you, either. But you’re not going to even explore what there is between you?’

‘The baby—’

‘Is the perfect excuse to give it a go, not run from it. So what is it that scares you about him?’

She stared into her drink for a long minute, trying to capture everything that Leo made her feel. The exhilaration of that night, the glimpse of a more relaxed life, the freedom when he made her laugh. The terror of everything she knew, understood and believed about her future suddenly being ripped away. ‘Be honest with me. Do you think there’s something...not right...about the way I like a plan, a schedule?’

Laura didn’t drop her shrewd expression, though her eyes softened. ‘Yes. Truthfully, I don’t think it’s healthy how anxious you are without one. And if you’re starting to see that, too, perhaps now is a good time to be thinking about making changes. I hate to break this to you, darling, but there’s no hiding from chaos now. You’re going to have to find a way to—’

‘No.’ Rachel choked the word out of instinct, her gut revolting at the thought of that inevitability. And then felt instantly bad for snapping at her friend. ‘Yes. I’m going to try. But the baby’s enough chaos. Leo’s just too much, and I can’t trust him to be there when I need him.’

‘You really are nervous.’ Laura smiled, giving no hint that she was offended by her best friend snapping at her. ‘It’s cute. I don’t think I’ve seen you nervous before.’

‘I’m not nervous.’

‘So the father of your child, the man you found literally irresistible five months ago, is going to show up in this coffee shop in ten minutes’ time, and you’re not even slightly nervous? Rubbish.’

* * *

Leo raced across the pavement, determined to get to Rachel before the second hand hit twelve, to prove to her that he could be the partner, and the parent, that she needed him to be. He’d barely seen her since the last scan. A couple of lunches in London, that was all, the last time just a coffee when he’d been in the city to meet with Will about the Julia House sculpture.

She claimed she hadn’t been able to get a weekend off since that first time she’d been down in Dorset. But he knew the real reason, that she was still angry and upset that he’d missed that scan. And of course he could understand that. But he’d tried everything he could to get there on time. He’d hired a car when all the trains were cancelled. He’d waded through floodwater when the car had got caught in a soaked back lane and had conked out. He’d begged and bartered for lifts into the city, and when he’d finally made it, fourteen hours after leaving his house, he’d apologised until his voice was hoarse and she’d told him to stop. He just wanted to make things right, which, despite her assurances the last time he saw her, he knew they weren’t.

He swung open the door to the coffee shop, and there she was. Her hair shiny and straight around her shoulders, a mug clasped in her hand, and, framed by her propped elbows, a neat little bump. His breath stopped at the sight of her. And then he saw that she wasn’t alone, and his heart sank.

‘Hi,’ he said, as he walked up to the table, sending Rachel a questioning glance. He looked at the other woman and held out his hand. ‘I’m Leo.’

She’d brought a friend to their ultrasound? There was only one reason he could think of that she would do that, and it made him cringe in regret. She couldn’t trust him to be here. He’d let her down, and she wasn’t ready to forgive.

‘Leo, this is Laura.’

He watched the loaded look that passed between Rachel and her friend, and tried to translate it. You want me to leave now he’s here?

He stood awkwardly as they gathered bags and finished coffees. The silence between him and Rachel stretched out onto the street, through goodbyes with Laura, down the corridors of the hospital, and into the waiting room. She maintained a clear foot of space between them, and every time he tried to close it, it pushed her further away. It was a relief when the sonographer appeared, breaking the tension in the hushed waiting room.

‘Rachel Archer?’

He risked a small smile at her as they walked into the ultrasound room, and then didn’t know where to look when Rachel pulled up her top and the technician tucked blue paper into her waistband. The sight of her skin gave him goose bumps, as he remembered how soft it had been under his lips and his body. Looking up at the ceiling, he took a deep breath, reminding himself that this really was not the right time to be thinking those thoughts. In fact, Rachel had made it more than clear in every strained silence since he’d let her down that there was no right time for those thoughts—and he had agreed with her, at least at first.

Because he shouldn’t want anything more than friendship from her. He was already getting so much more than he had wanted. One night with this woman had already brought one lifelong commitment. A thought that still made him breathless—and not in a good way. It was crazy to embark on anything romantic, because what else could that bring other than more commitment? They could hardly date and see how it went. Because where did they go when one of them realised that it wasn’t going to work out? Or what happened if she started thinking about a future and a ring, and he started to sweat? They should just concentrate on being the best parents that they could be, and try to be friends, as well.

But, God, she looked delicious. Her body curved in new places, her breasts were bigger, and her belly rounded. His child was growing in there, he thought, his mind boggling. He dragged his eyes away, though, realising suddenly that it probably wasn’t brilliant form to ogle someone while they were in hospital, whatever the reason.

That thought sobered him. Because this scan wasn’t just a chance to wave at the baby and hope that he or she waved back. He’d been reading up about what they should be expecting. And so he knew that the ultrasound was done for serious reasons, that it was for the medical professionals to check for health problems. That thought gripped him with a twist of anxiety and without thinking he reached for Rachel’s hand. She flinched, though whether it was from him gripping her hand or from the gel being squeezed on her belly he couldn’t be sure. But she squeezed his hand back and looked up to meet his eye. When she gave a little smile, he realised that she was as nervous as he was.

He watched the screen as the technician manipulated the ultrasound wand, and saw black and white shadows moving. He squinted, trying to make out what was what, but it wasn’t until the technician pointed out the tiny head and limbs that he finally understood he was looking at his child. His son or daughter.

He’d spent so long thinking about all the ways his life had to change now, about the fact he’d woken up one morning and found himself painted into a corner, forced into fatherhood whether he wanted it or not, that he’d never stopped to consider that he and Rachel had done something so...so...miraculous. It was the only word he could grasp as he looked at the tiny life on the screen. A whole new life, created from nothing but the urgent, overwhelming desire of that night.

And seeing that miracle, and the one on Rachel’s face as she saw it, too, the undisguised incredulity and rush of happiness, he couldn’t help but be deliriously happy with her. Or help the tear that slid from the corner of his eye. It wasn’t that he wasn’t stomach-churningly terrified still, he just realised that that fear didn’t have to be all-consuming. He could be worried to his bones about what effect this little child would have on his life, but still be absolutely, unbelievably happy that they’d made their baby.

He squeezed Rachel’s hand a little harder, and she turned her face towards him, her eyes and cheeks lit with happiness and wet with tears.

As he watched, another tear snuck from the corner of his eye, and he smudged it away with his thumb.

‘Everything looks good here,’ the radiographer announced, breaking the silence and passing Rachel a tissue to clean off the gel.

The intimacy between them suddenly lost, Leo turned away, offering her some privacy.

They strolled from the hospital into the park opposite still dazed with happiness.

‘Rachel, you know I’m sorry, don’t you, that we didn’t get to share this before? That I would have given anything to have been here.’ He reached for her hand, needing the physical contact, desperate to know that they were back to being friends. That everything was right between them again.

To his surprise, she smiled, looking up at him, her eyes still a little damp. ‘I know. I know that you tried, and I should have forgiven you a long time ago. I thought that I...that the baby...that we didn’t mean enough to you. But I know that I was wrong.’

Didn’t mean enough to him? He didn’t know how it would be possible for anyone to mean more. Somehow his whole world had shrunk and expanded until Rachel was the shape of his whole future. He stopped walking, and held onto her hand a little tighter.

‘Rachel, you have to know, you and the baby, you’re everything. There are still days where I feel like I’ve got no idea how we got here, but I wouldn’t change it for anything. Wouldn’t wish for anything but what we have.’

His free hand brushed away another tear, just sneaking out from the corner of her lashes.

‘I felt so alone—’

‘And it kills me even thinking about it.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I didn’t say it to make you feel worse. It just made me realise how much I wanted you there. How much I wanted us to see our baby together. How much it means to me that we get to share this. It wasn’t that I wanted someone there, Leo. I wanted you.’

He drew her close, swiping another tear as she hid her face in his chest.

‘I feel the same,’ he said into her hair. ‘And it’s frightening and exhilarating and it reminds me how much there is still to learn about this whole family thing. But we can do this, Rachel, and we can be brilliant at it. Be parents. Be more than that to each other.’

He dipped his head and pressed his lips to her mouth. It was quick and soft and sweet, and as he rested his forehead against hers he couldn’t think of a moment in his life when he’d been more content than this. With his baby’s heartbeat echoing in his ears, with Rachel’s skin warm against his and the memory of her lips smiling against his fresh in his mind. All the reasons he’d fought this romance seemed to slip away. Every objection to keeping this woman at the centre of his life—the space she’d occupied since the moment they’d met—faded. The important thing, the only important thing, was that they faced their lives together. ‘You’re right,’ she murmured, and he could hear her smile in her voice. ‘We’ll be brilliant.’

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