The Pregnancy Plot

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I meant for work,” he replied patiently.

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

“Selling what?”

“Drawings.”

“You draw?”

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

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

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

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

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

“We had fun,” he repeated slowly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

He refused to relinquish the bag. “Demure?”

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

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

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

“You have something else planned?”

“Yes.”

“You can tell me more about your paintings.”

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

How long had it been?

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

“Damn it, Matt, give me my—”

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

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

Her breath gurgled in her throat.

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

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