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“That’d be great! Wouldn’t that be great, Matt?”
His gaze darted from AJ to his sister, and a small frown suddenly furrowed his brow. Then he stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Wonderful.”
* * *
At the last minute, Paige conveniently realized she’d forgotten her purse. With an “I’ll just grab a cab—don’t worry!” she slammed the door on their surprised expressions and the Bentley pulled away from the curb.
The silent drive was awkward. AJ kept her legs crossed, her body angled toward the door, her gaze firmly out the window, but it still didn’t stop her from casting furtive glances at Matt’s reflection in the glass.
There was something about this man, this one particular person with whom she’d shared her body so freely and willingly. Out of all the other guys, she’d actually liked this one. He had ample cause to be a complete jerk—money, breeding, genius-level IQ, brilliant career, lush looks. But he wasn’t.
At least, not until that night. And to be fair, she’d read far more into their fling than she should’ve. A mistake she’d avoided making for years afterward. Until Jesse.
She shook her head, refusing to think about her last stupid mistake. Instead, her thoughts wandered back to Matt. Who knew what had shaped him in those ten years? Something obviously huge, considering he’d thrown away a career he’d sacrificed everything for since high school.
Matthew finally broke the silence. “So what are you doing now?”
Crashing and burning. Feeling way too attracted to you. Wanting to touch— “Going to my hotel.”
“I meant for work,” he replied patiently.
She sighed and slowly turned to him. This was her punishment for bad judgment—death by small talk. “I have a stall at the Gold Coast markets.”
“Selling what?”
“Drawings.”
“You draw?”
“And paint. I even do a pretty good caricature, which is my best seller.”
“I didn’t know you were an artist. I mean,” he amended, “I saw you sketching once, but...”
“We just shared a bed, Matt, not our deepest thoughts about life and love.” She shrugged. “We had fun for a few months.”
She remained surprisingly calm under his scrutiny, even though her insides jumped as his fingers softly drummed on the door.
You’re not twenty-three anymore. You can hold a man’s gaze without backing down like a blushing virgin.
“We had fun,” he repeated slowly.
The heat of irritation crept up her neck. “Well, I did.”
His eyes darkened, mouth tilting into a knowing grin. “I know. I was there, remember?”
Unfortunately she’d been doing nothing but remembering ever since she’d clapped eyes on him. And if she were the old AJ, the one who’d lived and loved with careless abandon, she wouldn’t hesitate to follow through. Judging by the sensuous curl of his mouth and the way his gaze devoured her, he was thinking the same thing.
She took in his lopsided smile and the tiny dimple it made, the way his eyes roamed leisurely over her face and hair before coming to rest on her mouth. The way those eyes then darkened with a predatory gleam.
Growing up, she’d quickly learned how to read peoples’ expressions, predict a mood then act accordingly. This skill had been a good foil for her smart mouth, which had provoked the bulk of her mother’s slaps. That little girl desperate for a mother’s love was long, long gone.
The message she saw in Matt’s eyes was plain as day. He wanted her. And judging by that smile, he was reading her need as easily as the Sunday sports section.
It seemed he was about to say something more but instead glanced out the window. AJ followed his gaze, to the blazing lights of the Phoenician. Her time was up.
“This is my stop,” she said unnecessarily, her smile tight. “Well, goodbye. Have a safe trip back to Sydney.”
“Thanks.”
She eased from the car and, to her surprise, he followed.
“I’m perfectly capable of seeing myself to my room,” she said tartly.
He lifted his hand, her thin handbag strap dangling from one finger. “You know, that hairstyle really doesn’t suit you.”
She grasped her bag strap. “I’m supposed to be a demure bridesmaid.”
He refused to relinquish the bag. “Demure?”
She watched his gaze go past her shoulder to the people coming and going from the hotel. “Give me my bag.”
With a small tug, he drew her closer. “I’m staying at the Palazzo Versace. Have lunch with me tomorrow.”
Her heart leaped for one second before she ruthlessly shot down that eager spark. “No.”
“You have something else planned?”
“Yes.”
“You can tell me more about your paintings.”
Oh, you are smooth, Matthew Cooper. From his languid, willpower-melting smile to the way his head tilted, she knew he knew she was attracted. She’d made some colossal mistakes in her past, but denying her body’s desires was not one of them.
How long had it been?
Too long. A familiar sliver of excitement prickled just before she sighed and tugged at her bag again. In response, he tightened his grip and tugged back.
“Damn it, Matt, give me my—”
He took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. The gentle slide of warm flesh, the firm conviction as he curled his hand around hers had her blood leaping to life.
Matthew had beautiful hands, with smooth sun-darkened skin and lean fingers. Perfect surgeon’s hands, miracle instruments of power and talent, whether he was performing intricate lifesaving surgery or bringing her to a panting climax.
Her breath gurgled in her throat.
He began to stroke her knuckles with his thumb. That shockingly personal intimacy did her in, scattering all rational thought.
Then he firmly drew her forward and, in the middle of the hotel entrance in front of a dozen milling guests, placed a kiss square on her mouth.
Alarm made her pulse skyrocket, yet familiar desire dissolved any objections. His mouth was as warm and skillful as she remembered. Her whole body took barely a second to recover, to remember, then it was off and running, eager for more as her eyes fluttered closed and she kissed him back.
She didn’t care that his lips curved into a knowing, way-too-confident smile beneath hers. All she could think of was that mouth, tasting of coffee and something forbidden, urging hers wider, devouring her; then his tongue as he gently eased her open and dove inside.
Damn him. He knew how to turn a woman on.
A group of hotel guests abruptly surrounded them, cheering and whistling, edging past with alcohol-infused enthusiasm and bringing with them movement and noise and sudden clarity.
She pulled back and Matthew reached out to steady her, his breath warm across her cheek. When their hips bumped, then their shoulders, a frisson of delight shivered up her spine.
AJ barely noticed the brief, cheerful apologies as the crowd moved on. All she noticed were Matthew’s warm palms cupping her elbows, his soapy-fresh scent and his breath as it feathered across her bare shoulder.
“Want to change your mind about me seeing you to your room?” he murmured in her ear, his deep accented baritone making her nerves dance.
“No.”
He grinned. “So lunch tomorrow?”
“Contrary to popular belief, the world doesn’t revolve around you, Matthew Cooper.” She dug in her bag for her phone and checked the time. “I have things to do tomorrow.”
“Dinner, then.”
She sighed. Sharing food with him, making small talk, was the last thing on her wish list, especially after her appointment tomorrow.
He reached out and took her phone. She scowled. “What are you—?”
He flicked it on and dialed. “Here’s my number.” He paused and his phone trilled from somewhere inside his jacket. Then he returned hers. “Lunch tomorrow.”
With a confident grin, he turned and strode back to the car.
She glared at his broad back. Of all the arrogant...
The Bentley finally drove off. With a sigh, she turned on her heel and walked into the hotel foyer. This wasn’t a problem. She’d just call tomorrow and cancel. There’d be nothing he could do about it, after all.
Yet it didn’t stop the niggling feeling that she was throwing away the chance to have Matthew back in her bed again.
Irritated, she punched the elevator button. Sure, she’d lusted. She’d wanted. She’d desired. But she’d never completely offered him her heart and he’d never demanded it. She’d been young and reckless, reveling in life, and he’d been the perfect fling. Yet despite her oh-so-mature outlook on the whole affair, he’d still managed to bruise her.
Matthew Cooper was part of her past, not her future. If she was an expert at anything, it was moving on and letting the past stay buried.
Three (#ulink_ccc9649a-4bdd-5d8e-bf57-d19d5655cb70)
AJ perched on the edge of her chair in the discreet Brisbane fertility clinic, hands clasped firmly in her lap.
She’d managed to get a grasp on her emotions, wrapping them with prudent caution. Yet she couldn’t stop the edginess that rose up, catching her breath and making her heart kick.
Forget about Matthew Cooper and just get on with your original plan.
Dr. Sanjay flicked open the file on his desk. “How are you today, Miss Reynolds?”
“Fine. Nervous.”
He looked up from the file and peered over his glasses with a smile. “So, this is your second consult. Dr. McGregor did your full checkup and discussed the realities of getting pregnant with you?”
“Yes.”
He kept reading. “It says here you had surgery three months ago for ovarian cysts.”
“Yes, my surgeon did say my chances of conception were low. Thirty percent.”
“You have quite a bit of scarring—”
“But thirty percent is better than nothing, right?”
He sighed, then gave a reluctant nod. “It doesn’t mean it’s impossible—just difficult. But it will be time consuming, and fertilization may not happen the first, second or even the fifth time. And it can be draining, physically, mentally and financially.” He glanced back down at the file. “You’ve already chosen a donor from our files, I see.”
She nodded.
“Okay.” Sanjay flipped open the file, then frowned. “One moment.” He reached for the phone and made a call. When he hung up, he slowly removed his glasses, closed the folder and fixed her with a silent, considering gaze.
Uh-oh. She nervously twisted the handles of her handbag. “What’s wrong?”
“Miss Reynolds, I’m sorry but we cannot proceed at this time.”
Her mouth gaped. “Why not?”
“I’ve been advised your donor is no longer available.” He gave her a sympathetic smile.
“What?”
“Your donor cancelled his appointment,” Sanjay said calmly. “This means—”
AJ stared blankly at the manila folder as the doctor’s explanation faded into the background. No. No! This could not be happening.
“Miss Reynolds?” the doctor repeated gently. “Did you hear me? How do you want to proceed?”
“What do you mean?”
He paused, silently studying her as if trying to assess her mental state. “You’ll need to make another donor choice and then we can go from there. You’ll need to make another appointment with reception.”
He slid a business card across his desk, almost as if he’d been waiting for the cue, but all she could do was stare at him. “But...but...I don’t... It took me three months to get this one! Can’t I just—”
“I am sorry about the long wait time but we are fully booked. And I am legally bound to follow procedure.” He straightened the files on his desk, then fixed her with a polite smile. “You need time to make a decision and once you have, we can discuss everything at our next appointment. Now, can I help you with anything else?”
AJ shook her head and took the card, her fingers surprisingly steady.
When she finally strode outside, the bright morning sun seared away the vague clinical aroma and the doctor’s sympathetic but hands-tied expression. Slipping on her sunglasses, she crossed the road to the parking lot and dug out her phone.
She found her car—a third-hand, beat-up red Hyundai Getz—and slipped into the driver’s seat.
