Читать книгу Expecting His Child - Tessa Radley - Страница 16
ОглавлениеAJ submerged herself in the huge spa bath so that only her mouth remained above the surface. The warm water lapped around her cheeks and over her eyelids, making her breath echo in her ears.
Matthew Cooper had said yes and she couldn’t quite believe it.
The doubt that had plagued her for the past half hour welled up again. This wouldn’t be a donation from a stranger—it was Matt. Someone she’d had a physical connection with. Someone whose DNA would form part of her child, someone who’d be reflected in the child’s face as he grew up.
A constant reminder of her past.
Was she completely insane or just way too focused on the end result not to have realized that before?
No. She ran her hands through her hair, the soft sodden strands floating around her face. Neither she nor Emily looked anything like her parents. Children were not clones—they were individuals with their own unique personalities.
Though her child would most likely have her curly red hair and blue eyes.
She felt the smile curve her mouth. All hers—no one else’s.
“Just concentrate on tonight,” she murmured, her voice bouncing off the tiled walls. Because Matt was actually taking her out. In public. On a date.
God, how she hated that word! The last time they’d had anything resembling a date was the night he’d broken up with her. Yes, she remembered it all, even if the edges had grown fuzzy with time and other lovers. She’d ordered Thai from their favorite takeaway, dressed up the table by the pool, then splurged on some fancy lingerie and wrapped herself in a satin robe, waiting for his return.
He’d been exhausted, dark circles emphasizing those poet’s eyes, brow furrowed from the pressures of his day. They’d eaten in silence while she practiced her speech over and over in her head, excitement and fear tempering her hunger.
Excitement because she’d never let someone this close before. Fear because...well, she’d never let someone this close before. Every survival instinct, every wrenching past disappointment had made its mark, scarring her subconscious and shaping her into the person she was. It was a sordid, painful minefield and she purposefully avoided that area.
Never count on anyone. Never let your guard down. Never, ever get comfortable.
Despite the walls she’d built, Matt had managed to worm his way in.
Damn right it was scary.
I’ve been thinking.... No, too cliché. What do you think about me moving in? She’d frowned into her pad thai. Too direct. She’d run through a few more, before settling on, I’ve decided to stay in town a bit longer. What do you think?
She’d smiled, taken a breath, then opened her mouth to make that scary leap off the cliff.
Matt had gotten there first.
AJ, I’m sorry, but this isn’t working for me anymore.
She abruptly sat up, sloshing water over the side of the tub. She was older now, wiser, with years of experience behind her. She’d thought they had meant something, but now she knew it’d all been in her head. No way would she be that vulnerable again. Ever.
With that thought she wrapped herself in a huge white towel, turbaned her hair in another and padded out into the living room. Late-afternoon sun streamed through the huge glass doors that led out onto a wrought-iron balcony housing a sleek state-of-the art Weber barbecue and a long entertainment area with an unhindered view of Sydney’s CBD, Centrepoint and the Harbour Bridge.
Like the rest of the buildings on Matt’s street, the 1920s facade was expertly restored. The theme continued inside the lobby, with art deco colors and marble stairs. Even the elevator, though modern, had been designed to reflect the period.
The interior of Matt’s apartment was beautiful, too, but in a clean, minimalistic way. She’d gone through every room, unashamedly poked into drawers, cupboards and shelves, yet her curiosity had been far from assuaged. The only art adorning the pale blue walls were black-and-white photographs of famous places—the Colosseum, the Great Wall of China, Stonehenge. As stunning as they were, they lacked the warmth and life of a painting. The Bondi Beach watercolor she’d done last year would bring things to life—if only it weren’t at home in Surfers, along with the majority of her paints and brushes.
And her clothes.
The limits of her shoestring travel wardrobe had obviously occurred to Matt, too, because he called about it ten minutes after she finished her bath. “If you need to go shopping, the concierge can—”
“Don’t worry,” she replied breezily. “I’ve got that covered.”
“Okay.” But he didn’t sound sure and his doubt irritated her. Didn’t he trust her to choose appropriate attire? They’d never been out, so he had no idea her tastes extended to more than jeans, tiny summer dresses and X-rated lingerie.
“A dress and heels, hey?” She’d hung up and readjusted her towel, tucking it tightly under her arm before tapping on her phone’s contacts list. “I’ll give you a dress and heels, Matthew Cooper.”
* * *
He hadn’t been so excited about date since...since forever, Matt thought, changing gears as he drove across Anzac Parade.
He barely recalled the details of that afternoon: a bunch of meetings, phone calls and schedule confirmations. Decker’s brief of their Italian job next Sunday. Good thing his office manager put it all in his online calendar; otherwise he’d be screwed.
Yes, for a second he’d experienced doubt but he quickly shut it down. Doubt never got him anywhere, and he wouldn’t start entertaining it now. This was their second chance and he was going to pull out all the stops to show her he’d changed and that the best thing for her baby was for both of them to be in its life.
A baby. He felt the crazy grin take shape before he clenched his jaw to kill it. A 30 percent chance of conception wasn’t a whole lot to work with but at least it was something.
Twenty minutes later he pulled up in front of his apartment building and yanked on the brake. Anticipation accelerated his step as he strode into the brightly lit lobby.
Then he stopped dead in his tracks.
He registered black heels, a long satiny black dress with one strap tied high on her shapely shoulder. Fiery curls tumbled down her back in thick, touchable waves and her generous mouth was coated in shiny cherry-red lipstick.
Wow.
She took a few steps forward and the slinky material rippled around her legs, revealing a smooth calf and dimpled knee. “I didn’t know what you had planned so...” She raised her arms a little, a tiny sparkly clutch in her hand.
“You look amazing.” He unashamedly took her in.
She smiled despite her skittering gaze. Ah, now he’d thrown her. Good.
“Still nervous with compliments?” He raised his brow.
“Yep.”
When he extended an arm, she barely hesitated before taking it. A bewitching smell of strawberries and something floral teased his senses, and he took a deep breath. “I like your hair like that.”
“I know.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “Honest, too.”
“I find it makes things less complicated that way.”
Yeah, he remembered that about her. So what would she have to say about his subterfuge? That he planned to put everything into seducing her, into making her fall in love with him?
“So, you just had a spare evening gown hanging around in your luggage?” He drew her toward the front door, her heels clicking on the smooth tiles.
“I have a girlfriend who’s a fashion buyer for David Jones.”
“Handy.”
“Indeed.” Her lips curved again, matching his smile, and his heart did a little flip at the thought of the coming evening.
* * *
Emily stared out the window as they crawled past an unobtrusive town house, light from a subdued neon sign streaming down onto the sidewalk. “We’re eating at Maxfield?”
“Yep.”
“George Evans’s restaurant? The guy who won last year’s Master Chef?” They turned the next corner.
“Yep.”
“And you got a table on short notice?”
“Yep.”
“Are you going to say anything else other than ‘yep’?”
“Yep.” He gave her a wink before pulling into a spare parking spot. She waited, enjoying the view as he came around the car, opened her door and offered his hand. She took it, swung her legs out and rose fluidly.
They walked hand in hand to the restaurant, the warm intimacy sending a steady thrum of delight over her skin. How could she calmly sit and eat a meal and not succumb to the desire of ripping his clothes off when he was so very close?
She thought back to ten years ago and how she’d sensed his interest the first time he’d come striding into her coffee shop. Lucy and Maz had fallen over themselves to serve him, but he’d focused on AJ, those dark, brooding eyes somehow detecting her lust concealed beneath her efficient barista facade. The next day he’d asked for her number. That night she’d ended up in his bed.
Just like tonight. Excitement surged at the thought.
He squeezed her hand, smiling down at her.
“Why are we having dinner again?” she asked, letting out a breath.
“Because I’m hungry.”
“Very funny. But that’s not what I meant.”
“I know. And we’ll get to that soon enough. But right now, can you just enjoy the evening?”
With a small huff, AJ could do nothing but nod.
* * *
The minutes dragged by, painful, boring moments in which they were seated, given menus and the wine list and then left to decide.
Matt folded his menu and turned his attention to her. “So, you have a sister.”
“Emily, yes.” She rearranged her cutlery, aligning it perfectly with her plate.
“Older or younger?”
“Younger.”
“And your parents? Are they—?”
“Not in the picture. Ever.”
When she put her elbows on the table and leaned forward, his gaze latched on to the tiny butterfly pendant at her throat as it swung gently, glinting in the light. “Matt, look, I’d prefer we don’t talk about my past.”
He brought his eyes back to her and frowned. “I’m just trying to get a conversation going here.”
“I know. But those people are off-limits.”
Those people? Matt’s brow ratcheted up but he said nothing. Take your time. You deal with setbacks and plan deviations every day. This one is no different.
“You and Emily are close.”
He heard her small sigh before she laid her arms on the table, cupping her elbows. “Now, yes.”
“And before?”
“We hadn’t talked in years. But we’re good now.” She waved a casually dismissive hand, but the deliberateness of the gesture sent up a red flag. He stored that snippet away for future reference.
“So where did you grow up?”
“Lots of places. Look, Matt—”
“Sydney? Brisbane?”
“Perth. I don’t think—”
When he leaned in he didn’t miss the way she ever so slightly leaned back. “Humor me, AJ. I just want a little background.”
“Why?”
“Because I really know nothing about you.”
“You know enough.”
“No, I don’t.” He focused on repositioning his wineglass in order to give her time to work out an answer without feeling the pressure of his scrutiny. “For example, where did you go to school? Did you have any pets when you were a kid? What’s your favorite movie? Book?”
When he finally glanced up, she was staring at him so hard, it almost felt like a rebuke. Yet he held firm and finally she said, “I stopped counting schools after six. We couldn’t afford to feed ourselves, let alone any pets. I must’ve seen The Wizard of Oz a hundred times. And my favorite book? The Magic Faraway Tree.”
“Enid Blyton?”
She nodded. “I always wanted a tree like that.”
“Didn’t every kid?” He smiled.
AJ remained grim. “No, I really wanted one.”
Before he could reply, a waitress appeared. “Are you ready to order?”
He clamped his mouth shut and gave the waitress a neutral smile.
They ordered. When they were alone again, silence reigned. Matt watched the way AJ’s gaze dropped, her eyelashes fanning down over her cheeks. She tucked her hands under the table and leaned forward, forearms pressed against the table edge. She still didn’t meet his eyes, instead focusing solely on the fractured light streaming through the blue glass water bottle centered on their table.
“So.” He poured a glass of water. “You’re an artist.”
She glanced up. “You could say that.”
“People buy your stuff, right? So I’d say that makes you one.” He pointed to her glass, and she nodded. They both watched him pour, the awkward tension punctuated only by the soft glug of water filling the glass. “What medium do you work in?”
“I don’t mind oils but much prefer watercolors.” She wrapped her fingers around her glass and pulled it across the table. “They dry quicker and the customers don’t have to wait long.”
“Did you study art at uni?”
“No. All self-taught.” She took a sip of water. “Story of my life, really.”
He was ready with a dozen more questions but he clamped his mouth shut instead.
A few more moments passed, moments in which she refused wine, then casually cast her eye around the restaurant, observing the diners, the staff, the decor. And he, in turn, took his time and studied her with leisurely pleasure. The curve of her cheek that he knew was just as soft as when he’d first touched it. The delicate earlobe full of sensitive nerves that made her alternately shiver then gasp. The stunning hair that curled around his fingers with a life of its own.
When her gaze finally returned to him, his expression must have given him away.
“What?”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Nothing.”
“Tell me,” she persisted, a cautious, curious smile matching his. So he crooked his finger, beckoning her closer.
“Ten years has made you more beautiful.” Startled, she pulled back, looking down at the table. “Angel, are you blushing?”
“I don’t blush.”
“I think you are.”
She snapped her gaze back to his, eyes sparkling. “Fine. I am.”
“I never knew a woman to take such offense at being called beautiful.”
“Oh? So you’re free and easy with your compliments, are you?”
“Women like compliments.”
“I’m sure they do,” she replied archly.
He grinned. “But you are...unique.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“You’re welcome, Angel.”
He heard her tiny intake of breath. “Can you stop calling me that?”
“Why? You liked it once.”
She tightened her grip on the glass and glared for a few seconds. Then she shrugged and took another sip of water. “Fine, whatever.”
Oh, he was getting to her, all right.
“Matt,” she started casually, steadily focused on rotating her wineglass by the stem.
“Yes?”
She paused, then shook her head. “It’s none of my business.”
Matt leaned in. “I’ll tell you if that’s the case. Ask me anyway.”
Her shoulders straightened, then she gave a little head tilt. “Why did you quit Saint Cat’s?”
He cupped his glass in his hand, swirling the contents. “Jack—my younger brother—died four years ago.”
Her gaze softened as she looked into his eyes. “Oh, Matt, I’m—”
“It’s okay.” He raised a hand, shaking his head. “It’s fine.”
It wasn’t. It never would be. But she didn’t need to know that.
“What happened?”
“He fell while climbing the Taurus mountain ranges in Istanbul. If emergency response had been quicker, he probably would’ve made it.”
“Is that why you set up GEM?”
“After I dropped off the grid for a year, yeah.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Nepal. China. Europe.” He automatically slid the butter tray across the table as she broke her roll apart.
“How’d your parents take it?”
“Like I’d committed professional suicide.”
That year consisted of a bunch of strung-together blurry memories, not much more. He’d experienced a life other than his perfectly mapped out one, drifting around on a whim, helping where he could, getting dirty and frequently drunk without having to think about the consequences. The world was huge and there’d been so many places he’d tried to lose himself.
“But did you enjoy it?” AJ asked.
“Yes. I met people, made friends.” He paused, remembering. “One good mate who’s now head of security at GEM. I did some amazing stuff.”
“Like?”
Lord, when she smiled like that the tight ache in his heart eased. “I hiked the Andes, backpacked the Greek Islands. Biked around France, joined a rebuilding project on some dilapidated castle in southern Italy...”
Her sigh was envious. “See, that’s my only problem with Australia—we’re too far from the rest of the world.”
He watched her methodically butter her roll then take a bite, releasing a small murmur of delight as her teeth tore into the bread. “Still love bread, huh?”
She nodded with a sheepish grin, demurely placing the rest of the roll on her side plate. “I’m surprised you remember. Most men I know have this innate ability to delete great chunks of information from their brains.” She grinned, taking the edge off.
“Not me.” He leaned in, extending one arm so his hand rested a bare millimeter from hers.
AJ tried—but failed—to ignore that hand so dangerously close to hers. “That’s right. You’re the only guy I know with total recall.”
“Now that was a great movie. The original, not the remake.”
She quirked her eyebrows. “I didn’t know you were an Arnold fan.”
“Oh, there’s a lot about me you don’t know.”
“Like...?” It was out before she could stop it, before she could remind herself of her three rules.
Never count on anyone. Never get close enough to care. Never, ever get comfortable.
But she did care. She was only human.
He reached out, tracing one finger over her knuckles. “I sang at the Opera House once.”
“Get out! You did not.”
“Did so. It was a statewide school thing, with the best from each primary school choir performing for two nights.”
“So you can sing.”
He shrugged. “Not spectacularly, but yeah.”
“Are you trying to impress me?” She smiled as the waitress arrived with their meals.
“Is it working?”
“Maybe.”
He threw back his head and laughed, and the rich deep sound warmed her from the inside out. Lord, she’d missed that laugh. Missed the way his eyes creased at the corners, the way that sensuous mouth curved into something sinful.
She settled into eating her meal. The chicken was delicious, cooked in a creamy sauce with just a hint of rosemary and oregano. She took another mouthful and murmured under her breath.
“Good?” Matt asked.
She nodded. “You should try this.” She’d already cut off a piece, offering her fork, when the memory hit. Another time, another place. Sharing one of many meals, getting through only a few bites before they’d given in to another craving. The food had been stone cold by the time they’d returned, flushed and physically sated.
He leaned in to take her offering. With a grin he chewed, eyes never leaving hers. “Delicious. Do you want to try mine?”
Yes. “Okay.”
She was fully aware of his scrutiny as she parted her lips, slipped the steak in, then let the fork slowly ease from her mouth. The peppery sauce hinted at a few familiar herbs—pesto, basil, a little garlic. She nodded, swallowing. “Wow.”
“Yeah.”
The seconds lengthened, intimacy warming the moment. Shadows and light flickered over them and suddenly his eyes turned way too serious.
AJ broke his gaze and focused on her plate instead.
They finished their meals and the waitress arrived to take their plates. “Would you like to see the dessert menu?” she asked, stacking everything expertly on one hand.
Matt raised an eyebrow at AJ in silent question. She shook her head. The meal had dragged on long enough and her nerves were at breaking point.
“Coffee?”
She shook her head again, but Matt said, “An espresso would be good.”
She glared at him as the waitress left but he just smiled. “Always in a rush, Angel. I remember that about you.”
She leaned back in her chair and huffed out a breath. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
“Making me...” Impatient. Aroused. Frustrated. She clenched her teeth. “You know, you can be irritating sometimes, Matthew Cooper.”
He leaned in. “I can be irritating? Let’s see. I remember one particular night in my pool—”
“Stop.”
“—when you performed a particularly frustrating striptease for me and—”
“Stop!” she hissed through her teeth. “Are you trying to embarrass me?”
“Ah, Angel. The fine art of teasing was never your strong point. At least,” he added, his eyes glinting, “not verbally, anyway.”
What could she say to that?
“I’m going to the bathroom.” She grabbed her clutch and rose.
Teasing? I’ll give him teasing. She deliberately put a sway in her hips, knowing Matt was watching every step she took.
Serves him right.
* * *
She pushed open the door to the ladies’ room with an exasperated huff. Was he punishing her—was that it? But why? Because she’d asked him to father her child? Because he was attracted to her and...what, he was angry about that?
Or was it something deeper? Something older...maybe ten years old?
AJ strode over to the long vanity and paused in front of the mirror. With one expert finger she smoothed her eyeliner, then dug around in her bag for her lipstick. He’d broken up with her. He’d moved on, gotten married.
Her reflection blinked back at her. If he could compartmentalize this, so could she.
Her heart contracted as she swept the Revlon lipstick across her mouth, then pressed her lips together. He’d not only gone through a demanding childhood, but he’d also had to deal with the death of his brother, turning that loss into the motivation for creating GEM, a major global rescue company. Drive and determination were two qualities that defined Matthew Cooper, no matter what he did in life. He wanted something, so he pursued it; his medical degree and GEM were proof of that.
Well, she was determined, too.
AJ capped the lipstick, smoothed her hair down, then scrunched the ends to boost the curl. “Time to move this thing along,” she murmured, taking one last look at her vampy reflection before turning to the door.
She strode back across the crowded dining floor, ignoring the handful of men watching her progress. Only one guy was in her sights right now, and he was downing his coffee with the smooth efficiency of someone impatient to be somewhere else.
Alrighty, then.
When she stopped at their table, Matt glanced up.
“Are you ready to go?” she said. He took her in for only a second, maybe more, but it was enough to send a shiver over her skin.
“Yes.” He abruptly stood, and she had to take a quick step back as he invaded her personal space. Then he reached for her hand, linking his fingers through hers, and her insides sent up a little cheer.
This was it. The moment she’d been waiting for all night.
She was ready.
