Expecting His Child: The Pregnancy Plot / Staking His Claim / A Tricky Proposition. Tessa RadleyЧитать онлайн книгу.
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