The Pregnancy Plot. Paula Roe
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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.
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,