Expecting His Child. Tessa Radley
Читать онлайн книгу.
returned.
God, she loved this song. The sexy, mournful guitar, the smooth, haunting lyrics. Then that heavy drum solo that seemed to come from nowhere. It was a hot, provocative song, designed for lovemaking.
Perfect for tonight.
She squeezed her thighs together and breathed deep, the music curling seductively in her belly until the car finally pulled to a stop.
When Matthew swung the door swung open, she couldn’t stop her heart from tripping over itself. Just like last night, he offered his hand and she took it, letting him help her from the car with a smile.
He swept his gaze over her, taking in her strappy silver heels, long wraparound red dress with the plunging neckline and soft black cardigan she’d topped it with. “You look great.” But when his eyes went to her hair, he frowned.
Her hand went to her careful coiffure. “What?”
“What’s with your hair?”
“What do you mean?”
He nodded. “Why do you tie it back like that? Doesn’t it give you a headache?”
“No.” She smoothed it back, tucking a nonexistent strand behind her ear. “It’s more efficient this way. Less annoying.”
“You should leave it loose.” And before she could reply, he had a hand in her hair and was digging out the hairclips she’d painstakingly positioned.
She twisted away. “Matt! No!” She patted the back, fiddling with the now-messy strands. “Damn it.” She scowled at him. “You’ve ruined it.”
“Then take it down.”
A soft growl of frustration rattled in her throat. “Fine.” She plucked out the pins, then undid the elastic. Her hair came tumbling down, the soft, freshly washed waves falling over her shoulders, making her shiver. With a scowl, she unclasped her clutch and dropped the pins inside. “Happy now?”
“Yes.” When he gently rearranged the strands, fingers brushing her cheek, her irritation faltered, then fizzled out. He linked his fingers through hers and led her across the sidewalk.
They were at the Man O’ War steps, a long jetty just around the corner from the Opera House. The sun had set behind them, leaving the Botanical Gardens in shadow. She nodded to a sleek cruiser tied to a berth as they walked down the wooden jetty. “Did you hire a boat?”
“No. It’s mine.”
“You own a boat?”
“Sure. It’s normally moored at my house but I got my captain to bring it on down.”
“Your captain.” Boy, this night was getting more surreal by the moment. “Nice music in the car, by the way. You have a good memory.”
“Comes from years of study. Good evening, Rex.” He nodded to the captain, impressive in his white uniform and brimmed cap. “This is Miss Reynolds.”
“Mr. Cooper. Miss Reynolds.” Rex inclined his head, smiling. “Are you ready to cast off, sir?”
“We are.”
AJ made her way tentatively across the drawbridge, Matt’s steadying hand at her back, before finally stepping onto the deck. It was like being on one of Sydney Ferries’ JetCats, but where the JetCat was equipped for public service efficiency, carrying hundreds of commuters per trip, this vessel was decked out purely for luxury.
She slowly walked into the cabin, marveling at the opulence. The huge interior was obviously for serious entertainment, from the wraparound glass windows displaying Sydney Harbour in all its glory to the polished wooden floors. A couple of inviting couches huddled around a huge plasma screen to her left, and to her right was an eating area with dining table and bar.
She turned back to Matt and nodded to the unset table. “I thought we were eating.”
He smiled. “We are. Aft. And—” he glanced at his watch “—it should be ready now. Come.”
He led her to the door at the rear of the cabin, one firm hand on the small of her back.
They emerged into the cold night as the rumbling engines overtook the gentle sound of waves slapping the hull. A glass partition extended along the aft rail, shielding them from the wind, and dead ahead a small table was decked out for two, complete with white plates, oversized wineglasses and candles flickering in huge glass lanterns. A long food warmer sat on one side, and on the other, a huge patio heater emanated a comforting glow.
Wow. The chauffeured car pickup, the music, the boat. And now this. He’d gone all out when she would have been satisfied with takeout on the sofa. Yet something inside her did a little dance at the effort he’d put in.
It was the little things, right?
The engines surged and the boat abruptly picked up pace, cleaving through the harbor with a whoosh of water and spray. The deck listed beneath her feet and he took her arm, steadying her.
“You like?” His smile was perfectly enigmatic.
She nodded. “I do.”
“Great. Let’s eat.”
If someone had asked her later what the meal was like, she’d be hard-pressed to remember it. Matt’s presence overshadowed every bite. She barely felt the cold wind whipping around the boat as he served their meal, all the while keeping up a comfortable commentary about the history of Botany Bay and Fort Dennison, Sydney’s first convict island.
When she finally emerged from her little bubble to glance down at her plate, everything had miraculously gone.
“Dessert?” He smiled, holding his wineglass gently by the stem.
“What do you have?”
His smile deepened. “Crème brûlée, strawberries and a decadent mocha mousse.”
“The way to a girl’s heart.” AJ sighed dramatically. “But you know,” she went on, tapping a finger on her chin, “I don’t remember you ever offering three choices before.”
“I was a struggling student.”
“Matthew Cooper, struggling? Rubbish.” Her grin took the sting out of her words and he answered it with one of his own. They sat like that for ages until her phone rang.
She dug it from her bag, glanced down at the screen, scowled, then switched it to mute.
Matt watched her but said nothing.
“No one important,” she supplied, dropping it back into her bag. “So. Italy, huh?”
He nodded. “My plane leaves at seven in the morning.”
“Your plane? As in your own personal plane?” At his nod, her eyes rounded. “Wow. I am so in the wrong job.”
He shrugged. “It’s a necessity. That way GEM isn’t bound by commercial airline schedules. I can leave within half an hour if I need to.”
“Must be nice to take off on a whim.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Says the Queen of Impulsiveness.”
“Yeah...” She sighed. “But not so much anymore. Tell me, Matt.” She leaned in, her elbows on the table. “After all the places you’ve been, having your own private boat and plane...is there something you haven’t yet achieved? Some particular goal that’s always eluded you?”
“Of course.”
“Name one.”
He paused, his expression giving nothing away. “I’ve never backed a winner in the Melbourne Cup.”
She snorted. “Winning a horse race is not a dream.”
“Speak for yourself!” He looked affronted. “It’s not just a horse race—it’s the horse race.”
AJ