But to a woman—this woman, anyway—it was more difficult to separate sex from emotion. From love. She couldn’t just write off an intimate connection like the one she’d just shared with Mitch as a mere physical fling.
She’d been dumb enough to fall in love with him. All he wanted was nostrings fun while she wanted to be bound by ribbons of love and commitment to the man she gave her heart to.
Mitch wasn’t that man. He’d made that very clear, much as she might long for it to be otherwise. The lovemaking they’d shared last night had meant nothing to him, though he’d made sure she enjoyed it to the fullest. She’d gone into it willingly. Did not regret it. But she deserved more than Mitch was prepared to give.
Friends with benefits didn’t do it for her—no matter how spectacular the benefits.
If Mitch came to see her as promised, later this morning, she would make all the right noises. The Let’s keep in touch, the I’ll look you up when I’m next in Europe, the I hope to see you next time in Sydney, conversation. But after he left she would wipe Mitch from her mind, from her heart.
At last she dozed off into a fitful sleep. When she awoke again, to early-morning sunlight filtering through the blinds, it was like a repeat of the dreams of him she had suffered since Bali: waking to find she was alone after all. Only this time she could still see where the sheets had twisted around his body, inhale the scent of him, feel the imprint of him on her. He had been only too real.
She got out of bed, staggered with sudden dizziness and a wave of nausea. Coffee. That was what she needed.
She clung to the railing as she made her way down the winding metal stairs that led from the mezzanine to the living area. There was no trace of Mitch left—not even a lingering scent.
Then she saw the toy dog Mitch had won for her, propped on the coffee table. Mitch had joked that he didn’t want it watching them and turned its back to them.
Zoe took the few steps over to the coffee table, hugged the fluffy toy to her and let the tears come.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AN HOUR LATER Zoe yawned and stretched as she let herself out of her front door. The coffee had done nothing to quell the nausea—in fact just a sip had made it worse. She’d been lucky enough to get a cancellation for an early-morning appointment with her doctor in Balmain village. It was a crisp, sunny morning and she’d decided to walk.
Even after eating only a few bites of her meal last night she’d awoken feeling unwell again. It was annoying to feel like this when she was so used to perfect health. If, as Mitch seemed to think, she had picked up some long-lasting exotic bug she needed to get it fixed. Or maybe it was stress. Or a food allergy. Half the people she knew these days seemed to have some kind of food intolerance.
Then again, maybe it was caused by heartbreak.
She didn’t have to wait long to see the doctor. Straight away, Zoe told her how she’d got food poisoning the first day she’d been in Bali and hadn’t seemed to get over it. She was astounded when, after listening to her recital of tummy-twisting woes, her doctor suggested she take a pregnancy test.
Zoe shook her head. ‘It couldn’t be that,’ she said. ‘I’m on the pill. We were careful. It was only one night.’
Her doctor gave her a reassuring smile as she handed over a pregnancy-testing wand and directed Zoe to the medical practice’s bathroom. ‘It’s a good idea to rule it out for sure.’
Zoe had thought she’d felt fear when the earthquake had hit. But that fear was nothing to what she felt in the privacy of the medical centre’s bathroom. She had to wait three endless minutes before she dared to look at the result panel of the testing stick. One thin pink line meant she wasn’t pregnant. Two pink lines meant she was pregnant.
She thought her eyes were blurring when she saw two distinct pink lines. Pink lines as deep in colour as the suit she’d been wearing the day before. She closed her eyes and opened them again, but the two lines were still there. She shook the device, in the hope that it might shake back down to one line, like the mercury in a thermometer. But the two pink lines were still there, glaring at her.
This couldn’t be.
Those thin pink lines were turning her life upside down more than any earthquake.
Too numb to move, she stayed a long time in the bathroom. Eventually the practice nurse knocked on the door and asked if she was all right. She staggered back down to the doctor’s consulting room, holding on to the corridor wall for support.
‘You okay?’ her doctor asked.
‘Not really,’ she said. ‘It says I’m pregnant. That’s not possible. I...I don’t feel pregnant.’
But when she really thought about it maybe she did. The off-and-on nausea. Her aversion to certain foods. The inexplicable craving for oranges she’d put down to a need for vitamin C. A tendency to be over emotional, which was not like her at all. And when she’d dressed last night, in that gorgeous purple dress she’d bought just before she went to Bali, she’d been surprised when it had seemed tighter across the bust than she’d remembered.
But her brain refused to accept the possibility.
‘Don’t I need a blood test to be sure?’ she asked.
‘The test you’ve just taken is extremely accurate,’ the doctor said. ‘But just to be certain I’ll ask you to hop up onto the bed so I can examine you.’
Zoe moaned under her breath. Could the day get any worse?
‘You’re definitely pregnant,’ the doctor said, after a series of palpations. ‘About eight weeks along, I’d say.’
She was eight weeks pregnant.
It seemed impossible. But the timing was spot-on.
‘The sickness you’re feeling should start to ease soon, as your hormones settle down,’ the doctor said.
‘How could this have happened? We took precautions.’
‘No precautions are one hundred per cent effective,’ the doctor said. ‘My guess is that your digestive upset in Bali negated the effectiveness of your pill. Put simply: it wasn’t absorbed—it didn’t work.’
Zoe squeezed her eyes tight shut. This couldn’t be true.
When she opened them it was to see the concerned face of her doctor.
‘You have...options...’ the doctor said.
‘No.’ Zoe was stunned by the fierce immediacy of her reply. ‘No options. I’m keeping it.’
She couldn’t bring herself to say the baby. Not yet. Not now.
Mitch’s baby.
‘The father...?’ the doctor probed discreetly.
‘We’re not...not in a relationship,’ Zoe replied. ‘I...I’m in this on my own.’
She hardly heard another word as the doctor handed her a bunch of pamphlets. Talked of blood tests. Nutrition advice. Referral to an obstetrician. Choice of hospital. Antenatal classes. Nothing really sank in. This couldn’t be happening.
She was going to have a baby in February.
It took her twice as long to walk home as it had to get to the medical centre. Her feet felt leaden and it seemed as if she was walking through dense fog. The more she thought about being pregnant, the more complicated the situation got.
She dreaded telling Mitch. He’d made it so clear he wasn’t ready for commitment—certainly not for a family. ‘Not until I’m thirty. Maybe thirty-five.’ His words echoed in her head over and over.
Then worse words seeped into her thoughts like poison. Her grandmother. ‘I won’t have you getting pregnant and ruining the future of some fine young man the way your mother ruined my son’s.’
In Bali she’d told Mitch what her grandmother had said. Was that how Mitch would see it? Would her getting pregnant ruin his future? It would certainly change it.
Her breath caught on a half-sob. Not as much as it would change hers.
Would he think she’d tried to trap him? That she’d demand money? Even marriage? The oldest trick in the book. She couldn’t bear to think he would believe that of her.
Imagine if the press got hold of it. How sordid they would make it look.
A one-night stand. A holiday fling. A scheming woman. It would not reflect well on him.
Mitch’s career was all-important to him. He’d been so clear that he couldn’t have distractions at this vital stage of his career. What could be more of a distraction than an unplanned baby—with its mother a woman he was only just getting to know?
A mother. She was going to be a mother.
From nowhere came a fierce urge to protect her baby. Her baby. This baby would be wanted. Would be loved. This was far from the way she’d dreamed of starting a family, but it had happened. She was strong. She was independent. She could do this on her own.
By the time Zoe got back home she’d made her decision. She would not tell Mitch she was pregnant.
* * *
Mitch had an early breakfast with his parents, feeling sad to say goodbye to them while his father was still in a cast and a sling and so obviously in discomfort. But that was another price he paid for his international career—being so far away from his family.
His mother had been determined to drive him to the airport. Much as Mitch loved his mother, he had been equally determined that she would be staying home in Wahroonga. He wanted to drive himself, so he could detour to Balmain and see Zoe one last time before he flew out to Madrid.
As he drove his rental car into Balmain, Mitch realised he was excited—heart-pounding, mind-racing excited—at the thought of seeing Zoe, even for only an hour. He had never felt like this about a woman. Always the game had been first and foremost—his emotions and energy channelled into his relentless drive to the top level.
Realistically, now was not the best time to get involved, to be thinking there might be some kind of future with her. But his attraction to Zoe was as out of his control as the earthquake had been. He had to ride with it.
Their night together had shifted something in his thinking. On the drive back to his parents’ house he had found himself wondering if Zoe could play a part in his life. Could she be a support rather than a distraction? Would having her with him in Madrid be less of a distraction than not having her there?
Because deep in his gut he knew Zoe was important. Very important.
One thing was for sure: he had to see her again, and see her again as soon as possible. Being back in Madrid would be easier if he knew he would be seeing her as soon as they could make it happen. He wanted to make a definite arrangement for her to come and visit as quickly as she possibly could. Her first-class airfare paid by him, of course.
On his third knock, Zoe answered her door.
As a footballer, Mitch was good at reading other players’ intentions. Some commentators saw his skill as uncanny. He believed it was because he had been blessed with a well-developed subconscious antennae that picked up on the slightest variations in body language.
But he didn’t need more than a basic knowledge of body language to know that something was wrong. Zoe looked washed out and drawn; her hand braced against the doorframe didn’t look steady. His first thought was that she was ill.
‘Mitch,’ she said, offering her cheek for his kiss, but her greeting wasn’t over-burdened with enthusiasm—and certainly not with passion.
He swallowed his dismay. Last night she had been so responsive in his arms.
Today she was wearing skinny black jeans and a loose black top that swamped her slender frame. It drained the colour from her face, making the contrast of her red lipstick appear garish. Her eyes seemed shadowed and dull.
He drew back. Searched her face. ‘Are you okay?’
Her gaze slid away from his. ‘Just tired. It was such a late night last night.’
Worry for her coursed through him. Fatigue. Illness. Please don’t let there be something seriously wrong with her.
‘You look unwell,’ he said, more bluntly than he’d intended.
‘I actually went to the doctor this morning,’ she said.
‘And? Did he test you for tropical bugs?’
‘It’s not a tropical bug. It’s...it’s... She’s testing me for food allergies.’
‘That’s great. Not great that it could be an allergy. But great you didn’t bring something home from Bali with you.’
Zoe choked, and then started to cough. He patted her on the back until her coughs subsided.
‘I’m okay now,’ she said.
He frowned. ‘I don’t like the sound of that cough.’
Her smile was forced. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. I...I’m not sick.’
Mitch wasn’t convinced.
She turned on her spike-heeled black boots. ‘It’s cold out here. You’d better come in.’
The shiver that went through him had nothing to do with the weather.
Mitch followed her through into her living room. The view was, indeed, as spectacular as he’d thought it would be last night.
‘This is a wonderful space,’ he said, looking around him.
For the first time she smiled, but it was a wan imitation of her usual smile. ‘It is wonderful, isn’t it? I get it for a very good rent.’
For the first time Mitch felt an intimation of fear. Was she having second thoughts about them keeping in touch? He regretted not telling her last night that she was so much more to him than a ‘friend with benefits’. They’d vaguely discussed her visiting him in Madrid. But nothing concrete. He wanted to remedy that this morning—before he left for the airport.
He looked over to the sofa, where they’d made such passionate love. The cat was firmly ensconced once more, curled up in a ball. It opened one yellow eye, inspected him, and went back to sleep.
‘No one working today?’ he said. ‘Except the mouse-catcher, there, of course.’
His joke about the cat fell flat.
‘Louise and our office manager are on a course. I cancelled all my appointments because...’
He wanted her to say it was because he was going to call by and she wanted privacy. But he had a sinking sensation that wasn’t what she was going to say.
‘Because...because I wasn’t feeling well,’ she said.
She didn’t wait for a reply from him, but turned away so all he saw of her was her black-clad back. Then she spun round to face him. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, seemed to brace her shoulders.
‘I can’t do this—with you, I mean,’ she blurted out. ‘I’ve thought about it. Not knowing when I’ll see you again. Being a...a part-time lover. Sleeping with you with no kind of commitment. It’s not me. It...it can only lead to heartbreak—for me, anyway. Why pretend otherwise?’
Mitch was too astounded to answer for a moment. ‘I don’t get it. Last night we talked about you coming to Madrid.’
‘Did we? I don’t recall a definite invitation. Just Drop in for a bootie call if you happen to find yourself in Europe.’
‘Zoe, I didn’t meant that.’
But that was exactly what it would have sounded like to her. He cursed under his breath.
‘Last night we were kidding ourselves that we could keep something going. But all the barriers are still there and...and they’re insurmountable.’ Her voice broke.
‘I don’t agree,’ he said. ‘We can—’
She put up her hand in a halt sign. ‘Don’t say it. I’ve made up my mind. In any case, even if you were offering more than friends with benefits, I couldn’t deal with the public attention. For a private person like me it would be hell.’
‘But last night—’
She spoke over him. ‘We...we need to get on with our own lives. I’m sorry, Mitch.’
Her words sounded rehearsed. Was this why she was tired? Had she been up since he’d left here, practising how to dump him?
He fisted his hands by his sides. ‘I’m surprised. And disappointed.’
And angry as hell.
‘I’ve thought about it a lot since...since last night.’
‘So that’s it? It’s over between us before it even started?’
Dumbly, she nodded, her eyes bleak.
‘Then ther
e’s nothing further to be said.’
He turned and walked out. She made no effort to stop him. If she’d been able to read his thought bubbles all that would be visible would be dark, thunderous clouds.
* * *
Mitch was so churned up he was scarcely aware of how he got out of Balmain and on the road to the airport.
What in hell had gone wrong? He couldn’t believe Zoe had had such a complete turnaround of feelings.
But he couldn’t make her feel what he felt—make her see what a good chance they had of something special if they both worked at it.
He had to put her behind him.
It wasn’t as if he’d be short of feminine attention once he got back to Madrid.
Oh, yes, there were plenty of eager women around for a player of his standing in La Liga. He was only alone by choice.
But none of them was Zoe.
His hands clenched tightly to the steering wheel. As he drove towards the airport his thoughts spun around and around, unable to make sense of his confrontation with her.
It hadn’t seemed right. There had been something about her. She’d seemed...cowed. The thought of her face brought back a flash of memory. The way her shoulders had been hunched over, the way she’d kept her eyes to the ground. She’d been like that Zoe he’d wounded long ago in high school.
But he’d done nothing to hurt her this time.
Something else had happened. Something she was hiding from him—for a reason he couldn’t fathom.
As he neared the industrial area of Mascot, home to Sydney’s Kinsgsford-Smith Airport, he was still puzzling over what he might have missed.
He thought about her doctor’s diagnosis. How could the doctor know straight away that Zoe hadn’t contracted a tropical disease? There would have to be tests—tests that would take days to come back from a pathologist.
The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced something was seriously wrong. Something Zoe was determined to hide from him.
Twice before she’d left him with unfinished business. The first time when they’d been teenagers. The second in Bali, after a night of passionate lovemaking. There wouldn’t be a third time.
He still had a few hours until he had to check in for his flight.
From Paradise...to Pregnant! Page 12
