The Pregnancy Plot

by Paula Roe

  She barely registered the elevator had come to a stop. Matt suddenly pulled back, spinning her to face the front with a wicked gleam just before the doors slid open.

  An elderly woman got on and AJ murmured a polite greeting, her face warm and her blood pounding. Matt was standing behind her, his hands stuck casually in his pant pockets, studying the glowing numbers as they continued their ascent. Yet his thigh nestled firmly against her bottom, heat searing through her thin dress.

  She stared at the slowly changing floor numbers until her nerves felt so tight they began to scream.

  What on earth do you think you’re doing?

  She never dwelled on the past or rehashed it. Moving on was what she did, what she’d always done. She’d come to terms with it all, had matured, grown.

  So why was she still thinking about it?

  She’d been twenty-three. They’d both gone into their affair with a mutual understanding it was only temporary. Of course his career had come first. Saint Catherine’s up-and-coming neurosurgeon didn’t belong with an addict’s daughter and runaway thief.

  When their fellow passenger got off on the tenth floor, AJ took an unsteady breath. I am me. AJ Reynolds. I am not the broken product of those awful people. I have a sister who loves me. I have friends. I am smart. I love animals. I don’t cheat or lie. I’m a good person.

  So would a good person manipulate and seduce to get what she wanted?

  Matt gently urged her forward, breaking into her thoughts. She glanced up to see they’d reached the top floor just before the doors quietly opened onto the long plush hallway.

  Sweat popped out in the small of her back. She could feel the tickle as it slowly slid down, down, until her dress eventually absorbed it.

  “AJ?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut as his hand cupped her hip, the familiar firmness creating alternate bursts of doubt and desire in her belly.

  You can do this.

  The corridor was way too long, its walls adorned with exclusive hand-drawn Versace designs in gilt frames. Then finally they were at his door, a huge, dark wooden thing emblazoned with a fresco of classic Greek gods and a gold number three. He opened it with his card and she caught her first glimpse of the amazing decor inside the cavernous penthouse suite along with a sliver of blue sky from the huge patio windows. As she hesitated at the threshold, he gently pulled her against him. Her bottom connected with his groin and his lips went to her nape.

  She gasped. With one hand braced on the door frame, he looped the other low across her belly.

  “I want you in my bed, Angel,” he murmured in her ear, his hot breath and rough stubble sending tiny waves of longing over her skin. “I want to have you beneath me, above me, around me.”

  He shifted, the truth of his arousal solid against her butt.

  Sinful memories flooded in to hijack her senses. In his pool, slick and hot in the moonlight. On the beach at sunrise, a scratchy blanket against her bare back. And late one night in the kitchen, naked and laughing when they’d realized they’d left the blinds open so anyone walking past could catch an eyeful.

  Yet she couldn’t ignore the overwhelming resonance of the final few months.

  You can’t do it, not like this.

  Her eyes flew open and she jerked forward, breaking the warm contact of his lips on her neck before quickly turning to face him. She saw confusion in his eyes.

  Her fingers dug into the wood door frame, holding her up and keeping her steady while everything inside groaned in abject disappointment.

  “I’m sorry, Matt. I...I can’t.”

  “What?” He frowned as his hand slowly slid from the frame. “I thought—”

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated lamely.

  No! No, no, no. Her hands tightened on the door, breath caught in sudden hesitancy. He was right there in front of her, her memories a pale comparison to the reality of his warm body, skilled lips and practiced hands.

  No. This wasn’t right.

  It took all her willpower to steel herself against those seductive eyes and take a firm step past him, into the hall. “I can’t do this. I’m... Goodbye, Matthew.”

  Then she turned on her heel and practically sprinted to the elevators.

  Four

  It was Thursday, surgery roster day. It was always odd walking the halls of Saint Catherine’s as a visitor and not rushing on his way to surgery, post-op or a meeting. Matt had passed reception and greeted the nurses, their unspoken questions creating a tiny frisson of discomfort as they returned his smile and nodded. The corridors held that familiar polarizing smell—people either loathed the mix of antiseptic, antibiotics and clean linen or found it comforting. For him it was about adrenaline, the scent of new scrubs, the weird soapy smell in the washroom. The jitters that always hit him a second after he gowned up. Then the rush of complete and utter calm as he scrubbed, studied his notes and prepared to cut.

  He automatically glanced at the door numbers, then turned his focus down the hall. Katrina’s office was at the end and, as always, he had to go past the Blue Room to get there.

  He picked up the pace, studiously ignoring the innocuous door with its private sign. He’d always hated that room: a room where bad news got officially delivered, where parents learned their child’s illness was terminal, where brothers, sisters, husbands and wives broke down and cried. The other surgeons called it “the grief room” in private.

  A room he associated with so many names—Kyle McClain. Denise Baxter. Eli Hughes. Valerie Bowman. And the rest. He remembered them all.

  Head cloudy with memories, he barely heard his name being called until he spotted a middle-aged couple heading down a corridor on his left.

  “Dr. Cooper?” the woman said again, and he paused as they approached. “I thought it was you. It’s Megan Ross,” she added with a smile. “This is Jeremy. I don’t know if you remember us—”

  “Of course,” he said, shaking Jeremy Ross’s hand. “I operated on your son, Scott.” Matt paused, then asked cautiously, “Is he okay?”

  “He’s perfect.” Scott’s father waved away his concern with a reassuring smile. “We’re just visiting a friend.”

  He nodded, relieved. “Good. Scott would be what—fourteen now? Oh, okay—” He paused as Megan Ross enveloped him in a huge hug.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized, face flushed as she let him go. “But it’s the least we can do for the man who saved Scotty’s life.”

  He smiled. “That was my job, Mrs. Ross.”

  “Oh, no, you did more than that. You walked us through the procedure, answered all our questions and reassured us we were doing the right thing.” Her voice wavered and she gulped in a breath, giving her husband a shaky smile when he reached out to rub her back. “You gave up your time, sitting with us, talking about silly, inconsequential things and keeping us occupied while we waited for Scotty to come out of post-op. We were here for a month and you were there for us every time. Not many doctors would do that.”

  Matt’s heart squeezed for one moment, remembering the little boy with the brain tumor, one of his very last cases at Saint Cat’s. “You are quite welcome.”

  “We’ve just come back from Greece, went to all those places you told us about that night,” Jeremy Ross added. “Scotty loved it.” He stuck his hand in his pocket and withdrew a small drawstring bag. “We got you something.”

  He put up a hand, alarmed. “Oh, you didn’t have to—”

  “Don’t you go refusing it,” Mrs. Ross chided. “Scott picked it out especially for you.”

  Could he feel any more awkward? Yet as the parents beamed at him with gratitude, the feeling fragmented. He took the velvet bag Mr. Ross held out and tipped the contents onto his palm.

  “It’s Saint Luke,” Mrs. Ross said. “Patron Saint of Physicians.
We got it on Naxos. They make them from the crumbling stones of the Gateway to the Gods.”

  “It’s beautiful,” he said, turning the cool stone figurine over in his fingers. Intricate carvings detailed the ancient saint’s intricately folded robe and beard. He had a beatific expression on his lined face and he held a thick book in his hand.

  A wave of emotion hit the back of Matt’s throat. “Tell Scotty it’s perfect.”

  “We will. You know he wants to be a doctor when he grows up?”

  He nodded. “He’ll make a good one.”

  After another hug and handshake, they left. And Matt was left standing there in the cool corridor, completely undone.

  He remembered everything so clearly, every moment he’d spent in their company, deflecting their grief and uncertainty with hard facts, then with uncomplicated amusing stories of his sister’s travels. They were good people, easy to talk to and relax around. Eventually conversation had turned to his own hopes, his plans to travel and see the world—plans that were merely a pipe dream considering his insane workload and commitment to the hospital. And the Rosses had regaled him with their ten-year-old’s antics, his love of science and classic Doctor Who episodes, his obsession with all things ancient.

  Had it really been four years ago? The desire had been planted then, only months before his brother Jack’s death, before his life had taken a one-eighty and he’d turned his back on his parents’ demands, his career and his marriage.

  Matt dragged a hand through his hair and stared down the long corridor. He’d finally seen the world, been to places he’d desperately wanted to go. He’d spent a whole year doing nothing except experiencing life. These days, GEM ensured his travel bug was sufficiently fed: he handpicked his assignments and delegated the rest to his capable staff.

  He’d achieved all his goals. Well, except one. One deep desire that burned in the back of his mind, one so powerful that it had contributed to his marriage’s downfall, turned Katrina so bitter and angry that she’d demanded way more in the divorce than she was legally entitled to. Wracked with guilt, he’d given it to her.

  I don’t want kids. She’d made that clear from the very start. And he’d agreed. He’d witnessed the devastation of losing a child, seen the agony and pain every day. You couldn’t escape it in a place like this. Plus, where would they find the time to devote to parenthood? Their entire lives revolved around equally demanding careers.

  Then Jack had died and life as he knew it came crashing to a halt.

  No, Katrina had said calmly when he’d broached the subject. I told you. We agreed.

  I know, he’d replied, unable to meet her accusing eyes. But I’ve changed my mind.

  She’d sighed. Look, we should take a break. I’ll get Kylie to book us a holiday.... We could spend a few days in Bali—

  I don’t want a holiday, he’d shot back. I want you to consider us having a baby.

  Oh, the look he’d gotten from that! And when she’d slowly crossed her arms in that I’m-tired-of-this-topic way of hers, he knew before she opened her mouth that his marriage was over.

  That will never, ever happen, Matthew.

  His phone beeped, breaking into his thoughts. He glanced at it. He was five minutes late. Katrina hated tardiness.

  With a sigh, he approached the conference room door and knocked, then walked straight on in.

  Five

  “I’m sorry...do you have another meeting, Matthew?”

  Matt glanced up from his watch to meet Katrina’s cool gaze before leaning back in his seat and crossing his ankles beneath the conference table. “No.”

  Suddenly Matt and his ex-wife were the sole focus of attention in the room as the department heads’ soft chatter came to a halt. Matthew remained impassive in the silence. Sure, for most of the staff his history with Katrina was a nonissue, but there were a few who gleefully anticipated a domestic incident every time they assembled to discuss his company’s staffing needs, which Saint Cat’s played a large part in fulfilling.

  They obviously didn’t know her. Or him. Their divorce had been polite, dispassionate and completely professional—just like their marriage.

  He cocked one eyebrow up, inviting her to press the issue. She blinked a slow and icy dismissal before continuing with the agenda.

  He furtively eyed his watch again. Half past one. Jeez, he hated these meetings. Every year admin rehashed the same concerns about working with GEM—low staff numbers, budgetary constraints, rostering conflicts—before finally signing on the dotted line. So as Katrina’s people squabbled over the same issues, he stared out the window and let his thoughts drift back to AJ.

  Five days had passed. Five days of meetings, flights and a hundred other professional commitments that had succeeded in keeping his mind firmly on work. Not on a certain redhead who’d invaded his downtime and strengthened his interest despite her unceremonious rejection.

  He shifted in his chair and crossed his arms, his gaze going to the stunning view of Sydney Harbour out the window of the twentieth-floor conference room.

  Man, he’d been right, though. AJ had changed. She’d gone from a spontaneous free spirit to...what? She’d never talked about her dreams, her wants. Never even mentioned family. Until the wedding he’d had no idea she had a sister. Yet they’d been together six months. Surely they’d talked, right?

  What he knew about her could fit on the head of a pin. Prior to working at the local café near his Central Coast house, she’d traveled up and down Australia from northern Queensland to Victoria, doing seasonal fruit picking, waitressing and cleaning. Her nomadic existence fascinated him, given all his plans and constant schedules.

  He remembered calling her on his last shift and, no matter what the time, she’d be on his doorstep when he got home. They’d end up in bed, then eat, make love some more, and in the morning she’d be gone. And then there was the way he’d handled their breakup, which was, he admitted, sudden and with little finesse.

  No wonder she shut you down.

  When the meeting broke up ten minutes later, Matt sighed in relief and headed straight out the door, checking his phone messages as he went. Delete. Delete. Answer. Ignore.

  He stopped abruptly, staring at the screen.

  AJ was at GEM. He checked the time of his office manager’s text, then his watch. She’d been waiting in his office for two hours.

  “Now that’s interesting,” he murmured.

  A burst of anticipation quickened his blood, and he frowned. Forget it. You took a cold shower, spent the rest of the day in a black mood then moved on.

  Apparently not.

  * * *

  He’d barely got a handle on his curiosity when he pushed through his office door at GEM’s Mascot headquarters half an hour later.

  He paused, noting her small start before she swiveled in her seat and looked up at him with wide blue eyes. Tellingly, she’d chosen the rigid-backed visitor’s chair next to his desk instead of the comfy sofa flanking the far wall.

  “Hi, Matt.”

  He let silence do the talking as he cataloged her appearance, from the worn blue denims, plain white V-neck T-shirt and oversized worn navy jacket to that red hair tightly contained in a low knot.

  Man, that was beginning to piss him off.

  “What brings you to Sydney?” he finally asked.

  “You.” She paused, a small frown marring her forehead. “Can you sit? I need to talk to you.”

  He shrugged and walked over to his desk, lowering himself slowly into the plush leather seat.

  Was she here for a do-over?

  Pride nipped at his heels, making him frown. He had half a mind to ask her to leave, but at the last moment decided against it. No harm in letting her talk, right? He could always say no.

  He remained expressionless as he ey
eballed her. She returned his stare.

  Damn it, he wanted to say no.

  Yeah, who’re you kidding? If she was here to have another go of it, he’d make her stew a little. Then they’d do it his way.

  His, imagination went into overdrive as he considered the endless possibilities. He’d take down that ridiculous hairdo for a start. And have her wear something...red. Yeah. A strapless body-hugging red dress that emphasized her delicate collarbone, with those crazy curls falling over her shoulders. And beneath the dress—

  “Matt?”

  “Yeah?” Her sharp tone snapped his attention back to the present. When he finally looked at her—really looked—her serious expression set off all kinds of alarms. “What’s going on?”

  “I need your help with something.”

  AJ chose her words carefully, instinctively moving to cross her arms before she realized what she was doing. She linked her fingers together in her lap instead.

  No, that wasn’t right, either. So she recrossed her legs and slid her elbows onto the chair arms, her fingers lightly gripping the ends. Much better.

  Her brief composure dissolved under the weight of Matthew’s loaded question. “My help?”

  “Yes. Well, it’s more like a favor. Well, not a favor, which sounds a little trivial, but more like—”

  “Take a breath.” His smooth, cultured voice flowed over her, bringing the nervousness down a notch. “You flew down to Sydney to ask me for a favor?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s wrong with the phone?”

  “This isn’t a phone kind of favor.”

  His mouth suddenly tweaked. “I think I know what this is about.”

  She blinked. “You do?”

  “Yeah. But you used to come right out and say it, AJ. Hesitancy wasn’t one of your attributes.”

  What? She shook her head with a frown. “I’m not entirely—”

  “—convinced we should do it?” He leaned forward, planting his elbows on the desk and clasping his hands, an expectant gleam in his eyes. “Wouldn’t denial be worse?”