He signed for the drinks and took Maggie her cocktail.
“I got you this. Try not to be too under-whelmed.” He set a Martini glass down in front of her. It included a cocktail stick with a row of multi-colored gummy bears impaled upon it. “Passion fruit and pomegranate.”
Maggie stared. “Wow, a gummy-bear cocktail?” She picked it up, turned the stem of the glass between her fingers, and admired the little bears like pretty jewels. “You know the way to a girl’s heart.”
“Don’t blame me if it’s awful,” he added, “The barman recommended it. It’s his teen special.” He sat down next to her. He’d like to get to know her. She’d been part of a carefree time when the only real problem was finding two clean socks that matched; no difficult choices. His parents’ fights had stopped for a while, and he’d been left to his own devices. Things had been easier. “I’d go easy on the gummy bears if I were you.”
“Ohhh-kay.”
She stretched out the syllables and stared off in the direction of the music. Why wouldn’t she look him in the face? She seemed spiky. Maybe it was the jetlag.
“Cheers. I’m glad we’re here.” He clinked her glass and captured her gaze, determined not to let her look away. “Doing this.”
She drew in an indignant breath. “About that Santa costume stuff. In future I’d appreciate it if you didn’t regale my co-workers with the details of your trip down memory lane.” She was looking at him with raised eyebrows and she’d somehow managed to set her lips in a thin, disapproving line.
“It was a very sexy Santa costume, if my memory serves me well.” Was she blushing? She’d gone all buttoned-up again.
“Frankly, it was a little bit slutty. I wouldn’t be seen dead in anything like that these days.”
Pity!
Maggie bit the head off a gummy bear. “It may be news to you, but I have a professional image to maintain.”
So, that’s what this was about? Her image? She glared fixedly at her hands. He’d spotted her bright-yellow nails and caught himself wondering if there was a set of brightly colored underwear lurking under her clothes. All her outfits were in black, white and grey. The hint of deep-pink silk he’d inadvertently seen on the plane was enticing, but black was good, white too. He was inappropriately preoccupied with her lingerie possibilities. And the laid-back, colorful person she used to be. What had happened to her? She’d moved on. It was time he got his head around that. “I’m sorry,” he said, “We didn’t mean to embarrass you. Nick and I got carried away. The last thing I want to do is offend you.”
Finally, she met his eyes.
He held her gaze again, determined not to be the first one to look away. “It was a long time ago. I doubt anyone paid much attention. Things like that go in one ear and out the other. It’s not like I told them we slept together.”
“Yes – about that.” She pulled the remaining gummy bears off the cocktail stick and arranged them in a neat little row in her palm. “A line needs to be drawn. First off, we didn’t sleep together. We fell asleep together. There’s a difference.” The cool exterior intrigued him. His vibrant friend had morphed into Monochrome Magenta, all-purpose style adviser. He shouldn’t be the least bit affected by her. But the hot hints of color beneath the surface turned out to be impossible to ignore. The pop of silky pink he’d accidently glimpsed on the plane had fired his imagination. “Since we’re working together, and there are twenty-four more hours to go …” she continued, all hoity-toity, talking as if not to him, but to an audience in general, and looking like a TV fashion presenter about to introduce a lineup of models. She’d be good at that! “I think we should agree that what happened was a ve-ry forgettable, ve-ry regrettable drunken night.”
Ouch!
“Don’t pull any punches.”
“Honestly. If I could go back to that night and not not-sleep with you, that’s exactly what I’d do.” Her voice was convincingly couldn’t-care-less.
Double Ouch! There’d been a time when he’d wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t left London when he did. She’d given him the answer. If he’d fantasized that they’d almost been more than friends, he’d been mistaken.
Except – he wasn’t entirely clear about what she was actually saying. Was it that she wished they had slept together? Or that she was glad they didn’t? The gist of it seemed to be that she’d rather the episode had not occurred. All the same, he couldn’t resist winding her up a bit. “For the record,” he said. “If I could rewind the clock I’d definitely still sleep with you.”
She didn’t even crack a smile. Instead, she fired daggers at him with her eyes. Another gummy bear disappeared into her mouth. Slicked with a coating of natural, shiny gloss, her lips were magnetic. Tempted to kiss her, he ran a hand across his jaw. The prickle of stubble grated against his fingers.
Hands planted on his knees, he slowly shook his head. “Fine,” he conceded. “Let’s pretend it never happened. We’re two friends who lost touch. End of story.”
“Okay.” Did she flinch? He must have imagined it.
“Okay.” He held out a hand to her. “Shake on it?” She put her small hand in his. He clasped her fingers, his eyes drawn to her nails and the glaring contrast the splashes of yellow made against her clothes.
She downed her fruit cocktail much too quickly and stood up. “I’ve got to go,” she said. “There’s something I need to do.”
“What’s the rush?”
Was she crossing the fingers of her left hand? What was that about? There was a noticeable vacancy on the ring finger. She appeared so available – and yet there was a shut-offness about her that he didn’t get. One minute he got sparks of the old Maggie, the next she was giving him the cold shoulder.
She gathered her bags together. “Bye Alex. Thanks for the drink.”
This was a first. Women in hotel bars weren’t usually so keen to get away from him. She was about to make her escape when she wobbled on her heels, her face woozy. “Maggie!” He jumped up and caught her as she started to crumple. “Are you okay?”
“I stood up too quickly. That’s all. I’m fine.” She sat down again, all of a sudden wan. “Actually, I’m not fine,” she admitted. “I feel queasy.”
“It’ll be those damn gummy bears. I knew they looked like trouble. I’ll get you some iced water.” He strode quickly to the bar.
Maggie sucked in a few deep breaths. She felt okay-ish again. The cocktail had been a tad on the sickly-sweet side but it hadn’t made her ill. She had the distinct feeling that her artificial insemination procedure had worked. She should do that pregnancy test and check. Ought she to tell Alex the truth? Try as she might to put up her defenses, she was drawn to him, and she was desperate to confide in someone. He was so much more than a familiar face. He reminded her of a time when grown-up life was new and fresh and fun. Before he left. Before Marcus cheated. Choices weren’t difficult then – everything was as easy as choosing a nail color.
As she sipped the water he sat watching her, concern etched on his face. The pianist had taken a break. The bar was empty and silent apart from the clinking of ice cubes in her glass.
“That something I was talking about,” she started. “The thing I have to do.”
Alex’s concern deepened. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”
“I think I might be pregnant.” The hopelessly blabber-mouthed admission was out there, and the wave of nausea had gone, almost as quickly as it had hit.
“What do you mean – you think? It’s not my place, but shouldn’t you do a test?”
“I plan to.”
The penny dropped. “That’s the thing?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So-o, you’re with child … Maybe?” He gulped. She nodded, and bit down on her lip.
“Who’s the lucky guy?”
“There isn’t one.”
Proud to be going it alone, she waggled her ringless fingers. “This is the twenty-first century. I don’t need a man to have a baby.”
“So what do you need? Pray tell.” He was looking at her in disbelief, as if she’d told a joke with a surprisingly rude punch line. “A magic wand? You can’t conjure up a baby out of thin air!” Judging by his tone, he was going to have difficulty getting his head around her decision to eliminate the man factor from the baby-making process.
“I could raid a cabbage patch,” she joked, trying to make light of her confession. “Or kidnap a passing stork!”
Silence.
“Here’s the thing. I’m having a baby on my own. I’ve – um.” She stopped in midstream. “I’ve had artificial insemination.”
“Good grief,” Alex gasped, his impossibly perfect face shocked. “I’ve heard it all now.” He fired words at her. “Are you stark-staring mad? You can’t have hit thirty yet! How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine,” she supplied. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to ask a woman’s age?”
She began to regret telling all. This was nothing to do with Alex. She’d felt wobbly and allowed herself to get too comfortable with him.
He ignored her question and shot another one right back at her, aghast. “Surely you could have waited for the right guy to come along?”
She neither wanted nor needed a permanent man in her life. And she’d done her research. Her fertility would start to decline once she was in her thirties. She was spontaneous about pretty much everything in life, but the possibility of there never being a right time to start a family, let alone a reliable Mr. Right, was something she didn’t want to leave to luck. She’d blindly believed she’d have it all with Marcus – the perfect marriage, the perfect home, the chance to have the family of her dreams. The night she’d walked into the apartment filled with flickering candles, she’d thought for a minute that he’d found out she was coming back a day early, made the place beautiful to welcome her home. Her heart turned to stone as she spotted the empty wine bottle, the trail of discarded clothes leading to the bedroom – her bedroom. Her bed!
“I’m risk averse. That’s not a chance I wanted to take.”
A muscle in his jawline flickered. “DIY conception, Maggie? Isn’t that a bit drastic?”
His words hit her like a stomach blow.
“Apparently not. You can buy a kit on the internet,” she said bravely. Her eyes held his, facing him off, trying to push him away, sorry she’d said anything. “And yes, before you ask, the turkey baster is an urban myth.” This conversation would have been so much easier if she hadn’t been an eensy bit in love with him once. “The kit contains a syringe, a thermometer, an ovulation test …” She hesitated for a micro-second, then ploughed on, “… And a collection pot – if you’re interested.” She composed herself, resisting the urge to leap up and head for the elevators. “That’s not what I did, though. I thought about it, but I couldn’t find a friend who was willing to donate me his sperm.”
Oops. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that!
Maggie thanked the heavens he’d finished his drink. Otherwise he’d have snorted it out his nostrils and ruined his cool image.
“You’re not kidding, right?” Disbelief tinged his sexy voice.
“I didn’t do it on a whim,” she answered quietly. “I went to a fertility clinic. A doctor did the procedure.”
Undiluted tension swirled in the atmosphere between them.
“With donor sperm?”
“You should keep the laconic sneers for when you’re in character. They don’t suit you in real life.”
Alex shook his head. “I’m not sneering, Maggie.” Her heart skipped a beat at the way he softly rumbled her name. “I’d never do that.”
Was he in shock?
She drew in a breath, self-conscious of her every move, as if breathing was no longer something she did on automatic. “I want a baby,” she said solemnly. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“I’m being objective.” He didn’t sound it. “I mean, what do you know about this donor guy?”
She didn’t understand him. He seemed aggrieved, like she’d inflicted some sort of pain on him. She’d been feeling all over the place, a little bit lonely, and dying to tell someone. Now she was getting the Alex Wells inquisition. It was her own fault for over-sharing. She’d let her guard down and it was out there, so she steeled herself, ready to defend her decision.
“Enough.” She’d known more about the donor than she knew about her own dad. “Quite a lot, actually. I picked him out online.”
Alex’s face froze. “Such as?”
“The essential stuff. The donor guy’s profession, his medical history – all the nitty-gritty.”
“Sounds like baby pick-and-mix,” he teased. “What’s his favorite sport? Is he good at math? Did he go bald at fifteen?”
The impudence! They’d been strangers for years and he had the gall to question her choice of sperm donor.
“That’s it exactly.” She warmed to her theme. “Not forgetting the obvious. Hair color – dark. Height – five eleven and a half. Eyes …” Her voice dropped to a throaty whisper. Apart from several more inches height-wise the description pretty much covered the super-hot man in front of her. “… Blue.”
Alex stayed stonily silent for a long moment. He narrowed his famous eyes and scrutinized her. A shivery frisson weaved through Maggie to each and every nerve ending. Suddenly it wasn’t Donor Guy’s eyes she was thinking about, but Alex’s.
Yikes.
She was his stylist. She needed to remember that. She’d prattled like a runaway train about her biggest-ever decision. Alex taking her to task about it – as if he’d never stopped being her friend – floored her.
“What type of guy would do that anyway?”
Her heart lurched. “Do what?”
“Give babies away?”
“An unselfish one.” She glared at him. She used to be on the same wavelength as Alex. Right now his over-reaction was mystifying. “You’re like a dog at a bone. Can’t you drop it? I only told you because I didn’t want you to think you’d made me sick with that fruit cocktail.”
That wasn’t exactly true. She’d told him because the wave of nausea had hit her so unexpectedly that she’d suddenly felt vulnerable, and a tiny bit scared. It was a blip. She needed to get back on track. She’d taken control of her future. She wanted a baby more than anything. She had everything she could wish for and she’d worked hard for it – a career, a crash pad in London, a never-a-dull-moment lifestyle … But at the end of the day she was alone in the world. She’d inherited the family cottage in Cornwall when her grandma died, and dreamed up the plan of creating a family to go with it. An uncomplicated, no-ties, no-commitment, guaranteed-hurt-free designer family. No man required. She’d been raised without a dad, and she was certain that she could make a success of family life all on her own. Best of all, there’d be no false hopes and no broken promises.
The last thing she needed was second thoughts. Especially ones put into her head by a testosterone-loaded actor who’d ignored her for ten years and then popped into her life to play her nemesis – like he’d never left. Like he’d never promised to call. Like his kiss had never made her weak with spine-tingling desire …
“Aren’t you even just a bit weirded-out by the genetic randomness of it all?” His words rankled, and all the while his deep voice made her fizz like a can of shaken-up cola.
Was he incapable of letting the subject drop? She hadn’t done this on impulse. She’d thought it through meticulously. She tensed her shoulders, bristling with the strength of her resolution.
“I’m sorry I mentioned it. It’s very early days. I might not even be pregnant.” She bit her lip and reined herself in. She needed to retain a veneer of polite detachment in order to work with Alex. Instead she’d blabbed about her personal life, and things were going horribly wrong. So much for the outwardly calm, sophisticated image she normally projected in her professional life. Her feathers were well and truly ruffled.
“It’s your life. Go for it,” he s
aid, his tone loaded with censure.
“I don’t need your blessing.”
“Look, Maggie. I’ve got to be honest with you.” His jaw clenched. “I hope Donor Guy doesn’t have a winner on his sperm team.”
“You have no right …”
“No.” He cut her off. “I have none.” He watched her thoughtfully. “I’m no expert, but a dad should come with a lifetime guarantee. When you look at your baby’s face you should know whose smile he’s going to have. You shouldn’t have to go on guess work.”
“And you’d know all about that?” Her heart squeezed. She had a photo of her dad. A teenage surfer boy with sparkling eyes, fair hair bleached streaky blonde by sun and sea salt, and a carefree smile. Apart from that the tiny amount she knew about him could be written on a square sticky note. Alex had overstepped the mark. “You’re talking out of your …”
He butted in, saving her from an expletive.
“I know more than you might think.” A note of defense in his voice warned her off asking him what exactly that meant. “If you ask me, if the insemination hasn’t worked, then you should find The One – the guy who makes your heart sing – and have a baby with him.”
“Oh puh-leeeese! My heart sing?”
“You know what I mean.”
I might if I thought he’d be along any time before the turn of the next millennium.
“I don’t believe in The One. It’s a fundamentally flawed concept.” His interference offended her. “Believe it or not, my plans don’t require your seal of approval.”
“Donor insemination might be right for some people. But not you, Maggie. You’re putting the cart before the horse.”
“Nonsense. Horses and carts are very last century.”
She fought the urge to pick at her nail polish.
“Don’t settle for second best. You deserve better than that.”
She’d taken enough criticism. She drank in his cool exterior, the hard lines of his much- too-handsome face. Opinionated, sure of himself, his objections hurt more than she dared admit. She needed Alex-proofing.
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 7
