by Paula Roe
When he paused and finally met her gaze, she had to bite back a soft groan. He looked so serious, the raw curves of his face drawn into such a solemn expression that she was sorely tempted to trace her finger down his cheek to coax a smile from his full lips.
Lovely lips that she’d had the thorough pleasure of just moments before.
“What on earth are we doing?” she said now, acutely aware of the warm flush heating her skin. “How did we get to this?”
With a sigh, he flopped into the chair and crossed an ankle over one knee. “Well, the first time, alcohol was involved.”
“And this time there’s...” She waved a hand, indicating the storm outside that had eased into a dull rumble. “But that’s not what I meant. I’ve never...thought of you in that way before.”
“I see.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes without getting embarrassed, and that realization just flustered her further. Truth was, she’d thought about it more than once but every time refused to indulge for more than a few moments. Giving the fantasy more than that would’ve been weird, not to mention futile. He’d never seen her as more than a best friend, so what was the point? She’d been content with the tag for all those years.
Until now, apparently.
Dammit. She felt her entire body warm under his scrutiny, until the desperate need to move overwhelmed her. So she rose, went to the small bar fridge and fished out a bottle of water. With her back to him, she rolled the bottle over her neck then down, welcoming the icy shock on her hot skin.
She was exhausted, so tired of thinking. She had no idea where she stood. Her head was a mess, and she couldn’t even blame this lapse on alcohol as she had last time.
The heat of the moment? Yeah, nah. She could have stopped if she’d really wanted to. She just didn’t want to. She wanted to taste his mouth, have his body slide over hers. Wanted to feel his hot breath on her skin and have him fill her in the most primitive way possible.
He made her forget things, just for a while.
She twisted off the bottle cap and took a slow swig, her thoughts churning. She shouldn’t be distracted, not now. She had other things to consider, important, life-changing events.
Swallowing the water, she stared at the small ventilation window that would herald a new morning, full of light and promise. A brand-new morning revealing the wild chaos of a passing cyclone. As the radio had revealed these past few hours, so many people had lost everything, and not only their homes. Personal effects, memories, things that meant so much to them, had been swept away by Mother Nature in the space of a few hours. It really was a miracle no one had died.
Relief surged, shaking her for one second before she swiftly got a handle on it. She was alive. So was Marco. They’d eventually return to the mainland, check over any damage to their homes, and she’d get the results of her test then make an informed decision based on those results.
Belatedly, she realized Grace would want her on the cyclone coverage, would need her expert digging to find that unique special-interest story that would spearhead the show’s donation line. They’d done it for the Queensland floods, for the bushfires, even New Zealand’s recent earthquake. Yet as she stood there with the cyclone’s aftereffects thinning outside, punctuated by the constant radio chatter, all she could think about was...
Her test results.
Marco. A baby.
Their baby.
And her thoughts scrambled once more, rendering speech useless.
* * *
Marco kept his gaze firmly on her as she pointedly ignored his scrutiny. Her warm brown hair was sexily tousled, her neck flushed with faint stubble burn and the buttons on her shirt were crooked where she’d hastily tried to gather her composure.
“I guess,” he finally said in answer to her previous question, “that we’re giving in to some latent sexual tension, which is only heightened by the storm outside.”
Startled, she flicked him a glance as she took another drink. “Sure.”
He waited for more but she remained silent, all her attention firmly on her water bottle.
So of course, his eyes wandered, lingering on those long legs, the dip of her waist. The almost nonexistent curve of her stomach.
And suddenly an overwhelming bolt of emotion shot through him, a mixture of desire and fierce protection for both her and that unbelievable spark of life growing in her belly. No one except a handful of people knew the real Kat—the loving, fun woman who’d do anything for a friend, who’d wrestled with her parents’ overprotective influence her entire life. Who’d been dragged through her own personal hell thanks to her mother’s illness, front-page headlines and a bunch of loser men who frankly didn’t deserve her.
She was intelligent, passionate...and stubborn. Way too stubborn. Once she made her mind up about something, there was no way she’d change it back.
Like that damn stupid decision not to get tested. It twisted like a splinter in his gut every time he allowed himself to think about it, every time he tried to convince her to just go and find out. And now she’d finally done it.
Even though she was avoiding his eyes, he knew she knew he was staring. The tension in her shoulders, the way her mouth tightened, all gave her away. And stubbornly he kept on staring.
After half a minute’s standoff, he gave up and turned up the radio. Eventually she came over and sat in the chair opposite and they listened in silence, the weather updates and on-location reporters slowly charging the air with a sense of growing concern.
Finally she said, “Is it...? Do you...feel weird?”
He glanced up, but her eyes remained firmly on the radio. “What? The cyclone?”
“No, us.”
He felt many things, but weird wasn’t one of them. “No, actually. You?”
“Yes. No.” Her gaze darted to a spot past his shoulder before returning to the radio. “I...don’t know.”
“Okay.”
She sighed, her elbows on the table, her thumbnail going automatically to her mouth before she stopped halfway and dropped her hand. “This is...” She finally shook her head. “It’s... We shouldn’t have done this.”
“A bit late now, chérie.” He swallowed the small blow she dealt with no outward sign. “Although I totally expected that response.”
Her eyes snapped to his. “Did you?”
“Mmm. You have a tendency to run when things get too...intimate.”
“I do not!”
He lifted one eyebrow at her outrage. “You do.”
Her eyes narrowed as she leaned back in the chair and slowly crossed her arms. “Ben was a selfish bastard who dumped me when he realized I was serious about not wanting kids.”
“I wasn’t talking about him.” His hands involuntarily clenched at the memory. “And I still think you should’ve let me deck him.”
“And have you charged with assault? No way.”
He shook his head. “Anyway, I’m talking metaphorically as well as physically.”
“James was screwing a woman in our hotel room. Ezio took naked photos of me and sold them to a gossip mag.” She shoved a stray strand of hair back off her shoulder. “These are all deal breakers for me.”
“And what about us, Kat? Is best-friend sex one of your deal breakers?”
“Sex always ruins things.”
He frowned at her too-quick answer. Again, she was dancing around the question. But when she glanced away, hiding her expression from view in an uncharacteristically shy move, man, the sudden desire to kiss her pulled low and tight in his gut. Instead he swallowed the urge and remained where he was.
“So what are we going to do now?” he asked, deliberately casual.
She shrugged. “The media—”
“Screw the media,” he growled, putting both palms flat on the tabl
e. “What do you want to do?”
“Marco...” His name came out as a groan, her fingers going to her temple, where she rubbed firmly. “I’m tired. I know it’s your thing to talk things over ad nauseum, but can we just not right now? Please?”
He took in how she was reclining in the chair, her half-lidded eyes, the creases bracketing her mouth, and a sliver of guilt shot through his gut. “You should really get some sleep.”
For once, she didn’t argue. “So should you.”
He shrugged. “I’m still on European time. Not that tired. Here.” He stood and rearranged the pillows. “Sleep.”
After a second’s hesitation, she went to the couch and sat, then stretched out. He quickly dragged the blanket up over her.
“Thanks,” she muttered, her eyes heavy as he covered her feet.
He moved to the single armchair and had just settled into it as her eyes closed. Moments later, her breath slowed and she was asleep.
With a small smile he got comfy, crossed his arms and ankles and let his mind drift.
He swept his gaze over her, from the dark lashes resting on the soft curve of her cheek and the soft hair streaming down her neck, to her long, lean body, which took up the entire couch. They’d been friends forever, ever since that embarrassing moment in Year Nine had changed everything. Fourteen was such a cocky, self-indulgent age, and he’d been the worst, so full of attitude and mouth. He’d made a stupid comment, showing off to his friends, and Kat had surprisingly struck back, shoving him so hard he’d fallen on his ass. He’d jokingly admitted that had been the start of his adoration, and their combined detention plus her innocent smile, offbeat humor and fierce loyalty had only cemented their relationship.
From then on they’d been a tight quartet—him, Luke, Connor and Kat—until he’d been offered the unbelievable opportunity to play European football and left Australia for France when he was sixteen. Then their individual lives had taken over—him with his soccer career, her with her mother’s illness and her various tabloid exploits. He’d been shocked to see her three years later, barely a month after her mother’s death, but he’d never questioned it, instead taking up right where they’d left their friendship. They’d traveled, she’d crashed at his house in Marseille for a few months and from there she’d bounced between Europe and Sydney for close to six years. It was like she’d been trying to find her place in the world, and until her stint in London, he wasn’t sure she’d find it. But then, three years ago, she’d landed the Morning Grace job, and since then, she’d actually been happy. Sure, they’d both had relationship woes and she’d been his shoulder through the excruciating years his father had been dragged through the press, then an inquiry, before finally being cleared of money-laundering charges last year. She’d been his go-to girl when he’d been in between girlfriends and needed a date for some function or event. She was his wingman. His best friend. And now his lover.
She was having a baby. His baby. Theirs.
He swallowed thickly, a dozen emotions churning as he imagined her—his Kat—growing big with their child. Glowing, smiling. Happy.
But she isn’t, is she?
His brows took a dive. Don’t think about that.
For once, she wasn’t talking. Odd, because they’d never had any problems talking about any topic, from exes to family to everything in between.
Well, almost everything. The ban on relationship talk was still in force, even though he’d wanted to overstep that boundary dozens of times. But for her, he’d bitten his lip and stayed frustratingly silent.
His speculative gaze ran over her sleeping form again. She might project a haughty, almost cool confidence to the world now, but to her closest friends she was just Kat Jackson, filled with doubt, frustration and a dozen dreams she worried she’d miss out on. She had a wicked sense of humor. She read literary fiction as well as popular crime novels. She was a Star Wars fanatic but adored the Star Trek reboots, had an insane collection of anime art and eighties retro music. She hated pickles on her burger, loved penguins and handbags, was funny, gorgeous, impatient, argumentative and incredibly intelligent.
And yet the press had first tagged her as ditzy and shallow, a party girl of the craziest kind with a penchant for bad boys. It didn’t help that she’d gone overboard when she’d turned seventeen, bouncing from one publicity event to the next, dressed in designer heels and revealing clothing, getting snapped drunk by every single reporter eager to plaster Keith Jackson’s spoiled baby girl all over the gossip pages. Not surprising that she’d taken up a position as society reporter, a job that had lasted until her mother’s death.
He’d been living in France, where he’d quickly become Marseille’s Ligue 1 star forward on a million-dollar contract, treated like a rock star wherever he went. Ridiculous really, for a kid barely out of his teens to be suddenly thrust into celebrity life, rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous, dating supermodels and actresses, all while his best friend had been wrestling with life-changing events.
A low growl forced itself through clenched teeth before he bit it back. She’d turned up on his doorstep a week after Marseille had won the Coupe de France and broken down in his arms. Then they’d spent three months during his off-season backpacking through Europe, clearing their heads and getting their friendship back on track.
Those months had been a wake-up call for him, too. He’d stopped drinking, started making responsible choices, investing his money instead of blowing it all on thousand-dollar bottles of champagne, designer jewelry he’d never wear and vintage cars he’d never drive. And it had also been a turning point in their friendship. Now they were both thirty-three and had never gone longer than two days without a call or a text, except when he was traveling on business. And they told each other everything, no matter how private or painful. Well, except for that no-go relationship zone.
He still couldn’t believe she’d actually gone and gotten tested. God, he still remembered that huge argument, a week after her mother’s death, when they’d nearly ruined their friendship for good.
“How can you not want to know?” he’d demanded.
“Because I don’t! I don’t want a death sentence affecting how I live my life!”
She wasn’t alone in thinking that, either. He’d done the research. He knew more people chose to remain in the dark about being a fatal-disease carrier. Yet it still didn’t stop his heart from contracting every time he thought of her, his Kat, suffering the same fate as her mother. Dead within two years of diagnosis.
Marco released a long, slow breath, his eyes darting to the ventilation window at the far end of the cellar. The wind had downgraded to a strong breeze, the low hum of radio chatter white noise against it all. He grabbed a bottle of water and unscrewed the top, downing the contents in a few swallows, and then shoved a hand into his hair, dragging slow fingers through it.
This “let’s not talk about it” attitude wasn’t Kat. She always told him the truth, no matter how painful, and he did the same for her. And the only thing that had changed was the sex. Which meant it was already messing things up. She was awkward and self-conscious, holding things back, keeping her thoughts to herself. He didn’t like this new Kat, not one bit.
With a scowl he shifted in the chair and tried to get comfy. Pretty soon, the wind outside lulled him and he managed to fall asleep.
Four
Marco was the first to wake. After glancing at the still-sleeping Kat, he quickly checked his phone—no signal—placed it back on the table and then cast an eye at the softly glowing lights, before to Kat, now yawning on the couch. She was rubbing her cheek where the cushion had imprinted, looking so adorably sleepy that for one crazy second, impossible thoughts of permanently waking up next to her rushed through his brain and his breath caught.
“What time is it?” she asked, voice hoarse with sleep.
“Seve
n a.m.,” he replied, glancing away. Desperate for something to do, he grabbed his phone again, determined not to focus on the way her long legs swung from the couch to the floor, her normally straight hair all mussed up and her half-lidded eyes still languorous. And of course, his mind latched on to the one thing he’d been trying to avoid. That moment. That hot, amazing moment on the couch when she’d crumbled beneath him.
“Phones are still out,” he said, then turned the radio up.
Pretty soon they were up-to-date with the full aftermath of Cyclone Rory.
“The ports are closed, then,” Kat concluded, combing her fingers through her hair.
“And there’s no planes going in or out, apart from emergency ones.” Marco rose, stretched and cracked his back, working his knee firmly back and forth.
“You okay?”
“Mmm.”
She studied him for a moment. “Does it still ache?”
“Only when I sit for too long.”
“Must be weird having pins in your knee.”
He smiled thinly. “You get used to it. Could have been worse.”
She nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. The on-field injury had ended one stellar career but he was lucky—it could’ve left him unable to walk. The bitterness still burned sometimes but it was something he refused to dwell on, not when all the other amazing opportunities had opened up for him a few months later.
“There’ll be debris in the water, so they’ll have to clear that up first,” he continued.
“So we’re stuck here until further notice.”
“Until they give water traffic the all clear in a few days.” At her unexpected smile, he tilted his head. “What?”
“I could name at least a dozen women who’d give their left leg to be holed up on a private island with you.”
He sighed. “Why do you do that, Kat?”
“Do what?” She looked confused.
“Always bring up the women.”
“I...”
