by Paula Roe
He petered off, letting her fill in the blank, which she did way too quickly.
It was a definite mood killer.
She sighed, watching him move around the shadowed room, picking up his boxers and pulling them on. With a flush she glanced away from his perfect form—long, corded thighs; strong, muscular back; and perfectly shaped behind.
“Marco, we need to talk.”
He finally turned to her, hands on hips, and she couldn’t help steal a brief glance at his chest before quickly forcing her gaze to his eyes.
She didn’t know what she expected—amusement over her perusal, a sarcastic eye roll over the clichéd relationship line they both hated. Even residual lust wouldn’t have been unusual. But there was none of that, only a carefully blank countenance that accompanied the vague sense of anticipation in the air.
“I think we should.”
Right. So far, so good. She gathered the sheet around her, covering her breasts, before continuing. “Okay, so I don’t want to make any major decisions without the test results, but I do know one thing. If the tests turn out to be negative, I want to keep the baby.”
The silence fell like a blanket, and yet he still said nothing, just waited for her to elaborate. The simple fact that he knew there was more was as unnerving as it was disturbing.
“And here’s the thing, Marco,” she continued. “I don’t want this child to have a part-time parent. You’re either totally in this or not at all.”
He frowned. “What makes you think I’m not in this?”
She sighed. “I don’t want you making major decisions based on what I want. You want to go back to France, you go.”
The frustrated growl was low in his throat. “You can’t throw out something like that and then tell me not to think about what you want. That’s not the way I operate.”
“I know. But you have to. I’m giving you permission to walk away from all the craziness now.”
“You’re not making any kind of sense.” He raked her with such a look that she felt her cheeks flush. “First you say I should be in this totally or not at all. Then you say I should do what I like.” His hands went to his hips, his expression darkening. “Let me ask you this—knowing me so well, do you actually think I’d walk away?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Oh, that’s exactly what you’re saying.” His expression remained tight, almost too tight. “That’s pretty low, Kat. Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
She blinked. Had she hurt him? His face said no, yet the brief flash in his eyes said the opposite. “I just...” She swallowed when she saw his scowling countenance. “I don’t want you to feel trapped.”
“How long have we known each other?”
She paused, calculated. “Nineteen years.”
“Right. And in all that time, have you known me to do something I didn’t want to do?”
She hesitated. “No.”
“There you go.” He yanked on his pants, slid up the zipper.
“But—”
“Dear Lord, Kat, can you stop? Just...stop.” He finished dressing, then gave her a frustrated look. “If all you’re going to do is lump me in with past boyfriends, then I’m going for a shower.”
She opened her mouth for a second and then closed it. “Great. Fine. Go.”
He narrowed his eyes. “So we’re done here? You’ve said everything you need to?”
“Looks like it.” She scooted to the edge of the bed with as much dignity as possible, anger welling up inside. But when he stalked out in long, ground-eating strides, she collapsed back on the mattress. Could it be more uncomfortable? From best friends to arguing lovers in the space of a day.
Must be some kind of record for her.
This wasn’t what she wanted. Not at all. But how in the hell could she fix it?
* * *
Good Lord, Kat was so stubborn.
Marco was in the kitchen, gathering up food and utensils for lunch with more noise than necessary, his thoughts dark, before moving onto the patio, to the huge four-burner barbecue.
She was so determined to make her own decisions, to not even consider a different opinion unless she’d thought of it first.
Sure, his long absences from home were sometimes inconvenient, and there were times when he felt he was playing catch-up with people’s lives. But after his knee injury had forced him into early retirement and the network had offered him this prime job, he’d jumped at the opportunity. And from that choice, a whole new bunch of opportunities had opened up—his Skins contract, the football clinics. He couldn’t afford to regret any of it, not when things were as pretty close to perfect as he could get.
But right now, at this moment? A flame of frustration had flickered to life, refusing to be quenched.
Damn, he missed everyone, missed being able to drop everything and catch up with a meal and a beer. But with Luke and Connor in Brisbane and he and Kat up here in Cairns, plus their work commitments, it was a logistical nightmare trying to sync their schedules.
With an irritated flick he threw the steaks onto the hot plate, his bad mood momentarily rewarded by the satisfying hiss.
For example, if they were all together right now, they’d have this issue picked apart and solved within an hour. Instead of what had really happened—his making a lame marriage proposal, her getting all offended for some reason and now this weird standoff.
After a few minutes of grilling the hell out of the steaks, a movement through the glass caught his eye. He turned to see Kat standing in the middle of the living room, her attention commanded by the TV.
The sight hit him low and hard. She was barefoot and wide-eyed, looking sexily rumpled in nothing but short-shorts and an old gray T-shirt that skimmed her thighs. Magnificent thighs.
His head flashed back to what they’d done in the pool room. Then, further, to the larger issues they were both determined to avoid until hard evidence left them no choice.
He scowled. He’d never craved—yet dreaded—the outcome of a test so much in his life. The knowledge would change their lives forever, for the better or the absolute worst, and it wasn’t until this moment that he understood why Kat had deliberately chosen the path of not knowing. It took a strong person to fight, but it also took someone equally strong to choose the other path, to live their lives with impunity when somewhere, in the back of their minds, they would always be wondering, thinking, considering.
Kat was way stronger than he even thought possible.
Humbled and angry, he turned his attention back to the grill and waited for her to approach him.
He hadn’t long to wait—a few minutes was all it took.
“Can I do anything?” she asked, standing in the open door.
He glanced up briefly then back to the grill. “We need drinks.”
“Sure.”
He watched her pad to the kitchen, his eyes skimming over her long legs. He took in the way her back remained firm and straight, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.
Quickly he served up the steaks then went inside.
When she took the plate he offered, a whiff of scent hit him, tightening his gut. “What are you wearing?”
She glanced down and plucked at the T-shirt. “This? It’s a sleeping shirt.”
“No. Your perfume.”
“Oh.” She looked disconcerted for a second then said faintly, “Lemongrass and cloves. I keep it in my underwear...drawer...”
Her words trailed off at the exact same moment he grinned. He could practically read her thoughts—Great, Kat, just talk about your knickers, why don’t you?—and his mouth curved wider.
“Is that enough?” Marco said.
“Hmm?”
He nodded at her steak. “Do you have enough?”
She swallowed. “Yes, thanks.”
He watched her take a seat at the table, her gaze darting up to his before she steadfastly focused on the food, and the brief moment of amusement was gone.
What the hell was wrong with...?
Riiiiight. He sat in his chair, his eyes going anywhere but to her. She was nervous. But why? He’d teased her a hundred times before, and about things a lot more personal.
Yeah, but that was Marco-the-best-friend, not Marco-the-lover. Like it or not, things had changed. It was almost as if...she was uncomfortable now.
He swallowed a curse. What the hell was he supposed to do with that?
“Kat,” he said in a low voice.
“Hmm?” Her attention remained firmly on her plate.
“This is weird for me, too.”
Her eyes darted to his. “What, specifically?”
“You and me.”
She blinked. “Is—?” He watched her swallow. “There isn’t a you and me.”
Isn’t there? The unspoken question just hung in the air, the seconds gathering, until he realized he was frowning, and she’d darted her gaze back to her plate.
“So we’re just occasional bed partners, then.”
The sarcasm was lost on her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He stared at the top of her head in silence, and finally, reluctantly, she brought her eyes up to his and he stifled a groan. Soft skin. The indent of her waist, the curve of her butt cheek. Her damp body shaking as he took her, desire raging hard and fast. And her moans of pleasure as they both reached their climax.
His thoughts raced, nostrils flaring with remembrance, but he let the silence drag, until her eyes widened and she swept her gaze back to her plate. “You’re my best friend, Marco. I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”
“It’s not ruined. Just...” He searched for a word and finally settled on “Different.”
“Different,” she repeated with a small scowl.
He nodded. “Of course. We’ve slept together. We’re having a baby. How can those things not make it different?”
“I don’t want it different.”
“You’ve made that perfectly clear,” he snapped back and then took a breath. “But denial is stupid.”
Her head jerked up. “Are you calling me stupid?”
“No! Jeez, Kat...!” His breath was sharp on the intake as he tried for calm. “I’m not calling you stupid,” he said deliberately, rising from the table with his plate. “But wishing the past was different is a waste of time. You know that.”
When she said nothing, just slid her gaze away and refused to meet his eyes, he swallowed a groan. It was her infuriating you’re-right-but-I’m-not-going-to-admit-it look. God, that annoyed the hell out of him!
“It was fine the way it was,” she said now, her gaze now on her plate.
The blow hit him like a stray free shot. She didn’t want him.
No, that wasn’t right—she didn’t want anyone. She’d made that clear. He shouldn’t take it personally. Yet how could he not, when they’d been together three times now and every time she’d indicated she’d rather be friends?
He knew exactly what she was doing. Things were getting emotional and she was pushing him away. She’d done it with everyone when her mother had started getting sick, and she was doing it now. Only this time, she had to deal with not only pregnancy hormones but the mental effort of waiting for those damn test results.
If this was what she really wanted, he’d let her have it...for now. He’d keep his thoughts and hands to himself, support her and stand by her as a best friend, and only that. But eventually, after they got off this island and went back to their reality, things would change. They had to. Because they’d stepped over that line and he was damned if he’d remain on the sidelines, where she was so determined to push him.
Six
The next morning Kat lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling as the sun slowly crept through the blinds.
They’d spent the evening in uncomfortable silence. Even the constant TV chatter did nothing to ease the awkwardness. She’d finally excused herself and went to bed, then lay for ages staring at the window and listening to the sounds of the night creatures rustling around outside.
Marco as her lover? Ridiculous.
Yet every time she’d lost her head, forgot who he was and just let the moment take her. It was crazy. Exciting.
Dammit, she couldn’t stop those hot memories from filling her thoughts at the most inopportune moments. The way he kissed her, as if he couldn’t get enough. The way he touched her, his fingers making her shiver in anticipation. And the way he took her, hard and possessive.
Yeah, and you’ve given him the “just friends” talk. Which he accepted without argument. She’d told him he was the father of her child, nothing more.
The question was, did she want him as more? Did she want to start something that could end in disaster? Or worse, drag him into an emotional mess when she had no clue what those damn tests would reveal?
You can’t.
With a hitched breath, she rolled over in bed and hugged her pillow. This was Marco Corelli, a guy she knew better than anyone. Yet in this one thing, she had absolutely no clue.
And then there was the matter of Grace.
She groaned and gave the pillow a vicious thump. Everything was such a mess, and on top of that, she had to figure out something to tell Grace. Oh, she’d contemplated not saying a thing, but experience had taught her it was better to be honest. And anyway, she liked and respected her boss. She deserved to know.
Sorry, Grace. The guy you wanted a baby with? He’s having it with me.
She winced.
Grace, I know you had plans for Marco—
Urgh. Terrible.
Grace. I need to tell you about something that happened....
She rolled her eyes. It sounded so much better in her head. Come to think of it, lots of things sounded better in her head. Truthfully, she had no idea why she was practicing—she worked much better off-the-cuff. And it was something she should really think about after the test results came through.
“I can’t wait to get off this bloody island,” she muttered.
* * *
When she walked into the living room half an hour later, the breakfast things were already laid out on the table. Marco was dressed in a white shirt and jeans and was flicking through the TV channels.
“What’s the situation with the cyclone?” she asked as she sat and reached for the cereal.
“They’re saying the phone towers may be up and running in a few hours,” he said as he moved into the kitchen and pushed down the toaster.
“Good.”
“Eager to escape, chérie?”
His smile lacked warmth, which only made her feel bad. “I’m eager to know the results of my tests,” she said slowly as she poured the milk then grabbed her spoon.
He nodded, his attention riveted to the toaster.
“Marco...”
“Hmm?” He remained focused on his task and she bit her lip, her gaze sweeping over him before darting away.
“Nothing,” she mumbled and shoved a spoonful of cereal in. “We should watch that DVD you were telling me about. After breakfast, maybe.”
He glanced over at her, his expression unreadable, and then back to the toaster as it pinged. “Sure.”
Just as they did yesterday, they ate in silence, their attention focused on the TV. It’s still happening, she realized, her eyes determinedly fixed on the news updates. She hated this awkwardness, as if they were waiting for the other to address the elephant in the room.
It was excruciating.
When he got up with his plate, she couldn’t help but lift her gaze to follow. He had a way
of walking, a kind of fluid motion that had earned him many women admirers when he’d played for Marseille.
Actually, he still had a few.
She sighed and rose. Three times now they’d ended up in bed, and every time it still amazed her. But to voice her need, her wish to have him as a friend and a lover...that was too damn scary. She’d be a fool to start something, only to have it implode if the test results came back positive. Because then she’d have to deal with that on top of everything else, and she was damn sure she didn’t want to put Marco through even a millionth of what she’d suffered, watching someone she loved slowly wither away.
She walked over to the sink to rinse her bowl and unthinkingly settled her soft fingers on the warm flesh of his waist to nudge him out of her way.
He jumped like a scalded cat, which in turn made her jump.
“Sorry,” she said when he shot her a look. Her face was a hairbreadth away from his shoulder—within kissing distance, she realized dazedly. Yet his small shiver had her frowning as he slowly moved to her right.
“Your hair,” he murmured, removing his plate from the sink. “Tickles.”
“Sorry,” she said again unconvincingly, leaning down to open the dishwasher. Her breath caught when her arm skimmed his chest; she knew she’d gotten to him when she heard the snag in his throat.
The heady feeling of power winded her. “You should put a jumper on.”
“Huh?”
She nodded at his bare arms, now littered with goose bumps. “If you’re cold you should put a jumper on.”
He sent her a closed, indecipherable look that confused as much as aroused. How on earth had she been able to look at that face, into those dark eyes, without feeling her pulse spike before? But she had. She’d hugged, laughed and touched with impunity, secure in their platonic-friend zone. But now...now all she wanted to do was touch him. Kiss him.
Get him into bed again.
With a thick swallow, she called on her thinly shredded control and turned away.
