Suddenly Expecting

by Paula Roe

  “I’ll be here as much as you need me to be,” he said, his gaze soft. “You’re my best friend, chérie, and that’s what friends do.”

  Friends. Her insides did another crazy swoop, just before the nausea surged again. This was no confession of love, no happily-ever-after, no I-can’t-live-without-you. This was Marco offering his friendship and support, just as he’d always done throughout the tragedies of her embarrassingly public private life.

  She swallowed a weird swell of abject disappointment. “Marco.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.... I haven’t made any decision. Plus...” She took a breath. “I can’t—I won’t—have a baby just because you want it. And once this gets out—whatever my decision—there’s going to be a media frenzy. Your career is more important than front-page gossip.”

  “Kat—”

  “You know what the headlines were like last time. Do you honestly think I’d do that to you? I... Oh, God.” She clutched her stomach.

  He grabbed her arm, his face creased with alarm. “What’s wrong? What—”

  She turned to the railing but wasn’t quick enough. In the next second, she threw up all over the deck, right on top of Marco’s expensive Italian leather shoes.

  Two

  “Guess I should’ve seen that coming,” Marco said drily as she rushed to the railing and continued to throw up over the side.

  When he placed a gentle hand on her back, she shrugged it off with a groan. “Oh, God, don’t.”

  His gaze darted from her to briefly stare up into the dark storm clouds. It was about to rain and rain hard, and if his captain, Larry, hurried, the crew could make it safely back to the mainland before it all came down. What he needed to discuss with Kat was between them alone; he certainly didn’t need anyone else encroaching on their privacy.

  He returned to Kat’s doubled-up figure and shifted uncomfortably on the deck. He should’ve thought about seasickness. She wasn’t a great sailor at the best of times, and with the added pregnancy, he wasn’t surprised she’d thrown up.

  “Can I get you anything?” he said now, frowning as her thick breath rattled in her throat. It tore little pieces from him, listening to her force down the nausea, willing herself not to throw up. She hated being sick, and he’d held her hair back on more than one occasion, watching helplessly as she went through the motions while he’d soothingly rubbed her back and made the appropriate sympathetic noises.

  She stayed like that, bent over the railing, unfazed by the wind and ocean spray on her face until they finally docked at Sunset Island’s small jetty twenty minutes later. As the boat edged slowly into position, Kat pulled herself upright, swiping at her mouth and swallowing thickly with a grimace.

  “Bathroom,” she muttered, and he silently watched her head into the cabin.

  Five minutes later, as he was going over his choices in a long lineup of conversation starters, she emerged, her face pale and grim, a swipe of lip gloss on her mouth.

  When she walked out onto the deck, that weird, tumultuous, out-of-control feeling had receded, only to be replaced with trepidation. This crazy situation was totally out of his hands, and that thought freaked the hell out of him. Yet she...she looked so cool and blank as she strode toward him that he felt the sudden urge to kiss her, to dislodge that perfect composure and make her as frustrated and confused as he felt.

  Stupid idea. Because Kat had made it clear she wanted to forget what they’d done all those weeks ago. And if he looked at this logically, that was the sensible thing to do. They were best friends. Throughout all their sucky personal relationships, her mother’s death, his one marriage and divorce, her two, plus the crazy media attention they always seemed to attract, their friendship endured. Sure, the papers always hinted at something more, but they’d both laughed and shrugged it off a long time ago.

  Yet now, as his insides pitched with uncharacteristic uncertainty, she looked almost...calm. As if she’d already made a decision and was confident in making it.

  She was so damn strong. Sometimes too strong. Just one of the things that both attracted and annoyed him.

  “I don’t know what more we have to discuss,” she said now, watching his crew prepare to dock. “This is a waste of time. Plus, with the approaching cyclone, we need to let people know where we are.”

  “I called the authorities before we left, plus your father, my mother and Connor,” he said calmly.

  “Wow. You really planned ahead for this, didn’t you?”

  He ignored her sarcasm. “All bases are covered. We’re perfectly safe.”

  Her face creased with such serious doubt that he had to smother a laugh.

  Safe? No way, not when her expression became suddenly tight and he knew exactly where her thoughts were going. If they were anything like his, it was back to That Night, replaying every intimate second over and over, despite his determination to shove it to the back of his mind. She didn’t want to be stuck anywhere with him, least of all in such an intimate personal space.

  Her breath snapped in, eyes darkening just before she glanced away, and his groin tightened. It was incredibly arousing, knowing she was obviously remembering their crazy-hot lovemaking. Lovemaking that had, instead of quenching the hunger, only succeeded in stoking his desire for more.

  His low groan was lost in the noisy preparations for docking, yet when he gently took her arm, she shot him a dark scowl and dug her heels in.

  His eyebrows ratcheted up. “You’re going to stay on the boat in protest?”

  “I should.”

  “Well, that’s a dumb idea. A storm’s coming, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “You’re the one who dragged me out here.”

  He sighed. “Look, chérie, come to the house. If you want to yell at me, at least we’ll be safe.”

  She paused, seeming to go through her limited options, until her chin went up and she shot him a glare. “Fine. But as soon as the storm’s passed, you’re taking me home.”

  He almost smiled. Almost. “Okay.”

  She gave him a final look then swept past him, down the gangplank and onto the rickety jetty, her heels echoing dully as he commanded his crew to take the spare vessel and return to the mainland.

  * * *

  They took a golf buggy to the house, efficiently moving along the road that edged the west side of Sunset Island. Just like all the times before, when the place came into sight, Kat held her breath and marveled at the architecture of the magnificent six-bedroom house. It was all glass and timber walls set in a lush tropical rain forest, with natural lines, arches and a sloping roof set on sturdy stilts, perfectly sheltered among the vegetation to avoid the fiercest storms yet taking spectacular advantage of the amazing Pacific Ocean sunsets.

  This was Marco’s haven, a place he could relax and be himself with his friends. The guy she knew so very well. The guy who was now intimate with her body, who had made her moan and climax.

  As Kat ran her eyes over the house’s familiar lines and tried not to think about that, the buggy wound its way along the driveway, until finally they stopped at the front door and Marco got out. Again, he offered his hand and she was forced to take it, although she quickly released him as soon as she stepped out.

  “We need to secure the shutters before the storm hits,” he said, eyeing the sky.

  Kat nodded and followed him to the long path edged with a sturdy safety railing that ran all the way around the house. As the wind slowly picked up and the trees began to sway, they both worked in silence, cranking down the storm shutters covering the multitude of windows. With the last one firmly in place, they returned to the front.

  “The birds and the bats flew off a few hours ago,” Marco commented, frowning into the dark sky. “They know something’s wrong.”

  A chill ran over her skin. “The Bureau of Meteorology
said the main eye is bound for Cairns.”

  “Yeah, they’re bracing for the worst—mobile phone towers down, power outages. The ports will be closed, too. So, not the best place to be right now. Let’s get inside.”

  “I’ve got nothing to wear,” she said suddenly as she stepped in the door.

  “You’ve still got some stuff from last time. And you can borrow from me if you need to.”

  Walking around in Marco’s clothes, smelling his scent, knowing the exact same garments had been right up next to his skin? Just. No.

  Kat said nothing as she walked into the familiar coolness of the slate foyer, down the hall to the back of the house, past the amazing indoor pool with wet bar to her right, the elegant water feature bubbling away to her left.

  Finally she reached the heart of the house—the huge combined kitchen and entertainment area with comfy sofas, a wide-screen plasma TV, dining table to the side, curved walls with floor-to-ceiling windows and a fully equipped kitchen. She and his guests always spent their time here, eating and talking current affairs, the state of the world, his second home in Marseille and the ever-present topic, European football.

  She went straight to the fridge, grabbed a ginger beer and then walked to the barricaded windows that normally displayed an uninterrupted one-eighty view of the Pacific Ocean.

  During the day the simple beauty of searing blue sky stretched forever until it eventually dipped to kiss the dark ocean in the far distance. At night, the absolute blackness enveloped everything, the only respite the tiny mainland lights on the horizon. Except this time she was more than acutely aware of the brewing storm playing out behind the shutters, matching her churning thoughts as she heard Marco’s firm footfalls on the polished marble behind her. The vague scent of his aftershave brought back the uncomfortable memories from that one night, ten weeks ago.

  “So we should be clear of the storm here,” she began, her back still to him, the cold ginger-beer bottle cradled against her warm neckline.

  “Yes.” He reached for the patio door handle and swung it wide, walking out onto the lit deck. “But we’ve still got a warning and need to take all precautions.”

  “Your cellar,” she said as he began to collect the deck chairs.

  He nodded then grinned. “And you guys teased me for converting it.”

  She pulled a chair inside the back door. “Well, to be fair, the worst you’d ever seen was a tropical rainstorm, not a cyclone.”

  “Always a first time for everything.”

  Those words took on a whole new meaning tonight. She watched him carry the patio chairs inside, waiting for him to break the silence as she picked at the label on her ginger-beer bottle.

  He finally closed and locked the door, and after a few minutes of him shoving the chairs into a corner and saying nothing, she was about ready to break.

  “Marco—”

  “Kat—”

  They both turned and spoke at the same time, but it was Kat who paused for him to continue. When he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, she wanted to groan out loud. She knew exactly what that hair felt like in her fingers, how soft it was, how it curled and waved with a life of its own, and how with one gentle tug at the nape she could direct his mouth to a better place on her neck....

  Oh, God, I have to stop thinking about that!

  When she glanced up, he was looking at her with those dark eyes, assessing her every word, movement and expression until she felt vaguely underdressed. Ridiculous, because the last thing on his mind right now was getting her naked and into bed.

  What a vision that conjured up. No. No! Stop it!

  Then he abruptly turned and the moment shattered.

  “You need food,” he said, striding over to the kitchen and opening the fridge door. “And we need to prepare for tonight.”

  Her stomach took that moment to remind her of her long-gone lunch, and with a sigh she followed him over, her mind on the immediate problem of her empty belly. “What do you have?”

  He waved his hand inside the fridge. “You choose. I’m going to tape up the windows.”

  * * *

  Kat prepared bread rolls, cheese, cold meats and potato salad while Marco placed thick tape across all the windows. After they ate, they sat on the sofa and had coffee, the muted TV spurting out nonstop cyclone updates.

  It was a familiar scenario—the coffee, the silent television, their seating positions: she at one corner, sprawled across two spots and hugging a pillow, he in the opposite corner with ankles and arms crossed. Yet the unspoken tension in the air was smoke-thick and just as hard to ignore.

  This time it was Kat who broke the silence. “You know, Grace was arranging a surprise dinner for your return.”

  His eyebrow went up. “Was she?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Right.” The slight grimace in his expression spoke volumes.

  “What’s that look for?”

  “What look?”

  “Don’t give me that. You know the one.”

  He sighed. “I don’t know why she keeps bothering. We broke up months ago.”

  “I see,” Kat said slowly, pressing her lips together. Marco would never lie to her—so was it all wishful thinking on Grace’s part? She frowned. Yeah, Grace liked to talk up all her relationships—that TV exec three months ago, the Russian writer, the ex-soapie star.

  Then Marco abruptly turned on the couch, giving her his full attention, and she forgot all about Grace’s love life.

  “Kat, this is me here. We talk about pretty much everything—”

  “Not everything.”

  He gave her a look. “Just stop avoiding the issue and talk to me now. Let’s think this baby situation over logically.”

  She shook her head. “Were you not listening about the tests?”

  “I didn’t ask that. I asked if you wanted to have this baby.”

  “I am not turning this discussion into a pro-choice debate.”

  He scowled. “I’m not trying to. All I’m asking is for you to consider all your options.”

  Her insides ached. “That’s all I’ve been doing since I found out. Marco, please don’t do this. I can’t get attached, knowing there’s a possibility it will be carrying a fatal disease. Plus, I know women are supposed to have these ticking body clocks, supposed to be filled with a great burning need to be mothers, but I am telling you, I’m not one of them.”

  And yet...there’d been a few moments where she’d allowed her imagination to drift, where her thoughts had been occupied by something other than work, her swish Cairns apartment and all those solitary nights stretching before her. She’d imagined an unfamiliar future consisting of a house, a garden, a husband and babies. A scary, scary thought that had her breath catching and her heart racing every time she let her mind wander there.

  No.

  She sighed. “I...I don’t know what to say. I really don’t.”

  “Well, that’s a start. At least it means you’re not wedded to the idea of an abortion.”

  “I’m not making any decision until the tests come back. I’m not going to...” She swallowed and glanced away. “Not going to get attached to the idea if they come back positive. And anyway, what on earth am I going to do with a baby? This is me we’re talking about here.”

  His scowl deepened. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re a great person. You’re funny and gorgeous and smart, and you have people in your life who love you.”

  She flushed under the unexpected praise. “But a mother?”

  “Other women begin with a whole lot less.”

  “But it’s a full-time job. A lifelong commitment.” She worried the edge of the pillow, picking at the stitching. “You can’t get a do-over with these things. What if I stuff it up?”

  “Nobody’s perfect
at parenting—just look at Connor’s family. I guarantee you’d do a lot better than them.”

  Kat nodded. It was impossible to avoid the Blairs, especially when her father and Connor’s were business partners at Jackson & Blair. Unlike her relationship with Marco’s parents, she’d never warmed to Stephen Blair, a ruthlessly ambitious man with a penchant for blondes, and his wife, Corinne, a cold gym-junkie socialite with a Botox habit. Connor’s childhood was a perfect study in fractured family dynamics. A therapist’s dream...more so than her own.

  “My dad isn’t much better,” she said now. “He’d rather hold a grudge about old headlines than dole out any praise.”

  “At least they were happy, well, until...” He trailed off diplomatically.

  Until her mother’s diagnosis. Kat silently filled in the sentence. They had been strict but fair, even when she’d stretched the limits with the usual teenage smoking, drinking and sneaking out to parties. Certainly not overly demonstrative in their affections. But after her mother’s diagnosis, her father had turned into an angry, bitter man, always judgmental, always unhappy. And Kat could never do anything right, from her decision to drop out of Brisbane University to her crazy, wild nights on the town that were her one respite from thinking about her mother’s disease.

  Until one particular night when she’d stumbled home at sunrise in a highly drunken state and her father had been waiting for her, scorn pouring from every tense muscle.

  “You’ve had everything we could give you, and look at you! Your mother is dying, so you throw in a perfectly good education to get drunk every weekend!”

  “Maybe that’s the point!” she’d stormed back. “It’s in my head every single waking moment. I need some time to clear it out, to just forget, otherwise I’ll go crazy!”

  His fists had clenched, and for one awful moment she’d wondered whether he’d give in to the temptation and actually hit her. Instead he’d cut her with words, his particular specialty.

  A month later her mother had died and Kat had run away to France, where Marco was the current darling of French football. Where she’d slowly come to realize there was more to her tiny little world than short skirts, wild parties and free drinks.