A slow smile spread across Ethan’s mouth

“I’m not saying yes, Ethan,” Alexandra felt compelled to point out.

“But you’re not saying no.” He was trying to temper his smile, but she could see the relief in his eyes. The hope.

He wants this as much as I do.

She’d forgotten that there were men who craved children as much as women did.

“We need to talk more,” she said. “A lot more.”

“Absolutely. How about dinner at my place on Saturday night?”

It would be the first time they’d seen each other outside the office or the racquetball court. And it seemed like a huge leap into the unknown. Still… “Okay. That sounds good.”

“Then it’s a date,” he said.

And even though she knew there were so many things that could go wrong, she felt lighter than she had in weeks. If this worked out…

Dear Reader,

I grew up in a world where I was told girls (women!) could do anything and become anyone as adults. An astronaut, a doctor, a lawyer, a soldier. The notion of having a career was something that was, well, normal for the generation of women I went to school with, and this is definitely the case for my heroine, Alexandra Knight. She’s been determined to make her mark in the world and secure her own future ever since she was a little girl.

But she has another dream—the dream of being a mother. A dream she’s afraid she’s left too late to pursue at the ripe old age of thirty-eight. But Alex has never been the type to roll over without a fight. The Best Laid Plans is Alex’s story—and the story of the wonderful, damaged, generous man she stumbles across on her way to the maternity ward.

I hope you enjoy Alex and Ethan’s journey to happiness. I had a wonderful—and emotional—time writing it. I love to hear from readers. If you’d like to drop me a line, you can reach me via my website at www.sarahmayberry.com

Until next time, happy reading,

Sarah Mayberry

The Best Laid Plans

Sarah Mayberry

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

After several international moves, Sarah Mayberry now lives in Melbourne, Australia, her hometown, with her partner of nearly twenty years. She is the proud owner of a mini orchard, complete with quince and fig trees and raspberry canes. When she’s not writing or thinking about all the jam she will make one day, she likes to shop for shoes and almost anything else. She also loves cooking, movies and, of course, reading.

Books by Sarah Mayberry

HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

1551—A NATURAL FATHER

1599—HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS

1626—HER BEST FRIEND

HARLEQUIN BLAZE

380—BURNING UP

404—BELOW THE BELT

425—AMOROUS LIAISONS

464—SHE’S GOT IT BAD

517—HER SECRET FLING

566—HOT ISLAND NIGHTS

This was a hard one. Big thanks and hugs and commiserations and air kisses to Chris and Wanda, my frontline pit crew who cheered me on from the sidelines and gave me the occasional kick when I needed it and listened to all my whining and gnashing of teeth.

Also thanks to the Libster for very generously sharing her knowledge of artificial insemination with me.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

“DAMN YOUR EYES, WHERE did you come from?”

Alexandra Knight plucked at the run climbing the right leg of her panty hose, sending it racing even farther up her leg. When she’d pulled on her hose ten minutes ago, they’d been perfect. And she knew for a fact that there wasn’t another pair anywhere in her apartment since she’d already dragged these ones out of the laundry in desperation.

She checked her watch. She was already in the underground garage of her apartment building. If she went upstairs and changed into a pantsuit, she’d chew up ten minutes, minimum. But if she swung into the convenience store near her downtown Melbourne office, she might make her first meeting. If she hustled.

Decision made, she strode the final few feet to her car and beeped it open. She reversed out of her spot with a rev of the engine, then shot up the ramp and into the street.

The parking gods were smiling on her and she drove straight into a space in front of the minimart on St. Kilda Road. She was out of the car and heading for the door in no seconds flat.

She had three pairs of panty hose in hand when she hurried out the door two minutes later, only to find the sidewalk blocked by a tall blond man attempting to wrangle a complicated-looking stroller that had become entangled with one of the many bags hanging from its handle. She sidestepped, her thoughts on the day ahead. Her corporate client Jamieson was keen to have the contract of sale she was negotiating on their behalf signed off by the end of the week, which meant she had to redraft the contract by this afternoon so they could—

“Alex.”

She turned instinctively.

“Jacob,” she said, one foot on the curb, the other in the gutter, stunned by the unlikely coincidence of seeing her ex. Her gaze dropped to the small body strapped securely in the stroller he was pushing. There was no missing the resemblance between man and child.

He was a father.

Jacob, the man she’d lived with for seven years, the man who had refused to even discuss having a child with her, had had a child with someone else. Some other woman.

For a moment Alex could do nothing but blink.

She had begged him to reconsider his anti-child stance. They’d fought over it so many times she’d lost count. He’d always been so adamant. So certain, even when they were packing their things and going their separate ways.

And now…

She dragged her gaze from his baby to his face. He had the grace to look sheepish.

“I thought you might have heard through the grapevine,” he said.

But she hadn’t. If she’d known… She had no idea what she would have done.

“How old is he?” she asked. Amazing how calm her voice sounded when the rest of her was reeling.

“Four months.”

She flinched. She and Jacob had broken up eighteen months ago. That meant he’d met someone and gotten her pregnant pretty damn quickly.

“Congratulations,” she said, even though she wasn’t feeling the least bit congratulatory. “What’s his name?”

And her. What’s her name, this mysterious, magical woman who got you to cough up your DNA when I couldn’t even get you to discuss becoming a parent after seven years together?

“Theodore. Teddy for short.”

“That was your grandfather’s name, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

He was blushing. And she’d run out of things to say—except for the one burning question that her pride would never allow her to ask: why not me?

Hadn’t he loved her enough? Had she been missing some vital, essential ingredient that had stopped him from fully committing to her?

Her hand curled into a fist. She wanted to hurt him. Punch him in the face. Grab him by the lapels and demand to know why, how, when. Instead, she forced her hand to relax and made a show of checking her watch.

“I really have to go if I’m going to make my first meeting. Good luck with everything, Jacob.”

She stepped blindly into the street.

“Alex. Before you go… Just in case you thought—I mean, it was an accident,” Jacob said.

“What?” Despite herself, she lingered and turned to face him when she should have gotten in her car and driven away.

“Mia didn’t realize she’d missed a pill and then we found out she was pregnant. So, you know, all this was unplanned.” His gesture took in his child, the stroller, the tangled diaper bag.

“Well. I guess that makes it all okay,” she said.

She escaped to the sanctuary of her car. Except it wasn’t really a sanctuary, since Jacob remained where he was, watching her, an expression on his face that was an equal mix of guilt and defensiveness. Alex concentrated on starting the engine so she could get the hell out of here.

She pulled over the moment she was around the corner and out of sight. She stared out the windshield, her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles ached.

Jacob was a father. He had a beautiful baby boy. With someone else. A woman named Mia, who had “forgotten” to take a pill or two and forced Jacob into a position he had adamantly, passionately, avowedly claimed he wanted to avoid for the entire duration of his relationship with Alex.

He’d named his child Theodore, after his paternal grandfather. He was even on child-care duty, pushing one of the contraptions he’d once dubbed a “blight on civilization” because of the way they choked supermarket aisles and cafés.

She could hear her own breathing, fast and harsh as though she’d just run a race. She told herself that the past was the past and that what Jacob had done once they’d split was nothing to do with her. But not for a minute did she believe it.

The thing was—the thing that stung so bloody bitterly—was that he’d always been so certain about what he wanted. He’d informed her six months into their relationship that he wasn’t interested in having children. By then she’d loved him so much, wanted to be a part of his life so badly, she’d convinced herself that he would change with time. Lots of men did, after all, and they’d both been only thirty. She’d told herself that once he saw his friends have kids, he’d understand the joy and challenges that children could bring. The love and hope and energy. All she’d have to do was wait him out.

And she had. She’d concentrated on achieving partnership at Wallingsworth & Kent and back-burnered her baby dreams until the issue had become a wedge between them.

And now Jacob was a father, and she was single and thirty-eight and still looking for the man she’d left Jacob to find. A man she loved who loved her and wanted to have the family that had always formed the cornerstone of her hopes and dreams.

For the second time that morning her hands curled into fists and she pounded them once, twice, three times against her steering wheel.

An electronic beep drew her attention back to the moment. She blinked, looking around to identify the source of the sound. Her gaze fell on her bag and her brain clicked into gear. Her phone. That’s what the sound was. She pulled it from her handbag and touched the screen. It was her legal secretary, Franny, letting Alexandra know her first client had arrived and was waiting in reception.

Alex laughed.

A client. Right. She had a meeting scheduled. Hell, she had a whole day scheduled. And here she was, thinking that the world had contracted to only her and the sick, angry feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She took a deep breath, then texted a quick reassurance that she was five minutes away.

Seeing Jacob pushing a stroller had dredged up a lot of the old feelings she thought she’d put to rest. But she didn’t have time to sit in her car and gnash her teeth. People were relying on her.

She continued to talk herself down as she drove to the office.

She might feel justifiably angry and cheated by the way things had turned out, but it wasn’t as though she was out of options. At thirty-eight, she had at least five good childbearing years ahead of her—Madonna had had her second child at forty-two, after all, and Geena Davis had had twins at forty-seven. Alex was fit and healthy and active. There was plenty of time for her to find Mr. Right and have the family she’d always wanted.

Plenty of time.

Ignoring the flutter of panic behind her breastbone, Alex reeled in her feelings and focused on the day ahead.

Plenty of time.

EIGHT HOURS LATER, Alex waited on the examination table as her doctor washed her hands after Alex’s annual physical. As it had all day, her mind circled back to the encounter with Jacob. She made it a policy not to brood. It was a huge waste of energy, and it never changed anything. She had better things to do with her time and emotion. Still, she couldn’t erase the image of Jacob and little Teddy. To be so close to everything she wanted and yet be so far removed…

Dr. Ramsay turned back from washing her hands. “Okay, we’ll check your abdomen, then we’re done. Hands by your sides, please. And a nice relaxed belly.”

“Sure you don’t want me to beg or fetch?” Alex asked.

“As if you’d listen to me anyway.” Dr. Ramsay smiled, the lines around her eyes deepening.

She’d been Alex’s doctor for ten years now and she always managed to fit Alex in, no matter how crazy her work schedule.

Dr. Ramsay’s expression grew distant as she pressed down on Alex’s lower belly.

“Let me know if you feel any pain or discomfort.”

“Okay.”

“How’s that?” Dr. Ramsay asked, pressing near where Alex imagined her ovaries were located.

“All good.”

“And here?”

Over her bladder this time.

“Fine.”

A few more pokes, then her doctor was done.

“You can get dressed now. So unless there’s anything else you were worried about, we’re finished.”

Alexandra sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the table.

“Nothing major. I have noticed my periods have been getting heavier over the past few months. More cramping, that sort of thing.”

“Unfortunately, that’s something that happens for a lot of women as they age. You’re, what, thirty-nine this year?”

“That’s right.”

“We’ll keep an eye on it and if it becomes a problem we can look at your options. But given the average age of menopause is fifty-one, it might be an issue that will simply resolve itself.”

Alex laughed nervously. “Menopause? I’m not even forty yet.”

Dr. Ramsay shrugged. “But you are on the tail end of your fertility, and quite a few women go into menopause in their forties.”

“But…I haven’t had children yet.”

Dr. Ramsay looked startled. “Oh. I didn’t realize that was something you wanted. I always assumed you were a career woman.”

“No. I mean, I am. I love my career. But I want a family, too.”

There was concern in Dr. Ramsay’s eyes now. “I see. Well, you probably don’t need me to tell you that the clock is ticking.”

“I’ve still got a few years up my sleeve yet, right?” Alex asked.

She hesitated a beat before speaking again. “Why don’t you get dressed and we can discuss this further?”

The curtain hissed shut between them. Alex tried to push beyond the growing sense of dread as she reached for her clothes. It took her two attempts to button her skirt.

Dr. Ramsay was seated at her desk when Alex opened the curtain.

“Grab a seat,” the doctor said, patting the chair she’d pulled up alongside her desk.

Alex sat and folded her hands into her lap. “Why do I feel as though I’ve been called to the principal’s office?”

Dr. Ramsay drew a diagonal line on the paper in front of her, sloping from the top left corner down to the right. Then she jotted some figures along the horizontal and vertical axes of her impromptu graph.

“Here’s a crash course in female fertility,” she said when she’d finished her sketch. “When it comes to having babies, the quality of the egg is what’s important. The current understanding is that fertility as well as egg quality hit their peak at around twenty-seven. From then onward, it’s a steady decline. After thirty-five—” Dr. Ramsay tapped the appropriate point on her downward-sloping graph “—fertility drops off dramatically. Statistically, the likelihood of a woman in her early forties having a successful pregnancy with her own ovum is only ten percent.”

“Ten percent?” Alex repeated.

“Ten percent.”

“But I’m only thirty-eight right now. Where does that place me on the graph?” Alex leaned forward urgently.

Dr. Ramsay tapped a spot scarily close to the bottom of her sloping line. “At about thirty-five percent. But remember, these figures are averages. There are always people who fall outside of the norm.”

Alex stared at the tiny indentation the doctor’s pen had made in the page. Thirty-five percent. She had a thirty-five percent chance of getting pregnant and successfully carrying a child to term. And next year that figure would drop again.

“I thought I had more time. I mean…Madonna. And Geena Davis. And I’m sure I read about a woman in her early fifties having triplets….”

“Unfortunately these high-profile late-in-life pregnancies give women a false sense that having a baby is as simple as deciding the time is right and going for it. Many, many older women have to resort to IVF to get pregnant in their late thirties and early forties. Many fail and are forced to look to donor eggs.”

Alex’s palms were damp with sweat. For so many years she’d dreamed of being a mother. She’d drawn up a list of names, she’d even bought her sensible, safe sedan with an eye to the future. She’d always assumed that she would be a mother, that when she was ready, her body would cooperate and she’d get pregnant…

“Are you telling me that it might already be impossible for me to have a child?” she asked. It was hard to get the words past the lump in her throat.

“Without invasive tests, without you having tried and failed to conceive for an extended period of time, it’s impossible for us to know how fertile you are. What I’m trying to say and perhaps not doing a very good job of it is that if this is something you want, Alex, you need to move quickly. The sooner the better as far as your body is concerned.”

Alex smoothed her hands down her skirt. She could feel how tense her thigh muscles were beneath the fine Italian wool. Her belly muscles were quivering and she was frowning so fiercely her forehead ached.

“I see,” she said.

And she did. She saw Jacob’s baby boy, his big blue eyes taking in the world, his fingers clutching the edge of his blanket.

So small and soft, so full of promise.

All the rage and resentment and bitterness that she’d suppressed this morning rolled over her.

She’d given Jacob seven years. Seven of her best years, apparently. He’d said no to children again and again, and now he had what she’d always dreamed of and she was left to face the possibility that she would only ever be a godmother to her friends’ children.

It was so unfair, so bloody cruel…

Alex realized Dr. Ramsay was watching her, an expectant expression on her face. She’s missed something, obviously.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said I’d be happy to jot down the names of some good books on the subject for you,” her doctor said.

“Yes. That would be great. Thank you,” Alex said.

She waited while Dr. Ramsay wrote down a couple of titles, then somehow found the strength to make polite small talk as the doctor saw her to the door.

She drove on autopilot to the gym to meet her coworker Ethan for their weekly racquetball game. It wasn’t until she was pulling on her Lycra leggings and hooking the eyes on her sports bra that she registered where she was and what she was doing.

She sat on the bench that bisected the change room and put her head in her hands. She didn’t want to run around a court and exchange smart-ass banter with Ethan between points. She wanted to go home and curl up in the corner with her thumb in her mouth.

She pressed her fingertips against her closed eyelids and sighed heavily. Then she straightened, pulled on her tank top, laced up her shoes and shoved her work clothes into her gym bag. As much as she wanted to go home, she couldn’t leave Ethan hanging. Not when he was probably already standing on the court, waiting for her. She’d made a commitment to him and she always honored her commitments.

Shouldering her bag, she made her way to the wing that housed the racquetball courts. As she’d guessed, Ethan was already there, warming up. She eyed him through the glass panel in the door, for once not feeling a thing as she looked at his long, strong legs, well-muscled arms and fallen-angel’s face.

She smiled a little grimly. After months of telling herself that it was really, really inappropriate to have a low-level crush on her fellow partner and racquetball buddy, it seemed that all it took to neutralize his ridiculous good looks and rampant sex appeal was the news that she might have left it too late to have children.

She tucked her chin into her chest, squared her shoulders and fixed a smile on her face. Then she pushed open the door and entered the court.

“Hey. Thought you were going to chicken out on me,” Ethan said as she threw her bag on top of his in the corner. A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead and he brushed it away with an impatient hand.

“Sorry. Got caught up,” she said.

“No shame in admitting you’re intimidated, slowpoke,” Ethan said, his dark blue eyes glinting with amused challenge.

Most of the women in the office would turn into a puddle of feminine need if he gave them one of those looks, but Alex had been building up her immunity from day one. It was part of their shtick, the way he twinkled and glinted and flirted with her and the way she batted it all back at him, supremely unimpressed by his charmer’s tricks.

According to their usual routine, she was supposed to rise to the bait of him using his much-disputed nickname for her but she didn’t have it in her tonight. Instead, she concentrated on unzipping the cover on her racquet before turning to make brief eye contact with him.

“Let’s play,” she said. The sooner they started, the sooner this would be over.

He raised his eyebrows. “Don’t want to warm up?”

“Nope.”

She took her position on the court.

He frowned. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “You want to serve first…?”

Ethan’s gaze narrowed as he studied her. She adjusted her grip on her racquet and tried to look normal. Whatever that was.

Finally he shrugged and moved to the other side of the court. After all, it wasn’t as though they had the kind of friendship that went beyond the realm of the stuffy oak-paneled offices of Wallingsworth & Kent and the racquetball court. They might be the two youngest partners, and they might see eye to eye on most issues that came up during the weekly partners’ meetings, but she had no idea what he did in his downtime—although she could take an educated guess, thanks to office scuttle-butt—and vice versa. Their friendship—if it could even be called that—was made up of nine-tenths banter and one-tenth professional respect. He was the last person she would confide her fears in.

Ethan bounced the ball a few times before sending it speeding toward the wall with his powerful serve. She lunged forward, racquet extended, and felt the satisfying thwack as she made contact. In a blur of stop-and-go motion they crisscrossed the court, slamming the ball into corners, trying to outmaneuver each other.

He was taller than her, and stronger, but she was faster and more flexible, as well as having four years on him agewise. The result was that they usually gave each other a good run for their money—although Ethan was slightly ahead on their running scoreboard, having beaten her last week.

Tonight she went after every point as though her life depended on it, pushing herself until she was gasping for breath and sweat was stinging her eyes.

After twenty minutes she’d won the first game and was ahead by three points on the second. Ethan shot her a grin as they swapped sides for her serve.

“You’re on fire, slowpoke. But don’t get too comfortable.”

She didn’t bother responding, bouncing the ball and sending it slamming toward him instead. Another frenetic few minutes passed as they fought for the point.

“I pity him or her, I really do,” Ethan said after she’d won the battle with an overhead slam.

Alex tucked a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear. “Sorry?”

“Whoever pissed you off.”

“I’m not angry,” she said.

“If you say so.”

She prepared to serve again but he walked to the corner and grabbed a bottle of water from his bag. She waited impatiently for him to drink, tapping her racquet against the side of her sneaker.

They’d just started their third game when she went long, lobbing a shot at the wall. It hit the high line and ricocheted toward Ethan but he let it fly past him to hit the rear wall without even attempting to take the shot.

“One, love,” he said, his chest heaving, a big grin on his face. “Nice volley.”

“Hang on, that was my point,” she said. She wiped her forearm across her forehead.

“Sorry, it was out.” His tone was final, utterly confident.

“It was in, Ethan. Right on the line, sure, but the line is in.” She pointed toward the front wall with her racquet.

“Trust me, it was out.”

“Oh, well, if you say so, it must be right. I mean, it’s not like you’d ever lie to get your own way, is it? You’re a man, and if it suits you, I’m sure anything goes—until it doesn’t, right?”

Her words echoed off the hard surfaces of the court. There was a short silence as Ethan looked at her, his expression unreadable. Then she was looking at his back as he turned to collect the ball.

Heat burned its way up her chest and into her face. Talk about out of line.

“I’m sorry. That was really…I’m sorry,” she said.

Ethan regarded her for a long beat. “Maybe we should take a break. Or call it quits until next week.”

“No!” She heard the desperation in her own voice and tried to find the words to convince him to keep playing. It seemed vitally important that she be allowed to keep running around this small box, smashing the hell out of a rubber ball. She opened her mouth, but her throat seized and heat pressed at the back of her eyes. She spun away.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t you dare cry.

She stared fiercely at the floor, clenching and unclenching her hand on the grip of her racquet.

“Hey.” Ethan’s hand landed on her shoulder. “What’s going on, Alex?”

“I’m fine,” she managed to say.

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m fine.” But her voice caught on the last word then tears were falling down her face.

“Shit,” she said under her breath. Of all the people to break down in front of.

“It’s okay,” Ethan said from behind her. “Whatever it is, I’m sure you can work it out.”

It was so far from the truth that she laughed harshly. “Sure I can. I can make myself younger. I can turn back time and make Jacob want to have a child with me. Hell, I can probably click my fingers and make myself pregnant.”

The moment the words were out of her mouth she was acutely aware of how much she’d revealed, how exposed she was and how really inappropriate this conversation was. This was Ethan Stone, after all. Mr. Suave and Sophisticated, her fellow partner. Just because they shared lunch occasionally and played racquetball regularly didn’t mean he wanted to know all the gory, messy details of her private life. And she didn’t want him to know. Work was work, this was…very private.

“Who’s Jacob?” Ethan asked.

“Nobody important. Forget I said anything.”

She wiped her cheeks with her fingertips and sucked in a shaky breath. She had to get a grip. Had to put on her game face and convince him that she was good and to forget what she’d said.

“Alex…”

“I’m okay. A little stressed, that’s all.” But the damned tears wouldn’t stop.

Warm, strong arms closed around her, pulling her toward a big, broad chest. Instinctively she resisted his embrace, trying to pull away.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he said, the sound vibrating through his chest and into hers, his arms tightening around her.

Finally she gave in, although she couldn’t bring herself to return the embrace—that would be admitting too much, asking for too much. Instead, she stood with her arms hanging uselessly by her sides, her body rigid with tension, waiting for this moment of pity or sympathy or whatever it was to be done with so she could make her excuses and get the hell out of here.

He didn’t seem in any hurry to let her go, however. She could hear his heart beating steadily beneath her ear and she could smell his aftershave, something with sandalwood and musk notes. It had been a long time since she’d been held by a man—eighteen months.

She’d forgotten how good it felt.

Slowly, despite herself, some of the tension eased from her body.

“Nothing wrong with being upset, Alex,” Ethan said.

She sniffed, in desperate need of a tissue. This time when she pushed Ethan away he let her go. She kept her face averted as she crossed to her gym bag. She squatted to rummage inside for her towel, then pressed the soft fabric against her face until she was sure she’d blotted away all evidence of her outburst. Then and only then did she push herself upright and face him again.

They eyed each other for a long beat. Finally Alex cleared her throat.

“I don’t suppose you’d be prepared to pretend the last few minutes never happened?”

“Who’s Jacob?” he asked again.

“I appreciate the concern, I really do, but you don’t want to hear the pathetic details of my personal life.” She worked hard to keep her tone light and dry.

His gaze searched her face for a long moment. “Let me guess. Jacob’s your ex, right? What happened? Is he getting married? Moving countries? Dying from an obscure disease?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“So he’s getting married.”

“He’s not getting married. Can we just leave it?”

“How long ago did you break up?”

She threw her hands in the air. “He was pushing a baby stroller, okay? He’s a father. Is that what you wanted to know?”

There was a short silence. She could see the surprise on Ethan’s face, as though she’d presented him with a puzzle piece and he didn’t know where it fit. Like Dr. Ramsay, he was probably shocked that she wanted to be a mother. She’d done such a good job of building the facade of Alexandra Knight, cool, efficient corporate lawyer, that no one had any idea what lay behind the power suits and overtime. Which was the way she liked it. Most of the time.

“How old are you?” Ethan asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Thirty-five? Thirty-six?”

“I’m thirty-nine this year.”

“Thirty-nine’s not old—”

She held up a hand. “Please don’t tell me that I have plenty of time to meet someone else and have a child. I know it might be hard for someone who only has to click his fingers to have half a dozen women panting at his front door to understand, but men over thirty-five who want to get married and have kids are a little thin on the ground. And I have it on the good authority of my doctor that my chances of conceiving drop to ten per cent once I hit my forties.”

“I see,” he said.

And she knew he did—too much.

She stood, shouldering her bag. “Look, I really have to go. I’m sorry about the game. And the blubbering. I’ll make it up to you next week.”

She didn’t wait for him to respond, simply strode for the door. She should have stuck to her first instinct and canceled the game. Should have gone home and gotten all the anger and hurt and despair out of her system before she’d had to face the world again.

She didn’t relax until she was behind the wheel of her car, cocooned by the dark outside and the instant warmth of her heater. Then and only then did her shoulders and stomach muscles relax. She sank against the seat and exhaled noisily. She felt so bloody weary and defeated. Overwhelmed. Filled with regret.

But she couldn’t turn back time, could she? Couldn’t go back eighteen months and be the one to “accidentally” forget a few vital pills so that she could be the mother of Jacob’s child and force him into fatherhood against his will.

Not that she hadn’t considered doing that toward the end. She’d been tempted, more than once. The bottom line was that she hadn’t wanted to build their family on the foundation of a lie. She’d respected Jacob too much to take such an important decision out of his hands.

And now it was too late. Or close enough as made no difference. She’d missed the boat. Waited too long. And no amount of temper tantrums on the racquetball court was going to change that fact. She was simply going to have to suck it up and get on with playing the hand she’d been dealt. And if that hand meant no children…well, so be it.

CHAPTER TWO

ALEX’S MOOD OF GRIM resignation held sway until she stepped out of the shower later that evening. She’d made herself dinner when she arrived home from the gym and eaten it mechanically, then she’d settled on the couch and determinedly worked her way through the contracts she’d brought with her. She didn’t let herself think. She was good at that—it was one of her most successful survival techniques. It wasn’t until she’d showered and was toweling herself dry that she caught sight of her naked body in the bathroom mirror and stilled. She let the towel fall to the floor and pressed her hands against her belly, spreading her fingers wide, feeling the resilience of her own skin.

How many times had she imagined what it would be like to grow big with her child? To smooth her hands over her swollen belly? How many times had she tried to imagine what it would feel like to have a small, new life fluttering inside her?

Time to put that dream away.

She let her hands drop, but unlike earlier when she’d first confronted her brutal reality, a small voice piped up in the back of her mind.

A voice of defiance. A voice of hope.

You could still meet someone. You’ve got a few years. And it’s not like you’ve been knocking yourself out trying to meet anyone. If you really put your mind to it, you could still have a chance.

For example, hadn’t she flicked past three whole pages of singles ads in the back section of the daily newspaper this morning? She’d always turned her nose up at the idea of advertising for a partner, no matter that she’d heard plenty of first-and second-hand accounts of how people had met their husbands and wives via dating sites. She’d been convinced that someone would come along through the normal routes—friends, or work or some other social event. But maybe it was time to make things happen instead of waiting.

She shrugged into her dressing gown and headed for the kitchen, her mind teeming with plans. She’d join every dating website she could find. She’d place her own singles ad. She’d date her ass off, make it an absolute priority in her life until she met the right man. Surely, if she committed herself to the task of finding a partner, treated it like a project, she’d be successful. After all, when hadn’t she achieved what she wanted once she put her mind to it?

She’d held the household together after her mother’s accident through sheer grit. And after her mother’s death she’d bulldozed her way through law school, then put her head down and bulldozed some more until she’d made partner in one of Melbourne’s top law firms a mere seven years after graduating. When she wanted something in her professional life, she was formidable. So why couldn’t she transfer that ethos to her personal life?

Her jaw was tense with purpose as she rescued this morning’s paper from the top of the pile in the recycle bin. She crossed to the kitchen table and spread the paper wide, thumbing through until she found the classifieds section. She stared at the columns of small print, aware of her heart beating a determined tattoo against her rib cage. Then she ran her finger down the page until she found the Male Seeks Female section and began to read.

After a few minutes she grabbed a pen from the caddy on her kitchen counter and started to circle the likely suspects.

Male, mid-forties, good sense of humor, professional, seeks woman in mid-to late-thirties, attractive, good sense of humor. Enjoys movies, hiking, reading biographies…

Man, 30s, seeks woman for potential relationship. Should enjoy outdoor sports and overseas travel…

Successful professional male seeks mature, attractive woman no older than 40 with strong sense of self and independence. You should enjoy dining out, weekends away and the theater…

By the time she’d finished she had a list of eight possible prospects. Response was via email so she hauled out her laptop and fired it up. There was no reason she couldn’t send the same response to all eight men. Coming up with that response, however, that might take some time.

She called up a document program on her computer and sat with her fingers hovering over the keyboard. How to best describe herself? She needed to sound appealing but not desperate. She’d never considered herself a great beauty—her jaw-length dark hair was thick and healthy but nothing spectacular, and her mouth was too wide and her eyes too large for conventional standards—but she was attractive enough and Jacob had always said that he loved her plush mouth and full breasts. But she could hardly put that in an ad. She typed a few lines, then immediately deleted them. How to get the essence of herself across in a few short paragraphs? How to cut through all the other responses these men might receive and stand out from the pack? Because the more men she met, the higher the chance of finding someone compatible and the sooner she could sound him out on the subject of children.

She jotted down some sums in the margin of the newspaper. Say it took her six months to find someone. Then another, say, four months before she felt comfortable broaching the subject of children with him. Or was four months too soon? It was hard to know.

Maybe she’d have to simply play it by ear, see what came up in conversation. But if the man was keen for a family, then they should probably wait another six months before attempting to get pregnant. Just to consolidate the relationship. In the meantime, she could talk to Dr. Ramsay about all the things she needed to do to be in tip-top condition to conceive—folate supplements and whatnot—so that she would be ready to go at the drop of a hat.

So adding the six-month search time to the four-month vetting period, then the six-month double-check time—

What are you doing? Can you hear yourself?

Alex stared at the figures. A formula for desperation—that was what she’d calculated. A formula for a woman who was terrified that she was going to miss out.

Was this what she really wanted? Did she really want a baby this much? Was motherhood so important to her that she was prepared to put it at the forefront of any potential connection she developed with a man?

She was no psychologist, but she didn’t need to be to understand that embarking on a relationship with someone while her biological clock ticked loudly in the background wasn’t exactly the ideal way to go.

But what choice did she have? It was this, or leave it to fate to throw the right man in her path before it was too late. And at the end of the day, she’d never believed in luck. She’d had to fight for every good thing that had ever come her way. Why should this be any different?

What she was planning wasn’t particularly pretty or dignified, but if it helped her reach her end goal, then so be it. Life, as she well knew, was often not pretty or dignified.

She stood and grabbed the scissors from the kitchen drawer then cut the relevant pages from the paper. She’d start a folder to keep track of the ads she’d responded to, in case she doubled up.

She was about to close the paper and return it to the recycle bin when her gaze caught on a small, neat ad in the bottom right-hand corner.

Sperm Donor Wanted

Our client is an independent woman with her own home and business. She has a wide support network and wishes to become a mother. She is seeking a donor with a clean bill of health and no family history of major illness. If you are a male between the ages of 18 and 45, you can help her attain her dream of motherhood by contacting Fertility Australasia at O2 9555 2801. Interstate donors welcome, travel payments available.

Alex stilled. For a moment there was not a single thought in her mind. Then she reached for the newspaper and read the ad again, and again.

A sperm bank.

It simply hadn’t occurred to her before.

She stared at the kitchen wall. Not five minutes ago she’d decided that she didn’t believe in luck and that she was prepared to fight for what she wanted, even if it smacked of desperation and meant loosening the tight grip she’d always held on her pride.

A sperm donor was a dead cert. There would be no equivocating or pussyfooting around worrying about compatibility if she went the route of sourcing frozen sperm, bought from a suitably qualified clinic. There would be no responding to want ads and waiting anxiously in coffee shops for her date to show up, no awkward first, second, third dates. She’d never have to judge when it was appropriate to sound out a man on whether he wanted children. She’d never have to worry about the relationship being based more on a biological imperative than mutual attraction and shared feeling.

It would be clean. Direct. Honest.

Best of all, it meant she was in control of her own destiny—as much as any person could be. Her body might not want to cooperate, of course, but at least she would have tried. Given it her best shot. Several best shots, depending on the costs.

She waited for her conscience to catch up with her, to sound a warning chime. But there was nothing.

This was not the way she’d wanted to have a child. She’d wanted to be one half of a couple, two people working together to bring new life into the world. A family.

But she was thirty-eight years old, staring down the barrel of her thirty-ninth birthday. She didn’t have the luxury of waiting for Mr. Right anymore. Not if she wanted to be a mother.

How much do you want this? Enough to do it alone?

She didn’t have to stretch her imagination to know what it would be like to have to cope with the pressures and stresses of raising a child on her own. She was all too familiar with the sense that there were not enough hours in the day, that she was utterly alone, with no help in sight, and that the only thing that stood between her mother and herself winding up on the street was her determination. She knew what it was like to live with the constant fear that there wouldn’t be enough food for tomorrow or that her mother would do something that would bring the wrath of social services down upon them.

She’d survived eight years of loving, nursing, corralling and policing her brain-injured mother after the accident. She could be a single parent. Absolutely she could.

She had money—more than enough to ensure she and her child would never want for anything. Years of obsessive saving had seen to that. She could easily afford to take a year off work, two years, even. She was resourceful and determined. And she wanted this. She wanted this with every fiber of her being.

Picking up the scissors, she sliced the ad neatly from the page.

ETHAN LEANED on the doorbell of his brother’s Blackburn home and waited. Sure enough, a small face appeared in the window beside the door, grinning like crazy.

“Uncle Ethan!”

“Hey, matey.”

There was the sound of fumbling from behind the door, then it was open and his eldest nephew, Jamie, was sticking out his tongue and making fake fart noises.

Ethan waited patiently for Jamie to get it out of his system. He could only blame himself, after all, that the first thing his nephews did when they saw him was to break out the noisiest, wettest raspberry they could come up with. His sister-in-law, Kay, had warned Ethan when he’d started teasing the kids with raspberries.

“You’re making a rod for your own back, Uncle Ethan,” she’d said. “You know you’re going to be Uncle Raspberry for the next ten years, don’t you?”

She’d been spot on, but he figured there were worse things in the world.

Stepping over the threshold, he grabbed Jamie around the waist and tucked him under his arm.

“Now, where’s your mom and dad?” he asked as Jamie bellowed a delighted protest.

He hefted his nephew up the hallway to the kitchen where Kay was stacking dishes in the dishwasher. Her dark blond hair was pulled back in a tie and she was wearing her tailored work shirt over a pair of seen-better-days tracksuit pants.

“You just missed dinner. You should have called, I would have saved you some.”

“I’ve got stuff at home for dinner, but thanks anyway. I thought I’d drop in and see if Derek had finished with that boxed set of The Wire yet.”

“He’s finishing up some end-of-quarter figures for one of his clients in the study.” Kay wiped her hands on a tea towel and gave him an amused look. “Let me guess what’s on the menu tonight—wagyu beef, fresh green beans, potato dauphin, maybe some red wine jus. For dessert, vanilla semi-freddo with poached seasonal fruit.” She cocked her pinky finger in the air as though she was having high tea with the queen.

His love of good food and wine had always been a source of amusement for his family. He set Jamie on his feet.

“As a matter of fact, it’s chicken stir-fry. What did you guys have? Fish fingers? Mac and cheese? Beans on toast?” Two could play at that game, after all.

Kay laughed and threw the towel at him. “Walking a fine line there, buddy.”

“Uncle Ethan, come and see the new trick I can do on my bike,” Jamie said, tugging on his hand to drag him toward the door to the patio.

“Hold on there, mister. Didn’t I ask you to put on your jim-jams? It’s too cold and dark out there for you to show Uncle Ethan anything,” Kay said.

“But—”

Kay put her fingers in her ears. “Nope. Can’t hear it. We don’t have that word in this house.”

Jamie’s sigh was heavy with resignation. “All right. But you are one tough customer, lady.”

Kay and Ethan exchanged amused glances as Jamie slouched off to his room.

“Apparently I’m a tough customer,” Kay said. “And a lady.”

“Who would have thunk it? Where’s Tim?”

“In the bath. You can go wrangle him if you want.”

It wasn’t until he was helping his wriggling five-year-old nephew into his pajamas that Ethan understood why he’d come to his brother’s house instead of going home after racquetball. It had shaken him, hearing the longing and yearning in Alex’s voice tonight. Reminded him of his former life.

Because once, a long time ago, he’d wanted kids, too. He’d wanted to hold his sons or daughters in his arms. He’d wanted to dry them like this after the nightly bath. He’d wanted to teach them to read and kick a footy or ferry them to ballet classes. He’d wanted to guide them and help equip them with the skills they’d need to grapple with the challenges life would throw their way. He’d been so bloody certain that children would be a part of his life…

He smiled a little grimly. Alex would probably wet herself laughing if he told her that. She’d think he was being ironic or making fun of her. She didn’t know about his marriage. She only knew him as a guy in a slick suit with a fast car and a reputation for churning through women.

But then he didn’t know much about her, either, did he?

If anyone had told him that formidable, sharp, street-smart Alex Knight was even capable of breaking down the way she had tonight he’d have laughed. As for the surprising revelation that she wanted a child… He’d always thought of her as the consummate career lawyer, a woman who’d dedicated herself to the job and moving up the ladder.

Yet she’d cried tonight as though her heart was breaking because she was afraid that she’d missed the opportunity to have a family of her own. Again he felt the echo of old grief as he remembered the way she’d curled into herself, her shoulders hunched as she tried to contain her pain.

Tim’s pajama buttons were misaligned and Ethan fixed them. He didn’t let his newphew go immediately. Instead, he tightened his grip for a moment, hugging his nephew close, inhaling the good clean smell of him.

“Love you, little buddy, you know that, don’t you?” he said quietly.

“I know,” Tim said. Then he wriggled, a signal he was over the hug, and Ethan released him.

“What’s wrong with you tonight?” Tim asked, his big eyes unflinching as they studied Ethan.

“Nothing.” Ethan dredged up a smile and used a corner of the towel to flick his nephew on the leg. “Time to hit the sack, matey.”

“Are you going to read me my bedtime story?”

“I thought I was doing that tonight,” an aggrieved voice said from the doorway.

Ethan looked up to find his younger brother wearing a mock-hurt expression on his face. Shorter than Ethan, he had the same strong cheekbones and dark hair but a slightly bigger nose and paler blue eyes. Just enough ugly to save me from being a pretty boy like you, Derek always joked.

“You can do it any old time,” Tim said airily.

“Nice to know I’m so easily replaced,” Derek said drily.

“I’m not replacing you, stupid, you’re my daddy,” Tim said, as if that explained everything.

“What brings you to this neck of the woods?” Derek asked.

“Just in the neighborhood,” Ethan said.

“What’s with the Bjorn Borg outfit?”

Ethan glanced down at his black midthigh-length shorts and charcoal hoody and raised an eyebrow at his brother’s derisive description. “Racquetball.”

“Ah. Still playing with that guy from work? Adam or whatever?”

“Alex. And he’s a she.”

“Really?” Derek’s expression turned speculative.

Ethan stood, shaking out the towel before arranging it over the rack. “You’re like a hairy, much less attractive version of Hello, Dolly, you know that?”

“What’s she like?”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “I’m not in the market. And even if I was, she’s a partner. And a friend.”

“So you’re seeing someone else? When can we meet her?” Derek asked.

For a moment Ethan considered lying, simply to get his brother off his back. “The tap’s leaking on the tub, by the way.”

“No shit. We could do dinner, the four of us. It’s been a while since Kay and I ate somewhere where they don’t have cartoons on the menu.”

“I’m not seeing anyone. I’m just not in the market.”

“Still racking up the notches on the old bedpost. What a challenge.” His brother’s tone was flat, unimpressed.

“Not everyone can have the white-picket dream, mate.”

Ethan had deliberately kept the uglier details of his divorce from his family, figuring there was no need for the world to know exactly how spectacularly his marriage had failed. The downside to that bit of self-preservation was these little pep talks his brother pushed on him periodically. Just as there was nothing worse than an ex-smoker, there was no one more pro-kids and pro-matrimony than a happily married man.

Even though he’d never admit it to his brother, Ethan’s social life was a lot less hectic than anyone imagined. Sleeping around had gotten old quickly after the divorce. Like drinking till you passed out and bragging about your exploits, being a man-slut was apparently something that a guy grew out of. Go figure. “You seen The Girls Next Door lately? Hugh’s looking pretty tragic, shuffling around in that smoking jacket,” Derek said.

“Will you let it go, Derek?” Ethan said, an edge in his voice.

Most of the time he didn’t mind his brother’s old-lady nagging, but tonight…tonight it was really getting up his nose.

“Just trying to save you from yourself.”

“Yeah? Ever thought that maybe I don’t need saving?”

“Nope.”

Ethan turned his back on his brother and walked to the living room. If he stayed, they were going to wind up in an argument. Derek had good intentions, but he needed to let go of the idea that Ethan was going to meet a good woman and marry again. It was never going to happen. Ever.

Kay looked up from tidying the coffee table when he entered.

“Better get home to my wagyu,” Ethan said. “What time’s Jamie’s party again?”

“Midday. It’s on the invitation. You don’t want a coffee?”

He forced a smile. “I’m good. Got to go home and poach that seasonal fruit, remember?”

He blew her a kiss as he headed for the door.

ALEX WOKE with a thump of dread. Something terrible had happened…

Then it all came back to her. Jacob, the doctor, the singles pages, the fertility clinic ad.

She lay in bed for a moment, thinking about the decision she’d made last night, walking around it, examining it from all sides, prodding it, seeing if she still felt the same way in the cold, hard light of a new day.

The answer was yes. She still wanted a child. And her smartest, most guaranteed, no-muss, no-fuss way of getting one was through a sperm bank. Which meant she had some work to do.

Ever since she could remember she’d been a facts-and-figures person. It was one of the reasons she’d opted for corporate law rather than criminal or family. She liked detail, and research, and she excelled at pulling together all the relevant information to make rational, smart decisions then going over and over and over the fine print until she’d plugged every hole, taken advantage of every opportunity.

As she rolled out of bed and made her way to the bathroom, she started strategizing. First, she needed to find a reputable clinic. She needed to explore the ins and outs of sperm donation, the screening process and the success rate for artificial insemination. Then she needed to get her life in order. If she was going to be pregnant in the foreseeable future, there were a lot of things she needed to get sorted.

A nursery, for starters.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

Dear God, I’m really going to do this.

Pointless to deny that there was a definite thread of sadness mixed in with the determination and excitement. She’d grown up without a father. She would have preferred for her child to have one. But there were hundreds of thousands of single-parent families in the world. She would do her best by her child, if she was blessed with one, the same as any other mother. That would have to be enough.

She dressed in one of her dark tailored skirt suits, matching it with her steel-gray suede pumps, then brushed her hair until it fell smoothly to her jawline. She never wore much makeup apart from a dusting of powder, mascara and lipstick. Five minutes later, she was on her way to work.

It wasn’t until she was about to slide out of her car in Wallingsworth & Kent’s underground garage that she spotted Ethan in her rearview mirror and remembered the other part of last night—the embarrassing, revealing part where she’d lost it and somehow wound up confiding in him. She’d been so caught up in her plans this morning, so determined not to waste another minute, that she’d forgotten how thoroughly she’d exposed herself.

Instinctively she slunk down in her seat, waiting for Ethan to reach the elevators before checking the rearview mirror again. Only when the doors had closed on him did she sit up straight, feeling absurd and foolish and relieved all at once.

Why, oh why, hadn’t she gone home instead of giving in to obligation and playing that stupid racquetball game with him last night? She had an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, that was the problem. And look where it had gotten her.

There were plenty of women, she knew, who would line up around the block to take solace in Ethan Stone’s arms. But he was Alex’s colleague and fellow partner, and while she was prepared to privately acknowledge that he was an extremely attractive man, she had never, ever allowed herself to do more than that. She valued her hard-earned reputation as a professional who knew her stuff and who didn’t let emotion get in the way, far too much to indulge in office flirtation. Especially with a man who went through as many women as Ethan did. As for blubbering all over him like a histrionic schoolgirl, moaning about her declining fertility…

Aware that she’d been hiding in her car too long, Alex made her way to the elevators. She told herself that when she saw Ethan this morning, she would simply pretend it was business as usual. He’d have to take his cue from her and follow suit. A few days from now, he’d have written off her confession as hormones and they’d be back to their old footing.

Except the moment she exited the elevator on the fifteenth floor she heard his voice and spotted him standing in the kitchenette, chatting with Franny while he poured himself a coffee.

Do it. Grab a coffee, talk about the weather. Show him that you’re back to your mouthy, smart-ass self and normalize the situation.

She took a deep breath—then pivoted on her heel and walked the long way to her office. Which made her an enormous chicken, she knew, but she was only human.

She ducked him twice more that morning, bowing out of a meeting she was supposed to attend with him and taking the stairs when she saw him heading for the elevator. She told herself she was merely buying herself time—for her to get over her self-consciousness and for him to forget the details from last night.

She had half an hour free before the partner lunch at midday and she spent the time checking out fertility clinics on the internet, one eye on her office door the whole time.

She found a number of information pages, complete with testimonials, and she followed the links to yet more sites. She bookmarked a few, then found a recent newspaper article reporting that there was a drastic shortage of sperm donors in Australia, particularly donors who were willing to offer their sperm to single women or same-sex partners. According to the article, for some time Australian women had been ordering sperm from banks based in the U.S. Curious, she clicked on a link and found herself staring at literally hundreds of profiles on a U.S. website. She scanned the first one with growing incredulity.

Donor 39 is five foot eleven inches, average build, blue-eyed, blond hair. His background is Russian, German and English. He is a professional, tertiary educated…

It was a little shocking to Alex that all this information was so readily available and that the ordering process was so easy. She’d assumed she’d have to jump through more hoops, but according to the website all she had to do was supply her credit-card number and she could purchase the specimen of her choice and have it shipped out to a clinic in Australia within the week.

Feeling a little dazed, she hit the print button so she could take the donor profiles home and read them in privacy. It wasn’t until she closed the screen down that she jolted back to reality.

She was at work, for Pete’s sake, and she shared her printer station with her legal secretary and two other lawyers. All of whom could be standing around the printer right now watching her profiles spit out of the machine.

Shit!

She was on her feet and rounding her desk in seconds. Her high heels dug into the carpet as she bolted for the door. She raced past Fran’s desk to the printer alcove and sagged with relief when she found no one there.

Thank God. Thank. God.

The machine was spewing out pages and she collected them anxiously. She checked the first page—one of twenty! And it was only on page nine. She shot a look over her shoulder, then refocused on the machine.

Come on, come on!

She snatched each page as it appeared, adding it to the pile pressed to her chest. By the time she was down to pages nineteen and twenty her armpits were damp with nervous sweat.

“Hey. I’ve been looking for you. You missed our meeting earlier,” a deep voice said behind her.

She started, almost dropping her armful of incriminating documents.

“Ethan, you startled me.”

“No kidding. No more coffee for you today, tiger.”

“Yeah.” She smiled nervously, painfully aware that there was still one page outstanding from her tally. “So, um, how was the meeting? I had a scheduling conflict that I didn’t see until the last minute.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the last page emerge from the printer. She grabbed it as it hit the tray. Only when all twenty pages were pressed tightly to her chest did she give Ethan her full attention.

“Dull, as usual. Remind me again why we volunteered to head the billing-software review.”

“Because we thought we could avoid making the same mistakes that were made last time?” she suggested.

“Right. How noble of us.” He moved a little closer and lowered his voice. “How are you doing today?”

She’d known this was coming from the moment she heard his voice. She steeled herself to meet his deep blue gaze.

“I’m great,” she said firmly. “Really great.”

“Yeah?”

He was standing so close she could smell his aftershave again. Embarrassed heat rose up her face. She dropped her gaze to the lapel of his charcoal pinstripe suit.

“Absolutely.”

She didn’t need to be looking at Ethan to know he was studying her closely.

“Honestly,” she said, forcing herself to make eye contact again. “I had a minor freak-out. I went home, got a solid night’s sleep and now I’m all good.”

He looked as though he wanted to say more and she made a big deal out of checking her watch.

“Wow. We’re both going to be late for Sam’s birthday lunch if we don’t put our skates on,” she said.

“I’m ready to go. I thought we could walk together.”

“Oh. Great idea. Except I’ve still got one last call to make. And I don’t want to make you late, too,” she fibbed. “Why don’t you go ahead and I’ll see you at the restaurant?”

Again, she didn’t give him a chance to object, brushing past him and walking toward her office. She didn’t let her breath out until she was through the doorway and safely out of sight.

This was why it always paid to keep work and her private life separate. She lifted the sheaf of papers and smacked them against her forehead. From now on, anything to do with her personal life stayed at home and was handled after nine to five. No exceptions.

As for Ethan… He would get the message. He’d have to, because she wasn’t exposing herself any more than she already had. The sooner they both forgot her breakdown last night, the better.

ETHAN WATCHED ALEX disappear into her office, a frown on his face. In the two years he’d worked with her, she’d never once had trouble meeting his eye—except for today. Mind you, she’d also never let him as close as she had last night. Prior to that, the most personal topic they’d discussed had been her hatred of black cherries. To be fair, he hadn’t volunteered the intimate details about his own life, either, but he’d always had the sense that even if he’d tried to get closer to Alex she would have kept him at arm’s length. She was happy to joke and spar and compete with him, but anything deeper than that was out of bounds. It had never really bothered him before, but today he felt distinctly pissed that he’d been shut out.

He straightened his cuffs and buttoned his suit jacket and told himself to get over it. It wasn’t as though he was in the market for a new bosom buddy—he had his brother and a handful of mates he could rely on to have his back. And it definitely wasn’t that he was keen to play Dr. Phil and pass the tissues. It was no skin off his nose if Alex didn’t want to share.

He was about to head for the elevator when a blinking red light caught his eye. The printer Alex had been hovering over so urgently was jammed.

He couldn’t say what made him open the various flaps and trays to check for a paper jam. Perhaps it was because Alex had been so jumpy and furtive. Or maybe some other instinct guided him.

Whatever it was, it took him only seconds to find the culprit—a single page that had folded in on itself instead of exiting to the out tray. He pulled it free and straightened it, shaking toner dust off his fingers.

He scanned the first few lines but comprehension was a few moments in coming. His head came up and he turned to stare toward Alex’s office.

What on earth…?

Surely she wasn’t seriously thinking…?

He took a step, the incriminating evidence in hand, then stopped. What was he going to say to her? Hadn’t he just established for himself that their friendship was limited to work and the racquetball court? That she didn’t want to discuss her private life?

He slowly folded the sheet in half, then into quarters before slipping it into his jacket pocket. He went to join the rest of the partners for lunch.

He had it right the first time—this was nothing to do with him.

CHAPTER THREE

ETHAN KEPT AN EYE OUT for Alex as the rest of the partners arrived and seated themselves in the private dining room at Grossi Florentino, but she didn’t slip through the door until a good ten minutes after everyone else was perusing the menu.

He watched as she made her excuses and took the last remaining chair between Keith Lancaster and Toby Kooperman at the other end of the table. She smiled at Keith when he said something, then leaned back to allow the waiter to place a napkin across her knees. He returned his attention to his menu, but the sound of her laughter drew his gaze.

She had one hand pressed to her chest and her eyes shone with amusement as she talked animatedly with Keith. Ethan watched the tilt of her head and the flush in her cheeks and the way she gestured with her hands and had to remind himself that it was none of his business that she was planning to buy frozen semen from some faceless donor in the U.S. because she was afraid she’d missed the boat. It was her life, her decision. Nothing to do with him.

And yet…

She was only thirty-eight years old and she was an attractive, sexy woman. Not conventionally beautiful, perhaps, but incredibly appealing with her rich brown eyes and chestnut hair. More than once when they’d been lunching together he’d found himself fixating on her mouth, with its lush, full lower lip. She was smart, too, and funny. If she hadn’t been a fellow partner and if he hadn’t instinctively known that she was not the kind of woman who did casual affairs, he would have asked her out long ago. There had to be a bunch of men out there who would give their eyeteeth to meet someone like her.

And yet she was planning on using a sperm donor to become pregnant. It simply didn’t make sense to him that a woman with as much as she had to offer was taking such a compromised route to motherhood. He wanted to push back his chair, grab her arm and drag her somewhere private so he could point out that she was selling herself short, big-time.

He didn’t. She’d made it more than clear that they didn’t have the sort of friendship that invited that kind of straight talking. They were work buddies. Good for a little bitching about office politics, a joke at the water cooler and a weekly workout. That was it.

He dragged his gaze away, joining in the conversation around him. As with most partner lunches, the wine flowed freely and the room became noisier as the meal progressed. Ethan stuck to one glass since he had a heavy afternoon schedule and kept an eye on the time. Occasionally, against his will, he found himself watching Alex and his mind did a loop of the same circle of thoughts. He repeated his mantra—nothing to do with you, nothing to do with you, nothing to do with you—and returned his attention to his end of the table.

He decided to give it twenty more minutes before he made his apologies when Alex pushed back her chair and stood.

“Well, someone has to pay for this lunch,” she said. “I’d better get to it.”

Laughter greeted her announcement as he pushed back his own chair.

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

She looked at him and he caught a flash of unease in her eyes. He crossed to the door and waited for her to join him.

“I don’t think they’ll be billing many hours this afternoon,” he murmured as they made their way through the restaurant.

Her gaze flashed toward him before skittering away again.

“Probably just as well, given the way they’re working their way through the wine list.”

They both stopped when they reached the double front doors. Outside, the sky was a dark, leaden gray, and rain was pouring down.

“Good old Melbourne,” Alex said, then she glanced ruefully at her shoes. “What are the odds of us finding a taxi that’ll take us half a block up the road?”

He didn’t bother responding, simply flipped up the collar on his suit jacket.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She sighed and turned up the collar on her own jacket.

He was about to open the door when a waiter rushed to their side carrying a large golf umbrella.

“With our compliments,” he said, offering the umbrella to Ethan.

“Thank you. We’ll get it back to you this afternoon,” he said.

Although given the amount of money the firm would drop on lunch, the restaurant could afford to give every partner an umbrella and still come out on top.

He held the door open and Alex stepped out under the restaurant’s portico. He followed, breathing in the smell of wet cement and rain.

“Should have checked the weather report before we left the office,” she said.

He unfurled the umbrella and lifted it.

“Ready?” He gestured toward the teeming, wet world that awaited them.

She joined him beneath the curve of the umbrella, her shoulder brushing his, and they both started walking, falling into step with one another after a few paces.

“How was your meal?” she asked after a short silence.

“Good. Yours?”

“Yeah, good.”

He glanced at her, but her head was lowered. They’d never been reduced to small talk; even at the very beginning of their friendship they’d always found plenty to say to each other. He felt as though he was being punished somehow. Frozen out with the silent treatment because he’d witnessed her in a moment of weakness last night.

“Alex—”

The world flashed white and a huge roll of thunder cracked overhead as the heavens opened even further, sending rain pelting down out of the sky. He operated on instinct, wrapping an arm around her waist and hustling her beneath the scant shelter of a nearby shop portico.

She shot him a startled look when he finally let her go.

“Can’t use an umbrella in a lightning storm,” he explained as he furled the soaked umbrella.

“No. Of course not.” Then, to his surprise, her mouth quirked as though she was suppressing a smile.

“What’s so funny?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been rescued before,” she said. “For a moment there I felt like I was in a Cary Grant movie.”

“Are you suggesting that I manhandled you?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Lucky I didn’t give in to my first urge to throw you over my shoulder, then.”

She laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners attractively. He looked into her face and it hit him again that what she was planning was just plain wrong.

“Don’t do it, Alex,” he said. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

She stilled, the smile fading from her lips. “Sorry?”

Rather than try to explain, he pulled the sheet of paper he’d rescued from the printer from his pocket and passed it over. She made a small distressed sound when she unfolded it and understood what it was.

“You’re panicking right now, and the last thing you should be doing is making irrevocable decisions,” he said.

Dark color flooded her face. “This is none of your business.” She crumpled the paper in her hand and glanced over her shoulder as though she was afraid someone else might have seen it.

“Someone has to point out the obvious—this is a mistake.”

Alex blinked, her brown eyes wide with shock at his bald pronouncement. “At the risk of repeating myself, this is none of your business,” she said.

Ethan knew she was right. She was a fellow partner, and he was stepping way over the line, but he couldn’t help himself. She deserved a million times better than what she was considering.

“I’m not going to stand by while someone I like and respect makes a mess of her life. Look me in the eye and tell me this is the way you want to have a child.”

She flinched, then her chin came up. “I’m not having this discussion with you, Ethan. Just because I had a moment of weakness while you happened to be around last night doesn’t give you a free pass into my private life.”

“Answer my question.” He took a step closer. “Or are you afraid to?”

He knew that would get her—he might not know what school she went to, but he did know that Alex prided herself on never retreating from a challenge.

She lifted her chin and eyed him angrily. “What do you want me to say, Ethan? You want me to admit that I’m desperate? That this is my last resort? Okay, sure. I am and it is. You want me to tell you that when I was a little girl and I dreamed of having a family of my own, never in a million years did I imagine myself picking his or her father from an online catalog? Absolutely. And if there was any other option on the horizon, there is no way in the world I would consider doing this. But there isn’t, and I refuse to sit on my hands while my last chance to have a family fades away.”

“It’s not fading away. You’re thirty-eight, not forty-eight, and there are hundreds of men who’d break a leg to meet a woman as attractive and together as you.”

She made a rude noise. “You think men are lining up to ask out a busy woman with a mind of her own who probably earns more than they do? Especially when there’s some young blonde thing in her twenties hanging around at the bar who only wants to have a good time?”

“You think all men are a bunch of morons who’d rather go out with a centerfold than a woman with a brain in her head?” he countered.

“You tell me—when was the last time you bypassed the beauty and went for the brain?”

“This isn’t about me. You’re copping out, Alex, and you’re going to regret it.”

“Don’t you dare judge me. You have no idea what it’s like to know that in a few years’ time your own body is going to take away your options. So don’t stand there and lecture me about what I’m worth or what I deserve. Life isn’t about what you deserve—it’s about what you can get and what you can live with. And I will not be able to live with myself if I don’t try to make this happen.”

She turned on her heel and walked into the rain.

“Alex,” he said, darting after her to pull her back beneath the shelter of the awning.

She jerked free of his grasp. “No, Ethan.”

She kept walking, her head down, her shoulders rounded against the force of the rain.

He swore under his breath—but he didn’t go after her. He’d already stepped over the line and he didn’t trust himself not to do it again.

She was making a mistake. But maybe he should have listened to his first instinct and walked away.

Maybe.

ALEX WAS DRIPPING WET when she returned to the office. Fran took one look at her and shot to her feet.

“I’ve got a towel in my gym bag.”

“Thanks.”

Alex had toed off her shoes and was peeling off her wet suit jacket when Fran returned.

“You’re soaked to the skin,” Fran said, sliding a mug of tea onto Alex’s desk and draping a towel around Alex’s shoulders. “I brought you something hot to drink.”

“Thanks. If you wouldn’t mind, there’s some dry cleaning in my car…?” She shivered as a trickle of cold water ran down her spine.

“Give me your keys, I’ll go and grab it for you.”

Alex gave her assistant a grateful smile as she handed over her car keys. “You’re the best, Franny.”

“I know,” the older woman said drily. “Won’t be a tick.”

She pulled the door shut behind her as she exited. Once she was alone, Alex let the smile fall from her face.

She still couldn’t believe that conversation. The things Ethan had said… The fact that he knew…

Her hands were shaking as she tugged her wet shirt from her waistband. She gripped them together, willing the trembling to stop.

He’d shocked her, that was all. She hadn’t planned to tell anyone that she was using a sperm bank, even her friend Helen, who lived in the apartment across the hall, or Samantha, whom she’d studied with. Once she was pregnant, she’d decided to simply claim the father was no longer on the scene. It happened every day, after all. Why not to her?

But now Ethan knew. And he didn’t approve. Which was pretty rich coming from a guy who made George Clooney look like an advertisement for celibacy.

Ethan thought she was selling herself short. Remembering the way he’d said it made her angry all over again. Did he truly think this was her method of choice for having a child? That she hadn’t considered all other options? That she was taking some kind of expedient shortcut to motherhood?

She started working on the buttons on her shirt.

Stupid, but she felt betrayed. She’d always respected him and valued his opinion. He was smart and funny and generous with his time and he never, ever patronized her or treated her as less than an equal the way some of the older partners did. Even on the racquetball court he never gave her quarter. And now—

A knock sounded at the door. “Alex.”

She tensed. She could hear the determined note in Ethan’s voice even through an inch of varnished wood.

“Go away.”

The door swung open and she gave a squawk of outrage, clutching the gaping neckline of her shirt together to keep herself decent.

“Do you mind?”

His suit was dark at the shoulders and trouser cuffs and he dismissed her modesty with an impatient wave of his hand.

“I’m sorry, okay? What I said before…you have every right to be angry with me. I just…I don’t want you to regret this.”

There was so much sincerity and concern in his voice and his deep blue eyes that the angry words in her throat dissolved. She stared at him for a long moment, then turned away to rebutton her damp shirt.

“I want a child,” she said, her voice very low. “Am I supposed to miss out because the music has stopped and all the chairs are full?”

“No.”

She turned to face him again, arms crossed over her chest defensively. “Then you tell me what I’m supposed to do, Ethan. Join a dating site and trawl for a man who’s looking for commitment and not just sex? How long do you think it’s going to take to find one of those? And if I do, when do you suggest I bring up the subject of children with him? First date? Second? Sixteenth? And if he says yes, sure, I’d love kids, how long should we wait before we start trying? A week? A month? A year?” She could hear her voice becoming strident and she made an effort to remain calm. “Do you honestly think that’s any less desperate and compromised than me going to a sperm bank? Really?”

He looked away, then ran a hand over his damp hair. “There’s no easy answer.”

“No, there isn’t.”

A line of water trickled down the side of his face and she passed him the towel. She couldn’t help noticing that he looked as good wet as he did dry. She didn’t need a mirror to tell her she looked like a drowned rat.

“Maybe you can’t understand this because you’re a man, but this is something I’ve wanted since I was a little girl,” she said. “To be a mother. To love unconditionally. To watch a new person find their way in the world. Not very revolutionary or daring by today’s standards, but it’s what I want. And I think I’d be a decent mother.”

Ethan loosened the knot on his tie and unbuttoned his top shirt button. “I’m not questioning your ability to be a mother, Alex. I think you’d make a great mom. But you spoke to your doctor last night and today I find you printing off information on sperm donors. It’s a pretty big leap, you’ve got to admit.”

“I’m researching, not placing an order.”

“You’re panicking. You ran into your ex and you’re freaking out.”

She seriously considered kicking him in the shin. Wasn’t he listening to her? Hadn’t he heard a thing she’d said?

“I’m facing facts. Time is running out for me. And yes, in a perfect world I would want my child to know his father. But this is what’s on the table and I’m not too proud or precious to take it.”

There was a rap on her office door before it opened and Fran entered.

“I had trouble finding your car. Thank God for these beepy door-open things,” she said.

She stopped in her tracks when she saw Ethan, glancing between the two of them.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t. Ethan was leaving.” Alex gave him a meaningful look.

“I see you got caught in the rain, as well,” Fran said, running a disapproving eye over Ethan’s wet suit. “Do you want me to try to do something with that jacket?”

“Thanks, but I’m sure it will dry out okay.”

“Well, don’t let us keep you,” Alex said pointedly. “Wouldn’t want you to catch a chill or anything.”

Ethan gave her a dry look. “I’ll see you later, Alex.” He managed to make it sound like both a threat and a promise as he exited.

Fran closed the door after him. “I hope I didn’t walk into the middle of something.”

As fishing expeditions went, it was far from subtle.

“You didn’t. We were discussing something that came up over lunch.”

“I see.”

Alex could see the older woman didn’t believe her. Great. That was all she needed—her assistant thinking there was something going on between her and Ethan, the office sex god. That would get the jungle drums pounding.

“Pity he wouldn’t let me take care of his jacket. I was kind of hoping I could convince him to whip his shirt off in front of us,” Fran said.

Despite everything, Alex laughed. Couldn’t help herself. For a woman in her late fifties, Fran sometimes came out with the most outrageous things. “Careful, Fran, or you’ll be up on a sexual-harassment charge.”

“It would almost be worth it. I bet he’s got an amazing chest. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. And those thighs… What am I saying? You play racquetball with him. You must have seen him in all his glory.”

Fran was looking at her expectantly and Alex concentrated on taking her clean shirt off the hanger.

“I really haven’t noticed, to be honest,” she lied.

“Then you need your head read and your eyes tested. A gorgeous man like him—I tell you, if I was a few years younger, I’d be more than happy for him to park his slippers under my bed.”

“I think he’s pretty busy parking his slippers around town already.”

Fran sighed. “Well, who can blame him? At least he’s spreading the joy.” On that outrageous note she headed for the door. “Next appointment’s in ten,” she called over her shoulder before she disappeared.

“Thanks.”

Alex tucked her shirt in and pulled out her compact to check her hair. She had no idea what to do about the fact that Ethan was privy to her most private plans. It had been bad to lose it in front of him last night, but for him to know her pregnancy plot…

She stilled when she recognized what she saw in her reflection: shame.

There had been many occasions in her life when she’d felt the sting of shame. When one of the kids at her high school had learned about her mother’s brain damage and she’d arrived at school one morning to find everyone whispering and staring at her. When she’d had to wait for hours in the waiting room at social services, feeling the pitying eyes watching her and wondering. When she’d found herself rubbing elbows with some of Melbourne’s most privileged sons and daughters at Melbourne Law School, her well-thumbed secondhand textbooks and thrift-shop clothes marking her as an outsider as obviously as if she’d been carrying a flare.

It was only with the hindsight of age and experience that she’d finally understood that those moments had not been cause for shame. Her mother had suffered a terrible injury, and as a consequence her whole life had changed. They had been poor, and they had struggled. There was no shame in any of those circumstances.

Alex straightened her shoulders. There was no shame in what she was doing now, either. She was single. She wanted a child. She wasn’t breaking any laws or hurting anyone or acting immorally.

She made a promise to herself on the spot: from now on, she wasn’t going to apologize or explain what she wanted to anyone. And she wasn’t going to waste precious energy worrying about what Ethan thought or didn’t think. If he was her friend…well, he would support her. And if he wasn’t then she was well shot of him.

Either way, it wasn’t going to stop her from pursuing her goal.

ETHAN WENT HOME to an empty apartment. No surprises there, that was the way he liked it. He showered and changed into jeans and a sweater, then wandered aimlessly from room to room. He picked up the magazine he’d been reading, then put it down. Flicked on the TV, only to turn it off again.

For the second night in a row, Alex Knight was in his thoughts.

No two ways about it, he’d been an ass today, blundering into her business when he wasn’t welcome. But it wasn’t his own ham-fisted behavior that kept him moving restlessly. What kept rising to the surface of his mind was the memory of the unadulterated, unashamed yearning he’d heard in Alex’s voice when she’d talked about wanting a child.

He understood what it was like to have life pull the rug out from beneath you and lay waste to all the plans you’d made. When he’d married Cassie, he’d had a vision in his head of how their life was going to be: the two of them working hard to complete their respective degrees, the house they would buy, the amount of time they’d wait to get their careers established before starting a family, the partnership he’d earn, the schools the kids would go to…

He’d been so certain about all of it, so confident it was his for the taking.

He crossed to the window and stared down at the cars moving along St. Kilda Road.

It had been five years since his divorce, five years since he’d understood that his plans for his life differed wildly from reality. He’d long since resigned himself to the fact that certain things were never going to happen for him.

Alex, however, wasn’t even close to being content with the hand she’d been dealt and a part of him admired her for her refusal to simply accept that she’d missed out. He might not think her solution was the greatest, but she wasn’t prepared to give up on her dream, and she was going to go to the mat fighting for it.

Hard not to be impressed by that kind of determination. But he’d always found her impressive, hadn’t he? From his first days with the firm he’d noticed her—those direct, clear brown eyes, that mobile mouth, all that attitude and energy.

Heartily sick of his own circling thoughts, Ethan went into the kitchen and concentrated on dinner. Half an hour later he had the tagine steaming on the stove and the smell of Moroccan spices filled the room.

He opened a bottle of wine, steamed some couscous and sat down to chicken with green olives and almonds for one. Then he found a good documentary and poured himself another glass of wine. By eleven he was over TV and over himself and he went to bed.

He woke with a start several hours later, his heart racing, his body clammy with sweat. It took him a moment to orient himself to his bedroom, to understand why Cassie wasn’t in the bed beside him and why he could hear the faint sound of traffic passing by outside instead of the hushed quiet of a suburban street.

He glanced at the alarm clock. Three in the morning. Great.

He rolled out of bed and walked naked to the bathroom. He sluiced water onto his face, then glanced at his shadowy reflection in the bathroom mirror. In the dim light, all he could see was the outline of his features and the glint of his eyes. He grabbed his robe and shrugged it on before making his way to the kitchen.

He couldn’t recall what he’d been dreaming about before he woke. All he could conjure were vague shadows and a pervading sense of loss. Better than a teeth-falling-out or going-to-work-naked dream, but not by much.

He poured himself a couple of inches of cognac then took his drink to the living room. One of the advantages of living so close to the city was that there was always a sense of activity—life—happening nearby, no matter the time, day or night.

He drew up a chair near the window. If it was summer, he’d go out on the balcony, but it would be bitterly cold tonight so he settled for resting his forehead against the cool glass and watching the bright lights of the city.

He thought about the night Tim was born, how he’d felt when his brother had passed his brand-new son into Ethan’s arms. Ethan had been moved at Jamie’s birth, had even felt a little ambushed by the tug of connection and protection he’d felt toward his brother’s child. But with Tim, it had been different. Cassie had walked out on him by then, and he’d looked into Tim’s unblinking, bewildered, unfocused blue eyes and understood absolutely that this would be as close as he’d ever come to being a parent. It had been a watershed moment. A moment of resignation and acceptance and grief.

But maybe he wasn’t as resigned as he’d thought he was. Maybe he wasn’t quite ready to abandon the dream of being a father. Maybe, like Alex, he wasn’t prepared to walk away without a fight.

He felt as though he was standing on the edge of a precipice, teetering on the brink of…something. A mistake? An opportunity? A second chance?

He lost track of how much time had passed. Slowly the sky lightened and brightened. Birds started to appear, swooping in and out of the treetops in the Alexandra Gardens opposite his apartment. He stood and stretched out his tight shoulders and back. Then he went into the bedroom and dressed.

He only had to wait for ten minutes before his brother emerged from his house and started doing his pre-run stretches on the front lawn. Derek glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the car door closing and stilled for a split second when he saw who it was. Then he straightened and crossed the road to join Ethan.

“What’s going on?” he asked. His breath was visible in the cold morning air.

“Relax. It’s not an emergency. I wanted to run something by you.”

Derek scanned his face then obviously decided to take Ethan at his word. “Okay. Can you do it while we run?”

“If you think you can keep up.”

Derek smiled. “Try me.”

They ran in silence for a few minutes, neither of them pushing the other. Finally Derek stopped, forcing Ethan to stop, too.

“You gonna spill or what? The suspense is killing me.”

Ethan eyed his brother. Then he stared down at the toes of his sneakers. After a long beat he met his brother’s eyes again.

“First up, I want you to understand something. I know we joke about it a lot and I let you nag me, but I’m never going to get married again. Period.”

Derek frowned and Ethan could see he was about to launch into the same-old “you don’t know what might happen in the future, don’t close yourself off to possibility” speech.

“This isn’t a stage I’m going through, it’s not something that’s going to change, and I need you to accept that. Okay?”

Derek’s focus shifted down the road, his hands on his hips. Then he shrugged and looked at Ethan. “It’s your life.”

“Yeah, it is. Which brings me to my next question.” He took a deep breath. He knew his brother was going to have strong feelings about what he was about to suggest, but he needed a sounding board before he made any irrevocable decisions or commitments.

“I’m thinking of offering to become a sperm donor for a friend,” he said.

Derek opened his mouth. Then he closed it again without saying anything.

Fair enough. Ethan was aware that he was hitting his brother with this out of the blue.

“She’s a friend. She’s worried she’s running out of time and she hasn’t met anyone. She doesn’t want to miss out. She’s considering using a bank. And I’m thinking that I could step up instead. Offer to be the father. Have a kid.”

“Jesus. I don’t even know what to say,” Derek said.

“Lots of people do it.”

“Yeah. Gay people. Infertile people. Desperate women. You’re forty-two, Ethan. Kay could name half a dozen of her friends who would lie down right now in the middle of the street and make a baby with you.”

“I covered that. I’m not getting married again.”

“Then don’t. Live with someone, whatever. But don’t become a parent by proxy.”

“It wouldn’t be by proxy. I mean, the conception would be, obviously. But I’d want to be a part of the kid’s life. We’d raise him or her together, like any divorced couple. A custody agreement, child-support payments.”

“You’re really serious, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I am. I’ve always wanted kids. After everything with Cassie I thought I’d put it behind me. But now this opportunity has come up and maybe I don’t have to miss out. Maybe there are other ways to do this.”

Derek blew out his breath and shook his head. “Who is this woman, anyway? How close a friend is she?”

“I work with her. I respect her. She’s smart, funny, attractive. I think she’d be a great mother and we could parent together really well.”

“Wow. She sounds almost too good to be true. Why hasn’t some other lucky sucker snapped her up?”

Ridiculously, Ethan felt himself bristle on Alex’s behalf. He knew his brother was only trying to protect him, but this wasn’t about Alex. She didn’t deserve Derek’s scorn.

“The guy she was with for seven years didn’t want kids. She thought she had more time, but the doctor says once she’s over forty it’s slim pickings.”

“Right.”

Ethan cocked his head and waited but Derek remained silent. Ethan made a beckoning motion with his fingers. “Come on. I know you’ve got more. Hit me with it.”

“That’s why you came here at five-thirty in the morning? For me to play devil’s advocate?”

Ethan shrugged. “I knew you’d have an opinion. And there’s no one I trust more.”

“Damned right I have an opinion. For starters, what are you going to tell your son or daughter when they ask how mommy and daddy met? ‘Mommy and Daddy had a great date down at the lab’?”

“We’d tell them that we were friends, which is true. And when they were old enough to understand, we’d tell them the full truth.”

“What about the fact that this kid is never going to know the security of having both his parents under the same roof? Right from the start he’s born into a broken home.”

“You want me to go over the stats for single-parent families in Australia? There are plenty of people raising kids on their own, right from day one. Then there are the divorces and the custody arrangements. For sure any arrangement Alex and I come up with has to be better than what a lot of divorced couples agree to—and I’m in a position to know. This would be all about the child, not us. We wouldn’t be using the kid to punish each other, there’d be no issues with child support or access. No jealousy over new partners, no acrimony.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “Alex. That’s the woman you play racquetball with, right?”

Ethan hesitated. Until he made his final decision, he hadn’t planned on revealing Alex’s identity. After all, it was her business—until it became his. But he’d already blown the gaffe.

“Yeah. That’s right.”

“You say there’d be no acrimony. You’re kidding yourself if you think there aren’t going to be moments when the two of you want to rip each other’s heads off. It doesn’t matter whether you’re married or in a relationship or divorced or whatever, you’re going to disagree about something. Raising kids is like that, and no neat little contract you guys draw up beforehand is going to make any difference to that.”

“How do you and Kay work it out?”

“We fight. Then we have sex and make up. What are you and Alex going to do to get over the rough patches? Play a game of racquetball and exchange lawyer jokes?”

“We’d work it out.” It had been a long time since he took anyone at face value or trusted his own instincts entirely where other people were concerned, but his gut told him Alex was a good and genuine person.

And if his gut was wrong…well, he’d be protected. He’d make sure their co-parenting agreement was watertight and rock solid.

“Doesn’t it worry you that this child would be the product of a medical procedure and not the result of an act of love?”

“You trying to tell me that every kid who’s born into the world is born of love?”

“All right, passion then. Something human and real. What you’re talking about is so…calculated. Like a business transaction. Call me a traditionalist, but I can’t help thinking that the creation of new life should at least be accompanied by some sentiment.”

Ethan considered his brother’s words. He understood where Derek was coming from—he’d had the same gut-level rejection of Alex’s idea at first. He’d confronted her in the street, he’d been so determined that she hold out for the “real thing.” But after talking to her, he understood her urgency. She didn’t have the time to play the odds and hope. As a man, he had no such constraints, but given his vow to never again marry, it was unlikely he’d have a child any other way.

Like Alex, he recognized that right here, right now there was an opportunity for him to perhaps fulfill a long-held dream. It was an unconventional opportunity, possibly a calculated one, as Derek said. But it was there, up for grabs.

What had Alex said yesterday? This is what’s on the table and I’m not too proud or precious to take it.

He focused on his brother. “I appreciate your honesty.”

“But it’s not going to change your mind, is it?”

“No.”

“You always were a stubborn bastard.”

They resumed running. Ethan glanced at his brother, aware Derek seemed troubled. No doubt Derek would go home and tell Kay what Ethan intended and the two of them would rant and rave to each other about how crazy it was.

Was he crazy for thinking about doing this? He had a good life—a lucrative career, the respect of his peers, the security and peace of mind of relying on no one but himself. Was he nuts to even think about throwing fatherhood into the mix?

I want a child.

He could still hear the longing in Alex’s voice. He glanced up at the pale morning sky.

So do I.

And that was what it came down to in the end.

CHAPTER FOUR

ALEX GAVE HERSELF A stern talking-to when she arrived at work the next day. She would not be avoiding Ethan today, for any reason. True to her promise to herself, she was going to deal with this head-on. If he attempted to dissuade her again, she was going to let him know in no uncertain terms that while she appreciated his concern came from a sincere place, it was inappropriate. It was more than time for him to butt out and go polish his car or chat up a hot blonde. It was her life, her decision, and he didn’t get a vote.

She was tense all morning, convinced he would ambush her in her office, but he never came. When she went out to grab a sandwich for lunch he wasn’t waiting for her in the foyer, either, as she’d half suspected he might be.

It was possible he was in court, of course, or attending off-site meetings. But she saw him at the end of the corridor midafternoon and he caught her eye as he walked toward her. Adrenaline squeezed into her belly and her chin came up.

Be strong. Tell him to mind his own beeswax. No explanations or justifications.

She took a deep breath, ready to fire the opening salvo as he drew closer and closer. Then he nodded, murmured hello and passed her by.

She stared at the empty hallway for a full ten seconds after he’d gone before forcing her shoulders down from around her ears and returning to her office. She told herself he was biding his time, but by the end of the day he hadn’t so much as sent her an email or left a phone message.

Perhaps he’d reconsidered his interference after a good night’s sleep. Maybe, like her, he’d asked himself how her private life was any of his business.

She didn’t fully relax until another day had passed and he still hadn’t approached her. Apparently she was off the hook. She told herself she was relieved, that it was best for their friendship and their working relationship that he back off. And she was relieved—but she was also conscious of a sense of disappointment. Which was crazy. He’d barged his way into her business, forced his opinions and concerns down her throat, almost made her doubt herself… She should be grateful that he’d finally decided to leave her alone.

The truth was that she was embarking on a lonely journey. She’d be vetting fertility clinics on her own, selecting the donor on her own, waiting anxiously on her own. If she got pregnant, there would be no one to offer her crackers if she had morning sickness or rub her back or tell her to have an early night. And when the baby was born, she would be dealing with all the minor and major crises of raising a child on her own. Ethan’s interest and concern had been unwanted and frustrating and inappropriate, but it had also been sincere and real, born of friendship and genuine goodwill. There was something to be said for having someone looking out for you.

She reminded herself that she’d been alone the bulk of her adult life and much of her childhood. She’d never needed anyone to watch her back or catch her if she fell. Why should now be any different?

She spent the weekend going over her financial records. She had a couple of investment properties as well as the apartment, along with a healthy stock portfolio, and she sent an email to her financial advisor to make an appointment for the following week to discuss the best way to structure her affairs during her maternity leave.

Once she was satisfied she had a good handle on things, she sat down in her living room with a cup of strong black coffee and read over the donor profiles. Once she’d exhausted the ones she’d accidentally printed at work, she accessed more via the internet. By midday Sunday she was awash with the details of over forty men and was feeling more than a little overwhelmed. A little depressed, too. As lovely as some of the donors sounded—if she could trust the profiles—she’d always imagined her heart would choose the father of her child, not her head. But it wasn’t as though she had a choice, right?

She decided she needed a break. She turned off her computer, changed into her workout clothes and walked across busy Queens Road to Albert Park Lake. It was a clear, cold winter’s day and there were plenty of people walking their dogs or jogging along the track that circled the lake. She warmed up before running two laps, the cool air making her eyes sting. Then she spent twenty minutes stretching on the grass, easing the accumulated tension of the week from her hips and legs and back.

Her head was much clearer when she returned to the apartment and she reviewed the profiles again until she had a short list of three donors.

One was a firefighter in California, then there was a Ph.D. candidate and lastly an engineering student. On paper, they were all good options. Healthy, intelligent, kind. All of them claimed they were donating sperm because they had close friends or family members with fertility issues and they wanted to help others in similar circumstances. She chose to believe them, even though she knew that American donors were paid, while it was illegal in Australia for donors to receive anything except reimbursement for travel expenses. Given what she’d read about the sperm shortage from Australian men and the limited number of them who were prepared to donate to single women, she was almost certain she would end up using an American donor.

Short list in hand, she was ready to put her plan in motion.

ALEX ARRIVED AT WORK early on Monday morning, keen to clear her in-tray so she could close her office door and make a preliminary inquiry at the fertility clinic she’d researched. She also needed to make an appointment with Dr. Ramsay.

Her step was brisk as she crossed the underground garage, her briefcase in hand.

“Alexandra.”

She glanced over her shoulder to see Ethan walking toward her, his chocolate-brown overcoat flaring behind him. Something fluttered in the pit of her stomach and she reminded herself that he’d had plenty of opportunity to corner her last week.

“Hey,” she said.

“I was going to drop by your office this morning,” he said as he fell into step beside her. “You got anything on for lunch today?”

“Lunch?” she asked, instantly wary.

“Yes, lunch. You know, sandwiches, sushi, soup. Other foodstuffs.”

She glanced at him. His hair looked very dark in the dim lighting.

“Is it only lunch?” she asked. “Or is there going to be a side order of your unsolicited opinion on the table?”

He held up a hand. “Don’t shoot, I come in peace.”

“Do you?”

“Alex… Can we just have lunch? My treat. And I promise not to give you any more grief.” He drew a cross over his heart.

Despite her wariness, it was hard not to be charmed by the childish gesture. It was one of the things she liked about him the most—despite the five-thousand-dollar suits and handmade Italian shoes and his undeniable good looks, he wasn’t afraid to be silly or humble or foolish.

“We can walk to Pellegrini’s,” he added. “Have some spaghetti Bolognese and garlic bread.”

“Right, and scare off our clients for the rest of the afternoon.”

He spread his hands wide. “Exactly. It’s a win-win.”

Her mouth curled at the corner and she made an effort to contain her smile. He really was a charming bastard when he put his mind to it—something he was no doubt well aware of.

She leveled a stern finger at him. “No lectures, no questions. We go, we eat, we bitch about Leo’s latest cost-cutting memo, we come back.”

“You’re the boss,” Ethan said.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to read him. What was this really about? Was it possible he was simply trying to restore their friendship to its usual level? Or was she setting herself up to be browbeaten again?

The sound of footsteps heralded the approach of one of the legal assistants. Ethan glanced over his shoulder, then back at her.

“I’ll swing by your office at twelve,” he said.

Then they were no longer alone and she was forced to swallow her uncertainty. She stood slightly behind him in the elevator as they traveled to the fifteenth floor, studying his profile covertly.

She wanted things to be okay between them. Their relationship might be only a work-based one, but she would miss the lunches and their racquetball games if this issue came between them.

She shook off her doubts as they left the elevator and went their separate ways. If he broke their agreement, she would leave the restaurant. It was that simple.

Despite being distracted, she managed to clear her desk by eleven and she told Fran to hold her calls for fifteen minutes while she “dealt with a few matters.” She shut the door and called the fertility clinic.

Ten minutes later she had an information package on its way to her in the mail and a list of tests she needed to discuss with her doctor. Once her health check was clear and she’d mapped her ovulation cycle, she could make her first appointment with the clinic.

She opened the calendar on her computer. A month, maybe two months from now she might be peeing on a stick and holding her breath for the outcome. It was almost surreal.

Her intercom buzzed.

“Alex, I’ve got senior counsel for Brackman-Lewis on the phone, Alistair Hanlon. You said if he called to put him through.”

“Sure. What line?”

“Three.”

Alex took the call. The next time she looked up it was nearly midday and Ethan was standing in her doorway.

“You ready to go?”

“Um, sure. Just give me a sec to grab my bag.”

She’d meant to check her hair and lipstick before he showed up, but he was going to have to take her the way he found her. Not that he’d probably notice.

“How was your morning?” he asked as they exited the foyer into busy Collins Street.

Her mind flashed to her phone call with the clinic. “Promising.”

“Wish I could say the same.”

They talked work for the whole of the brisk walk to Bourke Street where Pellegrini’s had been serving pasta to the working folk of Melbourne for over thirty years.

They both ordered a bowl of the restaurant’s famous spaghetti Bolognese and cafe lattes before taking stools at the aged Formica counter running along the wall while they waited for their meals.

“I meant to ask—are we still on for racquetball tomorrow night?”

Alex shot Ethan a look. She hadn’t thought about their regular game. Not in the context of canceling it, anyway. She’d simply assumed that they would play together, as usual. Which was probably a little naive, given what had happened last week.

“The court’s booked,” she said. “But if you’ve got other plans…?”

“No, I’m good. Gotta keep moving or I can say goodbye to my toes.” He patted his perfectly flat belly.

Normally if he made a comment like that she’d have felt honor bound to rag on him about his vanity, perhaps even crack a joke about how he couldn’t afford to put on weight given how much money he’d invested in his wardrobe.

Today she slid the napkin dispenser an inch to the left and tried not to look too relieved. She enjoyed their weekly games. Looked forward to them. Although she’d always been careful not to focus on her enjoyment too much—Ethan was a fellow partner, after all. But there was no denying that their hour of sweat and smart-assery had long been a highlight in her week.

Ethan shifted to one side as the waitress set down their coffees. It was only when he reached for a sugar packet and almost knocked his coffee over that she registered how tense he was. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes.

She wasn’t imagining it. The tendons in his neck were as taut as bowstrings and a muscle flickered in his jaw. Then Ethan reached for his coffee and she saw that there was a slight tremble in his hand.

It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing: Ethan was nervous. Really nervous, if that hand tremble was anything to go by.

She frowned. Why on earth would a man as inherently confident and cocky as Ethan Stone be nervous about having a bowl of pasta with her?

“What’s going on, Ethan?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

He looked at her, then he glanced at his coffee for a long beat. Finally he met her eyes again.

“Last week, you said you’d prefer for your child to have a relationship with his or her father if it was at all possible.”

Her stomach sank. He was going to lecture her again. Tell her she was wrong, that what she was planning was wrong. She’d really hoped that they could get past this, that he could accept her decision and they could remain friends. Hell, she’d even imagined that their friendship might deepen now that they had breached the invisible wall between their work and private lives.

But apparently Ethan wasn’t going to let this go. Which meant she was going to have to leave. Then she was going to have to cancel their racquetball game and let their friendship fade to polite nods in the hall and the occasional discussion about the weather when they crossed paths in the kitchenette.

“We had an agreement. No more lectures.” She pushed her coffee away and started to slide off her stool.

Ethan’s hand curled around her forearm.

“Give me five minutes. I promise it’s not a lecture,” he said.

His hand felt very warm where it gripped her arm.

“What is it, then?” she asked.

Ethan’s gaze searched her face. “I’ve been thinking about what you said last week. About always wanting to be a parent. About not wanting to miss out.”

She frowned, trying to understand where this was going.

“I don’t know if I ever told you, but I was married once. Cassie and I divorced five years ago. When we got married, we planned on having at least three kids. But it never happened.”

If he was about to tell her that he’d resigned himself to missing out and that she should, too, she was going to dump her coffee over his head.

Ethan swallowed nervously. “I guess what I’m trying to ask in the least eloquent possible way is how would you feel about me offering to be your sperm donor?”

Alex stilled. For a moment the world seemed to go quiet. Or perhaps she was simply so stunned she’d blocked out everything except for him and her.

“I’m…sorry?”

“I’d like you to consider me as a potential father for your child,” he said. “You should know up front that I’d want to be actively involved in his or her life. I’d want visitation rights and equal say on important issues like education and health. I’d expect to contribute financially. I’d want it to be a real partnership.”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded sheaf of papers. “I’ve had a complete medical checkup. My doctor says there are no issues there.” He slid the folded sheets toward her.

Alex looked from him to the papers then back. She shook her head, utterly blindsided.

Ethan frowned. “Is that a no? You don’t even want to discuss it?”

The intense disappointment in his face was enough to spur her past her shock.

“Ethan. This is—this is not what I was expecting,” she said.

Understatement of the year.

“Right. Well, I’ve been thinking about it since last week but I didn’t want to say anything until I had the go-ahead from my doctor.” He gestured toward the printout. “I had my sperm tested, as well. Apparently it’s good to go. Strong motility, the report said. Good count. It’s all in there.”

He shifted uncomfortably on his stool and she realized he was blushing. Would there be no end to today’s revelations regarding Ethan Stone? If anyone had told her a week ago he was capable of blushing, she would have laughed in their face. As for him wanting to be a parent…

“I don’t know what to say,” she said. “I mean, obviously actually knowing the father of my child would be a huge bonus. Ideal, really. But I never even considered… I had no idea you were interested in children. Or that you’d want…” She lifted her hands in the air to indicate how helpless and blown away she felt.

At that moment she registered that the waitress hovered behind them impatiently, two plates of pasta in hand. They both leaned to the side to allow her to slide them onto the counter, then they were alone again.

Ethan shot her a rueful look. “Not the best venue. Sorry. I wasn’t really thinking….”

She shook her head to indicate she wasn’t worried about where he’d chosen to make his proposal. She was too busy trying to work out how she felt about what Ethan had suggested.

Shocked, obviously. She’d never had any inkling that he was interested in parenthood. Even if she’d considered approaching a friend for sperm—and she hadn’t—he wouldn’t have been on her list. Not in a million years. He was the office hottie. She simply couldn’t picture him with baby puke on his shirt and bags under his eyes from sleepless nights.

Also, they didn’t have that kind of relationship. She’d never let her imagination stray outside of the parameters of business. The moment he’d joined the firm she’d privately acknowledged that he was a very attractive, very dynamic man—and that only a very foolish woman would allow herself to fall under his spell. She valued her career far too much to jeopardize it for something as ephemeral as lust.

But now he was offering to become a whole lot more. He was offering to merge his DNA with hers to create a child that would bind them inextricably forever.

Not exactly small potatoes. Definitely not something she could get her head around in the matter of a few minutes. There were so many things to consider. So many potential problems—

“What if you meet someone and fall madly in love? You’re going to want to have children with her and then you’ll look back at this and wish you’d waited.”

“It’s never going to happen, Alex.”

“You sound pretty sure about that.”

Ethan hesitated a moment, then nodded toward her food. “We should eat before this gets cold.”

She frowned.

“Eat and talk,” he said with a slight smile.

He led by example, twirling strands of spaghetti around his fork. She followed suit.

Ethan waited until he’d swallowed before talking again. “I was married for eight years, Alex. I won’t go into the details because there’s no point, but I don’t ever want to go there again.”

“Not every marriage ends in divorce.”

“Enough do. I’m not prepared to play the odds. The stakes are way too high.”

His gaze was direct. She had no doubt that he utterly believed what he was saying. And yet…

“You say that, but what if you fall in love?” she asked quietly. “It happens every day, after all. Whether people plan it or not.”

He smiled cynically. “It’s been five years and I’ve never even come close. And, frankly, I’m not interested in the high drama and the headaches. Life is much simpler without all the bullshit.”

“Wow. You’ve got a real romantic streak there.”

He pointed his fork at her. “You loved Jacob, right? Can you honestly tell me that the fun bit at the start of the relationship was worth all the pain when things went bad at the other end?”

She thought for a minute. Absolutely it had been hard toward the end with Jacob. The tears, the fights, the almost constant ache in her chest as it became more and more apparent to her that their relationship was doomed. She’d been flat for months afterward, wondering if she’d made a mistake, missing him like crazy.

“It was hard, definitely. But that doesn’t mean I’m not prepared to try again.”

“Then let me ask you the same question. What if you meet someone and fall in love? How’s he going to feel about your baby?”

It was probably very revealing of her psychology at present that she hadn’t even considered how her decisions might affect any future spouse. She’d been too busy focusing on not missing out to even consider how some hypothetical spouse might feel about her unconventional path to motherhood.

“I guess if I meet someone, he’ll simply have to accept that my child and the way I conceived my child are a part of the package,” she said slowly.

“Exactly,” Ethan said.

She forked up more spaghetti. Her brain worked furiously, going over and over what he offered, pulling it apart, trying to find the loopholes and bear traps. It took her a moment to notice that Ethan had finished his spaghetti and was now watching her with unnerving intensity. She pushed the remainder of her meal away and turned to face him.

He didn’t say a word but she knew what he wanted: to know if she was prepared to consider his offer. If she wanted him to be the father of her child.

There were so many conflicting thoughts and feelings racing through her mind that she literally felt dizzy.

She slid off the stool. “I’m just going to… Give me a minute,” she mumbled. Then she made haste for the restrooms in the rear of the restaurant.

She pushed her way through the swing door and went straight into the first cubicle. She closed the lid and sat on it, then she stared at the graffiti-covered door.

She needed to think. Ethan was offering her something incredibly valuable and generous, something that had the potential to be wonderful—or potentially disastrous.

She took a deep breath and cudgeled her brain into some semblance of rationality.

There was no issue with the genetic side of things, obviously. Ethan was every woman’s fantasy in that department—tall, dark, handsome, intelligent, fit and healthy.

There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that her child would benefit from the best of the best in terms of DNA. Those eyes. That body. That wicked, sharp mind of his.

And her child would also benefit from actually knowing his or her father. Ethan had said he wanted to be an involved parent, that he wanted visitation rights and to be a part of major decisions. She had no reason to doubt his sincerity; she knew him well enough to know that he would never have made the offer in the first place if he wasn’t certain. Look at the medical tests he’d had done in advance, for example. He’d already shown that he was considerate and prepared and thorough.

If she said yes, she wouldn’t be alone. She’d have someone to bounce ideas off. Someone to call in the middle of the night for solace or sympathy. Someone to pick up the ball if she fumbled it. A partner, in fact, in almost every way except the most obvious.

So many pros—and yet the cons were not insignificant. For starters, she worked with Ethan. Not only worked, they were both partners, which meant they were doubly invested in their jobs. If things turned sour between them, if something went wrong, there would be no separation between home and office.

There was also the fact that despite having worked with Ethan for two years, despite all the lunches and racquetball games, there was still a great deal about him she didn’t know. She’d never seen him really angry, for example. She had no idea how he was situated financially, what his attitude about money was. She knew nothing about his family, whether he was close to them or estranged.

Admittedly, she wouldn’t know any of those things about an anonymous donor she selected from an online catalog, either, but she wouldn’t be co-parenting with any of those men.

The bottom line was that what Ethan was proposing could be a dream come true—or it could lock them both into a relationship that neither of them were really prepared for.

The bathroom door swung open, bringing with it the noise of the restaurant and reminding her that Ethan was waiting for her. Waiting for her decision. She stood and smoothed her hands down her skirt. Then she flushed the loo, more for show than anything else, and exited the cubicle to wash her hands.

Ethan was studying the coffee grinds in the bottom of his cup when she slid onto her stool. He looked at her, his eyes full of uncertainty. Nerves twisted in her stomach as she took a deep breath.

“We would need to sit down and talk things through in a lot of detail before we made any final decision. If we’re going to even consider sharing the parenting of a child, we need to be on the same page on so many things…”

A slow smile spread across Ethan’s mouth.

“It’s not a yes, Ethan,” she felt compelled to point out.

“But it’s not a no.”

He was trying to temper his smile but she could see the relief in his eyes. The hope.

He wants this as much as I do.

She’d spent so many years trying to coax, cajole, beg and plead with Jacob to get him to even consider becoming a parent that she’d forgotten that there were men who craved children as much as women did.

“We need to talk more,” she said. “A lot more.”

“Absolutely. How about dinner at my place on Saturday night?”

“Okay. That sounds good.”

“Then it’s a date,” he said.

Even though she knew there were so many things that could go wrong, she felt lighter than she had in weeks.

If this worked out—

She clamped down on the thought. There was no point in getting excited over something that hadn’t happened. Yet.

ETHAN RETURNED TO his office after lunch and stared at his blank computer screen.

If things worked out, if he and Alex were both satisfied that they were on the same page, he had a shot at becoming a father.

He propped his elbows on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose as a wave of emotion threatened to overwhelm him.

He’d thought that dream was done. He really had. And now he had a chance. Thanks to Alex.

Get a grip, Stone. It hasn’t happened yet.

The thing was, he hadn’t realized how much he’d staked on this, how much he’d invested until she’d returned from the bathroom and told him she was willing to consider his offer.

It was probably just as well that he and Alex had agreed not to discuss the matter again until Saturday night. He’d need the rest of the week to get his head together.

He had a preliminary settlement meeting booked this afternoon so he gathered his files and went to collect his client from reception. Jolie King had been married a little under five years and had two children under four. Her soon-to-be ex, Adam King, came from money. She did not. Like most of his clients, Jolie was not a happy woman. She was grieving and angry, bitter and hurt.

It went without saying that divorce lawyers rarely saw the nobler aspects of humanity.

Jolie gave him a wan smile when he greeted her.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“Oh, you know. Okay.”

He took her to his office and waited until she was settled before saying the things that needed to be said.

“Tomorrow’s going to be a tough day, Jolie. And I know it’s going to be hard for you, but I need to reiterate that you need to let me handle the negotiation. Okay?”

Jolie shifted defensively. “Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

Ethan was tempted to remind her about the constant string of angry text and phone messages that had passed between her and her ex since divorce proceedings had started. He’d asked her to limit conversations to day-today matters and issues surrounding their two children but had little faith that Jolie had listened to his suggestion. She had too much emotion invested in this situation to see past the here and now.

But tomorrow was important. Tomorrow could keep them out of court and save her thousands of dollars.

“Listen. I know you’re pissed with Adam. I know you want to take him to the cleaners and punish him, but my job isn’t to make Adam hurt. My job is to help set up you and your kids so that you can move on and start living your life again. Scoring points is meaningless at this stage. It’s not going to change anything, and it’s only going to make things uglier, more drawn out and more expensive. We have much more control if we settle out of court. If we leave this in the hands of the judge, anything could happen.”

And usually did. He knew a number of family court judges who prided themselves on ensuring that no one walked away a winner from their courtroom. They considered their job well and fairly done if neither party were satisfied or happy at the end of the trial.

Jolie frowned. Then she began ranting about her ex. Adam was a cheat, a liar. He’d never been a good husband, she didn’t know why she’d married him. He said he loved his kids but he was hardly around to spend time with them—and that was when they were married. Now they were separated, the kids could barely remember what he looked like….

Ethan sat back and waited. There’d be no talking to Jolie until she’d vented her spleen. He had plenty of clients who couldn’t engage the rational part of their brain until they’d off-loaded their anger. Something about divorce seemed to short-circuit otherwise sensible human beings and turn them into muddled, emotional messes. And he was often the dumping ground for their rage and confusion. As much as he told himself it was part of the job, it took its toll. So much anger, so much disappointment and bitterness… Most of the time he tried to let it wash over him, but there were days when it got to him. Definitely.

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t been there himself. He knew what it was like to be so filled with hurt and injustice that he’d felt as though his skin would split with the force of it. He knew what it was like to want to punish the person who had once been the center of his world. And he absolutely knew what it was like to look back over the years together and wonder what it had all been worth and if it had ever meant anything.

When Jolie had finally run herself down, he offered her a cup of coffee and a cookie then began to outline what he hoped to gain from tomorrow’s round table.

He sent her home with instructions to get a good night’s sleep, then lost himself in the sea of emails and other paperwork on his desk. Then he went home and did more work.

Alex and the conversation they’d had over lunch was never far from his thoughts, always hovering in the background, ready to slip to the fore when his concentration lapsed.

If things went well, they might have a child together. He might have a chance to become a father, without the attendant risks of embarking on another doomed-to-failure relationship.

It was enough to keep him awake, staring at the ceiling for hours.

CHAPTER FIVE

ALEX PRACTICED HER SERVE while she waited for Ethan to join her on the racquetball court after work the following day.

He was late and she was beginning to wonder if something had come up at the office. They hadn’t spoken since yesterday’s lunch and she’d been with a client all day. But surely if he couldn’t make their game, he would have called or emailed or something. Unless, of course, he was regretting his offer and didn’t know how to face her.

She dismissed the notion immediately. Ethan’s offer hadn’t been made impulsively. He’d gone to his doctor. He’d had his sperm checked out, for Pete’s sake. And if he had changed his mind, he’d look her in the eye and tell her. She knew that much about him.

She felt a cool breeze on the back of her neck as the door to the court swung open behind her.

“Latecomers forfeit first serve,” she said without turning around.

“Sorry. Road work near the Art Center,” Ethan said.

“You used that excuse last time you were late.”

She glanced over her shoulder, determined to treat this like any other Tuesday night despite the important question sitting between them. Then she saw Ethan’s face and every other consideration went out the window.

“Ethan! My God, what happened?” She took an involuntary step toward him.

His left eye was bruised and painful looking, not quite black but heading that way. She fought the absurd, utterly inappropriate urge to touch him to reassure herself that he was okay.

“Don’t worry, it’s worse than it looks.”

“Who did this to you?”

“It was an accident. Things got a little out of hand during my settlement conference this afternoon and I got in the way of the wrong person.” He shrugged as if to say it was no big deal but she could see he was angry.

“This happened in a settlement conference? I hope you had the guy up on assault charges?”

“It was a woman, and I figured it might be difficult having her charged since she’s my client. Not to mention what it would do to my reputation if it got out.”

“Your client did this?”

“Great, huh? Nothing like a good settlement conference to bring out the love.” He sounded bitter.

She’d often wondered how he handled all the acrimony and bad energy that came with divorce and custody cases. Apparently, sometimes, not so well.

He glanced at her and shook his head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump on you. It gets to me sometimes.”

“It’d get to me, too. There’s a reason I chose corporate law. All that conflict…” She shuddered theatrically. “Give me a nice, complicated contract any day.”

“Yeah. There are days I wonder why I chose this specialty, too.”

“Why did you?” She’d always wanted to know. Why volunteer for an area of the law that was so personal and painful?

“I thought I could help people, believe it or not. But sometimes I wonder. I really do….” He ran a hand over his head and gripped the nape of his neck, visibly making an effort to calm down.

He was silent for a long moment, then he shook his head.

“You know what I don’t get? Why we even go through the pretense of getting married anymore. I get the historical reasons—primogeniture, keeping power within families, property acquisition, blah, blah. But none of that matters these days. The world has moved on. Yet we still cling to the completely unrealistic idea that men and women can make a bunch of pretty vows to one another and stand by them for the rest of their lives.”

“I know you probably don’t want to hear this right now, but there are some good marriages out there. What are the stats—one in three marriages end in divorce? That means two-thirds don’t,” she said. “Ever stop to think that you’re seeing the worst of marriage because of your profession?”

“Just because two-thirds of marriages don’t end up before the divorce courts doesn’t mean they’re happy marriages, Alex. Believe me.”

Was he talking about his own marriage? Was that what this was about?

“I guess some people are prepared to make tradeoffs,” she said carefully.

“To gain what? Companionship? Security? Children? Is it really worth it? Lying in bed next to someone who is at best indifferent to you or at worst actively hates your guts?”

Wow. He was really feeling the pain today.

“Is that what happened for you and your wife? You didn’t want to live with the compromise?”

He stared at her for a long beat and for a moment she thought she’d stepped over the line.

“Let’s just say that there wasn’t enough love to go around. Which is exactly my point. Once the hormones wear off, love’s a thin foundation to build a lifetime on. Take this couple today—married four years, two kids under three, and this afternoon they couldn’t even tolerate being in the same room as one another.”

Alex looked away from the bleak cynicism in his eyes. She understood that something had happened to Ethan to make him lose faith in people, but she believed in love. She’d seen firsthand how strong it was. The doctors had claimed her mother should have died in the car accident that had damaged her brain irretrievably, but she hadn’t. Rachel Knight had known that she was the only thing her daughter had and she’d hung on to life tenaciously because she refused to leave Alex to the tender mercies of social services.

“What about children?” she said. “If we have a child together, you’ll love him or her, won’t you?”

“That’s different,” Ethan said.

“Is it?”

“You don’t choose to love your children. It just happens.”

“You think people choose to love each other or not? That you can choose to fall in or out of love with someone?”

“I think that human beings are unreliable and fickle and childish and selfish and ultimately unknowable,” he said.

“And yet you want to make a baby with me?”

He looked blank for a moment, then he smiled self-mockingly. “Which only proves my point, right? People are unreliable.”

She understood what he meant. Jacob had let her down, hadn’t he? He’d proven to be all the things Ethan described. And yet her relationship with him hadn’t turned her into a cynic. It hadn’t destroyed her faith in love.

She looked at Ethan, wondering. What would it take to do that to a person? What had gone wrong between him and his wife?

She forced herself to swallow the questions crowding her throat. He didn’t want to talk about it. That much was obvious.

She leaned down and picked up one of the balls she’d been practicing with. “Think you can play with a dodgy eye?”

He didn’t immediately shift gears, but when he did he came out with all guns blazing. “Better still, I think I can beat you, slowpoke. Again.”

“Again? I won the last two matches in a row.”

“Are we counting last week? Because I believe I was up on points before we called it a night.”

“No, we’re not counting last week and you’re full of it, you know that?”

He smiled, and it felt like an achievement. As though she’d given him a small moment of lightness in an otherwise dark day.

“It’s been said before. Usually when I’ve got a game or two over you,” he countered.

“Don’t bank on that happening tonight.”

“We’ll see.”

“And don’t go thinking that I’m going to go easy on you because you smeared a little axle grease under your eye,” she added.

Ethan laughed, the sound loud in the enclosed court. “Them’s fighting words, Ms. Knight.”

“And talk is cheap, Mr. Stone.”

She watched him as he moved into position on the court. There was still a grim cast to his features but she could tell he was making an effort to shake off his mood. She felt as though she was seeing two people—the man she’d always thought Ethan was, and the man he truly was. The charming, slightly shallow, witty playboy, and the complex, damaged man.

He must have loved his wife a great deal once upon a time.

Because great disappointment was almost always preceded by great hope and great happiness, wasn’t it?

“Haven’t got all night, slowpoke. Clock’s ticking.”

He was watching her, one eyebrow cocked in challenge. She shook off her thoughts and bounced the ball.

“Buckle up, big guy. It’s going to be a bumpy night.”

The trash talking continued as they played the first game. Despite what she’d said about not giving him special treatment because of his injury, she kept a close watch on him and when he winced and rubbed his temple when he thought she wasn’t looking she walked straight to the corner and grabbed her towel.

“Don’t tell me you’re admitting defeat after one game?” Ethan asked.

“You’ve got a headache. Time to go home, Rocky.”

She started zipping the cover over her racquet.

“I don’t suppose it would make any difference if I said I was fine?”

“Nope. Go home and take an aspirin.”

Ethan joined her in the corner, crouching to collect his racquet cover.

“Worried about me, slowpoke?” He glanced at her, his head tilted to one side, a playful, warm light in his deep blue eyes.

They were close, a few feet apart, and for a moment she was flustered, unable to tear her gaze from his. Then she rallied.

“Of course I am. I’ve got a vested interest now, remember. Unless you’ve come to your senses and changed your mind?” She could hear the note of uncertainty in her voice and she winced inwardly. Hadn’t she already decided that Ethan wasn’t the kind of man to offer something so important on impulse?

He stood. “I’m not going anywhere, Alex.”

“Then you’d better get home and rest that pretty head of yours.” She knelt and fussed pointlessly with her gym bag, feeling ridiculously self-conscious.

Over the past week she’d revealed an enormous amount of herself to this man and it seemed she revealed more with every conversation. She didn’t like feeling at a disadvantage.

Better get used to it. If you’re going to make a baby with him, it’s only going to get worse.

She saw him bend to collect his bag out of the corner of her eye.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” he said.

“Sure thing.”

She threw him a quick smile but her shoulders didn’t relax until he’d left the court.

You’re an idiot.

Despite having had a night and a day to process Ethan’s offer, she was still trying to get her head around the concept that he wanted to be the father of her child. It was too, too surreal. In the space of a few days they’d leapfrogged about a gazillion intimacy levels and she simply couldn’t get the idea to stick in her head.

Saturday night ought to go a long away to helping on that score. A whole evening of hashing out the details of their proposed arrangement would surely make this about as real as it could get.

She checked the time. There was still twenty minutes left of their hour on the court. She unzipped her racquet and stood.

Perhaps if she ran herself ragged she’d sleep tonight.

ALEX WOKE EARLY on Saturday morning and spent the bulk of the day fretting—double-thinking everything, conjuring all the many, many things that could go wrong with what Ethan was proposing. She exorcised her demons by dusting, then she broke out her mosaic-tile supplies and spent a messy but satisfying few hours on the balcony making progress on a decorative tabletop that would never see the light of day.

By the time she was finished she was feeling calmer and more settled within herself. She cleaned up, then sat at the kitchen table with a pad and pen and composed a list of questions for Ethan. She started with the basics—questions about his family, his parents, his siblings. Then she started thinking about the things she needed to know about the man who might be the father of her child. By the time she’d finished, she had two pages. She stared at all her questions, a little embarrassed by how many there were. How was she going to remember them all? She couldn’t simply pull them out in front of Ethan and put him through his paces. Could she? Then she remembered what this was all about and decided that she owed it to herself and to him and to their potential child to be as nosy and intrusive as necessary to be comfortable with this arrangement.

She dressed carefully in a pair of tailored chocolate-brown pants and a soft beige silk blouse with a cowl-neck, brushed her hair until it behaved itself, then selected a bottle of wine and headed for the door.

He’d emailed her his address during the week and she’d learned he lived five minutes away from her Queens Road apartment. She smiled to herself as she pulled up in front of his building. Her own much more modest building had been built before the Second World War and would probably disappear inside the foyer of the sleek, stylish residential tower looming above her. But then she’d hardly expected Ethan to live in a hovel—the man spent thousands on his suits. It stood to reason that his residence would be equally stylish and exclusive.

She grabbed the wine, locked the car and approached the formidable front doors. It took her a moment to find his apartment number amongst the cluster on the door panel.

His voice sounded very deep when it came over the intercom. “Alex?”

“Hi,” she said. “Want to beam me up, Scotty?”

“Up you come.”

The door opened automatically—far classier than her own building where the door made a loud buzzing noise and visitors had to push the door to enter—and she took the elevator to the tenth floor.

There were four doors leading off the hallway she stepped out into but only one of them was open, light spilling onto the plush carpeted hall. She walked toward it as Ethan appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a tea towel.

“Hey. Come on in,” he said with a smile.

He was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a V-neck long-sleeved T-shirt in gunmetal gray. His hair was ruffled and his feet were bare and she could see a few crisp, dark curls peeking over the neckline of his top.

She stared at his long, strong feet and wondered if they wouldn’t have been better off doing this on more neutral territory. Then she gave herself a mental slap. They were here to talk about an incredibly intimate, incredibly private subject. Where better to do it than at his place or hers?

The problem was—and this was something she should have considered earlier—Ethan was a compelling, charismatic man. She’d deliberately treated him like a buddy and not a man for that very reason. It had helped that he dated a lot and was clearly not the kind of man she was looking for. But now they were about to talk about joining forces to create a new life. A child that would be half him and half her. Even if the act of conception itself occurred via a clinical procedure, she and Ethan would be connected, bound together for life. He would become a mainstay of her world.

She glanced at him as he gestured for her to precede him into his apartment. His bruised eye had faded to a mottled yellow and blue, yet he was easily the best-looking, sexiest man she knew.

You’re going to have to be very careful if you do this.

She made an effort to pull herself together as Ethan led her through a small entrance hall and into a large, spacious living room with huge floor-to-ceiling windows. She stepped closer to the glass to admire the breathtaking view of the Alexandra Gardens and the Yarra River.

“This is pretty spectacular,” she said.

“Yeah. It sold the apartment for me, actually.”

“If I hang off the edge of my balcony, I’ve got a corner of Albert Park Lake.” She held her fingers an inch apart to indicate how limited her view was. “Nothing like this.”

He held out a hand. “Let me take care of that for you.”

She glanced down and saw that she was strangling the neck of the wine bottle. “Sure. Thanks. I wasn’t sure what we were having, so I brought a pinot noir….”

“Perfect. I’m making us slow-roasted lamb.”

He moved toward a doorway that she assumed must lead to the kitchen. She spared a quick, assessing glance for his living space before following him. His decor was bold—two black leather Simone Peignoir couches, a pony-skin Le Corbusier chaise lounge, a deep, blood-red rug and three vibrant modern paintings in primary colors that made her think of thunderstorms and wild, tempestuous seas. A red-gum dining table with clean, graceful lines dominated the corner near the window.

He was pulling the cork from the bottle when she joined him in the kitchen.

“I like your paintings,” she said.

“This is where I confess that I know nothing about art but I know what I like.”

“Well, I really do know nothing about art. I suspect I’m a bit of a Philistine at heart.”

She glanced at the array of ingredients and tools he had spread before him—little bowls of sliced-up herbs, halved lemons ready to be juiced, a fancy-looking whisk and an expensive copper-bottomed saucepan.

“You cook,” she said. “I mean, you really cook.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I’ve never pictured you wearing an apron.”

He gave her a dry look. “Just as well, since I don’t own one. Cooking is my way of unwinding.”

“I thought racquetball was your way of un winding.”

“Racquetball is my way of not turning into a fat bastard. What about you?”

“Are you asking if I’m worried about turning into a fat bitch?”

He smiled. “What do you do to unwind?”

“I do mosaics.”

“As in tiles?”

“That’s right. Tabletops, mirror frames, that kind of thing.” She felt silly admitting it. It wasn’t as though she was any good.

“See, I would never have guessed that about you. You’ll have to show me your work sometime.”

“Or not.”

He laughed. “Not going coy on me, slowpoke?”

“Merely sparing you from having to be polite. I’m not very good. Most of my projects are never seen by human eyes once I’m done.”

“You’re exaggerating,” he said as he poured the wine and handed her a glass.

“No, I’m not. Trust me. My last creation wound up looking like a dropped pizza.”

She took a swallow of her wine. Alcohol coated her belly in soothing warmth and she took another big mouthful.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.

“You can set the table if you like—cutlery’s in the top left drawer under the counter there. Place mats in the one underneath.”

She selected two settings and a couple of place mats and headed to the living room. She placed the knives and forks carefully on the polished table, marveling at all the little insights she was gaining into Ethan tonight, things she’d never even thought about—the fact that he cooked, that he came home to this view every night, that he liked modern art. That he owned place mats—several types!—of all things.

The kitchen was rich with the smell of fresh mint and lemons when she returned. A butterflied lamb roast was resting on the cutting board and Ethan was busy doing something with the juices in the pan.

“What’s that you’re doing?” she asked, elbows propped on the counter.

“Making the sauce. Have to skim off the surface fat first so we don’t have coronaries before dessert.”

“Ah.”

“Let me guess—you thought sauce came in a packet from the supermarket, right?”

“No. I thought sauce came in a plastic tub from the take-out place.”

His mouth quirked up at the corner. “Can’t argue with that logic.”

He sliced the meat next, then pulled a tray of beautifully roasted vegetables from the oven. She watched as he plated the meal, adding sugar snap peas and baby broccoli at the last minute. He made it all look so effortless, his long fingers working confidently. And perhaps it was, for him. All her culinary experiments ended with swearing and pot banging and the inevitable high-pitched chirrup of the smoke alarm when she burned something. She simply didn’t have the patience.

No surprises there, given all the years she’d made dinner for two every night, week in, week out.

“Okay, we’re ready to go.”

He handed her a plate and they walked to the table.

“This looks great. Will I shame myself even more in your eyes if I confess that this is probably the best meal I’ve sat down to in months?”

“You couldn’t possibly be more shamed in my eyes,” Ethan said, absolutely deadpan.

“Well, I guess I asked for that,” she murmured under her breath.

Ethan laughed quietly. She concentrated on her meal, slicing into the lamb. She could feel him watching her as she took her first bite.

“Oh, wow,” she said, her eyes widening. “This is good. I mean, really, really good.”

“Thanks. Enjoy,” he said, raising his glass in a casual toast.

He was pleased that she liked it, she could see. He’d gone to a lot of trouble for her. For tonight. It gave her a funny tickle in the pit of her stomach to think of him planning a meal for her, wanting to impress her.

He wants you to have his baby, Alex. Didn’t we cover not getting carried away with any of this?

She sat straighter in her chair. The bossy-britches in her head was right—they were here for a purpose. She needed to keep that top of mind.

In accordance with her resolution, she took a big gulp of wine then cleared her throat. “So, Ethan, are your parents still alive?”

It came out sounding much more officious than she’d intended, as though she was conducting a job interview.

“My father is. Mom died ten years ago. Emphysema. Smoked all her life, and eventually it killed her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was tough at the time, but Dad remarried last year and seems happier now.” He shrugged. “What about you?”

“I don’t know about my father. I never knew him. My mother died when I was twenty. Complications from surgery.”

“Twenty’s young to lose a parent.”

“There’s not really any good time, though, is there?”

“No.”

“Do you have any brothers and sisters?” she asked.

“A brother, Derek. He’s younger—thirty-nine—and married with two kids, Jamie and Tim. How about you?”

“No brothers and sisters.”

“Ah. Spoiled only child.”

She thought about how she’d helped her mother dress every morning, the loads of washing she’d done, the household chores, and smiled faintly. “Something like that.”

She concentrated on her meal for a moment, trying to find a way to frame her next question. “So I take it there are no major health issues in the family…?”

Ethan put down his fork and regarded her with amused eyes. “Are you asking if there are any genetic skeletons in my family closet, Alex?”

“Yes, I guess I am.”

“Then the answer is no, not that I know of. Any other questions?”

“A few.”

“Well, hit me with them.”

“You must have some of your own,” she said. “A few.”

They eyed each other for a beat, then Alexandra reached into her pocket and pulled out her list. Might as well be up front, since she’d already blundered her way into this conversation. Anyway, this was who she was. She’d never been the kind of woman who came at things sideways or indirectly.

She unfolded the pages, smoothing them flat before placing them on the table in front of Ethan. She waited for him to balk or laugh but he simply raised his eyebrows.

“Only two pages.” He stood and crossed to the coffee table, bending to access the shelf underneath. When he returned to the table he was carrying a legal notepad. He slid it in front of Alexandra.

“I ran to three. But my handwriting is messier than yours.”

Alexandra stared at his questions resting on the table beside her own, then glanced up at him. His eyes danced with amusement and they burst into laughter at the same time.

“This is like that old joke. How do porcupines mate?” she said.

“I don’t think I know that one. How do porcupines mate?”

“Very carefully.”

He laughed. “Not a bad analogy.” He leaned forward to check her list. “I see we’re being careful about some of the same things. That’s a good sign.”

“Do you think?” she asked, suddenly anxious all over again. She wanted this so badly.

“Yeah, I do. Hit me with your next question.” He forked up a mouthful of food, watching her expectantly.

His calm acceptance and openness went a long way to easing the tension in her shoulders.

“Why don’t we take turns?” she suggested.

“Good idea.”

As he’d noted, there was a lot of crossover on their lists. They both wanted to discuss the custody arrangements, and they quickly agreed that it would be difficult for Ethan to have overnight visits until the baby stopped breast-feeding. But after that they would both like the visitation rights to be split fifty-fifty.

“I’d like to try to breast-feed for at least six months, twelve if possible,” she said.

“This is an area I know next to nothing about,” Ethan said.

“Well, me, too, to be honest. But my understanding is that breast-feeding is supposed to be better,” she said.

She could feel her face becoming warm and hoped that Ethan would blame it on the wine. She’d never sat at a dining table and discussed her breasts before. Perhaps after a few months of nursing she would be as casual about them as some of the women she saw in restaurants and cafés, but she wasn’t there yet.

Ethan raised the subject of education, and here, too, they readily found common ground.

“Private,” she said firmly. “The best we can find.”

Her years at an underfunded state school were still vivid in her memory. Even though she’d eyed the “rich kids” from the private schools with angry resentment on the bus, she’d always understood that they were getting a head start in life. She wanted her child to have every opportunity possible.

“Absolutely. I went to Scotch College, but I’d prefer a coed school,” he said.

They talked about sharing the workload and making allowances for their mutually busy schedules and how they would handle differences of opinion. Over two glasses of wine and a bowl of the most sinfully rich chocolate mousse she’d ever tasted, Alex found herself relaxing more and more.

It seemed the rapport they’d always enjoyed on the court and during their lunches extended beyond the boundaries they’d set. She’d already known that Ethan was good at his job—he had a reputation for being a fair-minded litigator, a lawyer who always looked after the best interests of his clients even if it meant billing fewer hours—and she’d known that he was smart and that he listened well and had a good sense of humor. And now she knew that they saw eye to eye on many of the key issues around parenting.

She was sure other issues would crop up along the way, problems and situations they couldn’t even conceive of in their childless state. But if tonight was anything to go by, they could handle them. The bottom line was that they were two intelligent adults with lots of common ground. Whatever came their way, they would deal with it.

They moved to the couches for coffee and chocolates. By mutual unspoken consent the conversation shifted to other subjects, as though they both needed some breathing space while they processed everything they’d learned about each other.

Alex told him about her recent holiday to France and Italy and they compared notes on Florence and Rome. Ethan pulled out a book he’d bought on the architecture of Venice and they pored over stunning photographs of basilicas and piazzas and palaces.

“Tell me about your childhood,” he asked as she closed the book.

She leaned forward and returned the book to his coffee table. “What do you want to know?”

“The usual. Were you happy? Were you lonely, being an only child? What was your childhood like?”

She shifted on the couch. She didn’t like talking about her childhood. People tended to become uncomfortable when she explained about her mother and the accident. They didn’t know what to say or they tried to paint her as some kind of a long-suffering saint. But Ethan might be the father of her child, so she had to be prepared to offer up her truths.

“My childhood was pretty typical, really. Mom was on her own, so we weren’t exactly rich. But we got by. She was always pretty creative with presents and making money go a long way.”

She smiled, remembering how much she’d longed for something new—anything!—because her mother bought all her clothes from the thrift shop. By the time her mother was finished altering or embellishing them they were unique and special but Alex had always craved clothes that had never been worn by anyone, ever. When she’d gotten her first real job after graduating she’d saved up a nest egg, then spent it all in an uncharacteristic splurge, replacing everything in her wardrobe in one fell swoop. To this day she still had a weakness for the pristine freshness of new clothes.

“What did your mom do?”

“She worked at a dry cleaners. She did the repairs and alterations and managed the front desk. I used to go there after school and do my homework.”

She couldn’t smell dry-cleaning fluid without thinking of that milk crate in the corner where she’d sat and read her books and puzzled over her homework. Her mom used to quiz her on her times tables between customers.

“She was a good mother. I hope I can be half as good as her,” Alex said.

“So you didn’t go through the mandatory stage of hating her when you were a teenager?”

Here we go.

“Not really.” She took a deep breath. “My mom had a car accident when I was twelve. She was a passenger, but she wasn’t wearing her seat belt and she went through the windshield. She fractured her skull and for a while there they thought she was going to die.”

Ethan was watching her intently and she was grateful that he didn’t interrupt.

“She pulled through, though.” She reached for one of the cushions, resting it in her lap. Like the rest of Ethan’s things it had clean, strong lines but the fabric had a pleasing nap and she ran her hand over it a few times before making eye contact with him. “She was different afterward. She couldn’t remember things, she cried for no reason. She couldn’t count past ten and sometimes she’d have trouble finding the right word for what she wanted to say. If I didn’t keep an eye on her, she’d try to cook and put an empty pot on the stove. Or leave the fridge door open. Or go out and leave all the doors and windows open.”

“So you wound up being the mother,” Ethan guessed.

“Someone had to do it. And she was still very loving. She was still my mom.” She smoothed her hand across the cushion again.

“Did you have any help?”

“Oh, yes,” she said drily. “Social services were awesome. They wanted to put me in a home and institutionalize Mom. Fortunately I was nearly sixteen by the time they started getting really aggressive and I was able to prove I could look after both of us.”

“You said she died in hospital?”

“Yes. She was having headaches and they found some scar tissue on her brain they wanted to remove. She had a heart attack coming out of the anesthetic.”

“So you dusted yourself off and put yourself through law school?”

She nodded. “Not exactly the cheeriest tale, I know. But not the worst, either. Like I said, she was a great mom.”

“Sounds like you were a pretty good mom, too.”

She thought about it. “I was okay. I used to get angry with her sometimes. And resentful.”

“Thank God. I was beginning to feel really inadequate.”

She laughed.

“You want another coffee?” Ethan asked.

She looked at him. She’d expected him to probe more, perhaps mouth some platitudes about how hard it must have been. Instead, he was offering her more coffee.

He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just you’re the first person who didn’t want to turn it into Angela’s Ashes.”

“Really? You have friends who are stupid enough to think you want their pity?”

She laughed. Apparently he knew her better than she thought he did.

“Believe it or not, yes.”

“Obviously they’ve never been pounded by you on the racquetball court.”

She laughed again.

“So was that a yes to coffee?”

“I’ll be up all night if I do. But thanks,” she said.

They both fell silent. She glanced at the time on his DVD player and blinked when she saw it was past one in the morning.

Wow. How had that happened?

“I should really get going,” she said, unfolding her legs from the couch and searching for her shoes with her toes.

“Sure.”

There was a new tension in the room as she pulled on her shoes and stood. Ethan stood, too.

“Thanks for tonight. And thanks for being so open to all my questions,” she said.

For some reason she didn’t know what to do with her hands. She settled for clasping them loosely at her waist.

“Ditto.”

“Do you feel like there’s anything else that we should cover? Anything else you need to know?” she asked.

“No. Do you?”

She looked at him, watching her so carefully. Did she need to know anything more?

Probably. But she felt she knew the important things. He was a nice man. Surprising, given the invitation to be not-so-nice that Mother Nature had handed him when she gave him that face and that body. She thought he would make a good and loving father. And that they would find a way to pull together, no matter what came their way.

“I think we should do this.” Her voice sounded very firm, very sure, even though she was quivering inside.

The tight look left Ethan’s face. “Yeah?”

“Yes. I think that between us we could be decent parents.”

“Absolutely.”

He was grinning and she couldn’t help smiling in response. She’d made the right decision. She could feel it in her gut.

“So, what next?” he asked.

“I’ve got my first session with the clinic next week. There’s a mandatory counseling session and some tests they need to do. Then it’s simply a matter of waiting until I ovulate again.”

“Right. Any idea when that might be?”

“Four weeks or so. Give or take.”

“Four weeks. Okay. I’ll make sure I’ve got some clear days in my diary.”

Ethan followed her to the door. Now that the decision was made and they were about to embark on this crazy, wonderful journey together, she didn’t know what to say to him.

“Thanks for the meal. I’d offer to return the favor but I’m guessing you’re not a fan of charcoal. But maybe I could manage cheese on toast and some two-minute noodles. And I dial a mean takeout, too.”

“I’m game,” he said.

“Spoken like a true sucker.” She palmed her car keys. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

She turned to go.

“Alex.”

He waited until she’d turned back before reaching out and pulling her into his arms.

It was totally unexpected and for a second she didn’t know what to do as his arms tightened around her and she felt the hard warmth of his chest against her breasts. Then she lifted her arms and returned the embrace, her hands flattening against the firm planes of his back.

He smelled good—more of that sandalwood scent that she liked—and their knees knocked together briefly.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice gravelly with emotion. “I think we’re going to make a great team, slowpoke.”

Then he released her, stepped back and it was over. She hoped like hell she didn’t look as flustered as she felt. She told herself that she simply hadn’t been expecting the close contact.

“Me, too,” she said. Then she glanced over her shoulder toward the elevator. “I’d better go.”

He nodded. “Sure.”

She took a step backward. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Before you go…”

She stopped. “Yes?”

“It’s my eldest nephew’s birthday tomorrow. If we’re going to do this, I’d really like you to meet my family.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t thought that far ahead but she realized he was right. He’d referenced his brother and his sister-in-law a few times tonight. It was obvious they were close. “Well. I’m not doing anything apart from catching up on work. As always. What time is it?”

“Midday. I’ll swing by and pick you up if you like.”

“Okay.” She frowned. “Do they know? About any of this, I mean?”

“I talked it over with my brother before I talked to you. I think it’s safe to assume that Kay knows, since they’re joined at the brain and various other body parts.”

“Huh.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. No, it’s fine. They’re your family, right? And if we have a baby, then your nephews will be our baby’s cousins.” And not telling Ethan’s relatives about their arrangement would mean they’d be sentenced to a lifetime of lies and half-truths.

“That was pretty much what I figured.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

She lifted her hand in a last goodbye and walked to the elevator. She waited until the doors closed before sagging against the wall and pressing her face into her hands.

She was going to try for a baby.

In four weeks’ time.

With Ethan Stone.

It felt surreal and scary and wonderful and strange all at the same time. She pressed a hand to her flat belly, trying to imagine what it might be like to feel a baby moving inside her.

It was too big a stretch, too far outside her experience. But maybe one day soon it wouldn’t be.

CHAPTER SIX

ALEX WAS WAITING out in front of her building when Ethan arrived the following day. She was wearing jeans, sneakers and a black sweater with a jade-green duffle coat. Her hair whipped around her face in the breeze as he got out of the car to open the passenger door for her.

“I wasn’t sure what to get, but I figured that anything that runs on batteries and makes lots of noise is good, right?” she asked, and he saw she was carrying a gift.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“A kid only turns nine once.”

She was much shorter without her heels and he found himself looking at the crown of her head as she slid into his car. Amazing that so much grit could be contained in such a small package.

He’d always known Alex was a strong person. But hearing her story last night, he’d been quietly blown away by what she’d endured. She was a survivor, there was no doubt about it. A tough cookie.

It explained a lot, that childhood of hers. The way she’d fought to hold in her tears that night on the racquetball court. The way she was always so quick to assure him that she didn’t need his help and so slow to confide. He bet tears had been a rarely indulged luxury when she was growing up. As for helping hands—in Alex’s world, they’d probably been few and far between.

Was it any wonder she’d thrown herself at the problem of her ticking biological clock like a SWAT team going through the door on a drug bust? She’d probably never backed down from a challenge in her life.

And yet there’d been that soft, vulnerable expression in her eyes last night when she’d been talking about her mother. He wondered if she had any idea how expressive her face could be sometimes.

He circled the car and got in. She was busy inspecting the interior, opening and closing compartments and running her fingers over the burled walnut dash.

“I don’t think I’ve been in your car before. It’s pretty nice—but dick cars usually are.”

He smiled. No way was he rising to such obvious bait. “Do I detect a little car envy, Dr. Freud?”

“Not at all. Not when I know how much it’s going to hurt you to have to part with it.”

“I’m not getting rid of the Aston Martin.” He’d worked hard for this car. Lusted after it for many, many years.

“Can’t put a baby seat in it,” she said. “Just sayin’.”

He turned and frowned at the tiny backseat. She was right. There was no way a baby capsule would fit in his sleek, sexy car.

“Bummer,” Alex said. “This upholstery is so soft. I guess it’s Italian calfskin, yeah?”

She wasn’t even trying to hide her schadenfreude.

“If you think I’m trading this in for a boxy Volvo like yours, you’ve got another think coming,” he said. “I’ll just buy a second car.”

“Good plan. You got two parking spaces when you bought your apartment, right?”

He looked at her and knew that she knew he hadn’t.

“Smugness suits you, slowpoke,” he said as he started the engine. “Brings out the brown in your eyes.”

She laughed outright then and they bantered during the trip to his brother’s place. He’d phoned Derek this morning and warned him he’d be bringing Alex along. He’d be lying if he pretended he wasn’t a little nervous about his brother and his opinionated sister-in-law meeting the woman he was planning on donating sperm to. Not exactly your everyday situation, and he could think of about a million things that could go wrong.

He glanced across at Alex. He was confident she could hold her own, but he still felt protective of her. He wanted his family to like her. He wanted her to like them.

“So give me the highlights of your sibling rivalry,” she said as he trawled his brother’s crowded street looking for a parking spot.

“Derek’s two inches shorter. When we were on the same football team in our early twenties he outscored me two seasons in a row.”

“Ouch. How’d you let that happen?”

“Thanks for the support.”

She flashed him a broad grin.

“When he was the best man at my wedding, he lost the ring for a whole half hour before we ‘found’ it down the back of the seat in the limo.”

“No way!”

“I made him wait for forty-five minutes until I coughed up his when he married Kay.”

Alex hooted with laughter. “You guys play hard-ball.”

“Yeah. You’ll fit right in.”

She gave him a dry look before opening the car door and getting out. He grabbed his gift for Jamie from the trunk and crossed the road. His brother’s mailbox was decorated with a cluster of balloons to mark the birthday house and even from the sidewalk they could hear the high-decibel screaming of kids having a good time.

“Don’t worry. Your ears will stop ringing after a day or two,” he told her as they walked up the stairs.

“Good to know.”

She looked a little uncertain and he caught her free hand in his as they entered the house.

She glanced at him, startled, and he offered her a smile.

“Courage, corporal.”

She pulled a face. “If that makes you my captain we’re in big trouble.”

But she didn’t pull her hand away.

They walked into pandemonium. The kitchen and living room had been decorated with balloons and streamers and it looked as though every toy Tim and Jamie owned had been dragged out of storage and flung around the room. Screaming and laughing children chased each other around the furniture, their faces painted to resemble lions and tigers and other jungle animals. There was more chaos outside where a queue had formed around what Ethan guessed was the highlight of Jamie’s birthday booty—a brand-new trampoline, complete with safety pads and netting.

He scanned for Derek or Kay but came up empty.

“Man. You weren’t kidding about the noise,” Alex said, wincing.

“Let’s go outside. Fewer hard surfaces for the noise to bounce off.”

He’d barely set foot in the yard when Tim appeared out of nowhere and wrapped his arms around his legs.

“Uncle Ethan. Wait until you see the tramp’line. It’s awesome!”

“It looks pretty amazing. Has Jamie let you have a bounce on it yet?”

“He says I have to wait until he’s drawn up a roster.”

“A roster. Interesting.” He glanced at Alex. “Tim, this is my friend, Alex. You want to say hello?”

“Hi, Alex. Why do you have a boy’s name?” Tim said.

She laughed. “It’s really Alexandra, but that’s a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?”

Ethan caught his brother’s eye across the lawn where he was manning the barbecue. Derek jerked his head toward Alex as if to ask is this her? Ethan rolled his eyes. What do you think, idiot?

Derek immediately handed the tongs over to someone else and made his way toward them.

Alex was talking to Tim but she looked up when Derek joined them.

“Derek, Alex, Alex, Derek,” Ethan said.

Alex offered her hand and Derek shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Alex.” His tone was a little on the neutral side of friendly but Ethan could live with that. For now.

“Good to meet you, too. That’s some family resemblance you guys have got going on.”

“Nice of you to say so, but no one’s got a patch on Pretty Boy here.” Derek clapped Ethan on the shoulder.

“Pretty Boy?” Alex asked, eyebrows raised. A smile was lurking around her mouth. “Family nickname?”

“No,” Ethan said.

“Yes,” Derek said.

Ethan scowled at his brother.

Derek gave him his best innocent face. “What?”

“You’ll keep.”

Derek took Alex by the elbow. “Come and meet Kay.”

Before Ethan could object, Derek had whisked Alex away. He was tempted to go after them, but Tim wanted to show him something in his room. Besides, Alex could take care of herself.

Still, he glanced over his shoulder as he followed Tim. He caught Alex glancing back at him. Their eyes locked and she smiled. He smiled back.

Yeah, she could hold her own.

ALEX FELT AS THOUGH she’d run a marathon. Her fingers were sticky from eating fairy bread and chocolate crackles, she had a tomato-sauce stain on her jeans, and she was almost certain her butt was covered with grass stains but couldn’t be bothered getting up to check.

Ethan had a nice family. His brother had been a little cool at the beginning, but Alex hadn’t held it against him. After all, he didn’t know her from a bar of soap and what she and Ethan were planning on doing was a little…unconventional to say the least. His wife, however, had welcomed Alex like a long-lost friend and after ten minutes of shooting the breeze with the two of them she’d felt Derek relax, which had in turn meant that she could let down her guard a little, too.

As for Ethan’s nephews… They were adorable. She knew that she was probably hormonally charged to find any children adorable right now, but there was no denying that both Jamie and Tim were very engaging little guys. Their manners were terrific, and Tim in particular had a way with words that kept her in stitches. It didn’t hurt that they both had blue eyes and dark hair like their dad and that when she looked at them she could almost see what Ethan’s child might look like.

She glanced to where Ethan was playing with Jamie on the trampoline. Ethan had taken his shoes off and stripped off his sweater so that he was wearing only his jeans and a plain white T-shirt. He was holding Jamie’s hands, double bouncing his nephew to send him flying high in the sky. She wasn’t sure who was enjoying the exercise more—the nine-year-old birthday boy or the forty-two-year-old family lawyer with the huge goofy grin on his face.

Watching Ethan with his family had been a revelation. She’d seen him serious and intent in partner meetings. She’d seen him charm the admin staff in the kitchenette. She’d seen him determined and playful on the racquetball court. But she’d never seen him laugh so easily or wholeheartedly as when he was standing by the barbecue having a beer with his brother. She’d never seen his eyes take on so much gentle depth as when he was bending his head to listen to something one of his nephews was telling him. She’d never seen him so mischievous and, yes, naughty as when he was teasing his sister-in-law about her noodle salad.

“He’s a good man.”

Alex started as Kay dropped onto the lawn beside her, a big glass of water in hand.

“A lot of people don’t see past that gorgeous face of his to the man underneath, but he’s one of the best men I know.” She took a mouthful of water. “Of course, it’s possible I’m a little biased.”

Alex smiled. “I think family’s supposed to be biased. That’s kind of the point.”

They were both silent a moment as they watched Ethan bounce Jamie then lift him on the rebound. Jamie’s squeals of delight rang across the yard.

“We were pretty worried about him for a while there after Cassie left,” Kay said, not taking her gaze off the trampoline. “Her asking for a divorce really took him by surprise. She messed him up big-time.”

Alex didn’t know what to say. Part of her felt uncomfortable talking about Ethan behind his back. The rest of her was sucking up every bit of information Kay was throwing her way.

“He hasn’t said much about his divorce,” she said cautiously.

That wasn’t too gossipy, right?

“He doesn’t talk about it. Even to Derek. I know he likes to come off as a playboy, but Ethan is the kind of guy who loves really deeply, you know? Derek’s the same. Once they invest, that’s it for them. Ethan invested in Cassie and she burned him, bad. That’s why I was so glad when I knew you were coming today. He’s never brought a woman to meet us before.”

Alex stirred uncomfortably. She’d been under the impression that Kay knew all about the sperm donation thing, but the way she was talking she seemed to think that Alex and Ethan were a couple.

“Ethan and I are just friends, really,” she said awkwardly.

Kay raised her eyebrows and took another mouthful of water. “Of course.”

What could Alex say to that? Kay flitted off to resolve a dispute over a video game a few minutes later and Ethan joined her instead. He had his shoes and socks in hand and was still grinning ear to ear as he stretched his long legs out beside her.

“Pretty hard to fit one of those things on your balcony,” she said, deadpan.

“Yeah. I know. I was just thinking about that. Kind of dangerous if you got a little rogue double-bounce action going, too. It’s a long drop from the tenth floor.”

“Absolutely.”

“Plus I think I’m technically over the weight limit for that thing.”

“But it was good fun,” she said.

“It was bloody good fun.”

He glanced at her and she looked straight into his eyes and for a moment it was only the two of them, sitting in the late-afternoon sun with grass-stained backsides and sticky fingers.

“You’ve got grass in your hair,” he said, and he leaned closer to pull it out.

His fingers brushed her cheek, then her neck as he plucked the grass from her hair. Suddenly she felt breathless. Her gaze skittered from his eyes to his mouth and got stuck there for a moment.

“Do you mind if we get going soon?” she said. “I’ve got some more work I need to get done tonight.”

Ethan sat back and checked his watch. “We can head off in five minutes if you like. Just give me a chance to say goodbye.”

He pulled on his shoes and socks and pushed himself to his feet. She watched as he entered the house in search of his brother.

He’s a nice man. One of the nicest men I know.

Hard not to agree. But she had to remember that he wasn’t her man. A small but very important fact.

“I LIKE HER. A whole lot more than I thought I would,” Derek said the moment Ethan picked up the phone later that evening.

Ethan reached for the remote to turn down the volume on the television. He’d come home to watch football after dropping Alex off at her place and was lying with his feet up on the couch.

“Phew. Huge relief. Thank God.” Ethan didn’t bother hiding the sarcasm in his voice.

“I thought the whole idea of her coming to the party was so we could get to know her.”

“So she could get to know you and run screaming for the hills before it was too late if she needed to,” he corrected his brother.

“Anyway. She’s nice. I was expecting some shoulder-pad-wearing corporate ball-breaker, but she was like you said. Smart, funny. Normal.”

“I’m sure she’d be very flattered to hear that description.”

“We should all do dinner one night. The four of us.”

Ethan smiled. Couldn’t help himself. His brother was about as subtle as a sledgehammer.

“We’re not dating, buddy. And you and Kay need to get a life.”

“Tell me you don’t think she’s hot. I dare you.”

Ethan was not having this conversation with his brother. It would only create false expectations that were never going to be fulfilled. Even if there had been that moment on the grass when he’d looked into Alex’s eyes and felt an almost overwhelming compulsion to press his lips against hers to see if she tasted as sweet and spicy as she looked. A moment of madness, obviously, and not something he was about to share with his brother.

He deliberately changed the subject, asking how Jamie was after the excitement of the day. After a short pause Derek took the cue and let the subject drop.

They talked for a few more minutes, then Kay roped Derek into service to help get the boys to bed and they ended the call.

Ethan turned up the sound on the television but found it hard to stay focused on the game.

He’d had a good day today. The kids had been great fun, as always, and as much as his brother’s old-lady nagging ticked him off sometimes, he’d enjoyed his brother’s company. And, yes, it had been nice to see Alex laughing with Kay or kneeling to talk to Tim or sitting watching the mayhem with a big smile on her face. It had been good to eat a sausage on a bun with her and to tease her about her well-concealed sweet tooth when he caught her going back for seconds on the trifle. He’d expected it to be a little awkward, had worried that maybe Derek’s ambivalence about what they were doing would show through, but Alex had fit right in.

Which boded well for the future. If the procedure was successful and Alex got pregnant, there would be no problems with her mixing with his family at birthdays and Christmases. If she wanted to do so, of course. There was no guarantee of any of that, given the nature of their agreement. But the option was there if she wanted it.

Before he could double-think it, he picked up the phone again and dialed her number.

“Hello?” She sounded sleepy.

“It’s me. I didn’t wake you, did I?” He checked the time on his DVD player. It was a little past eight. Surely she hadn’t gone to bed that early?

“I fell asleep on the couch. Damn.”

“What’s wrong?”

“My pen leaked on my T-shirt.”

He laughed, a picture filling his mind: Alex stretched out on the huge amber-colored velvet sofa in her living room, fast asleep with paperwork and pen resting on her chest.

She’d invited him upstairs for a coffee when he dropped her off and he’d been surprised by her apartment. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but it certainly hadn’t been the slightly cluttered, very eclectic home he’d walked into, decorated with antiques and floral cushions and colorful throw rugs.

She’d been a little sheepish, explaining that she needed to have a bit of a clear out as he’d inspected her novelty teapot collection and the cluster of mounted animation cells on her wall.

“What color pen?” he asked, reaching out to flick the TV off.

“Red. What else?”

“A sign from the gods that you’re working too hard.”

“Yeah, well.” She sighed. “What’s up?”

“I was thinking that we need to draw up that co-parenting contract we talked about.”

“Yeah. I was thinking that, too.”

“How about I draft something, then we can pass it back and forth until we get it right?”

“Sounds good. Don’t forget to bill me for your time.”

“I’m expensive, so brace yourself.”

“I hope you’re worth it.”

“Oh, I’m worth it. Rumor has it I’m very good.” He was grinning, balancing his ankle on his drawn-up knee.

“Is that a fact? How very…modest of you.”

“Modesty is overrated.”

“Says the egotist.”

He laughed and knew she was smiling on the other end of the phone, proud of herself for puncturing his ego.

“Well. On that note. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

“Retreating, Pretty Boy? That’s not like you.”

“No,” he said, very firmly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You are not appropriating my family nickname.”

“Why not? I like it.”

“Because it drives me nuts.”

“Isn’t that the point of family nicknames?”

“I’m forty-two. Derek came up with that name twenty-five years ago. It’s time to move on.”

“Ah. So it’s the boy part you object to? You’d prefer Pretty Man? I can work with that.”

He could hear the delight in her voice as she teased him.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“Oh, yes.”

“Good night, Alex.”

“Good night, Pretty Man.”

He’d known she wouldn’t be able to resist getting a final shot in. Typical Alex.

ETHAN DRAFTED a rough version of their agreement the following evening and he and Alex had pizza at her place after racquetball to fine-tune it.

They met again on Thursday for tweaks, and by the weekend had a document they were both satisfied with. It laid out their responsibilities and obligations as well as their expectations. Alex had wrangled with him a little over money, insisting that she didn’t need or want his financial support, but he’d won the day by reminding her that the beneficiary of the arrangement would be their child. She could hardly argue with that.

He combined the formal handover of their signed agreement with a visit to the Ian Potter Gallery in the city. He’d noticed an ad for a current exhibition during the week and he led Alex into the gallery after they’d signed and dated their agreement in the adjacent coffee shop.

He watched her face as she walked into the gallery space, enjoying her pleasure and delight as she marveled at the latest efforts by Australia’s foremost mosaic artists.

“This is amazing. Do you know how much time it takes to get this gradation of color? And the way she’s cut the tiles. I wonder what she’s using because there’s a really nice bevel on the edges…” She hovered beside a large piece by well-known Melbourne artist Mirka Mora.

The following Tuesday she caught him going through the car section of the daily paper in his office, checking out what was available in the more family-friendly end of the market. Just out of curiosity. No solid plans yet. She didn’t say anything, but the next day he found a small brown parcel sitting in the middle of his desk blotter when he arrived at work. He opened it to reveal a miniature version of his Aston Martin, accompanied by a handwritten note in Alex’s neat print:

So you’ll always have an Aston Martin, if not the Aston Martin. And remember, size doesn’t count.

To show her there were no hard feelings, he drove her to the fertility clinic on Friday for her mandatory counseling session. She was subdued afterward and he left her to her thoughts for the bulk of the drive home.

Alex had mapped her ovulation cycle by now and they had a firm date fixed for the first procedure—a Thursday, two weeks away.

He tried to put it out of his mind and concentrate on his current cases. Mostly he was successful—he’d become a master at burying himself in work after the divorce—but he knew Alex was becoming increasingly anxious as the date approached. They both had a lot riding on this. A lot of hope and expectation. He took her to a movie the Friday before the procedure to try to take her mind off it, and the following Tuesday he let her win the first game of their weekly match.

“I know what you’re doing, Pretty Man,” she said as she wiped sweat from her brow.

“Do you, slowpoke?”

“Don’t pander to me. I will not be pandered.”

“I don’t know if you can stop it. I mean, the pandering is pretty much in the hands of the panderer, unless I’m mistaken. The panderee—that’s you, by the way—has to grin and bear it.”

“Really?”

She’d proceeded to play her worst game of racquetball ever, so bad that it was almost impossible for him to play worse. But he gave it his best shot.

She was laughing so hard by the time they’d battled it out to see who could lose the last point that she had to sit down on the court and wipe her streaming eyes.

Then she got back to her feet and proceeded to hammer him in the third and final game. A blow to his point average, but worth it to see the smile on her face.

And then, too quickly, it seemed as though time folded in on itself and it was Wednesday night and he was psyching himself up for the following day. D-day—or B-day as he and Alex had jokingly been calling it. He was picking her up at ten so they could drive to the clinic together.

If things went well, they would be making a baby. They being him and Alex and a team of doctors and nurses.

He laid out his clothes for the next day, then tried to settle himself in front of the TV. Nothing appealed, and he paced restlessly for a few minutes before grabbing his car keys and heading out the door.

The supermarket in nearby St. Kilda was lit with brutal fluorescent lighting and filled with tinkling canned music. He cruised the aisles, throwing unsalted butter, brown sugar, eggs and vanilla extract into his shopping basket. He’d go home and make Alex some fudge to feed that sweet tooth of hers.

He was heading for the liquor section in search of crème de cacao when he rounded a corner and stopped in his tracks. A young couple stood at the other end of the aisle. She was heavily pregnant, her hair pulled into a ponytail, her baby bump covered by a floral top. He was standing in front of her, both hands pressed to her belly, her hands resting over his. They were staring into each other’s eyes as they concentrated on the movement of their unborn child. She was smiling and he had an expression made up of equal parts pride and awe.

It was a very private moment, a moment between lovers, and Ethan told himself to walk away. But he didn’t.

He watched as she laughed and looked at her belly and said something to her partner. He moved his hand higher up her belly and his eyebrows shot toward his hairline. Then he laughed, too, and leaned forward to kiss her.

They registered Ethan watching then and he jerked his gaze away, feeling every bit the voyeur he was.

“Sorry, mate, first baby,” the guy called after him cheerfully as Ethan turned way.

He lifted his hand to signal he hadn’t been offended.

Far from it.

He bought his groceries but when he got home he didn’t make fudge.

Instead he went out onto the balcony. It was cold and he’d dumped his coat when he walked in the door, but he stood at the railing and looked at the city anyway.

He watched the cars race up and down. He watched the bats flying to their usual haunt in the Botanical Gardens. He watched a tram pull to a stop and release a flood of passengers.

So many people—old, young, middle-aged, rich, poor, gay, straight. Who were they going home to tonight? Husbands? Wives? Boyfriends? Girlfriends? Brothers? Sisters? Housemates?

He turned his back on the view and crossed his arms over his chest, staring into his apartment. He could see his couches and his artwork. The profile of his big-screen TV. All the stuff he’d surrounded himself with since the divorce. All the distractions, the consolations he’d bought to make up for the things he’d resigned himself to missing out on.

He closed his eyes and saw that moment in the supermarket again—her big belly, his hands spread wide, hers pressed on top of his. The delight and hope and excitement in their faces. The love. They were about to embark on a huge adventure together.

Together.

No matter what contract Ethan and Alex negotiated, they would never be able to capture that dynamic. There would be no moments of shared joy and love for them.

That’s the way you want it. Remember?

His arms were covered with gooseflesh. He pushed away from the railing and entered the apartment. He was picking up Alex at seven the next morning.

He flicked off the living room light and went to bed.

ALEX SLEPT BADLY. She was too wired, her mind too full to tune out enough to let her drift off, even though she really, really wanted to sleep. She wanted to be fresh for tomorrow. Ready to face the doctors and nurses and all the hoopla of her first procedure.

She finally gave up on sleep and made herself breakfast while it was still dark out. Once she’d made it she didn’t want it, and she pushed the toast around her plate for fifteen minutes before throwing it in the garbage. So, no sleep and no appetite—a great start to what might be the biggest day of her life.

She showered and dressed and made sure she had everything she needed—all her medical reports and paperwork, important phone numbers, a list of questions she’d thought of since her last visit…

She glanced uncertainly toward the pile of magazines and printouts she’d stacked neatly on her coffee table, ready for Ethan’s arrival. Then she glanced away again and killed the remaining time until Ethan’s arrival doing laundry and cleaning. The closer seven came, the more tense she became. Her stomach was churning and she could feel her heartbeat kicking against her breastbone.

It’s only adrenaline. You’re excited. It’s perfectly natural.

It didn’t feel like excitement, though.

She almost leaped out of her skin when the intercom buzzed. She took a deep breath, then crossed to the unit and pressed the button.

“Hi. Come on up.”

She opened her front door. The elevator was slow, so it would take him a while to ascend to her level. She slipped her thumb into her mouth and tore at her thumbnail while she waited. She snatched her thumb from her mouth the moment she registered what she was doing and slid her hand into the pocket of her jeans. She hadn’t bitten her nails since she was in law school. It was one of the things she’d left behind when she graduated. No one wanted to hire a lawyer with chewed-up hands.

She heard the mechanical groan of the elevator arriving at her floor, then the doors opened and Ethan stepped out into the hall.

He strode toward her, perfect as always in a soft-looking black V-neck sweater and dark denim jeans.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi. Did you sleep okay?”

She wrinkled her nose to indicate it hadn’t been a great night, then stepped back to allow him to enter her apartment. He brushed past her, trailing the warm scent of sandalwood.

“This is new.”

She joined him in her living room where he was running his hand over the aged oak marquetry of her new French armoire. She’d bought it on the weekend, more for something to do than because she needed another piece of large furniture in her already full apartment.

“Genuine?” he asked.

“God, I hope so, after what I paid,” she said. She smoothed her hands down the sides of her jeans. “Would you like a coffee? I thought we could go over the procedure again before we hit the road, so we’re both familiar with everything….”

“Sure.”

He followed her into the kitchen and leaned a hip against the counter while she ground beans and warmed up her coffee machine.

“And you say you can’t cook.”

She forced a smile. God, why was she so nervous? She felt sick with it. As though all her internal organs were vibrating with anxiety.

“Love my coffee. It’s my one vice. No, that’s not true, I have two vices—coffee and antiques. Which is pretty funny, really, because when I graduated from law school and got my first decent paycheck, all I wanted was new everything. Shiny, spanking-new stuff with the price tags still attached. As for the coffee thing, I can hardly boil an egg without close supervision, but for some reason I have all the patience and skill in the world for coffee.”

She was talking too fast. She forced herself to concentrate on the small task of spooning coffee into the basket and tamping it firmly.

“Espresso? Latte? Cappuccino?” she asked without looking up.

“Espresso, thanks.”

She nodded. Just as well he hadn’t asked for a cappuccino—she didn’t trust herself with the steaming wand right now.

“There we go,” she said a minute later, sliding his coffee across the counter toward him. “Smells fantastic.”

“Yep. Nothing like the smell of fresh coffee.” She took a deep breath. “So, shall we sit and have a last look at the stuff the clinic sent?”

He gestured for her to precede him into the living room and they sank onto a couch each, facing each other across her coffee table.

She slid the pile of papers and magazines toward herself and sorted through them until she’d found the two copies of the outline of the procedure the clinic had provided. She slid one across the table toward Ethan and started reviewing her own, even though she’d read it a dozen times already.

Once she got to the clinic, she would be taken into a treatment room and readied for the procedure. She’d be dressed in a hospital gown and placed in stirrups, and a soft plastic catheter would be introduced into her vagina to deliver the sperm directly to her uterus through her cervix. Ethan, meanwhile, would be handed a cup and left alone to produce a sample of semen. His semen would then be taken away and “washed” in the laboratory to remove any dead sperm and harmful chemicals that might interfere with the process of conception. Once the most active and motile sperm had been selected, they would be introduced to her uterus via the catheter. After a few minutes’ rest, she and Ethan would then leave the clinic. In total, the whole thing would take under an hour, and in two weeks’ time they could perform their first pregnancy test.

She glanced at Ethan and saw that he was frowning as he read.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked.

“No.”

She wasn’t sure if he was covering or not. “If there’s a problem, we should probably talk about it.”

“No problem. I guess it’s just hit me that we’re really doing this.”

“Yes.”

She dropped her gaze to the magazines stacked beneath her other paperwork. They’d seemed like a good idea last night. But maybe he’d already covered that end of things.

For Pete’s sake, now is hardly the time to be squeamish. Offer him the magazines, and if he doesn’t want them, it’s no big deal.

“Listen. I didn’t know what you wanted to do about… I thought the clinic might have some stuff, but I wasn’t sure. Anyway, I bought these for you last night. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got you a little bit of everything….”

She slid the magazines from beneath the other papers and pushed them across the table toward him. Ethan glanced at the cover of Playboy, his expression completely unreadable. “There’s a Hustler there, too, and another one with cars and women with big— Well, like I said. I wasn’t sure what you were into.”

There was a smile playing around Ethan’s mouth when she finally rallied the courage to look at him. “You’re laughing at me, aren’t you? I knew the magazines were a bad idea.”

“They’re a very thoughtful gift. But I think I can manage on my own.”

She could feel herself blushing but she was determined to cover this issue. “You’re not worried about…performing on demand?”

“I think I’ve had enough practice to get it right,” he said, very dry.

“Right. Still, it’s not exactly an ideal situation, is it?”

“For you, either. No wine and roses or soft music in the treatment room.”

“No.”

Instead, there would be a hospital gown that didn’t close properly at the back and people with surgical masks on their faces and the smell of antiseptic and her legs in stirrups. The conception of her child would be a medical event, not the act of love and intimacy Alex had always imagined. There would be no lying in her lover’s arms afterward, imagining the baby that might result. There would only be Ethan sitting in the waiting room. And while that was a hell of a lot more than she’d hoped for at the beginning of this process, it was still a far cry from how she’d dreamed of having her child.

She’d been shortchanged so many things in life. A father. A mother, in many respects. She felt as though she’d been fighting and making compromises from the moment she was born. And now there was this, the ultimate compromise. The making of a child without love or passion or even physical gratification.

So what? You’re just going to have to suck it up. The way you’ve always sucked it up. Do you want this or not? Do you?

She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting both the tears and the understanding rising inside her.

“Alex.” The couch depressed beside her as Ethan joined her. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

She sucked in a breath but it was hard to get it past the words choking her throat. “I don’t think I can do this.”

The moment the words were out of her mouth she felt both enormous relief and terrible grief. How long had she been hiding this truth from herself? Weeks? Days? She’d been so determined to steamroller her way over everything, including her own qualms and concerns. So determined not to miss out, at any cost.

She’d allowed herself to be seduced into a false sense of intimacy and togetherness with Ethan. She’d shared her thoughts and feelings with him and made jokes about him having to get a new car and watched him with his nephews and allowed herself to believe that when she had her baby it wouldn’t be that different from what she’d always wanted.

And she’d been wrong. So wrong and stupid and desperate.

She pressed a hand to her sternum and forced herself to look at Ethan. She’d started this journey. Offered him a chance he didn’t think he’d ever have. He’d stepped up to help her. And now she was reneging on her end of the bargain. Copping out.

“I’m so sorry. I thought I was okay, that I’d reconciled myself to doing it this way. But I… It’s so clinical. So…cold. If I’d tried to get pregnant the normal way and my partner and I wanted to exhaust all avenues this would feel like a godsend… But at the moment it feels like—”

“Giving up.”

She glanced at Ethan through swimming eyes. “Yes. I want to be a mother so much—but not like this. Maybe that means I don’t want it enough. I don’t know. I just know that this feels wrong.”

He reached for her tightly clasped hands. “It’s okay,” he said. He wrapped his hands around hers, the pressure warm and firm.

“No, it’s not. You came to me with this incredibly generous offer and now I’m wimping out and leaving you high and dry—”

“Alex, it’s okay. I was having second thoughts, too.”

She dashed the tears from her cheek with a fisted hand.

“You don’t have to say that to try to make me feel better. You’re allowed to be angry and disappointed. You can even yell at me if you think it would make you feel better. Hell, you could probably even sue me for breach of contract.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel better. I saw something last night that got me thinking, and reading over the procedure this morning… I don’t know. Standing alone in a cubicle with an empty cup and a magazine isn’t the way I’ve always imagined becoming a father.”

Her gaze searched his face. “So it’s not just me, then? This feels wrong?”

“It’s not just you.” He squeezed her hands then released his grip. “In theory, this seemed like a solution. But I guess we’re both a little less hardheaded than we imagined.”

He was being honest. He felt the same way—this was one compromise too many. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice.

“God.”

She put her head in her hands. She was relieved that he wasn’t angry, that she wasn’t alone in balking at the last hurdle. It would have been terrible if he’d felt ripped-off or misled or cheated.

But none of that stopped her from feeling disappointed. There would be no baby. The past few weeks of planning and discussions and excitement had been for nothing. At the end of the day, neither of them were…what? Ruthless enough? Determined enough? Whatever. Neither of them was prepared to sacrifice a part of themselves for the dream of being a parent. Having a child wasn’t an at-any-cost proposition, not for her or for him.

“I need to call the clinic,” she said after a moment. “Cancel everything.”

“I can do that, if you like.”

“No, I’ll do it. I started this thing.” She pushed herself to her feet and looked down at him. “I’m so sorry you got caught up in my baby crisis, Ethan. If I’d stuck to my original plan and used a sperm bank, the only one feeling like crap right now would be me.”

“We both went along for this ride. And you might have had second and third thoughts weeks ago if I hadn’t been here, cheering you on from the sidelines.”

He offered her the ghost of a smile. She leaned down impulsively and wrapped her arm around his neck, pressing her check against his in a one-armed but still fierce hug.

“You’re a good man. A good friend,” she said.

It was the first time she’d initiated contact between them. She was aware of the rasp of his beard against her face and the softness of his hair brushing against her fingers. His arms closed around her in response.

“You’re a good woman. And don’t worry—it’ll happen for you, Alex. Some lucky bastard will come along and realize you’re a woman in a million and it’ll all fall into place.”

She released him and after a second’s hesitation he followed suit.

“I don’t know if I should let myself believe in those kinds of happy-ever-afters. Maybe I should just start collecting cats,” she said.

“Alex—”

She held up a hand. “Yes, I know, I’m an attractive woman, I’ve still got time left, yada yada. I guess I’ll have to wait and see, won’t I, since seizing the day hasn’t really worked out for me.”

She pushed her hair away her forehead.

“Now, before I get out my violin, I’ll make that call.”

She stared out her kitchen window while she waited for the call to connect. It occurred to her that they’d both taken the day off for nothing. She smiled grimly. Right now, wasted leave time was the least of her worries.

The receptionist at the clinic didn’t sound surprised when Alex told her she wanted to cancel her appointment. Perhaps this happened all the time. Perhaps she was one of many desperate woman who found they didn’t have the stomach to take the pragmatic route to motherhood when push came to shove.

Ethan was browsing her CD collection when she came back. She stood in the doorway watching him unnoticed for a few seconds. He was a good friend. A really decent man. Now that she’d gotten to know him—really know him—she could see past his beautiful face to the man underneath. He would have made a great father. She found it hard to believe that he planned to spend the rest of his life alone. She hoped that whatever it was that was holding him back resolved itself for him. He deserved better.

He glanced up. “All done?”

“All done.”

There was a short silence, then he pulled a CD with a bright pink cover from her shelf.

“Cyndi Lauper. There’s a guilty secret.”

“Hands off Cyndi. She’s very retro cool.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s drawing a long bow.”

“Says the man with not one, not two, but three Barry White albums,” she said.

“They were a gag gift from my brother.”

“Sure they were.”

“Don’t get too high and mighty on me, lady-who-owns-Nana Mouskouri’s-greatest-hits.”

He plucked the CD from her bookshelf with a gotcha flourish.

“Yeah, well. They were doing a retrospective on the radio. I got carried away—”

“At least you have the courage to admit your mistake,” he said sagely.

She opened her mouth to say something sassy back, but suddenly her throat and chest were aching and she knew tears were not far away.

She cleared her throat. “Listen, I’ve got a few things I need to take care of. Loose ends and whatnot. You know.”

“Right. I should go, then.”

Yes, please go. Before I blubber all over you. Before I lose it completely.

“If you don’t mind. I might as well make use of the day off to get something done.”

His expression was unreadable as he replaced her CDs on the shelves then collected his coat from the back of her couch. She followed him to the front door. Ten more seconds and he would be gone and she would be alone and it wouldn’t matter if she howled her eyes out.

“Listen. If you need to talk, call me, okay?” Ethan said as he reached the doorstep.

“Sure. But I’m fine, really,” she lied.

His gaze searched her face, then he nodded. “Okay.”

She waited until he’d reached the elevator before she shut the door. Then she walked into her living room and stared at all the fertility-clinic paperwork and those damned stupid mens’ magazines she’d bought for Ethan.

The wanting-to-cry feeling hit her again and she closed her eyes.

All right, you big sook. Get it over and done with. Because this is the only chance you’re going to get to wallow in this.

She waited for the tears to come. Her throat got tight. Her chest ached. She gripped the couch—but her eyes remained steadfastly dry.

Okay.

Okay.

Moving slowly and carefully, she did a circuit of her apartment, collecting anything and everything to do with the fertility clinic and pregnancy and babies. She dumped the paperwork in a carton, to be taken down to the Dumpster in the basement next time she left the apartment. She hesitated over throwing the pregnancy books in.

She was still only thirty-eight, after all.

Hope springs eternal.

She wavered for half a second more. Then she dropped the books into the carton. She didn’t want anything hanging around to remind her of this debacle. It would be bad enough having to face Ethan at work every day with the memory of all of this sitting between them.

She pushed the carton close to the front door so she wouldn’t forget it when she went out. The sooner it was gone, the better.

Then she returned to her living room, sat on her couch and burst into noisy, messy tears.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SHE’D KICKED HIM OUT. Amazing that after everything that had gone down this morning, the thing he couldn’t get past was that Alex hadn’t wanted him around once they’d made the mutual decision not to go through with their plans. She’d been disappointed, on the verge of tears, and she hadn’t wanted him to witness her moment of weakness. Because that was how Alex saw emotion and tears—as a weakness. A folly to be endured then brushed aside and ignored. He knew enough about her now to understand that.

If she’d let him stay, if she’d cried in front of him, he would have told her that tears didn’t make her less strong or less capable. He would have held her and talked to her and together they might have made sense of the rollercoaster ride they’d taken over the past few weeks.

Instead, she’d kicked him out and he was making bread at eleven in the morning, taking out his frustration and, yes, disappointment on the mass of dough under his hands. Because he was disappointed, even though he knew they’d made the right decision. For a short while he’d convinced himself that he’d found a way to have what he wanted without the mess and entanglements and risk of a relationship. It had seemed like the perfect solution. Then reality had intruded.

He wanted more from parenthood. And so did Alex. When push came to shove, neither of them wanted to compromise.

Which left him…nowhere. His feelings hadn’t changed regarding marriage. And he’d rejected the alternate route to parenthood. All of which meant that it really was over for him.

He was never going to be a father.

Might as well let the fact seep into his bones, permanently this time. He’d have to make do with his brother’s children, be the best uncle he could be.

It wasn’t the end of the world. Disheartening, yes, but he’d get over it. Accept it. Move on. After all, he had a pretty good life.

The dough had lost its elasticity. He’d over-kneaded it. He stared at it for a long, silent minute. Then he gathered the big, floury lump and dropped it in the rubbish bin.

His thoughts shifted to Alex again as he started cleaning the counter. Had she allowed herself to cry once he’d left? Had she allowed herself even a small moment of humanity and frailty?

He dried his hands and glanced around his kitchen. He should go for a drive. Or maybe call his brother, see whether he wanted to hook up for lunch. Anything other than haunt his apartment, fixating on Alex and what had almost been between them.

He pulled out his phone and dialed. His brother picked up after the second ring.

“It’s me. You free for lunch?” Ethan said.

“I thought you had an appointment with a paper cup today.”

Ethan gazed out across the park. “We canceled the appointment. You free or not?”

“Who canceled? You or Alex?”

“It was a mutual decision.”

“What happened to wanting a kid?”

Ethan closed his eyes. What had he been thinking, calling his brother? He was only going to get the same grief he’d been getting for the past five years.

“You know what, forget I called.” He started to hang up.

“Wait. I’m sorry. I wasn’t having a go at you. I know how much you were banking on this.”

“It was a crazy idea.”

“Well, yeah. But it was a step in the right direction. You and Alex are closer now. You both know what each other wants—”

“Derek. I swear, you’ve got a one-track mind. Will you please give it a rest?”

“At least be honest with yourself. You have feelings for her, and all this stuff about a baby was your way of trying to smuggle them in under the radar.”

Ethan didn’t say anything for a long moment. “It doesn’t matter how I feel about Alex.”

Even if it had been a long time since he’d thought of her as simply a friend.

“So you’re going to let her walk away?”

Ethan thought about what Alex wanted and what he wanted.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Bullshit. You’ve never given up on anything you wanted in your life.”

There was so much confidence in his brother’s voice. He was so sure that all Ethan needed was to meet a good woman and he’d shrug off everything that had happened with Cassie and leap into the breach again.

Derek didn’t understand. But how could he when he didn’t know the full story? He knew only that Cassie had left, and that Ethan had not been interested in a reconciliation. They had never discussed the details because Ethan had never been able to reveal the full depth of his wife’s betrayal and rejection. He literally hadn’t been able to make himself form the words.

The day he’d come home from work and found Cassie waiting for him was etched like acid in his memory. She’d given him no reasons or explanations or warnings, she’d simply severed their marriage in the most brutal possible way. She’d sat there and told him she didn’t love him anymore. Then she’d told him about the baby. And then she’d walked, leaving him to try to make sense of what remained of his life.

For a long time, there hadn’t been a day that went by without him thinking about her, about what had gone wrong and how he hadn’t seen it coming. He still didn’t understand how he could have been so out of step with her. How he could have slept beside her every night and not known that she was quietly opening separate bank accounts and viewing apartments so that when she walked out the door she could step straight into her new life. Without him.

It hadn’t been a perfect marriage, but what marriage was? They’d had their differences and their rough patches. But he’d believed in her, trusted her, loved her implicitly.

And she’d shed him like an old skin and never looked back.

“Maybe we should have lunch another day,” Ethan said. “I’ll call you on the weekend or something, okay?”

He ended the call before his brother could object. The phone rang immediately and he let it go through to voice mail.

He didn’t need a pep talk or a lecture. He didn’t need his brother spouting the joys of marital and family life. He was happy for Derek and he loved Kay. He would lay down his life for Jamie or Tim. But he could not and would not go there again himself. What was that old saying? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

He wasn’t about to be fooled twice. No matter how much he was drawn to Alex. He may have toyed with the notion of intimacy over the past few weeks, but he didn’t have it in him to go there again. He just…didn’t.

ALEX FLATTENED HER fingers and stirred the tray of glass tiles in front of her. She needed another aqua tile—not bright blue or powder blue, but aqua blue. And if she’d used her last piece, she was going to seriously consider having a tantrum.

So much for mosaics as therapy. If anything, she was wound more tightly after an hour working on her latest project. She kept searching for an aqua tile, however, since the alternative was to wallow. And she’d done enough wallowing today. More even than when she and Jacob had finally gone their separate ways. More than at any other time in her adult life, in fact.

As always, it hadn’t made her feel any better. Her eyes were still puffy and swollen from crying and she felt completely flat, interested in nothing. She knew herself well enough to know the feeling would pass, but the long hours of the evening stretched ahead seemingly endlessly.

Get through tonight. Then you’ll have work tomorrow, and a week—okay, a month—from now you’ll be over it. Mostly.

For a moment she was overwhelmed by the task ahead. She let her shoulders slump. She didn’t want to play with mosaics. She didn’t want to do anything. She felt hollow and empty. She felt defeated.

After a long moment she took a deep breath and forced herself to sit up straight. She edged one of the tiles a little to the left and was reaching for her tile nippers just as a knock sounded on the door.

She paused, glancing down at herself. She was wearing a baggy old pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a stretchy tank top. Her hair was still damp from her shower this afternoon and she wasn’t wearing underwear or makeup.

She shrugged. There was only one person it could be, since the intercom hadn’t buzzed to announce a visitor. It had been a month since she’d last caught up with Helen, her friend from the apartment across the hall. Having company tonight could only be a good thing—provided it was the right kind of company. By which she meant the kind that didn’t know anything about her now-defunct baby plans and therefore wouldn’t ask probing personal questions. Alex didn’t want to be probed or questioned tonight. She simply wanted to process and grieve. And since she hadn’t confided in anyone apart from Ethan, she figured she was safe.

She walked to the front door, rubbing her gummy fingertips together to try to remove some of the adhesive residue. She opened the front door—and discovered the wrong sort of company standing on her doorstep.

“Ethan.”

For a moment she simply stood there, blinking stupidly. She should have known it would be him. Why hadn’t she checked through the spy hole before opening the door?

“Hey. I brought you dinner,” he said, hefting a heavy-looking recyclable shopping bag.

“Dinner…?”

He brushed past her and into her apartment. “Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, baby peas, homemade gravy. And a bottle of sémillon sauvignon. You want to eat out here or in the kitchen?”

He was already heading for the kitchen before she could respond. She chased after him, belatedly dragging the low-slung waistband of her pajama bottoms up to meet the hem of her tank top. She was very aware that she wasn’t wearing panties or a bra and that it had been a long time since she’d considered herself fit for public consumption without either. But she could hardly race off to her bedroom to put underwear on while he made free with her apartment.

Then she remembered something else—her mosaic project was spread out across the kitchen table. No one ever saw her mosaics, for good reason.

She swore under her breath and lengthened her stride. She skidded to a halt in the kitchen doorway. Ethan had left his shopping bag on the counter and was hovering over the table, examining her handiwork.

Too late. Damn.

“It’s not finished yet,” she said quickly.

“It’s a tabletop, right?” he asked, glancing at her over his shoulder.

His gaze dipped briefly below her neck and she crossed her arms over her braless breasts.

“Yes. A side table. I found it at a secondhand shop.”

“And this round thing at the top is a flower, right?”

“A daisy.”

“And this is a rose. And that’s a daffodil,” he said.

They were pretty good guesses considering how un-rose-and un-daffodil-like her representations were. She was well aware that they looked more like clumps of ceramic confetti than anything else.

“That’s right.”

“It’s good—”

“Don’t. Don’t lie and tell me it’s good. It’s terrible. I know it’s terrible. That’s why I don’t show my mosaics to anyone. It doesn’t matter if they’re terrible or not when I’m the only one who sees them. So you don’t need to butter me up by saying something nice when we both know it’s not true.”

Ethan’s mouth curled up at the corner. “Are you finished?”

She let her breath out, aware she’d overreacted a little. “Yes.”

“I was going to say it’s good you put a cloth down because your glue’s leaking.”

“Oh. Right.”

She joined him at the table and saw that the tube of tile adhesive was adrift in a sea of ooze.

“Damn.”

“Where do you keep your paper towel?” he asked.

“Under the sink.”

She shifted her tray of tiles and her tool kit to the floor, then lifted the half-finished tabletop and leaned it against the wall. When she turned around again Ethan was wiping the adhesive off her drop sheet with a wad of paper.

“Thanks,” she said. “And sorry about the rant.”

Ethan handed her the wad of paper towel. “It was a pretty good one, as rants go. And for the record, the tabletop isn’t that bad.”

She gave him a look. “It’s not that good, either.”

He grinned. “True. But it didn’t make me want to poke out my eyes, so there’s something to be said for that.”

Sometimes she forgot how completely devastating he could be when he smiled. She swallowed, the sound audible.

“I’ll get some plates. And I need to wash my hands…”

“Point me in the right direction and I’ll serve while you go clean up.”

She was quick to take him up on the offer, scuttling off to her bedroom at the speed of light. She degummed her hands in record time, then scrambled into underwear and a T-shirt and jeans.

She had no idea why Ethan was here, or why he’d brought her dinner, of all things. Their baby bargain was over. There was no reason for him to be here.

Unless he felt sorry for her?

She was brushing her hair when the thought occurred and she stilled with the brush midstroke.

Was that why he was here? Because he was worried poor childless Alex would lose it without close supervision? Had he imagined her huddled on the couch, elbow-deep in a bucket of ice cream and ridden to the rescue, the way he had so many times since this all started?

She threw her brush onto the bed. If that was the case, if she detected even a whiff of pity coming off of him, she was going to tell him in no uncertain terms what he could do with his chicken and all the trimmings.

And if it wasn’t the case… She had no idea why he was here. Hadn’t they said everything they needed to say to each other this morning? And weren’t they going to see each other tomorrow at work?

There was one other reason he could be here, of course. But he’d made his feelings about settling down pretty clear—as had she. Only a very silly woman would allow herself to buy into the fantasy that he’d somehow had a change of heart since getting to know her.

He was pulling a plastic tub of gravy out of her microwave when she returned to the kitchen. His gaze raked her from head to toe but he didn’t say anything about her quick-change routine.

“I couldn’t find your bottle opener,” he said.

She crossed to the fridge and pulled one of her own bottles from the built-in wine rack.

“Let’s drink one of mine. It’s the least I can do, since you’ve supplied the meal.”

“Your call.”

She busied herself with opening the bottle and getting out wineglasses. Then she joined him at the kitchen table. Her plate was heaped with food, all of which looked ridiculously good. She slid his wine across the table and watched as his long fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass.

“Thanks.” He smiled faintly and it hit her that the last man who’d sat at this table and eaten a meal with her was Jacob.

“Why are you here?” She hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but she needed to know.

Ethan was slicing his chicken but he put down his knife and fork and looked at her. “I felt like crap and I figured you might, too. So I thought I’d bribe my way through the door with chicken.”

She frowned. “You didn’t need to bribe your way in.”

“Didn’t I?” His blue eyes were searching.

“No. You’re disappointed, aren’t you?”

She’d let him down. Led him on a merry dance then left him gasping like a landed fish.

“Of course. Aren’t you? If we were both a little more ruthless, we might have been shopping for a home pregnancy test in a few weeks’ time.”

“No, we wouldn’t. I’ve already got one. A double pack, just to make sure.”

“Exactly my point. We invested a lot of time and energy in this.”

She looked down at her plate, away from the sadness in his face. He felt the same way she did. And he’d sought her out to both give and take comfort.

“You’re a nice man, Ethan Stone,” she said quietly, glancing up at him again.

“Let’s not get too carried away.”

Good advice, Alex. Listen to the man.

He deliberately changed the subject then and they talked about work and the day’s political news. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was simply Ethan, with his easy charm and distracting wit, but by the time they were pushing aside their plates she was feeling decidedly more mellow.

She was glad he’d come. A dangerous admission to make, even to herself, but it was true.

They moved to the living room after she’d cleared the table and she raided her chocolate-cookie stash for dessert while Ethan opened the second bottle of wine. She found him examining her teapot collection when she returned to the living room with a plateful of Tim Tams and other indulgences.

“This is my favorite, I think. Although the one shaped like a cat is pretty damned cool,” he said.

“The cabbage was a lucky find. But that cat… I nearly broke an old lady’s arm to get that teapot.”

“Excellent. Tell me everything.” He rubbed his hands together with exaggerated anticipation.

So she told him how she’d spotted the teapot at the same time as a purple-haired old lady at a yard sale and how they’d both reached for it at the same time but she’d been a trifle faster off the mark and the old lady had lunged across the table at her and refused to let go until the woman running the sale had to step in to adjudicate.

Ethan was wiping tears from his eyes by the time she’d finished. She’d always loved making him laugh but tonight it felt like a special achievement.

“Alex. That’s priceless. A million other women would have bowed to her brittle bones and handed the damned thing over but not you.”

“Old people are just normal people with more wrinkles. Why should they be granted a get-out-of-jail-free cards on things like courtesy and finders keepers? Besides, it turned out she thought it was a dog, not a cat. When she put her glasses on she was more than happy to let it go.”

She had her feet curled up beside her on the couch and had been rubbing her arches absently throughout her story. Ethan slid his wineglass onto the coffee table in front of him, then stood and crossed to sit on the end of her couch.

“Come on. Give them here,” he said.

It took her a moment to understand what he intended.

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“I give a mean foot massage, Alex. It’s about the only thing Cassie and I could ever agree on.” He held up his thumbs and wiggled them in the air. “Magic thumbs.”

She shook her head again. No way was she lying on her couch while Ethan rubbed her feet. It was way, way too intimate.

“I’m really ticklish. I’ll only wind up giggling like an idiot.”

“Clearly you’ve only had substandard massages in the past. Come on.”

She started to object again but he simply circled her right ankle with one of his big hands and pulled her foot into his lap.

“Hey!”

“Shut up and take your medicine.”

He started rubbing her foot then and it felt so good that even though she knew she should pull free and maybe even send him home before she forgot that tonight was about mutual sympathy and not…anything else, she subsided back onto the cushions and closed her eyes.

“Not ticklish?” he asked after a minute or so.

She cracked an eyelid. He was looking very pleased with himself.

“Strong thumbs, my backside,” she muttered.

He laughed, the sound very low, and she closed her eyes again and didn’t even try to suppress her own smile. And she didn’t resist fifteen minutes later when he switched to her left foot, rubbing the tension from her arches and making her wish she had a third and even a fourth foot to offer him so she could prolong the experience.

Twenty minutes later it occurred to her that Ethan had stopped the massage a while ago and she opened her eyes to find him collecting his car keys from the coffee table.

“That was sneaky,” she said drowsily. “I didn’t even feel you move.”

“I took origami lessons when I was a kid.”

She was so out of it it took her a moment to understand he was joking. “Origami. Funny.”

“I thought so.”

She started to sit up.

“Stay where you are. I’ll see myself out.”

“I can’t let you cook me dinner then rub my feet for hours on end and not see you out.”

“Yes, you can. Stay where you are. That’s an order.”

He’d crossed to the couch to stand over her and she stared up at him mutinously.

“If I’m supposed to be intimidated by the looming-over-me thing, you can think again.”

She stood, only realizing when she did so that it meant they were standing chest to chest, only a few inches between them.

“I won’t ask if anyone has ever told you you’re a pain in the ass. You’ll only take it as a compliment,” Ethan said.

She tried to take a step backward, but the couch was against her heels and she lost her balance. His hand closed around her upper arm to stop her fall. He was smiling, clearly amused by her.

“Idiot,” he said.

Then he lowered his head and kissed her once, very hard, on the mouth.

He looked as surprised as she was when he lifted his head. For a moment they stared at each other, then Ethan’s gaze slid to her mouth again.

“Alex,” he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.

He lowered his head again. This time his lips were gentle on hers, the pressure more a question than an expression of frustration. For a moment they stood locked together, neither of them moving, joined only by their mouths and his hand on her arm. Then she parted her lips the tiniest fraction. The merest hint of an invitation. He sighed and slid his hand to the nape of her neck and opened his mouth over hers.

He tasted of chocolate and wine, and she made an approving, needy sound as his tongue stroked hers. Her hands reached blindly for him, finding his broad shoulders, pulling him closer. And then, somehow, they were on the couch, Ethan’s big body on top of hers, his hands gliding over her as their kiss became more and more intense. She whimpered as his hand cupped first one breast then the other, his thumb sliding over and over each nipple in turn until they were both hard and eager and she was quivering beneath him.

It had been eighteen months since she’d felt a man’s weight on top of her and she’d spent the better part of the past month living in the pocket of one of the sexiest men she’d ever known. So maybe it wasn’t any wonder that she was on fire for him now. She’d always found him attractive. Always. She’d noticed his powerful body, she’d eyed his mouth and long fingers and imagined… And now he was kissing her and his hand was sliding beneath her top, pushing her bra out of the way, and he was breaking their kiss to lower his head to take her nipple into his mouth.

She clutched at his shoulders as the wet heat of his mouth engulfed her. It felt so good. He felt so good.

She arched her back, offering him her other breast, sliding her fingers into his hair when he turned his head and pulled her nipple into his mouth.

Somewhere, in a very dark, distant corner of her mind a warning knell sounded. This was Ethan. A fellow partner. And, more than that, her friend. A friend who had made his feelings about relationships painfully clear.

She knew she should push him away and call a halt, but she wasn’t even close to being strong enough to deny the need thrumming through her body. She’d wanted him for so long.

She parted her legs and lifted her hips and Ethan didn’t need to be asked twice to take up her silent invitation. His hips pressed into the cradle of her thighs and she wrapped her legs around his waist and rubbed herself against the hard length of him.

“Alex,” Ethan said again, pressing his erection against her where she needed it the most.

She circled her hips, willing two layers of denim to oblivion but unwilling to lose the delicious pressure of his hips against hers for the short time it would take to get undressed.

They kissed and caressed and rubbed against each other for long minutes. Alex was so turned on, so achingly ready for him that it almost hurt. She was the one who reached for the stud on his jeans, and she was the one who slid her hand beneath the soft cotton of his boxer briefs to find the hard, resilient shaft of his erection. He shuddered as she wrapped her hand around him and stroked her hand up and down his length. She felt him fumble at the stud on her jeans and she forgot to breathe as his palm slid over her belly and down, down, until his fingers were delving between her thighs.

He stroked her while she stroked him, their mouths locked in a searching, never-ending kiss. She was seconds away from her first heavy-petting-on-the-couch climax in years when Ethan broke their kiss and rested his forehead against hers.

“Alex. I need—”

“Yes,” she said, already starting to peel her jeans down over her hips.

His weight left her for a brief moment as they both shed their jeans, then she heard the small, significant crackle of a foil pack before Ethan was on top of her again, his bare legs warm and slightly rough against her own as they tangled together on the couch. He ran his hand down the side of her hip, wrapped his fingers around the outside of her left thigh and lifted her leg up and to the side. She felt the firm probe of his erection at her entrance and she lifted her hips in welcome. Then he was inside her and there was nothing in the world except for the exquisite friction of his body moving within hers.

They rocked together, neither saying a word. Alex held her breath and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, chasing the licks of pleasure racing through her body. Ethan pressed his face into her neck and opened his mouth against her skin, sucking and licking as his thrusts became more and more urgent. One of his hands teased her breasts, the other gripped her hip, his fingers pressing into her flesh.

He shifted position. So close. So close.

She caught her breath, arched her back. And then she was there. Her hands clutched at his backside, holding him high and still inside her as she lost herself for a few precious seconds. Only when the waves of pleasure had passed and she’d relaxed her grip did he begin to move again, his thrusts deep and powerful. She felt the tension spike in him. Then he pressed his cheek against hers and shuddered out his own climax, the stubble of his whiskers a welcome roughness against her skin.

Neither of them said anything in the immediate aftermath. Ethan kept his face pressed into the curve of her neck. She stared at the ceiling over his shoulder. Where before there had been nothing but him and her and the maddening, crazy-making feel of his body against hers, she was suddenly aware of the fact that a couch button was jabbing into her backside and that they were both breathing hard and that her bra was pushed uncomfortably up around her armpits.

She was also hugely, painfully aware that what had happened between them had the potential to change everything. She didn’t do casual sex—never had—and she had no plans to start now. But this was Ethan. Her friend and colleague—and the most commitment-shy man she knew.

Unless…

Don’t. Don’t go there. You know Ethan. You know what he wants—and it isn’t this.

But it was too late. Hope was already unfolding inside her.

She was a smart woman. She knew Ethan was a bad bet. Whatever had gone on within his marriage had wounded him, badly. But she liked him. She liked him a lot. And right now they were lying skin to skin on her couch. He was still inside her. She knew he liked her. He’d cooked her dinner and brought it to her house and shown her in a hundred different ways over the course of their friendship that he admired and respected her.

Was it so crazy to imagine that maybe this could be the beginning of something and not just a really, really inappropriate outlet for weeks of tension and expectation?

Ethan lifted his head. They looked into each other’s eyes. His expression was unreadable.

Which said something in and of itself, didn’t it?

“I’m too heavy,” Ethan said quietly, and she felt the loss as he withdrew from her and rolled to one side.

She watched silently as he stood, his body supremely sexy despite the fact that he was still wearing his shirt and socks. She glanced at his retreating backside—perfect, like the rest of him—as he went to the bathroom to dispose of the condom, then she sat up and pushed her hair from her forehead.

She stared blankly at the wall for a beat, her brain not quite up to speed yet, her body still warm and flushed from his touch. Then she heard the sound of his footfall in the hall and realized she should have used his absence to get dressed instead of sitting in a postcoital daze.

She pulled the jumbled tangle of her jeans into her lap in a belated attempt at modesty as he entered the living room. She didn’t look at him for a moment as he sat beside her on the couch. Then, after a few long, tense seconds, she slid a glance his way out of the corners of her eyes.

He was watching her, a small smile on his mouth, concern in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, reaching out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.

She nodded. “Yes. You?”

“Yeah.”

They were both silent for a long moment.

“That was probably a mistake, huh?” she said. It wasn’t what she wanted to ask. But she wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t going to make this any more uncomfortable than it already was.

“Depends on your definition. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. A lot. And that I hadn’t thought about us being together like this.”

She looked at him sharply. Was he saying that even before they’d been considering becoming parents together he’d been attracted to her?

“I thought you saw me as your work buddy.”

“No.”

“So why didn’t you ever…?”

“Because I knew that it couldn’t go anywhere. And I didn’t want to hurt you.”

It was exactly what she’d been telling herself—he’d been crystal clear about his determination to remain single, after all—but it still felt like a slap in the face.

Suddenly it seemed wrong to be sitting half naked in front of him. Way too vulnerable. She fished her tangled panties from the leg of her jeans and stood, pulling her panties on. Then she dragged her jeans up her legs. After a moment’s hesitation, Ethan followed suit.

Only when they were both fully dressed, flies zipped and studs buttoned, did she look at him again.

“For the record, you haven’t hurt me,” she said. “I knew the score. But this wasn’t exactly something I’d planned on happening.”

“Me, either. But the past few weeks have been pretty full-on.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe it was inevitable. With all the donor stuff, all the time we’ve been spending together…”

“Yes.”

She glanced around her apartment. She didn’t know what else to say to him. There wasn’t much more to say, when it came down to it. They’d both agreed that it had been a mistake to cross the line and sleep with each other.

She wanted him to go, she realized. They’d made their mistake, now she wanted to shower and go to bed and clear her head for tomorrow. She wanted to be alone.

“I’ll help you clean up.” He started gathering glasses and plates.

“Don’t. I’ll do it in the morning.”

He ignored her, taking the plates into the kitchen. When she heard him clattering around in there she went after him.

“Leave it. Please,” she said.

He was running water into the sink but he flicked the tap off. They stared at each other across her counter.

“I’m going to be really pissed with myself if this has messed things up between us, Alex. That’s the last thing I want,” Ethan said. “I’d hate to think we’d trashed a good friendship for the sake of one bout of crazy-monkey-couch-sex.”

He was trying to make her laugh and she rewarded him with a small smile.

“It’s been a big day. And this was kind of the cherry on top.”

“Yeah. I know.”

He ran a hand through his hair, then sighed deeply. “Okay, then, I’ll bugger off.”

She tried not to look too relieved but she suspected he knew she couldn’t wait to close the door on him.

Well, tough. She was entitled to her reaction. Maybe this sort of thing happened to him all the time, but it was new territory for her.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said at the front door.

Ethan looked down at her, his eyes very dark blue and very serious. “I meant what I said, Alex. Your friendship means a lot to me.”

“Yours, too. To me, I mean.”

He nodded. He hesitated, then he leaned forward and kissed her briefly on the lips.

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

She closed the door on him and stood very still for a long moment. It occurred to her that if they hadn’t used a condom tonight, they might have become parents today after all. But they had. And she’d already decided she didn’t want a child at any cost. She wanted a partner, and a child born of love. A fantasy, perhaps. But she thought it was worth holding out for.

She walked into the living room. The couch sat like a velvet reproach in the middle of the room. She flicked off the light.

She’d brooded enough today. She and Ethan had taken a misstep tonight. That was all it was. She wasn’t any better or worse off as a result of it, and neither was he. And even if things were awkward between them for a few weeks, there was no reason why they couldn’t put this behind them. They were both intelligent adults, after all.

It would be so much better—so much easier—if she could believe her own spin. The truth, painful and embarrassing as it was to admit, was that she had always wanted Ethan as more than a friend. She’d known it was stupid and had pushed her desire and attraction and admiration into a corner and ignored it, but it had still been there and now she knew what it was like to be Ethan’s lover…

He’s not looking for a relationship, Alex. You know this. Don’t set yourself up for a fall.

She’d always been sensible. All her life she’d relied on a strong streak of pragmatism to get her through. Ethan was a bad bet. As long as she kept that fact top of mind, she’d be okay.

She would.

Thoroughly sick of herself, she went to bed.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ALEX HAD TASTED LIKE spiced wine and her skin had been warm and smooth and soft. Her breasts… Ethan had always wondered about her breasts. And now he knew. They were full, with small pale pink nipples that puckered up prettily in his mouth and beneath his hands.

Ethan rolled onto his back and punched his pillow into a new shape for the tenth time tonight. He’d been trying to get to sleep for over two hours. He’d come home full of regret, kicking himself for having stepped over the line with Alex, blaming himself for not having enough self-control to catch himself before he’d dropped that single, hard kiss onto her mouth and for not being able to resist the unspoken question in her eyes when she’d looked up at him.

And here he was, lying in bed, unable to banish the memories of those moments on the couch from his mind.

Guilt and desire. A great combo. A perfect antidote for sleep.

Put it out of your mind. It was a one-off. You can’t go there again. There’s no point thinking about it.

Great advice. If only he could stop thinking about the tight clench of her body around his. And the fierceness of her kisses. And the way she’d gasped and held him still inside herself as she’d come, her body bowing off the couch.

He’d denied himself where she was concerned for so long. Kept her at arm’s length. Made her his friend instead of his lover because he’d always known she wanted more from a man than he was prepared to give.

And still he’d slept with her.

He threw back the quilt and rolled out of bed. He was driving himself nuts, going over and over the same ground. He went into the bathroom and ransacked the drawers and various storage baskets beneath the sink until he found a blister pack of sleeping pills left over from his last international trip. He swallowed one then returned to bed to wait for it to kick in.

He should have stayed away from her. He should never have gone over to her place. If he’d hurt her…

He’d make it up to her. He’d do whatever it took to ensure Alex was happy. Because he wanted her to be happy more than anything.

He arrived at work early the next morning. He dumped his briefcase and coat and made his way to her office. He didn’t know what he was going to say to her. He simply wanted to see her. For a few precious minutes last night, they’d been as close as two people could get. He wanted to see her.

She was frowning at a document on her desk when he arrived in her doorway, kneading her brow with her fingertips. She looked tired. As though she’d had as much trouble sleeping as he had.

You did that. You took what you wanted then bailed and you made it impossible for her to sleep.

But she’d wanted him to go. He’d offered to help clean up, but she’d practically ordered him out the door.

“Alex.”

Her head came up. Her brown eyes were guarded as she looked at him. “Hi.”

“You’re in early.”

“Usually am.”

“Yeah.” He’d run out of pleasantries, and all the things he wanted to say were impossible. The silence stretched.

“Um, did you want something?” she asked after a few taut seconds. “Because I’ve got a lot going on.” She indicated the paperwork piled high in her in-tray.

“Just checking in,” he said stupidly.

“Well, I’m fine. Don’t worry, Ethan. I didn’t spend the night embroidering your initials on a handkerchief or anything. I’m a big girl.”

She gave him a smile that didn’t come even close to her eyes. He’d never felt more distant from her.

You’re an idiot. You’ve screwed everything up. You should have kept your freaking hands to yourself. “Alex…I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “You don’t need to apologize to me. It takes two to tango, remember? And I did my share of dancing last night.”

He wasn’t apologizing for the sex. He didn’t know how to articulate his regret. She deserved more. He wanted her to have more, but he didn’t have it in him to give.

He searched his mind for the one magical thing he could say that would make everything all right between them again. But he couldn’t turn back time. He couldn’t undo the moment when they’d crossed the line irrevocably from friends to lovers.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” he said.

“Thanks. I’ll see you at the software meeting this afternoon.”

“Right.”

He lifted his hand in farewell and returned to his office. He stopped twice, wanting to go to Alex and have a real conversation with her. Both times he forced himself to keep walking.

He’d been playing house with her for the past few weeks. Pretending to himself that he could have the trappings of a relationship without the commitment and the accompanying risks. Alex wasn’t a game. She was one of the finest women he knew. She deserved better. She certainly deserved better than his friendship.

ONLY WHEN ALEX WAS certain Ethan was gone did Alex let out the breath she’d been holding.

She was proud of herself. She really was. The way she’d held his eye and calmly told him she was a big girl and that she’d done her share of dancing. No way could Ethan have known that she’d barely had a wink of sleep and that when she’d heard his voice this morning her whole body had tensed.

She’d thought she had it covered—that was the worst thing about all of this. She’d thought that she, tough-cookie, no-bull Alex Knight was immune to Ethan’s potent mix of good looks and charm. He might be gorgeous and smart and sexy and funny and kind and generous but she was a survivor. She was too smart to set her sights on him.

Then he’d kissed her and all her lies to herself had been revealed for the tissue-thin excuses they were.

She liked Ethan. A lot. As more than a friend. She wanted him to like her, too. She wanted him to do more than like her. She wanted him to—

She pushed her chair away from her desk.

She’d already made a deal with herself not to dwell on it. She didn’t have time to do the whole unrequited thing. If she was going to have a chance of having the family she wanted, she needed to throw herself into the dating scene, and she needed to do it wholeheartedly. Wholeheartedly.

She was busy all morning, then she braced herself to spend the afternoon stuck in a small meeting room with Ethan and a handful of other people.

She told herself it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it might be, sitting opposite him for three hours, listening to his voice, meeting his gaze, laughing at his jokes. She kept her mind on the discussion—only once did it stray, and then only for a few seconds when Ethan raked his hand through his hair and she was reminded of how it had looked last night as he was lying on top of her, pressing her into the couch, stroking in and out of her…

She’d felt herself flushing, the heat rising up her body. She made an excuse to leave the meeting for a few minutes and didn’t come back until she knew she could look him in the eye and not betray herself.

Later that night she made a very pragmatic, very ruthless decision. She needed to stop lying to herself and confront her own reality. If she wasn’t very careful, she was going to slip all of the way into love with Ethan Stone. And that would be a bad, bad thing for a woman in her position. A woman who still held out hope of finding a man to love and have a family with.

Ethan was not that man. All her instincts told her that. He’d told her that, both covertly and overtly.

So. She needed to move on.

Which was why she took a deep breath after dinner and sat at the computer and composed a profile for herself to upload to three of the most popular online dating sites. She chose a picture of herself in a tank top and hiking shorts, looking fit and tanned and happy, and she described herself as smart and funny and looking for a committed relationship. She wrote off the top of her head, and once it was done she posted it straight away, no second-guessing herself.

Like she’d said, moving on.

She did some work she’d brought home, then she watched a couple of episodes of Jon Stewart’s The Daily Show that she’d saved. Just before bedtime, she gave in to curiosity and checked her profiles.

It was early days yet, and she probably didn’t have any responses. But if she did, it would be really good to be able to go to bed and think about something other than Ethan.

Ethan smiling. Ethan teasing. Ethan laughing with his nephews. Ethan whispering her name as he made love to her. Ethan standing in her office doorway this morning, his eyes full of questions.

One response would be fine. Just one to get the ball rolling.

To give her options.

She blinked when she saw the double digit next to her profile at the first site. Eleven. She’d had eleven hits in a couple of hours. Wow.

She checked the others. Four at the other site, six at the last one.

How about that. Clearly there were more single men in Melbourne than she thought.

She started working her way through the responses. The first guy looked to be in his fifties, although he gave his age as early forties. Stress could age people, she knew, and he claimed to own his own small business, but she was aware that many people doctored their ages and photos. Plus he had the overdeveloped neck and arms of a man who spent far too much time in the gym. She read his personal statement. He said he was looking for someone young and fun who wasn’t afraid to “get adventurous.”

Next.

Contender number two was wearing a three-piece suit and posing in front of his Ferrari. She ignored all the unkind penis-compensation jokes that popped into her mind and read his profile. HotKarMan was looking for someone who enjoyed the finer things in life. He’d been married three times and had five children. And he was only thirty-five.

Next.

By the time she got to contender number nine, she was slumped in her chair. It was undeniably depressing to realize that the vast majority of men believed that women were more focused on a man’s bank balance and the size of his penis than they were on who he was and what he wanted in life and what he believed in—at least that was the only conclusion she could draw from the profiles she’d received. She’d never seen so many veiled references to equipment and machinery in her life.

There has to be one decent guy in amongst all these men. Please.

She clicked on profile number ten and read the introductory paragraph. SoloDoc was, not surprisingly, a doctor. He’d been married once, was in his late thirties and was looking for a woman to share his life. She sat a little straighter and leaned toward the screen.

He liked hiking, bike riding and reading biographies. Musically, he favored U2 and Coldplay. He liked to travel. And he’d ticked the box that said he had no problem with prospective matches having children.

She looked at his photograph. He had a slim build and a long face with slightly receding hair. His eyes were kind and intelligent. He was attractive, in a studious way.

She didn’t give herself time to waver. She hit the respond button and typed in a quick greeting. Then she sent it and turned off her computer.

There. She’d done the smart thing. The practical, pragmatic, self-preserving thing.

And maybe one day soon she would be able to look back on the past few intense weeks with Ethan and think fondly of him as a good friend instead of feeling a heavy ache in her chest.

Because she was feeling low she ran herself a bath, even though she knew that the Green lobby would probably string her up if they could see her wasting so much water. She lowered herself into frangipani-scented bubbles and let out a deep sigh.

She felt as though she’d been to the moon and back. So many ups and down. So much hope and disappointment.

She slid deeper into the bath until she was completely submerged. She held her breath for as long as she could, listening to the thud of her heart.

If she could have just one wish…

But it would take more than one wish to right her world.

She pushed her feet against the end of the bath and broke the surface.

Wishes never came true, anyway.

“ETHAN. WAIT UP.”

Ethan had just exited the building but he stopped and pivoted on his heel, waiting for Alex to catch up. It had been a full week since they’d crossed the line. She was wearing her navy pinstripe suit and her red pumps. Her hair blew across her face and she tucked a strand behind her ear as she stopped in front of him. She looked good. She looked great. As always.

“Have you got a second?” she asked.

He’d been ducking out to pick up a book he’d ordered but he had fifteen minutes before his next client arrived.

“Sure. What’s up?”

Pedestrians streamed around them on busy Collins Street. Alex started to speak but was jostled as two banker-types pushed their way past.

“Watch yourselves,” Ethan called after them, grabbing Alex’s elbow and steering her out of the main flow to where there was less competition per square foot of pavement.

She smiled faintly. “There you go with the manhandling thing again.”

He let her elbow go. “Sorry.”

A few weeks ago he’d have fired something in response, but the ease had gone out of their relationship since that night on Alex’s couch. It had changed things, as he’d known it would.

Shouldn’t have slept with her, moron.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I need to cancel our game next week,” she said.

Maybe he should have been expecting it, but he wasn’t. In over a year, he and Alex had only missed one Tuesday night, and that was because they’d both been attending a firm function.

“Sure. You want to reschedule for later in the week or skip it altogether?” he asked casually.

What he really wanted to ask was what she was doing, and who she was doing it with. But he didn’t have the right to ask her those kind of things. Now more than ever.

“We could reschedule for Wednesday night, if that suits? Otherwise it’ll have to be a skip—we’ve got the Heart Foundation fundraiser on Monday night, and the rest of the week is looking pretty solid for me, too.”

“Wednesday it is, then.” He’d have to reschedule the drink he’d organized with an old friend, but she didn’t need to know that. “You out there painting the town red, slowpoke?”

He tried to make it sound as though he didn’t give a damn what she did with her spare time.

“Not really. Anyway, I don’t want to hold you up. You looked like you were going somewhere.”

“Yeah.”

She smiled her goodbye and he watched her walk away. He’d always admired the way she held herself, as though she was ready to take on all comers.

“Alex.”

She turned, eyebrows raised.

“You got a hot date or something?” he asked. He hadn’t meant to. But he needed to know.

She hesitated a second, then nodded. “Yeah. Although I’m not sure how hot it is.”

She pulled a comic face, then gave him a little finger wave and turned away.

He hadn’t expected her to say yes. He’d thought she’d tell him it was a client dinner or some other work obligation.

But she’d met someone.

And she was going on a date.

He turned blindly into the crowd and started walking, trying to ignore the Lord-of-the-Flies screaming in the back of his head.

He didn’t want Alex dating other men. The knowledge was an acid-burn in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want her seeing anyone. He wanted… He didn’t know what he wanted.

Liar.

He stepped out onto the road and a tram bell rang, jerking him to awareness. He returned to the sidewalk and waited for the light to change.

He had no claim on her. No claim on her at all. He had no right to any of the feelings churning in his gut right now.

So you’re just going to let her walk away?

Yeah, I am.

He walked until he found himself in open space—the gardens beside Parliament House on Spring Street. He kicked at the grass and looked at the sky and paced.

Go to her. Tell her how you feel. Tell her…

What? That he found her compelling and beautiful and brave and that he wanted to sleep with her and spend time with her—but that he wanted to do it all with no strings, no commitment, no promises that either of them would one day feel compelled to break?

Oh, yeah. She’d really go for that.

It occurred to him that Derek would be delighted to see him pacing in the park like this, muttering to himself like a madman over a woman. Over Alex.

He sat on the steps to Parliament House and rested his head in his hands. He was going to lose Alex. If he sat back and said or did nothing, he was going to lose her. There was no doubt in his mind that it was going to happen, sooner or later. She was amazing, and the first guy who took the time to recognize that would snap her up.

Unless…

He knew what she wanted—a commitment. A relationship. Marriage. Children. The whole box and dice. If he offered that to her, if he took the plunge…

Something tight and hard squeezed his gut. What if he was wrong about her? What if he got it wrong again?

He shot to his feet and looked up and down the street. He couldn’t do it. He simply couldn’t do it.

His phone buzzed and he saw it was his assistant. He opened the message. She was texting to let him know his two o’clock meeting had arrived.

He headed back to the office.

So you’re just going to let her walk away?

Yeah, I am.

DANIEL LOWE—SoloDoc—had a good sense of humor. Alex knew this because he’d sent her a couple of very clever cartoons over the past week, both of which had appealed to her sense of the ridiculous. He’d also called her twice—the first to ask her if she felt ready to meet after their exchange of emails and phone conversations, the second to confirm his booking at one of Melbourne’s most lauded restaurants.

He seemed like a nice man. His voice over the phone was a pleasing baritone, and he asked lots of questions and seemed genuinely interested in her and her work. He was a gastroenterologist, which meant he generally didn’t have crazy on-call hours. He owned his home, had been divorced for four years and was completely frank about looking for another relationship.

“I know it’d probably get me kicked out of the boys club if it got out, but I like being part of a couple,” he’d said during their second phone call.

Returning to her desk after talking to Ethan in the street, Alex circled next Tuesday in her diary. Today was Thursday, so she had two nights and the weekend to find something new to wear on her date. More than enough time.

She frowned, tracing the circle she’d made over and over until the pen created a furrow in the paper and threatened to break through to the next page.

Ethan hadn’t so much as blinked when she’d told him she was canceling their racquetball game. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting from him. Annoyance, at the very least, at the inconvenience? Some reaction to the fact that she was throwing him over, abandoning their regular plans so she could go out with another man?

This, my friend, is exactly why you need to go out with Daniel Lowe on Tuesday night.

She threw her pen down. Her sensible self was right. She had to put Ethan out of her mind—really put him out of her mind, not just tell herself she was then secretly hope that he’d turn green and burst out of his clothes when he realized she was going out with someone else. Ethan had made his feelings about committed relationships—and her—painfully clear.

You don’t have time for this, Alex.

She didn’t. She was thirty-eight. In a few months she would be thirty-nine. She didn’t have time to fall for the wrong man.

She went shopping that night, determined to find something that would knock Daniel Lowe’s surgical slippers off. All part of the moving-on strategy—keep walking, never look back.

She returned home empty-handed. Ditto the following evening. Even though she had work that had flowed over into the weekend, as usual, she played hooky and went shopping again on Saturday afternoon.

She’d discarded half a dozen cocktail dresses and several mix-and-match options when she spotted an evening dress in a small designer boutique in one of the many bluestone cobbled laneways hidden in Melbourne’s city center. It was nearly five o’clock and the shops were preparing to close for the day and she didn’t have her perfect first-date outfit and should really keep moving….

She crossed to the dress and fingered the soft, sensuous silk knit and turned the price tag over to check if it was within her budget. She’d planned on wearing something tried and true from her wardrobe for the Heart Foundation fundraiser, but this dress was black and slinky, with a cowl neck and a low back decorated with tiny jet beads. The skirt was full-length and when she gave in and tried it on it swished around her feet when she walked back and forth in front of the mirror. She paired it mentally with her jet-bead necklace and earrings and black stiletto heels and reached for her credit card.

Most of the shutters were down on the shops by the time the saleswoman had wrapped her dress in tissue paper and slipped it into a glossy bag. Alex told herself she’d find time tomorrow to buy something for her date.

Sunday was a write-off, however. She woke to find rain slashing her windows and an urgent deal memo in her in-box for one of her clients. By the time she’d ironed out the creases it was past three. She did some mental math. By the time she’d showered and gotten herself to the shops it would be past four and she’d be racing from rack to rack in a panic.

She’d simply have to wear something from her wardrobe. Her black silk pants would look great with her red crossover top, or there was always her little black dress, a wardrobe staple that had saved her bacon on many an occasion.

She left work early the following day to have her hair cut and colored. She showered when she got home, careful to keep her hair out of the spray, then pulled on her new dress. It looked every bit as good as it had in the store and she twirled in front of the mirror. Wait until Ethan saw her in this.

She stilled and stared at her reflection.

Ethan. That was what this dress and the hairdresser and her careful underwear selection were all about? Ethan?

The answer was in her eyes. She turned her back on herself.

“You’re a fool, Alex Knight.”

So much for moving on.

The smart thing to do would be to drag the dress off and spend the night in front of the TV before she dug an even deeper hole for herself. But canceling was out of the question. Half the other partners would be at the fundraiser, along with a number of her clients. She had to go.

She rolled on black stay-up stockings with resigned determination, sprayed herself with her favorite Dolce and Gabbana scent and slipped some cash, her lipstick and powder and her house keys into her evening bag.

Only then did she check the mirror again. She looked good. But it didn’t matter. The best dress in the world wasn’t going to make Ethan the kind of man who believed in the same things she did. In a movie, maybe. Real life didn’t work like that.

Her taxi dropped her outside the National Gallery on St. Kilda Road right on seven o’clock. She slid from the cab and took a moment to straighten her skirt before making her way into the building. A security guard checked her name off a list, then a waiter offered her a glass of champagne as she made her way along a red carpet toward the hall where the function was being held.

She took a mouthful of her champagne, savoring the dry, yeasty tang—then glanced up and locked eyes with Ethan.

Her hand tightened on the glass. He looked…incredible. He always showed to advantage in a suit, but in black tie he was devastating. Maybe it was the contrast of the white shirt against his olive-toned skin. Or perhaps it was the way the monochrome tones made his blue eyes seem even more vivid than usual.

She was aware of his gaze traveling from her face down her body to her feet then up again.

“Alex. You look amazing,” he said.

She could see the admiration in his eyes. He wasn’t faking it. The dress had done the trick. On some level, he wanted her.

Never had a victory felt so hollow.

She forced a smile and reached up to dust some nonexistent lint off his lapel.

“You look like a mess, as usual,” she said.

It was the sort of thing she’d normally do. The sort of thing she’d normally say.

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Nice.”

“How many marriage proposals have you had so far? Or proposals, full stop?” she asked.

She took a big swallow from her champagne. Her chest was aching. She let her gaze slide over his shoulder, as though she didn’t care that he was standing so close. As though she wasn’t aware of every single little thing about him.

“You’re hilarious,” he said.

“You realize that it’s my duty to the rest of the women present to spill something on you at the first opportunity, don’t you? Just to protect them from themselves.”

“Stain my Armani and you’ll suffer the consequences.”

She’d run out of banter. For a moment she floundered, then she saw the wife of one of the partners standing with a group inside the hall.

“Look, there’s Joan. I’d better go say hello.” She didn’t give him a chance to respond as she walked away from him.

She did her best to avoid him during the standing-around, drinks-and-canapés stage of the evening, keeping a watch out of the corners of her eyes and moving on whenever she saw him approaching. She couldn’t do anything about the fact that they were seated at the same table at dinner, however, since the seating had been preordained by one of the senior partners’ wives. Thank heaven for small mercies, Ethan was three people to her left and she didn’t have to endure the torture of sitting next to him all evening, but she was nonetheless intensely aware of everything he did and said. She knew that he asked for a cabernet instead of a chardonnay to drink with his main. She heard him discussing a recent High Court finding with Keith Lancaster on his left. If she turned her head she could see his long, elegant hands, busy with cutlery and his wineglass and describing his words in the air.

She had no recall of what she said to either Gideon Lambert on her left or Sammy Master’s wife on her right through the starter and main course, but neither of them seemed to notice anything amiss. She managed to choke down half her poached chicken with baby vegetables, and for once she allowed herself to break her one-drink-only rule for work functions. By the time dessert rolled around she was feeling numb around the edges. Not the worst way to be, considering the revelations of the evening.

The waiter had just delivered their desserts when Gideon leaned toward her.

“Would you mind swapping desserts?” he asked. “I have a bit of a thing for lemon meringue pie.”

Gideon had scored the black forest gâteau. She hated cherries with a passion, but she didn’t really want dessert anyway and Gideon was eyeing her lemon meringue pie as though it was made from solid gold.

“Of course,” she said.

She was about to switch plates when Ethan leaned forward to address Gideon.

“You can have mine, Gideon,” he said. “I was hoping for the gâteaux.”

She looked at him directly for the first time since their brief conversation in the foyer. He winked at her and she recalled that she’d once told him that she hated cherries.

And he’d remembered.

She returned her gaze to her plate. Had he happened to tune in to what Gideon was saying at the opportune moment? Or was it possible he’d been as aware of her as she’d been of him all night?

It was such a willfully stupid, hopeful thing to wish for. She pushed back her chair abruptly. She needed some time out. And maybe a few glasses of water to counteract all the alcohol she’d been drinking.

She made her way into the foyer and retraced her steps along the red carpet until she found the ladies’ room near the front entrance.

She pushed through the door. The space was blissfully quiet and empty after the noise of a thousand people eating and talking and laughing at once.

She stood in the open space between the cubicles and the sinks and closed her eyes and simply concentrated on breathing for a few minutes. In, out. In, out.

God, I want this night to be over.

She opened her eyes. She had a date with Daniel Lowe tomorrow night, and sometime before then she was going to have to decide whether to keep it now that she’d stopped lying to herself and acknowledged her own feelings.

She was in love with Ethan.

Not exactly a newsflash. She’d seen it coming, after all. Tried to avoid it. And yet here she was.

She eyed herself in the mirror. There was nothing she could do about it. Not now, after the fact. She’d fallen for Ethan. It was done. Now she had to begin the slow and painful process of getting over him.

The woman in the mirror smiled, but it was not a happy smile.

How was she supposed to work with him, have lunch with him, play racquetball with him when she loved him? How was she supposed to not give her feelings away with every word and gesture and glance? How was she supposed to endure being so close and yet not close enough?

You’ve survived worse.

She had. Of course she had. And she’d survive this, because that was what she did.

But just once, it would have been nice—

She didn’t let herself finish the thought. Life wasn’t about What Ifs. As she’d once said to Ethan, life was about what you had, and what you could get, and what you could do with it. And she knew without asking that she couldn’t have Ethan. He was the most un-have-able man she knew.

The door to the bathroom swung open and a trio of women entered, their high heels clicking on the tiled floor. Alex exchanged friendly smiles with them as she headed for the door.

Another hour or so and she could go home.

Thank. God.

ETHAN HAD BEEN a good boy. He’d kept his distance from Alex all week. Any time they’d run into each other in the kitchenette he’d talked about work and the weather and the economy. A couple of times they’d talked about something Jamie or Tim had said or done. Not once had Ethan asked about her upcoming date. Even though the thought of her going out with some other guy was burning a hole in his gut.

Now, he watched as she returned to the table. She looked…amazing. Sleek and feminine and sexy. She’d worn her hair up and every time she moved her head the sway of her earrings drew his eye to the elegant line of her neck.

In the good old days, pre-couch, he’d have teased her about dressing so dangerously for a Heart Foundation event, of all things. He’d have told her she was a walking cardiac arrest waiting to happen, then he’d have spent half the night making her laugh and talking to her and simply enjoying her.

But they’d lost the ease in their relationship since they’d slept with each other.

He watched her out of the corners of his eyes as they drank coffee and the party finally began to break up for some post-dinner table-hopping and chat. She said something to Keith Lancaster, smiled, then stood. Then she collected her small evening bag and started weaving her way toward the exit.

He was on his feet before he could even think about it. Muttering a hasty excuse to his dinner companions, he followed Alex into the crowd.

He didn’t know why he was following her, or what he was going to say to her when he caught up with her. All he knew was that he didn’t want to go home tonight without having spent some time with her.

She lengthened her stride when she left the Great Hall. He ducked around a waiter and followed her onto the red carpet.

“Alex.”

She glanced over her shoulder, then slowed her steps.

“Ethan.”

“You’re not going home?”

“Busted. My feet are killing me. And we’ve got work tomorrow.”

“It’s early days yet. Why don’t we go find some place where they won’t mind you being barefoot while we have a nightcap?”

The Southbank precinct was just around the corner. There were several good bars and restaurants there they could choose from.

“Thanks, but I was really hoping for an early night.”

“Right. You’ve got your big date tomorrow night, haven’t you?”

“That’s the one. Candidate number one.”

Don’t say another word. Shut your mouth and back away.

“Where’s he taking you?” he asked.

“Vue du Monde.”

“Wow. Pulling out all the stops.”

“I guess. Listen, I want to try to catch a cab before there’s a queue.” She gestured toward the foyer and took a step away from him.

“I’ll walk you.”

They resumed walking toward the entrance.

“So, what’s this guy do again?” he asked.

“Um, he’s a doctor. A gastroenterologist.”

“A gut man.”

“Yep.”

They pushed through the doors into the cold night air. Alex glanced around for a taxi line, her arms crossed against the cold.

“So, let me guess. He drives a BMW, has a house in Kew, lunches at the Melbourne Club?” He knew he should stop, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to know.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to ask him tomorrow night. I thought there was a taxi stand around here somewhere?”

She was rubbing her arms now, her shoulders hunched.

“Here.” He shrugged out of his jacket.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t. Then you’ll be cold.”

“I’m tougher than you.”

Before she could protest again he dropped his jacket around her shoulders. She ducked her head for a moment, then she pulled the edges of his jacket closer as she lifted her face and met his eyes.

“Thanks.”

The streetlight struck red notes in her hair. She was wearing a different perfume from her usual, something heavier with more musk. His gaze followed the line of her neck, then her cheek. She was beautiful and fine—and she was going out with another man tomorrow night. A doctor. A guy who’d wooed her with phone calls and emails and would finish the job with a meal at Melbourne’s most acclaimed restaurant.

“He’s not good enough for you, you know.”

Alex looked at him, confusion in her eyes. “Who?”

“The gut doctor.”

“You haven’t even met him yet.”

“I don’t need to meet him.”

She stared at him for a beat. Then her gaze slid over his shoulder and she stepped out into the street and raised her hand. A taxi swerved to the curb. She turned to face him, shrugging his coat off.

“Keep it,” he said when she offered it to him.

“I’m fine now,” she said, arm still extended.

“Give it back to me at work tomorrow.” He took a step backward. For some reason he really wanted her to go home in his jacket.

“All right. Thank you.” She walked to the cab and slid into the backseat. She didn’t put his coat back on, he noted. Instead, she draped it across her lap. And she didn’t look back as the taxi pulled out into the traffic.

It was only when the taxi was long gone that he realized he was staring at nothing and that it was damned cold.

He shouldn’t have said anything about her date. He shouldn’t have asked anything, and he definitely shouldn’t have said that thing about the guy not being good enough for her.

She wanted a family. She believed in happy-ever-after. Next time the subject of Mr. Perfect the Wonder Healer came up, he’d bite his tongue. If it killed him. He’d already made his decision. He simply had to stick to it.

ALEX CANCELED HER DATE with Daniel Lowe first thing the following morning. She told herself she should go, that he might be a lovely man and she’d be missing out, but she knew that going out with him would be tantamount to leading him on. She had no business going out with another man when she was in love with Ethan.

She had trouble focusing for the rest of the day. For the first time in many, many years, she felt overwhelmed by life. She’d always been a planner, a doer, but there was nothing to do when you loved someone who was out of reach.

Oh, she could probably seduce Ethan again if she wanted to. She was grown up enough and sophisticated enough to create a situation where she could tempt him and he’d allow himself to be tempted. She’d seen the admiration and desire in his eyes last night. If she played her cards right, she might even be able to negotiate some sort of relationship with him, the kind of thing that she assumed he enjoyed with his other women—no strings, sex, a bit of companionship.

No children. No love. No sense that he belonged to her and she belonged to him. None of the things that Alex wanted from a relationship.

She wouldn’t do it to herself, even though a part of her was tempted. Even though a little voice in the back of her head whispered that maybe, if she bided her time, he might change.

She’d played that game before, for seven years. She’d waited and loved and hoped and yet here she was, nearly thirty-nine, on her own, childless.

Not again. I can’t do it again. I can’t live on hope anymore.

It was such a waste. Ethan was a good man. He had a lot of love to give—it was evident in every interaction he had with his brother and sister-in-law and nephews. And he’d been so attentive and thoughtful and generous with her. He would have made a great father, and, once upon a time, an incredible husband. But his marriage had broken something fundamental in him.

The incredibly sad thing was that she suspected he was lonely. He could surround himself with designer furniture and clothes and buy as many beautiful, sleek cars as he liked but none of it was going to make up for the fact that he would only ever experience family life secondhand through his brother. She’d seen him with those kids, and she’d seen the way he looked at Kay and Derek. He wanted the picket-fence dream. He simply didn’t believe in it anymore.

She left work early but didn’t go straight home. Instead, she went to Albert Park Lake and slipped off her pumps and put on her running shoes and walked around and around until the streetlights came on. Then she went home and poured herself a huge glass of wine and sat on her balcony, staring out at the world. It was cold out and after a while she went back inside and shrugged into Ethan’s tuxedo jacket. She knew it was pathetic—the worst kind of teenage, maudlin droopiness—but she couldn’t help herself. She sat on her balcony with her knees drawn to her chest, her heels resting on the front of the seat, the jacket wrapped around as much of her as it would cover.

She inhaled the smell of Ethan and looked out at the big, noisy city and drank her wine.

Maybe she’d take a leave of absence and go on a holiday, a good long one. She’d always wanted to return to France and explore Spain. Maybe she could fly to Paris and hire a car and drive around. It would be summer in the northern hemisphere. The wind would be warm instead of cold. She wouldn’t have to wake up every day and know that she might see Ethan at work and that if she did, she’d have to smile and laugh and pretend nothing had changed between them and that if she didn’t she would be miserable and wondering and her day would be that little bit less bright and less alive….

She rested her forehead on her knees and hugged herself tightly. She wanted…so much. She had so much longing inside her. And it was all pointless.

I love you, Ethan Stone. But I wish I didn’t. I really, really wish I didn’t.

CHAPTER NINE

ETHAN CHECKED THE TIME again. It was nearly eleven. Was she home yet? Or was Doctor Smoothy taking her somewhere for a nightcap? Worse, was he taking her back to his place so he could—

Someone nudged his foot and he glanced up to find his brother standing over him.

“I need to go to bed. And you need to go home.”

Ethan opened his mouth to complain that the movie wasn’t finished yet then registered the blank TV screen and utter silence.

“When did the movie finish?” he asked.

“About half an hour ago. You were too busy brooding to notice.”

“I wasn’t brooding. I’ve got a big case on at the moment. I was going over some stuff in my head.”

“You’ve been hunched over like the human question mark all night. You’ve barely said a word to the kids. Do you know what Tim said before he went to bed?”

Ethan had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it, whatever it was. Tim could be a keen observer of humanity when he wanted to be. Plus the kid had a pithy tongue. “What?”

“He said you reminded him of the sad orangutan we saw at the zoo last week. The one who looked like he shouldn’t be allowed near loaded weapons.”

“Tell Tim thanks from me.” Ethan stood and reached for his coat. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

Derek growled in the back of his throat. “Or you could talk to me about whatever it is that’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

Kay stepped forward and stood on her tiptoes to kiss Ethan good-night.

“I’ll leave you two big bulls to lock horns.”

“We’re not locking anything. I’m going home,” Ethan said.

“Either way.” Kay gave Derek’s arm a squeeze as she walked past and disappeared through the door to the bedrooms.

Ethan dug in his pocket for his car keys. “Sorry for keeping you up. And I’ll make it up to the kids next time.”

“This is about Alex, right?”

“Derek, it’s all right, you don’t need to play Dr. Phil. I’ll see you next week, okay?”

“Man, you drive me nuts when you brush me off like that. Did it ever occur to you that I might be worried about you?”

Ethan paused in the act of pulling on his jacket. Derek was serious, his face creased with concern and frustration.

Ethan straightened his collar. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Yeah? You know what this reminds me of? The time after Cassie left.”

Ethan bristled, his pride stung. He’d been a mess when Cassie had dropped her bombshell. He was more than happy to acknowledge that. He’d hit rock bottom so hard he’d never thought he’d come up again.

Whatever was going on with Alex, it wasn’t anything near the intensity of those dark days. They weren’t married, for starters, and Alex hadn’t made promises to him. He hadn’t woven all his visions of the future around her and the idea of the two of them growing old together. He’d kept his distance, kept things nice and clean between them.

Except for that one night when he’d kissed her and she’d kissed him back.

But pretty soon even that would be a faded memory. As for the fact that he felt like ripping the head off someone every time he thought about Alex being out with another guy…that would pass, too.

“This is nothing like that.”

“You can’t give up on life because you fouled on the first ball, Ethan. You’ve got to keep slugging away.”

“I haven’t given up on anything.” It pissed him off that his brother had reduced eight years of marriage—the intimate details of which he knew nothing about—down to a sporting analogy.

“What do you call dating a string of women who mean nothing to you and then almost getting into some stupid co-parenting arrangement with a woman you’re clearly half-gone on because you haven’t got the balls to step up to the plate again?”

Ethan stilled. For a moment he and his brother eyed each other silently.

There were things he could tell his brother, justifications, explanations. Instead, he turned away. “Thanks for the movie.”

“Ethan.”

He could hear the regret in his brother’s voice but he kept walking. He pushed the speed limit all the way home, anger and unease dogging him.

It didn’t help that his brother was right. Fear was what was holding him back where Alex was concerned. Fear and hard-earned caution. After what Cassie did, after the way his marriage had crumbled around his ears… How could he ever put so much faith in another human being again? How could he ever trust that what was said was real and true and sincere?

And if his own experiences weren’t enough, there were the many small, sordid disappointments and betrayals he saw in his office on a daily basis to add weight to his argument.

He might be in love with Alex. He might want her and miss her and think about her all the time. But he simply wasn’t up for the risk. He’d had to put himself together again piece by piece after Cassie had broken him.

So, yeah, his brother was right. He was a coward. Too afraid to reach out for what he wanted. So afraid—he hit his steering wheel with the heel of his hand and swore—so afraid that he’d sat on his brother’s couch all night while she’d been out meeting another man. A man she might fall in love with and marry. A man who might be the one to make her happy and give her the babies and the life she deserved.

He pulled over to the side of the road with a screech of tires. He barely got out of the car before what little he’d eaten for dinner burned its way up the back of his throat.

He stood with his arms braced on his legs for a long moment. Then he spat into the gutter. Feeling about a million years old, he climbed back into his car.

ALEX ALMOST CANCELED their racquetball game Wednesday night—it was her week for canceling things, after all—but she wanted to see Ethan. Which was on a par with wearing his tuxedo jacket for half the evening—pathetic and needy and destined to get her nowhere.

As she pulled on her workout gear in the change room at the gym she tried to remember if loving and losing Jacob had been this painful. Maybe time had faded her memories but she didn’t think so. She’d done her level best and tried everything in her power to make things work. When they’d finally parted ways she’d at least had the satisfaction of knowing that she’d given it her best shot. With Ethan, there had been no shot. The gun had barely made it out of the holster. There had been the brief illusion of something—a fiction created by their agreement to try to co-parent a baby—then there had been that one night. After that, nothing but the painful realization that she had fallen in love with the wrong man yet again.

She shouldered her gym bag, grabbed her racquet and left the change rooms. Her heart pumped out a quick double-beat as she approached their regular court. She curled her fingers around the cool metal of the door handle, took a deep breath and entered the court.

He was stretching his legs out against the wall. She’d only seen him once today in passing as they both grabbed coffees between clients. They’d barely had the time to exchange greetings before she’d had to race off. She stole a moment to admire the pull of his dark navy T-shirt across his broad shoulders and the snug fit of his shorts. Then she cleared her throat.

“Hey.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Hey.”

She threw her bag beside his in the corner.

“How did your day go?” she asked.

“So-so. How about you?”

“Yeah, you know. The usual.”

Normally they were knee-deep in mutual insults by now. She wracked her brain from something to say.

“Hope you’re ready for me to wipe the floor with you, Pretty Man,” she said.

He smiled faintly but didn’t say anything.

She grabbed her racquet and took up position on the court. Ethan followed suit.

“Prepare to feel the pain,” she said.

“You’re perky today. Had a good night last night, did we?”

She glanced at him. His expression was unreadable. She pretended to examine the grip on her racquet. No way was she telling him she canceled her date. She manufactured a casual shrug.

“It was nice.”

“Nice. What does that mean?” He bounced one of the balls and hit it at the wall so they could warm up with a few practice shots.

She returned the shot. “It means I had a good time,” she lied.

Ethan caught the ball on the full and sent it back at her. “So are you going to see him again?”

She missed the shot and followed the ball into the corner to collect it. “You’re full of questions tonight.”

He shrugged. “Just being a friend. So are you going to see him again or not?”

“We haven’t decided yet.”

“So it didn’t go that great then?”

She didn’t know what to say to make him let it go. “Can we talk about something else? Head lice? Male-pattern baldness? Better yet, can we just play?”

“Sure.”

He served and they raced around the court until she caught him with a short, sharp corner shot.

“So, was I right about the BMW and the house in Kew?” Ethan asked as she collected the ball and prepared to serve the next point.

“That’s a pretty insulting question,” she said, frowning.

“Why?”

“Because it implies I went home with him on the first date.”

“Did you?”

Whoa. Where the hell had that come from?

If it was any other man she’d ascribe his questions and veiled hostility to jealousy. But this was Ethan and he’d already made his feelings where she was concerned more than clear.

She faced him, hands on her hips. “What’s going on, Ethan?”

He was silent for a long beat. Finally he met her eyes, his gaze intense. “What if I asked you not to see him again?”

She stilled. Suddenly it felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

Was he saying what she thought he was saying? All the hours she’d sat in his tuxedo jacket last night, breathing in his smell and telling herself she could never have him—had she been wrong? Had she let her experience with Jacob taint her judgment?

She took a step toward Ethan. “Why?” she asked, never taking her eyes from his face. It felt like the most important question of her life. “Why would you ask me to do that?”

“You know why.”

“No, Ethan, I don’t. I have no bloody idea about anything when it comes to you. I have no idea how you feel about me, or what you want or anything.”

Her voice wavered on the final words but she swallowed the wash of emotion at the back of her throat.

“How about this? It nearly drove me nuts last night knowing you were out with another guy. I dream about you every night. I can’t stop thinking about you. I spend half the day coming up with excuses to drop by your office. When I saw you at the fundraiser the other night I wanted to throw you over my shoulder and take you home. Does that clear anything up for you?” Ethan’s face was anguished, his body rigid with tension.

She was so relieved, so overwhelmed she felt dizzy. Ethan cared for her. Maybe he even loved her. And he was declaring himself, which meant—

She bent her knees and sat on the floor before she fell down.

“Alex…” He was instantly at her side, crouching with his hand on her back. “Are you all right?”

She lifted her face to him. “I thought it was just sex. Or that maybe you cared but it wouldn’t make a difference because of what happened with your divorce. I thought we didn’t stand a chance.”

There was a flicker of something behind his eyes but she barely registered it as she reached out to grip his forearm, her fingers wrapping around the strong muscles.

“Ethan, I love you. And I didn’t go on that date last night. I couldn’t, not when my head is full of you.”

He closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again there was so much heat and need and want in them that she almost laughed out loud. He loved her. Ethan Stone loved her. She’d convinced herself that her love for him was a lost cause, that he would never, ever want the same things that she wanted, and yet he loved her.

She used her grip on his arm to pull him closer. They kissed, a hard, determined, fervent kiss, his hands gripping her shoulders to pull her closer, hers tightening around his forearm as she strained toward him.

He loved her. Ethan Stone, serial womanizer, Mr. Anti-Commitment, loved her. A bubble of relief and joy rose inside her and she broke their kiss to release it in the form of a laugh.

“My God, Ethan, if you only knew how pathetic I’ve been over you. Mooning around like a teenager…”

He kissed her again. It didn’t take long for things to get heated between them. She wanted to touch his skin, to feel all of him against all of her. She needed the reassurance, the confirmation. Somehow she ended up in his lap, her legs straddling his waist, his hands up her T-shirt as he caressed her breasts.

She could feel his erection pressing against her. She broke their kiss and drew her head back a little so she could look him in the eyes.

“Let’s go back to your place. Or my place. Hell, let’s go out to the backseat of my car,” she said, a big grin on her face. She felt as though she had champagne in her veins instead of blood, as though she would float to the ceiling if he let go of her.

Ethan loved her. He loved her.

She started to slide out of his lap but his hands tightened on her waist.

“Alex. Wait. There’s something I need to say to you first.”

He sounded very serious. She settled back into his lap.

“Okay.”

She looked at him, waiting. His gaze searched her face, then he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Alex, I care for you enormously. I think you’re a woman in a million. There’s nothing I want more than to go home with you right now and get you naked. I want to have a relationship with you, but I need you to know that I don’t ever want to marry again.”

She blinked, the smile freezing on her face. “Okay. So…what, we live together? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

Then she registered the other thing he’d said. Or, more accurately, the thing he hadn’t said. I care for you enormously. Not I love you.

“I think we should play it by ear. You’ve got your place, I’ve got mine. We could see how things work out. But I’d be happy to try for a baby straight away. I know that’s something you want and that we’re on the clock. And we’ve already hammered out the basics of a co-parenting agreement, so if things didn’t work out—”

She held up her hand. “Wait a minute. You’re already thinking about the end of things before we’ve even started…?”

She was still sitting in his lap. It suddenly seemed exactly the wrong place to be. She slid awkwardly out of his lap and moved so that she was sitting to one side of him, one knee drawn to her chest.

All the heat of passion and need and triumph had turned clammy on her skin.

“Let me get this straight,” she said. Because it was becoming more and more clear to her that they were not on the same page. Not by a long shot. “You’re happy to have a child with me, but you don’t want to marry me or live with me. And you care for me. Am I getting this right?”

“Alex—” He sighed and lowered his head, pressing his fingers into his forehead for a beat. Then he lifted his head again. “This is really… I never thought I’d be in this place again. That I’d feel this way about another woman. I want to be with you, I do. But not marriage.”

“Do you love me?” It hurt her somewhere inside to have to ask. Her pride, probably. Later she could lash herself for being so weak.

“Yes. Yes, I love you, Alex.”

The words were hard for him to say.

She shook her head. “But you don’t want to, do you? You don’t want any of this.” She pushed herself to her feet and strode for the corner.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going home. Alone. Because I’m an idiot. A willfully delusional idiot who apparently still believes in fairy tales.” Her throat and chest were tight.

Ethan was standing behind her when she turned with her bag and racquet in hand.

“Alex. Let’s talk about this,” he said, stepping forward with his arms wide as though he was going to embrace her. There was pain in his eyes and a world of doubt but she was dealing with her own pain right now.

She warded him off with her racquet. “There’s nothing to talk about. You know what I want, Ethan. I want a family. I want a man who loves me the way I love him. I want—” Her voice broke and she took a deep, fierce breath and forced herself to continue. “I want the whole loaf, Ethan, and you offered me half of one. And you know what the worst thing is? There’s a part of me that wants to take it even though I know it would only make me miserable and sad and that I’d probably wind up hating you.”

She dodged around him but he stepped in her path.

“Alex, I love you. I do. If you’ll just listen to me—”

“No, I won’t. I can’t. I won’t let you convince me. I deserve more, Ethan. I’ve put up with half a loaf all my life. And I deserve more from the man who loves me. I don’t know the details of your marriage and your divorce because you’ve never trusted me with them, but I’m not Cassie, Ethan. I’m me, and I won’t pay the price for her sins. I deserve more.”

He was very pale. “If I could give you what you wanted, I would, Alex, believe me.”

The emptiness in his eyes…

“I know. And that’s the saddest thing of all.”

She left him standing on the court. The need to cry was like a giant’s hand pressing down on her chest as she made her way through the gym and out to her car. She refused to give in. She needed to stay strong. She needed to cling to her resolve because she was terrified that if she let herself feel the pain and gave herself over to her grief she would be tempted to take the crumbs from Ethan’s table.

So she kept her head high and her eyes dry as she got in her car and drove home. And inside, she died a little.

ETHAN DIDN’T KNOW where to go so he went home. All he could think about was Alex. The look on her face when she told him she deserved more. The feel of her in his arms. The taste of her on his lips. The straight, sure line of her spine as she walked away from him.

He paced his apartment, agitated, his gut churning.

She was right. He knew she was right. What he’d offered her was a million times less than she deserved. It was selfish and self-serving and it was all he had.

He raked his hands through his hair and sat on the couch, his fingertips digging into his scalp as though the pressure could force his brain to forget the past and grab a hold of Alex and all that she represented. Love, hope, a chance to do it right the second time around.

His head felt as though it was going to explode. He wanted, and he was scared. The two warred within him, making his gut churn and his chest hurt.

He had no idea how long he’d been sitting on the couch when the intercom buzzed. His first instinct was to ignore it—he was hardly good company right now—then it occurred to him that it might be Alex. That maybe she’d reconsidered and was prepared to give him a chance to explain.

It was a flimsy hope and it died the second he heard his brother’s voice.

“Ethan. I was on my way home. Buzz me up.”

“I’m in the middle of something.”

“It won’t take long. I want to apologize for last night. I was way out of line—”

“You were right. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll call you later.”

He walked away from the intercom, even though it buzzed three more times. He was in the kitchen pouring himself a hefty Scotch when there was a knock at his door.

No prizes for guessing who it was. Derek had obviously entered with one of the other tenants, the same trick he’d used at Alex’s building.

He considered not answering but the knocking was already getting louder.

His brother started yelling as Ethan was approaching the door. “I’m not buggering off until I’ve spoken to you, so you might as well open the—”

Ethan swung the door open.

“—door.”

His brother stared at him, then at the glass of Scotch in his hand.

“What happened?” Derek asked, pushing his way past Ethan and dropping his briefcase to the floor near the hall table.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Wow. Where have I heard that before?” Derek strode into the living room, shrugging out of his suit jacket and loosening his tie.

Ethan found him in the kitchen, pouring himself a more conservative Scotch. He met his brother’s eyes and took a deep breath.

“I appreciate the concern but I’m fine,” he said.

Something warm and wet fell onto his hand. He looked down at it. It took him a moment to understand that he was crying. He put down his glass.

“Jesus,” Derek said, and then his brother’s arms were closing around him and he was being held tightly and he couldn’t keep the rest of the tears from falling.

He fought them every step of the way until Derek gave him a shake.

“Cry, you big dickhead. It won’t kill you.”

Ethan turned his face into his brother’s shoulder and gripped his shoulders hard. Five years of shame and anger and hurt soaked into his brother’s Ralph Lauren shirt and still his brother didn’t let him go. Only when Ethan sniffed mightily and tried to break away did his brother release his grip.

Ethan avoided his eyes, concentrating on grabbing some paper towel from beneath the sink.

“This is about Cassie,” Derek guessed.

“And Alex.” Ethan wiped his cheeks and blew his nose. Only then did he look directly at his brother again. “Sorry about your shirt.”

“Screw the shirt. Talk to me.”

Ethan crumpled the paper towel in his hand until it was a tight ball within his fist. He hated talking about this stuff. Small wonder, then, that he never had. That he’d never told anyone the full, ugly truth of his divorce. He tried to find a place to start, but there was so much shame and anger attached to the memories that he couldn’t think past it.

“Something happened today. Tell me about that,” Derek said.

“We were playing racquetball. I asked Alex about her date—”

“Alex is dating someone else? And you let that happen?”

Ethan rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I did,” he said heavily.

“So what happened?”

“I asked her what she would do if I asked her not to see the guy again. And she wanted to know why. So I told her that I was crazy about her.”

“About freaking time. What did she say?”

“She told me that she loves me.” The memory made his stomach pinch. The look on her face when she’d said it. The way she’d laughed… For a few seconds he’d made her happy. Then he’d screwed it all up again because he didn’t have the guts to follow through.

“That must have freaked you out.”

Ethan looked up sharply. His brother shrugged.

“Pretty confronting, getting the thing you want when you’re not sure you want it.”

Ethan reached for his Scotch and swallowed a generous mouthful. “Yeah.”

“So how did you screw it up?” Derek asked.

Ethan smiled thinly. “I told her I didn’t want to get married again.”

“Ouch.”

“Then she asked if I meant we should just live together, and I told her we should see how it goes, keep our own places…”

Derek winced. “At which point she tore you a new one.”

“At which point she told me that she wasn’t Cassie and that she deserved better. And then she walked. And I let her go because I’m a freaking pussy.”

He could hear the self-pity and contempt in his own voice but he was powerless to stop it.

There was a long pause before Derek responded. “I know a lot of guys who are divorced. Hell, me and Kay joke all the time about being each other’s starter spouse. Most of those guys are pissed for a few months, maybe a year, then they get back on the wagon, and more than half of them are married again within two years. But not you.”

“No.”

“I know you see a lot of crappy marriages with your work, but it’s not that, is it?” Derek said.

“No.” Jesus, he wished it was. He took another swallow of his drink. Then he took a deep breath. “Those other guys, your friends. Some of them probably cheated on their wives. Or maybe they had money troubles and they fought about it too much, or maybe she met someone else or maybe they both realized they just didn’t have what it took to go the distance. Cassie and I… We were together for four years before I proposed to her. I can still remember the day we met—I went to my first Ethics class and she was standing talking to someone. I took one look at her and fell for her on the spot. We moved in with each other after a month and we never looked back. I never had a doubt that we’d marry and have kids and the rest of it.

“That day when I came home from work and Cassie told me she wanted a divorce…” He stopped, shook his head. This was hard. Not only the telling of it, but the remembering. He’d done his damnedest to put it behind him. To move on. But it was all washing over him again.

The way she’d been sitting at the kitchen table when he came in, a crisp white business envelope on the table in front of her. The way she’d looked at him, as though he was a stranger. No, worse—as though he was one of her clients. Someone she had to deal with because it was her job. Then he’d noticed the overnight bag against the wall and he’d understood that something was very, very wrong.

“We need to talk,” she’d said.

Then she’d slid the envelope across the table and told him that she wanted a divorce. She’d had papers drawn up. She didn’t want anything of his but she wanted half of the house proceeds once it was sold and he was welcome to all their furniture. Once the mandatory year of separation was up they could file for the decree of dissolution and sign some papers and that would be it. Twelve years down the tubes.

“I don’t understand,” he’d said. They’d had some minor spats, but nothing that came close to being grounds for divorce. He loved her. She was his wife. They were in this thing together. “If you’re unhappy, we’ll get counseling. Whatever it takes. Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it. We’ll fix it.”

“I don’t love you anymore.”

It had been like a fist in the face. And so out of the blue, so unheralded he couldn’t believe it, couldn’t make his mind grasp the words and accept them.

He’d sat beside her and taken her cold hands in his and told her that he loved her, that all marriages had ups and downs, that love ebbed and flowed and he was sure it would flow again.

Then she’d looked him in the eye and told him.

“She had an abortion,” Ethan said, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.

“What?” Derek’s expression was uncomprehending.

Ethan almost smiled. He remembered feeling that way. Being literally unable to believe what his ears were telling him. “She was pregnant, and she had an abortion without telling me.”

Derek’s face was pale. He swore. “Ethan…”

Suddenly Ethan wanted it all told, all of it out in the open.

“We weren’t planning on trying for a baby until the following year, but she got pregnant accidentally and when she found out she said she had a revelation. She didn’t want the baby. Or, more specifically, she didn’t want my baby. She didn’t want our marriage anymore. She didn’t want the life we’d made together. She didn’t love me, and she wanted out. So she made arrangements to get rid of the baby and she got her shit together. Then she told me and walked.”

Ethan swallowed strongly. Five years on and he still felt sick and angry and impotent.

“Mate.” His brother was looking at him with a world of pity and compassion in his eyes.

This was why Ethan had never told anyone the truth behind his divorce. He didn’t want his family to feel sorry for him. Then Derek pulled him into his arms again and Ethan decided that maybe a bit of compassion wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe it was even exactly what he needed.

After a minute his brother released him, his eyes suspiciously bright. “I don’t know what to say. If Kay had done that to me…” Derek shook his head. “But she’d never do that.”

Ethan smiled grimly. “That’s what I thought about Cassie.”

“But Kay is—” Derek closed his mouth on whatever he’d been about to say and Ethan saw full understanding dawn on his brother’s face.

Ethan had trusted his wife, just as Derek trusted Kay, and yet he’d had no idea that she was so unhappy that she’d choose to get rid of the child they’d made together rather than be bound to him for life.

“Jesus,” Derek said quietly. “No wonder you’re so messed up.”

Ethan laughed. He had to, or he was going to disgrace himself by crying again. He’d always vowed he’d never tell anyone. He’d been so ashamed that something could be so wrong with his marriage and he’d not known about it. He’d been stupidly cruising along, living in a fantasy world where he and Cassie loving each other was more important than the lumps and bumps of everyday life, and all the time she’d been quietly dealing with her unwanted pregnancy and putting her affairs in order before she left him.

“Did you ever talk about it? Ask her why?” Derek wanted to know.

Ethan shook his head. He’d had questions, things he’d wanted to know, but the anger that had followed hard on the heels of her fait accompli had meant that he couldn’t bear to be in the same room with her. Or, more accurately, he couldn’t trust himself to be in the same room as her. He’d wanted to hurt her. Make her suffer for hurting him and making a decision about their child without consulting him. Most of all he’d wanted to punish her for not loving him even though he still loved her, even after what she’d done.

Then she’d taken up a job with a multinational insurance company and moved to Singapore and he hadn’t heard from her until the divorce papers arrived a year later. She’d sent him a letter a month after their divorce was finalized, but he’d burned it without reading it.

“Maybe you should.”

“What’s to know? She changed her mind. She didn’t want to be with me. Game over.”

It was hard to say it out loud, but it was the truth. After twelve years together, the woman he’d loved had simply walked out of his life, leaving him gasping like a landed fish. He’d gone over and over and over it in his head, but that was what it boiled down to. She’d stopped loving him, and she’d left.

Derek started to say something then stopped when his stomach growled demandingly. “You got anything to eat? Some pretzels maybe?”

“Pretzels. No, I do not have pretzels. But I can make us some bruschetta if you like.”

“I would like. I would like a lot.”

Ethan started pulling ingredients from the fridge, glad to have something constructive to do. He could feel Derek watching him as he diced the onions and squeezed the seeds out of the tomatoes. When his brother finally spoke, his voice was low and careful.

“Falling for Alex must have been pretty freaking scary after all of that stuff with Cassie, huh?”

Ethan nodded shortly. He hadn’t wanted to fall for Alex. Had done his damnedest for a long time to satisfy his need to be a part of her life without getting too close, too involved. Then she’d come to their racquetball game that night all churned up over seeing her ex and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from comforting her.

“What she said is right, you know. She’s not Cassie,” Derek said.

“I know that.” Ethan cut the remainder of a French stick into slices.

“But it doesn’t make a difference?” Derek asked.

Ethan put down the knife and looked at his brother. “I don’t believe in happy-ever-after. Not after everything I see in my job, and not after Cassie.”

“But you want to.”

Ethan let his breath out in a rush. “Yes.”

More than anything he wanted to be able to let go of the past and take the hand Alex was offering him and step into the future alongside her. But he didn’t know how to let go of the hard-won lessons of his past. He didn’t know how to let down his guard and trust again.

“I’m not going to tell you that there’s no way it could happen again and that Alex would never do that to you. Even though I think it’s true, life doesn’t come with guarantees and safety nets,” Derek said.

“No shit.”

“Do you love her?”

Ethan gave his brother a look. “Why do you think you’ve got a wet shoulder?”

“Then trust your gut.”

If only it were that easy.

“I loved Cassie, too, and look where that got me. I thought I knew her inside and out. I slept next to her for twelve years and I had no idea how she was feeling, what she was thinking.”

“I don’t know what to say to you. I want you to be happy. I want you to have what I have. I see you with my kids and it kills me that you might never know what it feels like to be a part of something so amazing. But like I said, you’ve got every reason in the world to be gun-shy. The best I can do is tell you that Kay’s my best friend. My day isn’t right if I don’t wake up and see her face on the pillow beside me. Pathetic but true, and if you ever tell her I said any of this I’ll mess up those pretty-boy looks of yours for good. She’s my rock, and I don’t want to imagine my life without her in it. And yeah, there’s a risk attached to all of that. But if the choice is between loving her or playing it safe… Well, I’ve made my choice.”

Derek shrugged to indicate he’d run out of words but Ethan understood what his brother was saying: love was a leap of faith. After what had happened with his first marriage, Ethan appreciated that fact more than most, but at the end of the day it was the same for everybody. People were fickle, feelings changed, circumstances changed, and people grew together and grew apart. Love was a crapshoot. A risk. And the price of failure was high.

The question was, was a lifetime with Alex worth the risk?

A memory hit him: that night when he’d brought round his chicken dinner, she’d lain on the couch and he’d coaxed her into letting him rub her feet. She’d closed her eyes as he massaged first one foot then the other and he’d watched her face relax and a small smile curl her mouth. She’d been soft and vulnerable and content, and he’d helped make her that way and for a few precious moments he’d felt as though he was in exactly the right place with exactly the right person doing exactly the right thing. He’d felt as though he belonged, as though his cautious heart had found a home.

He reached for a tea towel and wiped his hands. Derek’s gaze followed the action. A slow smile dawned on his face.

“Tell me you’re going to find her.”

“I’m going to find her.”

“Good man.”

His brother caught him in a one-armed hug and pounded an approving fist on his back. Ethan figured they’d used up their annual quota of physical affection in the space of a single hour, but he could live with that. His brother had been his lifeline tonight, the voice of reason he’d needed to help him navigate around the wreckage of the past.

“Thanks. I owe you.”

“I figure we’ll get it out of you in horsey rides and free babysitting.”

“Done.”

He strode for the door, scooping up his car keys from the hall table.

“I’m going to grab some of this bread to eat on the way home, if that’s all right?” Derek said, trailing after him. “Since you don’t have pretzels.”

Ethan laughed. He’d forgotten all about the bruschetta in his rush to get to Alex.

“Help yourself.” He opened the door.

“Call me,” Derek said. “Let me know how you do.”

Ethan gave him a look.

Derek shrugged. “I’m feeling a little invested here.”

“Don’t forget to lock up when you leave,” Ethan said.

Then he headed for the elevator, praying every step of the way that Alex would be home.

CHAPTER TEN

DON’T THINK ABOUT HIM. Don’t think about him, don’t think about him, don’t think about him.

Alex kept up the mantra as she let herself into her apartment and searched for a distraction. There was no point dissecting what had happened between her and Ethan. It wouldn’t change anything. She’d offered him her heart, and he’d offered her a time-share agreement. There was nothing left to explore.

If only she could exorcise the memory of his stricken face and the pain in his voice from her mind. If only there hadn’t been those few seconds when she’d let her hope have wings and she’d believed for a small, precious moment that things were going to work out between them.

A memory hit her as she flicked on the light in her living room. The first time she’d ever seen Ethan had been in the foyer of Wallingsworth & Kent’s offices. He’d been arriving for a meeting with the senior partners, having been wooed away from one of the other big Melbourne firms. She hadn’t known any of that at the time, of course—she’d simply seen him walking toward her across the polished marble floor, beautiful and dangerous and sexy, and she’d felt the low thud of instant attraction in her belly and thought to herself Hello, heartbreaker.

Prescient, indeed. She should have run a mile the first time he so much as smiled at her in the kitchenette. She should have taken out a restraining order against him when he suggested they play racquetball together, and she should have dug a moat around her office when he invited her to lunch.

Instead, she’d told herself she could handle him and she’d danced with the devil and fallen in love with a man who was so unavailable he could barely make himself say the words I love you.

And yet he had said them.

She wandered from the living room to her bedroom, thinking about those moments on the court despite her determination not to.

He’d said he loved her and that he wanted to try for a child with her. Amazing how something could be so close to a person’s dreams and yet so far away. Amazing how little it took to tempt a woman.

But she’d drawn her line in the sand and she was going to stand by it. She might be sliding down that fertility graph her doctor had drawn, and she might be lonely and sad and frustrated, but she was not a masochist. There would be nothing worse than loving a man with all her heart and only receiving portions of his in return. No, she was wrong—there was something worse. She could have a child with that man, based on the misguided idea that it might draw them together, and never truly get over him.

So many pitfalls—and she’d cleverly avoided them all. She should be giving herself a pat on the back and mixing herself a cocktail to celebrate her street smarts instead of circling her flat like a madwoman.

She walked into the bathroom then left immediately when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Best not to have confirmation of her own misery. Not while she was barely holding it together.

Do something. Do anything.

She went to the kitchen and looked around. It was sparkling clean, since she rarely made anything more messy than a tuna salad or egg on toast.

Dinner. She’d make dinner. Something elaborate, for her. Pasta. With a salad. That should keep her busy for half an hour or so. Whether she’d actually be able to choke it down or not was another question, but she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

She crossed to the fridge and was about to open the fridge door when her gaze fell on the phrase someone had made using her fridge poetry magnets.

Banana people bend smiles and make monkeys laugh and love.

There was only one person who’d been in her apartment lately. She stared at the stupid, nonsensical poem Ethan had created and all the bullshit she’d been using to keep herself from feeling crumbled into dust.

She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the fridge door. Her chest ached. Her eyes burned. She was all out of fight.

I love you, Ethan. I love you so much.

If only he weren’t so damaged. And if only she didn’t want so much more than he had to give.

ETHAN TURNED into Queens Road and started looking for a parking spot near Alex’s building. He had no idea what he was going to say to her, but he’d already decided to tell her everything. Cassie, the baby, all of it. He’d tell her that he was scared, even though it would be the most humbling, emasculating act of his life. She deserved the truth. To know what she was getting into.

He found a parking spot and reversed the Aston Martin into it. He was out of the car in seconds. He had to keep moving, mostly because he was terrified that if he stopped to think he’d chicken out.

I want this. I love her. She’s not Cassie.

But he’d stored so much anger and fear and pain five years ago, packed it away so tightly within, that he was afraid he’d never get past it. That he’d never be able to trust. That he’d never be able to offer Alex the things she needed.

He had to try, though. He couldn’t let her slip away without trying. He loved her too much to let that happen.

He approached the door to her building with a pounding heart.

Sack up, Stone. Where’s your freaking dignity?

But he’d shed his dignity long ago. He was coming to Alex armed with nothing but hope and a desire to love her.

He pressed the buzzer for her apartment and waited, every muscle tense. After a few seconds he buzzed her again. Again, nothing.

She wasn’t home—or she’d guessed it was him and was deliberately not answering him. He walked backward and craned his head to see if he could work out which balcony was hers. They all looked the same, and there was no dark-haired, dark-eyed woman on any of them.

He’d call her, then. And he’d keep calling and buzzing her until she let him in. He reached for his phone, then remembered he’d left it in the car. He was walking back to the Aston Martin to retrieve it when he glanced up the road and saw a slim woman in a hot-pink sweater walking briskly along Queens Road. Her back was to him, but he recognized both the straightness of her shoulders and the distinctive sweater.

Alex.

She was about a block away, heading east. He started after her. There were a number of other people out on the street, despite the fact that it was cold and dark—joggers coming home from their circuits of nearby Albert Park Lake, dog walkers, students heading out for a big night. He picked his way amongst them, lengthening his stride.

“Alex,” he called, even though he was pretty certain she was too far away to hear him.

She didn’t so much as falter or glance over her shoulder. He dodged around a guy blocking the footpath with a bike. Up ahead, Alex was approaching the corner intersection where a mini-mart was located and it occurred to him that the store was probably her goal—she was probably ducking out to get something, milk or bread or one of the disgusting frozen meals-for-one he knew she relied on.

The traffic lights changed at the intersection and Alex broke into a jog to catch the pedestrian light. The action unfolded in slow motion, the stuff of nightmares.

She’d barely set foot on the road when a low-slung red car raced past him, signal flashing to indicate a left turn into the street Alex was crossing. Ethan waited for the driver to see Alex, waited for the glow of brake lights to appear at the back of the car, but there was nothing. The driver hadn’t seen her. He hadn’t seen her.

“Alex!” he yelled, fear an icy rush through him as the red car whipped around the corner.

The world stopped. Then he heard the sound of impact, an explosion of glass and metal and the heavy, unmistakable thud of a body hitting a car. A passerby screamed. He broke into a sprint.

Alex. He had to get to Alex. And she had to be okay. A few scratches and bruises, sure, but she had to be okay.

His legs and arms pumped as he raced the final hundred or so feet to the intersection. It felt like a lifetime. It felt as though he was traversing the world.

A crowd had gathered. Someone was already on the phone, calling for an ambulance.

“Alex,” he bellowed as he neared the crowd. “Alex!”

She had to be alive. She had to be. But the car had been going so fast, doing at least forty around the corner.

He reached the crowd, started shoving people out of the way to get to her.

If she was dead… God, if she was dead…

Then the crowd parted and he saw her lying on the road, blood gleaming in the streetlight beside her head—and it wasn’t Alex. She was shorter than Alex, fuller-breasted, her hair slightly longer. She was wearing sandals instead of sneakers and a wedding ring gleamed on her left hand.

It wasn’t Alex.

Relief hit him like a wall. She was alive. Alex was alive.

Shaken, his knees like rubber, he scrubbed his face with his hands.

He’d thought he’d lost her. For a few heart-stopping seconds he’d thought she was gone. The memory of it was enough to send bile burning up the back of his throat. All the things he’d never say to her, all the things they’d never experience together, the life they’d never have—all of it had flashed through him when he’d heard the terrible sound of impact.

But it wasn’t Alex.

Ambulance sirens sounded in the distance. The woman on the ground was trying to sit up and someone was crouching beside her, advising her to remain prone until help got there. The driver was crying and pacing and explaining to anyone who would listen that he hadn’t seen her, that the pedestrian light had been flashing red.

Ethan stood numbly in the crowd as the ambulance arrived and the paramedics got out to treat the woman. He watched as she spoke to them and gingerly allowed them to help her onto the stretcher. It wasn’t until the unknown woman was in the ambulance, the doors closed behind her that he felt able to turn away.

“Ethan. What are you doing here?”

His head snapped around. Alex was standing at the edge of the already dissipating crowd, a bag of groceries in one hand, a perplexed frown on her face. He took a moment to simply soak in the sight of her, her hair tucked behind her ear on one side. Then he strode forward and swept her into his arms. She was warm and resilient and she smelled of lemons and fresh night air and he wanted to merge his body with hers, to become a part of her so that they could never be parted and he would never, ever have to stare down the barrel of almost losing her again.

“Ethan. What’s going on?” she asked, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

“Don’t ever, ever do that to me again,” he said fiercely.

“Do what?”

He pulled back to look into her face. She lifted a hand to touch his cheek.

“You’re crying,” she said.

“Alex, I love you. I should have said it a long time ago but I’ve been too busy trying to cover my ass to understand that any risk is worth it if I get to have you in my life. I don’t want half measures. I want everything you want and more. Kids, marriage, a mortgage, arguments over whose turn it is to put the dog out, I don’t care what it is, I want it with you. I’ve wasted so much time, and I deserve for you to give me a hard time and make me jump through a million flaming hoops, but I love you and I want this and I’m not going anywhere until you say yes.”

“Ethan,” she said. Her eyes were wide, searching his face.

She didn’t understand. She had no idea that he’d just had a glimpse of hell.

“Alex. I thought it was you,” he said, his voice gravelly with emotion. “I saw the car turning, I thought you were dead….”

He pulled her close again, experiencing the wash of terror a second time. He pressed her face to his chest and cupped the back of her head in the palm of his hand. She felt ridiculously fragile, terrifyingly mortal in his arms.

He loved her so much. So much. And yet he’d almost let fear stop him from being a part of her life. It was only when he’d been facing the loss of everything that his world had become clear to him.

Cassie’s abandonment and betrayal had been baffling and hurtful. She’d left him dangling and he’d made a fortress out of his bitterness and fear. But all the stuff he’d canvassed with Derek tonight, all his doubts and caution, none of it mattered when he’d been faced with the prospect of a world without Alex.

The ultimate wake-up call. Beside it, everything else assumed its rightful perspective. What counted was Alex. Being with Alex. Loving Alex. Building a future with Alex—if she would have him.

Her expression was grave when he finally felt able to let her go again.

He knew he should wait until they’d had a chance to talk properly. He knew that standing on a street corner a few feet from a traffic accident was probably the least romantic spot in the universe. He should take Alex home, tell her about Cassie and the divorce, make sure she understood what she’d be getting herself into if she took him on before he asked her to—

“Marry me,” he blurted. “Save me from myself, and I’ll do my best to save you when you need it, too. Marry me and have babies with me. Marry me and play racquetball with me until neither of us can bend to tie our sneakers on our own. Marry me, Alex, and make me the happiest, luckiest idiot in the world.”

Her face crumpled. His gut clenched. He’d made her cry.

“Alex, I’m sorry—”

A fist landed in the middle of his chest. “How am I supposed to resist you when you say all the right things? Can you explain that to me? How am I supposed to be strong and do the right thing when you look at me like that and ask me to marry you?”

The dread clutching his gut receded a notch. “Doing the right thing would be marrying me.”

She shook her head, her eyes swimming with tears. “You’ve just had a scare. You’re not thinking clearly. Anything you say right now is under duress.”

He smiled. Couldn’t help himself. She was adorable, so earnest, so honest. So Alex.

She smacked him in the chest again. “Don’t you dare laugh at me when I’m trying to save you from yourself.”

“Maybe I don’t need saving.”

“You do. You don’t want to be married. You’ve said so a million times. You’re freaking out right now but once you calm down you’ll regret this. And I don’t want to be a regret in your life, Ethan. I love you too much for that.”

“Alex, why do you think I came over here tonight? Why do you think I was following a woman I thought was you up the street so I could throw myself on your mercy and beg for a second chance?”

She gave him an arrested look. Had it really not occurred to her that his being here was about her and not simply a coincidence?

“Really? You really came looking for me?”

The hope in her face. The doubt.

“Baby, I’ve been looking for you all my life,” he said.

Then he kissed her, because he needed to more than he needed air. She kissed him back, her arms around his neck, her hands clenched in his hair.

But a kiss wasn’t nearly enough. He needed to feel her skin against his. He needed to be inside her, part of her. He needed—

“Let’s go back to my place,” Alex gasped against his mouth.

“Yes.”

They broke apart. He took the bag of groceries from her hand, then he drew her close and kissed her again. He didn’t want to let her go. But they were standing on a street corner, and public nudity had been frowned upon for a while in the state of Victoria.

A tow truck had arrived, along with a police car. Ethan spared them both a glance as he and Alex turned toward her place.

“I was in the shop when I heard the smash. Must have been pretty scary,” Alex said, following his glance.

He raised their joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.

“Beyond scary. The worst moment of my life.”

She squeezed his hand.

“You haven’t answered my question,” he said.

Her eyes were full of uncertainty when she looked at him. “Ethan…”

“A simple yes is more than enough.”

“Since when have we ever been simple?” she said ruefully.

It was a good point.

She copied his earlier gesture and kissed the back of his hand. “Ask me again later.”

It was almost a promise. Almost.

“All right,” he said reluctantly.

He could wait, if he had to. In the meantime, there were things he needed to tell her.

They turned toward Alex’s apartment and started walking. He took a moment to assemble his thoughts, then he cleared his throat.

“I want to tell you about Cassie,” he said.

ALEX LISTENED in silence as Ethan told her how he and Cassie had met, about their instant attraction and how quickly they’d moved in with each other. He described his ex variously as beautiful, fiery, smart, impulsive, and she imagined what it must have been like between the two of them, how in love Ethan must have been. Impossible not to feel a stab of jealousy.

He talked all the way back to her apartment, and when they arrived she led him to the couch and drew him down beside her and sat with her back against the arm so she could see his face and his eyes as he told her about the wedding and the tough few years afterward when he and Cassie had both been working so hard to carve out their careers.

He told her about the house they’d bought together in well-heeled Armadale and their big mortgage. He told her how they’d talked about trying for children once they’d both felt more solid in their jobs and managed to get the mortgage down a little. He told her that there had been problems, but that he’d always believed in the fundamental integrity of his marriage.

She knew he’d reached the tough part when he broke eye contact with her. He kept talking, though, and she reached for his hand and held it as he told her how he’d come home on what he’d thought was an ordinary work night to find Cassie waiting for him with her bags packed and the devastating news that she didn’t love him anymore.

Then he told her about the abortion and she squeezed his hand tight and shut her eyes and simply sat with him in silence, absorbing his truth and his pain.

She could not imagine how he must have felt. Could not imagine the hurt and the anger and the confusion and the self-doubt and the grief. He’d been devastated. Even though he hadn’t said a word about his feelings or his reactions, simply delivering up the bare facts for her edification, she knew he must have been shattered because the man sitting on the couch before her still bore the scars from his marriage. He’d allowed them to dictate his life for the past five years while telling himself all the while that he was strong and tough and cynical and that he would never, ever be abandoned or betrayed or rejected again.

Because she didn’t know what to say, she simply slid closer to him on the couch and put her arms around him. They sat holding each other for a long time. She felt his chest expand when he finally took a breath to speak.

“It was a long time ago.” He said it apologetically. As though there was shame attached to the fact that he was still dealing with the fallout from his divorce five years later.

She lifted her head from his shoulder and caught his chin in her hand. Then she looked at him fiercely, very directly in the eye.

“Don’t ever apologize to me for caring, Ethan Stone. For having a heart. For being able to be hurt. For being vulnerable. Okay?”

He nodded. She slid her hand up to cup his cheek. He was a beautiful man, a lady-killer. And yet he’d been betrayed, had his trust torn to shreds. He’d lost an opportunity to be a father. He’d lost his life as he knew it.

A terrible anger filled her as she processed the enormity of what had happened to him—what had been done to him. What kind of a person walked out on her partner of twelve years without trying to fix what was wrong? What kind of a woman told her husband that she had chosen to terminate her pregnancy because it was only when she was expecting his child that she understood she no longer loved him or wanted a life with him?

For a moment Alex was almost overcome with rage on Ethan’s behalf. She wanted to hunt Cassie down and shake her until she begged for forgiveness. She wanted to scream at Ethan’s ex-wife until the other woman understood how much pain she’d inflicted, how much she’d wounded him.

Then the wave passed and all she wanted was to do was comfort him.

She leaned forward and kissed him. She held his face in her hands and kissed his nose and the slope of his gorgeous cheekbones and his eyebrows and his forehead and his eyelids and his jaw and his chin. She pressed a long, lingering kiss to his mouth. She stared into his eyes as he looked back at her, vulnerable and stripped bare, offering himself up to her for understanding and forgiveness and succor.

She could offer him promises and guarantees, but they both knew that words were cheap and that there wasn’t a pledge or vow in the world that could shape and mold the future. There was only who she was and who he was and their understanding of each other right now, right at this minute. It had always been enough for her, but she understood now why it might not have always been enough for Ethan.

“I love you, Ethan,” she said.

There wasn’t anything else to say, at the end of the day.

“I love you, too, Alex.”

She took him into her bedroom then and took off his clothes, took off her clothes and showed him with her body all the things she couldn’t say with words. She told him with her kisses that she was loyal. She told him with her arms that she adored him. She took him into her body and told him that she wanted to share her life with him.

As he moved inside her, she looked into his eyes, never once looking away.

He wasn’t perfect. His trust issues were probably going to be a problem for both of them in the future. But she wasn’t perfect, either. She’d never been great at letting people in and she found it hard to show her weaknesses, even to loved ones.

But they were going to make it work. They were going to be okay. They were going to get married and if Mother Nature was kind they were going to have babies and they were going to grow with their love.

“Yes,” she said.

Ethan stilled, his body warm and heavy on hers.

“Yes?”

“Yes,” she said.

And it was the easiest decision she’d ever made in her life.

EPILOGUE

“THE THING ABOUT THE Stone men is that they don’t do anything by halves,” Kay said.

“No kidding.”

“It’s not a bad thing, really. In most cases it’s a good thing,” Kay said.

“Sure it is.”

“And anyway, it could be worse.”

She and Alex both winced as a loud four-letter word floated across the yard to where the two of them were relaxing in sun loungers beneath the shade of a big old oak tree. The tree dominated the backyard of Ethan and Alex’s new home, an Edwardian weatherboard house in Box Hill, a five-minute drive from where Derek and Kay lived. It was unclear whether Ethan or Derek was the perpetrator, since both men had their backs to the women as they hunched over the pile of furniture parts that might one day resemble a baby’s crib if the two men glowering and swearing over them took the time to read the instruction booklet.

“How could it be worse?” Alex wanted to know, not taking her eyes from her husband’s behind as he bent to sort through the pieces of wood spread across the patio.

“We could be living in Georgian times and Ethan could have you confined to your bedroom.”

“Good Lord. Don’t give him ideas. That’s the last thing I need.”

As though he could sense them talking about him, Ethan’s head came up and he glanced over his shoulder. He was wearing sunglasses to combat the bright glare of the sun, but Alex knew he was looking straight at her. Could feel it in her bones.

Despite the fact that she thought he was being ridiculous right at this moment in time, she smiled. How could she not when she had so much to smile about?

Ethan stood and strode across the grass toward her. His jeans rode low on his waist and his white T-shirt had shrunk a little in the wash and she could see the muscles of his thighs flexing and contracting with each step. He was forty-four now, but he was a man in his prime.

Beside her, Kay fanned herself with her hand. Alex spared her a dry look.

“Pretty Boy strikes again.”

“Hell, yeah,” Kay said, and they both laughed.

Ethan’s shadow loomed over them.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you feeling okay? Do you need some crackers? Some milk?”

Alex looked up at her husband. “I was smiling, Ethan.”

“It looked weird.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

“Are you sure? What about some cold water?”

Alex sighed. “Are you going to be like this all the way through my pregnancy?”

“I don’t know. Ask me in six months’ time.”

He squatted beside her lounger and put his hand on her still-flat belly.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay. I know how much this means to you.”

And to him. This was their second pregnancy. Her first had ended in a miscarriage at nine weeks just over eight months ago and it had been a sad time for both of them. Now she was thirteen weeks and counting. The doctor had assured her their baby was doing well at her scan yesterday. With her fortieth birthday around the corner, Alex had her fingers crossed he was right. The moment the doctor had made his pronouncement, Ethan had disappeared to the shops and returned home with enough furniture to fill five nurseries.

“I’m fine. The baby’s fine,” she assured him.

She slid her hand over his where it rested on her stomach. Ethan was silent and she reached out with her other hand to push his glasses on top of his head. She didn’t know what he was thinking when she couldn’t see his eyes.

He looked back at her, love and worry and hope and excitement all intermingled in his gaze.

“I’m going to…you know,” Kay said, waving her hand to indicate she was making herself scarce.

Alex hooked her finger into the neck of Ethan’s T-shirt and pulled him toward her.

“Stop worrying. Whatever happens, we’ll work it out.”

She kissed him. He tasted like sunshine and beer and she made an approving noise. Ethan deepened the kiss and she felt his hand slide up her torso toward her breasts. She’d already seen Kay lead Derek inside to give them some privacy so she didn’t do much more than shift restlessly as Ethan’s hand closed over her breast.

She loved him so much. The past eighteen months of her life had been filled with so much joy and laughter with him by her side. He was her best friend, the most wonderful lover she’d ever had, the best husband she could imagine—even with his overprotectiveness and over-purchasing of nursery supplies.

He made an impatient noise and she scooted her leg out of the way as he dropped a knee onto the lounger and climbed aboard. She felt his weight settle over her and smiled against his mouth.

Then she let out a wild shriek as the legs on the sun lounger collapsed and they dropped half a foot onto the grass. She threw back her head and laughed, clutching Ethan’s shoulders.

He was laughing, too, and she looked into his deep blue eyes and let the small perfection of the moment wash over her. Her life was full of moments like these now, and there would be even more of them to come, she knew.

After a moment they both sobered and Ethan reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

He didn’t say anything, and neither did she.

Some happinesses were beyond words.

ISBN: 978-1-4268-7523-6

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