to introduce a lineup of models. She’d be good at that! “I think we should agree that what happened was a ve-ry forgettable, ve-ry regrettable drunken night.”
Ouch!
“Don’t pull any punches.”
“Honestly. If I could go back to that night and not not-sleep with you, that’s exactly what I’d do.” Her voice was convincingly couldn’t-care-less.
Double Ouch! There’d been a time when he’d wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t left London when he did. She’d given him the answer. If he’d fantasized that they’d almost been more than friends, he’d been mistaken.
Except – he wasn’t entirely clear about what she was actually saying. Was it that she wished they had slept together? Or that she was glad they didn’t? The gist of it seemed to be that she’d rather the episode had not occurred. All the same, he couldn’t resist winding her up a bit. “For the record,” he said. “If I could rewind the clock I’d definitely still sleep with you.”
She didn’t even crack a smile. Instead, she fired daggers at him with her eyes. Another gummy bear disappeared into her mouth. Slicked with a coating of natural, shiny gloss, her lips were magnetic. Tempted to kiss her, he ran a hand across his jaw. The prickle of stubble grated against his fingers.
Hands planted on his knees, he slowly shook his head. “Fine,” he conceded. “Let’s pretend it never happened. We’re two friends who lost touch. End of story.”
“Okay.” Did she flinch? He must have imagined it.
“Okay.” He held out a hand to her. “Shake on it?” She put her small hand in his. He clasped her fingers, his eyes drawn to her nails and the glaring contrast the splashes of yellow made against her clothes.
She downed her fruit cocktail much too quickly and stood up. “I’ve got to go,” she said. “There’s something I need to do.”
“What’s the rush?”
Was she crossing the fingers of her left hand? What was that about? There was a noticeable vacancy on the ring finger. She appeared so available – and yet there was a shut-offness about her that he didn’t get. One minute he got sparks of the old Maggie, the next she was giving him the cold shoulder.
She gathered her bags together. “Bye Alex. Thanks for the drink.”
This was a first. Women in hotel bars weren’t usually so keen to get away from him. She was about to make her escape when she wobbled on her heels, her face woozy. “Maggie!” He jumped up and caught her as she started to crumple. “Are you okay?”
“I stood up too quickly. That’s all. I’m fine.” She sat down again, all of a sudden wan. “Actually, I’m not fine,” she admitted. “I feel queasy.”
“It’ll be those damn gummy bears. I knew they looked like trouble. I’ll get you some iced water.” He strode quickly to the bar.
Maggie sucked in a few deep breaths. She felt okay-ish again. The cocktail had been a tad on the sickly-sweet side but it hadn’t made her ill. She had the distinct feeling that her artificial insemination procedure had worked. She should do that pregnancy test and check. Ought she to tell Alex the truth? Try as she might to put up her defenses, she was drawn to him, and she was desperate to confide in someone. He was so much more than a familiar face. He reminded her of a time when grown-up life was new and fresh and fun. Before he left. Before Marcus cheated. Choices weren’t difficult then – everything was as easy as choosing a nail color.
As she sipped the water he sat watching her, concern etched on his face. The pianist had taken a break. The bar was empty and silent apart from the clinking of ice cubes in her glass.
“That something I was talking about,” she started. “The thing I have to do.”
Alex’s concern deepened. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”
“I think I might be pregnant.” The hopelessly blabber-mouthed admission was out there, and the wave of nausea had gone, almost as quickly as it had hit.
“What do you mean – you think? It’s not my place, but shouldn’t you do a test?”
“I plan to.”
The penny dropped. “That’s the thing?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So-o, you’re with child … Maybe?” He gulped. She nodded, and bit down on her lip.
“Who’s the lucky guy?”
“There isn’t one.”
Proud to be going it alone, she waggled her ringless fingers. “This is the twenty-first century. I don’t need a man to have a baby.”
“So what do you need? Pray tell.” He was looking at her in disbelief, as if she’d told a joke with a surprisingly rude punch line. “A magic wand? You can’t conjure up a baby out of thin air!” Judging by his tone, he was going to have difficulty getting his head around her decision to eliminate the man factor from the baby-making process.
“I could raid a cabbage patch,” she joked, trying to make light of her confession. “Or kidnap a passing stork!”
Silence.
“Here’s the thing. I’m having a baby on my own. I’ve – um.” She stopped in midstream. “I’ve had artificial insemination.”
“Good grief,” Alex gasped, his impossibly perfect face shocked. “I’ve heard it all now.” He fired words at her. “Are you stark-staring mad? You can’t have hit thirty yet! How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine,” she supplied. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to ask a woman’s age?”
She began to regret telling all. This was nothing to do with Alex. She’d felt wobbly and allowed herself to get too comfortable with him.
He ignored her question and shot another one right back at her, aghast. “Surely you could have waited for the right guy to come along?”
She neither wanted nor needed a permanent man in her life. And she’d done her research. Her fertility would start to decline once she was in her thirties. She was spontaneous about pretty much everything in life, but the possibility of there never being a right time to start a family, let alone a reliable Mr. Right, was something she didn’t want to leave to luck. She’d blindly believed she’d have it all with Marcus – the perfect marriage, the perfect home, the chance to have the family of her dreams. The night she’d walked into the apartment filled with flickering candles, she’d thought for a minute that he’d found out she was coming back a day early, made the place beautiful to welcome her home. Her heart turned to stone as she spotted the empty wine bottle, the trail of discarded clothes leading to the bedroom – her bedroom. Her bed!
“I’m risk averse. That’s not a chance I wanted to take.”
A muscle in his jawline flickered. “DIY conception, Maggie? Isn’t that a bit drastic?”
His words hit her like a stomach blow.
“Apparently not. You can buy a kit on the internet,” she said bravely. Her eyes held his, facing him off, trying to push him away, sorry she’d said anything. “And yes, before you ask, the turkey baster is an urban myth.” This conversation would have been so much easier if she hadn’t been an eensy bit in love with him once. “The kit contains a syringe, a thermometer, an ovulation test …” She hesitated for a micro-second, then ploughed on, “… And a collection pot – if you’re interested.” She composed herself, resisting the urge to leap up and head for the elevators. “That’s not what I did, though. I thought about it, but I couldn’t find a friend who was willing to donate me his sperm.”
Oops. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that!
Maggie thanked the heavens he’d finished