draining, physically, mentally and financially.” He glanced back down at the file. “You’ve already chosen a donor from our files, I see.”
She nodded.
“Okay.” Sanjay flipped open the file, then frowned. “One moment.” He reached for the phone and made a call. When he hung up, he slowly removed his glasses, closed the folder and fixed her with a silent, considering gaze.
Uh-oh. She nervously twisted the handles of her handbag. “What’s wrong?”
“Miss Reynolds, I’m sorry but we cannot proceed at this time.”
Her mouth gaped. “Why not?”
“I’ve been advised your donor is no longer available.” He gave her a sympathetic smile.
“What?”
“Your donor cancelled his appointment,” Sanjay said calmly. “This means—”
AJ stared blankly at the manila folder as the doctor’s explanation faded into the background. No. No! This could not be happening.
“Miss Reynolds?” the doctor repeated gently. “Did you hear me? How do you want to proceed?”
“What do you mean?”
He paused, silently studying her as if trying to assess her mental state. “You’ll need to make another donor choice and then we can go from there. You’ll need to make another appointment with reception.”
He slid a business card across his desk, almost as if he’d been waiting for the cue, but all she could do was stare at him. “But...but...I don’t... It took me three months to get this one! Can’t I just—”
“I am sorry about the long wait time but we are fully booked. And I am legally bound to follow procedure.” He straightened the files on his desk, then fixed her with a polite smile. “You need time to make a decision and once you have, we can discuss everything at our next appointment. Now, can I help you with anything else?”
AJ shook her head and took the card, her fingers surprisingly steady.
When she finally strode outside, the bright morning sun seared away the vague clinical aroma and the doctor’s sympathetic but hands-tied expression. Slipping on her sunglasses, she crossed the road to the parking lot and dug out her phone.
She found her car—a third-hand, beat-up red Hyundai Getz—and slipped into the driver’s seat.
Just what was she going to do now?
She stared at the cracked steering wheel, her mind a total blank. Another three months. Could she wait that long? She’d done her research—she knew anxiety and worry played a huge factor in getting pregnant. And there was no guarantee the first time would work anyway. She’d been on a dozen different blogs and forums where women openly shared their stories—the injections, the schedules, prime ovulation times, family pressure, aching optimism and the deep, dark lows of constant negative tests. She’d read about women making the agonizing choice of stopping fertility treatments after years of stress, only to fall pregnant months later when the pressure was off. Her head had spun with overload.
She could spend years chasing this dream. And where would she get the money? She’d never had a loan in her life and there was no way she’d stoop to sponging off Emily. Big sisters looked out for the little ones; they didn’t demand handouts.
Her mind was a whirling mass of chaos, thoughts flying everywhere, so it took a few seconds to realize her phone was ringing. Confused, she finally grabbed it and stared at the screen.
Her sharp laugh shattered the still air. It was Matthew. Great.
“Yes?”
“Just checking you’ll be here for lunch.”
His deep voice, combined with that polished accent, sent her thoughts into further turmoil. She glanced at her watch. Ten o’clock. It felt like she’d been in there for hours. “Probably not. I’m in Brisbane.”
There was a pause. “Later, then. The Versace does an exceptional high tea.”
She opened her mouth to refuse, but a sudden insidious thought struck her speechless.
Oh. My. God.
She shook her head. No.
But wait! What if...? No, you can’t.
Sure, you can.
She took a deep breath, then another.
“AJ?”
“I’m thinking,” she replied, dragging a hand through her hair.
“Don’t take too long,” he murmured. “Time’s ticking away.”
Never a truer word was spoken. Her forbidden idea slowly took shape. Matthew Cooper had the power to grant her most desperate wish. He was the perfect male specimen. The perfect candidate. The key to her plan.
Matt could give me a baby.
Yes! No! Indecision warred inside before she finally overrode her doubts and chose a side.
“I’ll be there at one,” she said and turned the key in the ignition.
* * *
Matt hadn’t actually expected her to say yes. Now, as he waited in the Palazzo Versace’s opulent coffee lounge, he wondered if this was such a good idea.
His entire life was a study in cool-headed decision-making. He made plans, logical moves, well-informed choices. Choices that had furthered his career, challenged his intellect and increased his standing in the medical community. And when he’d reached his personal crisis point, that cool head had led him to a new calling.
Yet he’d impulsively asked AJ out. In the space of an evening, she’d managed to rub off on him.
Hell, he never could control himself around her.
He shook his head and glanced over at the reception area for the fifth time in as many minutes. Circular couches with plump sun-yellow cushions were scattered throughout the foyer and the sleek, intricately tiled marble entrance bore the familiar Versace logo. Some said this five-star Gold Coast hotel blurred the line between lavish and garish, but he loved it. It was private, the staff was discreet and service was top-notch. He never stayed anywhere else when he was in Surfers.
He glanced up again, and when he spotted a familiar figure walking through the huge glass doors, her low strappy heels clicking sharply on the tiled floor, his thoughts fled like predawn shadows at sunrise.
He’d recognize that distinctive red hair anywhere, even if it was tied back in a controlled ponytail. He also noticed how her brow was furrowed in concentration.
AJ had a habit of frowning when she didn’t agree with what was being said, those tiny disapproving lines momentarily creasing her forehead before she opened her mouth and began challenging, questioning.
She may look like a Renaissance painting, but her brain was firmly twenty-first century.
He ran his eyes over her, taking in the beacon of hair, the soft lemon cardigan over a modestly cut cream sundress, the silver sandals on her feet. She looked...demure. Again. A word he’d never consider for a woman who’d worn screaming-orange and electric-blue with impunity, who’d rocked short denim shirts and sexy off-the-shoulder tops, who laughed and loved equally with impulsive, joyous abandon.
Burning curiosity sparked in him as he strode across the foyer.
When she finally noticed his approach, a smile replaced her frown. It was all-encompassing, defining those high cheekbones and creasing her clear blue eyes. It felt as if he was the only guy in the world and she was smiling just for him. And yeah, it also jammed the words in his throat as if he were a boy with his first crush.
Irritating and arousing—that was AJ to a T.
So he did the only thing he could—smiled in return, took her arm and