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More Than One Night
Sarah Mayberry




“I had a great night.”
Rhys spoke, then pressed a kiss to her lips. He lifted his head slightly and looked into her eyes. Charlie stared at him, stunned, her heart thudding against her breastbone. He palmed the nape of her neck, and then he was kissing her again, his tongue sweeping into her mouth this time, turning her legs to jelly.
After a long moment, he drew back. “Come home with me?” he asked very quietly, his voice husky.
Dear God, I thought you’d never ask.
“Yes.”
He smiled and moved closer, wrapping his arms around her as she leaned into him. She wanted him. She’d indulged herself precious few times in her life, but she wanted this man, wanted the experience he promised with his dark eyes and hard body, and she was damn well going to have him.
“You keep that up, we’re not even going to make it home,” Rhys murmured against her mouth.
“What are we waiting for, then?”


Dear Reader,
My inspiration for this book was a common jumping-off point for romance novels—two people spend the night together and inadvertently make a baby. Sometimes in romance stories the baby then becomes a secret, but in this case, I wanted the baby to be a catalyst for Charlie, my heroine, and Rhys, my hero, to move beyond one night and into a relationship that neither of them think they are ready for.
I wanted to play out the reality of such a difficult situation, step-by-step. What would it be like to discover you’re pregnant with the child of a virtual stranger? And how would you feel if a woman turned up on your doorstep and told you that you were going to become a father? At a certain point in the book, I realized that I’d put poor Charlie and Rhys in very complex, loaded circumstances. I felt so sorry for them! And I desperately wanted them to find their happy-ever-after—particularly Charlie, who hasn’t had nearly enough love in her life.
By the time I had finished, I was satisfied that Rhys understood that Charlie coming into his world was the best thing that had ever happened to him—the reason he’d been searching for through all his striving to succeed, succeed, succeed—and that Charlie had at last found a place to call home. I hope you enjoy reading their story—I got so much out of writing it.
Until next time,
Sarah Mayberry
PS—I love to hear from readers! Contact me through my website, www.sarahmayberryauthor.com.

About the Author
SARAH MAYBERRY lives on the bay in Melbourne, Australia, with her partner (now husband!) of nearly twenty years. When she’s not writing, she tries to keep the jungle that is her garden under control with the help of her tireless green-thumbed mother. She also enjoys cooking, reading, going to the movies, shopping for shoes and hanging out with her friends and family.
More Than
One Night

Sarah Mayberry





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
As always, the two people who have kept me sane
while writing this book are Chris and Wanda.
If I was Bette Midler, I would say you were
“The wind beneath my wings.” Since I’m me,
I’ll settle for saying you both make me a better person
and a better writer (not as poetic, but lighter on
the fromage factor, hopefully).
Big thanks also to Lisa, the bestest neighbor ever, and
to Joan for being my lovely sane writer friend who
understands the joy and pain of being in the trenches
wrestling with plot, character and grammar.
Last, but not least, I want to send a shout-out to the
online romance writing and reading community. It’s so
awesome to know there are so many of us who live to
read and dream and write about love and human
relationships. Your collective generosity and
smarts continually impresses me.

CHAPTER ONE
THE SOUND OF a champagne cork popping echoed in the small kitchen.
“Woohoo! We are going to have so much fun, former Warrant Officer Long. It’s going to be just like old times.”
Charlie Long smiled at her friend Gina’s exuberant prediction.
“Save some of that perkiness for later. You don’t want to peak too soon,” Charlie warned as she passed a long-stemmed flute for filling. “We have a big night ahead.”
A night that included lots of French champagne and some fine dining, if Charlie had any say in it.
“Don’t worry, I’m pacing myself. I have lots of perkiness in reserve.” Gina’s grin was infectious, a perfect match for her cherubic face and blond corkscrew curls.
Charlie raised her glass. “To good friends with spare rooms and big hearts.”
Gina lifted hers in turn. “To the rest of your life. To having a home that’s all yours. To meeting a guy who doesn’t know how to field strip a Steyr F88 rifle and who isn’t going to ship out when things start getting good. And to never, ever having to wear khaki again.”
Charlie laughed and clinked glasses with her friend. “Amen to that.”
She felt a little disloyal as she threw back the first mouthful of champagne. The army had been good to her. It had been her family, of sorts, for almost half her life. Even though she was ready to move on, she didn’t regret the years she’d given in service to her country. They’d made her who she was—defined her, really—for good or bad.
She felt the now-familiar lurch of nervousness as she contemplated life without the framework of the army.
So many possibilities to reinvent herself and her life. So much change. So much opportunity.
“How long do you think it’ll take the airline to find your luggage?” Gina asked as she took a jar of olives from the fridge. After her own discharge two years ago she’d taken a job as manager of a busy catering company and her fridge was full to the brim with gourmet goodies and leftovers.
Charlie shook her head. “Who knows?”
As omens went, losing the bulk of her worldly goods on the first day of civilian life wasn’t a great one. When Gina had collected her from the airport this afternoon, they’d stood and watched the luggage carousel snake round and round for a good half hour before admitting defeat and reporting the two suitcases lost.
“Damn it,” she said as a new thought occurred. “What will I wear tonight?”
They had stopped by a mall to allow Charlie to pick up a few bare essentials to cover her for the “twenty-four hours” the airline had predicted she’d be without her baggage, but she hadn’t even thought of buying something for tonight. She glanced down at her worn jeans, dark gray T-shirt and hiking boots. Not by any stretch of the imagination could they be considered suitable attire for the fancy-pants restaurant they had booked for dinner.
“Relax. You can borrow something of mine.”
Charlie surveyed her shorter, slighter friend doubtfully. “I’m not sure that’s going to work.”
Size apart, there was also the small but important fact that she and Gina had very different taste in clothes. Charlie preferred tailored and neat and nondescript. Gina liked sparkly things that left the world in no doubt that she was a woman.
“We’ll find something, C, don’t worry,” Gina said confidently.
The look in her friend’s eyes made Charlie a little nervous. “Nothing crazy, okay?”
“Would I do that to you?”
Half a dozen incidents from their shared past flashed across Charlie’s mind. “Yes.”
Gina laughed and twisted open the jar. “Have an olive and stop stressing.”
They stood at the counter drinking champagne and picking at the olives for almost an hour. Then Gina caught sight of the time and put down her glass with a decisive clink.
“Time to go make ourselves gorgeous. You shower first while I have a rummage and see what I can dig up for you to wear.”
“At the risk of appearing ungrateful, could it not be a dress? I hate dresses.”
“I have something in mind already, don’t worry,” Gina said mysteriously, shooing Charlie away.
Charlie padded obediently up the hallway of Gina’s small Victorian-era cottage to her room. It had been three years since they had shared quarters near the Townsville barracks in Far North Queensland. When Charlie had first raised the notion of seeking a discharge, Gina hadn’t hesitated in offering her spare room. It had taken Charlie only a moment’s thought to say yes. For a woman with no ties to anyone or anything, a friendly face and a temporary place to stay had been as good a reason as any to pick Sydney as the site to start the next phase of her life.
She shut the bedroom door behind her. The room was small but bright, with a vase of flowers on the bedside table, a snowy-white quilt and a colorful rag rug on the floor. Her overnight bag and the mall purchases lay on the end of the bed, but instead of unpacking her meager belongings, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, absorbing the reality of the situation, allowing herself to catch up with everything that had happened.
She was in Sydney. For the next little while she would be living with Gina. And soon she would have a home of her own.
Home.
She tried the word out in her mind. It sounded… odd. Surreal, almost. For the past fourteen years, home had been wherever the powers that be chose to send her. She’d moved six times while enlisted, but not once had she allowed herself to call anywhere home. It was pointless to get too attached to anything or anyone when you knew you’d soon be moving on to the next posting.
Not anymore, though. Now she was in charge of her own destiny.
There was a tight feeling in her chest as she crossed to the window to inspect the courtyard garden outside. She’d die before she admitted it to anyone, but rather than being excited by all the choices and possibilities that lay ahead of her, she was feeling more than a little overwhelmed.
Everything was so open. So unpredictable. So possible. Which was great—in theory. In practice, it was a bit like standing on the high diving board, staring down, down, down at a pool that seemed far too small. She knew she had to take the plunge—but that didn’t stop her from feeling pretty damn intimidated by what lay ahead.
Embarrassing when she considered some of the situations she’d dealt with during her time with her country’s defense force. As a highly trained communications engineer with the Royal Australia Corps of Sigs, or R.A. Sigs, as it was more commonly known, she’d served as the vault custodian in Iraq, handling all the cryptographic material for the Australian forces, and she’d been deployed to East Timor as part of Operation Astute in 2006, helping to preserve peace and stability in the region. Over her years of service, she’d gained a reputation for being cool under pressure, a force to be reckoned with.
She wasn’t sure where that coolness was right now. Maybe it was with her luggage, winging its way to an unknown destination. Or maybe she’d forgotten to pack it altogether. Maybe she’d left it behind, along with her khakis and a way of life that had constituted the entirety of her adulthood.
Stop freaking out. You can do this. How hard can it be? You find an apartment. You buy some furniture. You start a life. It’s not rocket science.
It only felt like it.
Clearly, more champagne was called for. But first she would shower, in accordance with Gina’s instructions. All part of being a good guest.
Her thoughts fixed firmly on the here and now, Charlie made her way to the bathroom.
“OKAY, MR. WALKER. You’ve got twenty minutes and then I’m due on a plane. Make them count,” Dieter Hanson said as he strode into the room.
Rhys Walker tried not to let the smile slip from his face as he shook hands with the tall, balding CEO. Rhys and his business partner, Greg, had been waiting for Hanson for nearly an hour past their appointed meeting time, cooling their heels in the hotel chain’s vast boardroom. The CEO’s assistant had popped her head in twice to assure them Mr. Hanson was “only five minutes away,” and both times Rhys had suggested they reschedule. But the woman had been adamant that Mr. Hanson wouldn’t be much longer.
Now Rhys eyed the man who had the power to change his life, irritation and adrenaline waging war in his bloodstream. He didn’t like having his time wasted, but he and Greg had been wooing various executives at the Gainsborough Hotel Group for over two months, and they finally had been bumped to the top. Like it or not, Dieter Hanson had the power to say yay or nay to the contract Rhys had negotiated with the man’s underlings. Which meant it was time to put his tap-dancing shoes on and sing for his supper.
“We’ll keep this short and sweet, then,” Rhys said. He glanced at Greg, who gave him the smallest of nods. It was enough to confirm that Greg was handing the presentation over to Rhys, no questions asked.
Rhys refocused his attention on the man at the head of the table. “I won’t go over the details of what we’re offering again. It’s a pretty standard I.T. outsourcing contract. What I’d like to do is tell you a bit about myself and Greg and why we started Falcon, so you understand where we’re coming from.”
Rhys outlined their background in the I.T. and hospitality industries. He talked about the ethos behind Falcon and their goals, both short-term and long-term. Once he’d established their bona fides, he nailed the other man with a look.
“I’m going out on a limb and guessing that over the past twelve months, Gainsborough has experienced more than thirty software or hardware failures that have forced you to rely on manual systems to keep the doors open.” Rhys listed ten of the most common issues with accommodation-booking software before hitting Hanson with an estimate of the amount of revenue his hotels had lost due to those same faults.
Hanson’s interest sharpened when Rhys started to talk figures, and he knew he had him in the palm of his hand when Hanson began to ask questions about particulars in the contract. Rhys and Greg played tag team on the responses, and seventeen minutes after he’d entered the room, Hanson sat back in his chair and eyed first Rhys, then Greg.
“My team told me you guys were going to be hard to beat. I have to agree with them.” Hanson pulled a pen from his breast pocket. “I assume you have the contract with you?”
Every muscle in Rhys’s body tensed as he resisted the almost overwhelming urge to punch the air and whoop with triumph.
They’d done it. They’d freaking done it.
He extracted the contract from his briefcase and slid it forward. If Hanson noticed that Rhys’s hands were trembling, he was pro enough not to comment on it. He signed the page with a flourish before returning the pen to his pocket and standing.
“Nice to meet you both. If you deliver on your promises, it will be even nicer.”
“You can count on it,” Rhys said.
They shook hands and left the room together. Hanson headed toward the elevators, while Rhys set his sights on the door to the men’s washroom at the end of the hall. He knew without checking that Greg followed him, but neither of them said a word until they were on the other side of the polished wood door. Then they both dropped their briefcases to the floor and burst into relieved, triumphant laughter.
“Can you believe it? Can you freaking believe it?” Rhys said over and over.
Greg slapped him on the back so many times it started to hurt, but Rhys didn’t give a damn.
“That’s it. We’re off and running. This is really going to happen,” Greg said.
“Yeah, it is.” Rhys felt dazed. They’d been working toward this moment for so long. And now they were here, it didn’t feel quite real. With Gainsborough on board, it would only be a matter of time before they scored the next hotel chain. All it took was one big player to give them credibility, and they had that now. In spades.
Soon, they would be the go-to guys for hospitality I.T. in Australia. After that… Well, after that they were reaching into territory far beyond even Rhys’s current ambitions.
Greg held his hands out in front of him. “Check it out,” he said as his fingers trembled in midair.
Rhys offered up his own shaking hands and they started laughing all over again.
“Man, I’m wrecked,” Rhys said. “I feel like I ran a marathon.”
He pulled his tie loose and shrugged out of his jacket. Half moons of sweat radiated from beneath his armpits from all the nervous energy he’d expended.
“Let’s go out, man,” Greg said. “Let’s grab this town by the scruff of the neck and not let go until it shakes us off.”
“For sure. I’ll call the office and tell the guys to meet up with us.”
“And I’ll tell Jess to hire a babysitter.”
They were both grinning as they exited the washroom. They’d come in separate cars and they parted ways in the garage beneath the building.
“Café Sydney, ASAP. Be there or be square,” Greg called over his shoulder.
“Bring your accessory liver, my friend. Because tonight is the night,” Rhys said.
Greg’s laughter echoed at him, bouncing off the concrete and the rows of parked cars. Rhys walked toward his ten-year-old BMW, aware that his cheeks were starting to ache with all his smiling.
So many people had raised their eyebrows when he’d quit his lucrative management role with a rival I.T. firm eight months ago. Friends, family members had all thought he was nuts to walk away from a cushy job when the global economy was still so shaky. But Rhys had always planned to start his own consulting company from the moment he’d earned his computer engineering degree. He’d saved every spare cent he’d ever earned, denying himself the luxury car and fancy apartment his salary could have commanded because he was determined to be his own master, to guide his own destiny. To make his mark on the world.
He pulled out his phone and dialed a number by heart rather than use his contact list, only registering that he was still underground when the phone beeped to let him know he had no signal. Shaking his head at his own woolly-headedness—apparently euphoria did that to a person, who knew?—he started his car and drove out into the dying light of a warm Sydney day. He tried his parents again and listened to the phone ring until finally the machine picked up.
“Hey. It’s me,” he said. “Just wanted you guys to know I got Gainsborough. Like I said I would. I want to take you out for dinner to celebrate, so let me know when you’re available and I’ll book someplace nice, okay?”
He ended the call as he braked at a stoplight. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to think who else he should phone. The gang back in the office, obviously, but he felt as though there was someone else he was missing. His thoughts ranged over his brothers and sisters, but he dismissed them after a moment’s consideration. They were all so absorbed in their own things that they wouldn’t really care. They would be happy for him, sure, but they’d never really understood what he and Greg were trying to achieve with the business and at some point in the conversation he would feel as though he was bragging—the younger brother trying to impress his siblings with his achievements. They would hear his news via their parents or at the next family function.
He frowned. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of a single other person who would understand what today meant and share his excitement. The realization left him feeling vaguely dissatisfied. Shrugging off the sensation, he called the office, laughing as he heard the guys hollering in the background.
“Go home, put on your party clothes and meet us at Café Sydney,” he instructed when they’d calmed enough to be coherent. “It’s going to be a big one.”
He followed his own advice, cutting across town to his apartment in Potts Point. He spared a glance for the Finger Wharf as he drove through Woolloomooloo. The sun glinted off the white rooftops of the luxurious apartments that had been built on top of the ancient timber wharf. Home to Russell Crowe and a number of other high-profile Australians, the wharf was considered one of the best places to live in Sydney.
Not long now, baby.
He’d been eyeing an apartment in the wharf development for years now. The smaller apartments with the lesser views started at around half a million dollars, but Rhys didn’t want a small apartment. He wanted space, he wanted views. If things went smoothly with Gainsborough, there was no reason why he couldn’t start talking to real estate agents in earnest.
No reason at all.
A second rush of euphoria hit him as he considered what today meant. He wound down the window and let out a triumphant yahoo. A few people turned to stare. He felt a little stupid, but what the hell.
Today was the day his life had finally come together. All the planning. All the sacrifices. All the hours and hours of hard graft.
Life didn’t hand out many moments like this, and he planned to enjoy every second of it. And then some.
“STOP FIDGETING.” Gina slapped Charlie’s hand away from the neckline of her top.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Everyone in this restaurant knows I’m not wearing a bra. You know that, right?”
Despite her friend’s admonition, Charlie once again tweaked the neckline of the metallic mesh halter she was wearing. No matter what she did, there was no hiding the fact that there was a lot of cleavage on show. Like the skintight black stretch-satin trousers she was wearing, Gina’s top was not built for subtlety.
She glanced around the dark, woody interior of Café Sydney, hugely self-conscious in her borrowed clothes.
“No one knows you’re not wearing a bra except you. And maybe the people at the next table now since we’re talking so loudly. You need to relax. Here, have some more champagne.”
Gina leaned over and plucked the champagne bottle from the ice bucket where their waiter had left it and poured them both another glass. “You look great, C. You look amazing.”
“I look like I charge by the hour.” Charlie shifted in her seat, wondering if it was possible for pants to be so tight they cut off circulation to vital organs.
“You know what your problem is? You’re too used to trying to be one of the guys. Don’t get me wrong, I understand why that’s a good thing in the army, but you’re not enlisted anymore. At the risk of sounding like a feminine-hygiene commercial, you need to embrace your womanhood.”
Stung, Charlie paused with her glass halfway to her mouth. “I never tried to be one of the guys. I tried to be a good soldier.” She could hear the defensiveness in her voice and she sat a little straighter. “Just because I’m not into pink and because I don’t put everything out there on display doesn’t make me butch or one of the guys.”
Gina reached out and touched her arm. “I’m sorry. That came out the wrong way. I wasn’t saying you were butch. That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean, then?”
Like it or not, Gina had hit a raw nerve and for some reason Charlie felt unable to let it go. There was so much else up in the air at the moment, having her sense of herself undermined felt like a step too far.
Gina studied her for a beat. “Do you honestly think you look bad tonight?”
“I don’t look like me.”
“That’s not answering my question. Do you think you look good or not?”
Charlie glanced at herself. The black mesh of her top reflected the candlelight on the table and clung to her breasts in what she could only describe as an outrageously sexy way. The satin of her pants glowed with a more subtle luster, somehow lending her usually gangly legs a new voluptuousness.
“I look okay,” she finally conceded.
Gina shook her head. “You’re hopeless. You’re the hottest woman in this room and you don’t even know it. What a waste.”
Charlie made a disbelieving noise.
“You don’t believe me?” Gina asked.
“You don’t need to blow smoke up my skirt. I know exactly where I fit in the man-woman food chain.” From the moment she hit puberty she’d known. She wasn’t blonde, she wasn’t perky, and she didn’t have that unknowable “something” that made men want to howl at the moon. A painful realization at the time, but now simply a fact of life. She’d long ago accepted that straight, mousy-brown hair, plain brown eyes and nondescript features were not going to set the world on fire.
“So where do you fit, then?” Gina asked.
“On a scale of one to ten? Five. Maybe six on a good day.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Why are we even having this conversation? Let’s talk about something else. Tell me more about this Spencer guy you’re seeing.”
Gina frowned. “Is this why you never went for it with Hamish in Townsville?”
“Good God. You have a memory like an elephant.” Charlie took a gulp of champagne, hoping the action would hide the fact that she was blushing.
Her crush on Hamish Flint had not been her proudest moment. She’d mooned over the sexy, handsome warrant officer from afar for more than a year and never gotten the courage to do more than talk work with him.
Gina rested both forearms on the table and leaned toward Charlie. “I want you to indulge me in a little experiment. I want you to do a lap of the restaurant. All the way around the perimeter. And I want you to pay attention to how many men look at you.”
Charlie rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to do that.”
“Why not? Afraid I’m right?”
“I know you’re wrong.”
“Off you go, then. One lap, and pay attention. And no crossing your arms over your chest or sneaking around.”
“Get off the grass.”
Gina made a chicken sound.
Charlie rolled her eyes. “How old are you?”
“How scared are you?”
“I’m not scared.”
“Then put your moneymaker where your mouth is, lady,” Gina said.
A surge of annoyance brought Charlie to her feet. “Fine. I’ll do it. But be ready to eat your words.”
Gina gave her a finger wave. “I want an accurate tally. No fudging.”
Charlie snorted as she turned from the table. Gina was an idiot. Well intentioned, but an idiot nonetheless. Charlie had lived with this body and this face for thirty-two years. As she’d said, she knew her place in the dating food chain. And it certainly wasn’t at the top.
A server was backing away from the next table and she waited until he’d passed before taking her first step. Immediately she felt the subtle sway of her breasts against the top and had to quell the urge to cross her arms over her chest.
She lifted her chin and walked toward the first table for four. It was full of men in suits who had clearly come straight from the office, and all four of them glanced at her as she walked past. Two of them fixated on her breasts, the other two on her legs. There was no mistaking their interest and Charlie felt an odd squirm of… something in the pit of her stomach.
Okay, clearly a fluke.
The next table boasted six couples. Two men and one of the women gave her a fully body scan. Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the men turn his head to check out her ass as she passed.
She frowned, adding two more to her tally. Gina hadn’t told her to count women, after all.
Next up was a family grouping—three generations, if she was any judge.
No takers here, I’m sure.
She was almost out of range when the gray-haired patriarch looked up from opening a gift to offer her a cheeky, spontaneous smile, while the two teenage boys turned and stared unashamedly at her breasts.
Seven, eight, nine. Bloody hell.
By the time she’d reached the bar area at the rear of the restaurant she’d racked up seventeen checkouts. She inspected her trousers to make sure her fly was done up. It was. There was no other explanation, then—it had to be the pants and top. Somehow, a bit of slinky fabric had convinced everyone she was a sexy siren. How… bizarre.
And, if she was being honest with herself, kind of exciting. She’d spent far too many nights talking shop with the boys while watching other servicewomen beat off admirers with a stick to be above enjoying the very flattering male interest. She was only human, after all.
And maybe more than a little bit tipsy.
Experimenting, she pulled back her shoulders and injected some sway into her hips as she wove her way through the bar.
More eyes turned her way.
Huh. Look at that. I’m really getting the hang of this thing. Who knew it was so easy?
The thought had barely registered when she stumbled down an unexpected step. Her hand flew out instinctively, grabbing the nearest object—which happened to be a very solid male arm holding a very full glass of wine.

CHAPTER TWO
RED WINE FLEW as her weight dragged the arm down. She let out a startled yelp as her hip crashed into her unsuspecting rescuer. For a second she teetered on the brink of losing her balance completely, but he moved incredibly quickly, twisting to face her while his free hand grabbed her other arm. She glanced up and found herself looking into a pair of dark-lashed chocolate-brown eyes that were half concerned, half annoyed.
“You all right there?” he asked.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t see the step.”
“But you’re okay now?”
“Absolutely.”
They were standing very close, almost chest to chest. She could smell his aftershave—something woodsy, with leather and spice notes—and she could see the fine lines around his eyes and mouth.
She realized she was staring and took a hasty step backward. Which was when she noticed the huge red stain down the front of his steel-gray shirt. “I ruined your shirt.”
He glanced at himself. “I guess you did.”
“I’ll pay for dry cleaning. Or a replacement. And I’ll buy you another glass of wine. Whatever you want.”
His gaze dipped below her face as he gave her body a slow appraisal. “How about I buy you a drink and we’ll call it even?” There was a cheeky, charming glint in his eye. His behavior was so removed from her usual interactions with men that it took her a moment to understand he was flirting.
“I can’t let you do that. It was my fault.”
The smile in his eyes extended to his mouth. “It was an accident. No harm done.”
“Except to your shirt.”
He made a dismissive sound and flicked his fingers in the air, never taking his eyes off hers.
She found herself smiling in return. “You’re really not mad?”
“It’s a shirt. No big deal.” He offered her his hand. “I’m Rhys, by the way.”
“Charlie,” she said, shaking his hand. His fingers were long and strong, the nails beautifully manicured.
“Short for Charlotte?”
She nodded. “But I’ve always been Charlie.”
He was still holding her hand. She knew she should pull it free, but she was too busy staring into his face.
“Why don’t you join me and my friends.”
She glanced over his shoulder and realized that their whole interaction was being witnessed by a group of eight people.
She threw them a self-conscious smile. “I can’t. I’m having friend with my dinner,” she said. Then she registered what she’d said. “I mean, I’m having dinner with my friend.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners as his smile deepened. Normally she’d be embarrassed by her gaucheness, but there was something about the way he looked at her that short-circuited all her usual responses.
“Right. He’s probably going to come after me with an elephant gun if I hold you up much longer, huh?”
“It’s a she. And she’s probably thinking I’ve twisted my ankle in these shoes. Which I almost did.”
“Then I’ll let you go,” he said, his fingers sliding from hers. “But maybe I’ll see you later. We’re going to be here awhile.”
She had no idea what to say to the blatant invitation in his eyes. She’d never had a man look at her like that in her life. Although she could definitely get used to it, especially if they all had intense dark eyes and olive skin and broad, strong chests.
“Um. Maybe.” She took a step backward. “Sorry about your shirt. Again.”
“Forget about it. I already have.”
She nodded and smiled and finally forced herself to walk away from the magnetic pull of his regard.
“Wow,” she whispered to herself as she wove through the crowd.
So that was what it was like to be the absolute focus of a handsome, devastating man’s attention. Heady, a little overwhelming and a lot exciting.
She glanced over her shoulder as she stepped down into the reception area. Her eyes met his and she realized he’d been watching her walk away. As though he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She lifted her hand and gave him the smallest of finger waves. He nodded his head slightly in acknowledgment. The urge to walk back and take him up on his offer of a drink was almost impossible to ignore.
Um, hello? Remember Gina? Earth calling Charlie…
Charlie forced herself to keep moving. The more distance she put between herself and Rhys-the-super-hot, the more sane she felt. For a moment there, she’d bought into Gina’s fantasy of who she was. Which was plain crazy.
“There you are,” Gina said as Charlie returned to the table. “I was about to send out a Saint Bernard with a little barrel of whiskey strapped to his neck. What happened to you?”
“I nearly broke my ankle in these shoes of yours, for starters,” Charlie said. “Plus, I gave some poor guy a bath in his own wine.”
“No way!”
“Way.”
Gina pressed her fingers to her mouth to stop herself from laughing.
“Go ahead and laugh,” Charlie said resignedly.
“Give me your tally first. How many men looked at you?”
Charlie turned her head and gazed along the length of the restaurant. She could see the bar from here, but not Rhys’s dark head. “Um, I’m not sure. I lost count,” she said distractedly.
“You lost count. I rest my case.”
The waiter arrived with their meals before Charlie could respond. She used the interruption to change the subject.
The champagne kept flowing as they ate, although Charlie was old enough and wise enough not to drink too much. Still, there was no denying that she was feeling very relaxed by the time she and Gina had polished off a dessert platter.
“Okay. Where to next?” Gina said as she licked the last smear of chocolate sauce off her spoon.
Charlie let her gaze slide to the bar again. Was Rhys still there? And if he was, would he still want to buy her a drink? Or had he already met some other non-wine-spilling woman who knew how to respond when a handsome man looked at her with approval?
“What about a drink at the bar?” she heard herself say.
Gina shrugged. “Sure, babe. It’s your night. Let’s go.”
What are you doing? What do you think is going to happen if you go to the bar? Have you forgotten who you are?
She hadn’t. Not really. She’d always been a realist, pragmatic and practical to her bones. But thanks to copious quantities of good champagne and her borrowed clothes, she was buzzing with a sense of possibility tonight. As Gina had said earlier, this was the first day of the rest of her life.
Everything was in flux—including, maybe, her sense of who she was. Because hadn’t Gina proven to her that maybe her sense of self was a little outdated or skewed? Hadn’t Rhys-the-sexy looked at her as though she was a morsel he wanted to devour? Hadn’t nearly two dozen men eyed her with masculine approval when she’d walked past?
You’ve been drinking. You should walk out of here right now and go home and eat some crackers and drink a whole lot of water.
The voice was probably right. It had saved her from making a lot of bad decisions in her life, that voice. But she didn’t want to listen tonight. She wanted more of the feeling she’d experienced when she’d caught Rhys tracking her every move with his dark, heated gaze. For that precious handful of seconds she had felt powerful and knowing and invincible and incredibly sexy.
It might be an illusion—maybe even a delusion—but she wanted more of it. Even if it meant she was setting herself up to fail spectacularly.
RHYS TOOK A PULL from his beer, an ear tuned to the debate Greg was having with Brett, one of their engineers, while his gaze roamed the crowded bar.
She hadn’t come back. He’d been hoping she would, but it had been more than an hour since the mysterious and sexy Charlie had sashayed her way to her table. Which probably meant he should put her out of his mind.
Easier said than done. It had been a long time since he’d felt such an instant attraction to a woman. Certainly a woman he’d met in a bar. He’d done his fair share of hound-dogging in his early twenties, but it had been years since he’d prowled a bar in the hope of meeting someone. Not that that was what he was doing tonight, of course—they were here to celebrate. But there was no denying the instinctive, primal pull he’d felt when staring into Charlie’s cinnamon-brown eyes. An attraction that had only intensified when he checked out the rest of her.
He’d never had a “type” of woman he was attracted to—he preferred to think of himself as an equal-opportunity admirer of the opposite sex—but there was something about Charlie’s lithe, willowy body that really worked for him. Especially in that clingy, sexy top and pants she was wearing.
Give it up, man. She’s gone home.
He gave the bar one last scan before focusing fully on Greg and Brett. Something caught the very edge of his vision and he did a double take—and grinned.
She was standing at the bar with a short, blonde woman. He watched as they had an intense discussion that involved the other woman pushing Charlie’s wallet into the small handbag she was carrying and turning to the barman. Charlie shrugged philosophically, apparently resigning herself to having her friend buy her a drink. Then she turned to scan the crowd. Rhys felt a thud of satisfaction when she paid particular attention to the spot where they’d enjoyed their first encounter. His group had moved in the past hour, commandeering a conversational grouping of couches and armchairs, but Charlie didn’t know that and the disappointed expression on her face when she found no sign of him did great things for his ego.
Not that he usually needed a lot of help in that direction, as his two younger sisters were always happy to inform him.
She’d come looking for him. Pointless to deny that he was pretty damn happy about that.
His gaze locked on her, he put down his beer and stood. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said to no one in particular.
He made his way through the crowd, never losing sight of her. She’d turned to face the bar by the time he reached her side and he took a moment to admire the long, slender lines of her body. Her halter top left most of her back exposed, revealing pale, creamy skin and finely honed muscles. His gaze slid to her butt, showcased in some kind of shiny, slippery-looking fabric that made him want to reach out and touch. She had a great ass—small and tight and perky as hell—and legs that went on forever.
He wanted her. Badly.
Her friend handed her what looked like a margarita and he waited until she’d taken a sip before speaking.
“I thought we had a deal.”
She glanced over her shoulder and he knew he wasn’t imagining the warmth in her eyes.
“You can buy my next drink,” she said, then they both simply stood there and ate each other up with their eyes.
Her friend nudged her none too subtly in the ribs and Charlie blinked.
“Sorry. Rhys, this is Gina, my friend. Gina, Rhys.”
Gina’s gaze went immediately to the stain on the front of his shirt. “So you’re wine guy. Nice to meet you.”
“I guess I am. Nice to meet you, too.” Rhys’s gaze returned to Charlie. “Come join us.”
Charlie looked at Gina, clearly gauging her reaction.
“Sure. Why not,” Gina said.
“We managed to score a couple of couches,” he explained before making his way through the crowd. At a certain point he sensed they weren’t following him and he turned to find Charlie and Gina engaged in a quick, quiet discussion that involved lots of hand gestures from Gina and an embarrassed, self-conscious little smile from Charlie.
He liked that smile. It told him a lot about Charlie and what she wanted. She glanced up and realized he was waiting and offered him a broader, brighter smile before starting toward him.
“Sorry,” she said when she reached his side.
He offered her his hand. “In case I lose you again.”
After the tiniest of hesitations she slid her hand into his. He was close enough to see the way her pupils dilated at the small contact. His gaze dropped to her mouth and he eyed her plump bottom lip. He wondered what she’d do if he kissed her right now, the way his instincts were demanding. He wondered what she’d taste like, what she’d feel like. Whether she’d push him away or press her body against his.
Someone jostled him and he realized he was staring.
“Come on.” Using their joined hands to tow her behind him, he led them to his friends. There was only one empty seat—his—and he gestured the two women toward it. It was a modern, square chair with wide, flat padded arms, and Gina dropped into the seat while Charlie perched on the arm.
He performed a quick round of introductions before perching on the arm of the chair nearest her. The move put them at the same level, creating a cozy sense of intimacy and connection between them.
“So,” he said.
She smiled, looking a little nervous. “So.”
She had fine features—a delicate nose, a neat, pointed chin, a small but plump mouth. He liked the way she’d made up her eyes to seem smoky and mysterious, and he really liked her shiny red mouth.
“Tell me, Charlie, what do you do when you’re not having dinner with your friend on a Friday night?”
She took a big gulp from her glass, almost as though she needed the liquid courage. “I just received my discharge from the army after fourteen years of service. I guess I’m officially unemployed. But I’m in the process of setting up a web-design business.”
He was surprised, and suspected it probably showed in his face. She looked far too slight to be in the armed forces.
“This is going to get me in trouble with feminists, but you look way too nice to be running around with an AK–47.”
“Actually, we carried Steyr F88s. And I worked in R.A. Sigs, which means I was in charge of making sure people could talk to each other, not shooting stuff up.”
“So you’re a comms expert, huh?”
“You could say that. How about you? What do you do when you’re not walking around wearing my mistake down the front of your shirt?”
“Greg and I are partners in an I.T. consulting firm.”
“So you’re self-employed?”
“Yep.” He could hear the satisfaction in his own voice and so, apparently, could she, because she smiled and cocked her head slightly.
“And loving it, I take it?”
“Today I am. We just landed a major contract.”
“Ah. So this is a celebration?”
“Definitely. Tell me more about the army,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman in uniform before.”
“Well, officially, I’m a woman out of uniform now.” She blushed the moment she said it and he knew she hadn’t intended the double entendre. His gaze slid down her body again.
She was an interesting contradiction. Her clothes and body screamed sexy vixen, but her attitude and expression told a different story. A more shy, less confident one.
“What made you join up?”
She appeared relieved that he hadn’t capitalized on her faux pas. “My father was in the army. So I suppose I was following in his footsteps more than anything. Especially at the start.”
“And now you’re going to be a web designer?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Competitive business these days.”
“I have a couple of clients lined up already,” she said, shrugging modestly.
He liked her quiet confidence. She might be a little skittish when it came to him, but she clearly felt on top of her career.
“So how are you finding civilian life?”
“Day one is shaping up okay so far.”
“Are you telling me this is your first day of freedom?”
“Yep.”
“Oh, well, that definitely calls for a celebration.”
“You’re already celebrating.”
“True. Maybe we should add our celebrations together. See if the sum isn’t greater than its parts.”
Her gaze held his. “Maybe we should.”
He smiled, and her mouth curved in response. Arousal and curiosity and the need to conquer buzzed through his veins, a heady cocktail of potential.
He reached for his beer and raised his glass in a casual toast. “To celebrations.”
“To celebrations,” she echoed.
IT WAS TWO IN THE MORNING when Charlie dragged her gaze from Rhys’s face and registered that Gina was long past the wilting stage and close to dropping off to sleep.
“We should probably think about heading home,” she said regretfully.
Rhys’s mouth quirked as he took in the way Gina’s head was propped on her hand and her eyes closed. “Yeah. Probably a good idea.”
Disappointment washed through her at his easy acquiescence. She’d never had a one-night stand in her life, but she didn’t want this night to end. She wanted to keep talking to Rhys, wanted to keep listening to his deep, mellow voice, wanted to have the chance to touch the hard, hot body that had been so close to hers, driving her more than a little crazy.
But apparently the feeling was far from mutual. So much for her sense of herself being outdated.
He was always out of your league and you know it.
True, but it had been fun while it lasted. More fun, more exciting, than anything she’d experienced in a long time.
“I’ll walk you down,” Rhys said.
“Sure.” She gave Gina’s knee a little shake. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Time to go home.”
Gina started. “What?”
Charlie laughed. “Come on. Let’s get you into bed.”
She stood and waited for Gina to gather her things together, then the three of them navigated the thinning crowd to the elevators. Charlie was very aware of Rhys standing by her side as the car dropped smoothly toward the ground. She shot him a quick glance. He was staring straight ahead, an unreadable expression on his face.
She gave a silent sigh as she registered for the millionth time how handsome he was. Not in a perfect, pretty-boy way, but in a real, rugged, masculine way. He had a strong jaw and a straight nose with a bump near the bridge. His lips were chiseled yet still soft looking. His dark hair and eyes made her wonder if he had Greek or Italian heritage. Then there was his body…
As though he felt her regard, he glanced her way. She felt herself blush.
Busted. Good one, Long. Too subtle.
“Is your background Italian?” she blurted, as though asking about his forebears would excuse the fact that she’d been ogling him.
“There’s some Spanish blood in there somewhere, I think. But my dad keeps telling me we’re Black Irish. Whatever that means.”
“Huh.”
The doors opened and they entered the echoey foyer of Customs House. It was all but deserted at this time of night and even the bar at ground level had whittled its patrons down to hard-core players.
The night air was cool on her bare shoulders as they exited to the street. Customs House was situated smack-dab in the middle of Circular Quay, usually a busy hub for buses, trains and ferries, but at this time of night the last ferries had well and truly gone and bus service was reduced to bare bones. The taxi stand was located at the end of the street. A handful of cabs idled, waiting for passengers.
“It’s like a ghost town,” Charlie said as they made their way across the cobblestones toward the taxis.
“I’m sure there are still plenty of idiots raising hell in Kings Cross,” Rhys said, referring to a part of the city that was infamous for its nightlife and girlie bars.
She stumbled on an uneven cobble and Rhys grabbed her shoulder to steady her.
“Thanks,” she said ruefully. “Believe it or not, I have worn high heels before tonight.”
“You’re freezing,” he said, his hand tightening on her shoulder.
“No, I’m fine.” The words were barely out of her mouth before Rhys’s arm wrapped around her shoulder. Heat unfurled in her belly at the feel of his strong arm around her body.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes.” She risked a glance toward his face. He was watching her closely. Almost as though he was trying to get a read on her.
Gina had walked ahead of them and was talking to the first driver through the open passenger window.
“He’ll take us,” she called.
Charlie’s hip bumped against Rhys’s as they walked the last few feet. Gina slid into the backseat, leaving the door open. Charlie turned to face Rhys, hoping that the regret she felt didn’t show in her face.
“I had a good night.” She held her breath, waiting for him to ask for her phone number or give some indication that his interest in her extended beyond casual flirtation.
“I had a great night,” he said. Then he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
She forced a smile. “Well—”
He leaned closer and she swallowed the rest of her words as he pressed a kiss to her lips. He lifted his head slightly and looked into her eyes. She stared back at him, stunned, her heart thudding against her breastbone. He palmed the nape of her neck, and then he was kissing her again, his tongue sweeping into her mouth this time, turning her legs to jelly.
She pressed her body against his, her skin on fire, desire beating a tattoo through her veins. His tongue stroked hers gently, provocatively, and she reached out and gripped his shoulders with both hands.
After a long, long moment he drew back. “Come home with me?” he asked very quietly, his voice a low husk.
Dear God, I thought you’d never ask.
“Yes.”
He smiled. There was so much hot promise in his eyes that she squeezed her thighs together.
“Hold that thought.” She slipped from his arms to approach the taxi and ducked her head inside.
“Let me guess, I’m on my own,” Gina said.
“Yeah.” Charlie laughed. She sounded like a giddy schoolgirl, but she didn’t care. She wanted this. Wanted the way Rhys made her feel.
“When was your last drink?” Gina asked.
“Sorry?”
“I want to know how drunk you are so I can decide if I’m being a good friend letting you go home with this guy.”
“I’m not drunk. I’m not sober, but I know what I’m doing.”
“Okay. You’re a big girl. Have a good time, C. Be safe.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Charlie straightened, shutting the door. The taxi took off immediately and the reality of what she’d agreed to hit her like a bucket of cold water. She didn’t know this man, after all. He could be anyone. And she’d agreed to get naked with him and share the most intimate of acts with him.
A warm hand landed on the small of her back and a second later she felt Rhys brush the hair away from her nape before pressing a kiss there. Everything inside her tensed with delight as his whiskers rasped against her skin.
He moved closer, wrapping his arms around her from behind. She felt his erection against her backside, and every sane thought flew out her head like so much dandelion fluff.
She wanted him. She’d indulged herself precious few times in her life, but she wanted this man, wanted the experience he promised with his eyes and hard body, and she was damn well going to have him.
She rested her hands over his and pressed into his hips. He opened his mouth against her neck and she felt the hot press of his tongue. A shiver of need raced down her spine and her nipples hardened.
“Where do you live?” she whispered.
She hoped it was somewhere close because she was so turned on it almost hurt.
“Potts Point. About five minutes.”
She twisted in his arms and kissed him, her hands sliding to his hips and then, boldly, to his backside. She made a small approving sound in her throat as her hands felt hard muscle.
“You keep that up, we’re not going to make it home,” Rhys murmured against her mouth.
“What are we waiting for, then?”

CHAPTER THREE
RHYS SLIPPED HIS hand into hers and led her toward the next cab.
“Potts Point,” he said as he climbed into the backseat, pulling her behind him.
She wanted him to kiss her again very badly. Instead, he slid his arm around her and tugged her against his side.
“You smell good,” he said as the cab drove away from the curb.
“So do you.” She put her hand on his thigh, her belly tightening as she felt the firm muscle beneath her fingers. He had a beautiful body. She couldn’t wait to see it.
Rhys leaned close and started to kiss her neck, small, delicate caresses that made her limp with need. She let her head drop to the side and tried not to moan out loud.
She was aware that they’d arrived at their destination only when the taxi jerked to a halt. Rhys gave a surprised grunt and removed his arm from around her shoulders to pull his wallet from his back pocket.
“Keep the change,” he said as he handed the driver two twenties.
They slid out of the car.
“You realize you gave that guy an eighty percent tip, right?” she said.
“It was worth it.” He took her hand and led her toward the entrance of a modern apartment block. She felt light-headed with lust, all her thoughts concentrated on what was about to happen upstairs. In his bedroom.
His thumb brushed gentle circles inside her wrist as they rode to the sixth floor.
“This is me,” he said as he led her toward a nondescript gray door. He unlocked the door, flicking on a light as he led her inside.
“I’ve got beer or wine—”
Charlie pushed him against the wall and pressed her body to his. “I don’t want beer or wine.”
She kissed him, channeling years of frustrated desire into the meeting of their mouths and tongues. He responded with equal hunger, his hands sliding up her rib cage and onto her breasts. His thumbs found her nipples with unerring accuracy and she jerked her hips against his as he squeezed them gently.
“Man,” he muttered against her mouth.
She slid her hands onto his backside and urged his hips closer to hers, rubbing herself against his erection. He responded by pushing his hands beneath her top and cupping her bare breasts. He teased her mercilessly, to the point where she started to pant.
“Charlie, you are so damn hot,” he said, breaking their kiss to look into her face.
“I need to be naked.” She had no idea where the demand came from. She’d never been this sexually aggressive in her life, but there was something about this man…
“The feeling is totally mutual.”
He held her gaze as he slid a hand over the front of her trousers. She gave a small, needy whimper as he cupped her sex, his fingers pressing against the spot where she needed him the most.
“Are you ready for me, Charlie?” he asked, his voice very low.
She answered with her body, pressing herself forward, into his hand. She reached for the stud on his jeans at the same time, her fingers fumbling for the warm metal of his zipper. It gave readily and she felt him tense as she slid her hand into the opening she’d created. Her fingers found warm cotton over hard flesh. She gripped him firmly, stroking her hand along his length. He shuddered and closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds. When he opened them again his eyes blazed into hers.
“Let’s go.”
She removed her hand from his jeans as he pushed them both away from the wall. He led her into a darkened living room and up another hallway. She was too intent on the man walking ahead of her to pay much attention to her surroundings. As he entered what she assumed was the bedroom, she reached for the hem of her top and dragged it over her head. It hit the floor with a metallic hiss and Rhys turned to face her, his gaze dropping immediately to her naked breasts.
He mouthed a four-letter word, the appreciation in his eyes lifting her desire higher still.
“You’re going to have to help me with these stupid pants,” she said a she reached for the snap on her trousers.
“Those pants are not stupid. They’re a modern miracle,” he said as she lowered the zipper, revealing the plain black cotton panties she wore beneath.
She pushed her trousers down her legs and he helped her slide them past her knees.
“That’s better,” she said.
His gaze roamed her almost naked body. “It certainly is.”
Charlie had never had an easy relationship with her own body, but the way he looked at her made her feel like a goddess.
“Take your clothes off,” she said.
She moved to the bed, crawling onto the mattress before rolling onto her back and hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her underwear. Her gaze locked with his, she slipped her panties down her legs.
“Man, you are killing me here, Charlie.” He fumbled with his shirt buttons, then simply grabbed either side and ripped before shrugging the shirt off to reveal a broad, well-muscled chest. She eyed him avidly as he pushed his jeans down, toeing off his shoes at the same time. His belly muscles rippled as he shucked his own underwear and her gaze gravitated to his erection. Hard and proud, the sight of it made her want to purr like a cat.
He smiled, obviously enjoying her unashamed inspection. He strode toward the bed. The mattress dipped, then the hard, hot weight of his body was pressing against hers and pure instinct took over.
He lowered his head, sucking one of her breasts into his mouth. She hooked a leg around his hips, sliding a hand onto his erection at the same time. She stroked him confidently, greedily, while he sucked and kissed and gently bit her breasts. Within minutes she was panting, losing her own rhythm, aware only of the need to have him inside her. Now.
“Rhys,” she breathed.
He lifted his head from her breasts and grinned. “Don’t tell me you can’t wait.”
“Rhys.” She tightened her grip on his shaft.
He leaned across to the nightstand and yanked open the drawer. She closed her eyes, barely holding it together as she heard the rustle of a foil package being opened. She opened them again as she felt him pressing against her entrance.
She held her breath, waiting for him to push inside her. Instead, Rhys looked deep into her eyes while one hand traveled down her belly to between her thighs. She lifted her hips reflexively as his fingers delved into her intimate folds. She knew he could feel how wet she was, how ready for him she was. His gaze grew hooded and a muscle in his jaw ticked. He stroked her, monitoring the small catches in her breathing and the way she moved her head on the bed and the way her body trembled beneath his.
Just when she was about to scream with frustration he flexed his hips and slid inside her. Her body welcomed him as he buried himself to the hilt. She let out a broken little sob, almost tearful over how good it felt to be filled by him, how hard and thick and hot he felt inside her.
He started to move, and within seconds she’d found his rhythm. Every clumsy sexual encounter she’d ever had, every second of self-consciousness over her body or her own needs, every doubt she’d ever experienced went out the window as she gave herself over to the moment.
There was only him and her and the place where their bodies were joined and the suck of his mouth at her breasts and the feel of his back and shoulders and chest beneath her hands and the steady, deep thrusting of his body inside hers. All too soon her body tightened toward release and she curled her fingers into his backside and shuddered beneath him. He pressed kisses to her forehead and cheeks and mouth and then slowed his pace and inserted a hand between them. She gave a little gasp of surprise when his thumb found her and he began to coax her toward a second climax. She was shuddering, legs wrapped around his hips, his name on her lips by the time she peaked again, and this time he went with her, his body tensing as he rode out his moment of release.
He collapsed onto the bed beside her, his face buried in the pillow. They were both breathing hard and she could feel her heart banging away like a trapped bird inside her chest.
She blinked at the darkened ceiling as she slowly came back to awareness. She could feel the coolness of sweat behind her knees and beneath her arms, could smell the musky, earthy scent of sex. Her legs felt shaky, and when she lifted a hand to push her hair from her face it was trembling.
Beside her, Rhys stirred. He lifted his face from the pillow. She was gratified to see he looked as blown away as she felt. For a long moment they simply stared at each other. Then his mouth curled into a smile, and before she knew it he was grinning and she was grinning back at him.
“I’m going to give that a nine,” he said.
“Only a nine?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.
“I think we can do better.”
“Really?” She could hear the incredulity in her own voice.
“Yeah. Really.”
He trailed a finger down her chest and onto her left breast. Her nipple beaded to hardness long before his finger arrived there. This man turned her on so much that the mere thought of him touching her was enough to make her crazy.
He stroked her nipple gently, drawing small circles around it before pinching it lightly between thumb and forefinger. Charlie shifted restlessly as she felt the pull of desire between her thighs again.
She frowned. How was it possible to want a man again so quickly, especially when she’d come twice?
“Sixty seconds,” he said, rolling away from her.
He disappeared into the bathroom to dispose of the condom and returned well within his own deadline. He settled beside her, resting on his side. His gaze ran over her body.
“You were right. You’re definitely a woman out of uniform,” he said.
He surprised her into laughter. He glided a hand over her breasts and down her belly to her thighs. His fingers delved into her warm, slick heat and again she moved restlessly.
“Too soon?” he asked, even as he stroked her.
“N-no,” she breathed.
“Good.”
He took his time making love to her, caressing her until she was quivering and begging for him. When he did finally slide inside her, he worked her slowly and deeply and thoroughly, building her to a climax that had her arching off the bed, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He came not long afterward, and they lay panting, hearts racing. After a few minutes he went to the bathroom then came back to the bed and flicked off the bedside lamp.
“Give me an hour,” he murmured as he rolled onto his side and pulled her against his chest, her bottom tucked against his hips.
She was already mostly asleep. The last thought she had before she drifted off was that if the first day of the rest of her life was like this, then she was in for one hell of a ride.
CHARLIE WOKE with a start. For a long moment she had no idea where she was. Then it all came back to her—Café Sydney, lots of champagne, meeting Rhys, talking to Rhys, kissing Rhys. Finally, coming home with Rhys. Making love with Rhys. Again and again and again.
A headache accompanied her return to reality. She worked her tongue around her mouth. She needed water. In large quantities. And painkillers. And a trip to the bathroom wouldn’t be out of order, either.
A heavy arm lay across her belly. She lifted it gingerly, rolling from beneath it. She slid to the edge of the bed, glancing over her shoulder to ensure Rhys was still asleep.
He was, his dark lashes twin fans against his cheeks, his hair tousled.
It seemed impossible, but he was even more beautiful in the early-morning light than he’d appeared last night. His coloring, his bone structure, the rugged handsomeness of his face… And his body. She didn’t even know where to start with his body. She’d had two boyfriends who had been in the service, both of whom had done physical labor day in, day out. Neither of them had looked like Rhys. Through some accident of genetics and fate, he had the sort of body that exactly fit her notion of the masculine ideal. Broad shoulders. Defined chest, but not so much that he was in danger of having cleavage. Flat belly. Muscular thighs. Even his feet were perfect, long and sleek and strong.
She stood, putting a hand to her forehead as a wave of dizziness hit her. Moving slowly and quietly, she entered the en suite bathroom and eased the sliding door shut inch by silent inch. Once it was closed she made a beeline for the toilet. It was only when she’d taken care of business and was washing her hands at the vanity that she caught sight of her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
And gasped with horror.
Her hair was matted to her head on one side, while the rest stuck up in a crazy haystack. All the makeup that Gina had so artistically applied last night had migrated down her face, leaving twin panda circles of kohl and shadow smeared around her eyes and on her cheeks. Her mouth looked red and puffy, the skin surrounding it red and irritated.
Her face pinched with dismay, she rubbed at the redness but only succeeded in making it appear even more irritated. It took her a moment to realize it must be whisker rash.
She had a similar rash on her breasts, as well as a small suck mark on the inner curve of her left breast. She ran the tap and used her fingers to try to comb her hair into submission. The only thing that seemed to work was weighing it down with water, so she kept patting her wet hands on her hair until it clung to her scalp in a sodden cap. She pumped liquid soap from the dispenser on the vanity into her hands and scrubbed her face clean, wincing when it stung her eyes.
When she’d finished, the woman in the mirror had been transformed from the slutty walking dead into a red-eyed, pale-faced drowned rat, about as far from the sultry vixen of last night as it was possible to get.
She mouthed a four-letter word. She looked terrible.
Really, really terrible. Without Gina’s clever makeup and saucy clothes, she was reduced to plain old Charlie—emphasis on the plain—and any minute now, the perfect god sprawled across the bed in the next room was going to wake up and she was going to have to watch the disappointment register on his face as he figured out who he’d really come home with last night.
She couldn’t do it.
Didn’t want to do it.
Last night had been one of the headiest experiences of her life. She’d felt sexy and confident and desired and bold. She didn’t want that memory tainted with the cold reality of today.
And she definitely didn’t want to hang around while Rhys said all the right things while ushering her toward the exit. The very thought made her stomach roll with nausea.
She moved to the door and opened it a crack. Rhys was still sleeping.
Thank. God.
She pushed the door open only enough to slip into the bedroom. Then she crouched down and started collecting her clothes.
She found her panties all rolled up in the corner, a darker shadow on the graphite-gray carpet. The mesh top was near the door, her satin pants at the foot of the bed, her purse next to the nightstand. For the life of her, she couldn’t find Gina’s stilettos, and she scurried around the bedroom on tiptoe, the bundle of clothes pressed to her chest as she searched for them. She was about to admit defeat when Rhys stirred. She froze in a half crouch, naked and utterly exposed, eyes riveted to his prone form.
Please, please, please, please, don’t wake up. Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up.
He frowned, his mouth working. Then he pushed at the pillow before rolling onto his other side, his back to her.
She remained frozen for long seconds after he’d stopped moving, keen to ensure he really was still asleep. When his breathing evened out, her shoulders dropped with relief.
She turned toward the door and nearly stumbled over Gina’s shoes. Scooping them up, she stepped into the hallway and pulled the bedroom door shut behind her. She walked briskly into the living room and dropped her clothes onto a seen-better-days leather couch. Grabbing her panties from amongst the pile, she pulled them on, then reached for the trousers. Predictably, they fought her every inch of the way as she dragged them up her legs. She was almost sobbing with frustration by the time she’d yanked them over her hips, and she had to lie on the floor to get the fly zipped. She tugged the mesh halter over her head, grabbed her handbag and the shoes, and headed for the door.
She had her hand on the knob, ready to make her escape, when she remembered Rhys’s ruined shirt. Grinding her teeth at her own stupid conscience, she went back into the living room. A quick scan of the messy space located a memo pad by the phone. By some miracle a pen rested beside it and she scribbled a quick note.
Thanks for last night. I had a great time. Sorry about your shirt, and good luck with everything. Charlie
She reread it, displeased with the overly effusive tone. She tore the note free and crumbled it into a ball, stuffing it into her purse. She tried again but stalled halfway.
For God’s sake, what is wrong with you? You’re never going to see this man again. Write the note and get the hell out of here.
She scrawled a quick note. Then she pulled two fifty-dollar bills from her purse and left them and her missive on the coffee table. She had no idea how much a shirt cost these days, but if she gave him any more she wouldn’t have the taxi fare to get home. It would have to do.
Mission completed, she bolted for the door. Only when she was on the street, walking away from his building, did she allow herself to breathe easily.
It was cool this early in the morning and her wet hair didn’t help any. She leaned against a tree for balance while she tugged on her shoes, then wrapped her arms around herself as she walked slowly up the hill toward what looked like a coffee shop.
A woman walking her dog gave her a disdainful head to toe as they crossed paths. Charlie ducked her head and reached into her handbag for her phone. She dialed for a cab, only then realizing that she had no idea where she was. She asked the operator to wait while she walked to the nearest corner and found a street sign. Twenty minutes later she was in the back of a taxi that smelled of stale vomit and cigarette smoke, heading for Gina’s house in Balmain.
She felt as though she’d scaled Mount Everest by the time she paid the driver and climbed the two steps to Gina’s front door. Last night she’d had the good sense to take the key Gina had given her and she let herself in. Slipping her shoes off, she made her way to her room.
“Hey.”
She glanced over her shoulder to see Gina standing in her bedroom doorway wearing a pair of shorty pajamas, knuckling her eyes blearily.
“Sorry. Did I wake you? I tried to be quiet,” Charlie said.
“No worries. You okay?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“Okay. Good. See you in the morning, then.”
“I hate to break it to you, but it’s morning already,” Charlie said, amused despite herself by her friend’s muzzy-headedness.
“See you in the afternoon, then. I plan on sleeping through my hangover so I don’t have to actually live through it.”
Waving goodbye, Gina shuffled into her room. Charlie shed her clothes and grabbed her towel, then went straight to the bathroom. Stepping beneath the shower, she leaned against the tiled wall and bowed her head, simply letting the water roll over her. After long minutes she stirred and soaped herself down. She felt infinitely better by the time she toweled herself dry.
Returning to her room, she dressed in the pajamas she’d purchased yesterday and pulled her laptop from her carry-on. Her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep but her head was whirling and she knew herself well enough to know sleep was out of the question. She opened up the folder for her first client, a boutique stationery business that had been set up by a former comrade in arms, and spent the next three hours refining her design concepts and building a template for the landing page.
She heard Gina stir at a certain point, and at midday there was a tap at her door.
“You awake?” Gina asked quietly.
“Yep.”
“Good.”
The door swung open to reveal Gina with a tray bearing two tall glasses of orange juice and a big pile of buttered toast with Vegemite. Her friend had wet hair from the shower and was wearing a pair of cotton pants and a tank top.
“Oh, hey, thanks,” Charlie said, touched by the thoughtfulness. She put her laptop to one side.
Gina set the tray in the middle of the bed, sitting cross-legged on the other side. “So?” she asked as she reached for the first piece of toast.
“So what?”
“So, did you have a good time? Is he going to call? Are you going to call him?”
Charlie shifted uncomfortably. This being her first one-night stand and therefore her first morning-after debrief, she wasn’t sure what the protocol was. She didn’t want to offend Gina by telling her to butt out, but she wasn’t about to spill the intimate details of what she’d shared with Rhys, either. It may have been a one-off, it may mean nothing in the larger scheme of her life, but right now it felt far too immediate and fresh for her to share with anyone else.
“It’s okay, I don’t want gory details,” Gina said, apparently reading her reluctance. “Just tell me if he passed the I-want-to-see-him-again test.”
“I’m not seeing him again,” Charlie said firmly.
Gina pulled a face. “Really? That bad, huh? And he looked so promising. Don’t tell me he was one of those good-looking guys who figures that all he has to do is lie there and be gorgeous and he’s done his bit?”
The need to correct Gina’s misinterpretation overrode Charlie’s natural modesty. “He didn’t just lie there. That part was… fine. But I realized this morning that there was no future in it, so I left.”
Gina paused, a piece of toast halfway to her mouth. “The bastard. What did he say?”
“He didn’t say anything. He was sleeping and I figured that I should probably get out of there before he woke up. So I did.” She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could as she reached for a piece of toast.
“Wha-huh? You left before he woke up? Am I getting this straight?”
Charlie chomped into her toast, eyeing her friend stubbornly. Gina’s eyebrows rose toward her hairline.
“Why would you do that if last night was fine? Don’t you want to see him again, see if it goes anywhere? You seemed really into him last night.”
“Last night was last night. This morning is this morning.”
“I don’t really know what that means.”
No way was Charlie about to give a blow-by-blow accounting of the reasoning behind her decision to flee. She knew Gina well enough to know that if she pointed out the fundamental disparity between godlike, perfect Rhys and plain-Jane her, her friend would spend the next hour trying to convince Charlie that she was beautiful and desirable and Rhys’s equal in every way. Last night, with the aid of good lighting, great makeup, a sexy wardrobe and generous quantities of alcohol, she’d allowed herself to be sucked into the same illusion. This morning, in the brutal light of a new day, she knew better.
“It’s really not a big deal. I had a nice time, it was what it was, and now it’s over,” she said firmly.
“So he’ll simply wake up and find you gone?”
“He’s going to wake up and heave a huge sigh of relief that I saved him an awkward morning-after conversation.”
“You don’t know that, Charlie.”
Charlie smiled grimly. She knew that, absolutely. She’d seen herself in the bathroom mirror. She knew how the world worked. She’d known how the world worked ever since Billy Hendricks had refused to go into the closet with her during a game of Spin the Bottle when she was thirteen years old.
“I was thinking that we could go car shopping today, if you’re up to it,” Charlie said. “Is there some area around here with lots of car yards?”
“I take it that’s your way of saying you don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“Bingo.”
“Okay. All right. If you want to drop it, we’ll drop it. But I’d like it on the record that I think it’s a damn shame. He seemed like a decent guy and he was really into you.”
“Duly noted. So, tell me, who did you buy your car from? Should I go private or dealer? What do you think?”
This time Gina followed her lead, and by the time the plate of toast had been cleared, they’d formulated a plan of attack. Gina took the tray to the kitchen, while Charlie dressed. She spotted her borrowed clothes scrunched in the corner as she was about to exit the room and took the time to rescue them, smoothing the cool mesh of the top with her hand before folding the satin trousers neatly.
She felt an odd sense of… not quite regret, but something similar to it as she remembered those few heady hours when she’d felt amazing and invincible and glamorous.
It may have ended with a whimper, not a bang, but seeing how the other half lived had been fun while it lasted. But as she’d said to Gina, last night was last night, and today was today.
She set the clothes on the end of the bed, collected her handbag and headed for the door. She would get the outfit dry-cleaned on Monday, then she would hand back her borrowed plumage and get on with carving out a new life for herself. After all, she was a grown-up and a realist. She knew the score.
RHYS WOKE with the mother and father of all hangovers beating down a door in his brain. Rolling over in bed, he pressed his hands against his aching skull for long minutes before making his way to the en suite to stick his mouth beneath the tap. He gulped enough water to fill a wading pool then sluiced a couple of big handfuls over his face. It was only when he lifted his head to inspect his bleary-eyed reflection that he remembered he hadn’t come home alone last night.
“Charlie.”
He stepped into the bedroom. The bed was empty. Frowning, he grabbed a towel and slung it around his waist.
“Charlie?” he called, walking into the living area.
It was empty. Which meant she really had gone without waking him up to say goodbye or leave her number or anything. Unless she’d left him a note…
It only took him a few seconds to spot the piece of paper and the two fifties sitting on his coffee table. He crossed the room and collected the paper.
I had a nice time. I hope this covers a new shirt.
Thanks, Charlie
He read the note three times, but each time he reached the same conclusion: she’d blown him off.
After one of the hottest nights of his life, she’d sneaked away in the early hours and left him a hundred bucks to cover his shirt. As though he was some down-on-his-luck gigolo who needed a handout.
Wow.
He screwed the note into a tight little ball. He’d thought they’d had a good time last night. A great time. He’d thought they’d really connected.
Sure, he’d been a little worse for wear, but not so drunk that he was making things up. He could remember it all.
The interested, engaged light in her eyes.
The way she’d stroked the stem of her glass unconsciously as she talked to him.
The way she’d tasted.
The smooth, warm satin of her skin.
The needful, heated rush of making love to her.
Yet she’d simply rolled out of bed and out of his life without so much as a backward glance. And no, the money for the shirt didn’t count.
I had a nice time.
That was what she’d said. Nice. Was there a more lukewarm, halfhearted word in the English language? She might as well have patted him on the head and given him an elephant stamp for effort.
He strode into the kitchen and hit the button on his coffee machine. It would take at least forty minutes to warm up—the price he paid for his addiction to café-quality coffee—so he killed some time banging cupboards and drawers as he emptied the dishwasher. Then he stomped around a little more until his sense of humor reasserted itself.
Can you see yourself? You’re acting like an outraged virgin. What’s the big deal, anyway? You had sex and she left without turning it into a big production. You should be thanking her, buddy.
It was true. Except he didn’t feel grateful. He felt disappointed. As though he’d been promised something spectacular and special, and instead had been given a big fat raspberry. And it wasn’t just about the hot sex, either. Not entirely.
He liked her.
Yeah, well, get over it. You had a great time, she had a nice time. She’s gone, and life goes on.
Another undeniable truth. He was on a roll, apparently.
He stood in the middle of his living room, mulling it over. Then he shrugged. Charlie had made her decision when she’d left his apartment without leaving him some way of contacting her. Whether he liked it or not, messages didn’t come any clearer.
He scrubbed his face with his hands. Then he went to check on the coffee.

CHAPTER FOUR
THE NEXT EIGHT weeks flew by. Charlie’s luggage arrived two days later than the airline had promised, but by that time she was so relieved to have her things that she could barely muster the energy to complain. After a week of deliberation and research, she bought a car, a small white SUV that was easy to park and maneuver. It took her longer to find somewhere to live, but she finally found a one-bedroom apartment two streets from Gina’s house. She planned to buy eventually, but she needed to build up her business before a bank would consider her for a loan, and the twelve-month lease she’d secured gave her plenty of time to get to know the city better.
Her second-floor apartment was one of just six and featured high ceilings with decorative plasterwork, a mint-green-and-black bathroom that dated back to the thirties and a small but recently renovated kitchen. Most important, it boasted a neat study area off the bedroom that had become her new home office, a bonus that had sealed the deal for her even though the rent was slightly more than she’d hoped to pay.
With transportation and accommodation settled, she committed herself to the handful of start-up clients she’d generated before leaving the service, while also trying to drum up future business. Thanks to her background, she had in-depth knowledge in certain highly specialized areas and, as she’d hoped, her credentials opened a lot of doors amongst suppliers either already dealing with the military or hoping to.
By the time April rolled into May, she had work booked for the next two months, with prospects for more in the pipeline. She’d made friends with the woman across the hall and Gina’s circle of friends had embraced her. Her initial qualms about civilian life faded as she found her feet and her days took on a rhythm of their own.
She was surviving. No, not simply surviving—she was thriving. She had a home all her own, she had a business that was on the uptick, she was putting down roots and forming new friendships. It was all good.
The only off note, if it could be called that, was the fact that every now and then, when her guard was down, a rogue, rebellious part of her brain wondered what might have happened if she’d hung around and waited for Rhys to wake up all those weeks ago.
Every time she caught her thoughts drifting in that direction she gave herself a mental slap and reminded herself that she was a realist and that she’d played it smart, leaving the way she had—even if it meant there might be a part of her that wondered “what if.”
She was giving herself the Rhys Lecture, as she’d come to think of it, late one Friday afternoon in early May when a knock sounded. She was preparing dinner for herself and Gina and she put down the knife she’d been using before heading for the door.
“I come bearing gifts,” Gina said. She was carrying a bottle of red wine and a white bakery box and looked as though she’d come straight from work.
Charlie made a show of checking her watch. “You’re about two hours early for dinner. You know that, right?”
Gina shrugged. “I got off early. Plus, they’d just finished making these mini quiches for a function tonight—feel the box, they’re still warm from the oven—and I knew you’d be up for some early piggery.”
Charlie smiled wryly as she waved her friend inside. “You know me so well.”
“I know your appetite, that’s for sure.” Gina dumped the bottle of wine on the counter and glanced at the chopping board. “So, what are we having?”
“Potatoes dauphinoise, green beans with garlic and coq au vin.”
“God, I wish you were a man. I would so marry you.”
“What say we hold off on the proposal until after we’ve eaten? This is all a bold experiment at this stage.”
Cooking had never been one of Charlie’s strong suits, but she was determined to improve now that she was personally responsible for all her own meals. The days of making excuses for living off canned and frozen meals were over.
“You want to eat these little puppies now or later?” Gina asked, nudging the bakery box suggestively.
“What do you think?”
“This is why we’re friends,” Gina said with a happy sigh.
Charlie grabbed two wineglasses and the bottle and followed Gina into the living room.
“You make me feel like such a slattern every time I come here.” Gina dropped onto the white couch.
“Why?” Charlie asked, startled.
“Because your place is always so organized and clean and perfect,” Gina said, one hand making a sweeping gesture.
Charlie glanced around at her black leather Eames chair and ottoman, white wool Florence Knoll sofa and midcentury glass-and-wood coffee table. Art books sat in a neat stack beside the open fireplace, arranged so their spines formed blocks of color, and a cluster of thick, creamy pillar candles sat in the empty grate. Apart from a handful of red-and-black throw cushions on the couch and a single white vase on the mantel, the room was bare.
“Is it too sterile?” She loved it like this—calm and clean—but she knew that her minimalist bent gave some people the heebie-jeebies.
“No. It’s soothing, actually. I just don’t know how you maintain it.”
“Magical elves. With tiny hoovers and feather dusters.”
“I knew you’d been holding out on me, bitch,” Gina said amicably. “You need to send some of that elf magic my way.”
Charlie smiled as she opened the wine and poured. “I’ll see what I can do. But even elves have their standards, you know.”
“Careful, or I won’t share,” Gina said, flipping off the lid. The smell of cream and cheese and bacon filled the room.
“Oh, boy, this is going to be good,” Charlie said.
“Word,” Gina agreed.
They dived into the box. They both made appreciative noises as they scoffed their first quiche before going back for seconds.
“So good,” Charlie said around a mouthful of food.
“Tell me about it,” Gina mumbled.
The phone rang, catching Charlie in the act of reaching for her third quiche. Rolling her eyes at Gina over the bad timing, she wiped her buttery fingers on a napkin and went to grab the phone.
A softly spoken woman identified herself as a nurse at the hospice where her father had spent his final days, and Charlie listened in bemusement as she explained that they’d discovered a previously overlooked box of personal belongings with her father’s name on it in their storage room.
“I was under the impression my father had either given everything away or thrown it out,” Charlie said.
“Well, there’s a box that didn’t go either way. What would you like us to do with it?”
Charlie gave the woman her address and credit card details to cover shipping the stuff from Melbourne, then ended the call and returned to Gina.
“What was that all about?” Gina asked as she sipped her wine.
Charlie explained briefly before changing the subject. There wasn’t much to discuss, after all—her father was dead, and the odds were good that the box contained a bunch of meaningless bits and pieces. Keith Anderson Long had been too organized and orderly a man for it to be any other way.
They continued to slurp their wine and made each other laugh with anecdotes from their respective days as they consumed the pastries. Finally the box was empty and Gina pushed herself to her feet.
“Fantastic. I’m now going to loll on your couch and complain about how full I am and how I couldn’t possibly fit another thing in while you finish making dinner,” she said as she headed for the bathroom.
“Or I could put you to work, stringing the beans and whatnot.”
“Hard-hearted wench,” Gina said, her voice echoing down the short hallway.
Charlie smiled as she sat back in her chair, sipping her wine.
“Hey, Charlie—my stupid period has come early. Can I borrow a tampon?” Gina called, her voice muffled by the closed door.
“Sure. In the cupboard behind the mirror.”
There was a short pause then Gina called out again. “There’s nothing here.”
Charlie set down her glass and stood. “Did you have a boy look or a girl look?” she asked as she headed for the bathroom.
“I had a girl look. A really good one. Smarty-pants.”
Charlie paused outside the bathroom. “You decent?”
“Give me five secs. Okay, come in.”
Charlie entered. Gina was standing in front of the open bathroom cabinet, a frown on her face.
“I dare you to find a tampon in there.”
“Watch.” Charlie stepped toward the cabinet, one hand already raised in anticipation of finding what she was looking for. She frowned as her gaze scanned over toiletry and medicinal products and failed to find the familiar pink-and-white box.
“That’s weird,” she said. “They should be in here. I always make sure I restock after my period.”
“Guess you must have forgotten last month, then,” Gina said lightly. “No worries. I’ve probably got one lurking in the bottom of my handbag.”
She slipped past Charlie, who remained staring at the bathroom cabinet, her frown intensifying as she tried to remember when she’d had her last period… and couldn’t.
“Don’t be stupid,” she muttered to herself.
She must be getting mixed up somehow. She could remember having her period in Perth because the cramps had come at exactly the wrong time. Two weeks later, she’d cleared out the flat she’d been sharing with another female officer, packed her bags and flown to Sydney.
And she hadn’t had her period since.
And in the interim, she’d had sex with Rhys-the-unforgettable. Three times in the one night.
Adrenaline fired in her belly, sending a shock wave through her body. She took a step backward, appalled by the thought that had snaked its way into her brain.
“Told you I’d have one,” Gina said as she returned. “Hey. What’s wrong? You’re pale.”
Charlie took another step backward and sank onto the edge of the tub.
“What’s the failure rate for condoms?” Her voice sounded as though it was coming from a long way away. Cleveland, perhaps. Or maybe Moscow.
“I don’t know. Not high. One or two percent, maybe?” Gina was still frowning, but suddenly her eyes rounded and her eyebrows headed for her hairline. “Oh, my God. Tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
Charlie looked at her friend, her mind busy doing the math and getting the same answer over and over.
“I’ve missed two periods. I’ve been so busy getting everything sorted that I didn’t even notice. That’s why there are no tampons in the cupboard.”
Gina swore and sank onto the bathtub beside her. There was a moment of profound silence as they both processed their own thoughts.
“Okay. First things first—before we hit the panic button, we need to know what we’re panicking about.” Gina looked at her watch. “It’s only four-thirty. The pharmacy around the corner should still be open.”
“Good idea,” Charlie said. She pushed herself to her feet. A wave of anxious dizziness hit her and she sat again.
“I’ll go,” Gina said instantly. “You stay here. Don’t start freaking yet, okay? I’ll run all the way.”
“Okay,” Charlie said meekly.
Gina’s hand dropped onto her shoulder, warm and reassuring. “It could just be stress. Changing your life is a big deal.”
Charlie nodded. Gina gave her a quick squeeze before she slipped past. Charlie stared at a cracked floor tile, her mind ricocheting from one thought to the next.
If she was pregnant…
But she couldn’t be. They’d used condoms. A new one each time…
But condoms failed. That’s why they weren’t one hundred percent foolproof. Still, what were the odds of one of them failing and it being the exact right point in her cycle…?
Big. Too big. Way too big. Huge. She couldn’t even calculate the probability it was so large. She probably had a better chance of winning the lottery.
And yet she’d missed two periods.
“Oh, God,” she said, bracing her elbows on her knees, her head dropping into her hands.
She couldn’t be pregnant. She simply couldn’t. She’d just started her own business. She’d barely unpacked from the move. She was single, in a new city, essentially unemployed if anything went wrong with her business.
She moaned, digging her fingers into her skull.
Please let it be stress. Please let it be stress. Please let it be stress.
The front door slammed and when she looked up Gina was standing before her, a bag in hand. “Okay. I have no idea how these things work, but I’m sure we can figure it out.”
She handed over the bag and Charlie pulled out a slickly branded box. Her hands were shaking so much that she couldn’t pull the flap from the slot and Gina took it from her.
“Whatever happens, we’ll work it out, okay, Charlie?”
Charlie nodded, enormously grateful for her friend’s use of the plural even though she knew in her heart of hearts that if she really was pregnant, the responsibility would land squarely on her shoulders, no matter what she decided to do.
“Okay. We have instructions,” Gina said as she pulled a folded sheet from the box.
They pored over the instructions for a few minutes, then Gina handed Charlie a cellophane-wrapped stick.
“Do your thing,” she said.
Charlie managed a small smile, only letting it drop when her friend left the room. Her stomach knotted with dread, she pulled down her jeans and sat on the loo. For a moment she thought she was going to have to try later, but her body finally came to the party. She followed the instructions and then set the stick on the edge of the vanity while she flushed, pulled up her jeans and washed her hands.
“Okay,” she called.
Gina opened the door and passed Charlie her glass, now brimming with red wine. “For courage.”
Charlie stared at it. “I don’t know if I should. If it’s positive…”
She couldn’t quite bring herself to say the word pregnant yet. But if she was, then alcohol was on the no-go list. Especially in bucket-like quantities.
“Shit. You’re right. Sorry.”
Gina set down the glass on the vanity and they both sat on the edge of the tub.
“I take it that means you wouldn’t consider a termination, then?” Gina asked.
Charlie frowned. Her brain hadn’t gotten that far yet.
Or maybe it had, since she’d been so quick to reject the wine.
“If it seemed like the best thing to do, I would.”
“But…?”
“I don’t know. When I was younger, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. There was no way I would have been able to cope then. But now… it might not be convenient. It might not be easy or wise or planned or anything. But I could do it now.” She spoke slowly, thinking out loud. “I think I could be an okay mum. And I’ve always imagined that one day I’d have kids.”
Although the image of herself with a child had always been part of some nebulous future-vision of her life that incorporated a man she loved, the whole notion was so far off and distant in her mind that it was barely in focus.
“I think you’d be a great mum. But it’s hard yards doing it all on your own.”
“I know.” Charlie studied the back of her hands, mulling things over.
“You don’t have to make any decisions right now,” Gina said. “Let’s take this one step at a time.”
Charlie glanced at the white stick on the vanity. “Do you think it’s been five minutes yet?”
Gina checked her watch. “Right on the knocker.”
Charlie continued to stare at the stick without moving. She could feel her heart pounding inside her chest and her palms were suddenly sweaty. Funny that she’d felt almost exactly the same way when she’d been flirting with Rhys all those weeks ago, hoping he felt the same way she did.
Not funny ha-ha, obviously. Funny weird.
Funny scary.
“Want me to…?” Gina offered.
“I’ll do it.” Charlie roused herself and reached for the test. Her fingers closed around the thumb grip and she lifted it. For a moment the light hit the stick so directly that she couldn’t see anything. Then she blinked and she was staring at two pink lines.
All the air left her lungs in a rush.
She was pregnant.
Oh, wow.
She was pregnant.
An elbow dug into her ribs.
“Don’t forget to breathe, okay?” Gina said.
Charlie realized she hadn’t inhaled for a while and she sucked in a big lungful of air.
“You want a glass of water?”
“No. I’m okay. I just… This is surreal. God. Maybe you should pinch me.”
Gina’s arm slid around her shoulders, warm and reassuring. A human anchor tethering her to reality.
“This is the last thing I ever imagined happening to me,” Charlie said. She couldn’t take her eyes off the two lines. “I mean, I could hardly get a guy to look at me in high school. Then I meet Rhys and we have one night together—one measly night—and now I’m pregnant? We had sex three times. We used protection. It just doesn’t seem possible.”
“I know, but the stick says it is.” Gina’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go into the living room. Sitting on the tub like this is making my bum numb.”
Charlie allowed her friend to usher her onto the couch. Charlie tried to pummel her shocked brain into action. She needed to think. She needed to strategize.
“We have a few options before us, Ms. Long,” Gina said as she sat beside Charlie. “We can talk this to death. I can distract you with fripperies and foolishness. Or I can go home and come back tomorrow and we can talk this to death.”
Charlie looked at her friend. She honestly had no idea what to do or say next.
Gina smiled sympathetically. “I’m going to go with option C, because you look as though you’ve been hit by a truck. I’ll go home, but I want you to call me, no matter what time it is, if you need to talk, okay? No matter what. There is no such thing as convention or common courtesy in a crisis.”
“Thank you,” Charlie said simply, because suddenly being alone felt exactly like what she needed.

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