The Pregnancy Plot by Paula Roe

Author:Paula Roe
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-03-23T16:00:00+00:00

Eleven

AJ awoke slowly in her darkened room, checked the time—nine—then rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling. She’d left the curtains open last night and now the gathering storm clouds were obvious. A perfect start to a dingy day.

Matt had been gone for hours and he hadn’t even said goodbye.

At six she’d heard him turn on the shower, then turn it off barely five minutes later. He’d moved around in the kitchen, then she’d finally heard the front door gently close at half past.

He was under no obligation to say anything, even if she was his houseguest. Even so, his absence of manners nettled her.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop with all this emotional stuff,” she said sternly in the cool silence. “This is what we want, right? Matt to remain work-focused and you to concentrate on making a baby.”

A baby. Her hand slipped down to the flat plains of her belly. It was way too soon, of course. She wasn’t even ovulating yet. Still...she gently palmed her stomach, forbidden excitement rising as she glanced down. “Just don’t take too long, okay?” she whispered. “Because I’m really not sure how much of Matt I can handle when he gets all focused and intense.”

She lay there for a few more minutes, bathing in last night, flushing at certain memories and grinning at others. Finally she sighed, tossed off the covers and headed for the shower.

Today was the perfect day to move back into Zac’s apartment. And no doubt Matt would be happy to reclaim his space, too.

* * *

Two hours later she shoved the key in the door to Zac’s apartment and stumbled through. Everything about this twenty-fifth-floor penthouse suite drew her in, from the huge panoramic view of Potts Point, Centrepoint, the Harbour Bridge and Rushcutters Bay to the vibrant sunflower yellow interior walls, sleek blond furniture, colorful cushions and tangerine rug in the center of the polished wooden floor. But it was the massive living room that drew a smile every time.

Zac had framed and strategically hung her paintings along the huge feature wall there. She remembered every gentle, colorful mark of her watercolor pencils, the damp brush strokes that brought the scenes to life—Coogee Beach with its beach towels, umbrellas and crashing azure waves. A Sydney cityscape bathed in an orange and purple sunset. And Circular Quay, complete with busy ferries and peak-hour commuters against a Harbour Bridge backdrop.

“Hello, gorgeous things.” She grinned as she dropped her bags inside the door and kicked it shut. “Miss me?” She cocked her head, her gaze going from one picture to another. “Of course you did. Well, the good news is, I feel like painting. The bad news? No paints.” She dug around in her shoulder bag and plucked out her sketch pad, then a pencil. “Still, better than nothing, right?”

After fixing herself a cup of Earl Grey, she dragged the blanket off the couch arm, wrapped it around her shoulders, then padded to the patio doors. With a whoosh and blast of cold air, she walked out onto the balcony, settled in a comfy chair and began.

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