me?”
Kat gave her a look. “No. It’s not my business. You want to have babies, it’s fine with me.” She gave a smile, one she’d learned to adopt out of necessity. A smile designed for intrusive cameras, when they’d been camped outside her door, trailing her on the way to work, shopping, to the gym, interrupting her family and friends and becoming so invasive she’d had to get a court order to put a stop to it.
“You sure?” Grace asked curiously as she gathered up her notes. “I always thought there was some subtle sexual tension going on with you guys, but—”
“Me and Marco? No. No way!” she denied, a little too forcefully. “I mean, he’s a great-looking guy and he’s my best friend, but he’s…” She groped for a word. “A free spirit.”
“I would’ve said a tart,” Grace added with a smile. “And a world-class flirt. A good thing, too—he won’t butt into my life and make demands on how I should be raising my child.”
What could she say to that? Everything Grace said was true. Marco loved his life and lived it at breakneck speed. He had no room for a permanent partner, let alone a child.
Kat swallowed thickly, watching everyone fuss around Grace as the cameras got into position. For all her confusion, her crazy thoughts and outrageous scenarios she’d gone through these past few days, the choice was simple. He wouldn’t want a baby. She most certainly didn’t.
Kat adjusted her headset and sidestepped the studio camera as it wheeled toward her, watching Grace smiling into Camera One as she continued with her dialogue.
Grace could be snippy, snarky and demanding, but beneath the polished blond exterior she had a heart of gold. Kat sourced the hard-luck stories and Grace reported them, raising thousands for each charity they publicized. Grace was the public face, the ex-soapie star clawing her way back from alcohol and drugs to become the biggest-rating breakfast talk show in Queensland. Kat preferred it like that, preferred to work behind the scenes. It made a nice change, even though she still fielded a handful of interview requests every day.
No, she was content with her life. Work filled every waking moment, which meant no time for dating. Just as she’d told Connor during their regular “bon voyage, Marco” night out ten weeks ago in a Brisbane bar, she didn’t do attachments or relationships anymore.
“Too much work, too difficult to navigate and way too painful when they inevitably end,” she’d said, downing her drink and eyeing her friends across the table.
Marco and Luke had laughed, but Connor had had a weird look, a kind of sad-but-deadly-serious one that had annoyed her enough to order that last, fateful vodka and orange.
She swallowed an irritating lump in her throat. There was nothing wrong with her. As a teenager she’d never been obsessed with boyfriends, weddings or babies, which had set her apart from most girls in the elite Southbank Private School in Brisbane. Couple that with her preference for sport, pub bands and getting dirty over short skirts, makeup and gossip, and she’d naturally migrated toward the boys. And then there was “that incident”—as her father had called it—when she’d shoved Marco Corelli, the son of the now-notorious crime boss Gino Corelli. After the furor had died down and she’d done her counseling and detention stint, she’d realized she’d become a bit of a legend to her peers. Connor Blair, the moody silent one, had allowed her to sit with them at lunch. Luke—always so very angry—had bonded with her over obscure pub bands, and Marco… Well, he’d apologized and she’d scored a friend for life.
Complicated, complex Marco. The cocky, flirty teenager with an insane gift for soccer, who’d grown up into a gorgeous, talented, self-assured man. The guy knew her secrets, her childhood wishes, her family tragedies.
Especially her family tragedies. With her mother’s death from motor neuron disease and the chances of Kat being a carrier, she’d never allowed that particular fantasy of becoming a mother take root. But now, faced with the bald-faced reality of actually being pregnant, she had absolutely no clue how to feel. After all those years of refusing the tests, of arguing with Marco that she preferred to spend her life living and not worrying, she’d actually gone and gotten tested. Now she had to wait for the results, which added extra stress to her already stressful situation.
Which was why she couldn’t tell Marco. Ever.
With a sigh, she refocused on the here and now. By the time they’d finished filming the week’s shows, it was eleven at night and Kat was dead on her feet. She said good-night to everyone and dragged herself to her car, fumbling with the keys as she went, her mind focused on takeout, a hot bath and double-checking her apartment for the impending storm.
Then she glanced at her car and stopped in her tracks.
Marco.
Her heart pounding, her gaze swept over him—his suit, his loosened tie, the dark hair flopping over his forehead and curling at the collar. The faint shadow of stubble dusting his firm jaw. The way he stood, all sexy and casual, hands buried in his pockets. And those wide, piercing brown eyes staring straight at her.
On another man, one with less confidence and overt sexuality, his features could almost be called pretty, if not for the overabundant aura of pure male surrounding him. His hair was a controlled crop of curls, perfectly framing those high cheekbones, lush mouth and come-to-bed eyes. And when he smiled…Lord, you could hear the knickers dropping for miles around. He reminded her of days gone by, of stocking-and-breech-clad heroes, flamboyant coats and huge romantic gestures full of wild symphonies and desperate, love-smitten poems.
And he’d been the best sex she’d had in her life.
Yes, he was adored by millions around the world. Everyone knew the story—only son of Italian immigrants, raised in Australia until a talent scout had recruited him for the French futball league at the tender age of sixteen. Marco, the dreamy Italian with romantic eyes and glorious touch-me hair. If that wasn’t enough of an unfair advantage, he’d also acquired a hot French accent from his years living and working in Marseille and Paris. Marco, her best friend.
Her heart contracted then expanded again, and she wanted to die from the sudden ache of it all.
They’d known each other for nearly twenty years. Telling him would irrevocably change everything. Marco didn’t do commitment. He loved his job, he loved women and he loved the freedom to enjoy both. And there was no way she’d lose him as her best friend after one foolish—amazing—night. She couldn’t.
With a deep breath she continued, heading straight for her car. And the closer she got, the worse the weird feeling grew.
They’d done things—intimate things. Things she’d never imagined doing with him. They’d gotten naked, and he’d touched her and kissed her all over. Now he wanted to talk about it, and she’d rather swim with a pod of sharks than rehash her supreme stupidity that involved that night.
God, could it get any worse? With false bravado, she clicked off her car alarm and then crossed the last few meters to open the door.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, resisting the urge to lay a hand on her belly. Instead, she tossed her bag into the passenger seat.
“We need to talk.” His unique voice—a sexy mix of French and faint Italian accents—never failed to make her shiver, but now she shoved her hair back behind her ear and steeled herself to face him. The bright security lights slashed across his face, revealing a serious expression that made her heart thump. But instead of
