“We need to talk.”

Those four little words lay heavy with meaning, conjuring up a multitude of awkward scenarios from Kat’s disastrous past. Ten weeks ago, they’d not only crossed that line between friends and lovers, they’d burned it to the ground, and part of her wanted to run home and hide under the bed covers.

“About?”

“We can talk on my boat.”

She sighed. “Look, Marco, it’s late and there’s a cyclone approaching. Can’t this wait another day?”

“You’ve been avoiding my calls, so no. And the storm’s not due for hours yet.”

He glanced up at the dark sky, narrowed his eyes at the barely discernible wind that had picked up.

“I’m tired.”

He stared at her, irritated. “Phone calls. Avoiding.”

She blinked slowly. “You’re not going to give up until I agree, are you?”

“No.”

“Dammit, you can be sooooo annoying!”

“Says the woman who still hasn’t told me she’s pregnant.”

Suddenly

Expecting

Paula Roe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Despite wanting to be a vet, choreographer, card shark, hairdresser and an interior designer (although not simultaneously!), British-born, Aussie-bred PAULA ROE ended up as a personal assistant, office manager, software trainer and aerobics instructor for thirteen interesting years.

Paula lives in western New South Wales, Australia, with her family, two opinionated cats and a garden full of dependent native birds. She still retains a deep love of filing systems, stationery and traveling, even though the latter doesn’t happen nearly as often as she’d like. She loves to hear from her readers—you can visit her at her website, www.paularoe.com.

This story required an extra kick in the pants and I truly appreciate kickers Shannon Curtis and Kaz Delaney for doing that. You know how much I love you girls xx Huge cuddles to Helene Young for her wonderful cyclone information, and Gabrielle Luthy for her knowledge of all things French. And a special thanks to Kaycie from the Football Federation of Australia who went over and above to provide this soccer-challenged writer with information regarding the sport.

I also need to mention some special characters in Twitter Land who for one reason or another provided either encouragement or sweet, hilarious distraction throughout this particular story and kept this writer sane: George IV, Will Shakespeare, Prince Henry, Jack Sheppard, Philippe and Charles Brandon. Love you, guys! Lastly, to the wonderful, gorgeous people behind the epic French movie Le Roi Danse. Because period dramas totally rock.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Excerpt

One

Ten weeks ago, Katerina Jackson had spent one night in bed with her best friend. And it had been absolutely amazing.

Now, as she drove down the Captain Cook Highway, just before she got into Cairns, she was confronted with an image of the man in question, naked and smiling seductively down at her.

Kat’s foot instinctively tamped on the brake, and she only just managed to avoid the car in front as it stopped at the red light. The burn on her cheeks went all the way down her body, ending in her thighs, where it pooled annoyingly in her groin. She looked up at the familiar massive billboard featuring Marco Corelli, the golden boy of France’s premier futball league and Marseille’s highest goal scorer in the club’s entire history.

Well, he wasn’t exactly naked. The stacked Y-fronts left little to the imagination, though, as did his splayed hands across his low-riding waistband and the caption “Come and Feel My Skins.” But it wasn’t his ridged abs, popping biceps and the seductive Adonis line of muscle that disappeared into the low-riding underwear that heated her blood. It was that familiar, tempting come-here-so-I-can-have-my-way-with-you grin, the curve of his overtly lush bottom lip and the forbidden promise in those dark, sensual eyes. The way the camera had captured his hypnotic charm as he looked up from behind artfully tousled, rakish black hair, one curl lying teasingly across his forehead and cheek.

She’d had to pass that damn billboard every morning for the past ten weeks, his perfect face staring knowingly down, as if he remembered every single thing he’d done to her that night. How he’d made her sweat, how he’d made her moan. How he’d made her pant.

She snapped her gaze back to the road, glaring at the taillights as the traffic finally began to move.

“God, I am so stupid,” she muttered in the air-conditioned silence. It was Marco, her best friend since high school. The arrogant former-soccer-star-turned-sports-commentator, the underwear-endorsing charmer, Mr. Flirt with a dozen different girlfriends. She was his best mate, secret keeper, sounding board, partner in crime. His plus one when he needed a date to some swish function. He was also her boss’s on-again, off-again boyfriend.

She cast her mind back, sifting through her and Grace’s many conversations about Marco. Yeah, they’d definitely been off for a while before that night, so there was one less moral dilemma to worry about. Which just left the main two.

Oh, she couldn’t just have sex with her best friend, noooo. She had to end up pregnant, too.

If you could see me now, Mum. All your pretty, shiny dreams of your daughter having a perfect life, a perfect career. A perfect husband surrounded by perfect, healthy children.

The sliver of pain sliced through her, drawing blood, before she effectively sealed up the wound and pulled into Channel Five’s parking lot. After flashing her ID to the guard, she parked, gathered her bag and strode into the studio. Then she tossed her bag in her office and checked her phone.

Four missed calls, one from her friend Connor, three from Marco, plus a text message. Back in town. We need to talk. Drinks on the boat? M x

She sighed then finally replied. Sorry, snowed under at work. Can’t get away. Plus there’s a cyclone warning, in case you haven’t noticed. K x

After she sent it, she scrolled back to their texts from two months ago, a painful reminder that only rekindled her inner turmoil.

Have a good trip to France.

Hate to run and fly. We shouldn’t leave last night without talking about it.

Nothing to say. Let’s just blame it on booze and stupidity and forget it happened, okay?

Are you cool with that?

Totally. Erasing from my memory in three...two...one...

J Okaaaay. See you in a few weeks.

And that was it. Due to both their schedules, they had a mutual phone blackout during his assignments, although he always managed to send a few photos of the local scenery. But now he was back and wanted to do the usual drink-and-talk, and she had no idea what to tell him.

You can’t avoid him forever.

“You can’t avoid him forever,” Connor confirmed five minutes later when she returned his call.

“What the hell, I’m gonna give it a shot.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He deserves to know.”

Kat slid her hip on the corner of her desk and sighed. “I can hear your disapproval all the way from Brisbane.”

“Kat, I’m not disapproving. But I’m one of the few who know exactly what you’ve gone through these past few years. The guy deserves to know.”

Trust Connor to tell it to her straight. Marco, Connor, Kat and Luke—the Awesome Foursome, they’d called themselves in high school. All so very different in personality and temperament, yet “perfectly awesome together,” as Marco had put it. He’d been the cocky one, a skilled charmer, whereas his cousin Luke had had the whole bad-boy thing going on, always in trouble, always on detention. Connor was the devastatingly handsome silent-and-deep one, her unbiased sounding board who always told her the truth, uncolored by hyperbole or emotion. Sometimes it was scary how detached he could actually be, which was, ironically, what made him an exceptional businessman. He never let anyone into his private circle and she was always grateful she’d been allowed entry all those years ago.

“I...just can’t tell him,” she said now. “I’m already a wreck, and I can’t deal with all the emotional baggage, too.”

“That’s unfair, sweetie. Marco would never do that to you.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and then glanced up as a runner gave her the wind-up signal, indicating she was due on set.

Kat nodded. “Look, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

Connor sighed. “Stay safe during the storm.”

“I will.” She hung up, firmly pushed the conversation to one side and made her way to makeup just as her phone rang again.

It was Marco. “I do not want to talk to you,” she muttered and slid the phone to Silent.

“Avoiding a call from the boyfriend?”

Kat slid a glance to Grace Callahan, the star of Queensland’s number one breakfast chat show, Morning Grace, sitting in the makeup chair, getting her hair done. The woman was forty, only seven years older than Kat, but she had that polished, shiny look of someone who’d not only spent enormous amounts of time and money on her appearance, but was convinced it was the most important thing in her life. Her blond hair was curled into an artful tousle, her fake-tanned skin smooth, her body gym-honed. Yet for all her high-maintenance appearance, she had an addictive personality that attracted people by the bucket load. Which was probably why Marco kept coming back.

Kat glanced at her phone and nodded, unwilling to explain further. “No, just...a guy.”

“Really?” Grace’s wide eyes met hers in the mirror. “A real-life guy? Oh, my God, where’s my phone? I want to take a picture of this moment.”

Despite her mood, Kat smiled. “You make me sound like a nun.”

“I was beginning to think you were, hon.” She winced as the makeup girl pulled a lock of hair through the curler. “This is exciting—makes a change from all the Cyclone Rory news. Can I put it in the show?”

Kat snorted a laugh. “You know you can’t, so stop asking. I’m not newsworthy.”

“Are so.” Grace waved the girl away and ripped the makeup cape from her shoulders. “You’re a celebrity, and celebrities are always news.”

“Please, don’t remind me. I hate those people who’re famous for just being famous.”

“Sorry, hon, but your little scandals have fueled the gossip columns for ages. It only takes another to set it off again.” She straightened her dress then walked to the door, Kat following.

Kat sighed. It was true. She was nothing particularly special: the daughter of a merchant investment banker and an events planner, a private school student. The gap year she’d spent between high school graduation and university had been twelve months of partying, but just as she was about to begin her journalism degree at Brisbane Uni, she’d been offered a job as society reporter for The Tribune instead. Then, she’d gone spectacularly off the rails a year later, after her mother’s death.

“You never did set the record straight about everything, you know,” Grace said over her shoulder as they continued down the corridor. “It’d make a fabulous feature.” She swept her hands out, indicating a huge headline. “Former It Girl Katerina Jackson finally spills the dirt on her marriages, the seedy side of French football and those scandalous photos.”

“Never going to happen, Grace.”

“We could start at the beginning, make it a full show. We’d do background, talk about your childhood, your upbringing. How you beat up Marco when you were fourteen—”

“It was a shove, not a hit—”

“—and how you all ended up on detention like some modern-day Breakfast Club scenario—”

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you that.”

Grace laughed. “I’m not going to say anything, hon, unless you want me to. But I do find it fascinating that your closest friends are a soccer superstar, a billionaire merchant banker and the nephew of a rumored mobster. All hot alpha men. All completely different. And all newsworthy.”

Marco, Connor and Luke. Her best friends since high school, since that awkwardly hilarious lunchtime detention had played out like some eighties teenage movie and they’d bonded over their hatred of school and their shared tastes in movies, music and computer games.

“What were you all there for again?” Grace casually asked as they walked to the studio.

“You know full well what.”

“You’d decked Marco—”

“A shove, Grace. For showing off in front of his mates and getting all up in my face.”

“Why? What did he say?”

“Honestly, I can’t even remember.” Yeah, she did —a stupid teenage comment about her lack of “womanly attributes” that, to Marco’s credit, he’d apologized for later.

“Whatever. Luke had been caught defacing the toilets and... What was Connor’s crime?”

“Correcting the economics teacher then threatening to bankrupt him.”

“Wow, harsh.”

“That was Southbank Private for you.” She shrugged. “All the girls were too intimidated to talk to Luke and Connor. I wasn’t. And from there we clicked. It just so happens they’re guys.”

“And you’ve never thought about...?” Grace waggled her eyebrows. “You know.”

“What? No!”

“Not even with Marco?”

Kat threw her an exaggerated eye roll to cover up the warmth in her face. “No, Grace, I haven’t,” she replied as they walked onto the set. “And I have no intention of giving anyone an exclusive. I’m your research assistant now, that’s it.” Grace approached a raised yellow couch and coffee table surrounded by a cluster of cameras. The lights streamed down as the set director came over to go through the lineup. “The other stuff is old news. People don’t want to hear about it.”

“They do. But I’ll just keep trying,” Grace replied with a smile, taking the glass of water the runner offered.

“Of course you will.” Kat accepted her usual green tea from the set assistant as Grace sat on the sofa and began to rearrange the strategically placed props on the table.

“Soooo...have you heard from Marco?” Grace asked casually.

“Not yet, no,” Kat lied, fiddling with her phone. “He was commentating the Coupe de France, and that was only three days ago.”

“I heard he’s supposed to be back today.” She smoothed her dress down over her artfully crossed legs. “I’m arranging a surprise dinner for later in the week.”

“Really?” Kat paused, her insides suddenly tight, and she took a sip of tea to cover up the weird feeling. “Are you two back on again, then?”

Grace laughed. “I don’t think we’ve ever really been off. I’ve got plans.” She took another sip of water. “Let’s face it—my body clock’s been ticking steadily for years. And now I have an established show and some serious credibility in this industry. It’s time I started thinking about having a baby.”

Kat choked, tea dribbling down her chin. She swiped at it then stared at Grace. “With Marco?”

“Of course with Marco!” Grace frowned slightly, eyeing the guy adjusting the lighting. “Is that a problem? I know you and he are close...”

“Oh, no. I mean, yes... I mean...” Kat took a breath, trying to steady her clenching gut. “We’re close and share a lot, but we do have one rule—never butt into each other’s love life.”

“Really?” Grace looked intrigued. “So he’s never commented on James or Ezio, not even in passing?”

“No.”

“And you’ve never said anything to him about 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 giving in to the panic, she swallowed and crossed her arms, tilting her head.

“About?”

“We can talk on my boat.”

She sighed. “Look, Marco, it’s late and there’s a cyclone approaching. Can’t this wait another day?”

“You’ve been avoiding my calls, so no. And the storm’s not due for hours yet.”

He glanced up at the dark sky and narrowed his eyes at the barely discernible wind that had picked up.

“I’m tired.”

He stared at her, irritated. “Phone calls. Avoiding.”

She blinked slowly. “You’re not going to give up until I agree, are you?”

“Non.”

She sighed. “Fine. But be quick about it.”

He eased off her car, moving into her personal space, and instinctively Kat took a step back, which only prompted him to frown. “You’re not going to stand me up, are you?”

“No, I am not. Girl Guide’s honor.”

“Good.” With a firm nod, he walked past her, got in his car and drove off.

She watched his taillights blink as he turned left out of the parking lot before she had time to fully comprehend what her acquiescence really meant.

We need to talk. Those four little words lay heavy with meaning, conjuring up a multitude of awkward scenarios from her disastrous past. Ten weeks ago, they’d not only crossed that line between friends and lovers, they’d burned it to the ground, and part of her wanted to run home and hide under the bedcovers. The other part wanted this awkward situation over and done with.

With a sigh she got in her car, fired up the engine and drove out of the car park. She couldn’t run from him forever. It was time to suck it up and face whatever consequences that one night had wrought.

* * *

The marina was alive with activity, crowded with people securing their boats and belongings in preparation for the oncoming storm. Kat parked and headed down the wooden platform, eyeing the foreboding water as the dark waves lapped against the jetty. In a few hours’ time, a category-four cyclone would sweep across the coast, and everyone knew all too well the devastation it would bring. The city had only just managed to recover after Cyclone Yasi had slammed into North Queensland some years before.

Marco’s boat was moored at the end, a sleek, shiny thing he’d gone into great loving detail about when he’d first bought it. The only thing she remembered from that conversation was not the horsepower, the dimensions or the fuel consumption, but rather his little-kid excitement. It had made her heart flip then, as it did now when she recalled the three-year-old memories.

He stood on the deck and offered his hand as she stepped across the gangplank. Without thinking she took it.

It was weird—she’d held his hand a thousand times before, and yet right now this one simple gesture was making her jittery, as though her whole body had been put on alert and was awaiting the next eager move.

Which was stupid. Ridiculous. And highly inconvenient.

Dammit, that was what came with sleeping with your bestie. Because now she couldn’t stop the memories of those same hands roaming all over her body and doing things that had gotten her all hot and panting.

As they walked aft, she managed to surreptitiously slip her hand from his, avoiding his sideways glance by determinedly staring straight ahead.

God, she hated this awkwardness. They’d gone and done the unthinkable and ruined everything, and for a second, she felt that indescribable pain slice into her heart, leaving a deep and wounding scar in its wake. Things would never be the same again. It was like one of her disastrous relationships all over again, like everything her father had blurted out that one awful time in the heat of argument.

For God’s sake, Kat, can you just for once not be front-page news? Stop with all the attention and drama and just be a normal person?

The shame burned briefly as she recalled his expression, a bitter twist of anger and disappointment. Then her thoughts were interrupted by the familiar hum and throb of engines as they entered the cabin.

She stopped in her tracks. “Are you casting off?”

“Oui. We’re going to the island.”

She gaped. Annoyance quickly morphed into fury. “Are you out of your mind? No!” She strode outside but it was too late. Furious, she whirled, pinning him with dagger eyes. “I didn’t agree to this! And there’s a cyclone on its way, in case you haven’t noticed.” She threw an arm wide, indicating the dock rapidly disappearing. “The town’s in lockdown. And my car is at the marina.”

He crossed his arms and leaned back onto the rail, then absently pushed back a curl as the wind whipped his hair around his face. “First, my house on the island is designed to withstand weather extremes, cyclones included. It’s probably safer than most places on the mainland. Second, I’ll call someone to pick up your car. And third, the reports say the island will only catch the edge of it—the eye will hit Cairns after 3:00 a.m.”

“And by that time, we won’t be able to return for God knows how long. No. Go back, Marco.”

“No.”

She growled. “I hate it when you get pushy.”

His mouth quirked briefly but he said nothing. She continued to glare, putting all her anger into it, but he merely held her gaze calmly.

“You’ve been avoiding my calls,” he finally said.

With a frustrated growl she whirled, planting her hands wide apart on the railing. “Dammit, you can be sooooo annoying!”

“Says the woman who still hasn’t told me she’s pregnant.”

A moment passed, a moment in which Kat’s heart sped up, then slowed down again as she closed her eyes and dropped her gaze to the churning black water below. A moment in which those meager rehearsed words all crumbled to ashes in her mouth, and she was left with nothing but the sound of slapping water and rushing air.

“I’m going to kill Connor.”

Marco raised one dark eyebrow. “Don’t blame him. He thought I should know.”

Finally she straightened, crossed her arms and faced him. “Turn the boat around. It’s not safe to be out.”

“I checked with the coast guard. We’re fine for at least another hour, enough time to get to the island.” He shook his head. “And we have things to discuss.”

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

A dark scowl bloomed. “You’re kidding, right? You’re pregnant, Kat. It’s not just about you. It’s about me, too.”

She knew that. But the bubbling frustration inside forced the words from her mouth. “My body, my decision.”

He stilled, his expression a mix of shock and seriousness. “Are you saying you want an abortion?”

She blinked, shaking her head as her stomach pitched in time with the waves. “Marco, you know what I went through with my mother. She was dead within two years of diagnosis. I could be a carrier.”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “So get tested. I’ve been telling you that for years.”

“I did. Plus, I do not have one single mothering bone in my body. Babies hate me and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up.” He frowned and held up a hand. “You actually went and got tested?”

“Yes. Last week.”

“After all these years of ‘I don’t want to know’ and ‘I don’t want that hanging over my head, directing my choices in life’? All the times we argued when I tried to convince you otherwise?”

She nodded.

She’d shocked him, if his gaping expression was any indicator. “When were you going to tell me?” he finally bit out.

“I just did!” she snapped back, inwardly wincing at his thinly concealed hurt. “And speaking of not telling, what about you and Grace?”

“What about me and Grace?”

“So there is a you and Grace!”

He scowled, confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You and her, having a baby together?”

From the look on his face, she’d stunned him. “Since when?”

“She told me you were back together.”

He sighed, hands going to his hips. “Well, it’s news to me. We’ve been over since before the Coup de France.”

“How long before?”

“Way before our night together, chérie,” he said softly.

She swallowed, refusing to allow herself a moment of remembrance. “So, you’re saying Grace is lying?”

He shrugged. “Wishful thinking?”

She snapped her mouth shut, taking a deep, steady breath before mumbling, “This is a bloody disaster.”

Was it her imagination, or did she see his mouth tighten? Then he sighed and dragged a hand through his hair and the moment was gone. “Kat, I can’t stop you from making the final decision about what you do. If it were me, I’d be having the baby, regardless of those test results. But it’s ultimately your choice.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not me,” she said quietly. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see what the disease did to my mother, every single day, for two years. I refuse to let that happen to my child.”

His soft murmur sounded more like a groan. “Kat...”

The boat went over another wave, and suddenly the day’s lunch didn’t seem so secure in her stomach. She swallowed thickly then took a deep breath before meeting his eyes.

“I’ll be here as much as you need me to be,” he said, his gaze soft. “You’re my best friend, chérie, and that’s what friends do.”

Friends. Her insides did another crazy swoop, just before the nausea surged again. This was no confession of love, no happily-ever-after, no I-can’t-live-without-you. This was Marco offering his friendship and support, just as he’d always done throughout the tragedies of her embarrassingly public private life.

She swallowed a weird swell of abject disappointment. “Marco.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.... I haven’t made any decision. Plus...” She took a breath. “I can’t—I won’t—have a baby just because you want it. And once this gets out—whatever my decision—there’s going to be a media frenzy. Your career is more important than front-page gossip.”

“Kat—”

“You know what the headlines were like last time. Do you honestly think I’d do that to you? I... Oh, God.” She clutched her stomach.

He grabbed her arm, his face creased with alarm. “What’s wrong? What—”

She turned to the railing but wasn’t quick enough. In the next second, she threw up all over the deck, right on top of Marco’s expensive Italian leather shoes.

Two

“Guess I should’ve seen that coming,” Marco said drily as she rushed to the railing and continued to throw up over the side.

When he placed a gentle hand on her back, she shrugged it off with a groan. “Oh, God, don’t.”

His gaze darted from her to briefly stare up into the dark storm clouds. It was about to rain and rain hard, and if his captain, Larry, hurried, the crew could make it safely back to the mainland before it all came down. What he needed to discuss with Kat was between them alone; he certainly didn’t need anyone else encroaching on their privacy.

He returned to Kat’s doubled-up figure and shifted uncomfortably on the deck. He should’ve thought about seasickness. She wasn’t a great sailor at the best of times, and with the added pregnancy, he wasn’t surprised she’d thrown up.

“Can I get you anything?” he said now, frowning as her thick breath rattled in her throat. It tore little pieces from him, listening to her force down the nausea, willing herself not to throw up. She hated being sick, and he’d held her hair back on more than one occasion, watching helplessly as she went through the motions while he’d soothingly rubbed her back and made the appropriate sympathetic noises.

She stayed like that, bent over the railing, unfazed by the wind and ocean spray on her face until they finally docked at Sunset Island’s small jetty twenty minutes later. As the boat edged slowly into position, Kat pulled herself upright, swiping at her mouth and swallowing thickly with a grimace.

“Bathroom,” she muttered, and he silently watched her head into the cabin.

Five minutes later, as he was going over his choices in a long lineup of conversation starters, she emerged, her face pale and grim, a swipe of lip gloss on her mouth.

When she walked out onto the deck, that weird, tumultuous, out-of-control feeling had receded, only to be replaced with trepidation. This crazy situation was totally out of his hands, and that thought freaked the hell out of him. Yet she...she looked so cool and blank as she strode toward him that he felt the sudden urge to kiss her, to dislodge that perfect composure and make her as frustrated and confused as he felt.

Stupid idea. Because Kat had made it clear she wanted to forget what they’d done all those weeks ago. And if he looked at this logically, that was the sensible thing to do. They were best friends. Throughout all their sucky personal relationships, her mother’s death, his one marriage and divorce, her two, plus the crazy media attention they always seemed to attract, their friendship endured. Sure, the papers always hinted at something more, but they’d both laughed and shrugged it off a long time ago.

Yet now, as his insides pitched with uncharacteristic uncertainty, she looked almost...calm. As if she’d already made a decision and was confident in making it.

She was so damn strong. Sometimes too strong. Just one of the things that both attracted and annoyed him.

“I don’t know what more we have to discuss,” she said now, watching his crew prepare to dock. “This is a waste of time. Plus, with the approaching cyclone, we need to let people know where we are.”

“I called the authorities before we left, plus your father, my mother and Connor,” he said calmly.

“Wow. You really planned ahead for this, didn’t you?”

He ignored her sarcasm. “All bases are covered. We’re perfectly safe.”

Her face creased with such serious doubt that he had to smother a laugh.

Safe? No way, not when her expression became suddenly tight and he knew exactly where her thoughts were going. If they were anything like his, it was back to That Night, replaying every intimate second over and over, despite his determination to shove it to the back of his mind. She didn’t want to be stuck anywhere with him, least of all in such an intimate personal space.

Her breath snapped in, eyes darkening just before she glanced away, and his groin tightened. It was incredibly arousing, knowing she was obviously remembering their crazy-hot lovemaking. Lovemaking that had, instead of quenching the hunger, only succeeded in stoking his desire for more.

His low groan was lost in the noisy preparations for docking, yet when he gently took her arm, she shot him a dark scowl and dug her heels in.

His eyebrows ratcheted up. “You’re going to stay on the boat in protest?”

“I should.”

“Well, that’s a dumb idea. A storm’s coming, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“You’re the one who dragged me out here.”

He sighed. “Look, chérie, come to the house. If you want to yell at me, at least we’ll be safe.”

She paused, seeming to go through her limited options, until her chin went up and she shot him a glare. “Fine. But as soon as the storm’s passed, you’re taking me home.”

He almost smiled. Almost. “Okay.”

She gave him a final look then swept past him, down the gangplank and onto the rickety jetty, her heels echoing dully as he commanded his crew to take the spare vessel and return to the mainland.

* * *

They took a golf buggy to the house, efficiently moving along the road that edged the west side of Sunset Island. Just like all the times before, when the place came into sight, Kat held her breath and marveled at the architecture of the magnificent six-bedroom house. It was all glass and timber walls set in a lush tropical rain forest, with natural lines, arches and a sloping roof set on sturdy stilts, perfectly sheltered among the vegetation to avoid the fiercest storms yet taking spectacular advantage of the amazing Pacific Ocean sunsets.

This was Marco’s haven, a place he could relax and be himself with his friends. The guy she knew so very well. The guy who was now intimate with her body, who had made her moan and climax.

As Kat ran her eyes over the house’s familiar lines and tried not to think about that, the buggy wound its way along the driveway, until finally they stopped at the front door and Marco got out. Again, he offered his hand and she was forced to take it, although she quickly released him as soon as she stepped out.

“We need to secure the shutters before the storm hits,” he said, eyeing the sky.

Kat nodded and followed him to the long path edged with a sturdy safety railing that ran all the way around the house. As the wind slowly picked up and the trees began to sway, they both worked in silence, cranking down the storm shutters covering the multitude of windows. With the last one firmly in place, they returned to the front.

“The birds and the bats flew off a few hours ago,” Marco commented, frowning into the dark sky. “They know something’s wrong.”

A chill ran over her skin. “The Bureau of Meteorology said the main eye is bound for Cairns.”

“Yeah, they’re bracing for the worst—mobile phone towers down, power outages. The ports will be closed, too. So, not the best place to be right now. Let’s get inside.”

“I’ve got nothing to wear,” she said suddenly as she stepped in the door.

“You’ve still got some stuff from last time. And you can borrow from me if you need to.”

Walking around in Marco’s clothes, smelling his scent, knowing the exact same garments had been right up next to his skin? Just. No.

Kat said nothing as she walked into the familiar coolness of the slate foyer, down the hall to the back of the house, past the amazing indoor pool with wet bar to her right, the elegant water feature bubbling away to her left.

Finally she reached the heart of the house—the huge combined kitchen and entertainment area with comfy sofas, a wide-screen plasma TV, dining table to the side, curved walls with floor-to-ceiling windows and a fully equipped kitchen. She and his guests always spent their time here, eating and talking current affairs, the state of the world, his second home in Marseille and the ever-present topic, European football.

She went straight to the fridge, grabbed a ginger beer and then walked to the barricaded windows that normally displayed an uninterrupted one-eighty view of the Pacific Ocean.

During the day the simple beauty of searing blue sky stretched forever until it eventually dipped to kiss the dark ocean in the far distance. At night, the absolute blackness enveloped everything, the only respite the tiny mainland lights on the horizon. Except this time she was more than acutely aware of the brewing storm playing out behind the shutters, matching her churning thoughts as she heard Marco’s firm footfalls on the polished marble behind her. The vague scent of his aftershave brought back the uncomfortable memories from that one night, ten weeks ago.

“So we should be clear of the storm here,” she began, her back still to him, the cold ginger-beer bottle cradled against her warm neckline.

“Yes.” He reached for the patio door handle and swung it wide, walking out onto the lit deck. “But we’ve still got a warning and need to take all precautions.”

“Your cellar,” she said as he began to collect the deck chairs.

He nodded then grinned. “And you guys teased me for converting it.”

She pulled a chair inside the back door. “Well, to be fair, the worst you’d ever seen was a tropical rainstorm, not a cyclone.”

“Always a first time for everything.”

Those words took on a whole new meaning tonight. She watched him carry the patio chairs inside, waiting for him to break the silence as she picked at the label on her ginger-beer bottle.

He finally closed and locked the door, and after a few minutes of him shoving the chairs into a corner and saying nothing, she was about ready to break.

“Marco—”

“Kat—”

They both turned and spoke at the same time, but it was Kat who paused for him to continue. When he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, she wanted to groan out loud. She knew exactly what that hair felt like in her fingers, how soft it was, how it curled and waved with a life of its own, and how with one gentle tug at the nape she could direct his mouth to a better place on her neck....

Oh, God, I have to stop thinking about that!

When she glanced up, he was looking at her with those dark eyes, assessing her every word, movement and expression until she felt vaguely underdressed. Ridiculous, because the last thing on his mind right now was getting her naked and into bed.

What a vision that conjured up. No. No! Stop it!

Then he abruptly turned and the moment shattered.

“You need food,” he said, striding over to the kitchen and opening the fridge door. “And we need to prepare for tonight.”

Her stomach took that moment to remind her of her long-gone lunch, and with a sigh she followed him over, her mind on the immediate problem of her empty belly. “What do you have?”

He waved his hand inside the fridge. “You choose. I’m going to tape up the windows.”

* * *

Kat prepared bread rolls, cheese, cold meats and potato salad while Marco placed thick tape across all the windows. After they ate, they sat on the sofa and had coffee, the muted TV spurting out nonstop cyclone updates.

It was a familiar scenario—the coffee, the silent television, their seating positions: she at one corner, sprawled across two spots and hugging a pillow, he in the opposite corner with ankles and arms crossed. Yet the unspoken tension in the air was smoke-thick and just as hard to ignore.

This time it was Kat who broke the silence. “You know, Grace was arranging a surprise dinner for your return.”

His eyebrow went up. “Was she?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.” The slight grimace in his expression spoke volumes.

“What’s that look for?”

“What look?”

“Don’t give me that. You know the one.”

He sighed. “I don’t know why she keeps bothering. We broke up months ago.”

“I see,” Kat said slowly, pressing her lips together. Marco would never lie to her—so was it all wishful thinking on Grace’s part? She frowned. Yeah, Grace liked to talk up all her relationships—that TV exec three months ago, the Russian writer, the ex-soapie star.

Then Marco abruptly turned on the couch, giving her his full attention, and she forgot all about Grace’s love life.

“Kat, this is me here. We talk about pretty much everything—”

“Not everything.”

He gave her a look. “Just stop avoiding the issue and talk to me now. Let’s think this baby situation over logically.”

She shook her head. “Were you not listening about the tests?”

“I didn’t ask that. I asked if you wanted to have this baby.”

“I am not turning this discussion into a pro-choice debate.”

He scowled. “I’m not trying to. All I’m asking is for you to consider all your options.”

Her insides ached. “That’s all I’ve been doing since I found out. Marco, please don’t do this. I can’t get attached, knowing there’s a possibility it will be carrying a fatal disease. Plus, I know women are supposed to have these ticking body clocks, supposed to be filled with a great burning need to be mothers, but I am telling you, I’m not one of them.”

And yet...there’d been a few moments where she’d allowed her imagination to drift, where her thoughts had been occupied by something other than work, her swish Cairns apartment and all those solitary nights stretching before her. She’d imagined an unfamiliar future consisting of a house, a garden, a husband and babies. A scary, scary thought that had her breath catching and her heart racing every time she let her mind wander there.

No.

She sighed. “I...I don’t know what to say. I really don’t.”

“Well, that’s a start. At least it means you’re not wedded to the idea of an abortion.”

“I’m not making any decision until the tests come back. I’m not going to...” She swallowed and glanced away. “Not going to get attached to the idea if they come back positive. And anyway, what on earth am I going to do with a baby? This is me we’re talking about here.”

His scowl deepened. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re a great person. You’re funny and gorgeous and smart, and you have people in your life who love you.”

She flushed under the unexpected praise. “But a mother?”

“Other women begin with a whole lot less.”

“But it’s a full-time job. A lifelong commitment.” She worried the edge of the pillow, picking at the stitching. “You can’t get a do-over with these things. What if I stuff it up?”

“Nobody’s perfect at parenting—just look at Connor’s family. I guarantee you’d do a lot better than them.”

Kat nodded. It was impossible to avoid the Blairs, especially when her father and Connor’s were business partners at Jackson & Blair. Unlike her relationship with Marco’s parents, she’d never warmed to Stephen Blair, a ruthlessly ambitious man with a penchant for blondes, and his wife, Corinne, a cold gym-junkie socialite with a Botox habit. Connor’s childhood was a perfect study in fractured family dynamics. A therapist’s dream...more so than her own.

“My dad isn’t much better,” she said now. “He’d rather hold a grudge about old headlines than dole out any praise.”

“At least they were happy, well, until...” He trailed off diplomatically.

Until her mother’s diagnosis. Kat silently filled in the sentence. They had been strict but fair, even when she’d stretched the limits with the usual teenage smoking, drinking and sneaking out to parties. Certainly not overly demonstrative in their affections. But after her mother’s diagnosis, her father had turned into an angry, bitter man, always judgmental, always unhappy. And Kat could never do anything right, from her decision to drop out of Brisbane University to her crazy, wild nights on the town that were her one respite from thinking about her mother’s disease.

Until one particular night when she’d stumbled home at sunrise in a highly drunken state and her father had been waiting for her, scorn pouring from every tense muscle.

“You’ve had everything we could give you, and look at you! Your mother is dying, so you throw in a perfectly good education to get drunk every weekend!”

“Maybe that’s the point!” she’d stormed back. “It’s in my head every single waking moment. I need some time to clear it out, to just forget, otherwise I’ll go crazy!”

His fists had clenched, and for one awful moment she’d wondered whether he’d give in to the temptation and actually hit her. Instead he’d cut her with words, his particular specialty.

A month later her mother had died and Kat had run away to France, where Marco was the current darling of French football. Where she’d slowly come to realize there was more to her tiny little world than short skirts, wild parties and free drinks.

Kat swallowed, pushing the memory aside. God, no wonder the press had loved to hate her. She’d been such a spoiled little rich girl.

“But you’ve grown since then,” Marco said now. “And he’s still stuck in the past, rehashing old arguments. We don’t have to be our parents. Not with our child.”

Our child. Those two words were like a blow to the chest, leaving a shallow breath rattling in her throat.

“Look, Marco, let’s be honest. You’ve worked incredibly hard to get where you are. You’ve got a great career and an amazing, wonderful life. No commitment, no ties—”

“Kat...”

“No, let me finish. You can jump on a plane at a moment’s notice and be on the other side of the world. You have your pick of women—and there are a lot of women.”

“Kat—”

She ignored the warning growl in his voice and kept going. “I’m not going to force you to change, and a baby does that, in ways you can’t even imagine. The media frenzy will affect both our lives and careers.”

“If you choose to keep the baby, then I’ll do the right thing.”

She blinked. “The right thing? What, are we living in the 1950s now? You don’t have to marry me because I’m pregnant.”

He paused, a second too long. “Who said anything about marriage? I’m talking about being here for you. As your friend.”

She frowned, the unexpected sliver of disappointment stabbing hard. Oh, so now she wasn’t good enough to marry, was that it? But just as she was about to open her mouth and say exactly that, she snapped it shut. That was manipulation of the worst kind, and she refused to do it. She couldn’t put Marco in that position—she wouldn’t. And marriage was the last thing she wanted.

“Good thing, too. I suck at relationships,” she said lightly, her hand tight on the coffee cup. “I’ve tried too many times, but I just don’t have that particular gene. They’re messy, they’re painful and they always end in disaster. I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“You don’t suck. You didn’t force James to cheat. You didn’t hand the press those photos.” Marco’s brows took a dive, his expression dark. “And as for Ben...”

“Please do not remind me.” If there was a Disastrous Relationship Museum, hers would take front and center as prime exhibit number one: her first marriage to Jackson & Blair’s publicity manager, Ben Freeman, when she was twenty-two. He’d turned out to be a selfish, misogynistic bastard. Her second marriage five years later, a quickie Bali wedding to Marco’s teammate, annulled after just seventy-two hours when she’d caught James screwing a waitress in their bridal suite. And then her engagement to Aussie Rules’ wild child Ezio Cantoni barely a year ago. He’d taken nude shower shots of her then “accidentally” leaked them to the tabloids.

She was done with the scrutiny, the uncertainty, the angst. It was painful and humiliating and downright tiring. For her sanity and self-respect, it was just not worth the effort. And now she was bringing a child into that?

Kat sighed, shifting on the sofa. “And honestly, Marco, how are you going to be involved? Weren’t you planning to move back to France after the Football Federation of Australia’s awards in three weeks?”

“That was one option.”

Her brow ratcheted up. “That’s not how you talked about it a few months ago.”

He sighed and cast an eye to the shuttered window. “I’ve got a lot of things going on—the coaching clinics, the sponsorship stuff. Plus my network contract is up for renegotiation next month. I haven’t decided about France yet.”

She paused for long, drawn-out seconds. “Oh, no. Don’t you dare start to rethink anything. I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow it?”

“No.” She ignored his irritation with a wave of her hand. “We’re not married. Hell, we’re not even a couple. Just...best friends who may be having a baby.”

He said nothing, just looked toward the shuttered windows and then the wall clock that read quarter past one. “It sounds to be getting worse outside.” He stood. “We should go downstairs.”

She paused, glancing toward the windows, then nodded. “Okay.”

He offered his hand and she automatically took it, the sudden urgency of the moment pushing their discussion into the background. The innocent warmth of his fingers wrapped around hers created a frustratingly intimate sensation that she was loath to give up. He took her down the hall, to a door that led to the basement and his wine cellar, which he’d modified with this kind of situation in mind.

The wine was stacked neatly to the left of the small room, and to the right sat a couch, a fixed, fully stocked bar fridge and a small generator that powered the soft lamps that were now lit in preparation.

She hesitated at the door, scanning the room as reality flooded in.

“Don’t worry, chérie,” Marco said beside her, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze. “We’re perfectly safe.”

Again, that word. The door was heavy but he closed it with ease, and when he turned to her, she swallowed the panic and offered a shaky smile.

They settled quickly in the room, Kat automatically going over to prepare coffee, Marco checking the small ventilation window high on the far wall and then the lights. After a few more minutes, they sat on the couch, Marco pulled out a pack of UNO cards and they settled in for the night.

“So how’s working for Grace going? Still a pain in the butt?” Marco asked casually as he shuffled the pack.

“Oh, she’s not that bad.”

“Hmm.” His expression was skeptical as he dealt them seven cards apiece.

She sighed. “Actually, I miss my old London job.”

“What, the one you took up between Ben and James?”

“Ugh.” She made a face. “My life’s most significant moments reduced to a ‘between exes’ reference.”

“Sorry.” Marco’s expression looked anything but. “Let me rephrase. The Oxfam job you took at the age of twenty-five when you spent a couple of years living and working in London in blissful anonymity.”

She gave him a look, not entirely convinced he wasn’t being sarcastic, before finally nodding. “It was only a year, but I felt better about that job than anything I’ve ever done. I felt like I should—” She cut herself off abruptly, her thumbnail going to her mouth, teeth worrying it.

“Like you should what?” He picked up his cards and fanned them expertly.

“Like I should do something more. Donate to charity or start up a foundation or something.”

She waited for him to voice doubt, to echo her father’s familiar refrain about giving up a perfectly good job for an uncertain dream when she’d casually mentioned the subject a few months ago. Instead he just looked at her and said, “You’ve never mentioned that before.”

She shrugged and overturned the first card on the top of the deck. “I stopped thinking about it after I told my dad.”

“Let me guess—he said you don’t know a thing about running a charity, it’s too expensive, why chuck in a perfectly stable job for a dubious flight of fancy in this economy when you’ll lose interest in the first year?”

“All of the above.”

He sighed and placed a yellow two on the pile. The sudden silence sat heavy in the air now, until Marco finally spoke. “Have you done the figures? Worked out how much it would take to do something like that?”

“No.”

“So work it out. Make a business plan. Talk to your old workmates. Call your accountant. Screw your father. I mean that in the nicest possible way,” he added with a thin smile and placed the first card down on the table. “You’re smart and clever and you have experience. You can work a crowd, raise funds and know how to handle the press. Whatever happens with those tests and the baby, you can still do this.”

She stared at her hand, rearranging the cards by color as her mind worked furiously. Oh, she wanted to. In between the many fluff pieces and gossip segments Morning Grace aired, the human-interest stories drew her the most. The burning compulsion to do something herself, to help ease someone’s burden, to bring a little joy into the lives of people who really needed it, got her every time. She always ended up donating to every cause she sourced. Every time.

“This’ll be bigger than a ten-minute segment,” Marco said now. “You’ll be able to give things more media coverage, follow it through, devote more time. Really make a difference.”

She put a Draw Two on the pile and murmured something noncommittal, signaling the end of the discussion.

Marco said no more and for the next half hour they played cards and pretended everything was fine, even though the faint sounds of the creaking house and the wind as it picked up forced their attention from the game a dozen times. Finally Marco turned on the small radio and the room was filled with a steady stream of weather updates.

When the lights suddenly went out, Kat jumped. Yet when the generator kicked in seconds later and the lights clicked back on, it did nothing to assuage her growing panic.

“What are we even doing here?” she muttered, flicking her thumb along the edge of her cards, eyeing the lights, then the generator. “We went out in a cyclone warning, for God’s sake! This is stupid, not to mention dangerous.”

“We’re not in its direct path. Would I honestly do something to put us in danger? Trust me. We’re safe.”

When she shivered, he handed her the blanket from the couch, draping it around her shoulders, tucking it close. She half expected a tender forehead kiss to finish. Damn, she was actually wishing for it. He’d kissed her before, an I-love-you-you’re-my-best-friend kiss on the cheek or the forehead. And they’d hugged more frequently than she could count. But tellingly, he’d never kissed her on the lips. Until That Night.

For the next twenty minutes they kept playing cards as the rain and howling wind picked up, the updates morphing into location reports and interviews of people in organized shelters and those who chose to stay in their homes and see the storm through.

* * *

Half an hour later, it hit.

Card game now forgotten, they sat in tense silence, hip to knee on the couch, glued to the radio. The wind screamed past the house, ripping through the trees and banging the shutters in their frames. From inside their refuge, they could hear the rush of air, the snap and crack of trees bending and breaking under the raw elements, debris being thrown around. The house remained firm but the wind and slashing rain was a constant, picking up in waves then petering out until the minutes stretched like hours.

The radio spat out crucial information as the cyclone careened across the coast, and as time crawled into an hour, then two, and the cyclone finally passed through Cairns and headed south before dying down a few miles out to sea, details began to trickle in. Details of devastating damage, heart-wrenchingly revealed via the mainland survivors.

“We’re gonna have to start over. We’ve lost everything.”

“We have family, friends, community. We’ll survive this.”

“I don’t know whether we can rebuild. We weren’t insured.”

“Well, you just pick up and move on, don’t you? You just get it done.”

“Please, help us. Our house...everything. It’s gone. We need help.”

Kat’s breath caught, the sob forming low in her throat as she listened to that last one, a woman and her family who’d been right in the storm’s path. It ripped at her like claws, and she unashamedly let silent tears well as the extent of the damage was slowly and thoroughly detailed over the course of an hour.

When Marco’s hand went to her knee, patting reassuringly, she jumped, eyes flying to his.

The look on his face undid her, a mix of sorrow and understanding that reflected everything she’d tried to keep inside. She watched him swallow, her gaze following his thumb as he leaned in to gently wipe away her tears.

“Don’t cry,” he said softly, knuckles and thumb resting firmly on her cheekbone. “It’s okay.”

Her breath jagged. “But all those people...”

“They’ll rebuild. You know that. No fatalities have been reported, so that’s one good thing. It’ll be okay. We’re safe.”

She sniffed, unable to look away from his concerned gaze. “I was scared.”

“I know.” He cupped her face and leaned in, placing his warm mouth first on one cheek, then the other. Years ago, the familiar French-style greeting had amused her. But now, with his lips so very close to hers, and then as she watched him slowly pull back with a soft smile creasing those dreamy eyes, her heart leaped.

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