‘So we have a deal, do we? We do things my way, no arguments, no more buts.’

‘Yes,’ she bit out.

‘Good,’ he said, smiling wryly to himself at the thought that yes wasn’t a word Scarlet was used to saying to men. But she was going to say it a lot during their time together. He would make her say it. No, he would make her want to say it.

For that was what he craved all of a sudden. Not just Scarlet’s compliance, but her complete surrender.

About the Author

MIRANDA LEE is Australian, and lives near Sydney. Born and raised in the bush, she was boarding-school-educated, and briefly pursued a career in classical music before moving to Sydney and embracing the world of computers. Happily married, with three daughters, she began writing when family commitments kept her at home. She likes to create stories that are believable, modern, fast-paced and sexy. Her interests include meaty sagas, doing word puzzles, gambling and going to the movies.

Recent titles by the same author:

THE MAN EVERY WOMAN WANTS

NOT A MARRYING MAN

A NIGHT, A SECRET … A CHILD

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contract with
Consequences
Miranda Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CHAPTER ONE

‘DON’T you think you should start getting dressed?’

Scarlet glanced up from the Sunday paper which she’d been pretending to read for the last hour or so. She hadn’t felt like talking, especially since the conversation always came round to the radical choice which Scarlet had made this year. Her mother had initially supported her decision to have a child on her own by artificial insemination, but lately she’d been expressing the opinion that it might not be such a good idea.

Scarlet needed negativity at the moment like a hole in the head!

Okay, so the procedure hadn’t worked the first two times. That was not uncommon, she’d been told by the clinic. She just had to keep on trying and sooner or later she would conceive. It wasn’t as though there was anything physically wrong with her, except perhaps that she was getting older. Which was why she’d decided to do this in the first place.

‘What time is it?’ she asked.

‘Nearly noon,’ her mother replied. ‘We really should make an appearance at the Mitchells’ no later than quarter-to-one. I know Carolyn’s planning on serving lunch around one-thirty.’

Carolyn and Martin Mitchell had been their friends and neighbours for almost thirty years. They had two children: a boy, John, the same age as herself, and a girl, Melissa, who was four years younger. Over the years Scarlet had got to know the family well, though she liked some members more than others. Mr Mitchell had not long retired and today was their fortieth wedding anniversary, a milestone which Scarlet knew would sadly never figure in her own life.

Janet King’s heart squeezed tight when she heard her daughter sigh. Poor love. She’d been so disappointed when her period had arrived this week. It was no wonder she didn’t feel like going to a party.

‘You don’t have to go,’ she said gently. ‘I could make some excuse—say you’re not feeling well.’

‘No, no, Mum,’ Scarlet said quite firmly, and stood up. ‘I’m fine to go. Truly. Do me good.’ And she hurried to her bedroom, thinking that it would do her good. She could have a few glasses of wine—now that she wasn’t expecting. She also wouldn’t have to spend the rest of the day defending her decision to have a baby on her own. Because no one—other than her mother—knew about her baby project. Frankly, she was sick and tired of her mum telling her how hard it was, bringing up a child on her own.

Admittedly, Janet King had first-hand knowledge of the subject, Scarlet’s father having been killed in a car accident when Scarlet had been only nine. Scarlet knew full well how difficult life had been for her mother at that time, both emotionally and financially. Difficult for herself, as well. She’d adored her father and missed him terribly.

So, yes, she appreciated that raising a child without the support of a partner would be hard at times.

But not as hard as never having a child at all!

Just thinking about such a prospect made Scarlet feel physically ill.

She’d always wanted to be a mother, ever since she’d been a little girl. She’d grown up dreaming of one day falling in love with a wonderful man—someone like her darling dad—getting married and having a family of her own.

Scarlet had honestly believed it was only a matter of time after leaving school before that happened. Her plan had been to marry young so that she could enjoy her children. Never in her wildest dreams had she envisaged reaching the age of thirty-four still single and without her Mr Wonderful anywhere in sight.

But that was how her life had panned out. Sometimes, Scarlet simply couldn’t believe it.

Shaking her head, she stripped off her dressing gown then turned her attention to the outfit which she’d already laid out on the bed earlier that morning—a purple woollen tunic dress, black silk polo underneath, black tights and black ankle boots. It didn’t take her long to dress—she’d already showered and blow-dried her hair—after which she made her way along to the main bathroom to put her hair up and do her make-up.

Neither job took Scarlet all that long. At thirty-four, she had her grooming routine down pat.

The sight of the finished product in the large vanity mirror brought a puzzled frown to her forehead. Why, she wondered for the umpteenth time, had it come to this?

It wasn’t as though she was an ugly girl. She was very attractive with a pretty face: cute nose, full lips, blonde hair and a good figure. Okay, so her breasts were on the smaller side, but she looked great in clothes, being tall and slender. On top of that she had a bright, outgoing personality. People liked her. Men liked her.

Despite that, she’d had a lot of trouble finding herself a steady boyfriend over the years. In hindsight, Scarlet now realised that her choice of career hadn’t helped, but that hadn’t occurred to her at the time. Not wanting to leave home and the Central Coast, she’d taken a hairdressing apprenticeship in the salon where her mother had worked, a move which had confounded a lot of people. She had, after all, achieved very high marks in her exams and could have pursued some high-flying profession such as communications or law, if she’d wanted to.

But becoming a journalist or a lawyer was not what Scarlet wanted out of life. She had other priorities which didn’t include more years of studying and even more years clawing her way up the ladder to what some people thought of as success in life. At the same time, she did want an interesting job which she enjoyed.

Despite her teachers’ warnings to the contrary, Scarlet had loved being a hairdresser, had loved the camaraderie with her co-workers and clients. Loved the feel-good feeling which came with completing a colour or a cut not just adequately but brilliantly. She soon gained a great reputation as a stylist and by twenty-five she and her mother had opened their own salon in a small shopping centre not far from Erina Fair. They would have preferred to locate their salon in Erina Fair—the shopping hub of the Central Coast—but the rents there were way too high. Because of their loyal clientele, their business had still been a huge success.

But only on the financial front. Scarlet eventually had begun to see that being a hairdresser with mainly female clients was not conducive to meeting members of the opposite sex. Being an only child with no siblings wasn’t an asset, either. Maybe if she’d had an older brother …

Not that she didn’t try to meet men in other ways. For years she’d maintained a group of girlfriends from her school days and they went out regularly together to parties, clubs and pubs where, for some perverse reason, she would always be hit upon by the type of good-looking sleazebag who was only interested in one thing—though she didn’t work this out till she’d been burned a few times.

One by one, she watched as her girlfriends found nice guys to marry—mostly through their more diverse careers or family connections. Scarlet had been a bridesmaid so many times, she began to dread weddings, not to mention the after-wedding parties where her married ‘friends’ always tried to hook her up with some guy who was usually drunk and was only there to have sex with at least one of the bridesmaids.

When the last of her unmarried girlfriends had found her future husband on an Internet dating site, Scarlet had tried that method, but it had been an unmitigated disaster. For some reason, she still seemed to attract the wrong type who only wanted the one thing.

Scarlet had never been a girl who liked sex for sex’s sake. Not that she hadn’t tried it a few times in her younger days; she had. But she had found the experiences so lacking in pleasure that by her twenty-first birthday she vowed to reserve giving her body till she really liked the guy she was with. Unfortunately, she’d really liked some of the good-looking sleazebags who’d successfully picked her up during her twenties. Even then, there’d been no bells and whistles going off for her in bed, leading Scarlet to the conclusion that maybe she needed to be deeply in love to enjoy sex. Either that, or she was seriously undersexed.

By the time she turned thirty, Scarlet had been so desperate to find someone to love—and who would love her in return—that she’d made the mammoth decision to change careers. She went to college at night, gained her real-estate licence then applied for a job at one of the Central Coast’s largest and most successful agencies.

It had seemed a good move at the time. Suddenly, she was surrounded by lots of eligible young men who thought she was the best thing since they had built the freeway connecting the central coast to Sydney. She had admirers galore, one of whom stood out from all the rest. Jason was an estate agent at a rival agency and a coastie—like herself. A charming, extremely handsome guy who came from a local family and didn’t try to get her into bed on their first date. Hallelujah! When they did finally go to bed, the sex, whilst not quite of the earth-moving variety, had been pleasurable enough for Scarlet to conclude she’d finally fallen in love, feelings which she assumed were mutual when Jason proposed to her on her thirty-second birthday.

Plans for their wedding were well underway when disaster struck.

It had been eighteen months ago, at their street Christmas party. Jason was unable to go with her, saying he had a work-related dinner at the Terrigal hotel which he was obliged to attend. She was showing everyone her engagement ring and having a wonderful time when John Mitchell—the party was at the Mitchells’ house that year—took her aside and very quietly told her the most devastating piece of information.

Her first instinct was disbelief and denial. It couldn’t possibly be true: her fiancé was not gay. He couldn’t be!

It was the gentleness in John’s voice—and the compassion in his eyes—which finally convinced her he was speaking the truth. For it wasn’t like John Mitchell to be that nice to her. Deeply distressed, she left the party straight away, sending Jason a text that she had to see him. She arranged to meet him at the park opposite the Terrigal hotel where she confronted him with John’s allegation. He initially denied being gay, but she wouldn’t let him lie to her any more, and he finally admitted the truth. He begged her not to tell anyone else, as he hadn’t fully accepted it himself, and she hadn’t, but she broke her engagement.

Christmas that year, therefore, was not very happy. Neither was the New Year. Totally shattered, Scarlet resigned her real-estate job—she couldn’t bear to run into Jason all the time—and went back to hairdressing where she hid herself away for the whole year, her spirits very low. She never told anyone the truth about Jason—not even her mother—saying instead that she’d found out he was cheating on her. Her girlfriends were very sympathetic whilst encouraging her to keep on dating. But she simply hadn’t had the courage to put herself out there again. She’d felt like a fool, and a failure.

Scarlet had been quite relieved when John Mitchell hadn’t come home last Christmas. She hated the thought of his looking at her with pity again, or saying something crass like ‘I told you so’. Apparently, he’d broken a leg climbing up some stupid mountain in South America and was unable to travel. She was relieved, too, that he wouldn’t be at the party today. He’d planned to come, but his flight from Rio had been indefinitely delayed because of volcanic ash in the air. Fate was being kind to her for once.

Scarlet knew it was silly of her to feel awkward about seeing John Mitchell again. But she did.

To be fair, he was not an easy guy to be around at the best of times. Despite being a very good-looking man, John’s social graces left a lot to be desired. Had a brilliant brain, though; this Scarlet knew first-hand, since they’d always been in the same classes at school, right from kindergarten through to their final exams. But being classmates and neighbours had not made them friends. John had never played with the other kids in the street, despite Scarlet asking him more than once. All he’d cared about was studying and surfing—the beach was a relatively short walk away.

Scarlet recalled how John had bitterly resented being asked by her mother to mind her on the school bus when bullying had become rife. Admittedly, he’d done it, even to the extent of fighting with another boy who had called her a foul name. He’d got suspended for a day over that, and a bloody nose as well, which hadn’t exactly endeared her to him. Not that he had said anything directly to her. But when she’d thanked him, he’d scowled. Scowling at her was something he’d done quite often back then. She remembered once going to him for help with a maths problem in high school—he really had been terrific at maths—only to be told bluntly to stop being so bloody lazy and work it out for herself. Naturally, she hit back—Scarlet was not a girl to accept such rudeness meekly—screaming at him that she thought he was the meanest, most horrible boy she’d ever met and she would never ever ask him for help again, even if she were dying. A rather over-dramatic declaration, but she’d meant it at the time.

After graduating, John had gone on to Sydney university to become a geologist. She’d hardly ever seen him after that. He’d gone overseas to work once he had his degree, and only darkened his family’s doorstep around Christmas, when he would stay for a week or two at most. Even then, he spent most of his time surfing by himself.

He did deign to attend the Christmas street-party which they held every year, and where their paths inevitably crossed. And, whilst John wasn’t openly rude to her any more, their conversations were hardly warm or communicative. What she knew about his life was gleaned via his mother who belonged to the same quilting group as Scarlet’s mother. According to Carolyn Mitchell, her son had become extremely wealthy in recent years after finding oil in Argentina and natural gas in some other South American country. He’d also bought a house in Rio, so it seemed likely that he wasn’t coming home to Australia to live any time soon.

And wasn’t getting married any time soon, either, Scarlet warranted. Loners like John didn’t get married.

However, Scarlet had no doubt there was a woman—or women—in his life. Good-looking guys with money to burn didn’t do without sex, even if they were antisocial bastards with about as much personal charm as a rattlesnake!

The bitchiness of this last thought startled Scarlet. It wasn’t like her to be bitchy.

John Mitchell brought out the worst in her. But she really hated the way he didn’t need anybody; hated his self-containment. She couldn’t imagine John Mitchell ever having his heart broken. His heart was as hard as one of his precious rocks.

‘Better get a move on, Scarlet,’ her mother called through the bathroom door. ‘It’s twelve-twenty-five.’

After giving herself a vigorous mental shake, Scarlet hurried back to her bedroom, where she quickly hooked a pair of silver and crystal drops through her earlobes, then bolted back to the living room where her mother was waiting for her, dressed in a tailored cream trouser suit with a caramel-coloured blouse underneath.

‘You know, Mum,’ she said, looking her mother up and down. ‘You don’t look a day over fifty.’ Yet she’d turned sixty-two last birthday.

‘Thank you, darling. And you don’t look a day over twenty.’

‘That’s because I have great genes,’ Scarlet replied.

‘True,’ Janet agreed, though the thought did occur to her that maybe her daughter had inherited one particular gene which wasn’t as desirable as a youthful face, good skin and a slender figure—she herself had found it very difficult to get pregnant, which was why she’d only had the one child. It surprised her that a girl as intelligent as Scarlet hadn’t asked her about that. But she hadn’t, and Janet wasn’t about to mention it. Not today.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ Janet said instead, and picked up the present from the kitchen counter. Inside the rather exquisite red box was a ruby-coloured water jug and matching glasses which she’d found in a local antique shop and which she knew Carolyn would love. Martin probably wouldn’t, but then Martin was one of those men who didn’t enthuse over anything much. Except his grandson. There was no doubting that Melissa’s little boy, Oliver, was the apple of his grandfather’s eye. ‘I won’t need a jacket, will I?’ Scarlet asked her.

‘I shouldn’t think so. Besides, it’s not as though you have far to walk if you do get cold.’

‘You’re right. In that case, I won’t take a handbag, either. Here, let me hold the present whilst you lock up.’

They went out the front way, Scarlet glad to see that the early cloud had lifted, letting the June sun do a decent job of warming up the air. Winter had not long arrived down under, but it had already been one of the coldest in a decade. And the wettest. Fortunately, the rain had stayed away today, which meant they wouldn’t be confined indoors at the party. By the look of the number of cars already parked up and down the street, this was going to be a well-attended affair. There was nothing worse, in Scarlet’s opinion, than having lots of people jammed into a couple of rooms. Admittedly, the Mitchells’ two-storeyed home was very spacious, with large open-planned living areas. But even so …

‘They’ve been lucky with the weather,’ she remarked to her mother as they walked together across the road.

‘Indeed. I …’

Whatever her mother was going to say was cut off by the Mitchells’ house. The front door was reefed open and Carolyn ran out, looking flushed but happy.

‘You’ll never guess what’s happened,’ she said excitedly. ‘I’ve just received a call from John. His plane was able to take off last night after all. Admittedly, a few hours late, but because of favourable winds they made good time and landed at Mascot a couple of hours ago. He tried to ring me earlier but I was on the phone so he hopped on a train. Anyway, he’s going to be arriving at Gosford station in about twenty minutes. The train’s just pulled into Woy Woy station. He said he’d catch a taxi, but you know how scarce they can be on a Sunday. So I told him to wait outside the station on the Mann Street side and I’d get someone to pick him up.

‘Of course, he said that I shouldn’t bother, but I said what tommyrot, that if he could fly here all the way from Brazil we could at least pick him up from the station. But once I hung up, I began thinking who I could ask. I couldn’t very well leave my guests and I didn’t like to ask Martin. Then I saw you two through the front window, and I thought who better than Scarlet? You don’t mind, do you, dear?’

What could Scarlet possibly say?

Scarlet forced a smile and said, ‘It would be my pleasure.’

CHAPTER TWO

THE train trip from Sydney to Gosford was a very pleasant one, once you left the city, especially if the train was half-empty and you were able to get an upstairs window seat on the right side, which John had. After crossing the Hawkesbury River, the track followed the water in long leisurely curves, giving even the weariest traveller a panoramic and relaxing ride.

Not that John was weary. That was the advantage of flying first class; you could sleep on board and arrive at your destination, refreshed and ready for anything.

Which was just as well, given what he would have to endure today.

Parties were not John’s favourite pastime. He wasn’t much of a drinker and didn’t care for empty chit-chat. But it had been impossible not to come to his parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary. He loved his mother dearly and would not hurt her for the world.

His father, however, was another matter entirely. It was difficult to love a parent who’d rejected you when you were only a child.

Nevertheless, John did still love his father, a discovery he’d made when his mother had rung him recently to tell him that his father had had a heart scare. John had actually been relieved that his old man hadn’t died. He’d actually cared.

There was no getting over the fact, however, that what his father had done all those years ago had hurt him terribly. Thank God he’d had Grandpa. If it hadn’t been for his grandfather stepping in, then Lord knew where he would have ended up. He’d probably have run away from home and been living on the streets. Maybe even ended up in jail. That was how wretched he’d felt after his brother had died. Wretched, confused and angry.

Yes, he’d become very angry. Sometimes, when he looked back over his teenage years, he felt guilty over the mean way he’d acted, especially how he’d been to Scarlet.

He’d been extra-mean to her.

But that was because he’d liked her so much. It had been perverse of him; he could see that now. But back then feeling anything for anyone scared the hell out of him. He didn’t want to like her, or need her. So he’d pushed her away right from the first time she’d rocked up at his front door and asked him to come out and play. Not that she took no for an answer easily. Scarlet had always been a stubborn child with a will of iron. But she’d got the message in the end and had stopped asking him to come out and play. Perversely again, he’d been deeply hurt by her perfectly understandable rejection, deciding childishly that if she was going to ignore him, then he would ignore her.

Anything she could do he could do better!

Unfortunately, they had always been put into the same class—the ‘gifted’ class—so ignoring her totally had been a bit difficult. But he did his best. He hadn’t been able to believe his bad luck when they’d been put in the same classes in high school. But worse had been yet to come. During that first year, puberty had struck both of them. Overnight, Scarlet had gone from a pretty but skinny little thing to a seriously hot-looking babe, whereas he had gone from an okay-looking boy into a too-thin, too-tall streak of hormone-muddled misery. Once the testosterone had started charging through his veins, however, he had begun fancying Scarlet like mad, which naturally had made him act even worse around her. But, privately, he had fantasised about being her boyfriend.

No no, let’s not sugar-coat this, John. You didn’t fantasise about that. You never wanted to be Scarlet’s boyfriend. Being her boyfriend would have required a degree of emotional intimacy, something you were incapable of. Still are, if truth be told. You just wanted to have sex with her.

John smiled wryly to himself at the thought of how Scarlet would react if he ever confessed to lusting after her when they’d been at school together. Not that he ever intended telling her. What would be the point? She’d made it patently clear to him over the years that she couldn’t stand him. Not that he blamed her. He’d started the hostility between them.

It was one of the many things he regretted now. She really was a lovely—if somewhat spoiled—girl, and hadn’t deserved the way he treated her. Hadn’t deserved getting conned by Jason Heath, either. Telling her the truth about that bastard was one thing he didn’t regret. Scarlet might have ended up feeling miserable in the short term, but she’d have been even unhappier in the long term if he’d let her remain ignorant. He hadn’t really loved Scarlet, he’d just been using her to hide behind.

John wondered if Scarlet would be at the party today. He wouldn’t mind catching up with her and seeing how she was. His mother had told him during one of her phone calls that Scarlet had been inconsolable after finding out that Jason had been cheating on her—apparently, that was the story she’d put around to explain her broken engagement. Scarlet’s teachers hadn’t been the only ones to be shocked when she hadn’t gone on to university. He’d been appalled, and had told her so on one occasion. After all, she was as smart as he was!

John chuckled wryly at himself, recognising his arrogance. At least he didn’t strut around like some men, bragging about his successes. Bianca used to say that he was the strong, silent type.

John’s heart contracted fiercely as it always did when he thought of Bianca. One day, perhaps, he would get over her death. But not yet. The memory was still too raw, too painful. One thing was sure, though—he would never go back to Brazil. That part of his life was over. For the next couple of years at least, he would live and work in Australia. Not here on the Central Coast, however. Aside from the fact it was hardly the mining capital of the world, he was never comfortable spending time at home. Too much bad karma.

No, he would base himself in Darwin, where he already owned an apartment and where he stayed for a few weeks each year. Not that his family knew about any of that. If he’d told them he holidayed here in Australia every winter, they would have been offended that he hadn’t visited, or asked them to join him—his mother especially—so he’d simply never told them.

But he’d have to tell them something soon, he supposed. Though not the total truth, of course.

Over the past couple of weeks, John had tidied up all his loose ends in Rio. He’d given away his house to Bianca’s family, as well as everything in it. He wanted no memories of his life there. All he’d taken with him to the airport was his wallet, his passport and his phones, plus the clothes on his back. During his long wait to board his flight—which had turned out to be even longer than he’d anticipated—he’d bought a small winter wardrobe at one of the many boutiques. He’d also used the opportunity to have his thick dark hair clippered again in the close-cropped style he’d become used to since being in hospital last year. One of the nurses had become frustrated with his increasingly shaggy mane and shaved it off to less than a centimetre all over his head. Despite having worn his hair longish all his life, John found he rather liked the buzz-cut look. It suited him and was easy to look after. He didn’t even have to own a comb. John always liked to travel light.

The train pulling into Point Clare station brought his mind back to the present. In a few minutes they’d be at Gosford station. He wondered idly who would be picking him up. Not his father, that was for sure. Maybe Melissa. Or Leo, Melissa’s husband. Yes, probably Leo.

He liked Leo. He was one of the good guys. Anyone who’d married his little sister had to be. Melissa was, without doubt, the most spoiled girl he’d ever known. Even more spoiled than Scarlet.

Scarlet again…

It would be good if she was at the party. Good to know if she’d finally forgiven him for telling her about Jason. But he rather doubted it. When news was bad, people liked to blame the messenger. Scarlet had been furious with him that night, calling him a liar at first. She’d finally calmed down enough to listen to what he was saying, but he suspected he was still not her favourite person. But then, he never had been, had he?

The announcement that they were approaching Gosford station had several people in the carriage standing up and making their way down to the doors at the lower level. John knew there was no need to hurry so he stayed where he was, gazing out at the expanse of almost-still water on his right, and the many boats moored there, bobbing gently up and down. Spread out around this expanse of water lay Gosford, the gateway to the Central Coast beaches, but not a beach town in itself, the sea being a few kilometres away. The train rumbled over a bridge then went past Blue-Tongue Stadium which had been a park in the old days but now hosted football matches and the occasional rock concert. Soon, they were pulling into the station where John took his time alighting.

It was a habit he’d got into when coming home, being slow to get off the train, doing everything he could to shorten the time of his visits. He still wasn’t looking forward to today, but he no longer felt the gut-wrenching tension he used to feel at the prospect of being around his father. Which was a good thing. Not that he intended to stay too long. Masochism was not his style!

No one was there, waiting for him at the spot where his mother had instructed him to go, so he dropped his bag by his feet and waited. Less than thirty seconds later, a shiny blue Hyundai hatchback zoomed up the ramp and braked to a halt beside him.

He didn’t recognise the car. But he recognised the beautiful blonde behind the wheel.

It was Scarlet.

CHAPTER THREE

YOU could have knocked Scarlet over with a feather once she realised that the gorgeous man standing at the five-minute pick-up spot, dressed in snug-fitting black jeans, black T-shirt and a black leather bomber jacket, was actually John Mitchell. It was a realisation that didn’t come instantly, not even when he stepped forward and tapped on her passenger window. She’d thought he was some stranger wanting directions.

But as soon she wound down the window and he took off his wrap-around sunglasses, the penny dropped.

‘My God, John!’ she gasped as she stared into his familiar blue eyes.

‘Yup,’ he agreed. ‘It’s me.’

Scarlet could not believe how different he looked without long hair. Not better looking—he’d always been good-looking—but way more masculine. Without the softening effect of his hair, his facial features came into sharper focus: his high cheekbones. His long strong nose. His square jawline. Of course the clothes he was wearing added to the macho image. Scarlet wasn’t used to seeing John dressed in anything other than board shorts and T-shirts, his visits home long having been confined to summer. And, whilst she already knew he had a good body, there was something about a man dressed all in black that was very, very sexy.

Once she realised her staring was tipping into ogling, an embarrassed Scarlet swiftly pulled herself together.

‘I didn’t recognise you there for a moment,’ she said brusquely. ‘What happened to all your hair?’

He shrugged, then ran a slow hand over his near-smooth head, the action sending an erotically charged frisson running down Scarlet’s spine.

‘It was easier to look after,’ he said. ‘Where do you want me to put my bag? On the back seat, or right in the back?’

‘Whatever,’ she said, her offhand attitude a defensive reaction to her underlying shock at the situation. She wasn’t used to finding John sexually attractive. It was highly irritating. There she’d been on the way in, thinking how awkward driving him home would be, only to find that it was going to be extra-awkward now. She hoped he hadn’t noticed anything untoward. She would have to make sure she didn’t act any differently with him from usual. No way was she going to compliment him on either his haircut, or his clothes, reminding herself forcibly that, underneath his sexy new facade, he was still the same selfish, rude, antisocial bastard who’d given her hell over the years.

‘Mum shouldn’t have asked you to do this,’ he said as he climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door after him. ‘I could easily have caught a taxi.’ And he nodded towards the taxi rank ahead where several taxis stood, waiting for fares.

‘No pointing in worrying about it now,’ Scarlet said as she drove past them.

‘I guess not,’ he agreed. ‘This is more pleasant than a taxi, anyway. Thank you, Scarlet.’

She could not have been more taken aback. Not only did John look different, he was acting different too. She almost asked what had happened to him in the eighteen months since he’d last graced home, but decided not to go down such a personal road. He might start asking her what had been happening to her. No way was she going to tell John Mitchell anything! Best keep any chit-chat in the car strictly superficial.

‘Your parents have been lucky with the weather,’ she said as she drove down the almost deserted main street of Gosford. ‘This is the first decent day we’ve had so far this winter.’

He said nothing in return, for which she was grateful. But his silence didn’t last for long.

‘Mum tells me you haven’t met anyone else,’ he said when they stopped at a set of lights at East Gosford.

‘No,’ came her rather terse reply.

‘I’m sorry, Scarlet. I know how much you’ve always wanted to get married and have a family.’

Her head whipped around, her face flushing with a sudden spurt of anger. ‘Well, if you know that, then you shouldn’t have said anything to me about Jason. If you hadn’t, I would have been none the wiser, and I would have been married by now. Instead, I …’

Scarlet broke off when she felt tears sting her eyes, her knuckles showing white as she gripped the steering wheel tight and battled for composure.

John was appalled at the level of Scarlet’s distress. Appalled and sympathetic, but not guilty.

‘I am truly sorry, Scarlet,’ he repeated. ‘But I had no choice in the matter. I couldn’t let you marry a man who was just using you.’

‘There are worse things to happen to a woman than having a gay husband,’ she threw at him.

‘He didn’t love you, Scarlet.’

‘How on earth could you know a thing like that?’

‘Because he told me.’

‘You!’

‘Yes. I felt sorry for him—he was too scared to publicly accept who he was. Even I wasn’t as lonely or lost as that.’

Scarlet was moved by the grim bleakness in John’s voice and the stark reality of what he’d just revealed.

‘The lights are green, Scarlet.’

‘What? Oh yes, so they are.’

She drove on, her thoughts muddled by the sudden sympathy she felt for the man sitting next to her. Who would have believed it? First, she’d started finding John incredibly sexy. Now she was feeling sorry for him as well. Life could be very perverse, she decided.

‘So why haven’t you found anyone else?’ John persisted.

Scarlet sighed a sigh of sheer frustration. The one thing she could have depended on with John in the past was his brooding silences. Now, suddenly, he was turning into a conversationalist! And there she’d been, thinking she wouldn’t have to answer any awkward questions today.

‘I’ve stopped looking, okay?’ she replied somewhat aggressively. ‘I could ask you the same question, you know,’ she swept on, always having been skilled at the art of verbal counter-attack. She hadn’t been captain of the debating team at school for nothing! ‘Why is it that you’ve never found anyone? No one you dared to bring home, that is.’

He laughed. John Mitchell actually laughed. Things were getting seriously weird here.

‘Come now, Scarlet, you know my mother. If I brought a girl home, she would immediately start wanting to know when the wedding was.’

‘I could tell her that. It would be never!’

‘You know me too well, Scarlet.’

‘I know you well enough to know you’re not interested in marriage. If you were, you’d be married by now. You’d have no trouble finding a wife.’

‘Thank you for the compliment,’ he said. ‘But you’re right. Marriage is not for me.’

‘That’s still no reason not to bring a girl home occasionally.’

‘I can’t agree with you on that score. There’s enough tension whenever I come home as it is.’

This was true, Scarlet conceded. John and his father didn’t get along. She’d always blamed John for this; he’d been such a difficult boy. But she now wondered if there’d been some secret reason for John’s antisocial attitude, something which might have happened before they’d come to live in her street. He certainly wasn’t being his usual gruff self with her right at this moment. Frankly, he’d spoken more words to her since getting into her car five minutes ago than he had over their whole lifetime together! Curiosity demanded she use this uncharacteristic chattiness to find out some more about his personal life.

‘Do you have anyone back in Brazil at the moment?’ she asked, glancing his way.

His face, which had been open and smiling, suddenly closed up again.

‘I did have,’ he answered. ‘Till recently.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said quite sincerely, and wondered what had happened.

‘So am I,’ he said. ‘Now, that’s enough personal information for one day.’

Scarlet’s teeth clenched hard in her jaw. She should have known that his being nice and normal wouldn’t last.

‘Why didn’t you keep going straight along the main road?’ he asked when she swung right onto Terrigal Drive. ‘It’s quicker.’

‘Not any more, it isn’t. It’s suffering from terminal roadworks. If you came home a little more often, you would know that,’ she pointed out somewhat waspishly. ‘Apart from that, I’m the driver here. You’re the passenger. The passenger does not tell the driver where and how to drive. That’s bad manners.’

He laughed again, though this time it had a harsher sound. ‘Glad to see you haven’t changed, Scarlet.’

‘I was just thinking the same about you. You might look different, John Mitchell—you’re certainly dressing a damned sight better—but deep down, you’re still the same obnoxious boy who thinks he’s smarter than everyone else.’

This time he made no come-back, leaving Scarlet to feel totally ashamed of herself. She’d overreacted, as usual. She’d always had a quick temper, especially around John.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said swiftly into the uncomfortable silence. ‘That was very rude of me.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said, surprising her with a wry little smile. ‘It wasn’t far off the truth. I can be quite arrogant.’

She couldn’t help it. She smiled back at him.

Their eyes met for a long moment, Scarlet being the first to look away, John’s eyes still on her as she struggled to put her mind back on her driving. It kept rattling her, this sudden attraction between them.

‘Will you stop staring at me?’ she snapped at last, but without looking his way.

‘I wasn’t staring,’ he denied. ‘I was just looking and thinking.’

‘About what?’

‘Don’t forget there’s a speed camera just along here.’

Scarlet rolled her eyes. ‘For pity’s sake, John, I live here twenty-four-seven. I know about the speed camera.’

‘Then why are you doing nearly fifty?’

‘I can do fifty. It’s not a school day.’

‘The sign said forty. Roadworks ahead.’

Scarlet jammed on her brakes. Just in time, too.

‘If they dig up one more road around here,’ she muttered, ‘I’m going to scream.’

‘No screaming,’ John said in droll tones. ‘Can’t abide screaming women.’

When she glared over at him, Scarlet was astounded to find him smiling at her.

‘John Mitchell,’ she said, her mouth twitching. ‘You’ve actually found a sense of humour.’

‘I have today, it seems. Which is just as well. I’m almost home.’

Which they were.

The street where Scarlet lived was no different from most streets on the Central Coast, full of a motley collection of houses of all different shapes and sizes. It was a family-friendly street where the inhabitants actually stayed put, rather than moving every seven years or so, as seemed to be ingrained in the Australian psyche. Of course, it was in Terrigal, which had been voted recently one of the ten most desirable places in the world to live.

It would be difficult to find anywhere better to bring up a family. Admittedly, they didn’t have ocean or lagoon views in their street, but that made the houses more reasonably priced. They still enjoyed the wonderfully mild climate which came from living near the sea. On top of that they were so close to everything, not just the beach. Erina Fair shopping centre was only a ten minute drive away and Sydney a little over an hour.

Scarlet could never understand why John didn’t come home more often.

‘Looks like a big turn-out,’ John said once Scarlet turned the corner into their street.

‘You have your mother to blame for that. If she didn’t put on such a good spread, she wouldn’t get so many people accepting her invitations. It’s always like this when it’s your family’s turn for the Christmas party. Look, there’s your mum and sister on the front porch, waiting for you.’ No father, though, she noted. ‘I’ll just stop in our driveway and you can get out. I want to put the car in the garage.’

‘Fine,’ he agreed, hopping out and taking his bag from the back seat before slapping the car on the roof and shouting thanks to her.

She pressed the remote for the garage door, watching John in the rear-vision mirror whilst she waited for the door to roll its way slowly upwards. He really did look amazing today. Great buns in those jeans. Great body all round. If he’d been anybody else, she might have been tempted to flirt with him.

Just the thought made her laugh. Flirt with John Mitchell? What would be the point in that?

Scarlet laughed again. She was still amused over the idea when she returned to the party.

CHAPTER FOUR

SCARLET looked for John straight away. When she couldn’t spot him anywhere amongst the crowd of partygoers who’d all gathered under the outdoor entertaining area, she wandered back inside the house. But the only person she found there was his mother, getting a couple of bottles of wine out of the fridge. The large open-plan living room was empty of people, with no sign of John anywhere.

‘Ah, Scarlet,’ his mother said. ‘Thank you so much for getting John. It was very good of you.’

‘No trouble, Mrs Mitchell. Where is he, by the way?’

‘Upstairs in his bedroom,’ Carolyn retorted, sounding a bit annoyed. ‘Said he had to go get my anniversary present but I think he’s just avoiding talking to people. Look, could I bother you to go up there and bring him down? All the food is ready. You look lovely today, by the way, dear,’ Carolyn rattled on before Scarlet could accept or reject the request.

Strangely, she didn’t mind the mission. It would give her the chance to see if he still had all those girlie posters over his walls.

He didn’t. The room was stripped bare of all boyish paraphernalia. John was standing by the window, staring down at the street, his bedroom being at the front of the house. His bag had been slung on top of the bed, unopened. Scarlet glanced around but couldn’t see any present anywhere.

‘I’ve been sent to bring you downstairs,’ she called from the open doorway.

He turned from the window and smiled a rueful smile. ‘Poor Scarlet,’ came his ironic remark. ‘You’ve been given all the awful jobs today.’

She didn’t deny it. The strange truth, however, was that she hadn’t minded driving him home as much as she’d thought she would. And she didn’t really mind coming up here to collect him. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.

‘Did you find your mother’s present?’

‘I did,’ he said, and patted the right hip pocket of his leather jacket.

‘Something small and sinfully expensive?’

‘Could be.’

‘Let me guess—a real ruby.’ What else would a geologist son give to his mother on her ruby wedding anniversary?

‘You always were a clever little minx.’

‘And you always were a sarcastic bastard.’

He scowled at her for a second, then smiled. ‘I tell you what. I promise to go down and face the small talk if you promise not to leave my side.’

‘And what, pray tell, do I get out of that deal?’

His smile broadened. ‘My suddenly sparkling company?’

‘Not good enough, I’m afraid. I have no faith in your company becoming suddenly sparkling. I will need more of a bribe than that.’

‘Would a real diamond do the trick?’

Scarlet wasn’t sure if he was serious, or just teasing her. Whatever, she was tempted to do some teasing of her own.

‘I have no use for a diamond,’ she replied haughtily. ‘Unless it’s sitting atop a band of gold and comes with a proposal of marriage.’

The look on his face was priceless.

‘No?’ she went on saucily. ‘Pity. You’re not bad looking, after all. And you’re filthy rich. Not to mention not gay. What more could a girl possibly want?’

‘Nice try, Scarlet. You had me going there for a while.’

She grinned. ‘I did, didn’t I? Revenge is sweet.’

‘Revenge for what?’

‘For all the times you made me want to kill you.’

‘Mea culpa,’ he said, his tone droll.

‘You’re right there. But today is meant to be a happy day, so I’ll put aside my petty grievances and do what you ask, without payment of any kind. Not that I thought you meant to give me a diamond for real.’

‘If I did, you’ve missed out now. Still, be a nice, sweet, agreeable companion for the rest of the day and I might give you one.’

‘In your dreams, lover.’

He laughed. ‘You’re right there, Scarlet.’

John knew full well that that was one thing he would never be—Scarlet’s lover. Which was a pity. She looked utterly gorgeous today in that purple and black outfit. Shame she wasn’t one of those girls who could enjoy a fling without always looking for a ring on their finger in return.

But that was the way she was and nothing would ever change that. Which was also a pity. John suspected one of the reasons Scarlet hadn’t found her Mr Right was because she had ‘desperately seeking marriage’ written all over her. What she needed to do, in his opinion, was lighten up.

Perhaps he would tell her that later today if he found the right opportunity.

‘Come on,’ he said, flashing Scarlet a warm smile as he hooked her arm through his. ‘Time to get ourselves downstairs before they send out a search party.’

CHAPTER FIVE

SCARLET could not believe how much she enjoyed the party, and John’s company, though she would not go so far as to say he’d ‘sparkled’. After giving his delighted mother her ruby—which was uncut but simply enormous—he’d actually deigned to make a small speech, praising his parents’ fortitude in staying married for so long and wishing them all the best for the future. Then, even more surprising, after the buffet luncheon was over he’d made the effort to talk to his father. It had been a slightly awkward conversation—Scarlet had been hovering nearby at the time—but it was Martin Mitchell who’d sounded the more awkward, she thought, after which the fool had spent the rest of the afternoon playing with Melissa’s little boy. Admittedly, Oliver was a delightful child, with a highly engaging personality. But still, one would have thought Martin could have afforded to spend some more time with a son who’d flown all the way from South America to be with his parents on their special day.

Scarlet had felt seriously annoyed with the man, which made her even more solicitous towards John. She also downed a good few glasses of wine, which she had a tendency to do when she was upset. Being tipsy brought out the flirtatious side in her, which was helped by the fact that he invariably sought her out if she left his side for too long, whispering to her each time that she wouldn’t get a diamond if she kept deserting her post.

By five-thirty, the party was winding down, with people gradually leaving. By six, the Mitchell place was almost empty of guests, and Scarlet and her mother stayed back to help Carolyn and Melissa clean up. Oliver had been put down for a nap, whilst the men—Martin, John and Leo—had retired to the living room to watch the evening news on TV.

‘I had my four-month ultrasound on Friday,’ Melissa said out of the blue as she and Scarlet were restacking the dishwasher together. Their mothers were outside at the time, piling up more dirty plates to carry in.

Scarlet stiffened as she always did these days when girls she knew started talking about their pregnancies. She’d known Melissa was pregnant again, but the subject hadn’t come up that day as yet.

‘Oh?’ she managed to reply as casually as she could manage. ‘Everything well, I hope?’

‘Marvellous. Leo was there with me, of course. He actually cried when they told him it was a little girl. So did I. Oliver’s a darling boy, but there’s something about little girls, isn’t there?’

Scarlet was on the verge of tears herself. She didn’t give a damn if she had a girl or a boy. She just wanted a baby.

‘Would you like to see the pictures of the ultrasound?’ Melissa asked her. ‘I brought them with me to show Mum. They’re just upstairs. I’ll go get them,’ she added before Scarlet could say yes or no.

John saw the stricken look on Scarlet’s face the moment he walked into the kitchen.

‘What is it?’ he asked straight away. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I have to get out of here,’ she muttered.

Too late. Melissa was back in a flash with the dreaded pictures. Scarlet had no choice but to look at them and make all the right noises, for how could she do anything else without making a complete fool of herself? Melissa insisted John look at them too, which he did, though he didn’t gush, for which Scarlet was grateful. At some stage, their respective mothers re-entered the kitchen. Scarlet now had to endure Carolyn Mitchell raving on about how lucky Melissa was to be having a little girl and how lucky they were as grandparents to have their daughter living so close. She then added that it was obvious they were never going to get any grandchildren from John and, even if by some miracle they did, they’d probably never see them, since he preferred to live in South America than Australia.

John had no idea what had distressed Scarlet earlier, but he suspected—by the look on her face—that she still wanted out. He did, too. Hell, yes. And the sooner the better.

‘Sorry to love you and leave you, folks,’ he said once his mother stopped to draw breath. ‘But I asked Scarlet out tonight and she said yes. So if you don’t mind, we’ll be off.’ So, saying, he took hold of a startled Scarlet and steered her firmly towards the front door. ‘Don’t wait up,’ he called over his shoulder, then whispered in her ear. ‘We’ll have to take your car, as I don’t have one here, but don’t worry; I can drive. I’ve only had two light beers all afternoon.’

Scarlet would have agreed to anything he said at that moment, she was so grateful to be away from Melissa and the pictures of her baby.

Five minutes later, John was reversing her car out of their garage, Scarlet only then realising she’d have a lot of questions to answer when she finally got home that night.

‘Nice wheels, Scarlet,’ John said once they were underway. ‘The last time I was home you were driving an old white rust bucket.’

‘I decided to spoil myself this year,’ she replied. New car and a baby. At least that had been the plan.

Suddenly, the tears which had been threatening ever since Melissa brought up the subject of her pregnancy came back with a vengeance. Scarlet tried to choke them back but it was way too late. Maybe if she’d cried earlier in the week when she’d realised she hadn’t conceived, she might have stood a chance of controlling her emotion. Instead, it had been building up in her for days, this feeling of helplessness and hopelessness. She’d tried so hard to stay positive. So very hard.

Her head dropped into her hands as her shoulders started to shake, noisy sobs bursting from her lungs.

John didn’t know what to do for a split second. He’d known Scarlet was upset over something but he hadn’t expected this level of grief. It wasn’t like Scarlet at all!

To keep on driving seemed heartless so he pulled over to the side of the road and switched off the engine.

He didn’t try to comfort her physically. It was too darned awkward in a small car with the gear stick and hand brake between the front seats. So he just sat there and let her weep. Bianca had once told him that women needed a good cry occasionally. Most times, they didn’t require the men in their lives to solve their problems, just to be supportive and to listen. John wished he had a handkerchief to give her. But he wasn’t the handkerchief-carrying kind of man.

Finally, when the weeping subsided, Scarlet snapped open the glove box and extracted a small box of tissues. She blew her dripping nose at length, then threw him a pained look.

‘Thank you,’ she sniffed.

‘For what?’

‘For getting me out of there.’

‘Am I allowed to ask what upset you so much?’

‘No,’ she grumped, crumpling up the tissues into her hand and turning her face away from him.

‘No?’ John was never at his best when his will was thwarted. ‘Scarlet King, we are not moving from this spot till you tell me what’s going on.’ As he made his stand, John’s mind started running over what had happened after he’d walked into the kitchen. Melissa had come downstairs with the photographs of her ultrasound, insisting that they both look at them. Then his mother walked in and made some crack about his never giving her grandchildren. Which was probably true.

But, John realised in what could only be described as a light-bulb moment, Scarlet wanted to give her mother grandchildren.

‘It was because of Melissa’s pregnancy,’ he said with typical male satisfaction at having worked something out for himself.

The lack of sensitivity in John’s tone—not to mention the underlying arrogance—brought Scarlet back to herself. Her head whipped round, her blue eyes glaring daggers at him.

‘Yes, of course it was your precious sister’s pregnancy which upset me,’ she snapped. ‘Plus the way she shoved those damned photographs in my face. How do you think I felt when she told me she was going to have a lovely little girl to go with her lovely little boy when I would give my right arm to have just one baby of any sex?’

‘But you will, Scarlet. One day,’ he added.

‘Oh really? You can guarantee that, can you, John? I’m thirty-four years old. My biological clock is ticking away like a time bomb. Already the odds of my conceiving a child are going downhill. If I don’t have a baby soon, I might never have one.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Scarlet. Women of forty and older are having babies all the time.’

‘I’m not being ridiculous, and women over forty are not having babies all the time. Most of the older mothers you read about these days are celebrities and actresses who have access to the best fertility clinics in the world. Have you noticed how many of them are having twins? You don’t honestly think they’re being conceived naturally, do you?’

John hadn’t really thought about it at all. ‘I will bow to your better knowledge on the subject. But you’re not over forty yet, Scarlet. Not by a long shot. There’s no reason to panic.’

‘I have every reason to panic.’

‘Look, if you’re so damned desperate to have children, then why don’t you just go out and get yourself pregnant? You’re gorgeous—you’ll have all the offers you could want.’

Scarlet gave him a totally scandalised look, determinedly ignoring the fact that he thought she was gorgeous. ‘You think I would risk falling pregnant to just anyone, potentially also risking my sexual health? No, thank you very much. I have no intention of doing that.’

‘So you’re just going to wait till Mr Right comes along?’

‘Actually, John, I have no intention of doing that either.’

‘Oh? And what, pray tell, are you going to do?’

‘If you must know, I’m already doing it.’

‘Already doing what?’

Scarlet knew she’d just backed herself into a corner. Her and her big mouth! John always did have this bad habit of making her want to bring him down in flames, which was very immature of her. They weren’t bickering children or rival classmates any more. They were grown up people.

Suddenly, it didn’t seem such a bad idea to tell him what she was up to. John wouldn’t tell anyone else, not if she asked him not to. Frankly, it would be good to talk to someone other than her mother, someone more objective. John was an intelligent guy; he would see the sense in her plan. Scarlet needed reassurance at that moment that she was doing the right thing.

‘The thing is, John,’ she said, still slightly hesitant. ‘I … Urn … I’ve decided to have a baby by artificial insemination.’

When he said nothing, she turned her face to look at him. He was frowning, like he didn’t understand the concept at all.

‘I investigated it thoroughly on the Internet first,’ she rattled on, feeling compelled to explain it more fully. ‘Trust me when I say I’ve given this a lot of thought and research. Anyway, I found a local clinic where they had a whole catalogue of sperm donors to choose from. All their background information was listed: their physical characteristics, health records, intelligence levels. I picked one out which I liked the sound of. He’s American, tall, good-looking, with dark hair, blue eyes and an IQ of a hundred and thirty. Some of them had higher IQs—most of the donors are university students—but I didn’t want a child who was a genius, just one smart enough to do well in life without having to struggle.’

‘If you’ve already decided on this course of action, Scarlet,’ John said when she finally stopped talking, ‘then why were you so upset over Melissa’s pregnancy?’

Scarlet sighed. ‘I guess you might as well know the rest. The thing is it hasn’t worked so far. I’ve failed to fall pregnant twice now and I … I … Well, when Melissa showed me her ultrasound pictures, I began to worry that something was wrong with me and I would never be a mother, and I … I …’ Scarlet broke off when she choked up again.

‘For what it’s worth, Scarlet,’ John said quietly into the sudden silence, ‘I admire that you’ve taken positive action to get what you want in life. You have courage. At the same time,’ John couldn’t help himself from telling her, ‘I think you’re being quite selfish in deliberately having a child who will be denied a father figure in his life.’

Scarlet was both astonished and angered by this unexpected criticism. ‘I wouldn’t say that having a father figure in life is the be-all and end-all. I would have thought that you, of all people, would appreciate that.’

‘Touché. But I did have a grandfather. Your baby won’t even have that.’

‘Maybe not, but it will have a wonderful grandmother.’ Only one, though, she realised. Her paternal grandparents had both died some years ago.

‘True,’ John agreed. ‘But what about when she’s gone? What then?’

‘I can’t think about then,’ Scarlet snapped.

‘Just like your fictional name-sake.’

She glared at him. ‘I thought you would understand.’

John shrugged. He wasn’t sure why he found the idea of Scarlet having a baby with Mr IQ-of-a-hundred-and-thirty so uncomfortable, but his whole body objected.

‘Wanting a baby is not exactly complicated. It’s a basic drive in most women. And quite a lot of men too, I’m told,’ she added caustically.

‘I dare say you’re right. Look, it’s obvious that you’re determined on this course of action, so I have a suggestion to make which I think would be infinitely preferable to your being impregnated by some stranger who will impart nothing to your child’s life but a set of genes, which may not be as desirable as they read on paper. After all, what do you really know about this sperm donor? Nothing of any depth, that’s for sure. You don’t know his background or his family or his mental health. Perhaps it is a blessing that you haven’t conceived his child so far.’

Scarlet could not believe that John was being so negative. All life had some risk, didn’t it? There was no such a thing as a perfect plan, or a perfect partner, or a perfect anything! She had no idea what his counter-suggestion was going to be, but if he thought she was going to change her mind about trying for a baby then he was delusional.

John knew that what he was about to propose would shock her. He was pretty shocked at it himself. But something deep inside him was driving him on—the thought of Scarlet having a baby to some anonymous stranger was repulsive. She deserved better than that. She deserved…

‘So, Scarlet, in the interest of the future happiness and security of your offspring, I propose that you ditch your present sperm donor in favour of … me.’

Scarlet could not have been more shocked if he’d suggested immaculate conception. She just stared at him with rounded eyes, looking for the catch. Or the joke.

‘You have to be kidding me!’ she exclaimed at last.

‘Actually, no,’ he said, feel perversely pleased with his offer now that he’d made it. ‘I’m not.’

‘But … But … Why?’

‘Why not? I qualify, don’t I? I’m tall, reasonably good-looking, with dark hair and blue eyes. Unfortunately my IQ is a good bit over a hundred and thirty but that’s a moot point. I promise I won’t interfere with the way you bring up the child, so it won’t be so different to what you had planned. Though I would like to see the child occasionally. On top of that, he or she’ll have a second pair of grandparents living just across the road. And, whilst my father wasn’t a great father, I saw today that he has the makings of a great grandfather. That can happen sometimes, you know. His father—my grandfather—admitted to being a pathetic parent but he came into his own as a grandparent.’

Scarlet shook her head from side to side. ‘I’m having serious trouble taking this all in.’

‘Take your time.’

Scarlet blinked, then frowned. ‘I still can’t see why you would offer to do this.’

‘I am capable of kindness, you know.’ Or so Bianca had believed.

‘This is more than just being kind,’ Scarlet said, trying to get her head around John’s offer. Who would have believed he would do such a thing? She shook her head from side to side. ‘I have to confess that I’m tempted. Mum would certainly be more comfortable with you being the father than some stranger.’

‘I would imagine so. She quite likes me, you know. Has done ever since I promised to look after you on the school bus.’

Scarlet rolled her eyes at him. ‘I seem to recall you weren’t thrilled at the time.’

‘I didn’t mind.’

‘Rubbish! Come now, John, you’ve never been the Good Samaritan type. Which makes your offering to be my sperm donor all the more puzzling. Heavens, I don’t know what to think or what to say.’

‘Just say yes, Scarlet.’

‘But it’s such a difficult decision. I mean … it’s a big thing to have a child together. Different if we were in love.’

John snorted. ‘As we both know, being in love is no guarantee of future happiness. People fall out of love all the time.’

‘It’s still important for parents to like and respect each other.’

‘You think I don’t like and respect you?’

‘We haven’t exactly been the best of friends over the years.’

‘But that’s all in the past, when we were just stupid kids. We got along very well today, didn’t we?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘Yes, we did. Oh Lord, I still don’t know. If we go ahead and do this, what on earth are we going to tell everyone?’

‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Your priority at this point is becoming pregnant. Your body obviously isn’t clicking with the sperm donor you chose,’ he went on with cool, corrupting logic. ‘You need to try someone different.’

Scarlet knew that, if she failed to get pregnant again with her chosen sperm donor, she’d regret not accepting John’s offer. It was a case of do now, or possibly die childless!

‘Okay. Okay. I’m going to throw caution to the winds and just say yes.’

‘Great,’ John said, feeling more excited than when he’d found oil. ‘So what’s the plan?’

‘I’ll contact the clinic first thing tomorrow morning and arrange for a time for you to go in and give them a sperm sample. Then, when—’

‘Hang on!’ John interrupted immediately. ‘That’s not how it’s going to be done at all!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean I have no intention of becoming a father via a turkey baster. Or a syringe. Or whatever they use these days. If we’re doing this, let’s do it right.’

‘You mean you … you want to have sex with me?’

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