More Than One Night

chapter FIVE



SHE WAS VERY PALE. His gaze raked her from head to toe, taking in her businesslike—almost uniformlike—clothes, the sensible shoes, the no-nonsense hairdo.

She looked completely different from the woman he’d spent the night with two months ago. That woman was sultry and lithe and sexy. This woman looked as though she’d be great at doing his taxes.

His gaze returned to her face. She was watching him closely, her expression guarded.

“Rhys,” she said. Her voice caught on the single word and she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to drop in on you like this, but do you have a moment to talk?”

He was still trying to catch up with the idea that she was here. That after dashing off a note then leaving his apartment in the early hours, she was suddenly at his place of business, wanting to talk.

“I was pretty sure I would never see you again.” It sounded like an accusation and it was his turn to clear his throat.

Her hands were clutched together at her waist. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” she asked.

He glanced over his shoulder. Julie was watching them with avid eyes. She was young, as were a lot of his team. He didn’t particularly want the entire staff knowing about his personal life. Especially since most of them had been at Café Sydney the night he met Charlie.

“There’s a coffee shop across the road.”

He automatically took Charlie’s elbow to guide her to the door, but after a few steps she slipped free. He eyed her as he hit the button for the elevator.

“What’s going on, Charlie?”

She glanced up the hallway toward the stairwell, almost as though she was looking for an escape route.

“Maybe we should wait until we’re across the street.”

The elevator arrived. She stepped inside and he followed. He was getting over the shock of seeing her so unexpectedly, his brain starting to work again.

It had been two months. And since she was the one who had walked out on him, he guessed she must have a powerful reason for suddenly making contact with him. A number of options sprang to mind and he didn’t like any of them.

Her head was bowed, and his gaze gravitated to the delicate hollow at the nape of her neck. He’d kissed her there, pushing her hair to one side. She’d shivered and pressed her body against his…

He shoved his hands into his suit pockets and focused on the floor indicator. Now was not the time for a trip down memory lane.

She stepped into the foyer when they arrived at the ground floor, shooting him an uncertain look over her shoulder. He took the lead, directing her outside and diagonally across the road to the no-frills coffee shop where he usually grabbed lunch.

Jenna and Carl both looked up from behind the counter as he entered, Carl lifting a hand in greeting. Rhys gave them a tight smile before heading for the corner table. Charlie pulled out her own chair before he could do it for her. Her hands were shaking, a fact she tried to disguise by hiding them beneath the table. The edgy feeling that had been creeping up on him intensified as he looked at her.

Charlie shifted in her chair. “Um, how have you been?”

“What’s going on, Charlie?”

She closed her eyes for a long moment. Then she opened them and looked him dead in the eye. “I’m pregnant.”

“What?” He sat back in his chair as though he’d been pushed. “That’s not possible. We used condoms. Lots of them.”

“I know. I’m still pregnant. Eight weeks and two days, to be exact.”

He stared at her. His brain was an empty echoing space. He couldn’t think.

“I’ve done two tests, and I’ve got a doctor’s appointment tomorrow afternoon to confirm it. But I haven’t had my period for two months so I don’t think there’s much doubt.” She offered a weak smile.

“But we used condoms,” he said, leaning forward, as though he could drive home the truth of his words with the force of his body language.

“Condoms are only ninety-five to ninety-eight percent effective,” she said. “I looked it up.”

Rhys shook his head. “No. This can’t be right. No one has sex three times and gets pregnant.”

She sat a little straighter. The tendons showed in her neck and, when she swallowed, the sound was audible. He studied her small, neat features, some distant part of him surprised anew by how different the reality of Charlie was from his memory of her. But maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. It had been a long time, after all. And they’d known each other only a few hours. In effect, the woman sitting across the table was a complete stranger, despite the fact that he’d been incredibly intimate with her.

Despite the fact that, according to her, she was pregnant with his child.

He couldn’t process it, it was so huge. So life changing.

“Are you sure?” he asked, thinking out loud. “I mean, are you sure it’s mine?”

She blinked a couple of times. “Yes. I’m sure.” She was blushing, the rush of blood turning her pale skin an unattractive red.

“I take it you’re planning on keeping it?” he asked.

Because she wouldn’t be here otherwise, would she? There was no point telling him if she’d already made the decision to terminate.

“Yes. It’s not something I was exactly planning for… But there it is.”

“And what do you want from me? I mean apart from money, obviously. I assume you have it all worked out.”

This was not part of his plan. Not even close. A baby with a woman whose last name he didn’t even know. A child who would be a part of him forever.

“I don’t want your money.” Her expression remained neutral—polite—but there was a steely edge to her voice. “I thought you deserved the courtesy of knowing you were going to be a father. I thought it might be something you’d be interested in.”

“Right. Because it’s something I’ve thought about a lot.”

She gave him a long, steady look. “I understand that you’re shocked. But this is not my fault. It’s not yours, either. It’s an accident.”

“It’s a freaking nightmare, that’s what it is. I signed up for one night of fun, not a baby.”

She flinched. Her movements jerky, she reached for her handbag and pulled a business card from the inside pocket.

“If you need to contact me for anything, you can reach me on either of those numbers. I’ll let you know when I’m due once I have confirmation from the doctor.”

She was standing before she’d finished speaking, sliding her handbag over her shoulder.

“Charlie. Wait.” He shot to his feet.

She paused, her posture stiff as she waited for him to say more. He knew he’d been rude, that he hadn’t said any of the things a better man would have said under the circumstances—that he’d be there for her, that they would work this out, that she’d be okay. He knew that he was being graceless and immature and small.

“This isn’t what I was expecting,” he said.

That didn’t come close to explaining the confused cocktail of anger, outrage, guilt, frustration and shock that had taken up residence in his gut.

She didn’t say a word, simply turned on her heel and headed for the door.

This time he let her go. Once she’d disappeared from sight, he slumped onto the chair and closed his eyes for a long, heavy moment.

This was not how he’d imagined becoming a father. Not that he’d put a lot of energy into imagining parenthood and all its accoutrements—a wife, a family, a mortgage on a place in the suburbs and a white picket fence. He’d been too focused on the business, on achieving the goals he’d set for himself. He’d worked hard, and if he had any plan at all for his personal life, it had been to enjoy the fruits of his labors before tying himself down with a family. An apartment on the wharf, a sleek European performance car, travel to interesting, sophisticated places… All of it a million miles removed from the cramped three-bedroom home he’d grown up in, the hand-me-down clothes, the pretend holidays camping in the backyard because his parents’ salaries as teachers hadn’t covered real holidays for two adults and five kids.

Barely an hour ago, he’d been standing on the wharf at Woolloomooloo, the first part of his dream almost within reach. Now, if Charlie was to be believed, he was going to be a father.

His thoughts flashed to the moment when he’d questioned her certainty that he was the father of her child. He remembered the way she’d colored, clearly deeply embarrassed. But she hadn’t broken eye contact as she’d confirmed her certainty.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

He believed her. He didn’t know why—he didn’t know her from a bar of soap—but he believed she was speaking the truth.

Which meant everything he knew about his life was out the window. Just like that.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“You want a coffee? Something to eat?” a voice asked beside him.

Rhys dropped his hands and glanced at Carl. “No. Thanks. I need to get to the office.” He stood and pulled his wallet from his back pocket.

Carl laughed. “What are you doing? You didn’t have anything.”

Somehow, Rhys mustered a smile. “Right. Of course. I’ll see you later.”

He headed for the door. He had clients due in an hour’s time. He needed to clear his head, put on his game face.

And somehow, he had to make sense of this bombshell. Find a way to learn to live with it. Because he was going to be a father.

Bloody hell.





CHARLIE MADE IT as far as the parking lot before she threw up. Hands gripping her thighs above her knees, she bent over and lost what little she’d managed to eat for breakfast beneath a straggly-looking gum tree. She remained hunched over for a few seconds afterward, in case there was more to come, but her stomach had apparently had its say. She spat a couple of times to clear her mouth, then walked to her car. She’d left a bottle of water on the passenger seat and she rinsed her mouth out several times before returning to the tree to wash away the mess she’d made.

She hadn’t experienced any morning sickness so far, but she suspected her nausea had more to do with anxiety and anger than with the pregnancy.

I signed up for one night of fun, not a baby.

Her lip curled. What an ass. What a selfish, immature, thoughtless ass. It had taken her the whole weekend to psych herself up to approach him and she’d had such high hopes as she’d waited in his reception area. Nothing ridiculous or overblown—she wasn’t an idiot—but she’d hoped that he’d be reasonable, after the initial shock of her bombshell had passed. She’d hoped that he’d express some interest in the baby. That the warm, funny, clever man she remembered from that night hadn’t been a figment of her imagination and that somehow, like her, he’d see the good in this situation.

But he hadn’t been warm or funny. He’d been shocked. Or maybe horrified was the better description. And he’d been angry, so angry. As though she’d deliberately set out to dupe him into becoming a father. As though she’d tried to trap him.

“They were your condoms, buddy. I’m the one who ought to be angry with you, not the other way round,” she told her windshield as she made her way home to Balmain.

She tried to hang on to her anger, but slowly it seeped away and only disappointment remained.

She wanted her baby to have both parents. She wanted him or her to feel loved and secure and safe. But apparently the baby would have to look elsewhere for that. Apparently, Charlie was going to have to dig deep and provide her child with everything all on her own.

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as nerves fluttered in her belly.

It wasn’t that she didn’t think she was capable. She wouldn’t have decided to keep the baby if she thought otherwise. But she wanted to give this baby so much. She wanted his or her life to be full to overflowing with all the things Charlie had missed out on as a child— unconditional love and patience and support and approval. She wanted to be worthy of the tiny life growing inside her, and it would have been so much easier to be and do all those things knowing she had someone else backing her up.

The moment she felt herself slumping in her seat, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin. If the army had taught her anything, it was that mental toughness was as important as physical fitness. She had always been disciplined, and she wasn’t about to give up the habits of a lifetime now that she needed mental toughness and discipline more than ever.

So what if Rhys Walker was a dick? She could do this without him. She would do this without him.

She parked her car and walked up the two flights to her door. The first thing she did when she entered her apartment was head for the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and rinsed with mouthwash, then glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror.

She hadn’t allowed herself to think about that moment when she’d first set eyes on Rhys again, but as she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror it was impossible not to remember those few humiliating seconds when he’d turned toward the waiting area and his gaze had skimmed over her indifferently, clearly finding nothing to hold his interest. She’d understood immediately that he hadn’t recognized her without Gina’s clothes and clever makeup—and that without all the above she held little appeal for him. It was only when she’d practically been in his face that he’d made the connection between her and that night eight weeks ago. She’d briefly thought she would have to introduce herself. An added humiliation she’d been grateful to avoid.

In the mirror, her lips formed a straight, uncompromising line.

For weeks she’d been torturing herself by wondering what might have happened if she’d girded her loins and stayed that morning instead of making a strategic retreat. Now she knew. And for the rest of her life she would be everlastingly grateful that she’d had the smarts to get out before Rhys had woken up.

Yeah, what a save. Now you’re bound to him for life because you’ve made a baby with him. That’s so much better. Congratulations.

Charlie turned away from the mirror and walked to the study. She’d been working on an illustration for a client’s logo this morning and she dived into the file, grateful for the fact that her work was so absorbing. She’d spent far too much time in her own head recently and she needed a break from the constant cycle of worry, wonder and yet more worry.

As she’d told herself hundreds of times over the past seventy-two hours, the world was full of single parents, most of whom coped just fine. There was no reason she should be any different.

She was so successful at distracting herself that it wasn’t until the courier arrived with her father’s belongings that she registered she’d missed lunch. She was in no mood to open the box and deal with its contents now, so she pushed it into the corner beside her desk and promised herself she’d look at it first thing tomorrow.

She walked into the kitchen to make herself something to eat. Her stomach had settled since the incident in the parking lot and she decided on poached eggs with whole-grain toast and a side of spinach for some iron. She was dishing up when the phone rang. She leaned across to snag the phone with one hand while pulling open the drawer and extracting cutlery with the other.

“Charlie speaking,” she said, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder so she could reach for the plate.

“Charlie, it’s Rhys. Can you talk?”

The cutlery slipped from her suddenly nerveless fingers and hit the counter with a clatter. It took her a moment to get her voice to work.

“Yes. I can talk.” She hadn’t expected to hear from him again. Not so soon, anyway.

“I wanted to apologize for this morning. I said some things I hadn’t really thought through…”

His voice sounded very low and she pressed the receiver against her ear to catch everything he said.

“Can we start again? Or try again, at least?”

She frowned. “Try again?”

“Can we talk? This is a huge thing, and we need to sort a bunch of stuff out.”

She stared at the worn wooden floor. A part of her wanted to say no, to tell him that he’d had his chance. But she knew that was her pride—and her hurt feelings—speaking. He was the father of her child. She needed to do everything in her power to give him the opportunity to be a part of her child’s life.

“When?”

“What are you doing now?”

She glanced at her rapidly cooling lunch. “Nothing that can’t wait.”

“Where would you like to meet?”

She thought about giving him her address, but she didn’t want him in her personal space, for a variety of reasons. Then she caught herself. If they were going to have any kind of relationship, they needed to understand one another.

“Why don’t you come to my place,” she said before she could talk herself out of it.

“What’s the address?”

She gave it to him along with instructions about where to park.

“I should be about twenty minutes or so,” he said.

“Sure.”

“And, Charlie? Thanks for this.”

She put down the phone. For a long moment, she simply stared blankly into space. Then she gave herself a mental shake. Her food was lukewarm at best, but she sat at the small table she’d squeezed into the corner of the kitchen and ate every bite, slowly and methodically. She was eating for two now, after all, and she didn’t have the luxury of being lazy about meals anymore. Just as she didn’t have the luxury of protecting herself or her pride, either.

Once she was finished, she rinsed her plate and set it on the drainer to dry. The urge to head to the bathroom to check her appearance was almost overwhelming, but she resisted. Rhys was not coming to see her. Besides, she already knew how she looked—the same as she always did: plain. Fussing over her hair wasn’t going to change that.

A knock sounded at the door. She paused briefly in the hallway to compose herself. Then she reached for the lock and opened the door.





“HI.” RHYS OFFERED Charlie a small, nervous smile.

She didn’t smile in return. Instead, she took a step backward and gestured for him to enter her apartment. Given the tenor of their last meeting, her attitude wasn’t exactly surprising.

He’d finally broken down after lunch and told Greg what was going on. His business partner had been suitably gobsmacked and outraged by the shitty hand life had dealt Rhys, and Rhys had been grateful for Greg’s quick and easy understanding of exactly how he was feeling. But a strange thing had happened as Greg paced, expanding on how unlucky Rhys was and suggesting that he demand a paternity test before he hand over a cent and mourning the loss of his previously carefree bachelor existence.

Rhys had felt ashamed.

Hearing his friend say all the things that had been circling his head for the past few hours had thrown them into stark relief. Every thought he’d had, every word that had come out of his mouth had been about him. About his life. About what he wanted. If he’d thought about Charlie, it had only been to lay the blame at her feet for the tectonic shift that had occurred. He hadn’t thought about her circumstances. About what this meant for her. About how she might be feeling.

And he certainly hadn’t thought about the baby they’d made between them.

The realization had sent a flush of self-conscious heat up his chest and into his face. He’d sat behind his desk, burning with shame as he’d reviewed his knee-jerk reaction and found it lacking on every single front. He’d spent a half hour after Greg had left his office thinking things through before calling Charlie to try to make things right.

If she’d let him.

Now he eyed her straight back as she led him into a bright living room. Usually he wasn’t the type of man who paid a lot of attention to furniture and decor, but he stopped on the threshold, a little taken aback by the stylish scene before him—the designer armchair and ottoman, the sleek sofa, the single vase on the mantel.

“This is nice,” he said.

She shot him a look and he knew she’d detected the surprise in his tone. Although why he should be surprised he didn’t know. He didn’t know Charlie, certainly not enough to have formed an opinion about how she might live. Yet she’d surprised him with the lean, stark lines of this room.

“Grab a seat,” she said.

She took the armchair, which left him with the couch. He sat on the edge of the cushion and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, marshaling his thoughts before he opened his mouth and stuck his foot in it for the tenth time that day.

Charlie didn’t say anything. She simply waited him out, her expression perfectly composed.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “There’s a bunch of stuff I could say that would only sound like excuses, so I’m going to stick to that. I acted like an a*shole this morning.”

“You were shocked.”

“That doesn’t mean it was cool to blame you. Hell, they were my condoms, and we both laid down on that bed.”

She shifted as embarrassed color washed into her cheeks. “It was an accident. That’s all.”

She had long, slender fingers. He watched as they brushed the leg of her trousers nervously. For the first time he became aware that her feet were bare, the high, elegant arches visible beneath her cuffs.

As though she was aware of his scrutiny, her toes curled into the floor and she shifted so that her feet were sitting neatly side by side.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his gaze returning to her face. “Both my sisters had killer morning sickness when they were pregnant.”

“I’ve been fine.”

“You said you’ve got a doctor’s appointment tomorrow?”

“That’s right.”

The tension in the room was palpable and he reached up to loosen his tie.

“Look, Charlie, I’m not really sure what the etiquette is in situations like this. I mean, this isn’t exactly something I’ve had to deal with before.”

For the first time emotion showed on her face as her eyebrows rose incredulously. “And I have?”

“No! That’s not what I meant.” He leaned forward, hands extended in a pacifying gesture. God, he was such an idiot. Why did he keep saying the wrong thing? “I just meant that we’re in the dark here. Floundering around. Both of us.”

She looked at him for a long moment. Then the corner of her mouth lifted a fraction of an inch. “I prefer flailing to floundering, if you don’t mind.”

His shoulders dropped a notch. “There’s a difference?”

“I have no idea, but I hate seafood, so the flounder reference kind of creeps me out.”

“Noted. From now on, it’s flailing all the way.”

Her eyes were warmer now. Less wary. “Would you like something to drink?”

“That would be great, thanks.”

She rose, the movement unconsciously graceful. “Coffee? Tea?”

“Don’t suppose you have brandy?” he joked.

“I have wine.”

Even though he would kill for a soothing shot of something, he shook his head. Alcohol was not going to make this situation any better.

“Coffee would be great, thanks.”

She left the room, her bare feet silent on the polished boards. He pulled his tie free, removing it, and opened the top button on his shirt. He could hear her moving around in the kitchen and he stood and walked to the window. There was no view to speak of, only a corner of the neighbor’s roof and a bunch of treetops. He turned back to the room, his gaze once again skimming the clean, modern lines of Charlie’s furniture. This was nothing like his own place, with its mishmash of hand-me-down furniture and haphazard housecleaning. Charlie’s apartment looked and felt as though she’d put a lot of effort into making it just so, as opposed to his place, which was essentially a crash pad and a glorified walk-in wardrobe.

Charlie returned, carrying a small wooden tray with a single cup of coffee and a matching milk-and-sugar set.

“I wasn’t sure if you took milk,” she said as she put the tray on the coffee table.

“You’re not having one?”

“I’ve already had one today.” She made a gesture toward her stomach and he realized she was abstaining for the sake of the baby.

“I didn’t realize you can’t have coffee.”

“It’s one of those things the jury is still out on.”

They both sat again. He cast about for something to say. “How is work going? You were starting to set things up when we last, um, spoke,” he said.

“Work is good. I’ve signed up some more clients. Between new site designs and ongoing maintenance work I’m doing okay.”

“Yeah? That’s great. Really great.” He could feel himself sweating, his armpits clammy with nervousness. “This place is nice. I like your furniture. I need to get some new stuff, but I’ve been holding out till I move into a new apartment.”

Charlie frowned suddenly. “This is stupid.”

“Sorry?”

“You don’t know me. We’re not friends.” She waved a hand in the air to indicate how disconnected they were. “But we’re sitting here having this stupid polite conversation like two old ladies over tea and scones. There must be things you want to ask me. I know there are things I want to ask you.” Her expression was very earnest as she waited for his response.

“I have questions.”

“Good. Fire away. Anything you need to know.” She made an encouraging gesture with her hand, inviting him to speak.

“You go first. I’m happy to tell you anything you need to know.”

“Okay. Are your parents still alive?”

“Yes. Both of them. Still married, too. How about yours?”

“My mother died when I was born, my father last year.”

“Hey, I’m sorry.” Rhys’s parents sometimes drove him crazy, but he couldn’t imagine his life without their warm, steady presence.

She made a dismissive gesture and he was smart enough not to pursue the issue. They might be strangers, but he was starting to get a read on Charlie’s body language.

“What about brothers and sisters?” she asked.

“Two brothers, both older, and two younger sisters, who also happen to be twins.”

“Wow. I guess your house must have been pretty crowded when you were kids, huh?”

“Ah, yeah. I shared a room with Tim until he left home when I was sixteen, and there was only one bathroom between all us kids, so you can imagine the pileups in the morning. Especially when Kim and Becky discovered makeup. Any bathroom-hogging siblings on your side?”

“Nope. Just me. Are there any family illnesses I should know about?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Does being a smart-ass count? Because there’s a high degree of smart-assery in my family.”

She smiled, her first real one since she’d opened the door. Suddenly he saw a resemblance to the woman who’d captivated him so much that night at Café Sydney.

“As long as it’s not chronic or fatal, I don’t think so. I don’t think there’s anything on my side, either. So that’s good.”

They both fell silent. Rhys studied his coffee for a few seconds before asking the question that had been bugging him for weeks now.

“Why didn’t you wake me before you left? Or at least leave your number?” He glanced up in time to see her body stiffen.

“I thought I’d save us both an awkward morning-after conversation.”

“It might not have been awkward.”

She shrugged, her face shuttered. “I guess we’ll never know, will we?”

“No. I guess not.”

They talked for another half hour, exchanging personal information, filling in the blanks. Slowly but surely, Rhys began to build a picture of Charlie Long, former army officer and present-day web designer, a picture informed as much by what she didn’t say as what she offered up to him. It didn’t take him long to work out that she was an introvert, and if the apartment was anything to go by, a bit of a perfectionist. She was smart, observant, honest and a little prickly when pushed into corners she didn’t want to explore. He suspected she’d been a good soldier—that she’d be good at anything she put her mind to—and that she probably worked many more hours than she ever billed her clients for. Slowly it dawned on him that given the circumstances of their meeting and the situation they were in, he’d lucked out big-time.

She was a good person, a decent person. Early days to be making that kind of judgment call, perhaps, but he’d always trusted his gut when it came to people and it hadn’t failed him yet.

“I want you to know that I’m up to this,” he said as Charlie finished describing the site she’d completed for her newest client. He’d caught her by surprise and her gaze was unguarded as it met his.

“I know I wigged out this morning, but I want you to know that whatever you want, whatever you need, we’ll work it out,” he said.

“I want my child to know he or she is loved. I don’t want him or her to suffer because of our mistakes,” Charlie said, her voice low and intense and very serious.

“Okay.”

She eyed him steadily for a moment. Then she nodded. “Okay.”

He checked his watch. “I have to go. It’s my nephew’s birthday and Mum is doing a roast.”

“How old is he?”

“Five, going on forty. Mum keeps telling me I was way more precocious than he is when I was a kid, but I don’t think it’s possible.” He stood, automatically collecting the tray.

“I’ll do that,” Charlie said, extending a hand.

“Sorry, no can do. My mother trained us with an iron fist. The Walker men always clean up after themselves.” He thought about his messy apartment. “When we’re in someone else’s domain, anyway.”

“Your mum sounds like a rare and insightful woman.”

“She has her moments.”

Rhys set the tray on the counter in Charlie’s small, neat kitchen. A cookbook lay there, the pages open to a recipe for tarte tatin. Charlie closed the book, a hint of color in her cheeks.

“Trying to teach myself how to cook,” she said with a self-deprecating shrug.

“More power to you. I pretty much live on takeout and toast. Greg keeps telling me I’m going to turn into a fat bastard one of these days now that I’m over thirty.” He patted his belly.

Charlie’s gaze dipped to his waist before lifting to his chest for the briefest of moments. She frowned slightly, then turned away. “I don’t want to hold you up.”

He followed her to the door and stepped into the hall. The neutral expression was back, her eyes giving nothing away as she faced him.

He wondered where all that self-control came from, if it came naturally or if it was a result of her years in the army.

“How would you feel about having dinner sometime next week?” he asked.

She blinked. “I’m not sure…”

“The more we know about each other, the better. This is a pretty full-on situation we’re in, you have to admit.”

Her frown deepened, but she didn’t object again. He decided to take that as a yes.

“I’ll call tomorrow to work out a time and check in after your appointment, okay?”

“Okay.”

He offered her a small smile and started down the hall. He’d reached the top of the stairs when Charlie called out to him.

“Rhys.”

He glanced over his shoulder. She’d stepped into the hall and was fiddling with the top button of her shirt.

“Thanks for calling. And for coming over. I appreciate it.”

He nodded, then, because it seemed that they’d said everything they needed to say in the short term, he started down the stairs. He only registered how exhausted he was when he exited to the street.

It had been a big day. A huge day. This morning he’d been standing on the wharf in Woolloomooloo contemplating the purchase of a million-dollar-plus apartment. And now he was going to be a father.

It didn’t seem possible, or even probable. Even now, after talking to Charlie for close to an hour, a part of him was still waiting for the other shoe to drop—for something to happen that would allow him to keep living his life in the way that he’d envisaged it. For the second time that day a wave of pure, unadulterated anger washed over him as he contemplated the future.

From a very early age he’d always looked ahead, and he’d always had a plan to achieve the goals he spied on the horizon. As a ten-year-old he’d set his sights on occupying the bottom, rather than top, bunk bed in the room he shared with his brother, and he hadn’t stopped badgering Tim until he caved and accepted Rhys’s new bike in exchange for the lower berth.

When he was thirteen, Rhys had fallen hard for Sophie Goodwood and spent more than six months wooing her to the point where she finally allowed him to kiss her.

At eighteen, he’d looked around the world, decided that I.T. was an area where a determined person could still make his mark and set about gaining the education and expertise that would allow him to one day be master of his own destiny.

Maybe he’d been fortunate, but there had been precious few instances in his life when his ambitions and plans had been thwarted. He’d always found his way around roadblocks, and he’d never taken no for an answer.

But there was no way around a baby—apart from the obvious, and Charlie had already made that decision for both of them. There was no way he could negotiate with biology. This was one roadblock that could not be charmed, wined and dined, bulldozed or outmaneuvered.

He was stuck, whether he liked it or not, and—determination to do the right thing aside—it didn’t sit well with him. Not at all.

He unlocked his car and slid behind the wheel. In a perfect world, he’d head straight home and dig out a large bottle of scotch to drown his sorrows and quench his frustrated anger. In the real world, he was due at his parents’ place at six-thirty. For a few seconds he toyed with the idea of canceling, but he already had his nephew’s present in the car. Just because he’d screwed up didn’t mean Garth should miss out.

Rhys scrubbed his face with his hands, then reached to start the car. It wasn’t until he was pulling on his seat belt that he registered his missing tie and remembered that he’d left it on Charlie’s couch. He was tempted to leave it, but then he remembered the spartan neatness of her apartment.

He turned off the engine and got out of the car. As he climbed the stairs to the first floor, it hit him that this was probably the first of many times that he’d have to put Charlie’s sensibilities and preferences ahead of his own.

Something else he needed to get used to. Somehow.