Expecting His Child. Tessa Radley

then his head of security, James Decker, a brash American dressed all in black with a charming grin and biceps the size of an off-season bodybuilder’s.

      “Nice to meet you, AJ,” he said before glancing past her to his boss. “So...” He waggled a finger between her and Matt. “How’d you two meet?”

      “I—”

      “We need to board so the pilot can do his checks,” Matt interrupted, picking up AJ’s suitcase. “You have everything?”

      Decker’s grin lingered. “I do. Do you?”

      “Yep.”

      A cold wind screamed over the tarmac, and AJ shoved her hands deep in her pockets. There was subtext there, but she couldn’t work out exactly what.

      “So let’s go.” Matt nodded for her to head up the steps first and she eagerly ascended, the brand-new Australian passport burning a hole in her jeans pocket.

      * * *

      Whatever she was expecting was nothing compared to the reality of Faro. Bustling, colorful Faro with its outdoor markets, cobblestoned streets and friendly locals. Sure, the five-star eighteenth-century Monte Do Casal country house with its pristine walls, sparkling pool and expansive gardens had all sorts of indulgent offerings, from poolside service to massages and facials. But she was more interested in what was going on outside, eager to experience the sights and sounds and smells of the town. Dressed in a loose knee-length skirt and tank top, she managed to secure a table at a café on a busy main road and spent a few hours sketching before she decided to explore.

      Discovering a new city alone was a familiar routine, one she’d done since she was seventeen. Yet as she wandered the streets, soaking up every little detail, a niggling thought struck. Matt should be here to see this.

      She paused at a bodega, peering into the smoky darkness with a frown. That was silly—he’d probably seen this city a dozen times before. Probably not alone, either. Her frown deepened, only to freeze a second later.

      Was she jealous? But she wasn’t the jealous type. Because that would mean...

      “Senhorita would like to see our pretty gold rings?”

      Her train of thought broken by the swarthy street vendor, she politely declined, shaking her head with an apologetic smile.

      No. Getting attached was not part of the plan.

      Not ever.

      * * *

      On the second day Matt declared his business concluded, gave Decker and Carly the rest of the week off and they moved out of their hotel.

      They drove out of the city in a hired car and headed west on the A25 toward Lagos. The road hugged the coastline, and the view was nothing short of spectacular, with sheer cliff faces, sparkling blue water and lush vegetation. AJ practically hung out the window, engrossed in the breathless beauty of it all.

      They got to Lagos in less than two hours. To her surprise, Matt had booked them into a pensione instead of a flashy hotel. They took the top floor while the owners occupied the ground level.

      The house was clean, with a private bathroom and a balcony with stunning rooftop views and a view of the main marketplace a couple of streets away. And just like the expensive Faro hotel, it had separate beds.

      When AJ saw this, she was both relieved and disappointed. He’d booked both places and couldn’t have sent a clearer message than separate beds.

      Matt hired a motorbike and they spent the next four days sightseeing. They drove up into the mountains to a small church high in the hills. They explored the street sellers, visited the local Lagos museum. On their fourth day, they spent hours on the beach in comfortable silence, where she sketched the glorious sunset while he lazed on a blanket next to her. When the light finally waned, she glanced up to find him studying her so intensely that her mouth suddenly went dry.

      The streetlights flickered on, casting them in a hazy glow as AJ slowly replaced her pencils in her case and snapped the lid shut with a sigh. “That’s it. Light’s gone.”

      Matt nodded and stood, brushing off his pants, then offering his hand. Without hesitation she took it, and his warm fingers wrapped around hers, an intimacy that never failed to make her blood quicken.

      “Angel...”

      “Hmm?” She looked up, waiting, but he said nothing, just devoured her with those dark eyes until finally he glanced away.

      “We should go and eat. Our flight’s early and you still haven’t packed.”

      When they got back to the pensione, she changed into a strapless white cotton dress with buttons from neck to the knee-length hem. She paired it with an azure cardigan, knowing the color made her eyes pop. Her hair was up this time, casually messy and drawn back at the nape. A pair of dangly blue stones—a birthday present from Emily—hung from her ears and her butterfly necklace rested at her throat.

      From the look in Matt’s eyes, she’d made the right choice.

      He offered his hand and she automatically took it, taking pleasure in that small contact as they walked to a restaurant on the corner. The place was decorated as a rustic street, with cobbled floors, skillfully painted stone hacienda walls and overarching olive trees in huge earthenware pots. Tables were scattered throughout, circular booths ringed the outer edges, and at the far end, a fully stocked bar was seeing a brisk trade.

      They were led to a secluded booth, their only light two candles on the table. She slid in first and Matt followed until they were hip to hip. His warmth scorched her thigh, and despite her hunger, she wanted nothing more than to touch him, run her fingers over that long smooth forearm, knead the muscle beneath his skin.

      “Does the butterfly mean something?”

      She blinked. “Hmm?”

      “Your necklace.” Her hand went to the pendant. “You always wear it. Is it special?”

      “Yes.” She stroked the edge of one wing with her finger. “Emily gave it to me for my thirtieth birthday.” She paused. “It means reinvention. Regeneration.”

      “The metamorphosis from caterpillar to butterfly.”

      She nodded.

      “I like it.” He reached out and gently ran his thumb over the mother-of-pearl wings. “Did you reinvent yourself often?”

      “A few times. I—” She stopped.

      “Let me guess,” he said softly, finally releasing the necklace. “Your past is off-limits, right?”

      She nodded, feeling foolish even though she knew that wasn’t Matt’s intention.

      Tell him.

      She glanced away, skin prickling under his silent scrutiny. “My mother was sixteen and pregnant with me when she was kicked out of her home. We lived off welfare until she hooked up with my stepfather, a delightful man who got her addicted to booze and drugs.” She stopped, face flaming. Too much. Way too much. Yet something in his face, in that open, nonjudgmental expression, made her forge on. “Parents are supposed to look after their kids, not make them lie and steal and dread every knock on the door. But we survived.” She managed a shaky smile. “Well, I guess Emily’s doing better than just surviving. She always was the big believer in the glorious fairy-tale of love.”

      He arched an eyebrow. “You don’t believe in love?”

      “Of course I do. Just not the whole Prince-Charming-riding-in-to-sweep-me-off-my-feet thing.” When he remained silent, she added a little defiantly, “I spent a lot of years on my own. It tend to makes you a realist.”

      He studied her for an age, almost as if he were waiting for something more. She met his scrutiny head-on, and as the seconds passed, an uncomfortable panic began to leech in. “Don’t look at me like that.”

      “Like what?”

      “Like