Suddenly Expecting. Paula Roe

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Have a good trip to France.

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

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

      Are you cool with that?

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

      J Okaaaay. See you in a few weeks.

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

      You can’t avoid him forever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Connor sighed. “Stay safe during the storm.”

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

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

      “Avoiding a call from the boyfriend?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “Sorry,