Loe raamatut: «More Than One Night»

“I had a great night.”

Rhys spoke, then pressed a kiss to her lips. He lifted his head slightly and looked into her eyes. Charlie stared at him, stunned, her heart thudding against her breastbone. He palmed the nape of her neck, and then he was kissing her again, his tongue sweeping into her mouth this time, turning her legs to jelly.

After a long moment, he drew back. “Come home with me?” he asked very quietly, his voice husky.

Dear God, I thought you’d never ask.

“Yes.”

He smiled and moved closer, wrapping his arms around her as she leaned into him. She wanted him. She’d indulged herself precious few times in her life, but she wanted this man, wanted the experience he promised with his dark eyes and hard body, and she was damn well going to have him.

“You keep that up, we’re not even going to make it home,” Rhys murmured against her mouth.

“What are we waiting for, then?”

Dear Reader,

My inspiration for this book was a common jumping-off point for romance novels—two people spend the night together and inadvertently make a baby. Sometimes in romance stories the baby then becomes a secret, but in this case, I wanted the baby to be a catalyst for Charlie, my heroine, and Rhys, my hero, to move beyond one night and into a relationship that neither of them think they are ready for.

I wanted to play out the reality of such a difficult situation, step-by-step. What would it be like to discover you’re pregnant with the child of a virtual stranger? And how would you feel if a woman turned up on your doorstep and told you that you were going to become a father? At a certain point in the book, I realized that I’d put poor Charlie and Rhys in very complex, loaded circumstances. I felt so sorry for them! And I desperately wanted them to find their happy-ever-after—particularly Charlie, who hasn’t had nearly enough love in her life.

By the time I had finished, I was satisfied that Rhys understood that Charlie coming into his world was the best thing that had ever happened to him—the reason he’d been searching for through all his striving to succeed, succeed, succeed—and that Charlie had at last found a place to call home. I hope you enjoy reading their story—I got so much out of writing it.

Until next time,

Sarah Mayberry

PS—I love to hear from readers! Contact me through my website, www.sarahmayberryauthor.com.

About the Author

SARAH MAYBERRY lives on the bay in Melbourne, Australia, with her partner (now husband!) of nearly twenty years. When she’s not writing, she tries to keep the jungle that is her garden under control with the help of her tireless green-thumbed mother. She also enjoys cooking, reading, going to the movies, shopping for shoes and hanging out with her friends and family.

More Than

One Night

Sarah Mayberry

www.millsandboon.co.uk

As always, the two people who have kept me sane

while writing this book are Chris and Wanda.

If I was Bette Midler, I would say you were

“The wind beneath my wings.” Since I’m me,

I’ll settle for saying you both make me a better person

and a better writer (not as poetic, but lighter on

the fromage factor, hopefully).

Big thanks also to Lisa, the bestest neighbor ever, and

to Joan for being my lovely sane writer friend who

understands the joy and pain of being in the trenches

wrestling with plot, character and grammar.

Last, but not least, I want to send a shout-out to the

online romance writing and reading community. It’s so

awesome to know there are so many of us who live to

read and dream and write about love and human

relationships. Your collective generosity and

smarts continually impresses me.

CHAPTER ONE

THE SOUND OF a champagne cork popping echoed in the small kitchen.

“Woohoo! We are going to have so much fun, former Warrant Officer Long. It’s going to be just like old times.”

Charlie Long smiled at her friend Gina’s exuberant prediction.

“Save some of that perkiness for later. You don’t want to peak too soon,” Charlie warned as she passed a long-stemmed flute for filling. “We have a big night ahead.”

A night that included lots of French champagne and some fine dining, if Charlie had any say in it.

“Don’t worry, I’m pacing myself. I have lots of perkiness in reserve.” Gina’s grin was infectious, a perfect match for her cherubic face and blond corkscrew curls.

Charlie raised her glass. “To good friends with spare rooms and big hearts.”

Gina lifted hers in turn. “To the rest of your life. To having a home that’s all yours. To meeting a guy who doesn’t know how to field strip a Steyr F88 rifle and who isn’t going to ship out when things start getting good. And to never, ever having to wear khaki again.”

Charlie laughed and clinked glasses with her friend. “Amen to that.”

She felt a little disloyal as she threw back the first mouthful of champagne. The army had been good to her. It had been her family, of sorts, for almost half her life. Even though she was ready to move on, she didn’t regret the years she’d given in service to her country. They’d made her who she was—defined her, really—for good or bad.

She felt the now-familiar lurch of nervousness as she contemplated life without the framework of the army.

So many possibilities to reinvent herself and her life. So much change. So much opportunity.

“How long do you think it’ll take the airline to find your luggage?” Gina asked as she took a jar of olives from the fridge. After her own discharge two years ago she’d taken a job as manager of a busy catering company and her fridge was full to the brim with gourmet goodies and leftovers.

Charlie shook her head. “Who knows?”

As omens went, losing the bulk of her worldly goods on the first day of civilian life wasn’t a great one. When Gina had collected her from the airport this afternoon, they’d stood and watched the luggage carousel snake round and round for a good half hour before admitting defeat and reporting the two suitcases lost.

“Damn it,” she said as a new thought occurred. “What will I wear tonight?”

They had stopped by a mall to allow Charlie to pick up a few bare essentials to cover her for the “twenty-four hours” the airline had predicted she’d be without her baggage, but she hadn’t even thought of buying something for tonight. She glanced down at her worn jeans, dark gray T-shirt and hiking boots. Not by any stretch of the imagination could they be considered suitable attire for the fancy-pants restaurant they had booked for dinner.

“Relax. You can borrow something of mine.”

Charlie surveyed her shorter, slighter friend doubtfully. “I’m not sure that’s going to work.”

Size apart, there was also the small but important fact that she and Gina had very different taste in clothes. Charlie preferred tailored and neat and nondescript. Gina liked sparkly things that left the world in no doubt that she was a woman.

“We’ll find something, C, don’t worry,” Gina said confidently.

The look in her friend’s eyes made Charlie a little nervous. “Nothing crazy, okay?”

“Would I do that to you?”

Half a dozen incidents from their shared past flashed across Charlie’s mind. “Yes.”

Gina laughed and twisted open the jar. “Have an olive and stop stressing.”

They stood at the counter drinking champagne and picking at the olives for almost an hour. Then Gina caught sight of the time and put down her glass with a decisive clink.

“Time to go make ourselves gorgeous. You shower first while I have a rummage and see what I can dig up for you to wear.”

“At the risk of appearing ungrateful, could it not be a dress? I hate dresses.”

“I have something in mind already, don’t worry,” Gina said mysteriously, shooing Charlie away.

Charlie padded obediently up the hallway of Gina’s small Victorian-era cottage to her room. It had been three years since they had shared quarters near the Townsville barracks in Far North Queensland. When Charlie had first raised the notion of seeking a discharge, Gina hadn’t hesitated in offering her spare room. It had taken Charlie only a moment’s thought to say yes. For a woman with no ties to anyone or anything, a friendly face and a temporary place to stay had been as good a reason as any to pick Sydney as the site to start the next phase of her life.

She shut the bedroom door behind her. The room was small but bright, with a vase of flowers on the bedside table, a snowy-white quilt and a colorful rag rug on the floor. Her overnight bag and the mall purchases lay on the end of the bed, but instead of unpacking her meager belongings, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, absorbing the reality of the situation, allowing herself to catch up with everything that had happened.

She was in Sydney. For the next little while she would be living with Gina. And soon she would have a home of her own.

Home.

She tried the word out in her mind. It sounded… odd. Surreal, almost. For the past fourteen years, home had been wherever the powers that be chose to send her. She’d moved six times while enlisted, but not once had she allowed herself to call anywhere home. It was pointless to get too attached to anything or anyone when you knew you’d soon be moving on to the next posting.

Not anymore, though. Now she was in charge of her own destiny.

There was a tight feeling in her chest as she crossed to the window to inspect the courtyard garden outside. She’d die before she admitted it to anyone, but rather than being excited by all the choices and possibilities that lay ahead of her, she was feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

Everything was so open. So unpredictable. So possible. Which was great—in theory. In practice, it was a bit like standing on the high diving board, staring down, down, down at a pool that seemed far too small. She knew she had to take the plunge—but that didn’t stop her from feeling pretty damn intimidated by what lay ahead.

Embarrassing when she considered some of the situations she’d dealt with during her time with her country’s defense force. As a highly trained communications engineer with the Royal Australia Corps of Sigs, or R.A. Sigs, as it was more commonly known, she’d served as the vault custodian in Iraq, handling all the cryptographic material for the Australian forces, and she’d been deployed to East Timor as part of Operation Astute in 2006, helping to preserve peace and stability in the region. Over her years of service, she’d gained a reputation for being cool under pressure, a force to be reckoned with.

She wasn’t sure where that coolness was right now. Maybe it was with her luggage, winging its way to an unknown destination. Or maybe she’d forgotten to pack it altogether. Maybe she’d left it behind, along with her khakis and a way of life that had constituted the entirety of her adulthood.

Stop freaking out. You can do this. How hard can it be? You find an apartment. You buy some furniture. You start a life. It’s not rocket science.

It only felt like it.

Clearly, more champagne was called for. But first she would shower, in accordance with Gina’s instructions. All part of being a good guest.

Her thoughts fixed firmly on the here and now, Charlie made her way to the bathroom.

“OKAY, MR. WALKER. You’ve got twenty minutes and then I’m due on a plane. Make them count,” Dieter Hanson said as he strode into the room.

Rhys Walker tried not to let the smile slip from his face as he shook hands with the tall, balding CEO. Rhys and his business partner, Greg, had been waiting for Hanson for nearly an hour past their appointed meeting time, cooling their heels in the hotel chain’s vast boardroom. The CEO’s assistant had popped her head in twice to assure them Mr. Hanson was “only five minutes away,” and both times Rhys had suggested they reschedule. But the woman had been adamant that Mr. Hanson wouldn’t be much longer.

Now Rhys eyed the man who had the power to change his life, irritation and adrenaline waging war in his bloodstream. He didn’t like having his time wasted, but he and Greg had been wooing various executives at the Gainsborough Hotel Group for over two months, and they finally had been bumped to the top. Like it or not, Dieter Hanson had the power to say yay or nay to the contract Rhys had negotiated with the man’s underlings. Which meant it was time to put his tap-dancing shoes on and sing for his supper.

“We’ll keep this short and sweet, then,” Rhys said. He glanced at Greg, who gave him the smallest of nods. It was enough to confirm that Greg was handing the presentation over to Rhys, no questions asked.

Rhys refocused his attention on the man at the head of the table. “I won’t go over the details of what we’re offering again. It’s a pretty standard I.T. outsourcing contract. What I’d like to do is tell you a bit about myself and Greg and why we started Falcon, so you understand where we’re coming from.”

Rhys outlined their background in the I.T. and hospitality industries. He talked about the ethos behind Falcon and their goals, both short-term and long-term. Once he’d established their bona fides, he nailed the other man with a look.

“I’m going out on a limb and guessing that over the past twelve months, Gainsborough has experienced more than thirty software or hardware failures that have forced you to rely on manual systems to keep the doors open.” Rhys listed ten of the most common issues with accommodation-booking software before hitting Hanson with an estimate of the amount of revenue his hotels had lost due to those same faults.

Hanson’s interest sharpened when Rhys started to talk figures, and he knew he had him in the palm of his hand when Hanson began to ask questions about particulars in the contract. Rhys and Greg played tag team on the responses, and seventeen minutes after he’d entered the room, Hanson sat back in his chair and eyed first Rhys, then Greg.

“My team told me you guys were going to be hard to beat. I have to agree with them.” Hanson pulled a pen from his breast pocket. “I assume you have the contract with you?”

Every muscle in Rhys’s body tensed as he resisted the almost overwhelming urge to punch the air and whoop with triumph.

They’d done it. They’d freaking done it.

He extracted the contract from his briefcase and slid it forward. If Hanson noticed that Rhys’s hands were trembling, he was pro enough not to comment on it. He signed the page with a flourish before returning the pen to his pocket and standing.

“Nice to meet you both. If you deliver on your promises, it will be even nicer.”

“You can count on it,” Rhys said.

They shook hands and left the room together. Hanson headed toward the elevators, while Rhys set his sights on the door to the men’s washroom at the end of the hall. He knew without checking that Greg followed him, but neither of them said a word until they were on the other side of the polished wood door. Then they both dropped their briefcases to the floor and burst into relieved, triumphant laughter.

“Can you believe it? Can you freaking believe it?” Rhys said over and over.

Greg slapped him on the back so many times it started to hurt, but Rhys didn’t give a damn.

“That’s it. We’re off and running. This is really going to happen,” Greg said.

“Yeah, it is.” Rhys felt dazed. They’d been working toward this moment for so long. And now they were here, it didn’t feel quite real. With Gainsborough on board, it would only be a matter of time before they scored the next hotel chain. All it took was one big player to give them credibility, and they had that now. In spades.

Soon, they would be the go-to guys for hospitality I.T. in Australia. After that… Well, after that they were reaching into territory far beyond even Rhys’s current ambitions.

Greg held his hands out in front of him. “Check it out,” he said as his fingers trembled in midair.

Rhys offered up his own shaking hands and they started laughing all over again.

“Man, I’m wrecked,” Rhys said. “I feel like I ran a marathon.”

He pulled his tie loose and shrugged out of his jacket. Half moons of sweat radiated from beneath his armpits from all the nervous energy he’d expended.

“Let’s go out, man,” Greg said. “Let’s grab this town by the scruff of the neck and not let go until it shakes us off.”

“For sure. I’ll call the office and tell the guys to meet up with us.”

“And I’ll tell Jess to hire a babysitter.”

They were both grinning as they exited the washroom. They’d come in separate cars and they parted ways in the garage beneath the building.

“Café Sydney, ASAP. Be there or be square,” Greg called over his shoulder.

“Bring your accessory liver, my friend. Because tonight is the night,” Rhys said.

Greg’s laughter echoed at him, bouncing off the concrete and the rows of parked cars. Rhys walked toward his ten-year-old BMW, aware that his cheeks were starting to ache with all his smiling.

So many people had raised their eyebrows when he’d quit his lucrative management role with a rival I.T. firm eight months ago. Friends, family members had all thought he was nuts to walk away from a cushy job when the global economy was still so shaky. But Rhys had always planned to start his own consulting company from the moment he’d earned his computer engineering degree. He’d saved every spare cent he’d ever earned, denying himself the luxury car and fancy apartment his salary could have commanded because he was determined to be his own master, to guide his own destiny. To make his mark on the world.

He pulled out his phone and dialed a number by heart rather than use his contact list, only registering that he was still underground when the phone beeped to let him know he had no signal. Shaking his head at his own woolly-headedness—apparently euphoria did that to a person, who knew?—he started his car and drove out into the dying light of a warm Sydney day. He tried his parents again and listened to the phone ring until finally the machine picked up.

“Hey. It’s me,” he said. “Just wanted you guys to know I got Gainsborough. Like I said I would. I want to take you out for dinner to celebrate, so let me know when you’re available and I’ll book someplace nice, okay?”

He ended the call as he braked at a stoplight. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to think who else he should phone. The gang back in the office, obviously, but he felt as though there was someone else he was missing. His thoughts ranged over his brothers and sisters, but he dismissed them after a moment’s consideration. They were all so absorbed in their own things that they wouldn’t really care. They would be happy for him, sure, but they’d never really understood what he and Greg were trying to achieve with the business and at some point in the conversation he would feel as though he was bragging—the younger brother trying to impress his siblings with his achievements. They would hear his news via their parents or at the next family function.

He frowned. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of a single other person who would understand what today meant and share his excitement. The realization left him feeling vaguely dissatisfied. Shrugging off the sensation, he called the office, laughing as he heard the guys hollering in the background.

“Go home, put on your party clothes and meet us at Café Sydney,” he instructed when they’d calmed enough to be coherent. “It’s going to be a big one.”

He followed his own advice, cutting across town to his apartment in Potts Point. He spared a glance for the Finger Wharf as he drove through Woolloomooloo. The sun glinted off the white rooftops of the luxurious apartments that had been built on top of the ancient timber wharf. Home to Russell Crowe and a number of other high-profile Australians, the wharf was considered one of the best places to live in Sydney.

Not long now, baby.

He’d been eyeing an apartment in the wharf development for years now. The smaller apartments with the lesser views started at around half a million dollars, but Rhys didn’t want a small apartment. He wanted space, he wanted views. If things went smoothly with Gainsborough, there was no reason why he couldn’t start talking to real estate agents in earnest.

No reason at all.

A second rush of euphoria hit him as he considered what today meant. He wound down the window and let out a triumphant yahoo. A few people turned to stare. He felt a little stupid, but what the hell.

Today was the day his life had finally come together. All the planning. All the sacrifices. All the hours and hours of hard graft.

Life didn’t hand out many moments like this, and he planned to enjoy every second of it. And then some.

“STOP FIDGETING.” Gina slapped Charlie’s hand away from the neckline of her top.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Everyone in this restaurant knows I’m not wearing a bra. You know that, right?”

Despite her friend’s admonition, Charlie once again tweaked the neckline of the metallic mesh halter she was wearing. No matter what she did, there was no hiding the fact that there was a lot of cleavage on show. Like the skintight black stretch-satin trousers she was wearing, Gina’s top was not built for subtlety.

She glanced around the dark, woody interior of Café Sydney, hugely self-conscious in her borrowed clothes.

“No one knows you’re not wearing a bra except you. And maybe the people at the next table now since we’re talking so loudly. You need to relax. Here, have some more champagne.”

Gina leaned over and plucked the champagne bottle from the ice bucket where their waiter had left it and poured them both another glass. “You look great, C. You look amazing.”

“I look like I charge by the hour.” Charlie shifted in her seat, wondering if it was possible for pants to be so tight they cut off circulation to vital organs.

“You know what your problem is? You’re too used to trying to be one of the guys. Don’t get me wrong, I understand why that’s a good thing in the army, but you’re not enlisted anymore. At the risk of sounding like a feminine-hygiene commercial, you need to embrace your womanhood.”

Stung, Charlie paused with her glass halfway to her mouth. “I never tried to be one of the guys. I tried to be a good soldier.” She could hear the defensiveness in her voice and she sat a little straighter. “Just because I’m not into pink and because I don’t put everything out there on display doesn’t make me butch or one of the guys.”

Gina reached out and touched her arm. “I’m sorry. That came out the wrong way. I wasn’t saying you were butch. That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?”

Like it or not, Gina had hit a raw nerve and for some reason Charlie felt unable to let it go. There was so much else up in the air at the moment, having her sense of herself undermined felt like a step too far.

Gina studied her for a beat. “Do you honestly think you look bad tonight?”

“I don’t look like me.”

“That’s not answering my question. Do you think you look good or not?”

Charlie glanced at herself. The black mesh of her top reflected the candlelight on the table and clung to her breasts in what she could only describe as an outrageously sexy way. The satin of her pants glowed with a more subtle luster, somehow lending her usually gangly legs a new voluptuousness.

“I look okay,” she finally conceded.

Gina shook her head. “You’re hopeless. You’re the hottest woman in this room and you don’t even know it. What a waste.”

Charlie made a disbelieving noise.

“You don’t believe me?” Gina asked.

“You don’t need to blow smoke up my skirt. I know exactly where I fit in the man-woman food chain.” From the moment she hit puberty she’d known. She wasn’t blonde, she wasn’t perky, and she didn’t have that unknowable “something” that made men want to howl at the moon. A painful realization at the time, but now simply a fact of life. She’d long ago accepted that straight, mousy-brown hair, plain brown eyes and nondescript features were not going to set the world on fire.

“So where do you fit, then?” Gina asked.

“On a scale of one to ten? Five. Maybe six on a good day.”

“You’re nuts.”

“Why are we even having this conversation? Let’s talk about something else. Tell me more about this Spencer guy you’re seeing.”

Gina frowned. “Is this why you never went for it with Hamish in Townsville?”

“Good God. You have a memory like an elephant.” Charlie took a gulp of champagne, hoping the action would hide the fact that she was blushing.

Her crush on Hamish Flint had not been her proudest moment. She’d mooned over the sexy, handsome warrant officer from afar for more than a year and never gotten the courage to do more than talk work with him.

Gina rested both forearms on the table and leaned toward Charlie. “I want you to indulge me in a little experiment. I want you to do a lap of the restaurant. All the way around the perimeter. And I want you to pay attention to how many men look at you.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to do that.”

“Why not? Afraid I’m right?”

“I know you’re wrong.”

“Off you go, then. One lap, and pay attention. And no crossing your arms over your chest or sneaking around.”

“Get off the grass.”

Gina made a chicken sound.

Charlie rolled her eyes. “How old are you?”

“How scared are you?”

“I’m not scared.”

“Then put your moneymaker where your mouth is, lady,” Gina said.

A surge of annoyance brought Charlie to her feet. “Fine. I’ll do it. But be ready to eat your words.”

Gina gave her a finger wave. “I want an accurate tally. No fudging.”

Charlie snorted as she turned from the table. Gina was an idiot. Well intentioned, but an idiot nonetheless. Charlie had lived with this body and this face for thirty-two years. As she’d said, she knew her place in the dating food chain. And it certainly wasn’t at the top.

A server was backing away from the next table and she waited until he’d passed before taking her first step. Immediately she felt the subtle sway of her breasts against the top and had to quell the urge to cross her arms over her chest.

She lifted her chin and walked toward the first table for four. It was full of men in suits who had clearly come straight from the office, and all four of them glanced at her as she walked past. Two of them fixated on her breasts, the other two on her legs. There was no mistaking their interest and Charlie felt an odd squirm of… something in the pit of her stomach.

Okay, clearly a fluke.

The next table boasted six couples. Two men and one of the women gave her a fully body scan. Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the men turn his head to check out her ass as she passed.

She frowned, adding two more to her tally. Gina hadn’t told her to count women, after all.

Next up was a family grouping—three generations, if she was any judge.

No takers here, I’m sure.

She was almost out of range when the gray-haired patriarch looked up from opening a gift to offer her a cheeky, spontaneous smile, while the two teenage boys turned and stared unashamedly at her breasts.

Seven, eight, nine. Bloody hell.

By the time she’d reached the bar area at the rear of the restaurant she’d racked up seventeen checkouts. She inspected her trousers to make sure her fly was done up. It was. There was no other explanation, then—it had to be the pants and top. Somehow, a bit of slinky fabric had convinced everyone she was a sexy siren. How… bizarre.

And, if she was being honest with herself, kind of exciting. She’d spent far too many nights talking shop with the boys while watching other servicewomen beat off admirers with a stick to be above enjoying the very flattering male interest. She was only human, after all.

And maybe more than a little bit tipsy.

Experimenting, she pulled back her shoulders and injected some sway into her hips as she wove her way through the bar.

More eyes turned her way.

Huh. Look at that. I’m really getting the hang of this thing. Who knew it was so easy?

The thought had barely registered when she stumbled down an unexpected step. Her hand flew out instinctively, grabbing the nearest object—which happened to be a very solid male arm holding a very full glass of wine.