Matt paced his office, swinging from outrage to indignation then back again. He paused at the wall, did an about turn then continued pacing.
Damn room was way too small. He scrubbed at his chin, then his cheek, before running a hand into his hair.
What the hell had just happened?
He was insulted. No, more than that—he was deeply offended. Did she really think he was that kind of guy? He snorted, hands on his hips. These past few days all made sense now: AJ’s initial coldness, then suddenly agreeing to his invitation. She wanted a convenient stud. Not him—just what he could give her.
His hands curled into fists as fury overcame him.
And yet...
He must be the worst kind of idiot, letting his need lead him around like a dog on a leash because he still wanted her. Un-fricking-believable.
He stopped and glared out the window, studying the slow ascent of a Qantas jumbo jet as it climbed into the sky. So she thought he was some kind of mindless workaholic man whore, did she? That he’d jump at her offer then happily walk away when she’d gotten what she wanted?
With a curse, he collapsed into his chair, the leather protesting under the sudden weight. AJ Reynolds was trouble. Not worth the stress. Hell, he could pick up the phone and choose from a handful of willing women for an uncomplicated lay. Since his divorce it was all he’d been prepared to give. GEM occupied his every waking moment; he’d deliberately made it that way so there’d be no room to dwell on the bitter disappointment of Katrina’s rejection.
Yet something stirred inside, reminding him of his deeply buried dreams.
Dragging a hand over his chin, he tapped one finger on his bottom lip.
“Why me?” he muttered, his gaze skimming the blue skyline until it latched on to another plane in the distance. Surely there were dozens of eager guys queuing up for the pleasure. Yet when he tried to picture AJ with another man, doing all those things they’d done, touching her, making love to her, something nasty and painful twisted in his gut.
No.
A firm knock startled him from his reverie and he turned to see a familiar figure in the doorway. “Matt? Got a minute?”
“Sure.” He straightened his shoulders and nodded.
“Really?” His head of security, James Decker, tipped his chin down and peered over the rims of his dark aviator sunglasses. “Because it looks like you’re thinking hard about something important.”
Matt sighed. “I’ve had an offer. And I’m not sure I should take it.”
Decker stepped inside the office, closing the door behind him. As always, he was dressed in black—muscle T-shirt, army pants, boots and gun belt. Matt often teased Deck about his militant vigilante look, and the head of security would always come back with, “At least I save your ass.” The black was for show, for his team to project power and confidence to the public. It often meant the difference between success and failure when faced with life-threatening situations.
“What’s the offer?” Decker asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“A woman, no relationship strings attached.”
Decker’s whistle came out low. “Lucky bastard. A hot woman?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“And your problem is?”
“She’s...an old flame.”
Decker’s hands went to his hips. “Crazy chick, then?”
“God, no. She’s—” Matt paused, his mouth curving in remembrance. “AJ’s perfectly sane.”
“AJ?” Decker’s brow dipped. “Not the AJ?”
Crap. He’d wondered when that night would come back to bite him in the ass. A close call in Mexico, the hotel bar, expensive whiskey... He and Deck had gotten comfortably drunk and ended up comparing a handful of regrets.
“I take it from your silence it’s the same girl,” Decker said, his look knowing. “And you want strings.”
Matt grabbed the nearest paper and glared at it, feeling his neck flush. “Forget I said anything, okay?”
“Dude, this is me you’re talking to here.” Decker grabbed a chair, straddled it and crossed his arms over the back. “I’ve saved your life a dozen times. We’ve been in the middle of Vietnam, ass-deep in mud. We’ve run from Zimbabwean vigilantes, dodged bullets in East Timor.” He grinned. “And I wasn’t that drunk. I remember everything you said.”
Matt sighed. Decker was six feet of contained Yankee firepower, all cocky American attitude and muscle with a huge gun fetish. He also happened to be his best mate, not to mention one of the most brilliant strategists he’d ever met.
“She wants more than just sex,” Matt said.
“Marriage?”
“No. A baby.” Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Decker’s curse made Matt grin. “I knew that’d get you.”
“She straight up said she wants you to father her kid?”
“Yep.”
“What’s the catch?”
“Nothing. I get her pregnant, then I can walk away.”
Decker snorted. “Like that’s gonna happen.” He looked Matt over. “So tell her no. Unless...” His eyes turned shrewd. “You want a kid. With her.”
That was the question, wasn’t it? Did he want a baby with AJ?
Deck and he had shared some moments, but he’d never told anyone this. It meant he’d have to admit that the complicated wound of losing his brother and Katrina’s rejection was still fresh in his mind, even four years on.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Decker said.
Yeah, the guy wasn’t dumb. Not by a long shot.
Decker drummed his fingers on the back of the chair. “Is it possible she’s lying to trap you?”
Matt grunted. “Nope. She was painfully clear she just wants a donor.”
“Huh.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You still have a thing for her.”
Matt’s frown deepened. “What makes you say that?”
Decker shrugged. “A, because of what you told me all those years ago, and B, because we’re still talking about it. You’ve never put this much thought into a woman before.”
“So I have a problem.”
“Not really. Dude, you live for a challenge. We wouldn’t have half our clients without your Mister Charm-and-Persuasion routine. And do I need to list all the women who’ve succumbed to your moody charm?” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Snooty French heiress. Billionaire ice queen. Italian model...”
“AJ’s different,” Matt interrupted.
“I’m getting that loud and clear. Are you?” Decker gave him a meaningful look. “There’s obviously something still there. You won’t know if you don’t make an effort.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I’m just saying that if anyone can convince a woman to fall in love with them, it’s you. Who wouldn’t want the great and powerful Matthew Cooper?” He grinned and stood. “You know the drill—background, assessment, decision, follow-through. I’ll come back later and we can talk about our Italian job.”
Long after Decker had left Matt stared at the closed door.
Background. Assessment.