Page 145

That had been it. The unceremonious conclusion to whatever they’d been. No hint of temptation for a repeat performance, just cool, businesslike dismissal of her from his home.

Fair enough.

She hadn’t expected anything more, except perhaps for a little hint that he wanted a repeat performance—as she did. Because one night hadn’t seemed like enough.

But his ruthless dismissal of her had quickly put paid to any lingering attraction. She’d been thrilled when he’d dropped her to another building, introduced her to the mechanic overseeing her car, and left again.

Not even a kiss on the cheek.

Nothing.

She ground her teeth as she brought the car to a stop, cursing herself for not asking more questions. She’d immediately recognised the quality and luxury of the property, but she still hadn’t thought anything of it. Why would she? The Carrigan name was synonymous with wealth and power. Their rural holdings were only a part of the picture: they were also scions of media, with corporations all over the world—old media and new. Their money, lifestyle and reach were impossible to contemplate.

She tried not to think about that.

Their power, in particular.

Because if she did, she might just bottle her nerve and leave before she could do what she’d come here for. She’d grappled with this decision for the last two weeks, ever since she’d realised something was off and taken a pregnancy test.

Given how unplanned it was, it was surprising that Sarah’s first feeling had been one of unmitigated joy. Not for a single second did she wonder if she wanted this baby. True, the circumstances weren’t ideal, but then, nor had her own birth been. Her mother had also been alone, Sarah’s dad never in the picture, and, if anything, it had been a blessing. They’d been best friends, the two of them against the world, for as long as Sarah could remember. She knew it would be just the same with her child.

And yet, she couldn’t live with herself if she kept this news from Tate. He might be a Carrigan, but he was still a person, and that meant treating him with decency and respect. Besides, all her life she’d lived with the pain of feeling that there was something wrong with her, because her father had never wanted her. She wasn’t going to let her child grow up thinking that if it wasn’t true.

She had no idea how he’d react; she didn’t plan on sticking around long enough to see. She’d tell him and leave, give him time to process it, and then make a plan for the future depending on if he wanted to see their child at all. She hoped, for the baby’s sake, he didn’t reject the whole idea of parenthood. She knew how badly that stung.

Everything out here felt different now.

The rain had long since dried out, but it had refreshed the ground, making for a startling contrast from her last visit. The plants around the homestead were now thick and green. In the distance, she could see the line of the ironbarks this property was named after, standing tall and proud against the blistering blue of the afternoon sky.

Her stomach was alive with butterflies as she slowly walked up the stairs towards the front door of the house and lifted her hand to knock. Once. Twice. Three times. Then she stepped back, looked around, and waited. Her nerves were stretched thin, almost to breaking point, so by the time he wrenched the door inwards, a towel slung low about his waist, his body otherwise naked, she was already at the point of jumping. But seeing him like this?

It quickly put paid to any idea that his cool response to her the morning after had killed her desire.

It simmered in her veins, almost knocking her sideways with its intensity, and she resisted the urge to protectively curl a hand over her stomach.

‘You.’

He said it as if she was the last person on earth he expected—or wanted—to see. As if she were a bug on his windscreen he couldn’t wait to wipe off.

‘Broken down again?’ he asked, arching a brow, jaw squared.

She ignored the derision in his tone, ignored the voice in her mind telling her to abandon this whole idea. She could get on her flight back to the UK, raise this baby as her mother had raised her, and know that Tate Carrigan was the last person on earth who’d care. But this was a baby. A child. A person. She could never live with herself if she made the conscious choice to keep their child’s father from their life. That wasn’t her decision to make.

‘Does it look like it?’ she asked, pleased that her own voice sounded suitably derisive. After all, her car was parked right behind her, at the bottom of the stairs.

He glanced beyond her, expression taut. ‘Then what’s going on?’

‘You were just such a peach last time, I thought I couldn’t leave the country without coming to say goodbye.’

He glared at her, but she thought she saw something like surprise—or embarrassment—briefly shift across his features.

‘You washed up on my doorstep. I missed the part where I needed to roll out the red carpet for you.’

‘I wasn’t expecting red carpet. Just a little common decency after spending the night together.’

A muscle jerked in his jaw. ‘What did you want, Sarah? Cuddles? Swapping our life stories?’

‘No, I—’