The Patterson Girls (18 page)

They'd barely begun when he froze. ‘Fuck.'

‘What?' she panted, feeling like a wanton hussy as she squeezed her inner muscles around him.

‘Condom,' he groaned, pressing his head against her forehead.

‘Shit.' Her heart slammed against her chest cavity. ‘Have you got one?' She looked into his eyes, praying for an answer in the affirmative.

He shook his head and the expression that came over his face made her heart clench.

‘Not a boy scout then?' Although at least it suggested he wasn't the type that did this kind of thing as a routine. If this was the usual way he put away time in transit, surely he'd have at least one rubber in his pocket.

‘I'm sorry.'

So was she. Damn sorry. And she didn't want to admit defeat just yet. ‘Are you safe?'

He nodded. ‘I promise I've not done anything like this before and I always use protection.'

For some reason she trusted him.

Hope sparked in his eyes. ‘You?'

In terms of STDs, yes she was safe. She wasn't on the pill or anything, but she could always see her doctor about the morning after pill.

‘Yes,' she lied, before common sense had the time to ruin what was so far the most exhilarating sexual experience of her life. Maybe it was the stranger aspect or the public location, maybe it was him and the chemistry that had sparked between them since their first initial meeting at Adelaide airport. Whatever it was, she knew if she missed this opportunity she'd always regret it.

‘Hallelujah,' Nigel hissed as he thrust back into her.

And her promiscuity was worth it. Despite his name, Nigel took her to heights she'd only ever dreamed about. He kissed her as they came together and then held her against him as their heartbeats slowly returned to normal. He didn't make her feel dirty or sordid, he made her feel strangely cherished and wonderful.

‘Thank you,' he eventually said, his tone light as he gently let her go. ‘I'll let you get cleaned up and then I think I owe you a drink.'

She smiled at him, amazed that she didn't have one iota of remorse about what they'd just done. ‘That sounds good.'

Miraculously, there was no awkwardness as they showered and put themselves back together. And when they were ready, they picked up their bags and Nigel opened the door. They stepped out into the lounge as if they hadn't just been up to naughty fun and strode to the bar, looking like a couple who had known each other forever.

Moments later, Abigail was enjoying a chilled glass of top-of-the-range bubbly while Nigel sipped on a boutique beer. They both wore smug and satisfied smiles and every now and then shared a look acknowledging what had just happened between them.

Much to Abigail's surprise, the conversation flowed. She told Nigel things she'd been keeping secret all week and he offered sympathy at her embarrassing departure from the orchestra. He was a good listener.

‘What will you do now?' he asked.

She shrugged and took another sip of her sparkling wine. ‘Get a job I suppose. I grew up in a motel so I have some experience in hospitality and customer service.'

‘But won't that bore you to tears? Won't you miss your music?'

She sighed, surprised that he got that. ‘Probably. But what other choice do I have?' Busking? She shuddered at the thought.

‘Have you thought about teaching?'

‘No,' she admitted. Truth be told, she'd been too busy feeling sorry for herself to think of an action plan.

‘It'd be better than busking,' he said, as if he were a mind reader. ‘You can advertise in your local area, put the word out on Facebook. You are on Facebook, aren't you?'

She nodded, silently contemplating his suggestion.

‘Hey, we should friend each other,' Nigel suggested, inadvertently changing the subject.

Abigail hadn't thought ahead to what—if anything—would happen between them after they landed in London, but she found she liked the idea of maintaining a connection, at least online. It made what had happened between them seem less seedy.

‘Sure,' she said, pulling her phone out of her handbag.

‘What's your last name?' he asked.

‘Patterson.' By the time she'd switched her phone back on and logged onto Facebook, he'd already sent her a request. She clicked Accept and grinned at him.

‘Abigail,' he said, his tone and expression now serious. ‘I really like you and I've had a lot of
fun
today but I want to be upfront. I'm not looking for a relationship. I'm far too focused on climbing the career ladder to put in the time.'

‘Oh.' She pursed her lips together, feeling stupid suddenly. It's not like she was expecting they get married or anything but …

He took her hand. ‘However, I'd like to see you again. That was fabulous sex and I can't let you go without saying I'd like to do it again.'

She blinked and then blurted. ‘Are you asking me to be your
fuck buddy
?'

He had the good grace to look coy. ‘No. Well, yes, maybe, but I prefer the term “friends with benefits”. Are you going to slap me in the face?'

She thought about it for a moment and then laughed. The truth was she was in no place for a relationship either—she needed to sort her life out before letting another person in permanently. And she didn't know how much longer she'd be in London. She'd never had a casual partner before but she could see the advantages. On-tap sexual pleasure without the drag of a commitment. And didn't she deserve some kind of joy in her otherwise disappointing life? While she was teaching other people's children to murder music or—heaven forbid—busking, at least she'd have Nigel to call on whenever she needed a pick-me-up.

‘You're making me nervous,' Nigel said, when she still hadn't answered. ‘Look, forget I mentioned it, stupid idea.'

‘Not so fast, mister.' She grinned at him and then leaned forward so that he had a perfect view of her cleavage. Then, she held out her hand. ‘Fuck buddies it is.'

Chuckling, Nigel bypassed her hand and leaned in for a kiss. He wrapped one hand around the back of her head and pulled her towards him, covering her mouth with a possessive and slightly rough kiss. She loved it.

And she liked the way he made her feel—sexy and powerful instead of pathetic and vulnerable.

Chapter Twelve

By the time Madeleine landed at Thurgood Marshall Airport in Baltimore, she'd made a major life decision. Even though she had no husband, boyfriend or the slightest prospect of a partner, she was going to have a baby. Curse be damned! No crazy old gypsy woman was going to stop her procreating now that she'd decided that was what she wanted to do.

The more she'd thought about it, the more she wondered why she'd never contemplated it before. She was a modern woman, with a secure job and good savings. Just because Mr Right hadn't happened along, didn't mean she shouldn't experience motherhood.

And as with every decision Madeleine had ever made, once she'd made this one, she threw herself into it wholeheartedly. Unable to sleep on the plane, she'd used the twenty-plus hours of travelling time to think and to plan. In transit at Sydney Airport, she'd scoured the internet for everything she could find about single women deciding to have children on their own. There were forums all over the place and hundreds of heartwarming stories of other women who'd made the decision and gone ahead to have gorgeous kids. As a doctor of obstetrics she already had a good understanding of the options available to couples wanting to get pregnant and she was right in thinking it wouldn't be all that different for her.

Her major decision was deciding on a sperm donor, and there were three possible options. She could pay for an anonymous donor from a sperm bank, use a ‘known' donor or find someone wanting to co-parent.

She ruled this last option out almost immediately. It involved looking for an unattached man who wanted to be a father—the male equivalent of herself, she supposed. There were positives of this arrangement; if she found a suitable candidate in Baltimore, they might be able to come to some kind of arrangement regarding childcare, so that their baby didn't need to attend day care when she was working. But as far as Madeleine could see, that was the only positive.

What if the biological father met someone else, got married and decided he wanted Madeleine's child to go live with them? What if they disagreed over important things like their son or daughter's education? And worst of all … what if she decided she wanted to move back to Australia? If her child's father was anything more than a sperm donor, he'd have a kind of power over her she didn't want any man to have.

If she wanted a man in her life, she'd put herself out there—go on dates with marriageable men so she could have a family the traditional way. Problem was, the only man she could imagine putting up with twenty-four seven was Hugo, and he was engaged to someone else. Someone she liked and respected.

No
, there were too many problems with the whole co-parent deal and the idea of choosing a known donor didn't seem much different. Even if she could find a suitable candidate amongst her single, male friends, it had the potential to get complicated. When she was seven months pregnant, the friend might suddenly decide they wanted to be involved in the baby's life and then she'd have to enter into some kind of awful custody battle. She supposed they'd sign legal documents before getting that far but still, someone totally anonymous seemed the safest way to go.

There was one other option, which fell somewhere between ordering sperm off the net and asking the favour of a friend. Waiting in LA airport, she discovered an international sperm donor website linking wannabe parents with potential donors. Registering with this site was surprisingly easy and after entering a few personal details and agreeing to the site's terms and conditions, Madeleine found herself with access to thousands of donor profiles. The idea was that she could meet with a potential donor before agreeing to take sperm from them. She scrolled through the database, trying not to think about the fact that choosing her child's father off one of these sites was a little like ordering a meal from the local takeaway. Although the profiles were far more detailed than the dishes on your average menu—offering everything from baby photos of potential donors to current photos, family medical histories, education, occupations and hobbies. Each of the men offering sperm had included notes—some short, some very long and detailed—about why they wanted to sow their wild seed, so to speak.

Clicking through the donors was addictive. She'd been so consumed with trying to imagine what a child made with her egg and the stranger on the screen's sperm that she'd almost missed her connection. From LA to Baltimore she wrote a detailed checklist of everything she required in a donor. Good health, a university education and non-smoker were things she wouldn't budge on, but she wasn't that hung up on eye colour or hair. And there were so many other things to consider, such as whether the person already had children and how many more times they planned to donate. She found some interesting people with weird and wonderful passions and outlooks on life.

And before she knew it, the plane was touching down in Baltimore. She heard the cry of a young baby behind her somewhere in economy and smiled, thinking that this time next year it could be her travelling with a newborn. Excitement thrummed through her veins at the thought of taking her baby home to visit Meadow Brook. As she waited to exit the plane, she felt happier, more buoyed than she had in a long time. It wasn't that she'd been depressed or unhappy but more that her life had fallen into a bit of a rut. She'd get up, attend a gym class or go for a run and then head in to work, only to do it all again the next day. But suddenly she had a project, something new and exciting to focus on and look forward to.

This wouldn't happen overnight, but Madeleine felt confident that if she went about it the right way, it would happen eventually. She all but floated off the plane, smiling at the other passengers as they made their way to the luggage carousels and customs, feeling a strange affinity to those people carrying toddlers or pushing prams. She wanted to reach out to them, to ask them questions about how old their babies were and whether they were sleeping through the night. Things she previously hadn't thought much about suddenly seemed vitally important. Not wanting to appear like a weirdo or scare anyone, she bit her tongue, instead adding mentally to her checklist as she waited in the queue to re-enter the United States.

When her passport had been stamped and the customs officer waved her through, she lugged her suitcase out into the arrivals hall, hoping there wouldn't be a massive line for cabs. As the automatic doors opened in front of her, she looked up to see Hugo waiting behind the barrier, a cheery grin spread over his face as he held up his iPad, the name Patterson in big, bold print on the screen.

Madeleine laughed as she went around the barrier to meet him. ‘What are you doing?' she asked, leaning forward to air-kiss him.

His eyes sparkled and he shrugged as he ran a hand through his strawberry-blond hair. He looked a lot like a slightly older version of Prince Harry. ‘Celia forced me to come. I wanted to stay at home and watch reruns of
How I Met Your Mother
but she said since I wasn't working, I should pick you up. Apparently the last thing you need after a long flight is to wait in line for a cab.'

‘Celia is an angel,' Madeleine said as Hugo tucked his iPad under his arm and reached out to take the handle of her mammoth suitcase.

‘Although you look amazingly alive for someone who's been on an airplane for the best part of a day.'

It wasn't exactly the compliment of the century, but Madeleine felt a warmth flush through her veins. She pushed it aside, ignoring it as she had done numerous times in the past. ‘That's why it's worth paying for first class. How was your Christmas?'