Suddenly Expecting Read Free

skirts, makeup and gossip, and she’d naturally migrated toward the boys. And then there was “that incident”—as her father had called it—when she’d shoved Marco Corelli, the son of the now-notorious crime boss Gino Corelli. After the furor had died down and she’d done her counseling and detention stint, she’d realized she’d become a bit of a legend to her peers. Connor Blair, the moody silent one, had allowed her to sit with them at lunch. Luke—always so very angry—had bonded with her over obscure pub bands, and Marco... Well, he’d apologized and she’d scored a friend for life.
    Complicated, complex Marco. The cocky, flirty teenager with an insane gift for soccer, who’d grown up into a gorgeous, talented, self-assured man. The guy knew her secrets, her childhood wishes, her family tragedies.
    Especially her family tragedies. With her mother’s death from motor neuron disease and the chances of Kat being a carrier, she’d never allowed that particular fantasy of becoming a mother take root. But now, faced with the bald-faced reality of actually being pregnant, she had absolutely no clue how to feel. After all those years of refusing the tests, of arguing with Marco that she preferred to spend her life living and not worrying, she’d actually gone and gotten tested. Now she had to wait for the results, which added extra stress to her already stressful situation.
    Which was why she couldn’t tell Marco. Ever.
    With a sigh, she refocused on the here and now. By the time they’d finished filming the week’s shows, it was eleven at night and Kat was dead on her feet. She said good-night to everyone and dragged herself to her car, fumbling with the keys as she went, her mind focused on takeout, a hot bath and double-checking her apartment for the impending storm.
    Then she glanced at her car and stopped in her tracks.
    Marco.
    Her heart pounding, her gaze swept over him—his suit, his loosened tie, the dark hair flopping over his forehead and curling at the collar. The faint shadow of stubble dusting his firm jaw. The way he stood, all sexy and casual, hands buried in his pockets. And those wide, piercing brown eyes staring straight at her.
    On another man, one with less confidence and overt sexuality, his features could almost be called pretty, if not for the overabundant aura of pure male surrounding him. His hair was a controlled crop of curls, perfectly framing those high cheekbones, lush mouth and come-to-bed eyes. And when he smiled...Lord, you could hear the knickers dropping for miles around. He reminded her of days gone by, of stocking-and-breech-clad heroes, flamboyant coats and huge romantic gestures full of wild symphonies and desperate, love-smitten poems.
    And he’d been the best sex she’d had in her life.
    Yes, he was adored by millions around the world. Everyone knew the story—only son of Italian immigrants, raised in Australia until a talent scout had recruited him for the French futball leagueat the tender age of sixteen. Marco, the dreamy Italian with romantic eyes and glorious touch-me hair. If that wasn’t enough of an unfair advantage, he’d also acquired a hot French accent from his years living and working in Marseille and Paris. Marco, her best friend.
    Her heart contracted then expanded again, and she wanted to die from the sudden ache of it all.
    They’d known each other for nearly twenty years. Telling him would irrevocably change everything. Marco didn’t do commitment. He loved his job, he loved women and he loved the freedom to enjoy both. And there was no way she’d lose him as her best friend after one foolish— amazing —night. She couldn’t.
    With a deep breath she continued, heading straight for her car. And the closer she got, the worse the weird feeling grew.
    They’d done things—intimate things. Things she’d never imagined doing with him. They’d gotten naked, and he’d touched her and kissed her all over. Now he wanted to talk about it, and