One Night, Two Consequences - Joss Wood

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chest. She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder before succumbing to the urge to bury her face in his strong neck, silently asking him to stay exactly where he was. She’d barely finished the thought when she felt the tap of his fingers against her hip, and she pulled her head back to look at him.

      ‘I must go. I have to be up in a couple of hours.’

      Remy sat up and managed a small smile as he swung his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m leaving early too.’

      He reached behind him and squeezed her calf. ‘I’m not going to ask you where you’re going because I might be tempted to follow. I had a great time.’

      Remy, holding the sheet up above her breasts, risked placing her hand on his shoulder and turned her intended caress into a quick pat. ‘Me too. I thought we’d spontaneously combust that first time.’

      His deep, sexy chuckle danced across her bare skin. ‘We shouldn’t have started kissing in the lift. We gave that other couple quite an eyeful.’

      Remy frowned, confused. ‘There was another couple in the lift?’

      Bo stood up and pulled his boxers on. Placing his hands on his hips, he looked down at her, his mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘Yeah, there was.’

      Remy tossed her head and didn’t break contact with his mesmerising eyes. They were the most amazing shade of grey, edged with a ring of black. ‘Well, sorry … I was kind of distracted.’

      His eyes deepened and looked smoky again. ‘I like the fact that I can make you lose track of your surroundings.’

      Remy had to smile at the very self-satisfied smirk on his face.

      When he’d headed to the bathroom Remy scuttled out of bed, rummaged in her suitcase and eventually found a pair of sleeping shorts and a roomy T-shirt. In the mirror on the opposite wall she saw her reflection and pulled a face at her very messy hair and make-up-free face. She wasn’t looking her best, but what was the point of fussing over what she looked like when he was heading out through the door?

      Out of her life.

      One night. His staying any longer was not an option.

      She shouldn’t want him to stay at all.

      Bo stood in the generic hotel bathroom and stared at his reflection in the large mirror above the basin. This is a one-night stand, he told himself, a one-time deal.

      So what if it had been some of the best sex of his life? He’d spent two hours with her and they had done it … he could hardly believe it … three times. He wasn’t in his dotage, but that was excessive even for him. He hadn’t been able to stop touching her, seemingly desperate to make every second count.

      He didn’t want to walk back out there, pick his clothes up off the floor and walk out of her life. For the first time in far too many years he wasn’t racing to leave, wasn’t feeling the noose around his neck, the let-down after good sex with no emotional connection. All he wanted to do was to climb back into her bed and slide on home.

      But that would not be sensible or practical and definitely not wise. Apart from the fact that she intrigued him—which he didn’t like—they were out of condoms. Although if he didn’t leave—now!—then he wasn’t sure he’d be able to control himself.

      Bo flipped on the cold tap and ducked his head under the spout, hoping the cold water would shock some sense into him. Why was he thinking about her like this? She was sex, pure and simple—a good time, and that was it!

      She’d offered, he’d accepted, they’d both had fun—the end. He should be walking out through the door with a fat smile on his face.

      She’d been a superb lay—the best two hours of his life … so why wasn’t he feeling any better? Bo rubbed a towel over his hair and his hand over his jaw, now covered with dark stubble.

      Since Ana he’d consciously, deliberately, kept all his sexual encounters casual and this had been supposed to be the most casual of all. A pretty girl—a tourist—someone he wouldn’t see again. How much more casual could he get? He didn’t know her surname, where she was from, what her cell number was, but she was the first woman in five years who’d managed to reach inside his gut and twist it into a knot.

      And that was why he purposely, deliberately, strode back into the room and quickly yanked on his clothes. The quicker he left, the quicker he could go back to thinking straight …

      Remy had left the bed and got dressed and Bo was thankful for the small mercy that she wasn’t still naked; that would have made leaving a lot harder than it already was. Than he already was …

      He sent her a quick look. She sat on the corner of the bed, her long legs crossed at the knees. She looked cool and composed, so he walked over to her and dropped his head to kiss her high on her cheekbone, knowing that if he didn’t keep it light he wouldn’t be able to resist temptation … again.

      ‘Thanks, Remy. Have a good life.’

      ‘Yeah, you too.’

      Bo yanked open the door, closed it behind him and shook his head. If someone had told him earlier that walking away from her would be difficult he would have told them that they had rocks in their head. Walking away was never difficult.

      Except that this time it really was.

       CHAPTER TWO

       Six weeks later

      IN PORTLAND, REMY stood in the smallest bedroom, which her mum had turned into a nursery for Callum, and kept her eyes firmly fixed on her baby half-brother’s face. Only the fact that her mother would kill her if she woke Callum kept her from running into the dark Portland night, screaming like a psychotic banshee.

      She was on the edge of sanity and there were more than a few contributing factors …

      Six weeks in her mother’s orbit was about five weeks and five days too long. As it turned out Callum slept a lot, and Jan had had plenty of time to nag her adult child.

      ‘When are you going to pick up your career? You have an obligation to use the brains God gave you for something more worthwhile than catching flights, learning another way to cook fish and then blogging about it. All that education wasted. You are not fulfilling your potential.’

      Below those comments were the unsaid implications … You disappoint me. I expected more. What you do is important—not who you are.

      But she now had a bigger problem than her mother’s nagging her about her life …

      Remy looked down at the plastic wand in her hand and pulled another two out of her back pocket. One displayed a plus sign, one showed two lines and, just to make sure she got the message, the third had the word ‘pregnant’ in the display window.

      She was going to have a baby.

      This couldn’t be happening …

      She was going to have Bo’s baby. The stranger from Bellevue. Her one-night, blow-her-head-off stand.

      Remy slid down the wall and rested her head just below the butt of the happy giraffe painted on the wall. God! Why, oh, why was this happening to her? She couldn’t be pregnant—she didn’t want to be pregnant—but she held the irrefutable proof in her hands. And how? Bo had entered her only once, maybe twice, without a condom. On neither occasion had he been close to his happy ending … The man had had incredible self-control and he’d used that control to bring her to orgasm after orgasm during the night.

      But apparently one of his super-sperm had sneaked out and had been hell-bent on finding its own happy ending. With her egg.

      Remy muttered a series of silent curse words as tears pooled in her eyes.

      In his

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