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       Now, that was a move he hadn’t seen coming

      In fact, Harry still couldn’t quite believe Pippa had shoved the envelope of money—payment he hadn’t asked for and wasn’t going to keep—down the waistband of his shorts.

      Briefly he toyed with the idea of going after her, letting her know in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t interested in her money. He imagined himself chasing her down, backing her into a corner until she was forced to take the envelope back. She’d protest, no doubt, but he’d simply look into those rich chocolate-brown eyes of hers and—

      He put the cash in his pocket and turned away from the thought that had been about to insinuate itself into his head. Pippa was off-limits. She was trying to raise Alice on her own. Pippa was all about responsibility and commitment. Nothing that Harry had to offer.

      Walk away, mate.

      Too bad his libido wasn’t getting the message.

      Dear Reader,

      I’ve written two sequels in my career so far—this one and One Good Reason—and both were completely unplanned. It wasn’t until I started writing about a character who I assumed would be a supporting player that I realized that I wanted to tell that story, too.

      Harry came to life in All They Need, which tells the story of his sister, Mel, and Flynn, the man who teaches her that love is not about pain and shame. I loved Harry from the moment he opened his mouth. His tattoos, his attitude, his blue-collar decency. I talked about him with my editor, and she—wise, wise woman—said, “For some reason I see him with a woman who has a child.” My brain lit up like a slot machine hitting jackpot. Of course Harry had to fall in love with a woman with a child! What better way to rock the world of a committed party boy?

      When I started thinking about who this woman might be, it occurred to me that the lives of men like Harry revolve around their mates. They party together, they hang together, they have each other’s backs. But what if one of those mates turns out to have done the wrong thing by an ex-lover who wound up pregnant? And what if Harry had always really liked this woman because she was smart and funny and sassy? Beneath his tough exterior, Harry is a huge pussycat. I figured he’d be powerless to resist the urge to step in and step up on his friend’s behalf.

      Those basic ideas sent my imagination off. I loved writing this book! Pippa and Harry were so much fun. I hope you enjoy reading their journey. I love hearing from readers, so please feel free to drop me a line at [email protected].

      Oh, and in case you’re wondering, I’ve never fallen through the ceiling. But I have come very, very close!

      Happy reading,

       Sarah Mayberry

      About the Author

      SARAH MAYBERRY lives in Melbourne in a house by the bay, happily sharing her days with her partner (now husband!) of twenty years and a small black, tan and white cavoodle called Max. She adores them both. When she isn’t writing, she is feeling guilty about not being out in the garden more and indulging in shoe shopping and reimagining her soon-to-be renovated home. She also loves to read, cook, go to the movies and sleep, and is fully aware that the word exercise should be in that list somewhere, too.

      Suddenly You

      Sarah Mayberry

      This book was written with the undeniable distraction of a new puppy in the house. So it would be remiss of me not to thank Max for the many hours he stole from my work while simultaneously making me laugh and gnash my teeth. Bless your little furry everything.

       As usual, Wanda held my hand and gave sage counsel and helped me see the wood for the trees. There would be no me without you, my dear.

      And Chris. What can I say? You really are the best. The funniest. The smartest. The sweetest. (There are more -ests, but I don’t want to embarrass you. You know where I’m going with this, though.)

      Lastly, a big thanks to the readers who take the time to put fingers to keyboard to write to me. Your letters really do make my day.

       CHAPTER ONE

      BEER. ICY COLD, preferably accompanied by a big, greasy burger. Oh, yeah.

      Harry Porter rolled down the window of his 1972 HQ Monaro GTS and grinned into the resulting wind as he sped toward the pub. A vintage Midnight Oil song played on the radio and he tapped out the rhythm on the steering wheel, the burble of the V8 engine providing a bass beat.

      It was Friday afternoon, it was summer, he’d just been paid, and half a dozen of his best mates were waiting at the Pier Hotel ten minutes up the road to kick off the weekend’s adventures.

      Life didn’t get much better.

      Whoever was in charge at the radio station seemed to agree because Midnight Oil’s “Power and the Passion” was followed by Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” He was reaching for the volume to crank it higher when he spotted the bright yellow car in the emergency stopping lane to the left of the highway, its hood pushed up in the universal signal that someone was shit out of luck.

      The mechanic in him automatically diagnosed the problem—in this weather, most likely the car’s cooling system—before returning his gaze to the road. Fortunately, being a mechanic wasn’t like being a doctor—Harry wasn’t obliged to stop for emergencies. Which was just as well, because he’d spend half his life riding to the rescue if that was the case.

      Something tickled at the back of his brain as he approached the car. He realized what it was as he sped past. He knew this car—at least, he knew its owner. He hadn’t seen her for nearly six months, but that was definitely her bright yellow hatchback, a fact he confirmed when he looked in his rear vision mirror and saw Pippa White standing with her hands on her hips staring into the engine bay.

      He swerved into the unsealed emergency lane and glanced in the rearview mirror as Pippa turned to watch his big black car reverse toward her. She was frowning, clearly trying to work out who was coming to her rescue.

      The worried expression vanished from her face when he exited his car. It was replaced with the wry, appreciative smile he’d come to associate with her during the six months she’d dated his best mate, Steve.

      Pippa pushed her heavy black-framed glasses up her nose and scanned him head to toe as he approached.

      “You’re definitely not what I was expecting when I sent up a prayer for a guardian angel.”

      “Long time no see,” he said easily.

      Pippa’s smile slipped a fraction and he knew that—like him—she was remembering the last time they’d seen each other. Driven by god-knows-what stupid impulse, he had visited her at the hospital after the birth of her daughter, Alice. The most uncomfortable fifteen minutes of his life so far, hands down. She recovered quickly, pushing her glasses up her nose again.

      “How have you been, Harry? How’s Hogwarts going? Cast any good spells lately?”

      The Harry Potter/Porter jokes had gotten old around the time Ms. Rowling had made her second billion, but Pippa was one of the few people he allowed to get away with them. They’d always got on well and, unlike most of Steve’s girlfriends, he’d regretted it when things had gone pear-shaped and she’d disappeared off the scene. She’d always had something interesting to say, and she’d always laughed at his jokes, even when they sucked.

      “Made some underwear disappear the other night, if that’s what you mean.”

      She

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