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Bound By The Unborn Baby
Bella Bucannon
'As far as everyone’s concerned, Alina, this child is ours.'Surrogacy is the closest Alina Fletcher dares get to motherhood. But when she tells tycoon Ethan James that she’s carrying his late sister’s child, his solution takes her breath away – a temporary marriage of convenience for the baby’s sake!Alina knows it’s the right decision for her baby, but is marrying a stranger – especially one who makes her heart sing! – the right choice for her? Having loved and lost her own family, this proposal could be another chance at happiness…if only Alina’s brave enough to say ‘I do’!



‘Alina, the baby you carry is my family. I can’t—I won’t permit this child to be born illegitimate.’
Somewhere out in the real world a driver beeped his horn. She sensed Ethan studying her, could imagine his brain churning with arguments to reinforce his demand. For him, her full compliance was essential. He’d accept nothing less.
‘How long is it supposed to last?’ It came out wrong. She hadn’t meant to sound so cold, so detached. She certainly wasn’t prepared for the pained look in his eyes.
‘We’ve got seven months to sort out the future. No one will be surprised if our sudden marriage doesn’t survive long-term.’ His hand left her stomach and cupped her chin. ‘I won’t force you to stay, and I swear you won’t lose from this arrangement.’
He was right—because she’d already lost everything worthwhile. She’d bought a new gold ring because she hadn’t been able to bear the sight or the feel of the original.
‘You give me your word that I can leave when I decide?’
‘Yes.’ It was blunt. His body was rigid, his features unreadable.
‘All right. I’ll marry you.’

Bound by the Unborn Baby
Bella Bucannon

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
BELLA BUCANNON lives in a quiet northern suburb of Adelaide with her soulmate husband, who loves and supports her in any endeavour. She enjoys walking, dining out and travelling. Bus tours or cruising with days at sea to relax, plot and write are top of her list. Apart from category romance she also writes very short stories and poems for a local writing group. Bella believes joining RWA and SARA early in her writing journey was a major factor in her achievements.
Deepest thanks to my husband and soulmate, who claims that inside my head is the scariest place on earth but loves me unconditionally anyway. Special thanks to the generous, supportive South Australian Romance Authors for their encouragement and steadfast belief in me.
And to Flo Nicoll, who saw beyond my raw writing and gave me the courage to drastically cut and revise and produce a story worth telling.
Contents
COVER (#u48438678-2f0f-52c3-9d0a-bc092e0f0606)
INTRODUCTION (#u50d908e9-70b8-5237-9d7e-c4353d805d26)
TITLE PAGE (#u4701e6d4-b654-57df-8503-082bb2b281cc)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u6c1267b3-1025-52aa-a8c0-f113553608ca)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT (#u238de36b-9b31-5109-8f57-8214c5bbd923)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)
COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u7bf0a49f-ed9a-5edf-afc9-d4ccbd2f266f)
THIRD DOOR ON the left. Why the hell hadn’t he given in to his original instinct, phoned the hotel with a refusal, then binned the short letter hand-delivered to his office? He’d never heard of Alina Fletcher—didn’t have the time or energy for enigmatic invitations.
Except one phrase, vaguely referring to his family, had captured his interest five weeks after his sister and brother-in-law had died in Barcelona, less than two since his second trip to Spain regarding their estate.
He felt drained. Flying overseas and coping with local authorities while handling the glitches regarding his latest hotel acquisition had been exhausting. The basic Spanish he’d acquired on other trips had helped; deprivation of sleep didn’t. He desperately needed a break to enable him to grieve for Louise, and for Leon, who’d been his best friend since primary school. Any additional angst was definitely unwelcome.
The open doorway allowed him a clear view of the woman facing the window. Slim build. Medium height. Short dark brown hair. His gaze slid rapidly over a sky-blue jacket and trousers to flat shoes. Unusual in this time of killer heels.
‘Ms Fletcher?’ He was curter than he’d intended, influenced by a hard clench low in his abdomen.
She turned slowly and his battered emotions were rocked even more. Pain-filled eyes underlined with dark smudges met his. Widened. Shuttered. Reopened, clear and steady. Whatever had flickered in their incredible violet depths had banished his lethargy. His dormant libido kicked in, tightening his stomach muscles, accelerating his pulse.
Inappropriate. Inexcusable.
‘Ethan James? Thank you for agreeing to meet me.’
No welcoming smile. Did he detect a slight accent? He’d have to hear more—wanted to hear more.
He cleared his throat. ‘Did I have a choice?’ Moving forward with extended hand, he frowned at her hesitation. She was the one who’d requested the meeting.
After a cool, brief touch she gestured to the seating. ‘Coffee? Black and strong?’
His eyes narrowed at her assumption of his preference, flicked to the wedding ring she wore. Married. Why did he care? The perfume she wore didn’t suit her. Too strong. Too exotic. He wasn’t thinking clearly—hadn’t been since that devastating early-morning phone call.
‘What do you want?’ No games. Either she told him the reason they were here or he walked. ‘You’ve got two minutes to convince me to stay.’
She met his glare unwaveringly. ‘Then you’d better start reading.’ Perching on the front of an armchair, she pushed a buff-coloured folder along the low table before pouring coffee into a cup.
His muscles tensed. She appeared confident, was counting on him thinking he’d always wonder if he left without an explanation. He grudgingly picked up the unnamed folder and sat, stretching out his long legs.
Once she’d placed the drink in front of him she took a book from the bag by her side and settled into the chair to read.
He pulled the file out, glanced at the front sheet—and his already shattered world tilted beyond reality. He flipped the pages, studied the signatures. Scowled at the seemingly composed female ignoring him. A fist of ice clamped his gut. His heart pounded. Not true. Not believable. Though the signatures were genuine. He’d seen enough of them in the last few weeks to be absolutely certain.
Why? There’d been no indication.
He reached for his coffee, drained the hot liquid in one gulp while glancing at Alina Fletcher. Not so serene on further scrutiny. The fingers on her left hand were performing a strange ritual. Starting with the littlest, they curled one by one into her palm, with her thumb folding over the top. Dancelike, the movement was repeated every few seconds.
Nervous? She damn well ought to be, hitting him with this out of the blue. He gave a derisive grunt. He’d have been blindsided however she’d informed him.
Reverting to the opening document, he meticulously perused every paragraph.
Alina automatically flicked the blurred pages of her book, her fingers trembling. Her thoughts were in turmoil. This encounter ought to have been straightforward. She’d come to Sydney, acquaint the brother with the situation, and then they’d discuss options in a businesslike fashion. Instead she’d tensed at the timbre of his formal greeting, been slow to take his hand, shaken by her quickening heartbeat.
Please, please, let it be hormonal.
The best scenario was that he’d concur with the logical solution. She’d return to Europe and they’d communicate amicably via email or phone. Living alone would be no hardship. She only shared accommodation when it was required by an employer and rarely maintained friendships, even those forged from seasonal reunions. No roots. No ties. Liking co-workers was a plus. None had been able to break through the wall staying sane had compelled her to build.
She still wasn’t sure what had drawn her to Louise on their early irregular meetings. Perhaps an empathy that had enabled her to see behind the sparkling personality and glimpse the hidden sorrow? A feeling that she was a kindred spirit? Seeing the loving relationship Louise had shared with Leon? She’d often thought of them while travelling. Four months ago fate had brought them together at a critical time for Louise, a soul-searching one for her.
She’d stayed away from the funeral service in Barcelona for her own sake, needing time to decide what to do. Contacting Ethan James while he was arranging for his relatives to be transported to Australia for burial would have been insensitive. It was, however, the honourable thing to do now. In the end the only thing she believed would ensure her future peace of mind.
Until she’d looked into those cobalt eyes with their thick black lashes—so like Louise’s, except dulled with sadness and fatigue. Unwarranted, almost forgotten heat sensations had flared low in her belly. Immediately squashed. Never again. She’d barely survived before—sometimes felt she hadn’t.
During the last year she’d slowly, so slowly, begun to open up a little to people. Now she was caught in a different nightmare, with far-reaching consequences. It all depended on the man intently scanning the papers she’d given him.
She approved of his neatly trimmed dark hair, his long fingers with well-shaped clean nails. His no-frills attitude to her letter. Leon had described him as astute, pragmatic, and extremely non-sentimental in business. Personally reserved. The very qualities she needed right now.
She sipped her mint tea, praying her guest would agree to her suggestion. Her skin still prickled from his oh-so-fleeting touch. A hint of earthy cologne teased her nostrils every time she inhaled. Unusual and unfamiliar. Definitely not one of the brands she’d sold working in a department store in Rome last summer.
The tension in the room heightened. She looked up, encountered cold, resolute scrutiny, a grim mouth and firmly set jaw. Did he intend to dispute her claim? In October he’d have all the proof he’d require.
Ethan saw fear chase the sadness from her eyes, swiftly replaced by pseudo-cool detachment.
‘You’re carrying their child.’ He didn’t doubt the validity of the documents. They were legal, watertight contracts—somewhat alien to his carefree relatives. ‘Why?’
‘Three early miscarriages with no medical explanation. No trouble with conception. Surrogacy offered them a way to have a baby of their own.’ She spoke precisely, as if she’d rehearsed every word.
He swore quietly, fervently. Why hadn’t they told him? There’d been no hint of a problem on any of his visits. Or had he been too focused on his growing business empire to notice?
Anger at lost opportunities gnawed at him. Guilt at missing any change in Louise’s demeanour flooded him. The urge to strike out was strong. Pity the only one in the firing line happened to be the messenger.
‘Why the secrecy? Why you?’ He ground the words out violently.
She didn’t flinch, though faint colour tinged her cheeks. Crossing her arms, she lifted her chin. ‘I offered. My choice. My reasons.’
Something in her tone warned him not to pursue the subject. Fine—he’d accept the simplified statement for now. Coming to terms with being uncle to an unborn child conceived by his dead sister and her husband, carried by a stranger, took precedence.
‘When’s the child due? Did they know?’ A myriad of questions buzzed in his brain, making it impossible to prioritise.
‘Late October. I’m nine weeks. We did a pregnancy test together.’ Her lips trembled. Her gaze shifted to the wall behind him. ‘They were so incredibly happy for a few days. Until that goods van smashed into them at that outdoor café.’
Her tortured eyes met his. Anguish ripped through him on hearing those mind-numbing words spoken in her tremulous voice. He knew. He’d received the international call, read the reports. Seen photographs of the mangled wreckage.
Suddenly he craved solitude. And space. He wanted to run from this woman, escape from her predicament. Forget everything and crawl into a cave like a wounded animal to lick his wounds and recover.
Not going to happen.
He ought to stay, talk more. Get more details. How could he? She exacerbated his torment.
Jamming the file into the folder, he stood up. Alina stayed in her seat, her eyes a mixture of sorrow and perplexity, making him feel like a louse. He pulled his mobile from his inside pocket.
‘I need time to take all this in. Give me your number. I’ll phone you tomorrow.’
She told him, including the Spanish code. ‘You can leave a message at Reception so you won’t get charged international rates.’
Ethan let out a short, half-choked laugh. She appeared genuinely concerned at the thought of him paying the fees—something his company did every day. ‘I can stand the cost.’
A soft blush coloured her cheeks. His gut twisted in remorse.
She rose to her feet, proudly defiant, tightly clasping her book. ‘I appreciate what a shock this is. If there’d been an easier way to tell you, I’d—’
‘There wasn’t. Goodbye, Ms Fletcher.’ He spun round and strode out.
The tension drained from Alina’s muscles, to be replaced by frightening awareness. Alien. Alarming. His aura still filled the room, surrounding her, challenging her resolve. Threatening what little stability she had.
She tried to equate this barely held together man with the sharp, on-the-ball tycoon described to her. The one who’d always managed to extricate the two friends from escapades usually instigated by the younger one. The one who’d transformed a failing local travel centre into the multimillion-dollar Starburst hotel and tourism empire.
The man she’d just watched hurriedly exit seemed to be operating on stretched nerves.
Pouring another cup of tea, she reproached herself for bringing more trauma into his life, but knew she’d had no choice. The realisation that she’d been banking on him taking charge, relieving her of all major decisions, hit home. She squeezed her eyes shut, stemming the tears. He hadn’t rebuffed her completely. There was still hope.
She pictured Louise sobbing in the café the day after the specialist had advised her that any more pregnancies might be detrimental to her health. She recalled walking her home, talking with her, learning about her society-obsessed parents’ rigid attitude to social status.
Her sympathy for Leon’s and Louise’s plight, and her strong desire to help had been understandable; the solution that had popped into her mind had been astounding. And terrifying.
After two days of intense soul-searching she’d offered to be a surrogate. Their initial refusal had given way to grateful acceptance in light of their limited options. Over a supper of fruit, cheese and dips, washed down with local wine, they’d conceived the perfect plan. Almost foolproof. They hadn’t counted on brake failure destroying their hopes in the cruellest way possible.
She stroked her stomach. Their baby—not hers. She was simply a cocoon. In October she’d have given birth to their son or daughter and then stepped away, allowing them to experience fully the delights and dramas of parenthood.
Ethan must consent to her plan. This tiny new life inside her deserved the love and happiness its new family would have shared. Ethan, rather than his parents, was her preferred choice. If they all chose not to... Well, then she’d have to confront and conquer her demons.
Gathering up her belongings, she went to her room, hoping the television would prevent her thoughts from straying to tomorrow’s call. And its maker.
* * *
She was window-shopping along George Street when her phone rang late the next morning.
‘Alina?’
Spoken with a slightly different emphasis, as if personal to him. Silly idea. He’d given her the impression he considered her an intrusive dilemma.
‘Sorry I didn’t call earlier. I’ve been juggling my schedule. Are you free tonight?’
‘Yes. I came to Sydney for the sole purpose of meeting you.’
‘And if I’d refused?’ he asked brusquely.
‘I’d have posted you a detailed letter with the file and caught the next available flight to Spain.’
‘And wha—? No, not now. A hire car will be outside your hotel at five-thirty. I’ve booked a table. Goodbye, Ms Fletcher.’
He hung up, leaving her startled by his broken-off question. Understanding his scepticism, she swore to be honest—though she’d keep her past to herself unless it concerned the baby. Last night as she’d fallen asleep she’d sensed an elusive unidentifiable memory skip through her mind. Didn’t want any more.
* * *
Ethan drummed his fingertips on his desk. He’d meant to ask why she wore a ring—if there was a husband or partner in the picture. He’d been distracted by her impassive replies and had accidentally activated an email from Brisbane requiring an urgent reply. Hence his regrettable abrupt ending to the call.
His back ached...his brain spun. An evening on the internet researching surrogacy had raised more questions than it had answered. It hurt that they’d gone through so much heartache alone. Why hadn’t they reached out to him? Surely they’d known they mattered to him more than anything?
He’d supported Louise’s marriage to Leon against his parents’ wishes, happily standing as best man. He had never doubted their love for each other, had admired their courage and steadfast defiance of the demands to wait until they were older. Louise’s declaration that they’d have a park wedding in front of a few friends had provoked his mother into grudging agreement. She had then proceeded to turn it into a flash affair for her own social gratification.
From what he’d seen, growing up, those two had been the exception in a world of duplicity and the façade of wedded unity. His own memories of being brushed aside, of days seeing only nannies or cooks, still rankled.
Knowing he carried the genes of two people with no apparent parental feelings had determined his future. Swearing there’d be no children, even if he married in the future, he’d resolved to be the best uncle to any nieces or nephews. Now that vow would be tested in a way he’d never imagined.
Lying awake, contemplating options, he’d finally decided on the best solution for the child and his family. It all depended on that gold ring. Alina Fletcher might not concur with his decision. She was the one who’d offered the use of her body, the one who’d travelled to Australia to meet him. The one who’d spun his world out of orbit with her revelation. She’d committed herself by contacting him.
He’d been disconcerted by his physical reaction to the stranger with the inconceivable news. An effect he blamed on fatigue, combined with his almost celibate life for months. So he’d run—hadn’t stayed to find out what she wanted, what she expected from him.
He’d finally slept restlessly, risen early, and reshuffled his work diary.
* * *
Alina spotted Ethan immediately: tall, head-turningly handsome, impossible to miss among the people milling outside the luxurious hotel. His sister had been spontaneous and cheerful; her dinner companion tonight exuded an aura of deliberation and sobriety.
Blaming the prickling sensation down her spine on stress, she steeled herself as she unbuckled the seatbelt. Her door opened, giving her a view of a solid torso clad in an elegant designer suit. She was glad she’d impulsively packed her black dinner dress, bought four years ago in rural France. Rarely worn, it was simple in design, chic enough to give her confidence a boost. Loose enough to conceal any hint of her condition.
She swung her leg out and his fingers curled around her elbow, taking her weight as she alighted. Holding on longer than necessary. As it had yesterday, his touch generated tingles, radiating across her skin.
‘Thank you for being so prompt.’
His deep voice sounded less dynamic. The shadows under his eyes were darker. Another too-full day after too little sleep?
Why the let-down feeling at his mundane comment? Quickly followed by a zing of pleasure when he put his arm around her to escort her through the crowd? Heat flared in places that had been winter-cold for years, shocking her into silence.
He released her the moment they entered the elevator for the short journey up to the restaurant, taken in silence. They were greeted by the maître d’, who led them to a window table set apart in a far corner, secluded by greenery. Alina followed, acutely aware of the man behind her and the limited number of diners in the room. She sat, staring in awe at the North Sydney high-rises across the harbour.
‘This is incredible,’ she said, and sighed, turning her head to take in more. Too far. Their eyes met; warmth flooded her cheeks. He must think her so gauche. To her surprise he glanced out, then smiled at her for the first time, transforming his features, making him less forbidding.
‘I guess it is. Over time you get used to the skyline being there.’
‘Not possible,’ she declared vehemently. ‘And it’s going to get better as all the lights come on, isn’t it?’
CHAPTER TWO (#u7bf0a49f-ed9a-5edf-afc9-d4ccbd2f266f)
ETHAN’S FATIGUE LIGHTENED at her enthusiasm for something he took for granted. Her eyes gleamed, darkened to the colour of the flowers of the plant on his PA’s desk.
His jaw firmed as she returned the smile from the young waiter who offered her a menu. The curt nod he gave him on accepting his was unwarranted, and instantly repented.
Her delightfully intense expression as she carefully read each item restored his good humour. She finally looked up and gestured, palm out.
‘How on earth am I supposed to decide? I’m not even sure what some of them are. You choose for me.’
‘The lemon sole is particularly good. Or the chef’s special if you are in the mood for lamb.’ His gaze dropped to her pink, unenhanced lips. Forget food—he wanted to taste her. She’d be sweeter than any dessert coming out of the kitchen tonight.
Her voice cut through his inapt thoughts.
‘I’ll bet they’re all delicious. Nothing too spicy or strong-flavoured.’ Putting her menu on the table, she laid her arms on top, unintentionally drawing his attention as she leant forward. ‘And small portions for me, please.’
The taut fit of the material over her breasts intrigued him. Had being pregnant enlarged them? They’d been hidden under her loose jacket yesterday. Tonight they’d been the first thing he’d visually noticed when she’d stepped from the car—preceded by that perfume so not right for her.
What the hell was wrong with him? The woman opposite him wore a wedding ring and was pregnant. He tamped down his libido, concentrated on selecting their meal.
‘Oh, wine...?’ Alina’s hands fell to her sides as a young woman carrying a bottle placed an ice bucket and stand next to their table.
‘Non-alcoholic,’ Ethan hastily reassured her, before addressing the waitress. ‘Please allow my guest to sample it.’
She savoured the tangy fruit flavour, drank a little more, and smiled. ‘It’s very refreshing. Thank you.’
She gazed around while he ordered their meals. A screen of plants, plus a larger than standard space, separated them from the adjoining tables. Little chance of being seen—none of being overheard. Had he asked for it? Or—oh, this upmarket hotel must be part of his Starburst chain.
The waitress left. Alina raised her glass, let the tangy liquid slide down her throat. Her curiosity overrode tact. ‘Are these plants and extra space always here?’
He shrugged. ‘On request. Some couples find the seclusion romantic. Some men aspire to an elaborate setting with privacy for a proposal.’ He paused, a glint of amusement in his eyes. ‘In case of rejection.’
She understood the need to keep her presence a secret. An icy shiver ran down her spine. What if he rejected her proposal? She had to persuade him it was best for everyone involved.
‘Doesn’t it invite curiosity from people who might recognise you? Who’ll wonder who I am?’
‘Few people dine this early. I believe you’ll feel more comfortable eating here, then we’ll go somewhere quieter to discuss our situation.’
‘You’re right. Thank you.’ Her gaze wandered from the silverware, the fine cut-glass, and the decorative light fittings to the amazing panorama outside the window.
‘Fine dining. Romantic setting with harbour lights. They create a wonderful memory for any couple,’ he commented.
Like a sandy beach with rippling waves at dawn. Her eyes misted. She bit the inside of her lip. Don’t go there. It’s all gone. Gone for ever.
Ethan wasn’t about to let her attention stray. He had too much to learn in too little time. Her history. The reason she’d agreed to be a surrogate. Why she wore that ring. Why a simple piece of jewellery rankled so much.
‘Alina?’
Too sharp.
She started, blinked twice, and refocused. ‘I’m sorry. I was miles away.’
‘I noticed.’ He leant an elbow on the table, rested his chin on his hand, and scrutinised her. He sensed her superficial demeanour was a defensive shield, preventing her from revealing anything personal. It was one he aimed to breach for his, and the child’s, benefit.
‘Relax. Enjoy your meal. You like seafood?’
‘Love it.’
Her words coincided with the appearance of their appetiser: creamy pumpkin soup with croutons. They ate in silence, apart from her praise for the country fresh flavour. He signalled for the empty dishes to be removed, requested their mains be held for five minutes.
Once they were alone, he leant forward. ‘How long had you known Leon and Louise?’
‘Oh. Um...I guess casually for more than three years. If there was a position vacant I worked in a café near their house whenever I was in Barcelona.’
‘A waitress?’ His eyebrow quirked. Whenever she was in Barcelona? She was not a resident?
She bristled at his inference of her pursuing a lowly profession. ‘Be careful, Mr James. You’re demeaning your staff, who are giving us excellent service tonight.’
He acknowledged her rebuke with a nod. She looked gratified and continued. ‘It’s a useful skill for a working traveller. I rarely stay anywhere for long.’
‘Any other useful skills?’ This was getting worse by the minute. Casual worker. Temporary. No profession. Why had they chosen her?
Alina fought the urge to challenge his condescending attitude. He was the baby’s uncle—ideally its future guardian.
Her choices had been determined by her need to have limited social contact. She toyed with the stem of her glass, drew in a steadying breath. ‘Any office work, translating or bar tending. Plus anything seasonal or transient, such as crop harvesting. I have references, if you’re interested. It’s been my life for seven years—my choice.’
‘Not any more. Your foreseeable future will be governed by what’s best for the child you are carrying. And I will have an input in every decision.’
His low, inflexible tone added to the challenge in his piercing eyes. She matched him, picturing his relatives’ joy—so short-lived.
‘The baby is my main priority. I’m taking care of myself, eating healthily, exercising sensibly.’
The bite in her voice shamed her. She’d never been confrontational, had always tried to get along with others, even in short-term work environments.
She gulped, tried for conciliation. ‘Everything I do is to maintain their dream.’
Their dream—not hers. Talking with Ethan James raked up memories best left forgotten.
‘What nationality are you? Where are your legal documents? Birth certificate?’ He topped up their wine glasses as he spoke, then watched her as he drank.
Hands hidden in her lap, her spine rigid, she refused to show any sign of weakness. ‘I’m Australian, born and bred. Is that good enough for you? For your parents? My passport’s in the safe at the hotel.’
She’d done it again. She’d anticipated his questions, prepared herself for suspicion, even rejection. So how did he manage to wind her up so easily?
He waited. His unfathomable dark blue eyes revealed nothing. Inexplicably, she found herself wondering how those firm full lips would feel pressed against hers.
No. No. No! She let out a loud huff of air. Had to be hormonal. Couldn’t be the man. It was vital for him to think the best of her.
She tried again. ‘Anything not needed regularly is with my solicitor in Crow’s Nest.’
‘Good. Easily accessible.’ He nodded, smiled as if her reply pleased him. ‘Here comes our main course.’
He’d chosen grilled lemon sole served with lightly sautéed vegetables and a side salad. It was melt-in-the-mouth scrumptious—the best meal she could remember. Her tension eased as he kept the conversation neutral and light. Because he was satisfied with her answers so far?
Dessert was an unbelievably good strawberry soufflé. She sensed his perusal as she scraped the last morsel from her dish. Didn’t care. It was heavenly.
Putting down her spoon, she smiled at him. ‘Mmm. Mouth-watering food. Great service. Do you eat here often?’
‘I’ll pass your approval on to the chef. Apart from dining here, with or without guests, I find it convenient to ring in an order and have it sent to my office or apartment.’
‘They home-deliver? Like pizza?’ She stared at him in amazement. He regularly ate personally delivered gourmet meals. She occasionally ordered takeaway, saved money by picking it up.
His throaty laugh skittered across her skin. ‘Hey, we cater for twenty-four-hour room service. My meals travel a little further in a taxi, that’s all.’
‘Wow. We so live in different worlds.’
His eyes darkened and bored into hers. She couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. Her lighthearted words had shattered the mood.
Ethan pushed his empty dish aside, annoyed at her emphatic statement. She made it sound like an insurmountable division between them. Although their life in Spain might have been simpler, more casual than his ambition-driven existence, basically his core beliefs were the same as his sister’s and brother-in-law’s.
He’d enjoyed every moment of the regular visits he’d made to Barcelona, including the noisy, fun-filled meals lasting well into the night. There had always been friends around. So why hadn’t he met her? Bad timing?
He drank the last of his wine, dropped his napkin on the table. ‘Are you ready to leave? We’ll have privacy to talk upstairs.’ Where he’d be able to override any dissension to his proposition.
‘Upstairs?’
Apprehension shaded the striking colour of her eyes, and a strong urge to reassure her rocked him.
‘Company suite for family or friends. Leon and Louise stayed here twice; usually they came to my apartment.’
She didn’t answer. He came round to hold her chair while she retrieved her bag from the floor and stood, head held high. Courageous. Beautiful.
Taking her elbow respectfully, he guided her towards a door in the side wall. The ever-alert maître d’ was there before them. Ethan thanked him, adding praise for the attending staff. A moment later they sped upwards in an exclusive elevator.
* * *
They stepped out into a foyer, not the corridor Alina had envisaged. Colourful modern art complemented the light sand-coloured walls between two white doors. He used a key card to open the one on the right, gestured for her to enter.
Her remark rang true as she stared enviously at her surroundings. Different worlds nailed it. She’d cleaned rooms, never luxury suites. And for him this was the norm, his everyday existence.
Floor-to-ceiling windows afforded a spectacular view of the city on two adjoining walls. Perfectly situated to take advantage was a dark wood dining setting, with a centrepiece of bushland flora. A matching coffee table stood in front of a luxurious dark blue three-piece lounge suite, facing a wall-mounted television. Two large bright blue and red abstract paintings hung on light grey walls.
Her companion shrugged out of his jacket, tossed it onto a chair, and gestured towards a hallway. ‘The bathroom is the third door along if you need it.’
He walked across to a fancy coffee machine, reaching for two mugs from the cabinet above. She watched the play of his muscles under his navy shirt, chided herself for the sudden appreciative clench low in her belly.
‘If not take a seat. Tea? I assume your condition is the reason you didn’t drink coffee yesterday?’
He’d noticed. Totally focused on the documents, reeling from shock, he’d still been aware of what she’d drunk. Had he mentally sized her up, judged her, as well?
‘Herbal, if you have any, please.’
‘No problem. Make yourself comfortable.’
So solicitous. So hospitable. Would his attitude change if they couldn’t come to an agreement?
She moved to the settee, kicked off her shoes, and curled into a corner. ‘Could you make it fairly weak? Just in case.’
He glanced round, his brow furrowed. ‘In case of what?’ His face cleared. ‘Ah, having trouble with morning sickness?’
She appreciated the concern in his voice, even if it was more for the welfare of his niece or nephew than for her.
‘I’ve been lucky so far—occasional nausea from strong aromas, nothing too bad.’
This polite, bland conversation had no reason to irritate her—however, it did. There was no one around to hear them. Let’s get on with it.
‘What else have...? Never mind.’
Ethan tamped down his curiosity regarding her history. The current situation had priority. He put the two mugs on the coffee table and sat down beside her, inadvertently too close for detachment. Close enough to smell the fragrance he’d determined to change at the earliest opportunity. Close enough to notice the faded scar almost hidden by her hair. Close enough to inadvertently touch her. He linked his fingers to prevent impulsive movement. To keep it impersonal. Huh, she’s having Louise’s child. Can’t get much more personal.
Clearing his throat, he returned to basic facts. ‘Has the pregnancy been confirmed medically?’ A natural question to open the conversation.
She flicked a non-existent lock of hair from her forehead. A recent change of hairstyle? Cut shorter than she normally wore it?
‘No. We did an early home test on February the seventh. Although it showed positive, I repeated it before booking my flight.’ Her voice was clear, with no hesitation.
He nodded. ‘We have an appointment at eleven-thirty next Monday with Dr Patricia Conlan—reputedly one of Sydney’s leading gynaecologists. I’ve been assured she’ll give the best care to you and our baby. She’s had a cancellation, otherwise we’d have a longer wait.’
Her pupils dilated, making a stunning display of her violet irises. Her hand moved swiftly to cover her abdomen, triggering a surge of possessiveness in him, alien and disquieting. An instinctive action? Had he imagined the flicker of awareness at his deliberate use of a certain adjective?
‘You need your own proof that I’m pregnant. I’ll be ready.’
‘Not proof. Confirmation that everything is okay.’
She sampled her tea, smiled approvingly. ‘It is. Apart from mild nausea, I’m fit and healthy. What else do you want to know?’
All your secrets. She’d been in his thoughts all day, disturbing his concentration at inopportune moments. Every time he’d walked past his PA’s potted plant the flowers had conjured up a picture of stunning, sorrowful violet eyes. He’d never been drawn to any woman so fast, so powerfully. Telling himself it was because she carried Louise’s child didn’t cut it. His body had responded to her on sight, when he’d still suspected a scam.
‘I’ve made frequent trips to Barcelona in the last three years. I don’t remember your name being mentioned. How come we didn’t meet?’ There’d always been noisy gatherings at his sister’s, available women and obvious attempts at matchmaking. ‘I flew over for a week in January. They were excited and secretive, so I’m guessing it happened around then.’
‘I deliberately wasn’t part of their social group. Louise and I were casual friends who’d have a chat over coffee sometimes. Occasionally Leon would join us. I’d never been to their home until the day she confided in me. Again, my choice. The embryo was implanted on the twenty-eighth—after you’d left.’
Her gaze drifted to the window, as if she were picturing something from her past. She raised her drink and swallowed. As he watched the movement of her throat his fingers itched to caress her lightly tanned skin wherever it was exposed. Wherever it wasn’t.
Draining his mug, he set it down with a sharp clink.
Startled by the noise, she swung round to confront him. ‘I told you I travel a lot—mostly Europe. I’m not good at socialising or small talk.’
Merely lack of practice, to be rectified by the new circles he intended to introduce her into—a world involving business dinners and networking. She’d have his support and protection as long as she stayed with him. In return he’d expect her to accompany him to various functions when a partner was invited.
He’d been completely absorbed in her during their meal. Her eyes, her lips, the graceful curve of her neck as she bent her head, even the way she used her cutlery, all fascinated him. The plain gold ring on her left hand—the only jewellery she wore—niggled at his gut.
She still hadn’t mentioned a husband or partner. It had always been ‘I’. His curiosity had to be satisfied prior to revealing his intentions.
He fisted his fingers on his thigh, braced himself for her reaction. Spoke as she leant over to put her mug down. ‘You wear a wedding ring. And my research informs me surrogates are invariably women who have had at least one successful pregnancy.’
She sat immobilised, one arm outstretched, her face in profile.
He couldn’t stop the next words forming. ‘Where’s your child? Your husband?’
Her mug dropped to the table’s edge, broke in two. Fell to the floor. Her skin drained of colour. Wide, tormented eyes met his. The truth hit him like a king punch to the solar plexus a split second before she replied.
‘They died.’
Flat. Expressionless. Heartbreakingly poignant.
No movement. No sound. Then without warning she erupted from the settee, her desperate eyes swinging towards the door. She took one step. Ethan sprang to his feet and caught her elbow, twisting her round. Her stricken face shook him to the core. He let go.
‘I didn’t think. I’m sorry, Alina.’
She gulped in a deep, staggered breath that raked her body and silently walked to the hallway.
CHAPTER THREE (#u7bf0a49f-ed9a-5edf-afc9-d4ccbd2f266f)
THEY DIED. WHY HADN’T he realised? The travelling. The solitary lifestyle. He hadn’t connected the facts. Instead he’d acted like a bastard, without consideration for her feelings. An echo of his father.
Somehow he had to make amends, persuade her to stay. The child’s acceptance of him depended on her conceding to his proposition. In every way. Alina the woman as much as the child-bearer. Oh, Louise, what have you started? Why didn’t you tell me?
He picked up both mugs, dropped hers into a bin, washed his, and waited.
* * *
Alina sat on the toilet seat lid, hugging herself, rocking rhythmically, trying to quell her shuddering breaths. The cloud in her mind began to clear, leaving behind a mixture of fear and shame. She’d blown it—been ambushed by a question she ought to have foreseen. Ethan James was a man who’d check the information he’d been given—investigate until he knew everything. Or believed he did. And instead of calmly answering, she’d panicked.
She cringed, dreading what his opinion of her would be now—a neurotic female with serious hang-ups who claimed to be pregnant with his niece or nephew. It was essential he be convinced of her emotional stability, so he’d trust her to take proper care of herself and the baby until its birth.
Dampening a cloth from the rail with cold water, she pressed it to her face, ashamed of her abrupt reaction. Her reflection in the mirror was pale and strained—not the composed image she’d hoped to project. For Louise and Leon. She recited her mantra, squared her shoulders, and returned to the main sitting area.
Ethan leant on the counter by the coffee machine, watching her with sympathetic eyes. Guilt also flickered in the cobalt blue, stirring her conscience.
She gave an awkward shrug. ‘You surprised me. I anticipated a doctor asking about my history, but I guess I’m not as prepared as I thought. Add my hormones acting crazy, and jet lag—’
‘My fault. I didn’t mean it to come out so brutally.’ He moved forward, gave her plenty of space. ‘My only excuse is I’m still trying to come to grips with it all. Forgive me?’
She empathised—had been there. Heck, she was still there. Shock upon shock robbed you of lucidity. In the last twenty-four hours, she’d delivered a bundle to him. Not having any option didn’t ease her remorse.
She managed a twisted smile. ‘Time heals is a furphy. Developing a façade to get through each day is the only way to survive.’ And hers threatened to crack with every look, every touch from this man. Her mouth dried; her throat constricted. ‘It’s not right. They deserved to have their baby. Life stinks.’
Fierce and heartfelt.
Ethan concurred that life wasn’t always fair, but refrained from admitting it. ‘Life’s what you make it. Are you up for talking a little longer? If not I’ll take you to your hotel and we can continue in the morning.’
‘I’ll stay.’ She ran her tongue over dry lips. ‘Could I have another tea, please?’
‘Thank you for agreeing. Same flavour?’
With a brave attempt at smiling, she curled into the corner of the settee. When he sat he left a bigger gap between them, avoiding accidental contact.
Space didn’t help. Yesterday he’d attributed his reaction to her as the combined effects of disbelief, weariness, and self-enforced celibacy due to his business commitments. Problems with the expansion of his hotel chain into Queensland—on top of his regular heavy workload—had left him little time for a personal life even prior to the accident.
Tonight the desire for physical contact had been—was still—much stronger. He’d resisted with effort, knowing it was essential to allay her doubts and resolve some of the essential matters. Every day counted in the agenda he’d formulated.
She drank thirstily, colour gradually returning to her cheeks. Unsure eyes met his and he thought he’d have given almost anything to appease her by bringing the evening to an end.
‘That was the reason you kept moving? No ties? No commitments?’
Relief washed over him when she merely nodded before placing her mug down carefully.
‘We need to discuss certain issues—the main one being protection for the child. It wasn’t random curiosity, Alina. I have a genuine motivation for everything I ask.’
Her jaw firmed, her shoulders hitched. Bracing for what? The sight of her teeth giving a quick tug to the side of her mouth gave him a moment of regret, determinedly squashed. He needed facts.
‘What did you imagine would happen when you requested a meeting?’
To his surprise she relaxed, as if she’d feared a different query.
‘Springing a newborn niece or nephew on you didn’t seem right, even though I don’t think you can get DNA proof till then. I figured you’d appreciate time to get used to the idea—time to decide if your family wanted to adopt the—’
‘If we wanted to adopt Louise’s child?’ In a second he was towering over her, six feet of instant fury directed solely at the woman recoiling from him.
A range of emotions flickered across her features. Resentment. Anger. Guilt?
She pushed herself upright, causing him to step back. ‘Yes—if. You expect me to believe your parents will welcome this? Even with DNA proof?’ She glared up at him, delightfully incensed, daring him to contradict her.
Stunned at her outburst, he felt his temper abate. His mother’s perception of social standing... His father’s snobbery... Their disapproval of his sister’s marriage... All probably the reason Louise’s miscarriages had been kept secret.
He spun round to the window, running agitated fingers into his hair. How much more angst was a man supposed to endure?
‘Options were limited because of their attitude.’
Her tone was gentle, conciliatory. He turned.
‘Louise knew they’d consider adopting a failure, although it was to be their last resort.’
‘I’m not sure they’d have accepted a surrogate grandchild either,’ he grated.
‘They weren’t going to find out.’
It had slipped out, and Alina couldn’t retract the declaration.
A predatory gleam flared in his eyes. He moved quickly, trapping her against the settee, his breath fanning her face. She stood her ground, holding his gaze, hoping he couldn’t sense her trepidation.
A long moment later he inclined his head. ‘I suggest we sit, so you can explain exactly how the three of you intended to hide it from us.’
She didn’t sit. She flopped, desperately trying to regroup. Extremely perceptive, he had a reputation for dealing strictly on the level. Though he might accept his parents’ rigid viewpoint had been the incentive for all their secrecy and deception, he certainly hoped the trio hadn’t broken any laws. That would definitely test his principles.
He also had a way of undermining her defences, honing in on sensitive secrets. Some were not for sharing.
She watched him settle, folding one leg onto the settee. His features indicated that he was cool, calm, and collected. His right fingers lightly drumming on his thigh proved otherwise.
Crunch time. Next week she’d probably be back in Spain, managing alone until October. She’d learned life’s lessons the hard way, already had a plan worked out. There was the trust account Leon had set up, plus an Australian bank account she’d never accessed.
Wriggling into the corner, she tucked her feet up and challenged him. ‘Then I can go to my hotel?’
‘Yes. Tell me the basics. We’ll discuss the rest later.’ Milder tone. Persuasive.
He laid his arm along the back of the settee. A normal gesture, yet she had a sudden urge to slide into its embrace, lay her head on his shoulder, and let him take care of everything. Crazy notion. Not for her. Ever.
‘They made a generous donation to a clinic that caters to low-income couples. The procedure was done under fictitious names, with Louise and me using the same one. We planned to travel around, avoid people we knew. As a patient, I’d use her name.’
She stopped, reluctant to continue as his posture changed. He’d jolted upright when she’d mentioned fictitious names, slowly shaking his head in disbelief. Now he sat still as stone, an incredulous stare in his dark blue eyes. Icy chills ran down her spine; cold sweat formed on her palms. He didn’t approve—couldn’t comprehend all they’d been through.
‘We didn’t hurt or cheat anyone. In fact the money we donated gave other couples a chance to realise their dream too.’
His lips compressed. ‘What about doctors and scans? The birth? What if something had gone wrong? How many people did you intend to lie to?’
Alina’s grip tightened till the ring she wore dug into her flesh. Damn fate and to heck with life. She’d finally found the courage to confront her dark solitude; to try and help someone else in despair. And now she’d been left with the fall-out on her own. Again. She curbed the tears threatening to fall. He’d probably dismiss them anyway.
‘As few as possible. There was no reason to suppose this pregnancy and birth wouldn’t be normal.’ Apart from the fact that this tiny person growing inside her belonged to someone else. ‘You can’t possibly understand. You weren’t there.’
He froze. She couldn’t even detect any movement from his breathing. His black eyebrows were drawn together, his cobalt eyes dark and fathomless. He was justifiably shaken. Right now she didn’t care. She wanted this night to end.
‘No, I wasn’t. They never gave me the chance to be.’
They were both silent for a moment, then he startled her by reaching out and taking her left hand in his. His thumb stroked over her gold ring.
‘How old are you?’
‘Thirty.’
‘I’ll turn thirty-six in December. You’re not involved with anyone?’
She shook her head warily.
‘No one else is aware of your surrogacy pact?’
A more emphatic shake.
His next words were spoken in a clear, resolute tone. ‘Then as far as everyone’s concerned, Alina, this child is ours.’
Her heart began to thump wildly. He was claiming the baby as his own. Ours. Our baby. She stared at their joined hands and remembered his earlier words. The best solution of all. More than she’d dared hope for. No need for adoption.
‘And it’s credible because you were in Spain at the right time.’ A whisper...barely audible.
Ethan had still been struggling to make sense of it all even as he’d made his declaration. His sister and his best friend had been prepared to lie, even commit fraud, to become parents. He’d have done everything possible to help. They hadn’t asked.
Instead, whatever their original intentions had been, he would now be the father of their child. His tenacious, practical persona, the one that had achieved corporate success, kicked in. He refocused on Alina. He’d give her no choice. She had to accept the optimum scenario he’d envisaged last night.
Her drawn face and drooping eyelids mirrored his own exhaustion. They’d both been bombarded with emotional stress since the accident. Maybe if he carried her into the bedroom they’d sleep peacefully, continue their conversation in the morning. Maybe if he cradled her in his arms they’d find comfort.
Bad idea. He swung his leg off the settee, stretched as he stood. Glanced at his watch.
‘It’s been gruelling for both of us.’ Like a manic rollercoaster. ‘And tomorrow won’t be any easier. This suite has three bedrooms. You can sleep here or I’ll escort you to your hotel.’
‘I’d prefer my hotel.’ She hesitated, bit her lip before resuming doggedly. ‘We weren’t being reckless. We’d have gone straight to the nearest medical facility at the slightest hint of any problem.’
Her eyes begged for understanding, and she held out her hands, palms up, in supplication. ‘I’m not lying. We’d never have risked the baby’s health. Never.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ He didn’t. They’d concocted a crazy scheme, with holes you could drive a truck through, and yet he found himself believing that with luck on their side they might have succeeded.
He phoned for the hire car. She put her shoes on and went to the bathroom.
A little later Alina stood quietly in the doorway, watching him replace the mugs. For seven years she’d befriended few men, always kept things casual. From the moment they’d met, Ethan James had stirred feelings she tried not to acknowledge. She prayed it was a fleeting thing, caused by her condition. Gone after the birth. Entrusting her shattered heart to anyone would be too great a risk.
So how come that stupid organ was beating faster at the sight of his muscles tensing as he stretched up to the shelf? Why was she gawking at his broad shoulders? Why was she remembering the feel of his hand on her spine?
He turned, as if sensing her presence, smiled reassuringly. She smiled tentatively back. He walked to the door, picking up a laptop bag from the dining table and his jacket on the way.
‘Driver’s waiting. We’ll discuss tomorrow in the car.’
They exited the elevator into an underground car park, where a flashy silver limousine waited. Ethan gave their destination to the chauffeur before joining her on the plush seat. She loved the texture of the soft leather, breathed in its potent aroma, enhanced by her escort’s earthy cologne. The brush of his thigh on hers as he twisted to buckle himself in caused her to shift towards the door.
Talk. Any subject. Anything to distract her thoughts from the vitality of the man by her side.
‘What happens after I’ve seen your doctor? Do I leave?’ she asked, striving for a casual tone.
The glance he gave her was enigmatic. ‘No.’ Removing the computer from the bag at his feet, he placed it on his lap and activated it.
Was he crazy? Her staying would bring embarrassment to his family, cause conflict with his parents. Better she go, returning later in the year. No matter what agreement they made, this baby would be born in Australia.
‘You stay with me. You signed a legal contract to carry and give birth to this child. The purpose of your scheme was to prevent that child from suffering any repercussions from its origin or circumstances. Nothing’s changed.’
Corporate-speak. Direct. Uncompromising.
He turned the laptop, enabling her to see the document displayed. An insane impulse to laugh shook her. It was an application for a marriage licence, with the groom’s details already entered on the left, her name and his address on the right.
She bit back a negative retort. Ethan James didn’t play games. He dealt with every situation shrewdly, sweeping aside opposition with logic and unwavering perseverance. And that was what she was to him—a situation, to be processed with tact and practicality.
He set the laptop aside, turned towards her. She flinched as his hand splayed across her abdomen, sending a warm glow sliding from cell to cell. She couldn’t tear her eyes from his touch.
His voice was honey-smooth, adamant.
‘Alina, the baby you carry is my family. I can’t—I won’t—permit this child to be born illegitimate.’
She sympathised, but he had no idea what he was demanding from her. The warmth faded, replaced by a cold chill. Another hand, so like his, had lain there, eagerly anticipating the movement of an unborn baby. Caring. Sharing. Taken from her with no warning.
Somewhere out in the real world a driver beeped his horn. She sensed Ethan studying her, could imagine his brain churning with arguments to reinforce his demand. For him her full compliance was essential. He’d accept nothing less.
His words might come from an innate sense of duty, but the passion in his voice proclaimed a deep brotherly love. She’d been a willing party to the covert plan to protect the baby’s name. It was as essential now as it had been then. She consigned her memories to the deep pit where they belonged.
‘This explains your interest in my papers. How long is it supposed to last?’ It came out wrong. She hadn’t meant to sound so cold, so detached. She certainly wasn’t prepared for the pained look in his eyes.
‘We’ve got seven months to sort out the future. No one will be surprised if our sudden marriage doesn’t survive long-term.’ His hand left her stomach and cupped her chin. ‘I won’t force you to stay, and I swear you won’t lose from this arrangement.’
He was right—because she’d already lost everything worthwhile. She’d bought a new gold ring because she hadn’t been able to bear the sight or the feel of the original. Wearing it discouraged male attention. He offered a marriage of convenience. No intimacy. No permanency. An expedient arrangement, lasting long enough to convince everyone he was the father.
She couldn’t tell him—couldn’t tell anyone about the darkness. Remembering the past tore her apart. Speaking of it out loud was unthinkable. His way made sense. If they married, his paternity would be undisputed. He’d give this baby the love she was incapable of feeling.
‘You give me your word that I can leave when I decide?’
Being nomadic, with no involvements, was the only way to prevent her life from being devastated again. Last year she’d occasionally been drawn into small-town activities. And she’d connected with Louise and offered her help, completely breaking her basic rules. Look where that had landed her.
‘Yes.’ It was blunt. His body was rigid, his features unreadable.
‘All right. I’ll marry you. When will it be?’ So impersonal, so soulless. Why did that worry her?
‘Tomorrow morning we’ll collect the documents we need from your solicitor for a one o’clock meeting with the celebrant. She’ll check the application, lodge it immediately, and the wedding will be a month later.’
He packed the computer into its bag.
As soon as legally permitted. Eleven years ago it had seemed to her like an eternity to wait.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_3041015d-2d1e-53e3-aa25-09f513bee1a4)
ETHAN CONTINUED TALKING as he unbuckled his seatbelt. ‘I’ll be here at eight-thirty in the morning.’
With a start she realised they’d reached her hotel.
‘I’ll be in the lobby.’
How did you say goodnight to the stranger you’d promised to marry? The day after you’d met? A man you’d never even kissed.
That last thought rattled her, and she tripped alighting from the vehicle. Ethan steadied her with an arm around her waist. She trembled from his touch—or her own agitation. She wasn’t sure which.
‘I’ll see you to your room.’
He guided her through the foyer towards the elevators.
‘It’s quicker to walk up one flight,’ she said, grateful no one else was there. His aroma mingled with hers, filling the space, heightening her already taut nerves.
He followed her into her room, his sharp, narrow-eyed appraisal of the decor rankling. To her dismay she sensed him making mental note of the mundane fixtures and colours. Her accommodation, definitely lower standard than his hotel, faced the rear of an office block. It was simply somewhere to shower and sleep for a few days.
‘It’s clean and comfortable,’ she retorted. ‘It suits my budget. So, if you’ve finished being critical, I’d like to get some sleep.’
‘I’m not judging, Alina. By contacting me you have placed yourself and our child under my protection. That’s the reason you can’t stay here.’
He reached out to her. She stepped back, holding up her hand. She didn’t have the inclination to pack even the few belongings she’d brought for a short stay. In addition, she needed some physical space between them to reinforce mental distance.
‘Not tonight. I’ll check out in the morning.’
His expression disheartened her.
‘Please, Ethan,’ she begged. ‘Give me one night.’
He relented, let out a rough grunt. ‘I’ve been pretty hard on you, haven’t I? No more than on myself, I swear.’
He touched her cheek gently. ‘I’ll see you in the morning. May I have your mobile for a moment?’
He took it and programmed his number in.
‘In case you need to contact me. Sometime tomorrow we’ll transfer your phone to an Australian plan.’ He brushed his lips on her forehead. ‘Sleep well, Alina.’
She locked the door behind him. Leant her brow against it, her mind a fuddled whirlpool of everything they’d said and done, everything they hadn’t, the way he’d looked, smelt and created minute fissures in her defences.
She filled out the breakfast menu, hooked it on the outside door handle, then sank wearily onto the bed, just for a few minutes. Tomorrow she’d need to be focused. Solicitor. Celebrant. Hazily she wondered what else he had planned.
He’d already booked the celebrant, arrogantly confident that she’d accept his proposal. Not that he’d actually asked her. She ought to...
Deep, dreamless sleep claimed her, held her despite the traffic noise. Held her through the alarm’s whirl.
* * *
Ethan rested his head against the seat, staring unseeing at the city buildings on the drive home. He’d wanted to kiss Alina Fletcher. Not the soft-touch goodnight kiss he’d given her prior to leaving, but full mouth-to-mouth contact. Another unexpected jolt to his system, and the reason he’d let her stay at her hotel.
His primal instinct to relocate her and shield her from any adverse action was logical. His nephew or niece—no, his son or daughter—deserved every resource at his command to ensure a safe and healthy start in life. The sexual attraction was another blindsider.
The women he dated would never settle for ‘clean and comfortable’ accommodation in any circumstances. The woman he’d coerced into marrying him was an enigma, hiding more than she revealed.
As he lay on his bed, reliving their conversation, the tight rein he kept on his emotions finally cracked. Images flickered through his brain like a movie screening: the secret signals between him and Louise at strict formal meals with his parents, late-night covert snacks watching clandestine television in his room. Her radiant face when she and Leon had confided they were in love. Boyhood games with his best mate, double-dating in their teens. Standing proudly beside him as best man at their wedding.
The dam broke. The tears flowed for his spontaneous, vibrant sister. For his brother-in-law, friend and confidant. For the beloved couple who would never hold and cherish their child.
He rolled over, buried his face into the pillow. Guttural, heart-wrenching sobs racked his body and soul.
* * *
Alina was already in the lobby when Ethan arrived fifteen minutes early the next morning. Her treacherous senses responded to his lithe movement as he strode across the pavement. She felt skittish, illogically animated, despite the stern talking-to she’d given herself as she’d showered and prepared to leave.
The delivery of her breakfast at seven-thirty had finally awoken her, still fully dressed on top of the bed. Years of routine had enabled her to shower, pack and be settling her account within an hour. Years of self-enforced solitude had her wishing she could hail a cab and run.
Stylishly dressed in tailored grey trousers and a short-sleeved dark green shirt, Ethan was halfway to the reception desk when he veered towards her. Her pulse skipped at the sight of his tanned muscular arms. Her cheeks flamed at the memory of his touch, his oh-so-light kiss on her brow. Had to be hormone madness. She refused to contemplate any alternative explanation.
‘Good morning, Alina. You look refreshed. Sleep well?’
She recoiled from the full impact of the ‘seduction smile’ Louise had mentioned. Quickly recovered.
‘Yes, thank you. I’m ready to go.’ As she bent to collect her suitcase their fingers collided, adrenaline spiked. She jerked hers away at the same moment his body stiffened.
‘Gentleman’s prerogative,’ he murmured, picking up both pieces of luggage.
She walked silently beside him to the street, where a chauffeur waited by the open boot of a limousine—same car, different driver.
‘I’ll programme the car hire number into your phone. Use it whenever you go out alone.’ He glanced at her as he stowed her luggage. Quickly added, ‘I appreciate you’re used to being independent, but since Monday you and our child are my family. I take care of what’s mine.’
For a moment she resented his over-protective attitude, before realising the baby took precedence. As it should. She’d agreed to live the Ethan James lifestyle so she’d have to adapt and conform.
‘I’ll try.’
‘Thank you. We’ll need your solicitor’s address.’ As they drove off towards the harbour tunnel he offered her his mobile. ‘Call his office and arrange to have your papers ready for pick-up.’
‘Already done. He’ll see us when we arrive.’ His surprised expression forced her to explain. More than she’d wanted to. ‘I have his mobile number. He dealt with everything after...I was pathetically incapable of doing anything—couldn’t make decisions, couldn’t think. I...’
‘Was reacting normally to grief.’ His hand covered hers. ‘I understand, Alina.’
‘Um... He’s a good man. His office is my Australian address.’ I shouldn’t find your touch so comforting.
‘It might be expedient to change it to mine. You’ll be living with me at least until next year.’
Living with him yet not together. Next year?
Too many decisions in too short a time.
‘Can I decide later?’ She met his gaze, found mild curiosity not censure.
‘Of course. Speak up if you feel I’m rushing you.’
Like the leader of a stampede. Not an opinion he’d take kindly to.
She stared out of the window as the traffic crawled along, reliving the incident in the lobby. Ethan had been looking down when their fingers touched. Had he noticed she’d removed her ring?
From the stories she’d heard, and the photos she’d seen, she’d formed a vague, admirable image of Louise’s successful brother—had had no interest in knowing anything more. The man at her side was flesh and blood, solid and real. She was learning to gauge the inflections in his voice, to interpret the messages in his expressive blue eyes. Her body involuntarily responded to him. The image had been far safer for her mental stability.
Ethan held back when the solicitor greeted Alina with a hug and soft words, allowing them privacy. The handshake he received was firm, the assessing gaze slightly disconcerting. Was he being compared to her husband? This man knew the full story of her bereavement, had been there for her when... What about the Fletcher family? Where had they been? Where were they now?
He noticed movement at her side as they were led to a small office, arched his neck to confirm the nervous finger ritual. His heart lurched when her features crumpled at the sight of the archive box on the otherwise empty desk. Once they were alone she drew a long breath, before walking forward and lifting the lid with unsteady fingers.
On their return journey Ethan booted up his laptop. His gaze flicked from the screen to the box containing her life history, on the seat between them. Moved to her left hand. To her bare ring finger.
He was acutely aware of the toll the visit had taken on her. Her fumbling through the box’s contents and forced shallow breathing had torn him apart. He still hadn’t finished sorting the personal papers he’d brought from Spain.
Gently taking hold of her wrist, and letting what she held fall back inside, he had closed the lid. ‘Not here. Not now.’
He’d lifted the box from the desk, then linked his fingers with hers. After speaking to her solicitor for a few minutes they’d left.
She hadn’t spoken since she’d introduced him in the office, apart from a mumbled goodbye. Now, as their eyes met, she blinked, swiftly looked away. Primal instinct urged him to dump his laptop on the seat, wrap his arms around her and kiss her till the haunted expression in her eyes changed to—to what? Desire? Passion?
Get real, James. Where the hell is your head?
‘I’m not being very helpful, am I? But I haven’t needed to access them since probate was granted.’
He heard the slight accent in her trembling voice. Caused by deep emotion?
Putting his computer aside, he clasped her slender hands in his. ‘Working hands. Not salon-pampered. Well-cared-for working hands,’ he murmured. ‘Seven years is a long time to be running and hurting. Finding yourself alone and pregnant so soon after you’d finally begun to connect again must have been traumatic, and yet you found the courage to confront me.’
She let out a tiny huff of a laugh. ‘I considered you to be the approachable one in the family. I’d never have been brave enough to tackle your parents alone.’
‘That will not happen,’ he stated forcefully. ‘I won’t allow them to interfere, so we’ll meet them together after the wedding. I have friends who’ll be witnesses. Is there someone you’d like as yours? Family? Friend?’
She had an alluring, pensive air as she pondered his question. Was there anyone? There had to be relatives somewhere.
‘I have no family. My mother left me with her parents when I was four. Never said who my father was. I haven’t heard from her since. Grandma’s cancer was quick and aggressive, the year after I finished school, and Grandpa had a heart attack three months later.’
Soulful violet eyes held his for a long, long moment; resolve flickered there, then glowed.
‘There are a few people I’ve kept in touch with. I’ll have to think.’
Her tension had eased and her voice was steadier. She appeared to have accepted the reality of their situation. His admiration for her grew, along with another indefinable impression.
‘Our next appointment is at one,’ he said hastily, not wanting to dwell on the effect she had on him. ‘So we have plenty of time.’ He released her, reached for his laptop. ‘And I think you are brave enough for anything, Alina Fletcher.’
‘Thank you.’
He was wrong, but Alina accepted his compliment rather than set him straight. He considered her courageous. Would he believe the same if he knew her decisions were driven by the conviction that she’d be unable to feel any maternal bonding ever again?
‘I mean it. Coping with all this must be painful.’
He opened the box.
Excruciating. Like having old wounds ripped open with no anaesthetic. ‘It had to happen sometime.’ And it must be now.
She moved the box closer to her side. ‘I’ll find what we need.’
Her birth certificate and papers relevant to her mother were on the top, where they’d fallen. Nothing heartrending there. She passed them to him, willed her hands not to shake as she dragged a buff envelope from the bottom. She held her breath, forced herself to focus.
Concentrate on the two you need. Ignore the rest.
Icy fingers fisted round her heart. She clenched her teeth as she carefully removed two certificates. Tucking them under her hip, she waited until he’d finished entering information, then filed away the papers he’d used.
‘I’ll do the rest.’ She heard the tremor in her tone, stubbornly persisted, needing to retain some privacy. Needing to keep the walls up and solid. ‘It’s my past.’
He studied her with an intensity that made her insides quiver. ‘If you’re sure?’
She wasn’t. She had no choice. ‘Thank you.’
He settled the computer on her lap, ensuring it was stable. ‘I understand.’ He paused. ‘You haven’t eaten a lot this morning, have you? Fancy an early lunch?’
How could he tell? ‘I had toast and fruit—enough after that lovely meal last night.’ Truth was she’d had to force the food down, and she still wasn’t hungry.
His eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly. His interest wasn’t for her alone. She let him win.
‘Chicken salad with crusty bread sounds tempting. Will the dining room be open?’
‘We’ll have Room Service.’ He pulled out his mobile.
She tuned him out as she typed names, locations, dates. She recited, They are words, figures, nothing more in her head. Her newly unadorned finger mocked the information she entered.
‘Done,’ he told her. ‘We’ll eat, then deal with the celebrant. Changing your phone supplier has to be done in person, so we’ll combine that with a visit to the jeweller.’
She met the steely resolve in his eyes. He was locking her into her promise. There’d be no reneging allowed.
His mouth curved into a persuasive smile. ‘It won’t be so bad, Alina. You’ll have time to adjust to life with me until the wedding. Any functions I ask you to attend during our marriage will be quiet occasions, with people I trust.’
‘I made a list this morning.’ That was better. Keep the conversation on standard stuff.
This time his eyebrows actually arched. ‘What sort of list?’
‘Things to do. Everyone who’ll have to be notified that I’m relocating. Most of my official stuff goes to Crow’s Nest.’ She couldn’t stop the catch coming into her voice. ‘Louise used to check the mailbox in Barcelona for me sometimes.’
‘We’ll need to arrange for it to be redirected. Do you have a base there?’
‘No, I rented rooms on a casual basis. When I was away the owner stored my stuff for a small fee.’
‘We’ll fly over later, so you can decide what to bring back.’
She gave a short, hollow laugh. He made it sound like a day trip to another state. ‘Hardly worth a trip. There’s just an old suitcase and two plastic boxes.’
His turn to be confounded. ‘That’s all you have?’
Shoot, she’d spoken impulsively to a very astute man. She pictured the cold steel unit she’d visited once, fought the hard clench in her abdomen. Couldn’t lie. Couldn’t look into those perceptive eyes either.
‘Everything else I own is in storage. I don’t go there.’ Mentally or physically.
‘Too painful.’ He made it a statement.
Guilt tempered with empathy overrode her self-pity. His grief was new, raw, and he had to cope with the aftermath of the accident. He was processing the estate personally. She’d let her solicitor take charge.
‘I’m sorry, Ethan. I haven’t been very sympathetic to your loss. I’ve been too wrapped up in myself.’ She covered his hand with hers. ‘You’ve had so much to deal with and still managed to be patient with me.’
‘That’s easy.’ His voice hummed with tenderness. He flipped his hand to enfold hers. ‘You’re carrying our child.’ His sudden grin took her by surprise. ‘Do you have a things-to-buy list?’
She responded with a light laugh. ‘I’ve jotted down a few things. Why?’
‘Just wondering. All done?’
She frowned, realised he was referring to the marriage application, and felt the lightness of the mood change.
‘Not quite.’ She returned to the keyboard and added the final data. When she looked up his head was averted, as it had been when he’d made the call.
‘I’ve finished, Ethan. Thank you for giving me privacy.’
‘No problem, Alina.’
The car pulled in to the kerb as he stowed the computer in its bag.
* * *
Their lunch was delivered to a family suite. Afterwards Alina watched TV while Ethan went to another room to take a phone call. She viewed without seeing or hearing. Was he ever off duty? Her guilt resurfaced. The time and effort he was devoting to her meant less for his expanding empire.
The telephone’s ring made her jump. Should she answer it? Thankfully Ethan came through and told Reception to send their visitor up.
Too late to change her mind.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, tamped down her qualms. Steeled herself to act like a newly engaged woman. For his sister and brother-in-law. For their baby.
The celebrant was friendly, bright and efficient. She guided them through the procedure, gracefully declined a drink and promised to lodge the paperwork immediately. The wedding was set for Sunday, April the twentieth at five p.m.
Within fifteen minutes of her departure they were on their way to his apartment.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_f6805d30-62a1-5c83-8432-2b1ace43776a)
OPULENT WAS THE word that came to mind as Alina stood in her own lavish en suite. This is my home until the end of the year.
She ran her fingertips across the marble surfaces—pure, cool luxury—but felt wary of touching the shiny chrome taps in case she left marks.
Bright stunned eyes stared at her from the pristine mirror. Walls the palest of pale mint-green complemented darker green mottled floor tiles, the crystal-clear shower. Matching it all were the softest, fluffiest towels she’d ever snuggled her face into.
She washed her hands, massaged moisturiser into her skin, breathing in its mild perfume.
She loved the beautifully appointed bedroom too. Also with a green theme, nothing bright or glaring, and as tranquil as a country spring morning—including a painting of a clear stream flowing between banks of willow trees. It was her own calming space, where she might be able to achieve meditation.
Sitting cross-legged on the luxurious cream carpet, she rested her elbows on her knees. Shut her eyes. Black terror. They flew open. She concentrated on the rural scene. Breathe in. Breathe out. Count slowly. Count the flowers in the grass. Count the trees or rocks. Block out everything else. Her inner fears receded—a little.
She stretched, unravelling her legs to lie flat, gazing up at the downlights strategically recessed in the ceiling. By tucking her chin in tight she could see her toes. For how much longer? She rolled over to do twenty push-ups. Did the building have a gym? If she didn’t work she’d need to start exercising more.

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