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.
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