Bound by the Unborn Baby (2 page)

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

E
THAN
’
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?’