Читать книгу Bound By The Unborn Baby - Bella Bucannon - Страница 8
ОглавлениеETHAN’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.
