Читать книгу The Magnate's Baby Promise / Having The Billionaire's Baby - Сандра Хьятт, Paula Roe - Страница 13

Ava blinked awake in the darkness, the unfamiliarity panicking her for one second before realization crashed in. She was in Sydney, in Cal’s apartment. Today she’d be his official wife-to-be.

With a groan, she reached for her phone to check the time. Five-thirty. If she were home, she’d already be heading outside to watch the sunrise, coffee in hand.

She flung off the sheets and shoved her feet into her sheepskin slippers. Just because she was suddenly living someone else’s life didn’t mean she should drop her early morning ritual. Yet when she opened the bedroom door into the darkened living room, surprise gave her pause.

Where was the nausea? The morning sickness? She ran through a mental checklist. Aching breasts—to be expected. A mild twinge in her lower back—probably the strange bed. But her stomach? Nothing.

Thank you, pregnancy gods. With a small sigh, she padded across the room into the kitchen, the watery aquarium’s blue glow sending shards of light across the apartment. After inspecting the cupboards, full of gleaming cookware and barely used crockery, she finally found the cups. She chose an elegant bone china teacup and saucer, decorated with tiny blue flowers and totally out of place in Cal’s bold apartment. With smooth efficiency, she turned on the water jug and finished her inspection of the kitchen while the water boiled.

The state of the art coffee machine clicked on with a soft beep and her brows wrinkled. Coffee was out unless Cal used decaf…which she seriously doubted. She scowled at the shiny appliance as if it was the manufacturer’s fault her daily cup was suddenly off-limits.

“It’s on a timer, not telepathy.”

She whirled, picking out Cal’s large shape in the muted glow.

“You’re up early,” she blurted out.

“So are you.”

When he stepped into the kitchen Ava swallowed. The sudden desire to smooth down his sleep-rumpled hair, stuck in spikes over his head, forced her fingers into a tight fist behind her back. She wanted to run her hands over that broad, cotton-clad chest, to see if the well-worn T-shirt felt as soft as it looked. Instead she turned back to the counter and busied herself with jiggling her caffeine-free tea bag furiously in the cup.

“We country folk get up at the crack of dawn,” she said.

“So do we corporate types.”

She glanced up with a smile and to her surprise, Cal returned it. Surprise turned to relief as the tension lightened.

She sniffed the air. “Is that butterscotch?”

“Guilty,” he reached past her, way too close, to snag a cup from the cupboard above. The aroma of warm man mingled with coffee had her inhaling sharply. “Java Butterscotch, to be exact. I also have Hawaiian Mocha, Blueberry Morning and Cinnamon Hazelnut. I like the variety,” he added defensively at her amusement.

“I bet you keep that Gloria Jean’s on the corner in business.”

When he chuckled, something hot and intimate sent her body into its own little hum. Yet Ava didn’t have time to savour the warmth, the delicious anticipation, because following on its heels came a familiar well of nausea.

No! With a quick swallow of her now-tasteless tea, she nodded to the patio. “I’m going to sit out on the balcony.”

Cal watched her pad across his lounge room. Dressed in a neatly knotted, fluffy red robe and a pair of absurd slippers, her hair in curly disarray down her back, she couldn’t have turned him on more if she’d greeted him in black satin lingerie.

Remembrance assailed his senses, the hint of floral scent innocent yet paradoxically seductive. He knew exactly how that hair felt between his fingers, across his skin, and couldn’t stop a small curse escaping as the tangle of memories sparked in his brain.

With his coffee poured, he made his way to the balcony. Yet when he saw her profile, cup raised to her lips, something gave him pause.

He must have made a sound, caught the corner of her vision. She whipped her head around, her shadowed eyes landing squarely on him at the exact moment the sun speared across the balcony. Glints of gold crowned her, a radiant halo for her soft lush features. But it was the expression in her eyes that sent shards of desire straight into his manhood.

Her study of him was intensely personal. Arousing. He felt the burn of her gaze as if she’d run a slow hand over his body, leaving tiny flames in her wake. Her eyes roamed leisurely, first across his shoulders, then his chest. He remained frozen in her commanding grip, taking perverse enjoyment in her unabashed exploration, a hint of a smile kinking the corner of her mouth. Then her eyes dipped lower, much lower, and he instantly hardened.

In a blink her eyes flew to his, full of stricken mortification, before she whipped her head back to the view.

And damn, if he didn’t take that as a challenge.

He slid the door open and the gentle warmth of the patio heater rushed him.

Her nose twitched and she suddenly turned, eyeing his cup like it was a redback spider. “Can you…not…?”

“Drink coffee?” He took a sip, smiling.

She swallowed thickly. “The smell…I was fine a moment ago but now…”

“Morning sickness?” His smile fell as she nodded, her eyes panicky as she took another convulsive swallow. Her vulnerability chased away the gentle teasing on his tongue. Swiftly he placed the cup on the floor behind him, then closed the patio doors on it.

She took a ragged sigh. “Thanks. I’m a coffee drinker but apparently this baby hates it.”

Cal automatically glanced to her waist, then back to her face. The soft morning light still bathed her, lingering on the tinge of shimmer in her curls. Seeing her this way, devoid of makeup and fancy clothes, a blush still evident on her cheeks, she truly was beautiful. Not like the over-sexual, half-dressed bodies the media portrayed as “perfect,” or the expensive, skinny socialites who frequented the few glittery events he’d reluctantly attended. No, Ava’s beauty was subtle and seductive, a hint of innocence in those blue eyes, combined with a lush mouth that tilted like a siren’s call at the edges.

He remembered her smile, the way her throaty laugh had taken hold of his libido and squeezed.

“What?” she asked curiously, breaking his dangerous train of thought.

With ever-decreasing efficiency he reined himself in. “I’ll be home at seven with the papers for you to sign.”

Had he just imagined her flinch? It had come out harsher than he’d intended but when she merely nodded in acknowledgement, he mentally shrugged it off.

“Have a good time today, Ava,” he added softly before reopening the patio door, scooping up his cup and leaving her there.

Wrestling his body into submission took longer than expected, but subdue it he did. When he finally left the apartment a half hour later, he’d dressed with a lot less care than he usually reserved for his morning ritual, aided by the tingling recollection of Ava’s perusal. The now-familiar irritation of being unable to switch off his thoughts put him in a bad mood for the rest of the day, flaring up whenever he was alone with only memories for company.

Finally, at 7:00 p.m., after a long, frustrating day of meetings, product reports and several cryptic messages from Victor which he’d ignored, Cal stalked into his apartment with precious little patience left.

A wall of delicious aromas slammed into him, stopping him dead. Garlic. He sniffed experimentally as his mouth began to water. Tomatoes, frying meat. He tossed his briefcase on the couch and walked into the kitchen.

The sight of Ava, barefoot in jeans, sweater and an apron, humming a melody as she stirred something in a simmering pot on his cooktop, speared him on a primitive level.

My woman. Mine.

It churned up emotion so surprising, so intense that it slammed the breath from his lungs. The cliché—barefoot and pregnant, in his kitchen no less—no longer seemed amusing. Because when she threw him a smile and said, “Dinner’s ready in five minutes,” he wanted nothing more than to drag her into his bed.

“You didn’t have to cook.” His words came out sharp, borne from frustration and his apparent lack of control.

“I like to cook,” she said calmly, her attention resolutely on the pot. “If you don’t want it, you don’t have to eat it.”

Swallowing his retort, he sighted the groceries on the kitchen bench. “Did you order that in?”

She gave him an odd look. “No, I went to the supermarket.”

“Did you carry all this?”

She rolled her eyes at the dark suspicion in his voice. “No. Your mother pushed the cart then your doorman delivered it upstairs.”

“I thought you went clothes shopping.”

“We did.” When she offered him a platter of carrot sticks, he took one, crunching it thoughtfully. “You also needed food in your fridge.”

“I have food.”

“Wine, water, juice, coffee, cereal.” She ticked the items off on her fingers. “No fruit, meat, dairy or vegetables.”

She turned back to the pot and gave the sauce another stir, but when he remained silent she threw a look over her shoulder. “What?”

He shoved down a myriad of conflicting thoughts, smoothing his expression. “How’s the nausea?”

She handed him a knife with a smile. “Gone until the morning, I suspect. Make yourself useful and cut the feta?”

At his round dining table they ate in silence, an odd half tense, half expectant silence. Cal was fully aware of every move, every sound as they devoured the spaghetti and Greek salad she’d made. The tiny scrape of fork on plate, the gentle swallow of water being sipped only amplified the quiet. When he spoke, it was like a shot.

“What did you buy today?”

She downed her fork with deliberate care. “Yes.”

Cal eyed her well-worn attire but said nothing.

“A few dresses,” she said stiffly. “Some jeans, shoes, skirts. A few tops and a jacket. Don’t worry,” she added in a small voice. “I won’t embarrass you.”

Damn. He’d hurt her but didn’t know how to fix it, so he did the only thing he could. He let silence do the mending.

“We’ve had some interview requests,” he finally said, placing the cutlery across his plate.

She sat back in her chair, digesting that information. “Do you expect me to give interviews?”

He shrugged. “Only if you want. There’s also a bunch of glossies angling for a spread—Vogue, Elle, Cosmo, for starters.”

“Fashion shoots.” She shook her head. “That’s just…surreal.”

“You’re now a news item. You’re in demand.”

“But only as your fiancée,” she countered.

“I thought,” Cal said slowly, “women liked getting pampered, dressed up and photographed.”

“I don’t do ‘pampered and dressed up.’” She stood abruptly. “I’m practical, a simple country girl who wears jeans and steel-capped boots. I clean the kitchen, I cook, I wash up. I work with dirt and dig a veggie patch.” In quick jerky movements, she began to clear the table. “I’m not glamorous, I’m not model material…I…I have crow’s feet and dry heels!”

Her delivery was so frustratingly honest that Cal swallowed his snort of amusement. He couldn’t tell if she was simply explaining herself or warning him off.

“So doing girly things scares you.”

She shot him a look that lacked venom. “I didn’t say that.”

“Why not give it a go? You might like it.”

“Do you think I might also like some interviewer digging around in my personal life for a couple of hours?”

“That,” he returned, following her into the kitchen with his plate, “is where my press office comes in. I can prep you.” Decision made, Cal rinsed his plate.

Needing movement, Ava wiped the sparkling benches while he stacked the dishwasher. But when everything had been cleared, tidied and returned to its drawer or shelf, there was nothing left to occupy her hands.

“Go sit outside,” Cal said as he reached for the cupboard. “I’ll bring you some tea.”

Once alone on the balcony, the rigid composure she’d been battling drained. The warmth of the patio heater brushed her skin, a delicious contrast to the sharp bite of cold wind. She grabbed up the throw rug and wrapped it around her shoulders, tucking her feet beneath her bottom as she sat.

Like Alice down the rabbit hole, everything had changed. Gone was peace and quiet, replaced by the shiny boldness of newly acquired fame and fortune. Over lunch at a North Shore café, Isabelle had bluntly described what to expect leading up to the wedding.

“You’ll be on everyone’s invitation list,” the older woman said in between bites of her smoked salmon sandwich. “Parties, social appearances. Requests for fashion shoots and interviews. That’s the upside. The downside is less delightful but just as important.”

“Rumor and innuendo?”

At Isabelle’s serious nod, Ava’s smile had dropped. “Yes. Imagine your worst doubts, your deepest fears plastered on the front page of every newspaper in the country. If there’s anything you’ve ever done but don’t want the press to know, they’ll find it.” She leaned back, fixing Ava with a steady look. “It’s how you handle it that matters.”

Ava shuddered. It was one thing to think the worst of herself, to harbor that black cloud of failure, but to have her insecurities publicly aired for everyone to see?

That was not going to happen.

The moment was broken by the door swooshing open. Cal stepped outside with two steaming cups and a sheaf of papers.

The contract.

He placed it and a pen in front of her, then the cup. With outward calm, she picked up the papers and flicked through them. He’d efficiently tagged the places for her signature but instead of blindly signing, she tucked them beside her on the couch. “I’ll have to read this over.”

He nodded, settling in the one-seater across from her, a casual version of the previous night. “Of course.”

Ava snagged her cup and for a few minutes they remained silent. She’d never felt the need to fill a lull with inane chat, but Cal’s presence made her acutely aware of her own, the way she looked, dressed, acted. He made her as nervous as a teenager on her first date.

“Your mother loves to shop,” Ava ventured lamely.

“My mother believes shopping is a great icebreaker.” He smiled, shifting his large bulk more comfortably in the seat. “It’s her great people leveler.”

“We did talk a lot.”

“About?”

“Mostly me. The wedding.” She deliberately omitted the topic of Cal’s childhood, unwilling to betray Isa-belle’s generous openness. “I had no idea there were so many bridal magazines on the market.”

He couldn’t hide a wry grin. “I always suspected Mum was a closet wedding freak. Sorry.”

“I don’t mind,” Ava said truthfully. The woman’s enthusiasm had been appealing when she’d gifted her with a bunch of current bridal magazines in the car. Cosmopolitan Bride, Vogue Bride, Australian Bridal Directory, The Bride’s Diary…the sheer volume of what Ava had assumed was a narrow topic made her head spin. At first it had taken all her acting skills, pitiful as they were, to smile and thank her for the gift. But Isabelle had sensed her less than enthusiastic response and had clamped a lid on her excitement, instead changing the topic to their day ahead.

And as the day passed, Ava had managed to banish the heavy reality that had settled like cement in her chest and instead found herself enjoying the outing. The subversive shine of the city had already begun to leach in, the bustle and movement exciting her in a way she’d not felt in ages.

“We have two formal functions Thursday and Friday night,” Cal said, bringing her back to the present. “I assume those dresses you bought are appropriate?”

She took exception at his tone. “Cal, I’m not completely clueless. I do know how to dress.”

“Yes.” His eyes ran over her, warming her more thoroughly than the tea ever could. “I believe you do.” Then he glanced away. “It’ll be your first public appearance as my fiancée, so be prepared. There’ll be cameras, as well as questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Ones you’ll be expected to know as my fiancée.”

“Like what?”

“Well, what would you want to know?”

That threw her for a second and she scrambled. “Umm…why don’t you have a computer at home?”

He shook his head. “Don’t need one when I have this.” He pulled the phone from his pocket and handed it to her. “The new V-Fone. It’s a computer, scheduler, GPS and phone in one, all operating with One-Click software. It integrates with my work computer so I’m always contactable. We’ve had a one-hundred-percent customer satisfaction rating since its launch three months ago.”

She ran her hand over the smooth, cold surface, marvelling at the power in such a tiny device, before handing it back. “What are your working hours like?”

He made an offhand gesture. “Long and filled with meetings, budget reports, investment strategies.”

“Do you like what you do?”

“I get to travel the world and make million-dollar decisions.”

“But do you like it?” She probed. “I’m assuming one day you’ll be doing Victor’s job. That’s pretty different than developing software.”

His smile was brief and humourless. “I’ve worked damn hard to earn the right. VP Tech has been my goal since I was seventeen.”

“I see.” He still hadn’t answered her. And was it her imagination or did she sense hesitation in that smooth reply?

“I work twelve- to fourteen-hour days, Monday to Saturday,” he added, almost as if trying to justify his non-answer.

“Not Sunday?”

“Sundays are for…relaxing.”

She flushed at the deep timbre of his voice. “What’s your favourite meal?”

“Lamb roast.” The muscles in his face relaxed. “My turn.” He paused, assessing her, and for a moment Ava’s insides twisted at his complete and utter focus.

“What is…” he paused, “your favourite childhood movie?”

Her mouth tilted. “The Sound of Music. Yours?”

“The Great Escape. What did you want to be when you grew up?”

“A ballerina—but I wasn’t skinny enough.”

His eyes grazed her and even beneath the throw rug, she felt her body leap in response. “You look perfectly fine to me.”

He was flirting with her. But why? He’d made it perfectly clear she wasn’t to be trusted, yet here he was, handing out little snippets of his inner self like party favours. It wasn’t in her to question why the sudden good fortune. She just went with the flow.

As the hour ticked by into the next, they shared personal likes and dislikes—he liked action movies, she romantic comedies, they both hated cabbage and pumpkin but loved tropical fruit. After retouching on Cal’s career highlights, they landed on the topic of exes.

“I’ve dated, no one serious,” Cal said, swirling the dregs of coffee around in his mug.

“Your mother mentioned Melissa…” She paused at his sharp look.

“What did she say?”

“Just that you were engaged but called it off.”

“I see.” He placed his cup on the table and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His face became stony and she wondered what the other woman had done to make him so defensive. “And what about you?”

Ava shrugged. “A boyfriend in high school, a couple more when I was working in Jillian’s coffee shop. Since I moved back home there’s been no one. Gum Tree Falls isn’t exactly teeming with eligible bachelors, not like…” She snapped off, too late.

“Like Sydney.”

When his eyes narrowed, she could’ve kicked herself. That’s a record for you, Ava. Undoing all that good work in two seconds flat.

Cal did not trust her. The sooner she realized that, the easier this would be. Yet pride couldn’t let her escape without clearing this ridiculous preconception.

“I came to Sydney for a girlfriend’s birthday,” she said stiffly. “It was my first time in the city. We had dinner at the Shangri-La then went on to their cocktail lounge. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend or a one-night stand or anything else that night.”

“But you found me.”

She rose, her face warm. “You approached me.”

“True. But you didn’t say no.”

Cal watched the way her face flushed as she threw off the rug then folded it with swift efficiency.

“So now it’s a crime to be flattered by a man’s attentions? I just wanted one weekend, one night to forget about the money, the pressure, the responsibility. For one night I wasn’t Will Reilly’s daughter, the disappointment, the screwup. The reason for—” She bit off the rest of that sentence, as if realizing she’d said too much. Her eyes, panicky and wide, met his for one fleeting moment, then away.

“It’s late,” she finally mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze as she reached for the door. “I’m off to bed.”

“Ava.”

His command fell on deaf ears because with one small click, he was suddenly alone.

Cal remained still for what felt like hours, although his sleek Urwerk watch indicated only minutes. When he’d caught her in that slip there’d been indignation, and hurt. Could she be that good an actress?

Reluctantly, he cast his mind back to that night at the bar, searching through the events to shed some light on his confusion.

At first she’d been wary, even suspicious. His smooth offer to buy her a drink had been met with reluctant acceptance. As they’d shared flirtatious but cryptic details about themselves, she’d gradually warmed to him, enough to have her willing and eager in his bed.

For one crazy second, he let himself indulge in the remembrance of her smile that tilted her mouth into kissable curves, her husky feminine laugh.

What the hell was he supposed to believe?

With a low curse he sprung to his feet and slammed back inside. The cool shower didn’t bring clarity, nor did lying in bed, staring at the LED clock hands as it ticked off the minutes until sunrise.