‘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