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 corner of the settee. When he sat he left a bigger gap between them, avoiding accidental contact.
Space didn’t help. Yesterday he’d attributed his reaction to her as the combined effects of disbelief, weariness, and self-enforced celibacy due to his business commitments. Problems with the expansion of his hotel chain into Queensland—on top of his regular heavy workload—had left him little time for a personal life even prior to the accident.
Tonight the desire for physical contact had been—was still—much stronger. He’d resisted with effort, knowing it was essential to allay her doubts and resolve some of the essential matters. Every day counted in the agenda he’d formulated.
She drank thirstily, colour gradually returning to her cheeks. Unsure eyes met his and he thought he’d have given almost anything to appease her by bringing the evening to an end.
‘That was the reason you kept moving? No ties? No commitments?’
Relief washed over him when she merely nodded before placing her mug down carefully.
‘We need to discuss certain issues—the main one being protection for the child. It wasn’t random curiosity, Alina. I have a genuine motivation for everything I ask.’
Her jaw firmed, her shoulders hitched. Bracing for what? The sight of her teeth giving a quick tug to the side of her mouth gave him a moment of regret, determinedly squashed. He needed facts.
‘What did you imagine would happen when you requested a meeting?’
To his surprise she relaxed, as if she’d feared a different query.
‘Springing a newborn niece or nephew on you didn’t seem right, even though I don’t think you can get DNA proof till then. I figured you’d appreciate time to get used to the idea—time to decide if your family wanted to adopt the—’
‘If we wanted to adopt Louise’s child?’ In a second he was towering over her, six feet of instant fury directed solely at the woman recoiling from him.
A range of emotions flickered across her features. Resentment. Anger. Guilt?
She pushed herself upright, causing him to step back. ‘Yes—if. You expect me to believe your parents will welcome this? Even with DNA proof?’ She glared up at him, delightfully incensed, daring him to contradict her.
Stunned at her outburst, he felt his temper abate. His mother’s perception of social standing... His father’s snobbery... Their disapproval of his sister’s marriage... All probably the reason Louise’s miscarriages had been kept secret.
He spun round to the window, running agitated fingers into his hair. How much more angst was a man supposed to endure?
‘Options were limited because of their attitude.’
Her