She stroked her stomach. Their baby—not hers. She was simply a cocoon. In October she’d have given birth to their son or daughter and then stepped away, allowing them to experience fully the delights and dramas of parenthood.
Ethan must consent to her plan. This tiny new life inside her deserved the love and happiness its new family would have shared. Ethan, rather than his parents, was her preferred choice. If they all chose not to... Well, then she’d have to confront and conquer her demons.
Gathering up her belongings, she went to her room, hoping the television would prevent her thoughts from straying to tomorrow’s call. And its maker.
* * *
She was window-shopping along George Street when her phone rang late the next morning.
‘Alina?’
Spoken with a slightly different emphasis, as if personal to him. Silly idea. He’d given her the impression he considered her an intrusive dilemma.
‘Sorry I didn’t call earlier. I’ve been juggling my schedule. Are you free tonight?’
‘Yes. I came to Sydney for the sole purpose of meeting you.’
‘And if I’d refused?’ he asked brusquely.
‘I’d have posted you a detailed letter with the file and caught the next available flight to Spain.’
‘And wha—? No, not now. A hire car will be outside your hotel at five-thirty. I’ve booked a table. Goodbye, Ms Fletcher.’
He hung up, leaving her startled by his broken-off question. Understanding his scepticism, she swore to be honest—though she’d keep her past to herself unless it concerned the baby. Last night as she’d fallen asleep she’d sensed an elusive unidentifiable memory skip through her mind. Didn’t want any more.
* * *
Ethan drummed his fingertips on his desk. He’d meant to ask why she wore a ring—if there was a husband or partner in the picture. He’d been distracted by her impassive replies and had accidentally activated an email from Brisbane requiring an urgent reply. Hence his regrettable abrupt ending to the call.
His back ached...his brain spun. An evening on the internet researching surrogacy had raised more questions than it had answered. It hurt that they’d gone through so much heartache alone. Why hadn’t they reached out to him? Surely they’d known they mattered to him more than anything?
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?’
ETHAN’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.