been no mention of their sleeping together, but she couldn’t deny her body responded to his virility, couldn’t stop his image invading her thoughts. Oh, Lord, had her nausea been triggered by guilt, by feelings of infidelity?
He quietly waited for her answer. They both knew there was only one way to resolve the issue.
‘Yes.’
Her single husky word had him enfolding her and gently covering her mouth with his. The music faded. The air around them crackled. Time stood still. His lips moved slowly, persuasively over hers. His hands stroked unhurriedly, without pressure. He kept space between their bodies.
Her fingertips inched up his chest until they touched his skin. His body trembled. His earthy Ethan aroma filled her lungs, clouding her brain. Dominating her will. Freeing her will. Her fingers twisted into his hair. Her lips parted.
Ethan held his breath, every muscle tensed in a supreme effort not to sweep his tongue inside to explore the sweetness he’d sampled earlier. Being restrained with a woman was a new experience for him. Mutual attraction led to equally satisfying sex. No strings. No commitment.
This was different. For indefinable reasons. After the initial spontaneous jolt everything he’d done had been influenced by the fact she was pregnant. Or had it? When they were apart she was in his head. When they were together he couldn’t stop looking, touching and inhaling her essence, fresh as spring.
He slowly traced a line with his tongue around the soft, moist inside of her lips. She gasped, taking in his breath. Quivered under his roaming hands. His body hardened and he shuffled his feet, widening the gap. Sliding his tongue in deeper, he cautiously stoked hers, fully prepared to stop at the slightest hint of distress.
There was none—only a timid response that almost had him hauling her closer. There was no sense of time. It felt as if he were standing on the edge of a precipice, knowing there was something wonderful waiting if he’d just let himself fall. With a rough shuddering breath he lifted his head to gaze into clear, shining eyes.
‘I guess it was one of those inexplicable pregnancy things, huh?’
Her spontaneous laugh zapped his already strained senses.
‘Seems like it.’
To double-check, he kissed her briefly, firmly. ‘So—you feel okay?’ His pulse kicked up even higher when she flick-licked her bottom lip and smiled, as if she’d tasted something delicious.
‘Go—or you won’t be eating dinner tonight.’
He went, deeming it an option he’d happily choose.
* * *
On Saturday morning Alina paced restlessly round the apartment. Something was itching at her brain—wouldn’t surface, wouldn’t go. She’d booted up her computer. Closed it down. She’d changed, walked into the gym, turned, walked out. Changed back into jeans and a top. Curled up with her embroidery, packed it away after a few stitches. Every room was tidy; everything was clean.
She glanced at the kitchen calendar and the notation for tonight: Dinner with parents. An unavoidable ordeal to be endured. She was convinced they wouldn’t be adding her to their regular guest list unless they wanted Ethan there too. And he’d given her the impression he’d happily miss most of their organised events.
A picture flashed into her head at the sight of today’s date. She quickly blocked it out. She didn’t do special days.
Tenuous, ghost-like memories nipped at the edge of her mind, wouldn’t be dismissed. Tears welled in her eyes as memories crashed back. Her mother-in-law’s birthday. Mum. Unlike Sophia, she’d welcomed Alina, drawn her into the family and loved her as a daughter. She’d be lucky if Sophia tolerated her for the time she was here.
Ethan had family and friends for support. She didn’t begrudge him any of them; he’d need all the help available next year. She had no one. Unless...
You only have to reach out. There’ll be no recriminations, only love and understanding.
Her thumb trembled as she scrolled through her phone for the name and number. A short tear-choked conversation later she grabbed her handbag and ran out the door, heading for the one person she could tell anything. Though she wouldn’t reveal the whole truth.
* * *
Where was she? Ethan drummed his fingers on his office desk, forced himself to focus on the computer screen, rereading figures he hadn’t taken in before. They were good. His mindset wasn’t. He exited the program, scowling. Why hadn’t she returned his calls?
He hadn’t been concerned when she hadn’t answered her mobile or the apartment phone at first, assuming she was in the gym area. Now, however... He checked his watch for the umpteenth time. Ten past twelve—over two hours since his first call.
He rotated sideways, staring at the city skyline, seeing only her face, wondering why she’d been so subdued this morning after they’d spent two enjoyable evenings together. Maybe it was one of the mood swings detailed in his book.
He grabbed his phone again, hesitated with his hand in mid-air. It rang, vibrating in his palm. Wrong caller ID. After quickly dealing with the matter, he went to the coffee machine. With refilled mug in hand he paced the floor, trying to convince himself it was normal trepidation given her condition.
In truth, she’d triggered something inside him from the moment they’d met—something incomprehensible. She didn’t fit his long-term plan in any way. Grieving and haunted, she was determined not to stay in Australia. He wouldn’t stop her leaving, though he’d give her support for as long as she wished. He wasn’t perfect, but the child she carried needed a parent as hang-up-free as possible. And right now he needed her to answer her damn phone.
Grabbing a printed report on his Gold Coast hotel, he sprawled on the long sofa, his mug and mobile on the low table by his side. Normally he’d have been elated that the renovations were on schedule and under budget.
Startled by his ringtone, he almost knocked over his coffee in his haste to grab his phone. His adrenaline spiked when he saw the caller ID. He sucked in air, tried to project a calm he definitely didn’t feel.
‘Alina.’
‘Ethan, I’m sorry.’
Her distressed voice chilled his heart. Feigned calm flew out of the window. He was on his feet, striding to grab his jacket as he spoke.
‘What’s wrong? Where are you? I’ll come for you.’ Hell, he felt as desperate as he sounded.
‘No! It’s nothing. I’m an idiot, that’s all.’ Breathless. Anxious.
He stilled. Wished he was there so he could see her face, read how upset she really was. ‘Tell me.’
‘I went to visit my husband’s aunt. We sat in the garden and my bag was inside, on her sofa. I missed all your calls.’
Spontaneous laughter surged up his throat and burst out at the simple explanation. She was all right. She was safe. He perched on his desk, torn between pure relief and self-reproach for worrying so much.
‘It’s not funny. I’ve got six messages from you.’
