‘I’m not used to having someone take care of me.’
‘That lesson I’m learning.’ Cobalt eyes appraised her as the car moved off. ‘You look anxious, Alina.’ He caressed her jaw line, tilted her chin.
‘What do you expe—?’
He cut off her rebuke by firmly pressing his lips to hers. Her heartbeat hiccupped, doubled in speed. Sent her blood racing along her veins.
The kiss lasted less than a moment. Or for ever. Too long. Too short. She slumped against the seat and stared at him, too befuddled to think coherently. The piercing eyes holding hers hostage showed no sign of the turmoil he’d inflicted.
She consciously steadied her breathing. ‘You should warn me.’ It came out like a husky plea for more rather than a reproach.
Ethan gave a low chuckle that resonated over her skin and skittered down her spine. ‘So it’s okay to kiss you any time as long as I don’t surprise you?’
His amusement stretched already taut nerves. ‘That’s not what I meant.’ She scrunched her eyes and bit on her lip.
‘I’m not insensitive, Alina.’ He lifted his hand. Let it drop. ‘Every time I touch you I’m very aware of how you feel. Remember we need to portray a couple who can’t resist each other?’
For him it was all for public image, so his declaration should please, not disappoint. Stupid hormones. She so had to check with the doctor why they were affecting her this way. In private.
‘I can handle the pretence.’ Liar. ‘I’m getting used to it.’ Double liar. ‘It’s... The doctor might ask for information I can’t...can’t give.’
‘Ah...’
As if he understood. She shook with frustration. ‘No, you don’t get it. I can give her the dates she’ll need, fudge the method of conception. It’s... She’s bound to ask...’
It had been bad enough writing details on the clinic’s patient information forms he’d accessed on Friday. She’d thanked him for his considerate action in allowing her to fill out her medical history privately. It was the idea of it being voiced out loud that was eating at her. There was no way to explain the dark place where she’d buried the unbearable pain and heartbreak.
He wrapped his arms around her, drew her into his warmth. His hands began a soothing caress over her spine.
His voice was gentle, as if speaking to a child. ‘You’re not alone, Alina. I’ll be with you.’ His hands stilled. ‘Unless you want to see her alone.’
Of course she did.
‘No, that’s cowardly. I can handle it.’ Her quivering voice proved otherwise.
‘Are you sure?’
He meant it. And the compassion in his blue eyes and the generosity of his offer gave her strength.
‘You may have questions too. Besides, the father has the right to be there.’ With a jolt of amazement, she realised a simple truth. ‘I’d like you to be there.’
‘I am the father...’ His large hand covered her abdomen. ‘My baby. Our child.’
She didn’t protest and he appeared satisfied. She’d never be able to use that phrase, never be able to care that way again. Hearing it resonate from him relieved her. He was going be a great father.
* * *
Ethan linked his fingers with hers as they entered the light, hospitable clinic. Her anxiety was palpable and he had no remedy. Give him a struggling business to rescue any time.
‘Relax, Alina. It’s only a preliminary examination.’
At least his words earned him a faint smile. He steered her into an empty elevator and pressed the button. The compulsion to comfort her and drive the shadows from her soulful eyes rippled through him.
‘We’re bending the truth for our child’s sake, Alina. The book claims doctors need dates and medical history—nothing more. No one’s going to pry into your personal history.’
Her eyes widened in astonishment. ‘What book?’
‘The one I bought Tuesday morning, specifically written for expectant fathers.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Very informative and downright scary.’
They stopped and he guided her out.
She handed in the forms and her obligatory urine sample at Reception and were directed to an empty waiting room. Light classical music played softly in the background. Alina sat idly flipping the pages of a magazine. Ethan filled two plastic cups from an orange juice dispenser and offered one to her.
She accepted it with a noticeably shaky hand and his heart sank. He noticed her agitated finger movements, half hidden by the bag on her lap, finishing in a clenched fist. Hoping their appointment wasn’t delayed, he put his cup on the low table and wrapped steadying fingers around her hand.
‘Patricia Conlan has a very good reputation.’ He raised the hand clasping the cup to her lips. ‘Now, drink. Slowly.’
Alina obeyed, emptying the cup. He drained his, took both cups to a bin, then returned to sit beside her, studying a poster on the wall opposite.
She kept her eyes downcast, wishing she had his self-discipline. He’d been predictably shaken by her initial bombshell, and angry a few times during subsequent conversations, but he’d rapidly recovered his composure every time. She, on the other hand, had trouble keeping any control over her emotions.
She glanced sideways, surprised to find him looking more nervous than he’d let on. The long supple fingers of his right hand thrummed on his thigh, and she recalled them spanning her stomach. The image of them sensuously exploring her body flashed into her brain, and she couldn’t stifle a throaty gasp.
He jerked round. ‘Alina, are you all right?’
‘Alina Fletcher?’
She jumped up, willing her burning cheeks to cool, grateful for the interruption from the uniformed woman in the doorway.
They were ushered into the consulting room.
‘Dr Conlan will be with you in... Ah, here she is.’
‘Alina, Ethan. It’s nice to meet you.’ The fortyish woman with slightly mussed brown hair and bright blue eyes clasped her hands, then Ethan’s, in genuine welcome.
‘Let’s sit down and get acquainted.’ She emanated compassion and invited trust.
‘Thank you, Dr Conlan.’ Alina took a seat, placing her handbag on the floor as a folder was opened and perused. Even Ethan’s reassurance couldn’t dispel her feeling of foreboding at the thought of queries about her past. An occasional note was written, an occasional ‘hmm’ mouthed.
She noticed a slight resemblance to her husband’s Aunt Jean, triggering a pang of guilt. She’d only kept in token touch with everyone, had avoided personal contact. In a few weeks she’d have to notify them that she was living in Sydney. Remarried.
