any more. Your foreseeable future will be governed by what’s best for the child you are carrying. And I will have an input in every decision.’
His low, inflexible tone added to the challenge in his piercing eyes. She matched him, picturing his relatives’ joy—so short-lived.
‘The baby is my main priority. I’m taking care of myself, eating healthily, exercising sensibly.’
The bite in her voice shamed her. She’d never been confrontational, had always tried to get along with others, even in short-term work environments.
She gulped, tried for conciliation. ‘Everything I do is to maintain their dream.’
Their dream—not hers. Talking with Ethan James raked up memories best left forgotten.
‘What nationality are you? Where are your legal documents? Birth certificate?’ He topped up their wine glasses as he spoke, then watched her as he drank.
Hands hidden in her lap, her spine rigid, she refused to show any sign of weakness. ‘I’m Australian, born and bred. Is that good enough for you? For your parents? My passport’s in the safe at the hotel.’
She’d done it again. She’d anticipated his questions, prepared herself for suspicion, even rejection. So how did he manage to wind her up so easily?
He waited. His unfathomable dark blue eyes revealed nothing. Inexplicably, she found herself wondering how those firm full lips would feel pressed against hers.
No. No. No! She let out a loud huff of air. Had to be hormonal. Couldn’t be the man. It was vital for him to think the best of her.
She tried again. ‘Anything not needed regularly is with my solicitor in Crow’s Nest.’
‘Good. Easily accessible.’ He nodded, smiled as if her reply pleased him. ‘Here comes our main course.’
He’d chosen grilled lemon sole served with lightly sautéed vegetables and a side salad. It was melt-in-the-mouth scrumptious—the best meal she could remember. Her tension eased as he kept the conversation neutral and light. Because he was satisfied with her answers so far?
Dessert was an unbelievably good strawberry soufflé. She sensed his perusal as she scraped the last morsel from her dish. Didn’t care. It was heavenly.
Putting down her spoon, she smiled at him. ‘Mmm. Mouth-watering food. Great service. Do you eat here often?’
‘I’ll pass your approval on to the chef. Apart from dining here, with or without guests, I find it convenient to ring in an order and have it sent to my office or apartment.’
‘They home-deliver? Like pizza?’ She stared at him in amazement. He regularly ate personally delivered gourmet meals. She occasionally ordered takeaway, saved money by picking it up.
His throaty laugh skittered across her skin. ‘Hey, we cater for twenty-four-hour room service. My meals travel a little further in a taxi, that’s all.’
‘Wow. We so live in different worlds.’
His eyes darkened and bored into hers. She couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. Her lighthearted words had shattered the mood.
Ethan pushed his empty dish aside, annoyed at her emphatic statement. She made it sound like an insurmountable division between them. Although their life in Spain might have been simpler, more casual than his ambition-driven existence, basically his core beliefs were the same as his sister’s and brother-in-law’s.
He’d enjoyed every moment of the regular visits he’d made to Barcelona, including the noisy, fun-filled meals lasting well into the night. There had always been friends around. So why hadn’t he met her? Bad timing?
He drank the last of his wine, dropped his napkin on the table. ‘Are you ready to leave? We’ll have privacy to talk upstairs.’ Where he’d be able to override any dissension to his proposition.
‘Upstairs?’
Apprehension shaded the striking colour of her eyes, and a strong urge to reassure her rocked him.
‘Company suite for family or friends. Leon and Louise stayed here twice; usually they came to my apartment.’
She didn’t answer. He came round to hold her chair while she retrieved her bag from the floor and stood, head held high. Courageous. Beautiful.
Taking her elbow respectfully, he guided her towards a door in the side wall. The ever-alert maître d’ was there before them. Ethan thanked him, adding praise for the attending staff. A moment later they sped upwards in an exclusive elevator.
* * *
They stepped out into a foyer, not the corridor Alina had envisaged. Colourful modern art complemented the light sand-coloured walls between two white doors. He used a key card to open the one on the right, gestured for her to enter.
Her remark rang true as she stared enviously at her surroundings. Different worlds nailed it. She’d cleaned rooms, never luxury suites. And for him this was the norm, his everyday existence.
Floor-to-ceiling windows afforded a spectacular view of the city on two adjoining walls. Perfectly situated to take advantage was a dark wood dining setting, with a centrepiece of bushland flora. A matching coffee table stood in front of a luxurious dark blue three-piece lounge suite, facing a wall-mounted television. Two large bright blue and red abstract paintings hung on light grey walls.
Her companion shrugged out of his jacket, tossed it onto a chair, and gestured towards a hallway. ‘The bathroom is the third door along if you need it.’
He walked across to a fancy coffee machine, reaching for two mugs from the cabinet above. She watched the play of his muscles under his navy shirt, chided herself for the sudden appreciative clench low in her belly.
‘If not take a seat. Tea? I assume your condition is the reason you didn’t drink coffee yesterday?’
He’d noticed. Totally focused on the documents, reeling from shock, he’d still been aware of what she’d drunk. Had he mentally sized her up, judged her, as well?
‘Herbal, if you have any, please.’
‘No problem. Make yourself comfortable.’
So solicitous. So hospitable. Would his attitude change if they couldn’t come to an agreement?
She moved to the settee, kicked off her shoes, and curled into a corner. ‘Could you make it fairly weak? Just in case.’
He glanced round, his brow furrowed. ‘In case of what?’ His face cleared. ‘Ah, having trouble with morning sickness?’
She appreciated the concern in his voice, even if it was more for the welfare of his niece or nephew than for her.
‘I’ve been lucky so far—occasional nausea from strong aromas, nothing too bad.’
This polite, bland conversation had no reason to irritate her—however, it did. There was no one around to hear them. Let’s get on with it.
‘What
