Bound By The Unborn Baby

Somewhere out in the real world a driver beeped his horn. She sensed Ethan studying her, could imagine his brain churning with arguments to reinforce his demand. For him, her full compliance was essential. He’d accept nothing less.

‘How long is it supposed to last?’ It came out wrong. She hadn’t meant to sound so cold, so detached. She certainly wasn’t prepared for the pained look in his eyes.

‘We’ve got seven months to sort out the future. No one will be surprised if our sudden marriage doesn’t survive long-term.’ His hand left her stomach and cupped her chin. ‘I won’t force you to stay, and I swear you won’t lose from this arrangement.’

He was right—because she’d already lost everything worthwhile. She’d bought a new gold ring because she hadn’t been able to bear the sight or the feel of the original.

‘You give me your word that I can leave when I decide?’

‘Yes.’ It was blunt. His body was rigid, his features unreadable.

‘All right. I’ll marry you.’

Bound by the Unborn Baby

Bella Bucannon

BELLA BUCANNON lives in a quiet northern suburb of Adelaide with her soulmate husband, who loves and supports her in any endeavour. She enjoys walking, dining out and travelling. Bus tours or cruising with days at sea to relax, plot and write are top of her list. Apart from category romance she also writes very short stories and poems for a local writing group. Bella believes joining RWA and SARA early in her writing journey was a major factor in her achievements.

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Deepest thanks to my husband and soulmate, who claims that inside my head is the scariest place on earth but loves me unconditionally anyway. Special thanks to the generous, supportive South Australian Romance Authors for their encouragement and steadfast belief in me.

And to Flo Nicoll, who saw beyond my raw writing and gave me the courage to drastically cut and revise and produce a story worth telling.

Contents

COVER

INTRODUCTION

TITLE PAGE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

THIRD DOOR ON the left. Why the hell hadn’t he given in to his original instinct, phoned the hotel with a refusal, then binned the short letter hand-delivered to his office? He’d never heard of Alina Fletcher—didn’t have the time or energy for enigmatic invitations.

Except one phrase, vaguely referring to his family, had captured his interest five weeks after his sister and brother-in-law had died in Barcelona, less than two since his second trip to Spain regarding their estate.

He felt drained. Flying overseas and coping with local authorities while handling the glitches regarding his latest hotel acquisition had been exhausting. The basic Spanish he’d acquired on other trips had helped; deprivation of sleep didn’t. He desperately needed a break to enable him to grieve for Louise, and for Leon, who’d been his best friend since primary school. Any additional angst was definitely unwelcome.

The open doorway allowed him a clear view of the woman facing the window. Slim build. Medium height. Short dark brown hair. His gaze slid rapidly over a sky-blue jacket and trousers to flat shoes. Unusual in this time of killer heels.

‘Ms Fletcher?’ He was curter than he’d intended, influenced by a hard clench low in his abdomen.

She turned slowly and his battered emotions were rocked even more. Pain-filled eyes underlined with dark smudges met his. Widened. Shuttered. Reopened, clear and steady. Whatever had flickered in their incredible violet depths had banished his lethargy. His dormant libido kicked in, tightening his stomach muscles, accelerating his pulse.

Inappropriate. Inexcusable.

‘Ethan James? Thank you for agreeing to meet me.’

No welcoming smile. Did he detect a slight accent? He’d have to hear more—wanted to hear more.

He cleared his throat. ‘Did I have a choice?’ Moving forward with extended hand, he frowned at her hesitation. She was the one who’d requested the meeting.

After a cool, brief touch she gestured to the seating. ‘Coffee? Black and strong?’

His eyes narrowed at her assumption of his preference, flicked to the wedding ring she wore. Married. Why did he care? The perfume she wore didn’t suit her. Too strong. Too exotic. He wasn’t thinking clearly—hadn’t been since that devastating early-morning phone call.

‘What do you want?’ No games. Either she told him the reason they were here or he walked. ‘You’ve got two minutes to convince me to stay.’

She met his glare unwaveringly. ‘Then you’d better start reading.’ Perching on the front of an armchair, she pushed a buff-coloured folder along the low table before pouring coffee into a cup.

His muscles tensed. She appeared confident, was counting on him thinking he’d always wonder if he left without an explanation. He grudgingly picked up the unnamed folder and sat, stretching out his long legs.

Once she’d placed the drink in front of him she took a book from the bag by her side and settled into the chair to read.

He pulled the file out, glanced at the front sheet—and his already shattered world tilted beyond reality. He flipped the pages, studied the signatures. Scowled at the seemingly composed female ignoring him. A fist of ice clamped his gut. His heart pounded. Not true. Not believable. Though the signatures were genuine. He’d seen enough of them in the last few weeks to be absolutely certain.

Why? There’d been no indication.

He reached for his coffee, drained the hot liquid in one gulp while glancing at Alina Fletcher. Not so serene on further scrutiny. The fingers on her left hand were performing a strange ritual. Starting with the littlest, they curled one by one into her palm, with her thumb folding over the top. Dancelike, the movement was repeated every few seconds.

Nervous? She damn well ought to be, hitting him with this out of the blue. He gave a derisive grunt. He’d have been blindsided however she’d informed him.

Reverting to the opening document, he meticulously perused every paragraph.

Alina automatically flicked the blurred pages of her book, her fingers trembling. Her thoughts were in turmoil. This encounter ought to have been straightforward. She’d come to Sydney, acquaint the brother with the situation, and then they’d discuss options in a businesslike fashion. Instead she’d tensed at the timbre of his formal greeting, been slow to take his hand, shaken by her quickening heartbeat.

Please, please, let it be hormonal.

The best scenario was that he’d concur with the logical solution. She’d return to Europe and they’d communicate amicably via email or phone. Living alone would be no hardship. She only shared accommodation when it was required by an employer and rarely maintained friendships, even those forged from seasonal reunions. No roots. No ties. Liking co-workers was a plus. None had been able to break through the wall staying sane had compelled her to build.

She still wasn’t sure what had drawn her to Louise on their early irregular meetings. Perhaps an empathy that had enabled her to see behind the sparkling personality and glimpse the hidden sorrow? A feeling that she was a kindred spirit? Seeing the loving relationship Louise had shared with Leon? She’d often thought of them while travelling. Four months ago fate had brought them together at a critical time for Louise, a soul-searching one for her.

She’d stayed away from the funeral service in Barcelona for her own sake, needing time to decide what to do. Contacting Ethan James while he was arranging for his relatives to be transported to Australia for burial would have been insensitive. It was, however, the honourable thing to do now. In the end the only thing she believed would ensure her future peace of mind.

Until she’d looked into those cobalt eyes with their thick black lashes—so like Louise’s, except dulled with sadness and fatigue. Unwarranted, almost forgotten heat sensations had flared low in her belly. Immediately squashed. Never again. She’d barely survived before—sometimes felt she hadn’t.

During the last year she’d slowly, so slowly, begun to open up a little to people. Now she was caught in a different nightmare, with far-reaching consequences. It all depended on the man intently scanning the papers she’d given him.

She approved of his neatly trimmed dark hair, his long fingers with well-shaped clean nails. His no-frills attitude to her letter. Leon had described him as astute, pragmatic, and extremely non-sentimental in business. Personally reserved. The very qualities she needed right now.

She sipped her mint tea, praying her guest would agree to her suggestion. Her skin still prickled from his oh-so-fleeting touch. A hint of earthy cologne teased her nostrils every time she inhaled. Unusual and unfamiliar. Definitely not one of the brands she’d sold working in a department store in Rome last summer.

The tension in the room heightened. She looked up, encountered cold, resolute scrutiny, a grim mouth and firmly set jaw. Did he intend to dispute her claim? In October he’d have all the proof he’d require.

Ethan saw fear chase the sadness from her eyes, swiftly replaced by pseudo-cool detachment.

‘You’re carrying their child.’ He didn’t doubt the validity of the documents. They were legal, watertight contracts—somewhat alien to his carefree relatives. ‘Why?’

‘Three early miscarriages with no medical explanation. No trouble with conception. Surrogacy offered them a way to have a baby of their own.’ She spoke precisely, as if she’d rehearsed every word.

He swore quietly, fervently. Why hadn’t they told him? There’d been no hint of a problem on any of his visits. Or had he been too focused on his growing business empire to notice?

Anger at lost opportunities gnawed at him. Guilt at missing any change in Louise’s demeanour flooded him. The urge to strike out was strong. Pity the only one in the firing line happened to be the messenger.

‘Why the secrecy? Why you?’ He ground the words out violently.

She didn’t flinch, though faint colour tinged her cheeks. Crossing her arms, she lifted her chin. ‘I offered. My choice. My reasons.’

Something in her tone warned him not to pursue the subject. Fine—he’d accept the simplified statement for now. Coming to terms with being uncle to an unborn child conceived by his dead sister and her husband, carried by a stranger, took precedence.

‘When’s the child due? Did they know?’ A myriad of questions buzzed in his brain, making it impossible to prioritise.

‘Late October. I’m nine weeks. We did a pregnancy test together.’ Her lips trembled. Her gaze shifted to the wall behind him. ‘They were so incredibly happy for a few days. Until that goods van smashed into them at that outdoor café.’

Her tortured eyes met his. Anguish ripped through him on hearing those mind-numbing words spoken in her tremulous voice. He knew. He’d received the international call, read the reports. Seen photographs of the mangled wreckage.

Suddenly he craved solitude. And space. He wanted to run from this woman, escape from her predicament. Forget everything and crawl into a cave like a wounded animal to lick his wounds and recover.

Not going to happen.

He ought to stay, talk more. Get more details. How could he? She exacerbated his torment.

Jamming the file into the folder, he stood up. Alina stayed in her seat, her eyes a mixture of sorrow and perplexity, making him feel like a louse. He pulled his mobile from his inside pocket.

‘I need time to take all this in. Give me your number. I’ll phone you tomorrow.’

She told him, including the Spanish code. ‘You can leave a message at Reception so you won’t get charged international rates.’

Ethan let out a short, half-choked laugh. She appeared genuinely concerned at the thought of him paying the fees—something his company did every day. ‘I can stand the cost.’

A soft blush coloured her cheeks. His gut twisted in remorse.

She rose to her feet, proudly defiant, tightly clasping her book. ‘I appreciate what a shock this is. If there’d been an easier way to tell you, I’d—’

‘There wasn’t. Goodbye, Ms Fletcher.’ He spun round and strode out.

The tension drained from Alina’s muscles, to be replaced by frightening awareness. Alien. Alarming. His aura still filled the room, surrounding her, challenging her resolve. Threatening what little stability she had.

She tried to equate this barely held together man with the sharp, on-the-ball tycoon described to her. The one who’d always managed to extricate the two friends from escapades usually instigated by the younger one. The one who’d transformed a failing local travel centre into the multimillion-dollar Starburst hotel and tourism empire.

The man she’d just watched hurriedly exit seemed to be operating on stretched nerves.

Pouring another cup of tea, she reproached herself for bringing more trauma into his life, but knew she’d had no choice. The realisation that she’d been banking on him taking charge, relieving her of all major decisions, hit home. She squeezed her eyes shut, stemming the tears. He hadn’t rebuffed her completely. There was still hope.

She pictured Louise sobbing in the café the day after the specialist had advised her that any more pregnancies might be detrimental to her health. She recalled walking her home, talking with her, learning about her society-obsessed parents’ rigid attitude to social status.

Her sympathy for Leon’s and Louise’s plight, and her strong desire to help had been understandable; the solution that had popped into her mind had been astounding. And terrifying.

After two days of intense soul-searching she’d offered to be a surrogate. Their initial refusal had given way to grateful acceptance in light of their limited options. Over a supper of fruit, cheese and dips, washed down with local wine, they’d conceived the perfect plan. Almost foolproof. They hadn’t counted on brake failure destroying their hopes in the cruellest way possible.

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?’

CHAPTER TWO

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.

What the hell was wrong with him? The woman opposite him wore a wedding ring and was pregnant. He tamped down his libido, concentrated on selecting their meal.

‘Oh, wine...?’ Alina’s hands fell to her sides as a young woman carrying a bottle placed an ice bucket and stand next to their table.

‘Non-alcoholic,’ Ethan hastily reassured her, before addressing the waitress. ‘Please allow my guest to sample it.’

She savoured the tangy fruit flavour, drank a little more, and smiled. ‘It’s very refreshing. Thank you.’

She gazed around while he ordered their meals. A screen of plants, plus a larger than standard space, separated them from the adjoining tables. Little chance of being seen—none of being overheard. Had he asked for it? Or—oh, this upmarket hotel must be part of his Starburst chain.