The Magnate’s Baby Promise

By

Paula Roe

AND

Having the Billionaire’s Baby

By

Sandra Hyatt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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The Magnate’s Baby Promise

By

Paula Roe

She wondered if she’d just imagined that night in Sydney, two months ago.

Cal Prescott stood in the doorway, broad and immaculately dressed in a dark grey suit, a chilly gleam in his eyes. Those same eyes had creased with serious concentration as they’d shared hot, wet kisses in the privacy of his penthouse suite. Flared with hunger as he’d slipped her dress from her shoulders—She slammed the door on those memories, barely managing a croak. “Cal.” “Ava.” Cal’s voice, a slow burning rasp that had turned her on so quickly, so completely, was the same, but little else was. His face was a study in frozen control, eyes reflecting only an impersonal razor-sharp study as he remained still, somehow dwarfing her kitchen even from the relative safety of the doorway.

She was alone with Cal Prescott. Again.

Despite wanting to be a vet, choreographer, hairdresser, card shark and an interior designer (though not all at once!), PAULA ROE ended up as a personal assistant, office manager, aerobics instructor and software trainer for thirteen years (which also funded her extensive travel through the US and Europe). Today she still retains a deep love of filing systems, stationery and travelling, although the latter is only in her dreams these days. Paula lives near western Sydney’s glorious Blue Mountains with her family, an ancient black cat and a garden full of rainbow lorikeets, magpies and willy wagtails. You can visit her at www.paularoe.com.

Grateful thanks to my wonderful writing group, The Coven, for the hours of brainstorming, encouragement and Saturday morning brunches. Oh, and for letting me immortalize your names in print. I owe you all a large decaf soy caramel latte!

Dear Reader,

Just like my navigation skills, sometimes my stories begin in one place then end up somewhere completely different. This one was no exception. I did know a few things—secret pregnancy, forced marriage, Outback business in trouble—but that’s where the similarities ended. Cal and Ava started with different names and occupations, different pasts and conflict, and even though I loved that story, it just wasn’t the right one for them. And because I never throw my ideas away, the original version is sitting in my filing cabinet, waiting for its time to shine.

It’s exciting to see my first “Outback” story come to fruition. Even though Gum Tree Falls and Jindalee are purely fictional, I did do some research in and around far western NSW where Ava grew up (no hardship—it’s gorgeous country). Creative license is a beautiful thing, so I renovated “The Toaster”—the controversial but expensive apartment block at Sydney’s Circular Quay—into a very tall, very elegant building where Cal lives. I don’t know about you, but I’d love to have the Quay, Opera House and Royal Botanical Gardens as my daily room with a view!

Come and visit me at www.paularoe.com, where there’s more behind-the-scenes info about The Magnate’s Baby Promise.

With love,

Paula

Chapter One

It’s my company. Mine.

The mantra throbbed in Cal Prescott’s brain until, with a growl of frustration, he slammed his palms on the desk and shot to his feet.

Victor had really done it this time—not only pitting his sons against each other for the ultimate prize of VP Tech but demanding an heir in the bargain. With a sharp breath Cal whirled to study the panoramic view of Sydney’s Circular Quay and Botany Bay below, the gun-metal arch of Sydney Harbour Bridge nestled comfortably in the foreground. The unusually sunny June morning did nothing to smooth his anger; Victor’s trademark directness still smouldered away in his gut.

You must both marry and produce an heir. The first one to do so gets the company.

Zac, his stepbrother, didn’t deserve VP Tech. He was Victor’s real flesh and blood, yes, but the younger man had turned his back on them years ago. It was Cal who’d stuck with family, who had put in the long hours, steadily growing the business until his One-Click office software package had finally cracked the biggest seller spot in Australia last year.

Cal Prescott didn’t walk away. Ever. He’d put every waking hour, every drop of sweat into his stepfather’s company. Damned if he’d let it slip through his fingers now.

With long-legged strides he stalked over to a discreet wall panel and jabbed a button to reveal a well-stocked bar. He smoothly poured himself a glass of whiskey, neat.

Making money, proving himself, had been an all-consuming desire for so long he barely remembered a time he hadn’t lived and breathed it. And with every million he’d made, every deal he’d brokered, he could’ve sworn he’d seen pride on Victor’s craggy face, felt the rush of approval when the gruff, emotionally spare man imparted brief praise. Obviously he was good enough to bring in millions but not good enough to be a Prescott, to be automatically entrusted with the legacy of VP Tech.

Unfamiliar bitterness knotted his insides, curled his lip. Victor hadn’t even given him the courtesy of an explanation; he’d simply issued the ultimatum then left on some business trip, leaving Cal to sort through the bombshell’s wreckage.

The phone rang then and Cal sat, grabbing the receiver.

“There’s a woman I’d like you to meet,” Victor said by way of greeting.

Speak of the devil. “You’re back.”

“Yes. You remember Miles Jasper, the Melbourne heart surgeon?”

The sour taste of futility burnt the back of his throat. “No.”

Victor ignored him and continued. “He has a daughter. She’s twenty-seven, blond, attractive and—”

“I don’t give a damn if she’s Miss Universe,” Cal ground out. “I’m not some prize stallion at auction. I may have agreed to this ludicrous arrangement, but I will pick my own wife.” He slammed the phone down with a satisfying crack.

After a long, drawn-out moment he dragged in a controlled breath, slid a sealed envelope from his desk drawer and slowly centred it on the desk with meticulous care.

Thanks to a local investigator and a helpful cabbie, his obsession with the elusive Ava Reilly could now be put to rest.

For the past nine weeks he’d refused to think about her, about that one amazing night, shoving it from his mind with the decisive efficiency he was renowned for. But now, as he let his thoughts wander back to their chance encounter, the walls began to crack.

Long limbs, soft black hair and a pair of bright blue eyes teased his memory. Ava. A movie-star name, one that evoked a woman with poise, elegance. Presence.

She’d gotten under his skin and stayed there, disrupting his thoughts at awkward times—in meetings, with clients. The worst were the early mornings, before the sun rose. Time and again he’d hauled himself from the depths of a hot erotic dream where her mouth had been on his, her lips trailing over his chest, her skin hot and silky beneath his hands. It had left him frustrated and aching with need way too many times.

He’d been determined to forget her, forget what had just been a one-night stand. Ironically, he’d gotten his wish three days ago. Three days since his stepfather had issued his ultimatum, seventy-two hours in which VP Tech had dominated his thoughts and he’d seesawed between dull, throbbing rage and aggravated tension.

With a flick of his wrist, he ripped open the envelope and scanned the report.

After too many broken nights and unfocused days, he’d taken action. Now he steeled himself for reality to shatter the fantasy. She could be married, or engaged. His thoughts darkened. He could’ve been her last fling before she’d settled down to marry her childhood sweetheart—

As his eyes flipped over the paragraphs, his brows took a dive. Ava Reilly owned a bed-and-breakfast in rural western New South Wales.

He reached for his computer mouse, clicked on the Internet connection and typed “Jindalee retreat” in the search engine. Seconds later he was looking at Jindalee’s basic Web page. No wonder she was up to her eyeballs in debt with the bank about to foreclose next month. The place was under-promoted and unremarkable for a simple outback town with less than five hundred people.

He went back to the report, skimming over her finan-cials until he got to the summary of her weekly errands. Cal snorted. That PI was thorough, he’d give him that.

Approximately eight weeks pregnant.

“What the hell?”

Office walls suddenly closed in on him, tight and airless, forcing Cal to take a deep gulp.

In one sharp movement, he crushed the offending paper and hurled it across his office, where it hit the wall with a soft thud. No. No way. Not again.

A shuddering breath wracked through him as shock stiffened every muscle. He’d had that, once. A baby. His baby. A child to follow in his footsteps, to nurture and love. To shower with his wealth and experience and to ensure the past was never repeated. He’d been ecstatic when Melissa had told him. Vulnerable.

Stupid.

She’d faked everything and he’d vowed never to repeat that failure again.

But this…this changed everything.

He tightened his jaw, teeth grinding together. After making mad, passionate love, Ava had run like a thief in the night. If not for those black bikini knickers he’d found tangled in the sheets, it could have all been just a delicious, erotic dream.

His thoughts spun out of control, fed by heated memories. And as he recalled every sigh, every touch, his shock morphed into something more sinister. Swiftly his mind clicked through options. Chance encounter or deliberate? Perhaps part of a calculated blackmail plan?

His harsh laugh exploded in the quiet office. If the child was his, it provided a neat solution to all his problems.

He slammed down his glass then picked up the phone. “Jenny—arrange for a car and inform the airstrip I’ll be flying within the hour.”

Replacing the receiver with deliberate slowness he stood, a low curse softly rumbling across his lips.

His baby.

Shards of intense possessiveness stabbed, threatening to choke off his air. If Ava thought he’d pay up and stay out of her life, she was very much mistaken. Every single day, in the midst of everything he’d attained, who he was and where he’d come from were never far from his mind. And no long-legged, dark-haired seductress with wide blue eyes would compromise his beliefs.

With gnawing apprehension, Ava realized she had to face facts—Jindalee was spiralling into a money pit and she had no way of stopping it.

She sighed, eyeing the final notices spread before her on the kitchen table. Absently she ran a frustrated hand over the tangle of hair that had slipped from its ponytail. She’d been certain people would jump at the chance to spend time at a real get-away-from-it-all rural retreat, so certain she’d sunk all her parents’ insurance money into the venture. She’d converted the homestead into a reception and dining area, built a five-cabin extension and refurbished the kitchen.

All to emphasise her spectacular downfall.

Her rooms were empty most weekends and she didn’t have the money or experience to keep on advertising. Despite her fierce determination to ignore the town gossips, she knew they’d feed on this until her belly started to grow, and then the Gum Tree Falls grapevine would be buzzing anew with “have you heard the latest on Ava Reilly?”

With burning cheeks she stood, eased out the kink in her back and took a deep breath. Tentatively, she placed a hand on her still-flat stomach.

A baby. Hers.

Wonder and shock tripped her breath, adding a shaky edge to the inhale. She tried to swallow but tears welled in her eyes. Quickly, she dashed them away. She hadn’t gone looking for a one-night stand, yet the stranger had commanded her eyes the instant he’d settled on the bar stool next to hers at Blu Horizon, an exclusive cocktail lounge at Sydney’s Shangri-La Hotel. He’d radiated confidence and wealth as if powered by some inner sun, from every thread of his sharply tailored black suit to the closely cropped, almost military haircut. Yet there was something more, something a little vulnerable beneath that chiselled face, all angles and shadow.

It was only after she’d snuck back to her girlfriend’s place at 2:00 a.m. that she’d discovered the real identity of the man who’d rocked her world. Mr. One-Click, heir apparent to the great Victor Prescott’s vast technology empire. Cal Prescott’s computer software had recently become number one in national sales. Hell, she’d just upgraded her office computer with the latest version.

She snorted at the irony. Cal Prescott was one of the richest men under thirty-five, a man who regularly dated supermodels and socialites. He was a man who avoided emotional entanglements, who revelled in his bachelor lifestyle. If working long hours and staying single was an Olympic event, he’d have a cupboard full of gold medals.

It was a good thing you left. A smart choice. The right choice. Still, a tiny doubt niggled. How could she single-handedly bring a baby into her life, a debt-ridden life to which she could add the grim possibility of being homeless, too?

She’d wavered between absolute joy and utter despair a million times this past week. And every time she always returned to one realization: fate. Karma. Destiny. Whatever it was called, the universe was telling her that despite everything, this baby was meant to be.

Ava Rose, life never throws anything your way you’re not capable of handling. Her mother’s favourite phrase teased her mouth into a too-brief smile before the familiar throb of loss hit. She let it sit there for a second before shoving it aside. Death and tragedy hadn’t defeated her before. A new life wouldn’t now.

She dropped her hands to the table and gathered up the papers. The pity party’s over. It was time to take action and get her life back on track. Somehow.

“Doing your paperwork, I see.”

Ava whirled, her brain tingling at the sound of that oh-so-delicious voice. A millisecond later, her stomach fell to the floor.

Cal Prescott stood in the doorway, broad and immaculately dressed in a dark grey suit, a chilly gleam in his eyes. Those eyes, once so intensely passionate, now so cold and distant that she wondered if she’d just imagined that night in Sydney two months ago. Those same eyes had creased with serious concentration as they’d shared hot, wet kisses in the privacy of his Shangri-La Hotel penthouse suite. Flared with hunger as he’d slipped her dress from her shoulders—

She slammed the door on those memories, barely managing a croak. “Cal.”

“Ava.” Cal’s voice, a slow-burning rasp that had turned her on so quickly, so completely, was the same, but little else was. His face was a study in frozen control, eyes reflecting only an impersonal, razor-sharp study as he remained still, somehow dwarfing her kitchen even from the relative safety of the doorway.

She was alone with Cal Prescott. Again.

The air thickened, heavy with expectation. A warm throb started up between her legs as she swallowed a single desperate groan.

“What…” She croaked then cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?”

His lip curled but he said nothing, a broad, tense statue intent on letting the moment swirl and grow. She steeled herself as his eyes flickered over her in thorough scrutiny, gathering up her dignity with a smoothing of her wayward hair. Yet his eyes followed those fluttery movements until she firmly jammed her hands in her back pockets.

He snorted, a sound so full of contempt that Ava took a cautious step backwards.

“Are you pregnant with my child?”

Ava grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter, reeling from the blow. How could he know? She’d barely had time to get used to it herself. She’d driven into Parkes for an over-the-counter test, then followed up at a free clinic. She’d told no one, not even Aunt Jillian.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Like an idiot she just stood there, blinking in shock.

“Who…how..?” She finally managed.

“Do not play the innocent, Ava.” His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening imperceptibly. “Now answer me.”

The subtle threat behind his silky words, the fury reflected in every tightened muscle, was all too clear. Ava felt her cheeks flush and just like that, she snapped.

“Do you think I planned this? I didn’t even know who you were until after I—” she paused.

“Ran away?” He finished, his eyes way too perceptive.

She crossed her arms, refusing to let him see he’d struck a nerve. Yet her mind raced a million miles an hour until something finally clicked. “That’s why you’re here. You think I want money from you.” Bile rose in her throat, acrid and burning. “Get out of my kitchen,” she ground out.

“I’m not going anywhere. Is the baby mine?”

For one heartbeat, she seriously considered lying, but just as quickly rejected it. Apart from the fact she was a terrible liar, she wouldn’t. Not about something this important. So with fear of the unknown fluttering in her belly, she slowly nodded. “Yes, Cal. It’s yours.”

He paused. “A paternity test will prove it.”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “It will.”

His cold mask cracked, morphing into an expression so raw that she had to take a step back from the intensity.

He strode to her, the distance between them evaporating into an excruciating invasion of her comfort zone. He was Cal Prescott, and he was there, right there and amazingly, the urge to touch him, to smell him, thundered through her senses. She wanted to melt right into his very bones until she couldn’t tell where she finished and he started.

Anger poured off him, slamming into her, breaking through her thoughts. Then with a soft curse he abruptly whirled, shoving a hand through his hair, leaving short, tufted peaks in its wake. Hair that emphasised his ruthlessly angular face and framed those rich brown eyes to perfection. It was a face so achingly distant, one that screamed control and power in every muscle, every line.

“What do you want?” He demanded now, pinning her with sharp intensity.

Instinctively she placed a hand over her belly, which only succeeded in drawing his attention. Abruptly she shoved her hands back in her jean pockets. “From you? Nothing.”

His gaze narrowed. “Don’t lie to me. Not now.”

“I’m not lying! I didn’t even know I was pregnant until a week ago.”

“So that’s the way you’re going to play it.” When he crossed his arms, utterly convinced of her guilt, her frustration ratcheted up.

“I don’t care what you think,” she hissed back. “It’s none of your business!”

He stilled, staring at her, while all around them there was silence, as if the earth itself was awaiting his comeback with bated breath.

Then he smiled. The sheer triumph in that one simple action sent a chilling wave over her skin. It was the smile of a man used to getting his own way, a man who made thousands of million-dollar deals and steamrolled over his detractors. It was a smile that told her he’d won.

Won what?

“You being pregnant with my child is none of my business?” he said now, arching one derisive brow up. “On the contrary. I’ve given this a lot of thought. That child needs a father. We’ll get married.”

Deep below the surface, the bombshell exploded, sending shock waves through Ava’s insides. Oblivious to the aftermath, Cal flipped open a sleek black mobile phone and dialled. “I’ve already applied for a wedding licence and my solicitor will finalise the prenup. I dislike large engagement parties so we’ll skip that, of course. But I have booked dinner at Tetsuya’s with my parents tomorrow night, so—”

Ava finally found her voice. “What are you doing?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you crazy?”

“What?” When he put his hand over the mouthpiece and glared at her like she was some sort of annoying irritation, Ava saw red.

“You can’t force me to marry you!” She jammed her hands on her hips and shouted the last word, anger surging up to scorch her throat.

Slowly, Cal hung up, forcing restraint into every muscle of his body. Her hands fisted on her hips, hips that curved into the worn denim and came this close to being indecent. His eyes travelled upwards, past the ratty shirt that skimmed her waist, the rolled-up sleeves over tanned forearms, to the low neckline that revealed a smooth expanse of throat.

He finally fixed on her face, a face he’d seen in his dreams, deep in the throes of passion. Her silken black hair was half up, half down, the remnants of a ponytail feathering her jaw. A stubborn jaw that was now rigid with fury.

It was the offer of a lifetime, marrying into the Prescott wealth. He may have preempted her blackmail attempt but she’d still be well compensated. What the hell was she ticked off about? Thrown, he glanced at her mouth.

It did him in, seeing that lush mouth again. Gentle creases around her lips denoted a lifetime in the sun, but all he could think about was the softness of that flesh when it had teased and tempted him. How she’d placed hot, searing kisses across his chest, trailed her tongue over his belly before—

With a silent curse, he scowled, which only seemed to anger her.

“I am not marrying you.” She enunciated the words as if he was missing a few brain cells.

He scowled. “Why not?”

Her eyes rounded in incredulity. “Because for one, you don’t tell someone you’re marrying them, you ask them. Second, we don’t even know each other. And third, I don’t want to marry you.”

“I know you need money to save this place. I’m making you an offer.” When she remained silent, he turned the screw a little more. “You get your money and I get a wife.”

Her breath sucked in. “I don’t need your money.”

“Because you’ve got so many other offers, right? Your neighbor…Sawyer?” He lifted his eyebrows mockingly. “He’s mortgaged to the hilt.” As he watched her face drain of color he said flatly, “What, you didn’t know?”

She said nothing, just stared at him with those bright blue eyes full of recrimination.

“The way I see it, you don’t have a choice,” he said now. “I’ll give you until tomorrow to think it through, but we both know your answer.”

Ava was speechless, floored by the depth of his arrogance. “If you care so much, then why not just sue for custody?” she finally whispered. “Why marriage?”

“Because I do not ignore my responsibilities.” His voice tightened in the spacious kitchen. “Did you intend to tell me about this baby at all?”

She quickly drew a hand over her stomach as the blood rushed from her face. She couldn’t think, couldn’t even breathe with his ever-watchful eyes, the lingering scent of his warm skin, the aftermath of his luscious voice in the air all around her. “I…didn’t think you’d want to know. You’re Cal Prescott and—”

“You don’t know what I want.” Fury flickered, working his jaw. “You walked into my life, spent the night, then walked right out again.”

“So this is your way of getting back at me?”

“This is not about you. It’s about a child.” His eyes dropped to her belly, then up again, his expression unreadable. “My child.”

He effectively ended their conversation with a flick of his hand, a white business card between his two fingers. When she didn’t take it he slammed it down on the counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Almost as if he couldn’t stand to remain in her presence a second longer, he turned and stalked out the door.

Chapter Two

Ava was still standing in the kitchen, Cal’s card clutched in her cold fingers, when her Aunt Jillian walked in with a handful of grocery bags, a warm smile on her weathered face. “Ava, darling, I thought we could have chicken for—”

“Cal Prescott was just here.”

Jillian put the bags on the table. “The man you met in Sydney?”

“The same.”

Jillian opened the fridge and shoved a block of cheese inside. “Really? Is he interested in staying at Jindalee?”

Ava swallowed. Even though she’d given Jillian the sanitised version, her aunt was a perceptive woman. “Not exactly. Apparently he thinks I’m trying to blackmail him—and with this place teetering on the verge, I can’t say I blame him.”

Jillian whirled, her lined face a mask of shock. “Oh, my. That’s not good.”

Ava sank into a kitchen chair and put her face in her hands. “I don’t believe this. And now he…” She sighed. “Jillian, I have to tell you something. Sit down.”

Jillian kept right on putting away the groceries. “If it’s about you being pregnant, I already guessed.”

Lord, did the whole world know? Ava’s jaw sagged until she snapped it shut with a click. “How? When?”

“You can’t hide a sudden craving for cheese-and-pickle sandwiches. Plus,” she gently reached out and smoothed Ava’s hair, “your hair went curly. Your grandma and I were exactly the same. It’s a Reilly thing.” Jillian quickly enveloped her in a hug. “Darling, are you okay with this?”

“Yes.” With a relieved sigh, Ava let herself sink into the embrace even as her head spun with the last hour’s events. “You’re not upset I’m not married?”

“It’s not the Middle Ages, darling. And I’m not your father,” she added pointedly.

Ava just squeezed Jillian harder. “Cal thinks I did it on purpose,” she muffled against the woman’s soft shoulder. When Jillian pulled back, Ava avoided her aunt’s eyes, unable to face the questions there. “And now he’s demanding we get married.”

Jillian went back to unpacking. “That’s very chivalrous of him, especially in this day and age.”

“No, it’s not! I can’t even begin to list the things wrong with this—we’re complete strangers, we live separate lives, have careers, not to mention what the town would say—”

“Oh, my giddy aunt!” Jillian slammed a can of tomatoes down on the counter. “Your business is about to go under, you’re pregnant by a rich, attractive, single man—a man who wants to do the right thing and marry you—and you’re worried about what a bunch of old busybodies would say?”

Ava stared at her, stunned. Her Aunt Jillian was the most easygoing person she’d ever known. She’d never raised her voice in anger, never blown her top.

“You’re saying I should marry him?” Ava said slowly.

“I’m saying a child has a right to know his father. From what I’ve read, Cal Prescott never knew his.”

“His mother remarried. He has a father.”

“But his birth father ran out. ‘To know the man, at first know the child.’”

“What?”

“Cal Prescott is a man with obvious trust issues, dear, which can make people do extreme things,” Jillian explained as she started unpacking the apples. “I do wish you’d pay attention a bit better.” Her face suddenly softened. “Or are those hormones kicking in already?”

Ava sighed. “It is not hormones. And don’t change the subject.” She leaned back in her chair, her mind tossing and turning. “I just don’t know what to do.”

Jillian rolled her eyes. “You both have something each other wants. So you make a deal.”

“Have you not been listening about the whole blackmail thing? The only thing he wants is the baby.” She laid a protective hand over her belly. “And he’s not getting that.”

“Darling, do you think he’d actually try to take away your child?” Jillian asked with a shake of her head. “Sounds to me the man just wants to be a father. And he can save Jindalee into the bargain. Unless…” she hesitated. “You don’t want Jindalee.”

Ava flushed. Jillian knew her better than anyone, even her own parents. Jindalee land had been in her family for over a hundred years. The sheep station had been her father’s dream, a culmination of hard work and town status. Ava had known from a very early age she was a distant fourth in his affections, streets behind the land, her mother, then her younger sister, Grace. The uncompromising man had often accused her of being too wild, too selfish, too carefree. And she’d proved it in spades at twenty when she’d single-handedly destroyed everything.

Not selfish anymore. She closed her eyes, picturing his silvery head held proud, a dark frown set in a face lined with age and the elements. She’d put her own share of worry lines on that face.

Her eyes shot open when Jillian placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to prove anything anymore, Ava,” the older woman said softly. “He’s gone. He loved this land, but—”

“So do I.” It was the simple truth. She loved the gently sloping hills, the craggy gum trees that housed the native corellas and lorikeets. The kangaroos that grazed in the morning mist and the stunning sunsets that spread across the big navy sky. It made her heart expand with joy every day at the sheer beauty of the land. Her land.

“Ava,” Jillian said now, her eyes sympathetic. “It doesn’t have to be so hard. No one will think less of you if you sell.”

“But I would.” Ava stood, walked over to the counter and began washing the apples. She’d not sunk everything into this property just to see it fail. And if Cal was on the level, then she didn’t even have her neighbour’s buyout offer as backup.

Hope bloomed, a tiny thread of light bobbing along a sea of uncertainty. She let it sit there for a couple of seconds until caution doused it. Before she charged into any decision, she had to pin down the details. Cal was offering her a chance to save Jindalee. She might be guilty of many things, but looking a gift horse in the mouth was not one of them. It’d be a cakewalk compared to what she’d already been through.

A cakewalk.

On Saturday at 10:00 a.m., after her two paying customers had checked out, Ava knew she couldn’t stall any longer. She’d called and offered to drive the twenty minutes to Parkes, but Cal had preempted her. Now as she watched from her porch, a brand-new red Calais slowly made its way down the dirt road. It finally stopped in the small designated parking area, directly below the huge gum tree.

Ava took a breath, then another, dragging in the comforting kitchen smells to give her strength—vanilla, coffee and fresh-baked apple pie, aromas that said “welcome, come on in!”—or so she’d read in a decorating magazine.

When Cal finally unfolded himself from the car, she did a double take. She’d expected expensive casual: a polo shirt, sharply pressed pants, imported Italian shoes. But he surprised her in a pair of faded Levi’s, work boots, a brown leather jacket and white cotton T-shirt, the latter hugging like cling wrap, outlining every muscular dip and curve of his chest. Natural command and raw sexuality oozed fromhis every bone andAva couldn’t help but stare.

He stalked purposefully up her steps with a long-legged stride that indicated he’d no place else to be, his dark eyes shuttered and focused squarely on her. She threaded her fingers once then released them and suddenly the air was filled with his warm, spicy scent.

“Ava,” he said, making her name sound sexier than the promise of a hot, wet kiss. Lord, he undid her. Did he remember how in the dark of night, she’d confessed her name on his lips made her want to melt in a puddle at his feet? How he’d sensuously turned that confession against her and sent her body into a whimpering frenzy with every word, every whisper?

She quickly turned and walked in the kitchen door, but not before she caught his mouth twitch for one brief second. She groaned inwardly. He remembered.

Thankful that the warm kitchen disguised her flushed cheeks, she said over her shoulder, “We’ll go into the lounge room.”

As she led him down the hall, the tide of impending doom tugged at her legs. Her lounge room was welcoming and expansive, with cream walls and pine colonial-style furniture, but she couldn’t help but think Cal could buy a place like this a thousand times over. He was decisive, powerful and obscenely rich. If Jillian thought to sell her on all those attributes, she was sorely mistaken. It only proved to her that Cal was unfamiliar with the word “no.”

His closed expression pitched her stomach into queasy unrest. This man, with his brooding thoughtfulness and silent staring, who’d stormed back into her life and accused her of blackmail, was a complete stranger to her.

What on earth was she thinking?

She sat on the chaise longue and folded her legs under her, watching as he remained standing.

“I apologize,” he began stiffly, “for yesterday. I believe I could have come off a little…”

“Pushy?” she offered, surprised.

“Determined,” he amended firmly. “I’m not used to making deals based on…” He ran his eyes over her and for one second, something flared in the dark depths before he shut it down. “…personal matters.”

Ava could only stare. When he unflinchingly met her eyes, something clicked. He was actually embarrassed at admitting that—a man worth billions, a business genius who was a dead ringer for Russell Crowe and attracted women by the boatload. Yet his expression said he’d rather eat glass than reveal any emotional vulnerability.

Despite herself, despite his demands, she felt a tiny thread of sympathy unfurl. Yet before she could say anything, he crossed his arms and swiftly changed the subject.

“What I’m offering is a business proposition. You need money. In return, the baby—and you—will have the Prescott name and all that entails.”

The smooth conciseness of his proposal took her aback for one heartbeat. In the next, she realized exactly what was happening: Sheer brute force hadn’t worked, so he was playing his next hand. Calm reasoning. She wondered what he’d try next if she refused. Seduction, perhaps? To her annoyance, a gentle anticipatory buzz tripped over her skin.

“Won’t a wife put a downer on your lifestyle?” she said now, shoving those distracting thoughts aside.

His eyes bored into her. “Let me make this clear—you are having my baby. Which means I want you.”

Hot excitement fired through her veins, steamrolling every other thought into oblivion. She tried to will it away but it kept on coming, a constant pounding wave that alternately thrilled yet alarmed her.

With a deep breath she finally managed to gain some modicum of control. Cal was simply claiming his child, that was all. He just wanted what she could give him.

So why was she acting like a jittery fool in love?

She dragged her eyes away, her mind spinning. Why couldn’t he be the man who’d stormed in her door and accused her of blackmail? At least that way she could refuse his demands with a clear conscience.

Bottom line—losing Jindalee was not an option. And her other choices included bankruptcy and poverty. She also had Jillian to think about; she’d convinced her aunt to sell her little café and come live with her. And Cal was offering more than financial security, a chance to keep the land and ensure the Reilly legacy stayed in the family. He was willing—no, demanding—to be a presence in her child’s life. A man who wanted all the responsibilities that being a father entailed.

That was more than a lot of children got these days, herself included.

She finally glanced up, only to catch Cal studying her with an intensity that made her itch to smooth her hair and check her teeth.

“What kind of arrangement did you have in mind?” she said now.

“A legally binding contract. You marry me and in return I’ll pay off all your debts, plus give you any assistance necessary to see this place turn a profit.”

“I’m not handing this place over to some manager. The land and property remain in my name.”

“Naturally. But I do expect you to be in Sydney whenever I need you, to be available for functions, dinners and such.”

“No.” Ava swallowed. A quickie wedding was one thing. But to publicly flaunt it, to pretend?

He crossed his arms with a small sigh, a sure indication he’d lost patience. “Yes. Did you think I’d just give you money and that’d be it until the child was born?”

“I thought…”

“Well, you thought wrong.” His jaw tightened. “This is my stipulation.”

Any hope of taking the money and keeping a low profile quietly disintegrated. “So I’m to be your arm decoration.”

“My fiancée,” he corrected. “You will be my wife, the mother of my child, and I expect you to conduct yourself accordingly. As I will.”

She blinked. “Which means?”

“No unscripted interviews, no tell-all book deals if and when we divorce.” His eyes suddenly darkened. “And no lovers while we’re married.”

A surprised breath tore at her throat. “I need to think.” Quickly she rose and the room tilted beneath her feet. Just as she grabbed the longue, Cal’s hand shot out to steady her.

The shock was so instantaneous, so unexpected, that she gasped. As his long fingers curled around her upper arm, her treacherous flesh caved. A sudden flicker of heat sparked in her belly, sending desire across her skin, making her muscles ache with want.

As if her mind could sense the thin thread of control she teetered on, that night came flooding back in hot, bright technicolor. His eager mouth on hers, on her neck. His sure, skilful hands cupping her breasts, teasing her nipples into peaking hardness. And his hot passionate breath trailing a path of seduction from her navel down to—

She pulled away, refusing to meet his eyes, barely managing a “thank you.” Inside, she tried to squelch the spurt of panic but reality crashed in. If she wanted to save Jindalee, she had no other choice.

She rubbed her cheek, surprised at the heat beneath her hand. There was no denying her body’s reaction to his simple touch. She wanted him. Even after just one night, after his accusations and demands, she wanted him.

With an inward groan, she crossed her arms. “Fine. After you leave for Sydney I’ll keep you updated on the baby’s progress. Of course I will—”

“No. I’m flying home this afternoon. You’re coming with me.”

“Today? That wasn’t part of the deal.”

Cal paused, as if chewing back his words with infinite patience. “Being my wife means social functions, outings, the whole shebang. Starting immediately. I’ve also booked you in to see a top paediatrician on Tuesday.”

She frowned. “Do I have any say in this?”

“On this, no. Which reminds me…” he flipped open his phone and dialled, exchanged a few words, then hung up. “We’ll be back here next Sunday with my team,” he said. “They’ll need a tour, plus your existing marketing and advertising strategy. I assume you do have one?”

She straightened her shoulders with an indignant glare. “Yes.”

“I’ve also authorised payment of your loans and any other outstanding debts.” He shoved his hands on his hips. “Anything else?”

Howsabout you build a time machine and go back about nine weeks? The words bubbled up in her throat but she quickly swallowed them. Mutely she shook her head.

“Ava? Are we in agreement?”

She nearly whimpered as Cal’s deep voice flowed over her, kicking up her pulse another notch. Stop. Please stop talking, before I completely lose it. Her feet rocked, her heart hammering in her chest.

“What happens after the baby’s born?” she said hoarsely. “What if we…decide it’s not working?” What if you decide playing daddy isn’t fun anymore? What if I end up hating you? What if you fall in love with someone? Her heart twisted for a second, surprising her.

“Thinking about divorce before we’re even married?” He quirked one eyebrow up and she flattened her mouth until her lips hurt.

“Yes.”

He gave her a slow, considering look. “If that time comes, I’m open to discussing it. Not before. I’ve put a clause in the prenup to address that. But regardless of what we decide, I’m still that child’s father.”

The underlying thread of possessiveness was undeniable. If that didn’t drop her stomach, then the “if the time comes” bit did. Of course the time would come. A country girl and a big-city billionaire were no more suited than chalk and cheese. No one these days based a marriage purely on financial gain. No one except her, that is.

She nodded, even as perverse disappointment rioted through her. “So you’re asking me to marry you?”

Cal dragged his eyes away from the hollow of her neck to focus on her eyes. “Does this mean you’re saying yes?”

“Are you asking me to marry you?” she repeated, crossing her arms across her chest. Unfortunately, it only drew his attention to her breasts, which were now pushing seductively up from the deep V of her buttoned shirt.

Cal’s words inexplicably stuck to the roof of his dry mouth. Then he suddenly recalled their earlier conversation. He hadn’t asked her. He cleared his throat. “Ava. Will you marry me?”

She took a breath, almost as if drawing in strength. “Yes. But with stipulations.”

“Go on.”

She flushed but kept right on going. “Any major decisions, any changes concerning Jindalee must be first approved by me.”

Cal frowned. “My team is better equipped to decide—”

“This is my land, Cal.” She levelled an unwavering gaze at him. “I get the final say-so.”

“Okay,” he conceded, finally seating himself on the arm of a sturdy one seater. “I’ll have my solicitor put it in the contract.”

Ava stilled, waiting for a sign, anything that would let her know she was either making a colossal mistake or doing the right thing. Nothing. And as the seconds ticked by, she took another breath, then sat.

“I plan to be a hands-on mother, which means I won’t be handing this baby over to a nanny just so I can swan off to parties with you.”

His brief flash of surprise quickly disappeared with a cool nod. “Understood.”

“And…” She faltered. “One more thing. The sleeping arrangements.” One eyebrow kinked up but he said nothing. Under his scrutiny she felt the traitorous heat bloom across her skin. “I don’t think it would be a good idea to…well…”

“Have sex?” He leaned back, carefully crossing his ankle over one knee as his mouth twitched. His nonchalant amusement only deepened her embarrassment.

“Well, yes.”

He shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”

Ava nodded, mortification clogging her throat. Of course it’s what she wanted. He thought she was a woman who got herself pregnant just to blackmail him. She had more self-respect than to jump into bed with a man who believed she was a common criminal.

Yet his quick acquiescence seared the edges of her womanly pride. As she studied him, she recalled an article she’d once read…something about pregnant women being a huge turn-off for some men. She’d never pegged Cal for one of those men. But then, they’d been lovers for only one fleeting night—what did she really know about her husband-to-be?

She felt the blood drain from her face. Her husband. To be.

“Then it’s settled.” He leaned forward, hand outstretched and for a second she just stared at him. At his questioning look, she quickly took his hand, sealing the deal and her fate with one firm handshake.

Yet her mind wasn’t on the deal they’d just struck—it was on the way his long fingers wrapped around hers, enveloping her in heat and…something more, something almost protective. Something that tugged at the deepest part of her, that spoke to every teenage yearning, every wish list of happy-ever-afters she’d ever made. Here was a man in every sense of the word—strong, determined, a provider. The sheer command of his very presence took her breath away.

“Ava?”

With a jolt she realized she still held his hand and worse, she’d been stroking it with her thumb.

With a gasp she tried to pull back, but he refused to let her go. Instead she stood but he followed her, his hand still imprisoning hers.

“Ava…” he trailed off, almost as if rethinking his next words.

“Cal, please.” Please don’t? Or please do? Her head said one thing, her body another, and from the sudden awareness sparking in his dark eyes, she knew which one he’d chosen to hear.

Please do.

He drew her to him with all the skill and confidence of a man who knew she wouldn’t refuse. He cupped her elbows, pinning her to his chest, to that warm, hard wall of muscle beneath soft cotton that cried out to be touched, caressed. Kissed.

She closed her eyes as heat and desire turned her brain to mush, waiting in willing anticipation for his lips to claim hers. A tremble started up in her belly, looping and swirling as she felt his warm breath gently swoop over her mouth. Her heart kicked up the tempo, beating hard in her throat, in her head. In a sharp rush, she exhaled, then…then…

Nothing.

“Look at me.”

His sinful voice sent a flutter of goosebumps over her skin. Slowly, she did as he asked.

Danger. She felt it crackle in the air as his chest pressed intimately into her breasts. His eyes held the remembrance of mutual pleasures, everything she’d walked away from, everything in her tortured dreams.

A deep, burning need seared Cal a thousand times over as he stared into her upturned face. To his stunned amazement, he realized he wanted her, right here, right now. After weeks of denial, his body ached for her like he’d been cloistered in a monastery for years. He shouldn’t want her. Damn, he didn’t even trust her.

Pride nipped at his heels, giving him the strength to release her. With regret dogging his retreat, he gritted his teeth.

“If you want me, Ava,” he growled, unable to disguise the lust in his voice, “then you’ll have to say it.”

Chapter Three

Her eyes, heavy with arousal, suddenly flew wide open. “What?”

She looked so different from the first time they’d met—more earthy, more sensual. Yet he could still see a glimpse of the woman he’d bedded underneath the denim veneer: the way her eyes tilted up at the corners, the ripe lush mouth that was heaven to taste. Lord, he just wanted to peel off that snug shirt, yank down her jeans and take her with that sexy midnight hair falling around her shoulders, her lips whispering his name.

With a soft curse, he shoved a hand through his hair and gave her his back.

“You want me to ask you for sex?”

The disgust in her voice had him whirling back to the angry indignation tightening her face.

“You actually want me to beg?” She breathed, incredulous. “Of all the conceited, arrogant…! Yes, I’ve agreed to marry you but I am not going to pander to your ego by—”

“Hang on.” He put up a hand in alarm. “I never said—”

“—begging you for anything! First you accuse me of blackmail and now this. I get it—it’s some sort of punishment for—”

“Stop!”

His command only angered her more. She pulled herself up to her full five-foot-three and jammed her hands on her hips, her face tight with passionate fury. “I will not stop! And just because I’m having your baby doesn’t mean—”

“Would you stop yelling at me?” Cal grabbed her arms, shocking them both into silence.

“Let’s get something straight,” he managed to grind out. “We both know we’re attracted to each other—as evidenced nine weeks ago.” He thought he detected a glimmer of something in her blue eyes but couldn’t be certain. “But I’m not about to force myself on you because some piece of paper says I’m your husband. If you want me in your bed, then it’s your decision and yours only. Understood?”

“And what,” she whispered hoarsely, her eyes wide, “makes you think I’d want you when you so clearly don’t trust me?”

They remained still for a second, then two. Then, as if she realized he still held her, her arms tensed beneath his hands.

He swiftly backed off, abruptly changing the subject. “We have a flight to Sydney in a couple of hours. You need to pack.”

“I have a business to run.”

“You also have a family to meet. Don’t you have an aunt who can look after this place for a few days?”

“How—” Ava stopped. Cal finding out about the baby was one violation she’d get over. But digging into her past without even giving her the option of what she wanted to reveal? Her mouth felt bitter and dry. Dear lord, what had she gotten herself into?

As if she was standing outside someone else’s life looking in, Ava sat on the balcony of Cal’s Circular Quay penthouse suite, taking in Sydney Harbour spread out like a picture-perfect postcard thirty floors below.

His place was something out of Architectural Digest. The elevator doors had swooshed open to reveal a massive living room in varying shades of cream and white, a warm chocolate couch opposite a solid rustic coffee table in the centre. Along the right wall, separating the bedrooms, ran a stunning tropical aquarium. In silent awe she’d barely registered Cal’s brief tour, until they’d walked through the dining area and into an immaculate kitchen. Too immaculate.

“Do you cook?” she’d asked him. He’d just shrugged and said, “I eat out, mostly.”

There was something here for all the senses, she realized. Even on the balcony, the decadent cream cashmere couch felt like heaven against her bare calves, just like the expensive cotton sheets on her guest room bed. The briny ocean breeze left a salty tang on her lips, tainted warmly by the patio heater glowing in the far corner. And through the double glass patio doors floated the soft strains of James Taylor on the CD player, mingling with the faint bustle of Circular Quay below. All that marred the perfection was the absence of an active kitchen. Something simmering on the stove…a lamb roast, she mused, some garlic potatoes, fresh carrots and green beans. Or a Greek salad. Her stomach rumbled in agreement and a small grin tugged at her lips.

Her good humour faltered as Cal appeared at the door with two wine glasses. He’d changed into a dark navy suit, light-blue shirt and a precisely knotted sapphire silk tie, while she had to be content with the cherry-red dress he’d first seen her in. It was a little snug across the breasts but the best she could do on short notice.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” His quiet confidence made it sound like he’d painted the harbour view himself, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes.”

He studied her, almost as if assessing her against some unspoken criteria. She must have finally passed muster when, with a glint of remembrance in his eyes, he said, “Nice dress.”

“My only dress,” she replied and recrossed her legs. The floaty chiffon hem slid over her skin, baring a long expanse of thigh. Surreptitiously, she rearranged the fabric, but when his shrewd gaze followed her hands, the warmth began to rise again.

To fill the uncomfortable void, she took a grateful swallow of the bubbly lemon, lime and bitters, then grabbed up the paper he’d shoved across the glass table.

It was a briefing paper, not only outlining his business deals but some personal details, details she’d be expected to know as his fiancée. She scanned down the page, unable to stop that rush of morbid curiosity. She knew nothing of him—at least, not the things that really mattered. Deep, personal things she always thought you should know about your husband-to-be. Little intimacies that indicated you were a couple, in love and happy to spend the rest of your lives together.

“You’ll be thirty-four on New Year’s Day.” At his nod, she asked half to herself, “What do you get a man who can afford to buy anything?”

“Something simple. My mother bought me the fish tank last year.” At her raised eyebrow, he added, deadpan, “But I can always use a tie or a nice bottle of Scotch.”

“A pair of socks?”

She returned his grin with one of her own and for the first time since arriving in Sydney, Ava felt his full and complete attention. The gentle tug of desire unfurled inside, but with ruthless efficiency, she shoved it back.

On his private jet he’d been engrossed in paperwork and phone calls. The journey to his apartment hadn’t been much better. She should have enjoyed the decadent opulence of driving in his shiny black hybrid Maserati Coupé, blanketed in the luxurious smell of leather seats, the throaty purr of the powerful engine as they smoothly glided along Anzac Parade. Yet she couldn’t shake the awful thought that this was a premonition of things to come—she silent and immaculately groomed and he the workaholic with always one ear to the phone, one eye on a business deal.

She didn’t want to be the wife who paraded about in designer dresses and jewels, a perky, dolled-up hostess serving only to entertain her husband’s business colleagues. She shuddered at the thought of putting on makeup day after day, having her hair teased and primped, dressing up like Corporate Wife Barbie.

And stupid, stupid her—she was going to sign a contract that gave him carte blanche.

You have to remember this is just temporary. She’d be at Jindalee most days, focusing on her business. She’d be with Cal only when he needed to show her off and make a good impression. He’d said so himself.

His own personal show pony.

With self-anger dogging her thoughts, she glanced away, back to the darkening sky.

Instead of taking a seat next to her, he sat on the couch directly across the coffee table, thankfully on the outer edges of her personal space. Yet anything short of another city was still way too close. He was simply too commanding to ignore, let alone be comfortable with. It was a combination of the dark, knowing look in his eyes, the sensual flow of his voice and the annoying memories that surged up to goosebump her skin.

She quickly returned her attention to the paper. “You started working for Victor at seventeen and now you’re a managing director. Did you…” she paused, mentally rephrasing the question. “You never felt the urge to start your own business?”

“VP Tech is my business.”

She remained silent at his cryptic statement until he elaborated with a small shrug. “I dropped out of school to work in Victor’s software development division. A few years later I had the idea for One-Click and Victor supplied technical staff and financial backing. Today we’re the only Australian company with integrated Internet, phone and software technology in the one office program. It brings in billions.”

After a brief second she changed gears. “What’s your mother like?”

His reply was instantaneous. “Loyal. Generous. Supportive.”

“And your stepfather?”

Cal paused, allowing himself the opportunity to study her features, the uptilted nose, the elegant sweep of her cheek. The way she looked genuinely interested in his answer. “Commanding. Immovable. Astute.”

“And he won’t figure out our newly engaged bliss is a front? Or are you planning to tell them the truth?” she said, her voice in complete control. Yet her eyes gave her away, deep pools of turmoil. Abruptly she glanced down, breaking contact.

“Are you worried about what people will think?” he asked slowly. The small crease between her eyes indicated he’d hit the truth.

“About what your parents will think, yes.”

Despite that ever-present distrust that lingered like an early morning fog, the air suddenly shifted, stirred by a gentle wave of something Cal didn’t want to explore, let alone acknowledge. Not even to himself.

He barely heard the catch in her breath, but he couldn’t miss the struggle etched in the gentle curves of her face. Shoving down that sliver of unfamiliar guilt, he instead focused on his purpose. He’d had one moment of weakness, and it was his responsibility to make it right. He’d learnt that from Victor. He didn’t welcome this deep, burning need to have her skin on his, to have her body hot and writhing beneath him.

Yet for the first time in months, he simply wanted.

He ground his teeth together. Christ. Now he was hard.

With a determined slant to his jaw, he refocused. Things with Ava were business. They had to be.

The silence stretched until the need to fill it with something, anything, became unbearable. Cal finally broke it.

“If they ask, you can just say we met over cocktails at the Shangri-La, kept in touch and met up again recently.”

“But isn’t a sudden engagement out of character for you?” she pressed.

“Trust me, they won’t ask. At least, my mother won’t.”

“And Victor?”

He paused, twirling the glass in his hand. “It’s none of his business whom I chose to marry. Let me handle him.” As his firm command lingered, their gazes clashed, one curious and bright, the other shadowed and dark.

Ava severed it and reached for her glass. “So we’re going to fake it.”

The unintentional double entendre curved his mouth. “That a problem?”

She looked discomforted by his scrutiny. “I’m not good at deception.”

Interesting. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage. Just think of the money.”

He could’ve kicked himself when an injured shadow passed over her face. But then she turned back to the view and it vanished.

What was with him? He preferred women who understood the demands of his lifestyle, women who were polished, sophisticated, who weren’t looking for promises or commitment. Women who could elegantly fake a parental inspection with ease. They’d graced magazines, television, catwalks. They met his needs sexually, socially and mentally, although not one woman had met them all.

But Ava…what was it about her and just her that compelled him?

Sure, she was a hot package. Their one encounter still haunted his memory. His eyes dipped to her neckline, to the silky material stretched taut across her breasts. Ava Reilly was also stubborn and proud, qualities that alternately fascinated and frustrated him.

Don’t forget she bargained her baby to save her business.

That should be enough to extinguish his craving, but inexplicably, it still simmered. And below that, an unfamiliar urge to know more about her, to unravel the pieces of what his brief report had missed, surged up.

“How long have you been at Jindalee?”

His sudden question snapped her gaze back to him.

“Pretty much my whole life.” At his frown she added, “Don’t you have all this in a report?”

“No.”

She held his gaze, as if trying to work out if he was telling the truth or not. Finally she gave a small sigh. “Jindalee used to be a sheep station, built by my father in the late forties.”

“How old are you?”

“I’ll be thirty in December. My parents tried for ages to have kids, then they had two girls barely a year apart.” She clicked her mouth shut and looked away, indicating that line of questioning was closed.

He frowned. When they married, he’d get sole control of VP Tech, everything he’d ever wanted. He should be focusing on that and only that, not sharing intimate details of their lives. She was just a convenient means to that end. He’d done the right thing, the only thing by claiming his child. He didn’t need to know the intricacies of her past—just like she didn’t need to know about Victor’s ultimatum.

“So when is the happy day?” Ava said.

For a second, Cal remained wrapped up in his thoughts, in the remnants of anger still clinging to him like ethereal cobwebs. That anger was a constant confirmation never to fully trust anyone, never to let his guard down. But when he snapped his eyes to Ava’s, he felt those spidery webs slowly evaporate.

Quickly he gained control. “As soon as possible. How long does it take to organize a wedding?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Isn’t it something women always obsess about?”

She gave him a look. “Sorry, I missed the memo.”

She took a slow sip of her drink and his attention zeroed in on those cherry-painted lips as they met the rim of the glass, the small ripple under her smooth skin as she swallowed.

“Money’s no object,” Cal added with more calm than he felt. “If you want a particular place, a certain church—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He studied her with interest. “If you could get married anywhere, where would you choose?”

“I haven’t given it much thought.”

“Okay.” He placed his glass on the table with firm decisiveness. “St Mary’s Cathedral for the ceremony,” he said, naming Sydney’s most prominent historical church. “Then my private cruiser on Sydney Harbour for the reception. How does August the first suit you?”

“That’s less than…” she calculated in the pause, “two months away. Why the rush?”

“You have a problem with that?” He eyed her stomach, then nodded. “You’ll be five months pregnant, obviously showing…”

“That’s not the point,” she said tightly. “Aren’t there waiting lists?”

“Probably.” He quirked up an eyebrow. “I can organize a wedding planner.”

That threw her. “No! Okay, August the first it is,” she finished lamely. “So, getting back to tonight. Tell me more about your parents.”

He let her change direction without comment. “My mother, Isabelle, lived in the Hunter Valley. She met Victor when I was eleven and they married a year later.”

“You have a brother,” she said.

“Stepbrother. Zac.” With all traces of amusement gone, he felt the sudden need for distance. He rose, went to the railing, then turned to face her, his back against the cold metal. “He’s three years younger than me and Victor’s real son.”

She smiled tentatively. “I’m sure your stepfather thinks you’re just as—”

“Don’t.”

Her smile slowly faded. “I’m just trying to—”

“You don’t read the tabloids, do you?”

Mutely she shook her head.

“Zac left VP Tech a few years back,” he said less harshly. “From what I hear he started up his own company on the Gold Coast.”

I stayed. I remained loyal. And yet Victor still insists on playing this stupid game with the future of the company.

“Have you spoken to him?”

“What?” He shook his head, trying to dislodge the remnants of bitterness.

“Have you spoken to Zac since he left?” She studied him way too closely, a thread of concern in her bright blue eyes. “You’re brothers. Don’t you—”

“No. We need to get going if we’re to make our reservation,” he said gruffly, glancing away with an odd sense of guilt.

Ava hesitated for a brief second as he held out his hand. When she finally took it and he gently pulled her to her feet, she sucked in a breath. There it was again—the jolt of heat, the quickening of her heartbeat, the low ache of desire in her belly. When she instinctively placed a hand on her stomach, his eyes followed.

“Can you…feel anything?”

The sudden flash of wonder in his face was a low, primeval blow, leaving her breathless. What she felt had nothing yet everything to do with the life growing inside her. Her body was changing, growing, and hot, dark need throbbed through her veins. Her skin itched to be touched, to be kissed. By this man.

And there was no way she’d admit that, not when it’d taken all the control she possessed to recover from that near kiss.

“Just a few…flutters,” she managed. “It’s normal in the first trimester.”

“Do you need anything?”

You. “No.”

Ava swallowed thickly as he placed a hand on her back, guiding her into the apartment. Great. Just great. How on earth was she going to survive another thirty-one weeks of this?

“Do you have a special diet?”

She closed her eyes briefly as the warm brand of his palm seared through her thin dress. “No caffeine or shellfish. Lots of greens, water. And sleep. I’ve been spending a lot of time in bed…”

She glanced up, caught his flash of amusement and felt her skin prickle hotly.

Get a grip, Ava! It was just…biological. Hormonal. He was a great-looking guy and her body instinctively responded to that. That’s all.

When she reached to grab her wrap draped across the back of his leather couch, she noticed a small velvet box perched on top. Her eyes flew to his.

“To add reality to our newly engaged bliss,” he explained, plucking the box from her fingers and flicking it open.

Despite herself, she gasped. There, nestled on a bed of black velvet, was the most gorgeous ring she’d ever seen. It was stunning in its simplicity: a claw-set single teardrop diamond, the gold band studded with tiny emeralds. It must be worth thousands…or more. She hesitated, almost afraid to touch it, until Cal eased the ring from its nest and held it out.

“It’s beautiful,” she sighed.

“I know.” She glanced up, only to lose herself in the dark drug of his unfathomable eyes. Quickly she refocused on the ring, willing her hand not to shake as he slid it over her knuckle. It sat there, winking at her, teasing with its carat-laden sparkle.

“A little loose,” he murmured, still holding her fingertips as he ran his thumb over the band. Shivers tripped down her skin and she gently eased away.

“Not for long.” At his questioning look, she added, “Weight gain.”

“Ahh.”

When his mouth tilted, the overwhelming need to kiss him stunned her. It shouldn’t be. But there it was.

Her whole body tingled with awareness, making her skin burn from the inside. She’d read about pregnancy hormones heightening a woman’s sexual appetite, had laughingly listened to the explicit stories her married girlfriends had revealed. But were those hormones supposed to be this intense? Like she had a sudden need to rip off her clothes and demand he ravish her on the floor?

She wanted him. Craved him, even. Like she was a chocolate addict, and one taste just hadn’t been enough.

A groan rattled in her throat. She couldn’t give in to a moment of weakness, no matter how amazing it promised to be. Sleeping with a man who thought her capable of blackmail would leave a deep and lasting scar, and she’d had enough of those to last a lifetime.

With supreme control she took one step back, away from the warm intimacy that had enveloped them as they stood almost touching. She drew her wrap around her, wishing it were solid armour.

“Shall we go?”

A shutter fell over his face, his nod cool and curt. And just like that, the moment was broken. But damn, a part of her wished it hadn’t, wished she possessed the world-liness, the detachment to make the first move and bring relief to her growing need.

But as Cal coolly guided her out the door, she’d have to instead focus on the night ahead, and put all her energies into getting through it.

Chapter Four

Determined to follow Cal’s lead and ignore the whispered glances that accompanied their journey through Tetsuya’s, Ava lifted her chin and kept walking, fully aware of his warm, possessive hand on the small of her back guiding her forward. Then they were inside the private dining room and the door was closed with a discreet click.

She got a glimpse of the interior—sparsely elegant, with delicious aromas coming from the warming station at the far end—before Cal looped an arm around her waist. It was an intimate brand of ownership, one that did nothing to quash the butterflies in her stomach, and she itched to squirm away. But then he was saying, “Ava. I’d like you to meet my mother, Isabelle,” and her fate was sealed.

A deep breath calmed her panic, leaving behind nervous anticipation. Isabelle Prescott had to be in her fifties at least, but moved with the grace and charm of someone decades younger. Outwardly, she looked perfect, from the hem of her elegant black knee-length shift dress to the top of her perfectly made-up face, surrounded by a fashionably choppy blond bob. As Ava expected, the woman was manicured, perfumed and dressed like a million bucks. Yet when she tilted up to greet Cal with a kiss, her smile radiated genuine joy.

To Ava’s relief, when she turned to Ava that smile never faltered.

“Ava, I’m delighted to meet you. I’m so happy for you both.”

She barely had time to be surprised by the older woman leaning in to bestow a kiss to her cheek before Cal introduced Victor and a steely handshake engulfed her hand.

Cal was a man who oozed natural command and confidence, a man used to giving directions and having them obeyed without question. Now she knew where he’d learnt it from. The persona of Victor Prescott was just as large as the real-life man himself. His broad, imposing presence was immaculately suited, his grey hair precisely cut, his moustache trimmed. A pair of intelligent blue eyes summed her up in half a second and, determined not to wither under that gaze, Ava returned his handshake firmly and met it. When he smiled the action didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Congratulations, Ms. Reilly.”

What an odd thing to say. She shot a glance at Cal. “For…?”

“For being the woman to finally catch my son. He’s been notoriously single for too many years.”

A tense look passed between the two men before Cal broke it. He took Ava’s arm with firm gentleness. “Let’s be seated.”

With Cal seated next to her and Isabelle and Victor directly opposite, the meal began. To Ava’s surprise, there were no menus, just a discreet waiter serving the first of what was to be ten courses from the restaurant’s famous degustation menu.

“Venison, beef.” Cal named the tiny helpings on her plate, his murmur soft and intimate in her ear. “The others are fish.”

“So, Ava,” Isabelle began as she dipped her spoon in the gazpacho. “Are you from Sydney?”

“Born and bred near Dubbo, actually.”

“A country girl…I like that.” Isabelle smiled. “So a city this size would seem a little crazy to you.”

Ava slid a glance to Cal, who seemed intent on her answer. “It’s large. Noisy. But,” she added quickly with a smile, “very beautiful. Sydney’s harbour view is like no other.”

As she finished the rest of her bio, Ava was acutely aware of the attention she commanded. The scrutiny that worried her most, though, was Victor’s. Reputation aside, the man had a way of intimidating with just a look and the slight raising of an eyebrow. He let Isabelle ask all the questions, only interjecting to question her about Jindalee’s past incarnation as a sheep station.

As the meal wore on, and despite the glorious food—Ava had never tasted beef so wonderfully spiced before—she sensed an underlying tension settle over their table. She frequently caught a guarded sharpness in Cal’s eyes, as if he was waiting for something to happen, for someone to say something. She glanced over at Victor. The man eyed them both with speculation, a look that had frequented the meal. One that had first alarmed but now just plain irritated her.

On the flip side, Isabelle was a genuinely lovely woman. Cal’s obvious love and respect shone through like the sun on an overcast day. It was the way her whole face creased with humor when she spoke, the way his expression softened. She was obviously the catalyst between two equally forceful and stubborn males.

“And the poor man was covered in Béarnaise sauce!” Isabelle concluded her anecdote with a laugh, prompting Cal into a deep chuckle. Ava smiled through the tiny pang that speared her, forcing her eyes away. They landed on Victor, only to find him studying her with sharp intensity.

Quickly she dropped her gaze to her plate.

“You don’t like seafood?” Victor said suddenly. All eyes went to him, then to Ava’s plate, where she’d eaten the salad but left the shellfish.

Ava gave Cal a startled look. “I…”

“No, she doesn’t.” Cal answered smoothly, placing a warm hand over hers on the table. Calm down, the small gesture seemed to say. I’m here.

Victor snorted. “Well, I’ve never known a woman to refuse dessert.” His gaze became perceptive. “Chocolate cognac mousse…”

“Ava doesn’t drink alcohol,” Cal said smoothly.

“…and a superior cappuccino.”

“Or caffeine.”

Victor slowly raised the napkin to his mouth, dabbed, then folded it precisely on the table.

“I see. So to summarize this evening—you’re attractive, single, have no discernible indulgences and run a small business while supporting your aunt and the local community. Do you have any vices, Ms. Reilly, or can I assume you’re—” he held her panicky gaze in calculating summary “—absolutely perfect for my son?”

Cal’s hand tightened over hers. “Oh, for God’s sake, Victor, that’s enough. She’s—”

“Cal, no,” she murmured, urging the well of panic back down.

He glanced at her then continued calmly. “Ava hasn’t been well the last few days.”

Victor’s chair screeched across the floor as he abruptly stood. “Cal—a word?”

Cal nodded, rose fluidly to his feet and followed Victor across the room, out of earshot. Even knowing Cal for just a few days, she could still see something simmer below the well-groomed, polite surface. Something angry and resentful.

Ava’s stomach sank, aided by Victor’s cynical words, loaded to the brim with innuendo. She stared at her plate as the meal congealed in her stomach. It shouldn’t matter what that man thought of her, but it did. Painfully so.

“I hope you’re feeling better.” Isabelle’s hand on her arm startled her and when she met the woman’s warm brown eyes, they were fraught with concern.

The little white lie twisted inside. “Just a bug.”

“I’m sorry if what Victor said upset you. He’s just being protective of Cal. It’s nothing personal.”

“Well,” Ava cleared her throat, emotion clogging it, “it sure felt like it.”

Isabelle gave her a small smile. “I know. Victor can be a little…autocratic. Abrasive, even. But he’s a man used to running a billion-dollar business. Sometimes it’s hard to—” she gave an elegant shrug “—shut that off.”

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Ava said impulsively. At Isabelle’s nod, she said, “You and Victor are so different…” She paused, not wanting to offend, but the other woman’s smile drove her onward. “How did you and Victor meet?”

Isabelle laughed. “We are different, there’s no doubt about that. Cal was six when his father ran out. We never married, so there I was, five years later, a single mum and working at a winery on the north coast. Victor was looking to buy it, he saw me serving in the café and—” She trailed off, her face soft with remembrance. “We fell in love. People scoff at love at first sight, but truly, that’s what it was. As you probably know,” she added with a sparkle in her eyes. “Like you and Cal, I had no idea who Victor was. He didn’t know about my life, about my son. But we fell in love and that was it. We were married a year later, when Cal turned twelve.”

Ava couldn’t help but smile at the woman’s misty-eyed reminiscence. “He swept you off your feet.”

“And he didn’t take no for an answer—not that I didn’t make him jump through a few hoops first.” She arched a brow in a woman-to-woman look before taking a sip of her wine.

Ava nodded with a smile and finished the rest of her water. It surprised her that this warm, intelligent woman was married to a man like Victor Prescott. Yet there’d been a few times she’d spotted the cracks in the man’s ice-hard facade: When Isabelle had reached out to squeeze his hand and he’d returned the grip firmly. Her animated retelling of a story that relaxed his craggy face, softening the controlled lines. Yet in the next moment, the mask returned and he was back to studying Ava like she was a particularly fascinating bug under his microscope.

Isabelle tapped her hand on the table, bringing Ava’s attention to the sparkling wedding set on her ring finger. “Ava, I know it’s short notice, but would you like to go shopping with me tomorrow?”

Shopping? She glanced over to where Cal and Victor were still talking in hushed animation, then returned to Isabelle.

“We can buy heaps of shoes, drink cappuccino and people-watch,” Isabelle teased, with a gleam in her eye. “Uh!” She gestured with mock severity when Ava opened her mouth. “Don’t tell me. You’re a handbag girl instead.”

Ava laughed then. She wanted to know more about Cal, so what better way to get a handle on him than through his mother? “Sure. Shopping it is.”

“Excellent!” Isabelle beamed. “Do you have any preferences?”

“Somewhere…inexpensive?”

Isabelle laughed and laid a hand on Ava’s. “Think of it as Cal’s treat. He can afford to indulge his fiancée, after all. And I promise we’ll find something you love.”

“Are you ready to go?” Cal said suddenly. Startled, she glanced up, only to find his expression shuttered down tight. She nodded and rose to her feet.

“No coffee?” Isabelle asked, surprised.

“Can’t—early start tomorrow. I’ll see you later, Mum.” Cal placed a quick kiss on his mother’s cheek then nodded curtly at Victor.

“I’ll send a car for you at eight,” Isabelle said as Cal placedAva’s wrap around her shoulders. “Retail therapy,” she added at her son’s questioning look. And then Cal was gently but firmly guiding her from the room.

The ride back to Cal’s apartment was heavy with expectancy. Ava waited for Cal to reveal what he and Victor had discussed in muted anger at the restaurant, but she was still waiting by the time they’d entered the apartment elevator.

“Are you going to tell me what Victor said?”

As the elevator doors slid closed Cal swung his loaded gaze to her, holding it in silent analysis. Despite the awkward, drawn-out moment, she refused to back down.

He jammed a finger on the top-floor button again. “Victor had doubts about our marriage, our…” his gaze lingered on her mouth, “compatibility. I rebutted them.”

Ava felt the sudden urge to lick her lips but instead nibbled on the inside of her cheek. “It looked pretty heated.”

He shrugged and went back to staring at the blinking numbers as they ascended. “That’s Victor—can’t stand people disagreeing with him.” He crossed his arms, still focused on the floors. “I suppose you’ll need some money.”

Ava frowned. “For what?”

“Tomorrow. For shopping.”

“If that’s your way of offering, then no, thank you.”

“I can afford it.” He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. “Here.”

When she remained still, he impatiently waved the card under her nose.

She blinked then drew in a sharp breath. “Platinum Amex?”

He shoved the card into her hand as the doors slid open.

“Don’t get too excited.” He indicated she go first. “There’s a limit.”

“I don’t need an allowance,” she said tightly. “I’m not some kept woman.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

She slapped the card to his chest as she walked past him, but he snared her arm, forcing her to stop. “Let me make this clear to you, Ava. After tomorrow, the public will know you’re my bride-to-be. And the first thing you’ll be judged on is your wardrobe.”

She frowned and pulled free. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

“I’m releasing our engagement announcement to the press. What?” he asked calmly as panic flushed the blood from her face. “The sooner we announce it, the less chance of a leak.”

A soft melodic jangle permeated the warm apartment and with a shaking hand, Ava reached into her purse. Pulling out her mobile phone, she turned to the kitchen.

“Hi, Jillian.” She tried for nonchalance but after she hung up from her aunt’s “just checking to see if you’re okay” call, she knew she hadn’t fooled either of them.

From the sound of it, Cal was also engaged in a call in the living room. He may have given her privacy but he’d pointedly placed the offending credit card in the center of the breakfast bench. It sat there, glinting in the subtle mood lighting, teasing her with its shiny newness.

She reached out, fingering the bumpy numbers. It wouldn’t just be small-town gossip this time—Cal’s announcement was sure to make national news. People would be talking, and not just about how she and Cal had met and who “the real Ava Reilly” was. They’d focus on her clothes, her hair, her figure.

She rolled her eyes. Following fashionable trends wasn’t an option when she had a business to keep afloat. The clothes and makeup she did have were at least three years old. Sunscreen was about as close as she got to moisturiser.

But now…the sudden and inexplicable desire to indulge, to splurge on something impractical and feminine, made her insides ache with longing. Many years ago—a lifetime ago—she’d given in to the frivolous call. When Grace was alive.

“So you’ve changed your mind?”

As if the card had bitten back, Ava snatched her hand away. Cal stood in the kitchen doorway, his jacket off, sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned, muscular arms. The glow from the track lighting barely brushed him, illuminating the golden hairs on his forearms, glinting across the angular face, throwing him half in shadow, half in light. With a sharp movement, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, patiently awaiting her answer as she stood there like a gawky teenager.

The man was beautiful. Her mind emptied, tongue suddenly dry. As if sensing the small war waging in her head, his mouth tweaked.

“Should I alert the media?” Cal said with deliberate nonchalance.

“What?”

He spread his hands wide, outlining an imaginary billboard. “‘Woman turns down all-expenses-paid shopping spree.’”

Finally, a smile. Despite the brief pleasure that small action gave him, he noticed the sadness that accompanied it.

“Once upon a time I would’ve jumped at the chance.” She shifted from foot to foot before reaching down to pull off her high heels. Two inches shorter, she seemed tiny, more vulnerable somehow. She barely met his chin.

“Grace and I…” she paused, shook her head.

Cal recalled her conversation with his mother. “Your sister.”

“I thought you and Victor were deep in a business discussion.”

“I have an uncanny ability to multitask.”

Her tiny snort of laughter surprised them both and for one moment, the tension lifted.

“Your sister died young,” he stated softly.

Her smile dimmed. “She was nineteen.” She made to turn away, hesitated and instead fixed him with a steady look. “My mother died three years ago of cancer, my father had a heart attack seven months after that. It’s been just me and my aunt ever since.” She glanced away so quickly that Cal barely had time to distinguish any emotion in her expression. Vulnerability? Sadness? Her voice reflected neither with her next statement. “Don’t you already know everything about me?”

“Not everything.” He knew her skin shivered when he kissed that sweet spot on her neck, the way she gasped when he nibbled her earlobe. He knew the way her eyes darkened to a stormy blue when she was all fired up about something, in the throes of passion. But suddenly that wasn’t enough.

“I don’t make a habit of digging into people’s private lives,” he said firmly.

The moment lengthened as Cal steadily held her gaze, until he shifted, taking a step closer and the air suddenly flared hot.

“Why did you run?”

He was far from touching distance but Ava’s whole body still vibrated with anticipation. She remained motionless, holding her breath. He couldn’t know how she’d regretted walking away that night, wondering if things would’ve turned out differently had she stayed.

She decided on an offhand shrug. “To avoid an awkward morning?”

“Really?”

At his slow, dubious eyebrow raise, irritation flared. “Yes. Despite what you think of me, you were my first and only one-night stand. I thought you’d be relieved not having to deal with the morning after.”

“You didn’t give me a choice,” he said softly.

“Well, welcome to the club.”

Ava knew she’d struck a nerve. Surprise flitted across his face before he swiftly smoothed it out. Slowly he crossed his arms, bringing the defined muscles in his shoulders, his biceps, into relief.

Under his gaze bravado seeped out, only to end on a gasp when her belly fluttered. Her hand flew to her stomach.

“What?” He was by her side in an instant, his hand covering hers in sudden shocking familiarity.

She didn’t know what made her more breathless, the tiny life moving inside or Cal’s warm palm scorching her belly. When she looked up their eyes locked. And held.

In those seconds, his eyes echoed sheer amazement until he dropped his hand and moved away. Yet the undeniable truth lingered, lengthened into a realisation she’d be a fool to ignore or misinterpret. Cal was emotionally involved in this baby. And in that flash of intimacy, she knew without hesitation that she wanted—ached—for him to kiss her.

She dragged in a breath, rough shards of frustration, before stepping back. “It’s late. I should…”

“Yes.”

Still he just stood there, filling the doorway until she was forced to meet his eyes again.

“Excuse me.”

Through the haze of conflicting emotion Cal finally registered her questioning eyes. When he silently moved aside, she brushed past him, the warmth of her body drifting by on a wave of tantalizing perfume. Captivated by her gently swaying hips as she crossed the lounge room, his eyes lingered long after she disappeared into his spare room and shut the door with a decisive click.

He cursed softly, still rooted to the spot. If reality mirrored fantasy, she’d be pulling him towards the bedroom, begging him to make love to her just about now. Instead, he was left with a raw taste in his mouth, a small fire burning a hole in his gut.

With a growl, he stalked out the kitchen, through the living room and down the hall. When he reached his bedroom he began to unbutton his shirt, cursing under his breath when the buttons stuck and he ended up ripping one free.

Ava Reilly was no innocent—she knew exactly what she was doing, from her gentle charming of his mother to the steady gaze she’d given Victor when they’d been introduced. But then this…this pure wonder would practically shine from deep within her and knock him for a six.

Trust your first impressions, Cal, Victor had told him the first day he had started work at VP Tech. They’re there for a reason.

Grudgingly he had to admit that over the years, Victor had been right on that one. Apart from making his mouth water, Ava had an air of charming, almost old-world innocence. A far cry from the decadent things they’d done weeks ago in his bed. Things he still wanted to do.

What, a small voice rationalized, if she wasn’t pretending? What if their night together had been as mind-blowing as he’d remembered?

With a swift jerk he pulled his shirt free of his pants. All his ideas on how to prove—or disprove—his theory involved various stages of getting Ava naked. Something she’d no doubt object to, given her current frame of mind.

Pity.

Chapter Five

Ava blinked awake in the darkness, the unfamiliarity panicking her for one second before realization crashed in. She was in Sydney, in Cal’s apartment. Today she’d be his official wife-to-be.

With a groan, she reached for her phone to check the time. Five-thirty. If she were home, she’d already be heading outside to watch the sunrise, coffee in hand.

She flung off the sheets and shoved her feet into her sheepskin slippers. Just because she was suddenly living someone else’s life didn’t mean she should drop her early morning ritual. Yet when she opened the bedroom door into the darkened living room, surprise gave her pause.

Where was the nausea? The morning sickness? She ran through a mental checklist. Aching breasts—to be expected. A mild twinge in her lower back—probably the strange bed. But her stomach? Nothing.

Thank you, pregnancy gods. With a small sigh, she padded across the room into the kitchen, the watery aquarium’s blue glow sending shards of light across the apartment. After inspecting the cupboards, full of gleaming cookware and barely used crockery, she finally found the cups. She chose an elegant bone china teacup and saucer, decorated with tiny blue flowers and totally out of place in Cal’s bold apartment. With smooth efficiency, she turned on the water jug and finished her inspection of the kitchen while the water boiled.

The state of the art coffee machine clicked on with a soft beep and her brows wrinkled. Coffee was out unless Cal used decaf…which she seriously doubted. She scowled at the shiny appliance as if it was the manufacturer’s fault her daily cup was suddenly off-limits.

“It’s on a timer, not telepathy.”

She whirled, picking out Cal’s large shape in the muted glow.

“You’re up early,” she blurted out.

“So are you.”

When he stepped into the kitchen Ava swallowed. The sudden desire to smooth down his sleep-rumpled hair, stuck in spikes over his head, forced her fingers into a tight fist behind her back. She wanted to run her hands over that broad, cotton-clad chest, to see if the well-worn T-shirt felt as soft as it looked. Instead she turned back to the counter and busied herself with jiggling her caffeine-free tea bag furiously in the cup.

“We country folk get up at the crack of dawn,” she said.

“So do we corporate types.”

She glanced up with a smile and to her surprise, Cal returned it. Surprise turned to relief as the tension lightened.

She sniffed the air. “Is that butterscotch?”

“Guilty,” he reached past her, way too close, to snag a cup from the cupboard above. The aroma of warm man mingled with coffee had her inhaling sharply. “Java Butterscotch, to be exact. I also have Hawaiian Mocha, Blueberry Morning and Cinnamon Hazelnut. I like the variety,” he added defensively at her amusement.

“I bet you keep that Gloria Jean’s on the corner in business.”

When he chuckled, something hot and intimate sent her body into its own little hum. Yet Ava didn’t have time to savour the warmth, the delicious anticipation, because following on its heels came a familiar well of nausea.

No! With a quick swallow of her now-tasteless tea, she nodded to the patio. “I’m going to sit out on the balcony.”

Cal watched her pad across his lounge room. Dressed in a neatly knotted, fluffy red robe and a pair of absurd slippers, her hair in curly disarray down her back, she couldn’t have turned him on more if she’d greeted him in black satin lingerie.

Remembrance assailed his senses, the hint of floral scent innocent yet paradoxically seductive. He knew exactly how that hair felt between his fingers, across his skin, and couldn’t stop a small curse escaping as the tangle of memories sparked in his brain.

With his coffee poured, he made his way to the balcony. Yet when he saw her profile, cup raised to her lips, something gave him pause.

He must have made a sound, caught the corner of her vision. She whipped her head around, her shadowed eyes landing squarely on him at the exact moment the sun speared across the balcony. Glints of gold crowned her, a radiant halo for her soft lush features. But it was the expression in her eyes that sent shards of desire straight into his manhood.

Her study of him was intensely personal. Arousing. He felt the burn of her gaze as if she’d run a slow hand over his body, leaving tiny flames in her wake. Her eyes roamed leisurely, first across his shoulders, then his chest. He remained frozen in her commanding grip, taking perverse enjoyment in her unabashed exploration, a hint of a smile kinking the corner of her mouth. Then her eyes dipped lower, much lower, and he instantly hardened.

In a blink her eyes flew to his, full of stricken mortification, before she whipped her head back to the view.

And damn, if he didn’t take that as a challenge.

He slid the door open and the gentle warmth of the patio heater rushed him.

Her nose twitched and she suddenly turned, eyeing his cup like it was a redback spider. “Can you…not…?”

“Drink coffee?” He took a sip, smiling.

She swallowed thickly. “The smell…I was fine a moment ago but now…”

“Morning sickness?” His smile fell as she nodded, her eyes panicky as she took another convulsive swallow. Her vulnerability chased away the gentle teasing on his tongue. Swiftly he placed the cup on the floor behind him, then closed the patio doors on it.

She took a ragged sigh. “Thanks. I’m a coffee drinker but apparently this baby hates it.”

Cal automatically glanced to her waist, then back to her face. The soft morning light still bathed her, lingering on the tinge of shimmer in her curls. Seeing her this way, devoid of makeup and fancy clothes, a blush still evident on her cheeks, she truly was beautiful. Not like the over-sexual, half-dressed bodies the media portrayed as “perfect,” or the expensive, skinny socialites who frequented the few glittery events he’d reluctantly attended. No, Ava’s beauty was subtle and seductive, a hint of innocence in those blue eyes, combined with a lush mouth that tilted like a siren’s call at the edges.

He remembered her smile, the way her throaty laugh had taken hold of his libido and squeezed.

“What?” she asked curiously, breaking his dangerous train of thought.

With ever-decreasing efficiency he reined himself in. “I’ll be home at seven with the papers for you to sign.”

Had he just imagined her flinch? It had come out harsher than he’d intended but when she merely nodded in acknowledgement, he mentally shrugged it off.

“Have a good time today, Ava,” he added softly before reopening the patio door, scooping up his cup and leaving her there.

Wrestling his body into submission took longer than expected, but subdue it he did. When he finally left the apartment a half hour later, he’d dressed with a lot less care than he usually reserved for his morning ritual, aided by the tingling recollection of Ava’s perusal. The now-familiar irritation of being unable to switch off his thoughts put him in a bad mood for the rest of the day, flaring up whenever he was alone with only memories for company.

Finally, at 7:00 p.m., after a long, frustrating day of meetings, product reports and several cryptic messages from Victor which he’d ignored, Cal stalked into his apartment with precious little patience left.

A wall of delicious aromas slammed into him, stopping him dead. Garlic. He sniffed experimentally as his mouth began to water. Tomatoes, frying meat. He tossed his briefcase on the couch and walked into the kitchen.

The sight of Ava, barefoot in jeans, sweater and an apron, humming a melody as she stirred something in a simmering pot on his cooktop, speared him on a primitive level.

My woman. Mine.

It churned up emotion so surprising, so intense that it slammed the breath from his lungs. The cliché—barefoot and pregnant, in his kitchen no less—no longer seemed amusing. Because when she threw him a smile and said, “Dinner’s ready in five minutes,” he wanted nothing more than to drag her into his bed.

“You didn’t have to cook.” His words came out sharp, borne from frustration and his apparent lack of control.

“I like to cook,” she said calmly, her attention resolutely on the pot. “If you don’t want it, you don’t have to eat it.”

Swallowing his retort, he sighted the groceries on the kitchen bench. “Did you order that in?”

She gave him an odd look. “No, I went to the supermarket.”

“Did you carry all this?”

She rolled her eyes at the dark suspicion in his voice. “No. Your mother pushed the cart then your doorman delivered it upstairs.”

“I thought you went clothes shopping.”

“We did.” When she offered him a platter of carrot sticks, he took one, crunching it thoughtfully. “You also needed food in your fridge.”

“I have food.”

“Wine, water, juice, coffee, cereal.” She ticked the items off on her fingers. “No fruit, meat, dairy or vegetables.”

She turned back to the pot and gave the sauce another stir, but when he remained silent she threw a look over her shoulder. “What?”

He shoved down a myriad of conflicting thoughts, smoothing his expression. “How’s the nausea?”

She handed him a knife with a smile. “Gone until the morning, I suspect. Make yourself useful and cut the feta?”

At his round dining table they ate in silence, an odd half tense, half expectant silence. Cal was fully aware of every move, every sound as they devoured the spaghetti and Greek salad she’d made. The tiny scrape of fork on plate, the gentle swallow of water being sipped only amplified the quiet. When he spoke, it was like a shot.

“What did you buy today?”

She downed her fork with deliberate care. “Yes.”

Cal eyed her well-worn attire but said nothing.

“A few dresses,” she said stiffly. “Some jeans, shoes, skirts. A few tops and a jacket. Don’t worry,” she added in a small voice. “I won’t embarrass you.”

Damn. He’d hurt her but didn’t know how to fix it, so he did the only thing he could. He let silence do the mending.

“We’ve had some interview requests,” he finally said, placing the cutlery across his plate.

She sat back in her chair, digesting that information. “Do you expect me to give interviews?”

He shrugged. “Only if you want. There’s also a bunch of glossies angling for a spread—Vogue, Elle, Cosmo, for starters.”

“Fashion shoots.” She shook her head. “That’s just…surreal.”

“You’re now a news item. You’re in demand.”

“But only as your fiancée,” she countered.

“I thought,” Cal said slowly, “women liked getting pampered, dressed up and photographed.”

“I don’t do ‘pampered and dressed up.’” She stood abruptly. “I’m practical, a simple country girl who wears jeans and steel-capped boots. I clean the kitchen, I cook, I wash up. I work with dirt and dig a veggie patch.” In quick jerky movements, she began to clear the table. “I’m not glamorous, I’m not model material…I…I have crow’s feet and dry heels!”

Her delivery was so frustratingly honest that Cal swallowed his snort of amusement. He couldn’t tell if she was simply explaining herself or warning him off.

“So doing girly things scares you.”

She shot him a look that lacked venom. “I didn’t say that.”

“Why not give it a go? You might like it.”

“Do you think I might also like some interviewer digging around in my personal life for a couple of hours?”

“That,” he returned, following her into the kitchen with his plate, “is where my press office comes in. I can prep you.” Decision made, Cal rinsed his plate.

Needing movement, Ava wiped the sparkling benches while he stacked the dishwasher. But when everything had been cleared, tidied and returned to its drawer or shelf, there was nothing left to occupy her hands.

“Go sit outside,” Cal said as he reached for the cupboard. “I’ll bring you some tea.”

Once alone on the balcony, the rigid composure she’d been battling drained. The warmth of the patio heater brushed her skin, a delicious contrast to the sharp bite of cold wind. She grabbed up the throw rug and wrapped it around her shoulders, tucking her feet beneath her bottom as she sat.

Like Alice down the rabbit hole, everything had changed. Gone was peace and quiet, replaced by the shiny boldness of newly acquired fame and fortune. Over lunch at a North Shore café, Isabelle had bluntly described what to expect leading up to the wedding.

“You’ll be on everyone’s invitation list,” the older woman said in between bites of her smoked salmon sandwich. “Parties, social appearances. Requests for fashion shoots and interviews. That’s the upside. The downside is less delightful but just as important.”

“Rumor and innuendo?”

At Isabelle’s serious nod, Ava’s smile had dropped. “Yes. Imagine your worst doubts, your deepest fears plastered on the front page of every newspaper in the country. If there’s anything you’ve ever done but don’t want the press to know, they’ll find it.” She leaned back, fixing Ava with a steady look. “It’s how you handle it that matters.”

Ava shuddered. It was one thing to think the worst of herself, to harbor that black cloud of failure, but to have her insecurities publicly aired for everyone to see?

That was not going to happen.

The moment was broken by the door swooshing open. Cal stepped outside with two steaming cups and a sheaf of papers.

The contract.

He placed it and a pen in front of her, then the cup. With outward calm, she picked up the papers and flicked through them. He’d efficiently tagged the places for her signature but instead of blindly signing, she tucked them beside her on the couch. “I’ll have to read this over.”

He nodded, settling in the one-seater across from her, a casual version of the previous night. “Of course.”

Ava snagged her cup and for a few minutes they remained silent. She’d never felt the need to fill a lull with inane chat, but Cal’s presence made her acutely aware of her own, the way she looked, dressed, acted. He made her as nervous as a teenager on her first date.

“Your mother loves to shop,” Ava ventured lamely.

“My mother believes shopping is a great icebreaker.” He smiled, shifting his large bulk more comfortably in the seat. “It’s her great people leveler.”

“We did talk a lot.”

“About?”

“Mostly me. The wedding.” She deliberately omitted the topic of Cal’s childhood, unwilling to betray Isa-belle’s generous openness. “I had no idea there were so many bridal magazines on the market.”

He couldn’t hide a wry grin. “I always suspected Mum was a closet wedding freak. Sorry.”

“I don’t mind,” Ava said truthfully. The woman’s enthusiasm had been appealing when she’d gifted her with a bunch of current bridal magazines in the car. Cosmopolitan Bride, Vogue Bride, Australian Bridal Directory, The Bride’s Diary…the sheer volume of what Ava had assumed was a narrow topic made her head spin. At first it had taken all her acting skills, pitiful as they were, to smile and thank her for the gift. But Isabelle had sensed her less than enthusiastic response and had clamped a lid on her excitement, instead changing the topic to their day ahead.

And as the day passed, Ava had managed to banish the heavy reality that had settled like cement in her chest and instead found herself enjoying the outing. The subversive shine of the city had already begun to leach in, the bustle and movement exciting her in a way she’d not felt in ages.

“We have two formal functions Thursday and Friday night,” Cal said, bringing her back to the present. “I assume those dresses you bought are appropriate?”

She took exception at his tone. “Cal, I’m not completely clueless. I do know how to dress.”

“Yes.” His eyes ran over her, warming her more thoroughly than the tea ever could. “I believe you do.” Then he glanced away. “It’ll be your first public appearance as my fiancée, so be prepared. There’ll be cameras, as well as questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Ones you’ll be expected to know as my fiancée.”

“Like what?”

“Well, what would you want to know?”

That threw her for a second and she scrambled. “Umm…why don’t you have a computer at home?”

He shook his head. “Don’t need one when I have this.” He pulled the phone from his pocket and handed it to her. “The new V-Fone. It’s a computer, scheduler, GPS and phone in one, all operating with One-Click software. It integrates with my work computer so I’m always contactable. We’ve had a one-hundred-percent customer satisfaction rating since its launch three months ago.”

She ran her hand over the smooth, cold surface, marvelling at the power in such a tiny device, before handing it back. “What are your working hours like?”

He made an offhand gesture. “Long and filled with meetings, budget reports, investment strategies.”

“Do you like what you do?”

“I get to travel the world and make million-dollar decisions.”

“But do you like it?” She probed. “I’m assuming one day you’ll be doing Victor’s job. That’s pretty different than developing software.”

His smile was brief and humourless. “I’ve worked damn hard to earn the right. VP Tech has been my goal since I was seventeen.”

“I see.” He still hadn’t answered her. And was it her imagination or did she sense hesitation in that smooth reply?

“I work twelve- to fourteen-hour days, Monday to Saturday,” he added, almost as if trying to justify his non-answer.

“Not Sunday?”

“Sundays are for…relaxing.”

She flushed at the deep timbre of his voice. “What’s your favourite meal?”

“Lamb roast.” The muscles in his face relaxed. “My turn.” He paused, assessing her, and for a moment Ava’s insides twisted at his complete and utter focus.

“What is…” he paused, “your favourite childhood movie?”

Her mouth tilted. “The Sound of Music. Yours?”

“The Great Escape. What did you want to be when you grew up?”

“A ballerina—but I wasn’t skinny enough.”

His eyes grazed her and even beneath the throw rug, she felt her body leap in response. “You look perfectly fine to me.”

He was flirting with her. But why? He’d made it perfectly clear she wasn’t to be trusted, yet here he was, handing out little snippets of his inner self like party favours. It wasn’t in her to question why the sudden good fortune. She just went with the flow.

As the hour ticked by into the next, they shared personal likes and dislikes—he liked action movies, she romantic comedies, they both hated cabbage and pumpkin but loved tropical fruit. After retouching on Cal’s career highlights, they landed on the topic of exes.

“I’ve dated, no one serious,” Cal said, swirling the dregs of coffee around in his mug.

“Your mother mentioned Melissa…” She paused at his sharp look.

“What did she say?”

“Just that you were engaged but called it off.”

“I see.” He placed his cup on the table and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His face became stony and she wondered what the other woman had done to make him so defensive. “And what about you?”

Ava shrugged. “A boyfriend in high school, a couple more when I was working in Jillian’s coffee shop. Since I moved back home there’s been no one. Gum Tree Falls isn’t exactly teeming with eligible bachelors, not like…” She snapped off, too late.

“Like Sydney.”

When his eyes narrowed, she could’ve kicked herself. That’s a record for you, Ava. Undoing all that good work in two seconds flat.

Cal did not trust her. The sooner she realized that, the easier this would be. Yet pride couldn’t let her escape without clearing this ridiculous preconception.

“I came to Sydney for a girlfriend’s birthday,” she said stiffly. “It was my first time in the city. We had dinner at the Shangri-La then went on to their cocktail lounge. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend or a one-night stand or anything else that night.”

“But you found me.”

She rose, her face warm. “You approached me.”

“True. But you didn’t say no.”

Cal watched the way her face flushed as she threw off the rug then folded it with swift efficiency.

“So now it’s a crime to be flattered by a man’s attentions? I just wanted one weekend, one night to forget about the money, the pressure, the responsibility. For one night I wasn’t Will Reilly’s daughter, the disappointment, the screwup. The reason for—” She bit off the rest of that sentence, as if realizing she’d said too much. Her eyes, panicky and wide, met his for one fleeting moment, then away.

“It’s late,” she finally mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze as she reached for the door. “I’m off to bed.”

“Ava.”

His command fell on deaf ears because with one small click, he was suddenly alone.

Cal remained still for what felt like hours, although his sleek Urwerk watch indicated only minutes. When he’d caught her in that slip there’d been indignation, and hurt. Could she be that good an actress?

Reluctantly, he cast his mind back to that night at the bar, searching through the events to shed some light on his confusion.

At first she’d been wary, even suspicious. His smooth offer to buy her a drink had been met with reluctant acceptance. As they’d shared flirtatious but cryptic details about themselves, she’d gradually warmed to him, enough to have her willing and eager in his bed.

For one crazy second, he let himself indulge in the remembrance of her smile that tilted her mouth into kissable curves, her husky feminine laugh.

What the hell was he supposed to believe?

With a low curse he sprung to his feet and slammed back inside. The cool shower didn’t bring clarity, nor did lying in bed, staring at the LED clock hands as it ticked off the minutes until sunrise.

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