The Innocent's Shock Pregnancy. Carol Marinelli
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that.
He wanted to know how she tasted rather than where she was from and what she was like.
And so, instead of pushing, he ended the encounter.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘thank you for the tour. It’s been interesting.’
Unexpectedly so. And in unexpected ways, he thought.
Merida saw him to the door and then stood, her smile fixed, as they shook hands again, but for a dangerous second longer than the first time.
She did not glance down at his hands but she could feel each of his fingers, long and slender, as they closed around hers. And she breathed through her mouth, rather than her nose, for the scent of him had her wanting to draw closer.
‘It was a pleasure to meet you,’ Merida said through lips that did not want to talk. It was as if they yearned to meet his.
She wanted to return to the dark velvet space from which they had so recently emerged.
What the hell was happening to her?
‘Thank you for visiting,’ Merida said calmly, when Get out, get out, get out was what she wanted to scream. Only her acting experience allowed composure to reign on her features.
He didn’t say thank you again.
And he didn’t wish her a good evening.
Ethan Devereux simply left.
And he left behind a vortex within her.
She watched the doorman farewell him, and the driver open his car door, and as he disappeared inside Merida learned that she could breathe again.
The devil had left the building.
HIS DRIVER TOOK him the short distance to the hospital, and to a rear entrance so that he would not be seen arriving.
This must not get out.
Tomorrow morning Jobe Devereux was having a minor planned procedure, but that very knowledge would be enough to spook their shareholders.
Ethan was concerned enough to have flown home.
His PA, Helene, had given him directions and Ethan took the elevator up to the private wing.
His father might as well be in his office, Ethan thought as he knocked on his door and walked in.
Abe was there, and so too was Maurice, their head of PR.
‘Ethan!’ His father, sitting in a leather chair, looked surprised to see him. ‘What can I do for you?’
Do for him?
There was no real welcome, and no invitation to take a seat. Their relationship had long been a strained one—perhaps because they were incredibly alike, and not just in looks.
The Devereux men were all private, but they all had an intrinsic licentious edge.
His father, though, had done nothing in his life to curb it.
‘I came to see you.’ Ethan did his best to keep his voice even. ‘And to see if there was anything I could do to help.’
‘Oh, it’s no big deal,’ Jobe said. ‘I’ll be back in the office on Monday.’
‘How was Dubai?’ Abe asked as he closed his laptop, clearly just about to leave. ‘Did you look at the hotel site?’
‘I did.’ Ethan nodded. ‘But I was thinking...’ He paused. Ethan was rather more interested in the potential of Al-Zahan, but decided now wasn’t the time to talk about it. ‘Helene’s writing up the report.’
‘Good,’ Abe said. ‘Maurice and I are going to get dinner—are you coming?’
Ethan shook his head. ‘I’ve already eaten.’
He hadn’t actually eaten since the plane, and that had been several hours ago, but Ethan simply wasn’t in the mood for more business talk, and with Maurice and Abe that was all it would be.
Once he was alone with his father it was somewhat awkward.
While it might look like a plush office or a hotel room, Ethan could now see the room held subtly placed equipment, and the antiseptic in the air gave it a slight nauseating edge.
‘Where’s Chantelle?’
Ethan didn’t generally enquire about the whereabouts of his father’s latest lover, but five minutes into his visit the conversation had already run out.
‘We broke up.’
‘When?’
‘Do I ask you about your love life?’ Jobe barked.
‘No, but only because I don’t have one,’ Ethan said.
He had a sex life, and fully intended to keep it at that. He’d seen the damage relationships caused. His father’s marital history was on par with Henry VIII’s. Well, minus the beheadings and with the added fact that not one of Jobe’s marriages had survived.
But there had been plenty of divorces.
And his mother had died.
Ethan could not forgive his father for that.
Not her death. More the circumstances.
Ethan had been five when she’d died, but he had been ten, maybe eleven, when he’d finally decided to find out for himself if the rumours about his father having an affair with their nanny were true.
Sure enough, the papers at the time had spoken of a huge argument, and Elizabeth Devereux leaving home sobbing and heading for JFK.
He’d looked at endless photos of the happy family they had once been and had confronted his father.
‘You had everything and you ruined it. Is that why Meghan left?’ he’d asked.
Jobe had sat silently nursing a drink as his youngest son had raged. Only as he’d stormed off had he called out.
‘Ethan! Get back here!’
‘Go to hell!’ He had run upstairs, taking down one of family pictures that hung on the wall and throwing it at him. ‘I hate you for what you did.’
It had never been spoken of again. The picture had been rehung, and to this day remained in its place on the wall, and still they avoided any topics of the personal kind.
But now, given his father was having surgery, Ethan tried.
‘So, what’s happening tomorrow?’
Ethan wanted specifics. But Jobe refused to give them.
‘It’s just a minor procedure.’ His father shrugged. ‘Exploratory.’
‘Can’t they just do a scan or something?’
‘Oh, so you went to med school now?’
‘I’m just saying I don’t understand what you’re going to theatre for.’
‘That’s what we’re finding out.’
They went in ever-widening circles, talking about everything and nothing and getting nowhere fast.
‘I’m going down at eight in the morning and I’ll be back up here by nine. I wanted to stay home the night before the op, but Prof Jacobs insisted I came in.’
‘Because had you been at home you would have ignored his instructions to have only a light supper and forgo your nightcap,’ Ethan said.
‘True,’ Jobe admitted. ‘Look, if you really want to do something for me then you can attend the Carmody function.’
If Ethan hadn’t known already that