His Pregnant Mistress. Carol Marinelli
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for drew nearer, her breath so shallow she could barely catch it as finally Ethan’s hand closed around hers. She didn’t need to look up to know it was his, felt the force of his presence as they stood just a few inches apart, the touch of his skin on her hand enough to trigger a response only Ethan could ever yield.
‘Mia.’ His voice was low; she could feel his eyes burning into the top of her head as she stared fixedly at the ground. ‘Thank you for coming today. I know it would have meant a lot to Richard.’
‘How?’ Glittering eyes snapped up to his. ‘How do you know that it would have meant a lot to Richard when you barely even spoke to him?’
And she hadn’t wanted to do this, hadn’t wanted any sort of confrontation, had merely hoped just to make it through, so why was she courting disaster now? Why was she staring defiantly into the face of the man who had, not only cruelly broken her heart, but dragged her unsuspecting father into things just to turn the knife a touch further? Why wasn’t she walking away with the last shred of dignity she had instead of exposing her pain? Instead of staring at that unscrupulous face and questioning his love for his brother?
He couldn’t look.
Couldn’t look into those two sparkling jewels that always dragged him in, those aquamarine pools that had once captured his heart, remembering in that instant the first time they had met, how she had, quite simply, ensnared him with a smile.
Even before the waitress had led him to the table outside on the balcony, as he’d walked through the massive glassed doors his eyes had darted to where she’d sat. Her bronzed skin glistening in the low evening sun; eyes mirrored by glasses as she’d stared out onto the ocean; a soft mint-coloured linen shift dress that showed a tantalizing glimpse of toned slender thighs; simple silver sandals on her feet. Every detail Ethan had processed in a second, except her hair—blonde, tumbling ringlets piled loosely on top of her head—had taken a few seconds longer. So had the long, slender neck, long silver earrings dancing in the seductive shadow of her throat even though her head had been perfectly still. Even if the waitress had led him to another table, Ethan would, quite simply, have had to go over, to introduce himself to this incredible parcel of femininity. But in a delicious twist of fate the waitress had been leading him to her table.
‘Mia Stewart.’ She smiled as he sat down, held out a slender hand as he forcefully reminded himself that tonight was strictly business.
Business, Ethan reminded himself, forcing himself to get a grip. Richard was missing and this lady surely knew why.
Every road in his investigations had led him to her.
Mia Stewart—Richard’s hippy, arty girlfriend.
Mia Stewart—daughter of the manager of the Cairns Hotel. The manager who was secretly being investigated. Some of his transactions had caught Ethan’s sharp eye in the Sydney office and he had alerted his father. Any day now, Conner Stewart would be marched out of the office, not only without a golden handshake, but, if Ethan’s suspicions were confirmed, his wrist would be encased, not with a heavy watch to mark his years of service, but with handcuffs.
‘I’m Ethan.’ Offering his hand, somehow he kept his voice even, managed his usual detached smile as her hand met his, the other pulling down her sunglasses. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me.’
‘How could I not?’ She gave a small shrug. ‘It all sounds very mysterious. Richard’s disappeared and you assume I know his whereabouts. You’ve got me intrigued.’
‘I’m the one who’s intrigued,’ Ethan replied evenly. ‘You’re supposed to be his girlfriend, yet you’ve no idea as to his whereabouts.’
‘You’ve got it all wrong.’
‘I don’t think so…’ Ethan started, but his voice trailed off as Mia carried on talking.
‘You see, Richard and I are just friends.’
Normally he would have pushed further, questioned her harder, but her glasses were off now, revealing aquamarine eyes, thickly framed with dark lashes, eyes as deep and as divine as the ocean that glittered behind, as entrancing and as captivating as the woman who was staring back now, and Ethan beat back the first blush that had graced his cheeks in a decade.
Mia Stewart, who that very moment had captured his heart…
‘I know that you and Richard were close.’ His hand was still holding hers, black eyes still boring into the top of her head, his voice steady, not a trace of the hesitancy that had stilled him in the church. ‘I know that the last few weeks must have been a terrible strain and that today must be hard for you too.’ His eyes dragged down and she could feel the blood rushing to her pale cheeks, colour suffusing her, her heart rate quickening more if that were possible as the weight of his gaze dusted her body. Her breath held hot in her bursting lungs as he took in the ripe swell of her stomach beneath her black linen dress, and she could feel the scorching heat from those black coal chips as they flicked down to her hands, undoubtedly taking in the absence of a ring. ‘Will you and your partner be joining the family for a drink after the cremation?’
‘I’m here alone.’
He nodded, those dark eyes giving nothing away. He might just as well have been wearing shades for all the expression in his eyes as he stared directly back at her.
‘Perhaps we could talk…’
‘I really don’t think there’s much to talk about, do you?’
‘I meant about Richard.’ For the first time he looked uncomfortable but he quickly recovered. ‘Wakes are supposed to be important for grieving, for remembering…’
‘I’ll remember Richard in my own way,’ Mia broke in. ‘And I certainly don’t need the Carvelles to give me permission to grieve.’
The fire died in Mia then. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t stand and score points off Ethan Carvelle, couldn’t besmirch Richard’s memory in this way, yet neither could she pretend to give or receive comfort to his cold, self-serving family, on this, one of the blackest days of her life.
It was safer to leave now.
Reclaiming her hand, she made her way down the line, holding her tears, her grief firmly back, her hand still tingling from his touch, the one area of warmth in her cold, frozen body apart from the silent tears that trickled down her now pale cheeks.
And she held it in, held it deep inside, watching in respectful silence as the coffin was loaded into the hearse, Ethan, proud and tall, carrying his brother on his broad shoulders for his final journey, a flash of tears in those black eyes, that delicious mouth quilted in pain.
Only when the entourage departed did her emotions finally catch up.
Only as she watched the car containing Richard disappear out of sight, the back of Ethan’s head in the family car following slowly behind, did the true depth of her loss finally hit Mia.
Her hands gripping her stomach, she contemplated the baby inside, the father it would now never meet, the loving gesture that had seemed so right at the time, so straightforward and uncomplicated, terrifying her now, spinning her into a panic that would surely never end. The full weight of responsibility descending on her tired shoulders seemed almost too much to bear.
Silver spots danced before Mia’s eyes; as the floor seemed to spin around her she could hear the worried shouts from the crowd as they dashed over, see the floor coming to meet her as she sank down onto the grass.
Grief, agony, both past and present all homing in, all suffocating her with the impossibility of her situation. But it wasn’t that her baby’s father was dead, wasn’t that she was in this alone now that seemed to be smothering her as she struggled merely to breathe.
Worse, far worse than her loss was the knowledge she had gained today. As much as she hated him, as much as every fibre of her being loathed him for all he had put her and her father through, seeing Ethan again, feeling his hand on hers, listening to that deep, measured voice, staring