The Magnate’s Baby Promise / Having the Billionaire's Baby: The Magnate’s Baby Promise / Having the Billionaire's Baby. Sandra Hyatt
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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