Bound By The Unborn Baby. Bella Bucannon
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was logical. His nephew or niece—no, his son or daughter—deserved every resource at his command to ensure a safe and healthy start in life. The sexual attraction was another blindsider.
The women he dated would never settle for ‘clean and comfortable’ accommodation in any circumstances. The woman he’d coerced into marrying him was an enigma, hiding more than she revealed.
As he lay on his bed, reliving their conversation, the tight rein he kept on his emotions finally cracked. Images flickered through his brain like a movie screening: the secret signals between him and Louise at strict formal meals with his parents, late-night covert snacks watching clandestine television in his room. Her radiant face when she and Leon had confided they were in love. Boyhood games with his best mate, double-dating in their teens. Standing proudly beside him as best man at their wedding.
The dam broke. The tears flowed for his spontaneous, vibrant sister. For his brother-in-law, friend and confidant. For the beloved couple who would never hold and cherish their child.
He rolled over, buried his face into the pillow. Guttural, heart-wrenching sobs racked his body and soul.
* * *
Alina was already in the lobby when Ethan arrived fifteen minutes early the next morning. Her treacherous senses responded to his lithe movement as he strode across the pavement. She felt skittish, illogically animated, despite the stern talking-to she’d given herself as she’d showered and prepared to leave.
The delivery of her breakfast at seven-thirty had finally awoken her, still fully dressed on top of the bed. Years of routine had enabled her to shower, pack and be settling her account within an hour. Years of self-enforced solitude had her wishing she could hail a cab and run.
Stylishly dressed in tailored grey trousers and a short-sleeved dark green shirt, Ethan was halfway to the reception desk when he veered towards her. Her pulse skipped at the sight of his tanned muscular arms. Her cheeks flamed at the memory of his touch, his oh-so-light kiss on her brow. Had to be hormone madness. She refused to contemplate any alternative explanation.
‘Good morning, Alina. You look refreshed. Sleep well?’
She recoiled from the full impact of the ‘seduction smile’ Louise had mentioned. Quickly recovered.
‘Yes, thank you. I’m ready to go.’ As she bent to collect her suitcase their fingers collided, adrenaline spiked. She jerked hers away at the same moment his body stiffened.
‘Gentleman’s prerogative,’ he murmured, picking up both pieces of luggage.
She walked silently beside him to the street, where a chauffeur waited by the open boot of a limousine—same car, different driver.
‘I’ll programme the car hire number into your phone. Use it whenever you go out alone.’ He glanced at her as he stowed her luggage. Quickly added, ‘I appreciate you’re used to being independent, but since Monday you and our child are my family. I take care of what’s mine.’
For a moment she resented his over-protective attitude, before realising the baby took precedence. As it should. She’d agreed to live the Ethan James lifestyle so she’d have to adapt and conform.
‘I’ll try.’
‘Thank you. We’ll need your solicitor’s address.’ As they drove off towards the harbour tunnel he offered her his mobile. ‘Call his office and arrange to have your papers ready for pick-up.’
‘Already done. He’ll see us when we arrive.’ His surprised expression forced her to explain. More than she’d wanted to. ‘I have his mobile number. He dealt with everything after...I was pathetically incapable of doing anything—couldn’t make decisions, couldn’t think. I...’
‘Was reacting normally to grief.’ His hand covered hers. ‘I understand, Alina.’
‘Um... He’s a good man. His office is my Australian address.’ I shouldn’t find your touch so comforting.
‘It might be expedient to change it to mine. You’ll be living with me at least until next year.’
Living with him yet not together. Next year?
Too many decisions in too short a time.
‘Can I decide later?’ She met his gaze, found mild curiosity not censure.
‘Of course. Speak up if you feel I’m rushing you.’
Like the leader of a stampede. Not an opinion he’d take kindly to.
She stared out of the window as the traffic crawled along, reliving the incident in the lobby. Ethan had been looking down when their fingers touched. Had he noticed she’d removed her ring?
From the stories she’d heard, and the photos she’d seen, she’d formed a vague, admirable image of Louise’s successful brother—had had no interest in knowing anything more. The man at her side was flesh and blood, solid and real. She was learning to gauge the inflections in his voice, to interpret the messages in his expressive blue eyes. Her body involuntarily responded to him. The image had been far safer for her mental stability.
Ethan held back when the solicitor greeted Alina with a hug and soft words, allowing them privacy. The handshake he received was firm, the assessing gaze slightly disconcerting. Was he being compared to her husband? This man knew the full story of her bereavement, had been there for her when... What about the Fletcher family? Where had they been? Where were they now?
He noticed movement at her side as they were led to a small office, arched his neck to confirm the nervous finger ritual. His heart lurched when her features crumpled at the sight of the archive box on the otherwise empty desk. Once they were alone she drew a long breath, before walking forward and lifting the lid with unsteady fingers.
On their return journey Ethan booted up his laptop. His gaze flicked from the screen to the box containing her life history, on the seat between them. Moved to her left hand. To her bare ring finger.
He was acutely aware of the toll the visit had taken on her. Her fumbling through the box’s contents and forced shallow breathing had torn him apart. He still hadn’t finished sorting the personal papers he’d brought from Spain.
Gently taking hold of her wrist, and letting what she held fall back inside, he had closed the lid. ‘Not here. Not now.’
He’d lifted the box from the desk, then linked his fingers with hers. After speaking to her solicitor for a few minutes they’d left.
She hadn’t spoken since she’d introduced him in the office, apart from a mumbled goodbye. Now, as their eyes met, she blinked, swiftly looked away. Primal instinct urged him to dump his laptop on the seat, wrap his arms around her and kiss her till the haunted expression in her eyes changed to—to what? Desire? Passion?
Get real, James. Where the hell is your head?
‘I’m not being very helpful, am I? But I haven’t needed to access them since probate was granted.’
He heard the slight accent in her trembling voice. Caused by deep emotion?
Putting his computer aside, he clasped her slender hands in his. ‘Working hands. Not salon-pampered. Well-cared-for working hands,’ he murmured. ‘Seven years is a long time to be running and hurting. Finding yourself alone and pregnant so soon after you’d finally begun to connect again must have been traumatic, and yet you found the courage to confront me.’
She let out a tiny huff of a laugh. ‘I considered you to be the approachable one in the family. I’d never have been brave enough to tackle your parents alone.’
‘That will not happen,’ he stated forcefully. ‘I won’t allow them to interfere, so we’ll meet them together after the wedding. I have friends who’ll be witnesses. Is there someone you’d like as yours? Family? Friend?’
She had an alluring, pensive air as she pondered his question. Was there anyone? There had to be relatives somewhere.
‘I