His Pregnant Mistress. Carol Marinelli
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at charts upside down, made sure no one was looking as they tried to decipher what had been written, but Ethan Carvelle, damn him, was holding the chart and reading it authoritatively as if he were the blessed consultant. ‘It says here that you’re underweight, dehydrated and your blood pressure’s way too high.’
‘Of course it’s high.’ Mia’s voice was rising now. ‘I’ve spent the last few months driving up and down the mountains every day to visit Richard as well as trying to keep the gallery going…’
‘Gallery?’
‘My old studio. The one my father…’
‘The one where we…’ His voice trailed off as he apparently realised the danger in pursuing that line of questioning. The fact they had first made love there had no bearing on today. Could never have any bearing now.
‘It’s a gallery now,’ Mia said instead for him. ‘And the reason my blood pressure is up is because, not only have I been neglecting it of late, not only am I way behind with some paintings I’ve been commissioned to do, I’ve also just lost my best friend in the whole world…’ her voice wobbled, the tiniest, most irrelevant of problems surfacing now, an attempt perhaps to drag her mind away from the true preposterousness of her situation ‘…and to top it all I’m on a two-hour park in the middle of the city…’
Tears started then, horrible, uninvited tears that she didn’t want him to witness, that she didn’t want to stoop to, but, seeing him there, another layer of emotion on top of her hellish day was all too much and the tension, the utter, unbearable tension that had been holding her together, snapped then, whipping her reserve away as sobs drenched her fatigued body. Ethan was over in a second, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly. It was the only place on earth she wanted to be, the only place she had ever truly belonged. And even though it was wrong, even though it could surely only complicate things, right here, right now she needed him. She wanted those strong arms to hold her and needed just a fraction of the strength that was Ethan Carvelle. Even though it was only transitory, and for all the wrong reasons, she allowed herself the indulgence of being held by him, of just letting go and leaning on him for a tiny while.
‘I don’t pretend to know a thing about art—’ his voice was low and deep and comforting ‘—and I know I don’t mean a thing to you compared to Richard…’ She inhaled his scent, dragged on his strength, even moved her head a fraction in denial. Nothing could ever replace Richard, but Ethan was everything to her, always had been, and always would be, but sensibility prevailed, holding her back at the final moment, keeping in what could never, ever be said. ‘But if a car needs moving, then I’m your man.’
The flash of humour was so unforeseen, so unexpected, it toppled her over the edge. Clinging on for dear life, she found herself letting go, really letting go, perhaps for the first time in seven years.
‘Let it out, Mia.’ His face was buried in her hair, her cheek against his chest feeling every breath he took as his heart hammered against her. His elusive scent she had chased for seven years filled her nostrils, and he was all she needed, everything she needed and maybe, just maybe, now she could tell him.
‘Ms Stewart?’ The doctor was back, an unwelcome intrusion, and Mia stiffened, but still Ethan held her…still she clung on. ‘I’ve just spoken to your GP on the telephone; he’s filled me in a bit on your history. I’m very sorry—I didn’t realize that it was the baby’s father you buried today…’
Mia felt Ethan tense in her arms. His breathing stilled for an impossibly long time, then tripped into overdrive as he broke away. But as he lay her back on the pillow not a flicker of his expression relayed his reaction to the news as her anguished eyes searched his. ‘Perhaps given the circumstances…’ the doctor droned on, utterly oblivious to the bombshell he had just dropped, impervious to the mounting tension in the room ‘…home might be the best place for you. I’d prefer if we let the drip finish, though, so we can ensure that you’re adequately rehydrated, and I want you back here tomorrow or at your local GP’s to have that blood pressure checked.’
‘Thank you,’ Mia croaked, dreading what she might see, yet looking for some type of reaction, trying to fathom Ethan’s take on the news he had just heard, but his expression gave away nothing.
‘Naturally, someone should drive you home.’
‘I will.’ Ethan’s voice was supremely calm. ‘How long till the drip finishes?’
‘An hour or so,’ the doctor answered.
‘Give me your keys.’ Rummaging under the trolley, he pulled out her handbag and tossed it beside her. ‘I’ll go and fetch your car for you.’ He shot her a black look. ‘At least it will be one less thing for you to worry about.’
‘But you don’t know which one it is,’ Mia answered, flustered, but Ethan didn’t deign a response, just took the keys without another word to her, saving all his icy venom for the poor doctor.
‘I’ll be back within the hour, Doctor. And for the record, Ms Stewart is grief-stricken, she’s clearly in no fit state to discharge herself, so I strongly suggest that if she isn’t here when I return you’ve made damn sure your medical indemnity insurance is fully paid up.’
The doctor was no match for Ethan’s stern glare and scuttled gratefully out. Ethan stood, silently staring—and suddenly Mia didn’t want Ethan’s take on this, didn’t want to hear his reaction to the news that had just been imparted. Pleating the sheet between her fingers, she stared down, feeling the anger, the incredulity emanating from Ethan, could feel the disdain blazing from his eyes even though she couldn’t bring herself to look at them.
‘Sweet little Mia,’ he said finally, his voice like the crack of a whip. ‘You should add the word “con” to your job title, Mia! Well, you might be able to fool the doctors, your friends, hell, even a few journalists into believing your half-baked story, but it’s the twenty-first century, Mia. You can’t just pass Richard off as the father because it suits your bank account.’
‘I’m not trying to pass the baby off.’ Finally she dared look at him. ‘This is my baby, Ethan. In fact, I never intended for you or your family to find out. It was you who came here, remember; you who chose to ride roughshod and stand over me while the doctor was here.’
‘Bull.’ His voice was menacingly quiet, his head slowly shaking in sheer disbelief. ‘If this is Richard’s baby, how come we don’t know? Why on earth wouldn’t he tell us?’ When she didn’t answer he pressed on relentlessly. ‘If this is my brother’s child, why aren’t there provisions for it in his will?’
‘Because there wasn’t time, and, as much as I didn’t want you to know, I’m not going to deny Richard now. I’m not going to pretend it’s not his child just to make you feel better. But for your information I was always going to raise this baby alone; it was how we planned it!’
‘What?’ Incredulous eyes snapped to hers.
‘I was going to bring up the baby alone, whatever happened to Richard. I always intended to be the sole carer…’
‘Who needs a man in their life?’ he jeered. ‘What the hell’s the point of rotting up a kid with a male perspective on life? Is this one of your half-baked hippy schemes that you roped Richard into, Mia? One of the trendy bandwagons you decided to jump on board…’ He shook his head. ‘You don’t fool me for a moment, Mia Stewart. You had this planned down to the last detail, didn’t you? This was your last little stab at the Carvelle fortune.’ She opened her mouth to argue but he overrode her in an instant. ‘Well, bring it on, Mia.’ The hands that beckoned her were anything but welcoming, his unusually pale face savage in the fluorescent hospital light. ‘Bring it on, because I’m ready for you—more ready than you’ll ever know.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ In an instinctive gesture her hands cradled her stomach, pulling her knees up, protecting the one thing on God’s earth that was hers and hers alone. ‘You don’t scare me, Ethan, and as hard as it may be for you to believe