by Неизвестный
breather.”
Her cautious laugh warmed him and they grinned at each other, staying that way for seconds too long,
too long to maintain the neutrality of the mood. Cal finally broke the moment, swiftly glancing back
over his shoulder before pulling into the traffic.
Ava held her breath, unwilling to break this fragile truce. The man not only developed powerful
computer programs, his mind was a computer. No doubt he remembered every detail of their
conversations, every word both spoken and implied. Yet as Cal shifted gears and the car smoothly eased
into second, her jangling nerves began to relax. It was a calming flipside to the last few days’ hostility
and distrust.
Ava didn’t believe in blind optimism, but when she turned her face towards the warm sunshine as they
sped across the Harbour Bridge, hope began to spark deep inside. It was…encouraging.
“Based on what you’ve told me, your due date is the ninth of January.” Dr. Wong smiled as he lifted the
wand from Ava’s stomach. “We can usually tell the baby’s sex from about eighteen weeks.” He paused,
turned a few buttons on the foetal monitor and then pointed to the screen. “Right now, we’re just
ensuring everything’s on track and the baby’s forming at the correct rate. There you go.”
The exam room was deathly silent, the cool air-conditioned cavern punctuated only by the tiny bleeps
and clicks as Dr. Wong took stills from the monitor.
“Just look at that,” Ava finally breathed.
Cal remained transfixed on the monitor, at the grey and white snow that indicated a tiny life grew within
Ava’s belly. He hardly heard the doctor’s murmur, the soft snick of the door as the man gave them a
private moment alone. His heart was beating way too hard, his blood pounding through every vein in his
chest.
Come the new year, he’d be a father. An unexpected flash of something so big, so powerful jumped him
from the shadows and left him floundering under the weight. Blindly, he glanced down and Ava’s eyes,
full of wonder and amazement, undid him all over again.
She was lying on the table, half-covered in a sheet, her skirt rucked up high beneath her breasts. And
below that, the soft white skin of her belly, the gentle curve almost imperceptible. He was drawn to her,
almost as if he couldn’t help himself. It felt natural, right, that he bend down and cover her trembling
mouth in a gentle kiss.
And the oddest thing happened. Everything stuttered to a halt.
It seemed like the world had stopped for one amazing second. Ava’s breath caught in her throat,
astonishment rendering her limbs immobile, until she felt her eyes close, her limbs languidly relaxing
into the tender kiss.
Cal had kissed her with bruising urgency before, with uncontrollable passion specifically designed to
arouse. But this…this…soft pressure of his warm mouth on hers, almost loving in its gentleness,
tightened something deep within until she felt the telltale prick of tears behind her lids.
She barely had time to breathe in the scent of leather, shaving cream and coffee that was so uniquely Cal
before it was over, too soon. When he drew back, her eyes flew open, a tiny sound of disappointment
rattling in her throat. “Cal…”
His answer was throaty and hoarse. “If you want me to apologise for that—”
“No.” She shook her head. “No. It was—” Amazing. Wonderful. “—fine.”
In the cool, sterile room, she was acutely aware of her semi-nakedness, of her uncovered belly, still wet
with the remnants of the ultrasound gel. “Can you pass me a paper towel?”
As if grateful for movement, he turned to the dispenser, grabbed a few towels and handed them over.
“I’ll wait for you in the lounge.” He swiftly pulled out his mobile and in record time was out the door.
Ava frowned. One minute he’d been kissing her, the next he was gone. It was like flicking off a switch,
the way he could tease her emotions into tentative expectation then firmly close the door in her face.
With a sigh she finished cleaning up, straightened her clothes and scooped up the pictures the doctor had
printed out. The damnable truth was she wanted him to kiss her, wanted him to touch her. Wanted him
to ease the aching throb in her body and make sweet love to her.
She opened the door, silently watching Cal as he clicked through his messages. He didn’t trust her, they
both knew that. Yet she couldn’t stop herself wanting him. And therein lay the paradox—how could she
want a man who didn’t want her?
The riddle stuck in her brain for the rest of the day, until she finally forced it away while making cheeseand-
pickle sandwiches for dinner.
“Don’t cook tonight,” Cal had said after he’d dropped her back at his apartment. “I’ll be late, so I’ll grab
something on the way home.”
It didn’t take a genius to work out the subtext. Ava speared the pickle with vicious intent. Don’t get too
comfortable, and don’t expect to play happy families. Well, she wouldn’t. For the best part of the
afternoon she’d moped around the apartment until her lower back had demanded movement and she’d
finally turned off Oprah. Dressed in a blue designer tracksuit that Isabelle had declared matched her
eyes, she’d gone for a walk.
The massive spread of suburbia, concrete and noise still overwhelmed and she quickly bypassed the
white majesty of the Opera House and headed for the Botanical Gardens instead. For an hour she
strolled the lush green lawns and abundant flora until it became clear her presence had attracted
unwanted attention.
Being surreptitiously pointed out in loud whispers, followed by the click of cell phones, was a novelty
she didn’t care to repeat. Now, as she sat on the balcony and bit into the sandwich, the sharp tang of
pickle juice jolted her taste buds. It shouldn’t matter that she was low on Cal’s priorities, yet it still
didn’t stop her insides from twisting. He was a businessman and had made an offer based on pure
business.
But a child wasn’t a business deal.
The sandwich churned in her stomach and she dropped it back on the plate. She may not be top on his
list, but instinct told her this baby was. Even if Cal didn’t realize it, his reaction at the doctor’s gave her
hope. It meant that it was a start, however tiny.
It was Saturday night and Ava ignored the throbbing ache in her high-heeled feet and instead pasted a
smile on her subtly made-up face. Last night it was a charity event, tonight a glitzy book launch. Two
completely different causes yet identical undercurrents, identical partygoers. Decked out in jewels and
couture, the women were mostly blond, always tanned and perennially skinny, despite the champagne
many downed like seasoned drinkers. The men were expensively attired, oozing privileged wealth and
indulgence.
On Cal’s arm, Ava felt like the new guppy in the fishbowl, a thousand curious eyes directly squarely on
her. Their curiosity had taken many guises—some disbelief, some barely hidden animosity. A few, like
tonight’s guest of honor, had expressed actual happiness and like a much-needed gulp of water to her
drought-stricken mouth, she’d returned the congratulations with genuine warmth.
“You need to do more of that,” Cal murmured, a soft rumble in her ear that sent quivers across her skin.
“What?”
“Smile more.”
“I am,” she replied tightly, her smile still firmly in place.
Cal rolled his eyes. “Now it just looks like you ate a bad prawn.”
She snorted out a laugh, one quickly engulfed in the buzz of the fast-growing crowd.
“I can tell you’re faking, even if everyone else is fooled,” Cal added, his mouth close to her ear. She
could feel his warm breath on her sensitive flesh and she clamped down on her bottom lip, stifling a
groan.
“I’ve been to more parties this last week than in my whole life, not to mention the primping and
preening and smiling at complete strangers,” she muttered back. Many of whom were shallow,
appearance-obsessed and way too interested in her cleavage, she realized with a sinking stomach. “And
my feet hurt,” she added for good measure.
“Do you need to sit?”
Contrition gnawed as she caught the flash of concern on his face. “No,” she sighed. Her head still
whirled from the million congratulations and curious questions about how and when they met, to the
inevitable wedding day. If she heard one more barely dressed woman coyly ask Cal, “When’s the big
day?” while pointedly ignoring her, she was going to scream.
“Congratulations, Cal. Have you set a date?”
Through the fabric of his Italian suit, Cal felt Ava stiffen, her fingers tightening imperceptibly on his
arm. Her face, however, creased into politeness as he introduced the two women.
“Charmed, sweetie.” Shannon Curtis-Stein smiled insincerely, her tanned ice-blond figure poured into a
black flapper-style dress. Although, Cal conceded, the plunging neckline was hardly in keeping with the
era.
Next to all these sleek peacocks, parading their finery and gym-honed bodies with utter confidence, Ava
was a breath of fresh air. There’d been a moment when they’d walked into the Hilton’s function room
and she’d hesitated, staring at the assembled throng as panic skittered across her face. As usual, the
women were wearing variations of a familiar theme—short clingy dresses with shoestring straps that
showed heaps of leg or toned, muscular backs. Sometimes both. In comparison, Ava’s long, floaty
strapless silver gown was distinctly elegant. Regal, even. Ignoring the buzz under his skin that had
become second nature whenever Ava was around, he’d linked his hand in hers and gave it a reassuring
squeeze. And when she’d met his eyes with jaw set, clear blue eyes serious, he knew she wasn’t going to
buckle.
That’s my girl.
He started. Where the hell had that come from? Admiration, yeah, okay. Facing this crowd was a
daunting prospect for anyone, let alone a girl from the bush. But laying claim like she was something to
own, something exclusively his when they both knew the real truth?
She glanced up at him now and gave him that familiar smile, a shy lip-tilt full of barely hidden
apprehension. Even with her body ramrod straight, shoulders back, that smile gave her away every time.
This wasn’t a woman in control—she was petrified.
Her hand tightened in his, her breath whooshing out as she breathed deeply. She was way out of her
depth, and she knew it. How the hell had he missed that? Her eyes revealed more than she realized from
the deep, burning anger at his demands to the desperate control when she’d faced Victor.
It had taken days to realize she couldn’t hide her emotions any more than he could stop himself from
touching her.
And just like that, his mind cleared. Man, he could stare at her for hours, the way her bare shoulders
curved, the elegant sweep of her neck, displayed by her hair piled high. Under his scrutiny, a wayward
curl fell, brushing her shoulder in a gentle, teasing kiss.
“You need a necklace to complement your dress,” he murmured. “Something that would sit just about
—” he drew his fingers sensuously across her collarbone and she gasped “—here.”
He paused, his palm a brand on her warm décolletage, unashamedly laying claim. A satisfied smile
tugged at his mouth as her eyes widened and her heartbeat upped tempo beneath his hand.
He leaned in, propelled by a desperate urge to follow his hand’s path, barely registering Shannon’s
derisive snort and departure in a whirl of expensive perfume. If he remembered correctly, Ava made the
most erotic sound when he licked that sensitive flesh…
She shifted back, a small protest quelling his intent, bringing him back to the present. The noise from the
party hit him full-on, as if he’d spent the past few minutes in a sound void and someone had just cranked
up the volume.
“What do you think?” He recovered swiftly, only slightly annoyed by the huskiness in his voice.
“I think I feel like an overfed, ruffled sparrow.”
At his confusion, she added with a small gesture to the crowd, “Not enough gloss, not enough
sophistication.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
She looked irritated. “No. These women are all perfect. Perfect straight hair, perfect bodies, perfect
smiles.”
At a loss, he captured her arms and firmly turned her to face him, her back to the crowd. “Name one.”
“Lisette Warner,” she returned without hesitation.
“She cheats on her husband.”
Ava’s eyes widened. “Joy Falkner.”
“Shallow and bitchy.”
“Shannon Curtis-Stein.”
“Oh, that’s obvious. She’s had a boob job.”
Her mouth tweaked. “I thought men liked boobs.”
“I don’t know about ‘men,’ but fake doesn’t do it for me.” He couldn’t stop himself from eyeing her
neckline, modest by the crowd’s standards but still affording him a gentle swelling tease of her creamy
flesh.
Memory flashed. He recalled the familiar softness of her skin, the way it tasted beneath his hands, his
mouth. He didn’t have to close his eyes to picture the way her nipples had puckered as he’d gently
sucked on them—and as he stared, he saw the imperceptible outline of them now, tightening beneath the
snug satin of her dress.
Good Lord. He snapped his eyes up, barely catching her flush of embarrassment before she offered him
her profile.
“Trust me, Ava, elegance and style beat skin and bleach every time. Not that there’s anything wrong
with a little skin…” his voice dipped lower as he leaned in, his mouth temptingly close to her ear, “at the
right time.”
She slid him a glance, her eyes wide and dark, pupils dilated. Then in the next second, she looked away,
her soft breathy intake confirming his suspicion.
He knew arousal when he saw it. Hell, he could practically smell it on her, above and beyond that nowfamiliar
innocent/seductive fragrance she always wore. Despite the thousand reasons why he’d
convinced himself to keep his distance, his body began to throb in earnest.
He’d set the boundaries of their relationship and Ava had agreed, so when had the chains of that
restriction begun to chafe? Last night he’d had to stop himself from testing the softness of her hair, had
paused halfway to place his hand on her belly, a belly that had gently rounded in the past few days. That
doctor’s appointment had only exacerbated his awareness of his baby growing inside her.
He’d been hell-bent on keeping a physical distance, yet like every big mistake, his downfall had started
o
ut small. Last night, as they’d walked into their first official event as an engaged couple, she’d
tentatively linked her fingers in his and the blast of guilty pleasure had staggered him. A touch
reluctantly given, yet initiated in a moment of desperation, to give her courage. A touch more intimate
than a kiss. Her vulnerability simultaneously humbled and aroused him.
So he’d tested his boundaries as they’d mingled with the cream of Sydney society, waiting for her
withdrawal as he’d stroked her arm, played with the hair at her nape. She’d jumped the first few times,
surprise reflected in her eyes, but eventually that had melted into acceptance. Even welcome, judging by
her body’s response.
He snaked his arm around her waist now, bringing her hip firmly against him as his hand gently cupped
her elbow.
“Cal…”
“What?” He briefly glanced across the room before coming back to her. “We’re a happily engaged
couple. We’re expected to—” he paused, his fingers stroking the sensitive flesh in the crook of her
elbow “—touch.”
She attempted a laugh, but it came out all shaky and nervous. “You’re giving me goosebumps.”
He grinned, enjoying her discomfiture way too much. “I hope so. What perfume are you wearing?”
When Cal’s voice came, deep and sinful in her ear, Ava trembled.
“Nothing,” she managed to croak. “I don’t wear perfume.”
“Then why,” he paused and dipped his head, his jaw barely grazing her neck and sending her eyelids
into languid descent, “do you smell so delicious?”
Her body flushed hot, heart kicking hard. “It’s called layering…” She ended on a gasp as his murmur of
appreciation rumbled over the sensitive spot just below her earlobe. “Body wash,” she continued
bravely, barely forming the words. “Lotion, body spray. It’s…” a sharp intake of breath as his lips gently
nibbled on her neck, “Jasmine and peach. Cal, please.”
“Mmm?”
She darted her eyes around the crowd. “People are staring.”
“No, they’re not.” His arm tightened around her waist, pinning her to him and she gasped, feeling the
evidence of his arousal beneath their clothes.