Bound by the Unborn Baby

by Bella Bucannon

  “As far as everyone’s concerned, Alina, this child is ours.”

  Surrogacy is the closest Alina Fletcher dares get to motherhood. But when she must tell tycoon Ethan James she’s carrying his late sister’s child, his solution takes her breath away—a temporary marriage of convenience for the baby’s sake!

  Alina knows it’s the right decision for her baby, but is marrying a stranger—especially one who makes her heart sing!—the right choice for her? Having loved and lost her own family, this proposal could be another chance at happiness...if only Alina’s brave enough to say “I do”!

  “Alina, the baby you carry is my family. I can’t—I won’t—permit this child to be born illegitimate.”

  Somewhere out in the real world, a driver beeped his horn. She sensed Ethan studying her, could imagine his brain churning with arguments to reinforce his demand. For him her full compliance was essential. He’d accept nothing less.

  “How long is it supposed to last?” It came out wrong. She hadn’t meant to sound so cold, so detached. She certainly wasn’t prepared for the pained look in his eyes.

  “We’ve got seven months to sort out the future. No one will be surprised if our sudden marriage doesn’t survive long-term.” His hand left her stomach and cupped her chin. “I won’t force you to stay, and I swear you won’t lose from this arrangement.”

  He was right—because she’d already lost everything worthwhile. She’d bought a new gold ring because she hadn’t been able to bear the sight or the feel of the original.

  “You give me your word that I can leave when I decide?”

  “Yes.” It was blunt. His body was rigid, his features unreadable.

  “All right. I’ll marry you.”

  Dear Reader,

  Alina’s tragedy and withdrawal from close personal contacts hovered on the edge of my mind for a long time. Even though she never fit into the stories I was writing, her character grew as I imagined her lonely nomadic lifestyle. An empathetic reason for her breaking her solitude came to me on a walk one day and I plotted out a way to force her to rejoin Australian society.

  Pragmatic, work-driven Ethan first surfaced in a short story, but halfway through I realized he didn’t quite suit the plot. I cut and saved him for the future. Impassive and controlled, he became the perfect hero for Alina.

  I threw him out of his comfort zone and shattered his carefully planned life. His problem-solving skills can’t heal the beautiful broken woman who has brought him a precious gift, a promise for the future. His practical solution didn’t take into account the way she creeps into his heart, tempting him to change his new future plans.

  Contacting Ethan, for Alina the only honorable choice, is distressing but the alternative even more so. She finds her attraction to him disturbing. To care too much is to invite soul-shattering grief, so she blames it on pregnancy hormones. Against her deep-seated resolve, she begins to trust, even hope again, until she’s flung back into her dark world, where no emotions are allowed.

  Giving your heart free rein can be mind-numbingly terrifying when it’s been devastated before, but sometimes if you close your eyes and trust in love, the rewards can be more than you dared to dream.

  I hope you enjoy Ethan and Alina’s journey to love and happiness as much as I loved helping them overcome their reluctance to trust their own instincts and reach out to one another to claim life’s ultimate reward.

  Bella

  BOUND BY THE UNBORN BABY

  Bella Bucannon

  Bella Bucannon lives in a quiet northern suburb of Adelaide with her soul-mate husband, who loves and supports her in any endeavor. She enjoys walking, dining out and traveling. Bus tours or cruising with days at sea to relax, plot and write are top of her list. Apart from category romance, she also writes very short stories and poems for a local writing group. Bella believes joining RWA and SARA early in her writing journey was a major factor in her achievements.

  Bound by the Unborn Baby is Bella Bucannon’s debut title for Harlequin Romance!

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  Deepest thanks to my husband and soul mate, who claims inside my head is the scariest place on earth but loves me unconditionally anyway. Special thanks to the generous, supportive South Australian Romance Authors for their encouragement and steadfast belief in me. And to Flo Nicoll, who saw beyond my raw writing and gave me the courage to drastically cut and revise and produce a story worth telling.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  EXCERPT FROM WEDDED FOR HIS ROYAL DUTY BY SUSAN MEIER

  CHAPTER ONE

  THIRD DOOR ON the left. Why the hell hadn’t he given in to his original instinct, phoned the hotel with a refusal, then binned the short letter hand-delivered to his office? He’d never heard of Alina Fletcher—didn’t have the time or energy for enigmatic invitations.

  Except one phrase, vaguely referring to his family, had captured his interest five weeks after his sister and brother-in-law had died in Barcelona, less than two since his second trip to Spain regarding their estate.

  He felt drained. Flying overseas and coping with local authorities while handling the glitches regarding his latest hotel acquisition had been exhausting. The basic Spanish he’d acquired on other trips had helped; deprivation of sleep didn’t. He desperately needed a break to enable him to grieve for Louise, and for Leon, who’d been his best friend since primary school. Any additional angst was definitely unwelcome.

  The open doorway allowed him a clear view of the woman facing the window. Slim build. Medium height. Short dark brown hair. His gaze slid rapidly over a sky-blue jacket and trousers to flat shoes. Unusual in this time of killer heels.

  ‘Ms Fletcher?’ He was curter than he’d intended, influenced by a hard clench low in his abdomen.

  She turned slowly and his battered emotions were rocked even more. Pain-filled eyes underlined with dark smudges met his. Widened. Shuttered. Reopened, clear and steady. Whatever had flickered in their incredible violet depths had banished his lethargy. His dormant libido kicked in, tightening his stomach muscles, accelerating his pulse.

  Inappropriate. Inexcusable.

  ‘Ethan James? Thank you for agreeing to meet me.’

  No welcoming smile. Did he detect a slight accent? He’d have to hear more—wanted to hear more.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Did I have a choice?’ Moving forward with extended hand, he frowned at her hesitation. She was the one who’d requested the meeting.

  After a cool, brief touch she gestured to the seating. ‘Coffee? Black and strong?’

  His eyes narrowed at her assumption of his preference, flicked to the wedding ring she wore. Married. Why did he care? The perfume she wore didn’t suit her. Too strong. Too exotic. He wasn’t thinking clearly—hadn’t been since that devastating early-morning phone call.

&nbs
p; ‘What do you want?’ No games. Either she told him the reason they were here or he walked. ‘You’ve got two minutes to convince me to stay.’

  She met his glare unwaveringly. ‘Then you’d better start reading.’ Perching on the front of an armchair, she pushed a buff-coloured folder along the low table before pouring coffee into a cup.

  His muscles tensed. She appeared confident, was counting on him thinking he’d always wonder if he left without an explanation. He grudgingly picked up the unnamed folder and sat, stretching out his long legs.

  Once she’d placed the drink in front of him she took a book from the bag by her side and settled into the chair to read.

  He pulled the file out, glanced at the front sheet—and his already shattered world tilted beyond reality. He flipped the pages, studied the signatures. Scowled at the seemingly composed female ignoring him. A fist of ice clamped his gut. His heart pounded. Not true. Not believable. Though the signatures were genuine. He’d seen enough of them in the last few weeks to be absolutely certain.

  Why? There’d been no indication.

  He reached for his coffee, drained the hot liquid in one gulp while glancing at Alina Fletcher. Not so serene on further scrutiny. The fingers on her left hand were performing a strange ritual. Starting with the littlest, they curled one by one into her palm, with her thumb folding over the top. Dancelike, the movement was repeated every few seconds.

  Nervous? She damn well ought to be, hitting him with this out of the blue. He gave a derisive grunt. He’d have been blindsided however she’d informed him.

  Reverting to the opening document, he meticulously perused every paragraph.

  Alina automatically flicked the blurred pages of her book, her fingers trembling. Her thoughts were in turmoil. This encounter ought to have been straightforward. She’d come to Sydney, acquaint the brother with the situation, and then they’d discuss options in a businesslike fashion. Instead she’d tensed at the timbre of his formal greeting, been slow to take his hand, shaken by her quickening heartbeat.

  Please, please, let it be hormonal.

  The best scenario was that he’d concur with the logical solution. She’d return to Europe and they’d communicate amicably via email or phone. Living alone would be no hardship. She only shared accommodation when it was required by an employer and rarely maintained friendships, even those forged from seasonal reunions. No roots. No ties. Liking co-workers was a plus. None had been able to break through the wall staying sane had compelled her to build.

  She still wasn’t sure what had drawn her to Louise on their early irregular meetings. Perhaps an empathy that had enabled her to see behind the sparkling personality and glimpse the hidden sorrow? A feeling that she was a kindred spirit? Seeing the loving relationship Louise had shared with Leon? She’d often thought of them while travelling. Four months ago fate had brought them together at a critical time for Louise, a soul-searching one for her.

  She’d stayed away from the funeral service in Barcelona for her own sake, needing time to decide what to do. Contacting Ethan James while he was arranging for his relatives to be transported to Australia for burial would have been insensitive. It was, however, the honourable thing to do now. In the end the only thing she believed would ensure her future peace of mind.

  Until she’d looked into those cobalt eyes with their thick black lashes—so like Louise’s, except dulled with sadness and fatigue. Unwarranted, almost forgotten heat sensations had flared low in her belly. Immediately squashed. Never again. She’d barely survived before—sometimes felt she hadn’t.

  During the last year she’d slowly, so slowly, begun to open up a little to people. Now she was caught in a different nightmare, with far-reaching consequences. It all depended on the man intently scanning the papers she’d given him.

  She approved of his neatly trimmed dark hair, his long fingers with well-shaped clean nails. His no-frills attitude to her letter. Leon had described him as astute, pragmatic, and extremely non-sentimental in business. Personally reserved. The very qualities she needed right now.

  She sipped her mint tea, praying her guest would agree to her suggestion. Her skin still prickled from his oh-so-fleeting touch. A hint of earthy cologne teased her nostrils every time she inhaled. Unusual and unfamiliar. Definitely not one of the brands she’d sold working in a department store in Rome last summer.

  The tension in the room heightened. She looked up, encountered cold, resolute scrutiny, a grim mouth and firmly set jaw. Did he intend to dispute her claim? In October he’d have all the proof he’d require.

  Ethan saw fear chase the sadness from her eyes, swiftly replaced by pseudo-cool detachment.

  ‘You’re carrying their child.’ He didn’t doubt the validity of the documents. They were legal, watertight contracts—somewhat alien to his carefree relatives. ‘Why?’

  ‘Three early miscarriages with no medical explanation. No trouble with conception. Surrogacy offered them a way to have a baby of their own.’ She spoke precisely, as if she’d rehearsed every word.

  He swore quietly, fervently. Why hadn’t they told him? There’d been no hint of a problem on any of his visits. Or had he been too focused on his growing business empire to notice?

  Anger at lost opportunities gnawed at him. Guilt at missing any change in Louise’s demeanour flooded him. The urge to strike out was strong. Pity the only one in the firing line happened to be the messenger.

  ‘Why the secrecy? Why you?’ He ground the words out violently.

  She didn’t flinch, though faint colour tinged her cheeks. Crossing her arms, she lifted her chin. ‘I offered. My choice. My reasons.’

  Something in her tone warned him not to pursue the subject. Fine—he’d accept the simplified statement for now. Coming to terms with being uncle to an unborn child conceived by his dead sister and her husband, carried by a stranger, took precedence.

  ‘When’s the child due? Did they know?’ A myriad of questions buzzed in his brain, making it impossible to prioritise.

  ‘Late October. I’m nine weeks. We did a pregnancy test together.’ Her lips trembled. Her gaze shifted to the wall behind him. ‘They were so incredibly happy for a few days. Until that goods van smashed into them at that outdoor café.’

  Her tortured eyes met his. Anguish ripped through him on hearing those mind-numbing words spoken in her tremulous voice. He knew. He’d received the international call, read the reports. Seen photographs of the mangled wreckage.

  Suddenly he craved solitude. And space. He wanted to run from this woman, escape from her predicament. Forget everything and crawl into a cave like a wounded animal to lick his wounds and recover.

  Not going to happen.

  He ought to stay, talk more. Get more details. How could he? She exacerbated his torment.

  Jamming the file into the folder, he stood up. Alina stayed in her seat, her eyes a mixture of sorrow and perplexity, making him feel like a louse. He pulled his mobile from his inside pocket.

  ‘I need time to take all this in. Give me your number. I’ll phone you tomorrow.’

  She told him, including the Spanish code. ‘You can leave a message at Reception so you won’t get charged international rates.’

  Ethan let out a short, half-choked laugh. She appeared genuinely concerned at the thought of him paying the fees—something his company did every day. ‘I can stand the cost.’

  A soft blush coloured her cheeks. His gut twisted in remorse.

  She rose to her feet, proudly defiant, tightly clasping her book. ‘I appreciate what a shock this is. If there’d been an easier way to tell you, I’d—’

  ‘There wasn’t. Goodbye, Ms Fletcher.’ He spun round and strode out.

  The tension drained from Alina’s muscles, to be replaced by frightening awareness. Alien. Alarming. His aura still filled the room, surrounding her, c
hallenging her resolve. Threatening what little stability she had.

  She tried to equate this barely held together man with the sharp, on-the-ball tycoon described to her. The one who’d always managed to extricate the two friends from escapades usually instigated by the younger one. The one who’d transformed a failing local travel centre into the multimillion-dollar Starburst hotel and tourism empire.

  The man she’d just watched hurriedly exit seemed to be operating on stretched nerves.

  Pouring another cup of tea, she reproached herself for bringing more trauma into his life, but knew she’d had no choice. The realisation that she’d been banking on him taking charge, relieving her of all major decisions, hit home. She squeezed her eyes shut, stemming the tears. He hadn’t rebuffed her completely. There was still hope.

  She pictured Louise sobbing in the café the day after the specialist had advised her that any more pregnancies might be detrimental to her health. She recalled walking her home, talking with her, learning about her society-obsessed parents’ rigid attitude to social status.

  Her sympathy for Leon’s and Louise’s plight, and her strong desire to help had been understandable; the solution that had popped into her mind had been astounding. And terrifying.

  After two days of intense soul-searching she’d offered to be a surrogate. Their initial refusal had given way to grateful acceptance in light of their limited options. Over a supper of fruit, cheese and dips, washed down with local wine, they’d conceived the perfect plan. Almost foolproof. They hadn’t counted on brake failure destroying their hopes in the cruellest way possible.

  She stroked her stomach. Their baby—not hers. She was simply a cocoon. In October she’d have given birth to their son or daughter and then stepped away, allowing them to experience fully the delights and dramas of parenthood.

  Ethan must consent to her plan. This tiny new life inside her deserved the love and happiness its new family would have shared. Ethan, rather than his parents, was her preferred choice. If they all chose not to... Well, then she’d have to confront and conquer her demons.