Bound by the Unborn Baby

by Bella Bucannon

  ‘I...’ She tried to break free, suddenly found herself being lifted and carried backwards, to be plonked unceremoniously on the kitchen island. His hands gripped the bench either side of her. His impassive features gave no indication of his thinking. It was like their first meeting, but without the angst filling the room.

  ‘Ethan, I—’

  ‘Alina Fletcher,’ he cut in. ‘I do believe you are starting to let your true self sneak out from its constrictions.’

  She dropped her head. He lifted it with his finger, his thumb grazing her skin. His eyes sparkled with amusement, daring her to act again. The very fact that she wanted to scared her, holding her back. She trembled, held her breath. Then, as if of its own accord, her hand lifted, her fingers covering his on her chin.

  The air around them seemed hot and heavy. She couldn’t think straight His eyes darkened. His lips curled. Did his body sway closer? Did hers?

  He abruptly withdrew his hand, pushing himself upright, shaking his head. ‘A cool dip in the pool before dinner?’

  Her body flopped. Gratefully, she seized on his suggestion. ‘Yes. Yes.’

  ‘Don’t sound so eager to run, my sweet.’ He swung her to the floor, keeping hold for a moment. ‘And don’t be afraid to show the woman you really are. I like what I’ve seen so far.’

  Not trusting her voice, she gave a quick nod before turning away.

  He stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. ‘My father’s invited us to dinner on Saturday. I’m so angry with my mother I’m inclined to say no.’

  ‘Delaying the inevitable? I think I’d rather face it now.’

  ‘The way you did with me? I won’t let them demean you, Alina.’ A softly spoken declaration that demanded compliance. A firm hold she didn’t want to break. Commanding blue eyes that enthralled.

  ‘You were receptive,’ she said. ‘They’re bound to think I’m trapping you. You’re not the type to lose control and forget protection.’

  Ethan never had. Even in his testosterone-driven teens he’d always been disciplined. Now, being with Alina every night, inhaling her essence, having her within easy reach, he appreciated how overpowering desire could be.

  Anger ground in his gut. At his parents, who judged everyone by high, rigid standards and dismissed any contrary opinions. At himself for allowing them to influence his life, his behaviour. At the fates who had taken his sister’s life when the best times were just beginning.

  Yet those same fates had brought Alina and his future son or daughter to Sydney. To him.

  Taking a short step forward, he manoeuvred her into his arms. In the simple act of holding her and stroking her hair he found solace as he reassured her.

  ‘That’s all the more reason for us to convince them of the undeniable magnetism between us. If we show them we’re happy they’ll have to accept it.’

  ‘Are you happy?’ A muffled plea into his shirt.

  He tilted her chin to gaze into lovely despondent eyes and swore silently. Didn’t she realise how much her being here meant to him?

  ‘How can I not be happy? You’ve given me the most precious gift I’ll ever have. You are giving a part of Louise back to me. Her child. You had easier options, yet you came to me not knowing how I’d react. You did know how my parents would.’

  She took a long, shuddering breath, drawing his eyes to her full pink mouth. His body vibrated in response. She had no concept of what she was doing to him. He wasn’t sure himself.

  ‘Can we go this week? I’d prefer less time to dwell on it.’

  His mobile rang before he could answer her. He grimaced at the caller ID. ‘I agree. I’ve got to take this, so I’ll meet you in the pool.’

  He walked to his room, trying to focus on building regulations instead of smoky violet eyes and full, inviting lips.

  Alina walked away, didn’t look back. His words had woven a soothing path through her mind, into her heart. Diminishing her qualms.

  You’ve given me the most precious gift.

  So similar to the phrase she’d heard from Louise when those two blue lines had materialised on that vital stick. Validation that she’d made the right decision to contact him now rather than after the birth.

  * * *

  Seven minutes to six on a Thursday evening and his desk was clear. Ethan felt pumped at an achievement he determined would become more routine than not. He conceded that the new promotions, which would become official at midnight on Sunday, made it possible.

  He stopped on the way home for handmade chocolates to celebrate. Trying to quell the rush of anticipation, he entered the apartment, silently chuckling at the sci-fi epic music coming from the speakers.

  Alina was preparing dinner at the kitchen counter. His eyes drank in her brunette curls, her enticing curves—soon to be curvier. Alluring. Desirable. This attraction was unlike any he’d ever experienced. Because of the situation? Her condition? His unexpected paternity? None of them explained that initial gut-clench when the only knowledge he’d had of her was her name.

  She continued working, oblivious to his presence. How near did he have to be before she sensed him?

  She had. The moment he’d opened the front door. Trying to quell her quickening heartbeat and ignore the prickling at the back of her neck was a futile exercise. There was nothing to account for her sudden heat rush.

  Darn hormones. Why pick this pregnancy to play up? The first time—she couldn’t prevent the comparisons surfacing—there’d been occasional morning sickness, a few cravings, and manageable backache in the last trimester. She’d been blissfully content, cherished, and pampered by...

  She gripped the vegetable peeler till it stung, fought the tears threatening to spill.

  His cologne seeped around her. Still no sound or greeting. Was he playing games, waiting for her to acknowledge him? She put down the peeler, pivoted.

  Her lungs seized up. Her mouth dried. She sucked in her cheeks and swallowed, trying unsuccessfully to form moisture. Ethan stood there, gazing at her as if she were priceless, unique. When he walked round the island, smiling at her, she couldn’t have moved if someone had tossed a grenade.

  ‘You were so engrossed I didn’t want to disturb you.’ He cupped her chin, restarting her lungs in a short sharp gasp. He drew her to him as if their future was limitless and she leant into him, wanting to be closer. Wanting whatever he was offering.

  He kissed her lightly, then deeper when her lips moved under his. When they parted of their own accord he accepted the tacit invitation. The tip of his tongue found hers. Heat flooded every cell. She tasted a hint of wine, coffee, tightened her hold on his neck, hungry for more.

  Her stomach lurched. She wrenched free, clapping her hand over her mouth. Holding an arm across her belly, she bent double, trying not to throw up.

  ‘Alina, what’s wrong?’

  The anxiety in his tone penetrated her brain. The support of his strong arms steadied her.

  ‘Alina?’

  The nausea hit again. Breaking free, she stumbled to the bathroom, crumpled beside the toilet bowl and dry-retched repeatedly. Didn’t have time to worry about privacy.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  WATER SPLASHED IN the basin and then Ethan was kneeling beside her, offering a damp cloth. She pressed it to her skin, letting the coolness soothe the heat from her humiliation. He’d kissed her and she’d practically thrown up on him.

  Why? She’d eaten nothing, done nothing to trigger it. She shivered, couldn’t stop, couldn’t stem the shame churning in her belly.

  ‘Alina?’

  She looked up into blue eyes dark with concern. For the child? A tiny pang of regret hit her heart.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ethan—so sorry. I’ve no idea what triggered that.’

  He gently removed the cloth, tossed it into the sink,
then cradled her to his chest.

  ‘Hey, I’ve got friends with children. Over the years I’ve heard plenty of stories about so-called morning sickness. Including the fact that it should be named any-time-anywhere-for-no-apparent-reason sickness. Feeling better?’

  She touched the stubble on his chin, managed a rueful half-smile. ‘I think so.’

  He helped her up, waited until she’d rinsed her mouth, then aided her walk back to the lounge. Sat beside her, his arm around her shoulders.

  ‘Do you want some chocolate to take away the taste? I brought a box home.’

  ‘Peppermint tea with plain biscuits will be more settling. I can get them.’

  ‘You stay put. You’re sure you’re all right?’

  For his sake she nodded, forcing a smile.

  His eyes narrowed as if he wasn’t convinced. ‘My book contains a whole chapter on morning sickness, and its triggers. I think I’d better reread it.’

  She put her hand on his thigh. ‘Thank you for...for being there.’

  ‘Always.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘I’ll be right back.’

  Ethan went to the kitchen, turned on the kettle and sank against the bench, taut hands rubbing his face. He’d had to fight for composure in the bathroom; he still shook inside.

  Seeing her sickly pallor as she’d hunched over the toilet had scared the hell out of him. Hearing the rasp in her voice had affected him in a way nothing had before. Because he’d feared for their baby? Or because Alina had been hurting? Both had ripped him apart.

  On his return, he felt the taut knot in his gut ease at the tinge of colour in her cheeks. He gave her the tea and biscuits, scrutinised her as he drank his tea, the same flavour. If he had to he’d make herb tea his regular drink at home. Just in case.

  ‘I feel better. Thank you.’ She started to rise.

  He stopped her, catching hold of her arm. ‘You’re sure?’

  Her smile was steadier. ‘I’m fine.’

  Alina went to the kitchen, where the salad she’d been preparing waited, not realising he was behind her until he spoke.

  ‘What can I do to help?’

  Help? He hadn’t offered before. She’d never been sick before. ‘I can manage. You go do whatever you had planned.’

  He hesitated, his cobalt eyes gleaming with an emotion she didn’t dare try to decipher. The new upheaval in her abdomen had nothing to do with her being pregnant.

  ‘Go. I can handle kebabs and salad.’

  Why did it take so much effort to drag her eyes from him? She forced herself to concentrate on the half-finished carrot.

  ‘I’ll call you when it’s ready.’

  The grunt he made was unintelligible and utterly male. It tickled the edge of her memory. Was quickly relegated to the clouds, where it belonged. She sneaked a peek as he left, wished she hadn’t.

  His grey shirt was moulded to muscles toned to perfection from swimming and working out. Her gaze was drawn down past his trim waist to firm buttocks that flexed with each step. Her breath quickened. This was crazy. She was checking him out like a teenager.

  Her knees shook. She flattened her hands on the benchtop for support, barely aware of the peeler handle digging into her palm. She craved ice-cold water, cursed the heat flooding her body. Daren’t risk walking to the tap.

  He spun round, catching her off guard. ‘By the way...’ His mouth stayed open. His eyes widened. He grinned—a conspiratorial I-know-what-you’re-thinking grin. Moved slowly towards her, holding her spellbound with captivating blue eyes.

  The music from the speakers reached a dramatic crescendo, heightening the atmosphere. It had hardly registered until then. Now it filled the space between them. The width of the room. The breadth of the kitchen island. The length of his arm.

  She faced him, her brain in a quandary as warnings of danger sparred with reminders of his kisses. He halted at that arm’s distance, his eyes now sombre, his features composed. A façade. She noted his rigid stance, the way he’d fisted his hands.

  ‘Are you game to try again?’

  She heard the caution in his voice. The kiss? He’d initiated it; she was the one who’d allowed it to become more intimate. This time there’d be no intoxicating flavour of wine or coffee. She guessed he’d used mouthwash, had seen him drink peppermint tea. Just in case.

  Until Tuesday’s highly emotional embrace in the pool his kisses had been mostly tender—a gentle way of gradually familiarising her with his touch. Their intimate kiss, though interrupted, had been a giant advance in their relationship. A definite declaration that he found her attractive. Desired her.

  There’d been no mention of their sleeping together, but she couldn’t deny her body responded to his virility, couldn’t stop his image invading her thoughts. Oh, Lord, had her nausea been triggered by guilt, by feelings of infidelity?

  He quietly waited for her answer. They both knew there was only one way to resolve the issue.

  ‘Yes.’

  Her single husky word had him enfolding her and gently covering her mouth with his. The music faded. The air around them crackled. Time stood still. His lips moved slowly, persuasively over hers. His hands stroked unhurriedly, without pressure. He kept space between their bodies.

  Her fingertips inched up his chest until they touched his skin. His body trembled. His earthy Ethan aroma filled her lungs, clouding her brain. Dominating her will. Freeing her will. Her fingers twisted into his hair. Her lips parted.

  Ethan held his breath, every muscle tensed in a supreme effort not to sweep his tongue inside to explore the sweetness he’d sampled earlier. Being restrained with a woman was a new experience for him. Mutual attraction led to equally satisfying sex. No strings. No commitment.

  This was different. For indefinable reasons. After the initial spontaneous jolt everything he’d done had been influenced by the fact she was pregnant. Or had it? When they were apart she was in his head. When they were together he couldn’t stop looking, touching and inhaling her essence, fresh as spring.

  He slowly traced a line with his tongue around the soft, moist inside of her lips. She gasped, taking in his breath. Quivered under his roaming hands. His body hardened and he shuffled his feet, widening the gap. Sliding his tongue in deeper, he cautiously stoked hers, fully prepared to stop at the slightest hint of distress.

  There was none—only a timid response that almost had him hauling her closer. There was no sense of time. It felt as if he were standing on the edge of a precipice, knowing there was something wonderful waiting if he’d just let himself fall. With a rough shuddering breath he lifted his head to gaze into clear, shining eyes.

  ‘I guess it was one of those inexplicable pregnancy things, huh?’

  Her spontaneous laugh zapped his already strained senses.

  ‘Seems like it.’

  To double-check, he kissed her briefly, firmly. ‘So—you feel okay?’ His pulse kicked up even higher when she flick-licked her bottom lip and smiled, as if she’d tasted something delicious.

  ‘Go—or you won’t be eating dinner tonight.’

  He went, deeming it an option he’d happily choose.

  * * *

  On Saturday morning Alina paced restlessly round the apartment. Something was itching at her brain—wouldn’t surface, wouldn’t go. She’d booted up her computer. Closed it down. She’d changed, walked into the gym, turned, walked out. Changed back into jeans and a top. Curled up with her embroidery, packed it away after a few stitches. Every room was tidy; everything was clean.

  She glanced at the kitchen calendar and the notation for tonight: Dinner with parents. An unavoidable ordeal to be endured. She was convinced they wouldn’t be adding her to their regular guest list unless they wanted Ethan there too. And he’d given her the impression he’d happily miss most of their organised e
vents.

  A picture flashed into her head at the sight of today’s date. She quickly blocked it out. She didn’t do special days.

  Tenuous, ghost-like memories nipped at the edge of her mind, wouldn’t be dismissed. Tears welled in her eyes as memories crashed back. Her mother-in-law’s birthday. Mum. Unlike Sophia, she’d welcomed Alina, drawn her into the family and loved her as a daughter. She’d be lucky if Sophia tolerated her for the time she was here.

  Ethan had family and friends for support. She didn’t begrudge him any of them; he’d need all the help available next year. She had no one. Unless...

  You only have to reach out. There’ll be no recriminations, only love and understanding.

  Her thumb trembled as she scrolled through her phone for the name and number. A short tear-choked conversation later she grabbed her handbag and ran out the door, heading for the one person she could tell anything. Though she wouldn’t reveal the whole truth.

  * * *

  Where was she? Ethan drummed his fingers on his office desk, forced himself to focus on the computer screen, rereading figures he hadn’t taken in before. They were good. His mindset wasn’t. He exited the program, scowling. Why hadn’t she returned his calls?

  He hadn’t been concerned when she hadn’t answered her mobile or the apartment phone at first, assuming she was in the gym area. Now, however... He checked his watch for the umpteenth time. Ten past twelve—over two hours since his first call.

  He rotated sideways, staring at the city skyline, seeing only her face, wondering why she’d been so subdued this morning after they’d spent two enjoyable evenings together. Maybe it was one of the mood swings detailed in his book.

  He grabbed his phone again, hesitated with his hand in mid-air. It rang, vibrating in his palm. Wrong caller ID. After quickly dealing with the matter, he went to the coffee machine. With refilled mug in hand he paced the floor, trying to convince himself it was normal trepidation given her condition.