His Pregnant Mistress

‘Meaning?’

‘You couldn’t quite manage to hook the Carvelle surname for yourself, but you’d use a dying, confused man to ensure you snaked your way in somehow. But you’ve picked the wrong family, Mia. If you think for one second my parents are going to be the pushover Richard clearly was, then I’m about to burst your bubble, darling…’ His lips sneered around the word, no sentiment intended as he spat the endearment. ‘They’ll wrap you up so tightly in legal red tape you’ll be pulling your pension before you see a single cent for your efforts.’

‘You bastard.’

‘No.’ Ethan shook his head, his eyes glittering with rage, his face taut, his breath hot on her cheeks, his hand moving to her stomach and holding the swollen flesh for a moment, shuttering his eyes for a second as if it physically hurt to touch her, to feel the life within her. ‘That’s what this little one is; that’s the level you’d stoop to, to get what you want.’

‘This was never about money.’

‘Good,’ Ethan quipped, ‘because you’ll die waiting before my parents come around. No smiling, cooing baby will melt their cold hearts.’

‘I don’t need the Carvelles’ money,’ Mia hissed. ‘I have a life, a home, a career I’m proud of and I’ll do just fine on my own.’

She thought that was the end of it, almost thought she’d seen the last of him, that Ethan would walk off now, but still he stood, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at her.

‘So what now?’

‘You get on with your life and I’ll get on with mine,’ Mia snapped, but even as the words came out she sensed their futility, knew that now Ethan knew it was Richard’s child she was carrying he couldn’t just walk away. ‘I don’t expect you to understand, Ethan,’ she said more softly. ‘I don’t expect you to understand what Richard and I shared, but all I ask is that you believe me when I say that this had nothing to do with money and everything to do with love. He wasn’t supposed to die…’ Tears brimmed in those aquamarine pools, and the colour was so vivid, so reminiscent of the beautiful land she inhabited, for a tiny second there he felt as if he had come home.

Home, not just to the tropical paradise of Cairns, where lush green trees reached for a sky that blended with the ocean, but home to the capricious, captivating spirit of Mia, and so alien was the feeling that welled inside him, so physical the pain that suddenly gripped him, it took a second for Ethan to register it as need. A need so pure he could feel it, a yearning almost for the balmy, safe haven he had found all those years ago, for the time spent in each other’s arms and minds, when the world had seemed at peace, when there was nothing he wouldn’t have done for her; and he ached, ached to reach over to catch the splash of tears that rolled down her cheeks, to pull her in his arms and make her world safe.

But he couldn’t.

Couldn’t allow himself to fall under her spell again, couldn’t go through it again and expect to come out the other side. He had to be strong here, had to remain impervious to her charms, hold onto his head and forget about his heart.

‘But he did die,’ Ethan said finally. ‘Richard did die, Mia, and if you’re telling the truth, if this is his child, then we’ve got a hell of a lot to talk about!’

She could feel the tiny hairs rising on the back of her neck, the chilling feeling that suddenly everything had become impossibly complicated, finally admitted to herself that today wasn’t going to bring closure, that things had, in fact, just started.

‘Wait here,’ he ordered, jangling her car keys in his pocket and pinning her with his eyes. ‘I’ll go and get your car, but don’t even think about discharging yourself and jumping in a taxi, Mia. Believe me, I’ll find you.’

CHAPTER THREE

SHE should go.

Every sensible thought told Mia to just demand the drip be taken down, pack up her few things, jump in a taxi and get the hell out of there.

Ethan Carvelle had no say here. He couldn’t demand she stay at the hospital; he had nothing to do with this.

Time and again she pushed down the cot side of the trolley, picked up a cotton swab, ready to pull the blessed drip out herself. It was her life, her choice if she walked out of the hospital this very moment; his idle threats bore no weight in the real world. Ethan Carvelle counted for nothing here.

But time and again she pulled the side of the trolley back up, leant against the pillows in utter defeat as the fluid dripped into her veins, knowing it was only herself she was kidding.

Ethan Carvelle counted for everything.

He had since that day seven long, lonely years ago when he had walked into that restaurant. Every pore, every inch of her skin had screamed for him since then, since that one sweet moment when he had not only taken her virginity, but altered her whole perspective, shifted the lens, made the world sharper somehow, invigorated her, exhausted her, engulfed her.

And maybe she could leave now, could get up and walk away, but the action would be merely physical. Her mind, her soul, her heart were constantly with him and she begged for resolution, needed this chance of closure as much as Ethan clearly did.

Needed to tell him how much he had hurt her, needed this time together before she closed this painful chapter for good and moved on.

And it had to be closed, Mia reminded herself; there was too much water under the bridge for anything else.

She sensed his presence before she saw him.

Felt the tension in the room lift a notch as the doctor removed her drip and the nurse helped her out of her gown, and tried to ply her shaking body into the beastly black dress.

‘I’ll take it from here.’

He stood at the entrance to the cubicle, supremely in control, trapping her with his gaze as the medical personnel drifted off.

‘I can dress myself, thank you.’

But pride had no place in this cramped hospital cubicle; shaking hands and his unwavering gaze made the simplest task impossible. With only one stocking on it was easier to rip it off than attempt the other, forcing bare feet into way-too-high heels, then reluctantly taking his hand as she lowered herself off the trolley.

‘Have you got everything?’

‘Apart from my pride.’ Angry eyes met his. ‘How dare you demand I stay till you return? How dare you exert your authority on the hospital staff and talk about me as if I were some sort of unhinged person? I nearly went, you know.’

‘But you didn’t,’ Ethan pointed out, not remotely fazed by her outburst. ‘Turn around; your zip’s undone.’

And if she hadn’t been seven months pregnant she’d have reached her hand behind her back and pulled it up herself in one lithe movement, but pregnancy allowed for no such luxuries, and pulling her dress to her waist and half doing the blessed zip up then twisting it around as she had done this morning clearly wasn’t an option right now. Instead, burning with shame, she stood stock still, refusing his order to turn around, her breath catching in her throat when Ethan gave an easy shrug and moved behind her, piling her blonde curls unceremoniously on top of her head and lifting her hand to hold them.

‘It’s stuck.’ She could feel his breath on her neck, feel his warm fingers as they tugged at the treacherous zipper that had chosen the worst possible time to give in on her. Okay, it wasn’t a maternity dress, just a simple linen shift, and maybe Mia had been pushing her luck choosing to wear it today, but never had she envisaged this outcome. When she had put it on this morning, not for a single second had it entered her head that Ethan Carvelle would be dressing her later.

Undressing her maybe.

The honest admission, even if it was only to herself, caused a deep blush to darken her cheeks, spreading over her neck and down to her swollen breasts. As his hands made contact with her spine it was as if he’d reached into her body and touched her somewhere deep inside, her whole body involuntarily quivering as slowly he worked the zip upwards, pressing one hand onto her exposed flesh, past the black of her bra strap, up between her shoulder blades, her arms trembling as she held her hair out of the way, eyes closing as he moved to the tiny hook and eye at the top of the neckline, his touch more than she could bear and be expected to breathe.

‘That’s fine.’ Pulling away too sharply, she shook her head slightly, his bland, utterly unmoved expression only serving to exacerbate her palpable tension. ‘Can I go home now?’

‘Of course.’

‘You collected my car?’ Mia checked and Ethan nodded. ‘How did you know which one it was?’ Her eyes narrowed, watching every flicker of his reaction, waiting for a blush, a look of discomfort to flash over his face, but Ethan remained unmoved, giving a small shrug before he answered.

‘I’ve been watching you.’

‘Watching me?’ Appalled by his answer, gibbering with rage, she stepped closer, but instead of stepping back Ethan stood his ground, the closeness she had instigated excruciatingly uncomfortable for Mia, but having zero effect on Ethan as her enraged voice rose. ‘What do you mean you’ve been watching me? For how long?’

‘A few weeks now.’ Ethan shrugged. ‘Despite your little speech about being the only one close to Richard, Mia, the simple fact is that I’ve visited my brother regularly. Towards the end I visited him every day, in fact.’

‘But you live in Sydney, your whole family’s in Sydney now…’

‘Correct. And as much as you’d like to write us all off and give more weight to your theory that all Carvelles are callous, the simple fact of the matter is that since Richard was diagnosed as terminal I flew to Cairns every week to visit him, which is no small journey, and towards the end, when I knew time was running out, I moved into one of my properties here so I could spend more time with him.’

It was too much to take in. Her mind whirred, reeling at the information, that Ethan had been here, that he had been watching her these past few weeks, had been in the hospice holding Richard’s hand. Mia’s mouth opened and closed over and over, hundreds of questions bobbing on her tongue as she tried to fathom what exactly it was she wanted to ask.

Ethan answered her unvoiced question.