by Неизвестный
sharp rush, she exhaled, then…then…
Nothing.
“Look at me.”
His sinful voice sent a flutter of goosebumps over her skin. Slowly, she did as he asked.
Danger. She felt it crackle in the air as his chest pressed intimately into her breasts. His eyes held the
remembrance of mutual pleasures, everything she’d walked away from, everything in her tortured
dreams.
A deep, burning need seared Cal a thousand times over as he stared into her upturned face. To his
stunned amazement, he realized he wanted her, right here, right now. After weeks of denial, his body
ached for her like he’d been cloistered in a monastery for years. He shouldn’t want her. Damn, he didn’t
even trust her.
Pride nipped at his heels, giving him the strength to release her. With regret dogging his retreat, he
gritted his teeth.
“If you want me, Ava,” he growled, unable to disguise the lust in his voice, “then you’ll have to say it.”
Three
H er eyes, heavy with arousal, suddenly flew wide open. “What?”
She looked so different from the first time they’d met—more earthy, more sensual. Yet he could still see
a glimpse of the woman he’d bedded underneath the denim veneer: the way her eyes tilted up at the
corners, the ripe lush mouth that was heaven to taste. Lord, he just wanted to peel off that snug shirt,
yank down her jeans and take her with that sexy midnight hair falling around her shoulders, her lips
whispering his name.
With a soft curse, he shoved a hand through his hair and gave her his back.
“You want me to ask you for sex?”
The disgust in her voice had him whirling back to the angry indignation tightening her face.
“You actually want me to beg?” She breathed, incredulous. “Of all the conceited, arrogant…! Yes, I’ve
agreed to marry you but I am not going to pander to your ego by—”
“Hang on.” He put up a hand in alarm. “I never said—”
“—begging you for anything! First you accuse me of blackmail and now this. I get it—it’s some sort of
punishment for—”
“Stop!”
His command only angered her more. She pulled herself up to her full five-foot-three and jammed her
hands on her hips, her face tight with passionate fury. “I will not stop! And just because I’m having your
baby doesn’t mean—”
“Would you stop yelling at me?” Cal grabbed her arms, shocking them both into silence.
“Let’s get something straight,” he managed to grind out. “We both know we’re attracted to each other—
as evidenced nine weeks ago.” He thought he detected a glimmer of something in her blue eyes but
couldn’t be certain. “But I’m not about to force myself on you because some piece of paper says I’m
your husband. If you want me in your bed, then it’s your decision and yours only. Understood?”
“And what,” she whispered hoarsely, her eyes wide, “makes you think I’d want you when you so clearly
don’t trust me?”
They remained still for a second, then two. Then, as if she realized he still held her, her arms tensed
beneath his hands.
He swiftly backed off, abruptly changing the subject. “We have a flight to Sydney in a couple of hours.
You need to pack.”
“I have a business to run.”
“You also have a family to meet. Don’t you have an aunt who can look after this place for a few days?”
“How—” Ava stopped. Cal finding out about the baby was one violation she’d get over. But digging
into her past without even giving her the option of what she wanted to reveal? Her mouth felt bitter and
dry. Dear lord, what had she gotten herself into?
As if she was standing outside someone else’s life looking in, Ava sat on the balcony of Cal’s Circular
Quay penthouse suite, taking in Sydney Harbour spread out like a picture-perfect postcard thirty floors
below.
His place was something out of Architectural Digest. The elevator doors had swooshed open to reveal a
massive living room in varying shades of cream and white, a warm chocolate couch opposite a solid
rustic coffee table in the centre. Along the right wall, separating the bedrooms, ran a stunning tropical
aquarium. In silent awe she’d barely registered Cal’s brief tour, until they’d walked through the dining
area and into an immaculate kitchen. Too immaculate.
“Do you cook?” she’d asked him. He’d just shrugged and said, “I eat out, mostly.”
There was something here for all the senses, she realized. Even on the balcony, the decadent cream
cashmere couch felt like heaven against her bare calves, just like the expensive cotton sheets on her
guest room bed. The briny ocean breeze left a salty tang on her lips, tainted warmly by the patio heater
glowing in the far corner. And through the double glass patio doors floated the soft strains of James
Taylor on the CD player, mingling with the faint bustle of Circular Quay below. All that marred the
perfection was the absence of an active kitchen. Something simmering on the stove…a lamb roast, she
mused, some garlic potatoes, fresh carrots and green beans. Or a Greek salad. Her stomach rumbled in
agreement and a small grin tugged at her lips.
Her good humour faltered as Cal appeared at the door with two wine glasses. He’d changed into a dark
navy suit, light-blue shirt and a precisely knotted sapphire silk tie, while she had to be content with the
cherry-red dress he’d first seen her in. It was a little snug across the breasts but the best she could do on
short notice.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” His quiet confidence made it sound like he’d painted the harbour view himself,
and she couldn’t help but smile.
“Yes.”
He studied her, almost as if assessing her against some unspoken criteria. She must have finally passed
muster when, with a glint of remembrance in his eyes, he said, “Nice dress.”
“My only dress,” she replied and recrossed her legs. The floaty chiffon hem slid over her skin, baring a
long expanse of thigh. Surreptitiously, she rearranged the fabric, but when his shrewd gaze followed her
hands, the warmth began to rise again.
To fill the uncomfortable void, she took a grateful swallow of the bubbly lemon, lime and bitters, then
grabbed up the paper he’d shoved across the glass table.
It was a briefing paper, not only outlining his business deals but some personal details, details she’d be
expected to know as his fiancée. She scanned down the page, unable to stop that rush of morbid
curiosity. She knew nothing of him—at least, not the things that really mattered. Deep, personal things
she always thought you should know about your husband-to-be. Little intimacies that indicated you were
a couple, in love and happy to spend the rest of your lives together.
“You’ll be thirty-four on New Year’s Day.” At his nod, she asked half to herself, “What do you get a
man who can afford to buy anything?”
“Something simple. My mother bought me the fish tank last year.” At her raised eyebrow, he added,
deadpan, “But I can always use a tie or a nice bottle of Scotch.”
“A pair of socks?”
She returned his grin with one of her own and for the first time since arriving in Sydney, Ava felt his full
and complete attention. The gentle tug of desire unfurled inside, but with ruthless efficiency, she shoved<
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it back.
On his private jet he’d been engrossed in paperwork and phone calls. The journey to his apartment
hadn’t been much better. She should have enjoyed the decadent opulence of driving in his shiny black
hybrid Maserati Coupé, blanketed in the luxurious smell of leather seats, the throaty purr of the powerful
engine as they smoothly glided along Anzac Parade. Yet she couldn’t shake the awful thought that this
was a premonition of things to come—she silent and immaculately groomed and he the workaholic with
always one ear to the phone, one eye on a business deal.
She didn’t want to be the wife who paraded about in designer dresses and jewels, a perky, dolled-up
hostess serving only to entertain her husband’s business colleagues. She shuddered at the thought of
putting on makeup day after day, having her hair teased and primped, dressing up like Corporate Wife
Barbie.
And stupid, stupid her—she was going to sign a contract that gave him carte blanche.
You have to remember this is just temporary. She’d be at Jindalee most days, focusing on her business.
She’d be with Cal only when he needed to show her off and make a good impression. He’d said so
himself.
His own personal show pony.
With self-anger dogging her thoughts, she glanced away, back to the darkening sky.
Instead of taking a seat next to her, he sat on the couch directly across the coffee table, thankfully on the
outer edges of her personal space. Yet anything short of another city was still way too close. He was
simply too commanding to ignore, let alone be comfortable with. It was a combination of the dark,
knowing look in his eyes, the sensual flow of his voice and the annoying memories that surged up to
goosebump her skin.
She quickly returned her attention to the paper. “You started working for Victor at seventeen and now
you’re a managing director. Did you…” she paused, mentally rephrasing the question. “You never felt
the urge to start your own business?”
“VP Tech is my business.”
She remained silent at his cryptic statement until he elaborated with a small shrug. “I dropped out of
school to work in Victor’s software development division. A few years later I had the idea for One-Click
and Victor supplied technical staff and financial backing. Today we’re the only Australian company
with integrated Internet, phone and software technology in the one office program. It brings in billions.”
After a brief second she changed gears. “What’s your mother like?”
His reply was instantaneous. “Loyal. Generous. Supportive.”
“And your stepfather?”
Cal paused, allowing himself the opportunity to study her features, the uptilted nose, the elegant sweep
of her cheek. The way she looked genuinely interested in his answer. “Commanding. Immovable.
Astute.”
“And he won’t figure out our newly engaged bliss is a front? Or are you planning to tell them the truth?”
she said, her voice in complete control. Yet her eyes gave her away, deep pools of turmoil. Abruptly she
glanced down, breaking contact.
“Are you worried about what people will think?” he asked slowly. The small crease between her eyes
indicated he’d hit the truth.
“About what your parents will think, yes.”
Despite that ever-present distrust that lingered like an early morning fog, the air suddenly shifted, stirred
by a gentle wave of something Cal didn’t want to explore, let alone acknowledge. Not even to himself.
He barely heard the catch in her breath, but he couldn’t miss the struggle etched in the gentle curves of
her face. Shoving down that sliver of unfamiliar guilt, he instead focused on his purpose. He’d had one
moment of weakness, and it was his responsibility to make it right. He’d learnt that from Victor. He
didn’t welcome this deep, burning need to have her skin on his, to have her body hot and writhing
beneath him.
Yet for the first time in months, he simply wanted.
He ground his teeth together. Christ. Now he was hard.
With a determined slant to his jaw, he refocused. Things with Ava were business. They had to be.
The silence stretched until the need to fill it with something, anything, became unbearable. Cal finally
broke it.
“If they ask, you can just say we met over cocktails at the Shangri-La, kept in touch and met up again
recently.”
“But isn’t a sudden engagement out of character for you?” she pressed.
“Trust me, they won’t ask. At least, my mother won’t.”
“And Victor?”
He paused, twirling the glass in his hand. “It’s none of his business whom I chose to marry. Let me
handle him.” As his firm command lingered, their gazes clashed, one curious and bright, the other
shadowed and dark.
Ava severed it and reached for her glass. “So we’re going to fake it.”
The unintentional double entendre curved his mouth. “That a problem?”
She looked discomforted by his scrutiny. “I’m not good at deception.”
Interesting. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage. Just think of the money.”
He could’ve kicked himself when an injured shadow passed over her face. But then she turned back to
the view and it vanished.
What was with him? He preferred women who understood the demands of his lifestyle, women who
were polished, sophisticated, who weren’t looking for promises or commitment. Women who could
elegantly fake a parental inspection with ease. They’d graced magazines, television, catwalks. They met
his needs sexually, socially and mentally, although not one woman had met them all.
But Ava…what was it about her and just her that compelled him?
Sure, she was a hot package. Their one encounter still haunted his memory. His eyes dipped to her
neckline, to the silky material stretched taut across her breasts. Ava Reilly was also stubborn and proud,
qualities that alternately fascinated and frustrated him.
Don’t forget she bargained her baby to save her business.
That should be enough to extinguish his craving, but inexplicably, it still simmered. And below that, an
unfamiliar urge to know more about her, to unravel the pieces of what his brief report had missed,
surged up.
“How long have you been at Jindalee?”
His sudden question snapped her gaze back to him.
“Pretty much my whole life.” At his frown she added, “Don’t you have all this in a report?”
“No.”
She held his gaze, as if trying to work out if he was telling the truth or not. Finally she gave a small sigh.
“Jindalee used to be a sheep station, built by my father in the late forties.”
“How old are you?”
“I’ll be thirty in December. My parents tried for ages to have kids, then they had two girls barely a year
apart.” She clicked her mouth shut and looked away, indicating that line of questioning was closed.
He frowned. When they married, he’d get sole control of VP Tech, everything he’d ever wanted. He
should be focusing on that and only that, not sharing intimate details of their lives. She was just a
convenient means to that end. He’d done the right thing, the only thing by claiming his child. He didn’t
need to know the intricacies of her past—just like she didn’t need to know about Victor’s ultimatum.
“So when is the happy day?” Ava sai
d.
For a second, Cal remained wrapped up in his thoughts, in the remnants of anger still clinging to him
like ethereal cobwebs. That anger was a constant confirmation never to fully trust anyone, never to let
his guard down. But when he snapped his eyes to Ava’s, he felt those spidery webs slowly evaporate.
Quickly he gained control. “As soon as possible. How long does it take to organize a wedding?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Isn’t it something women always obsess about?”
She gave him a look. “Sorry, I missed the memo.”
She took a slow sip of her drink and his attention zeroed in on those cherry-painted lips as they met the
rim of the glass, the small ripple under her smooth skin as she swallowed.
“Money’s no object,” Cal added with more calm than he felt. “If you want a particular place, a certain
church—”
“It doesn’t matter.”
He studied her with interest. “If you could get married anywhere, where would you choose?”
“I haven’t given it much thought.”
“Okay.” He placed his glass on the table with firm decisiveness. “St Mary’s Cathedral for the
ceremony,” he said, naming Sydney’s most prominent historical church. “Then my private cruiser on
Sydney Harbour for the reception. How does August the first suit you?”
“That’s less than…” she calculated in the pause, “two months away. Why the rush?”
“You have a problem with that?” He eyed her stomach, then nodded. “You’ll be five months pregnant,
obviously showing…”
“That’s not the point,” she said tightly. “Aren’t there waiting lists?”
“Probably.” He quirked up an eyebrow. “I can organize a wedding planner.”
That threw her. “No! Okay, August the first it is,” she finished lamely. “So, getting back to tonight. Tell
me more about your parents.”
He let her change direction without comment. “My mother, Isabelle, lived in the Hunter Valley. She met
Victor when I was eleven and they married a year later.”
“You have a brother,” she said.
“Stepbrother. Zac.” With all traces of amusement gone, he felt the sudden need for distance. He rose,
went to the railing, then turned to face her, his back against the cold metal. “He’s three years younger
