The Innocent's Shock Pregnancy

by Carol Marinelli

  Shoot me now, Ethan thought.

  Having found out that his father was unwell, and would tomorrow be undergoing surgery, Ethan had flown from Al-Zahan to Dubai and then home—albeit on his own luxury jet. Still, he did not want to be looking at dolls’ houses—even if the walls were lined with hieroglyphics in gold.

  Perhaps he should have some champagne—but that would only prolong things. He was running on empty and the jet-lag was really kicking in. He just wanted to cut the chatter and get to the amulets. But in order to glean as much as he could about the running of this gallery for Khalid he let her prattle on.

  Well, not prattle, he conceded. Her voice was pleasant, in fact—prim and English—and her words were delivered with a throaty husk that made the topic almost bearable.

  ‘These dolls’ houses were kept for religious purposes,’ Merida explained. ‘They were never meant to be used as toys—certainly not for playing mummies and daddies.’

  He didn’t smile at her tiny well-worn joke, and even though he listened quietly she could tell that he was as bored as a three-year-old in church as they moved on.

  They came to an exquisite silk rug—made, Merida explained, by Bedouin artisans using the vase weave technique.

  ‘Ubaid, who oversees the making of every intricate piece, is a fierce protector of the craft.’

  She started to explain about the natural dyes and the intricate patterns, and the endless hours that went in to creating such a masterpiece, but Ethan cut in.

  ‘Next.’

  Ethan Philistine Devereux, she silently named him.

  He certainly wasn’t the first dismissive or bored client that Merida had taken through the gallery. Often people came to private viewings under silent sufferance—perhaps sent by their place of work or as a bored partner tagging along. And then there was the type who just had to have been and seen.

  Yet he was alone—and it was he himself who had insisted on this viewing.

  Merida ploughed on, but his impatience was palpable. So, as she showed him a jewellery exhibit, she toned down the details somewhat. Perhaps not enough, though, because as she showed him a ring Ethan yawned.

  And not discreetly.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Ethan said.

  He knew he was being rude, but he was genuinely exhausted. It certainly wasn’t her fault that he had zero interest.

  Or rather, zero interest in the displays.

  The gallery assistant really was gorgeous.

  Gorgeous.

  There was an uptight quality to her that rather intrigued him, and something told him that despite her confident demeanour she was not quite as together as she seemed.

  Her eyes were a deep mossy green, and as the tour progressed he noted how they repeatedly refused to hold his gaze.

  She was slender, and her limbs were pale, with a dusting of pale freckles that had him wondering where the subtle golden trail led.

  And as for that hair... It was like two of his favourite things—amber and cognac combined—and he tried to picture it free of its confines.

  ‘And now to my favourite display.’

  She smiled an enigmatic smile that made him wonder. Ethan could usually read women exceptionally well, and yet he could not quite read her.

  ‘Which is...?’ Ethan asked.

  ‘The Amulets of Al-Zahan. We’re extremely fortunate to have them on loan to us.’

  ‘How long are they here for?’

  ‘We’ve got them for three more months,’ Merida said. ‘Although we’re hoping that can be extended. This way, please.’

  Merida touched the switch that would turn on the lighting for the display and gestured with her head for him to head down the stairs.

  ‘After you,’ Ethan said.

  For the first time—the only time—Merida wondered as to the merits of manners, for she found herself wishing that he had gone first.

  The simple walk that she had made on so many occasions suddenly felt an impossible task. The velvet walls were too close, the lighting too dim, and she was utterly aware of him walking behind her.

  The sensual darkness was for effect, of course. But it was having more of an effect on her than him.

  Merida had undertaken the pinning of the velvet to the walls herself—the aim being to create a sort of portal...a sense of entering another time. However, she had never, as she’d stood on a stepladder and created this soft space, envisaged how it might feel to descend the stairs with a man like Ethan.

  She trod more carefully than usual. She was nervous. Not so much aware that she might slip, more that if she did then it would be he who would steady her.

  Merida had never reacted to anyone with such force. In fact she had never responded to a man in such a way.

  She had wanted to. And she had tried on occasion—going along with a kiss while awaiting desire.

  But it had never arrived and there had never been more than a kiss.

  Merida had decided that her unwillingness must somehow be her fault—that there was something she was missing in her genes, or that her parents’ bitter divorce and its aftermath had left her too mistrusting to let down her guard.

  Oh, she could fake it for an audience. On stage, she could put on a sensual display indeed.

  In fact, she was acting now—pretending that she had it all together and that he did not move her so.

  Yet when the weekend came around, and she was back on stage where she felt she belonged, Merida knew she would draw on how it had felt to be so close to him.

  In the real world, though, Merida was new to these feelings.

  New to all this.

  CHAPTER TWO

  AS MERIDA STEPPED out of the draped tunnel and into the semi-dark space, which twinkled with jewels, she found herself a little breathless.

  There were no windows, no signs of the outside world to orientate oneself. The subtle bergamot and woody notes of Ethan Devereux’s cologne were richer as she moved to where he stood, staring into the first display.

  Merida cleared her throat and broke the heavy silence.

  ‘These are the Amulets of Al-Zahan.’

  Ethan had expected jewellery, or ancient carved tokens, but instead there was an array of gemstones, embedded in rocks, still in their original form. Each was a mini-galaxy in itself, and, far from being bored, he had rarely been so entranced as Merida started to tell their tale.

  ‘The collection and its history was a passion of the late Queen Dalila of Al-Zahan. Right up to her death, some twenty years ago, she was still unearthing long-forgotten treasures.’

  ‘How did she die?’ Ethan asked.

  ‘In childbirth. I believe it was her fourth child...’ She faltered a little over a detail she did not know. ‘I can check.’

  ‘No need.’

  Merida wasn’t so sure. She felt as if she were being tested.

  ‘On her marriage, she was given this amulet...’

  In the first display cabinet was an intricate knot of emerald and ore. Beautifully lit, it turned slowly, and Ethan gazed upon it for a considerable time. The stone was practically bursting out of the ore.

  ‘Amulets are a gift of potential,’ Merida explained.

  ‘Potential for what?’

  ‘Marriages were, and still are, arranged in Al-Zahan. The amulets celebrate a future love, and also promote fertility. It is said that they are a gift of possibilities not yet fulfilled. To cut and polish the stone would reveal too many secrets.’

  He seemed interested now, Merida thought as they moved on.

  ‘The next amulet is Lapis Lazuli. Lapis was, and still is, ground to create a pigment for ultramarine—the colour used in Van Gogh’s Starry Night painting. When the then Sheikha Princess was studying here in Manhattan she saw the painting on display. It is said it was the recollection of the painting that started her o
n a mission to find the missing amulets.’

  ‘And did she find many?’

  ‘Indeed.’ Merida nodded. ‘At the time of her death she had made significant inroads—though of course there are many gaps.’

  ‘And she studied here?’ Ethan checked, more than interested now.

  ‘Yes—at Columbia.’

  It was the same college where Khalid and Ethan had met. He had known that the amulets belonged to Khalid’s family, but he had not known that the late Queen had studied at Columbia too. It struck Ethan that he had learned more about the enigmatic Khalid from a stranger than from the man himself. He was more than intrigued as Merida spoke on.

  ‘Princess Dalila returned to Al-Zahan to marry. However, her fondness for New York City was the reason that her son, Sheikh Khalid, agreed to the amulets being displayed here.’

  Ethan moved on—but not out of boredom this time, more out of interest. He stood peering into the next display. Embedded within a large, egg-shaped piece of marble was a ruby.

  ‘This one is my favourite,’ Merida admitted.

  She took out some black gloves and handed him a pair, then, as she put on her own gloves, Merida told him its story.

  ‘Three hundred years ago in Al-Zahan there was a secret wedding,’ she explained, and Ethan found he was drawing nearer to hear her low voice, as if she were sharing a secret only with him. ‘Due to feuding between the two families there was no amulet given. Peace was finally restored, but after two years, when there were still no signs of a baby, it was decided that this was the reason. The Sheikh King, desperate for the lineage to continue, asked that the best stones be excavated. It took three years until what he considered a suitable offering was found.’

  ‘It’s stunning,’ Ethan said, and so was the voice that told the tale.

  She handed the large stone to him; he weighed it in his hand and then held it between finger and thumb, bringing it nearer to his eyes to examine it more closely.

  ‘Careful,’ Merida said, and drew on yet another of her well-worn lines. ‘It ensures fertility.’

  ‘For a hen, perhaps,’ Ethan mused.

  That tiny glint of humour made her smile. It reached her eyes, and they shone as beguiling as any amulet, and there was a single perfect moment when he forgot his hellish day.

  Hellish because he should be in Dubai, finally kicking back, but instead would be heading to the hospital soon, where his father had been admitted in advance of some exploratory surgery that morning.

  Ethan knew no more than that.

  In an hour or so he would glean what he could, but for a moment or two he forgot the troubles awaiting him in the world outside. For now he focused on her smoky voice and the history of this beautiful stone, said to promote both love and fertility—two things he did not want.

  ‘And did it work?’ Ethan asked, handing the amulet back to her.

  Merida nodded. ‘Yes, the Sheikha Princess went on to have the first set of royal twins.’

  The tour continued to its conclusion and, having seen and held some more amulets, Ethan handed the final piece to her and watched as she carefully replaced it in the display.

  ‘The amulets really are beautiful—though it’s all fairy tales of course.’

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ Merida said. ‘All the marriages attached to these amulets were seemingly happy ones.’

  ‘The Queen died in childbirth,’ Ethan pointed out.

  ‘They don’t promise eternal life.’ Merida smiled. ‘I still think there’s something rather magical about them.’

  ‘Well, we’ll have to agree to disagree on that point.’

  Ethan didn’t believe in love. Full stop.

  But as for lust? Absolutely.

  He was almost tempted to tell her now that he knew Khalid—that the Sheikh was, in fact, himself a twin. Though only to prolong the discussion. To talk with her some more.

  ‘How long have you worked at the gallery?’ he asked as they headed back up the stairs.

  ‘Almost a year.’

  Merida certainly wasn’t going to admit that she had been hauled in this afternoon at the last moment, but as they came out from the tunnel she did admit that this wasn’t her full-time job.

  ‘Though I only work here part-time.’

  ‘More of a hobby, then?’ he asked, or rather assumed, for he was more than used to women whose daddies found them a ‘little job’ until a suitable husband came along.

  ‘Not quite,’ Merida said, and gave him a tight smile without elaborating further.

  Ethan Devereux was here to see the gallery, not hear her life story.

  They walked past the displays where he had stood bored, and then came back to the desk. Of course she offered him a drink once more, and waved a hand over the nibbles.

  Again, he declined.

  ‘Do you have any more questions?’ Merida asked, just as she always did, and yet it felt a little different this time. The beguiling, sensual air surrounding the amulet display seemed still to cling, and she found that she held her breath as she awaited his response.

  ‘Just one...’ Ethan said.

  He saw her blink rapidly, and rather thought that she’d guessed what his question was.

  Dinner.

  And it should be as seamless as that—because for Ethan it always was.

  Yet he hesitated, and did not know why.

  It wasn’t the fact that he had to head to the hospital that halted him from asking. He could offer to pick her up in an hour.

  Yet he didn’t.

  Instead he reminded himself he was here for Khalid.

  ‘The rugs,’ he said. ‘If I were to order one, how long would it take to make?’

  ‘It would depend on the size.’

  ‘One like that.’

  Merida should be dancing on the spot at the unexpected chance of earning some commission. A commissioned rug was worth a fortune, and she should be engaging him and wowing him with details. Yet all she could think of was dinner. Or rather, the lack of it.

  Which was just as well, given Reece’s warning that he would crush her in the palm of his hand.

  Yet Merida suddenly wanted to experience the feel of his palm more than she had wanted anything before in her life.

  Except Broadway, which she had dreamed of all her life.

  Ethan Devereux, whom she had only just met, suddenly came a very close second.

  Merida stood there, trying to unscramble her mind so she could answer his question as to how long a commissioned rug would take to make.

  ‘I would think around eighteen months.’

  ‘What if I wanted it sooner?’

  ‘Ubaid has many artisans. If they were focused on one piece, perhaps a year...’

  ‘And what if I wanted it sooner than that?’ he pushed.

  ‘I’m afraid it would take time. Patience.’

  Reece might never forgive her, but instead of promising limitless artisans, all devoted to pleasing this man who could name his price, she told him instead that he would have to wait.

  Only they weren’t talking about rugs. She was quite sure of that.

  And so was he.

  ‘I don’t have patience,’ Ethan said, and the words were delivered with a slight snap, for he knew now why he hadn’t invited her to dinner.

  For it would be just dinner.

  And then another dinner.

  No, he did not have the patience for that.

  He wanted to know how she tasted rather than where she was from and what she was like.

  And so, instead of pushing, he ended the encounter.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘thank you for the tour. It’s been interesting.’

  Unexpectedly so. And in unexpected ways, he thought.

  Merida saw him to the door and then stood, her smile fixed, as they
shook hands again, but for a dangerous second longer than the first time.

  She did not glance down at his hands but she could feel each of his fingers, long and slender, as they closed around hers. And she breathed through her mouth, rather than her nose, for the scent of him had her wanting to draw closer.

  ‘It was a pleasure to meet you,’ Merida said through lips that did not want to talk. It was as if they yearned to meet his.

  She wanted to return to the dark velvet space from which they had so recently emerged.

  What the hell was happening to her?

  ‘Thank you for visiting,’ Merida said calmly, when Get out, get out, get out was what she wanted to scream. Only her acting experience allowed composure to reign on her features.

  He didn’t say thank you again.

  And he didn’t wish her a good evening.

  Ethan Devereux simply left.

  And he left behind a vortex within her.

  She watched the doorman farewell him, and the driver open his car door, and as he disappeared inside Merida learned that she could breathe again.

  The devil had left the building.

  CHAPTER THREE

  HIS DRIVER TOOK him the short distance to the hospital, and to a rear entrance so that he would not be seen arriving.

  This must not get out.

  Tomorrow morning Jobe Devereux was having a minor planned procedure, but that very knowledge would be enough to spook their shareholders.

  Ethan was concerned enough to have flown home.

  His PA, Helene, had given him directions and Ethan took the elevator up to the private wing.

  His father might as well be in his office, Ethan thought as he knocked on his door and walked in.

  Abe was there, and so too was Maurice, their head of PR.

  ‘Ethan!’ His father, sitting in a leather chair, looked surprised to see him. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Do for him?

  There was no real welcome, and no invitation to take a seat. Their relationship had long been a strained one—perhaps because they were incredibly alike, and not just in looks.