Playing the Dutiful WifeExpecting His Love-Child

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘Portuguese,’ he said and, as if he was there for her amusement—which for a moment or two longer he guessed he was—he smiled as he offered her a choice. ‘Or I can speak French. Or Spanish too, if you prefer…’

  ‘English is fine.’

  There was no need to talk any more. He could see the colour coming back to her cheeks and saw her tongue run over pinkening lips. ‘We’re up,’ Niklas said, and at the same time the bell pinged and the flight attendants stood. Meg’s internal panic was thankfully over, and he watched as she let out a long breath.

  ‘Sorry about that.’ She gave him a rather embarrassed smile. ‘I’m not usually that bad, but that really was bumpy.’

  It hadn’t been bumpy in the least, but he was not going to argue with her, nor get drawn into further conversation. And yet she offered her name.

  ‘I’m Meg, by the way.’

  He didn’t really want to know her name.

  ‘Meg Hamilton.’

  ‘Niklas.’ He gave up that detail reluctantly.

  ‘I really am sorry about that. I’ll be fine now. I don’t have a problem with flying—it’s just take-off that I absolutely loathe.’

  ‘What about landing?’

  ‘Oh, I’m fine with that.’

  ‘Then you have never flown into São Paulo,’ Niklas said.

  ‘Is that where you are from?’

  He nodded, and then pulled out the menu and started to read it—before remembering that he was going to be moving seats. He pushed his bell to summon the stewardess.

  ‘Is it a busy airport, then?’

  He looked over to where Meg sat as if he had forgotten that she was even there, let alone the conversation they had been having.

  ‘Very.’ He nodded, and then saw that the flight attendant was approaching with a bottle of champagne. Clearly she must have thought he had rung for a drink—after all, they knew his preferences—but as he opened his mouth to voice his complaint Niklas conceded that it might be a little rude to ask to be moved in front of Meg.

  He would have this drink, Niklas decided, and then he would get up and go and have a quiet word with the attendant. Or an angry one if that did not work. He watched as his champagne was poured and then, perhaps aware that her eyes were trained on him, he turned, irritated.

  ‘Did you want a drink as well?’

  ‘Please.’ She smiled.

  ‘That is what your bell is for,’ he retorted. She didn’t seem to realise that he was being sarcastic, so he gave in and, rolling his eyes, ordered another glass. Meg was soon sipping on her beverage.

  It tasted delicious, bubbly and icy-cold, and would hopefully halt her nervous chatter—except it didn’t. It seemed that a mixture of nerves about flying and the fact that she had never been around someone so drop-dead gorgeous before resulted in her mouth simply not being able to stop.

  ‘It seems wrong to be drinking at ten a.m.’ She heard her own voice again and could happily have kicked herself—except then he would perhaps have her certified. Meg simply didn’t know what was wrong with her.

  Niklas didn’t answer. His mind was already back to thinking about work, or rather thinking about all the things he needed to get finalised so that he could actually take some proper time off.

  He was going to take some time off. He had not stopped for the last six months at the very least, and he was really looking forward to being back in Brazil, the country he loved, to the food he adored and the woman who adored him and who knew how it was…

  He would take two or perhaps three weeks, and he was going to use every minute of them indulging in life’s simple but expensively prepared pleasures—beautiful women and amazing food and then more of the same.

  He let out a long breath as he thought about it—a long breath that sounded a lot like a sigh. A bored sigh, even—except how could that be? Niklas asked himself. He had everything a man could want and had worked hard to get it—worked hard to ensure he would never go back to where he had come from.

  And he had ensured it, Niklas told himself; he could stop for a little while now. A decent stretch in Brazil would sort this restless feeling out. He thought of the flight home, of the plane landing in São Paulo, and as he did he surprised himself. His champagne was finished. He could get up now and have that word with the flight attendant. But instead Niklas turned and spoke with her.

  With Meg.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘SÃO PAULO IS very densely populated.’

  They were well over the water now, and she was gazing out at it, but she turned to the sound of his voice and Niklas tried to explain the land that he loved, the mile after mile after mile of never-ending city.

  ‘It is something that is hard to explain unless you have seen it, but as the plane descends you fly over the city for very a long time. Congonhas Airport is located just a couple of miles from downtown…’

  He told Meg about the short runway and the difficult approach and the physics of it as she looked at him slightly aghast.

  ‘If the weather is bad I would imagine the captain and crew and most paulistanos…’ He saw her frown and explained it a little differently. ‘If you come from Sao Paulo or know about the airport then you are holding your breath just a little as the plane comes into land.’ He smiled at her shocked expression. ‘There have been many near-misses—accidents too…’

  What a horrible thing to tell her! What a completely inappropriate thing for him to say at this moment! And she had thought him so nice—well, nice-looking at least. ‘You’re not helping at all!’

  ‘But I am. I have flown in and out of Congonhas Airport more times than I can remember and I’m still here to tell the tale… You really have nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Except that I’m scared of landing now too.’

  ‘Don’t waste time in fear,’ Niklas said, and then stood to retrieve his computer. He did not usually indulge in idle chatter, and certainly not while flying, but she had been so visibly nervous during take-off, and it had been quite pleasant talking her around. Now she was sitting quietly, staring out of the window, and perhaps he did not have to think about moving seats after all.

  The flight steward started to serve some appetizers, and Meg had an inkling that Mr Dos Santos was being treated with some tasty little selections from the first-class menu—because there were a few little treats that certainly weren’t on the business class one—and, given that she was sitting next to him, by default Meg was offered them too.

  ‘Wild Iranian caviar on buckwheat blinis, with sour cream and dill,’ the flight attendant purred to him, but Niklas was too busy to notice the selection placed in front of him. Instead he was setting up a workstation, and Meg heard his hiss of frustration as he had to move his computer to the side. Clearly he was missing his first-class desk!

  ‘There is no room—’ He stopped himself, realising that he sounded like someone who complained all the time. He didn’t usually—because he didn’t have to. His PA, Carla, ensured that everything ran smoothly in his busy life. But Carla simply hadn’t been able to work her magic today, and the fact was between here and LA Niklas had a lot to get done. ‘I have a lot of work to do.’ He didn’t have to justify his dark mood, but he did. ‘I have a meeting scheduled an hour after landing. I was hoping to use this time to prepare. It really is inconvenient.’

  ‘You’ll have to get your own plane!’ Meg teased. ‘Keep it on standby…’

  ‘I did!’ he said. Meg blinked. ‘And for two months or so it was great. I really thought it was the best thing I had ever done. And then…’ He shrugged and got back to his laptop, one hand crunching numbers, the other picking all the little pieces of dill off the top of the

  blinis before eating them.

  ‘And then?’ Meg asked, because this man really was intriguing. He was sort of aloof and then friendly, busy, yet calm, and very pedantic with his dill, Meg thought with a small smile as she watched him continue to pick the pieces off. When the food was to his satisfaction there was
something very decadent about the way he ate, his eyes briefly closing as he savoured the delicious taste entering his mouth.

  Everything he revealed about himself had Meg wanting to know more, and she was enthralled when he went on to tell her about the mistake of having his own plane.

  ‘And then,’ Niklas responded, while still tapping away on his computer, ‘I got bored. Same pilot, same flight crew, same chef, same scent of soap in the bathroom. You understand?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘As annoying as your chatter may be…’ he turned from his screen and gave her a very nice smile ‘…it is actually rather nice to meet you.’

  ‘It’s rather nice to meet you too.’ Meg smiled back.

  ‘And if I still had my own plane we would not have met.’

  ‘Nor would we if you were lording it in first class.’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Correct.’ He nodded. ‘But now, if you will forgive me, I have to get on with some work.’ He moved to do just that, but just before he did he explained further, just in case she had missed the point he was making. ‘That is the reason I prefer to fly commercially—it is very easy to allow your world to become too small.’

  Now, that part she did understand. ‘Tell me about it.’ Meg sighed.

  His shoulders tensed. His fingers hesitated over the keyboard as he waited for her to start up again.

  When she inevitably did, he would point out again that he was trying to work.

  Niklas gritted his teeth and braced himself for her voice—was she going to talk all the way to Los Angeles?

  Except she said nothing else.

  When still she was quiet Niklas realised that he was actually wanting the sound of her voice to continue their conversation. It was at that point he gave up working for a while. He would return to the report later.

  Closing his laptop, he turned. ‘Tell me about it.’

  She had no idea of the concession he was making—not a clue that a slice of his time was an expensive gift that very few could afford, no idea how many people would give anything for just ten minutes of his undivided attention.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing…’ Meg shrugged. ‘Just me feeling sorry for myself.’

  ‘Which must be a hard thing to do with a mouthful of wild Iranian caviar…’

  He made her laugh—he really did. Niklas really wasn’t at all chatty, but when he spoke, when he teased, when she met his eyes, there was a little flip in her stomach that she liked the feeling of. It was a thrill that was new to her, and there was more than just something about him…

  It was everything about the man.

  ‘Here’s to slumming it,’ Niklas said. They chinked their glasses and he looked into her eyes, and as he did so somehow—not that she would be aware of it—Niklas let her in.

  He was a closed person, an extremely guarded man. He had grown up having to be that way—it had meant survival at the time—yet for the first time in far too long he chose to relax, to take some time, to forget about work, to stop for a moment and just be with her.

  As they chatted he let the flight steward put his laptop away. They were at the back of business class, tucked away and enjoying their own little world.

  The food orders were taken and later served, and Meg thought how nice Niklas was to share a meal with. Food was a passion in waiting for Meg. She rarely had time to cook, and though she ate out often it was pretty much always at the same Italian restaurant where they took clients. They’d chosen different mains, and he smiled to himself at the droop of her face when they were served and she found out that steak tartare was in fact raw.

  ‘It’s delicious,’ he assured her. ‘Or you can have my steak?’

  At the back of her mind she had known it was raw, if she’d stopped to think about it, but the menu had been incredibly hard to concentrate on with Niklas sitting beside her, and she had made a rather random selection when the flight steward had approached.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ Meg said, looking at the strange little piles of food on her plate. There was a big hill of raw minced steak in the middle, with a raw egg yolk in its shell on the top, surrounded by little hills of onions and capers and things. ‘I’ve always wanted to try it. I just tend to stick to safe. It’s good to try different things…’

  ‘It is,’ Niklas said. ‘I like it like this.’

  Something caught in her throat, because he’d made it sound like sex. He picked up her knife and fork, and she watched him pour in the egg, pile on the onions and capers, and then chop and chop again before sliding the mixture through Worcestershire sauce. For a fleeting moment she honestly thought that he might load the fork and feed her, but he put the utensils down and returned to his meal, and Meg found herself breathless and blushing at where her mind had just drifted.

  ‘Good?’ Niklas asked when she took her first taste.

  ‘Fantastic,’ Meg said. It was nice, not amazing, but made by his hands fantastic it was. ‘How’s your steak?’

  He sliced a piece off and lifted the loaded fork and held it to her. This from a man who had reluctantly given her a drink, who had on many occasions turned his back. He was now giving her a taste of food from his plate. He was just being friendly, Meg told herself. She was reading far, far too much into this simple gesture. But as she went to take the fork he lifted it slightly. His black eyes met hers and he moved the fork to her mouth and watched as she opened it. Suddenly she began to wonder if she’d been right the first time.

  Maybe he was talking about sex.

  But if he had been flirting, by the time dessert was cleared it had ended. He read for a bit, and Meg gazed out of the window for a while, until the flight attendant came around and closed the shutters. The lights were lowered and the cabin was dimmed and Meg fiddled with her remote to turn the seat into a bed.

  Niklas stood and she glanced up at him. ‘Are you off to get your gold pyjamas?’

  ‘And a massage,’ Niklas teased back.

  She was half asleep when he returned, and watched idly as he took off his tie. Of course the flight attendant rushed to hold it, while another readied his bed, and then he took off his shoes and climbed into the flight bed beside her.

  His beautiful face was gone now from her vision, but it was there—right there—in her mind’s eye. She was terribly aware of his movements and listened to him turn restlessly a few times. She conceded that maybe he did have a point—the flight bed was more than big enough for Meg to stretch out in, but Niklas was easily a foot taller than her and, as he had stated, he really needed this time to sleep, which must be proving difficult. For Niklas the bed was simply too small, and it was almost a sin that he sleep in those immaculate suit trousers.

  She lay there trying not to think about him and made herself concentrate instead on work—on the Evans contract she had just completed—which was surely enough to send her to sleep. But just as she was closing her eyes, just as she was starting to think that she might be about to drift off even with Niklas beside her, she heard him move again. Her eyes opened and she blinked as his face appeared over hers. She met those black eyes, heard again his rich accent, and how could a woman not smile?

  ‘You never did tell me…’ Niklas said, smiling as he invited her to join him in after hours conversation. ‘Why is your world too small?’

  CHAPTER THREE

  THEY PULLED BACK the divider that separated them and lay on their sides, facing each other. Meg knew that this was probably the only time in her life that she’d ever have a man so divine lying on the pillow next to hers, so she was more than happy to forgo sleep for such a glorious cause.

  ‘I work in the family business,’ Meg explained.

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘My parents are into real-estate investments. I’m a lawyer…’

  He gave a suitably impressed nod, but then frowned, because she didn’t seem like a lawyer to him.

  ‘Though I hardly use my training. I do all the paperwork and contracts.’

  He saw her roll her ey
es.

  ‘I cannot tell you how boring it is.’

  ‘Then why do you do it?’

  ‘Good question. I think it was decided at conception that I would be a lawyer.’

  ‘You don’t want to be one?’

  It was actually rather hard to admit it. ‘I don’t think I do…’

  He said nothing, just carried on watching her face, waiting for her to share more, and she did.

  ‘I don’t think I’m supposed to be one—I mean, I scraped to get the grades I needed at school, held on by my fingernails at university…’ She paused as he interrupted.

  ‘You are never to say this at an interview.’

  ‘Of course not.’ She smiled. ‘We’re just talking.’

  ‘Good. I’m guessing you were not a little girl who dreamed of being a lawyer?’ he checked. ‘You did not play with wigs on?’ His lips twitched as she smiled. ‘You did not line up your dollies and cross-examine them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So how did you end up being one?’

  ‘I really don’t know where to start.’

  He looked at his watch, realised then that perhaps the report simply wasn’t going to get done. ‘I’ve got nine hours.’

  Niklas made the decision then—they would be entirely devoted to her.

  ‘Okay…’ Meg thought how best to explain her family to him and chose to start near the beginning. ‘In my family you don’t get much time to think—even as a little girl there were piano lessons, violin lessons, ballet lessons, tutors. My parents were constantly checking my homework—basically, everything was geared towards me getting into the best school, so that I could get the best grades and go to the best university. Which I did. Except when I got there it was more push, push, push. I just put my head down and carried on working, but now suddenly I’m twenty-four years old and I’m not really sure that I’m where I want to be…’ It was very hard to explain it, because from the outside she had a very nice life.