Сандра Хьятт – The Magnate’s Baby Promise / Having the Billionaire's Baby: The Magnate’s Baby Promise / Having the Billionaire's Baby (страница 8)

She glanced up, caught his flash of amusement and felt her skin prickle hotly.

Get a grip, Ava! It was just…biological. Hormonal. He was a great-looking guy and her body instinctively responded to that. That’s all.

When she reached to grab her wrap draped across the back of his leather couch, she noticed a small velvet box perched on top. Her eyes flew to his.

“To add reality to our newly engaged bliss,” he explained, plucking the box from her fingers and flicking it open.

Despite herself, she gasped. There, nestled on a bed of black velvet, was the most gorgeous ring she’d ever seen. It was stunning in its simplicity: a claw-set single teardrop diamond, the gold band studded with tiny emeralds. It must be worth thousands…or more. She hesitated, almost afraid to touch it, until Cal eased the ring from its nest and held it out.

“It’s beautiful,” she sighed.

“I know.” She glanced up, only to lose herself in the dark drug of his unfathomable eyes. Quickly she refocused on the ring, willing her hand not to shake as he slid it over her knuckle. It sat there, winking at her, teasing with its carat-laden sparkle.

“A little loose,” he murmured, still holding her fingertips as he ran his thumb over the band. Shivers tripped down her skin and she gently eased away.

“Not for long.” At his questioning look, she added, “Weight gain.”

“Ahh.”

When his mouth tilted, the overwhelming need to kiss him stunned her. It shouldn’t be. But there it was.

Her whole body tingled with awareness, making her skin burn from the inside. She’d read about pregnancy hormones heightening a woman’s sexual appetite, had laughingly listened to the explicit stories her married girlfriends had revealed. But were those hormones supposed to be this intense? Like she had a sudden need to rip off her clothes and demand he ravish her on the floor?

She wanted him. Craved him, even. Like she was a chocolate addict, and one taste just hadn’t been enough.

A groan rattled in her throat. She couldn’t give in to a moment of weakness, no matter how amazing it promised to be. Sleeping with a man who thought her capable of blackmail would leave a deep and lasting scar, and she’d had enough of those to last a lifetime.

With supreme control she took one step back, away from the warm intimacy that had enveloped them as they stood almost touching. She drew her wrap around her, wishing it were solid armour.

“Shall we go?”

A shutter fell over his face, his nod cool and curt. And just like that, the moment was broken. But damn, a part of her wished it hadn’t, wished she possessed the world-liness, the detachment to make the first move and bring relief to her growing need.

But as Cal coolly guided her out the door, she’d have to instead focus on the night ahead, and put all her energies into getting through it.

Chapter Four

Determined to follow Cal’s lead and ignore the whispered glances that accompanied their journey through Tetsuya’s, Ava lifted her chin and kept walking, fully aware of his warm, possessive hand on the small of her back guiding her forward. Then they were inside the private dining room and the door was closed with a discreet click.

She got a glimpse of the interior—sparsely elegant, with delicious aromas coming from the warming station at the far end—before Cal looped an arm around her waist. It was an intimate brand of ownership, one that did nothing to quash the butterflies in her stomach, and she itched to squirm away. But then he was saying, “Ava. I’d like you to meet my mother, Isabelle,” and her fate was sealed.

A deep breath calmed her panic, leaving behind nervous anticipation. Isabelle Prescott had to be in her fifties at least, but moved with the grace and charm of someone decades younger. Outwardly, she looked perfect, from the hem of her elegant black knee-length shift dress to the top of her perfectly made-up face, surrounded by a fashionably choppy blond bob. As Ava expected, the woman was manicured, perfumed and dressed like a million bucks. Yet when she tilted up to greet Cal with a kiss, her smile radiated genuine joy.

To Ava’s relief, when she turned to Ava that smile never faltered.

“Ava, I’m delighted to meet you. I’m so happy for you both.”

She barely had time to be surprised by the older woman leaning in to bestow a kiss to her cheek before Cal introduced Victor and a steely handshake engulfed her hand.

Cal was a man who oozed natural command and confidence, a man used to giving directions and having them obeyed without question. Now she knew where he’d learnt it from. The persona of Victor Prescott was just as large as the real-life man himself. His broad, imposing presence was immaculately suited, his grey hair precisely cut, his moustache trimmed. A pair of intelligent blue eyes summed her up in half a second and, determined not to wither under that gaze, Ava returned his handshake firmly and met it. When he smiled the action didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Congratulations, Ms. Reilly.”

What an odd thing to say. She shot a glance at Cal. “For…?”

“For being the woman to finally catch my son. He’s been notoriously single for too many years.”

A tense look passed between the two men before Cal broke it. He took Ava’s arm with firm gentleness. “Let’s be seated.”

With Cal seated next to her and Isabelle and Victor directly opposite, the meal began. To Ava’s surprise, there were no menus, just a discreet waiter serving the first of what was to be ten courses from the restaurant’s famous degustation menu.

“Venison, beef.” Cal named the tiny helpings on her plate, his murmur soft and intimate in her ear. “The others are fish.”

“So, Ava,” Isabelle began as she dipped her spoon in the gazpacho. “Are you from Sydney?”

“Born and bred near Dubbo, actually.”

“A country girl…I like that.” Isabelle smiled. “So a city this size would seem a little crazy to you.”

Ava slid a glance to Cal, who seemed intent on her answer. “It’s large. Noisy. But,” she added quickly with a smile, “very beautiful. Sydney’s harbour view is like no other.”

As she finished the rest of her bio, Ava was acutely aware of the attention she commanded. The scrutiny that worried her most, though, was Victor’s. Reputation aside, the man had a way of intimidating with just a look and the slight raising of an eyebrow. He let Isabelle ask all the questions, only interjecting to question her about Jindalee’s past incarnation as a sheep station.

As the meal wore on, and despite the glorious food—Ava had never tasted beef so wonderfully spiced before—she sensed an underlying tension settle over their table. She frequently caught a guarded sharpness in Cal’s eyes, as if he was waiting for something to happen, for someone to say something. She glanced over at Victor. The man eyed them both with speculation, a look that had frequented the meal. One that had first alarmed but now just plain irritated her.

On the flip side, Isabelle was a genuinely lovely woman. Cal’s obvious love and respect shone through like the sun on an overcast day. It was the way her whole face creased with humor when she spoke, the way his expression softened. She was obviously the catalyst between two equally forceful and stubborn males.

“And the poor man was covered in Béarnaise sauce!” Isabelle concluded her anecdote with a laugh, prompting Cal into a deep chuckle. Ava smiled through the tiny pang that speared her, forcing her eyes away. They landed on Victor, only to find him studying her with sharp intensity.

Quickly she dropped her gaze to her plate.

“You don’t like seafood?” Victor said suddenly. All eyes went to him, then to Ava’s plate, where she’d eaten the salad but left the shellfish.

Ava gave Cal a startled look. “I…”

“No, she doesn’t.” Cal answered smoothly, placing a warm hand over hers on the table. Calm down, the small gesture seemed to say. I’m here.

Victor snorted. “Well, I’ve never known a woman to refuse dessert.” His gaze became perceptive. “Chocolate cognac mousse…”

“Ava doesn’t drink alcohol,” Cal said smoothly.

“…and a superior cappuccino.”

“Or caffeine.”

Victor slowly raised the napkin to his mouth, dabbed, then folded it precisely on the table.

“I see. So to summarize this evening—you’re attractive, single, have no discernible indulgences and run a small business while supporting your aunt and the local community. Do you have any vices, Ms. Reilly, or can I assume you’re—” he held her panicky gaze in calculating summary “—absolutely perfect for my son?”

Cal’s hand tightened over hers. “Oh, for God’s sake, Victor, that’s enough. She’s—”

“Cal, no,” she murmured, urging the well of panic back down.

He glanced at her then continued calmly. “Ava hasn’t been well the last few days.”

Victor’s chair screeched across the floor as he abruptly stood. “Cal—a word?”

Cal nodded, rose fluidly to his feet and followed Victor across the room, out of earshot. Even knowing Cal for just a few days, she could still see something simmer below the well-groomed, polite surface. Something angry and resentful.

Ava’s stomach sank, aided by Victor’s cynical words, loaded to the brim with innuendo. She stared at her plate as the meal congealed in her stomach. It shouldn’t matter what that man thought of her, but it did. Painfully so.