Bound By The Unborn Baby. Bella Bucannon

      

       ‘Alina, the baby you carry is my family. I can’t—I won’t permit this child to be born illegitimate.’

      Somewhere out in the real world a driver beeped his horn. She sensed Ethan studying her, could imagine his brain churning with arguments to reinforce his demand. For him, her full compliance was essential. He’d accept nothing less.

      ‘How long is it supposed to last?’ It came out wrong. She hadn’t meant to sound so cold, so detached. She certainly wasn’t prepared for the pained look in his eyes.

      ‘We’ve got seven months to sort out the future. No one will be surprised if our sudden marriage doesn’t survive long-term.’ His hand left her stomach and cupped her chin. ‘I won’t force you to stay, and I swear you won’t lose from this arrangement.’

      He was right—because she’d already lost everything worthwhile. She’d bought a new gold ring because she hadn’t been able to bear the sight or the feel of the original.

      ‘You give me your word that I can leave when I decide?’

      ‘Yes.’ It was blunt. His body was rigid, his features unreadable.

      ‘All right. I’ll marry you.’

      Bound by the Unborn Baby

      Bella Bucannon

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      BELLA BUCANNON lives in a quiet northern suburb of Adelaide with her soulmate husband, who loves and supports her in any endeavour. She enjoys walking, dining out and travelling. Bus tours or cruising with days at sea to relax, plot and write are top of her list. Apart from category romance she also writes very short stories and poems for a local writing group. Bella believes joining RWA and SARA early in her writing journey was a major factor in her achievements.

      MILLS & BOON

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      Deepest thanks to my husband and soulmate, who claims that inside my head is the scariest place on earth but loves me unconditionally anyway. Special thanks to the generous, supportive South Australian Romance Authors for their encouragement and steadfast belief in me.

      And to Flo Nicoll, who saw beyond my raw writing and gave me the courage to drastically cut and revise and produce a story worth telling.

      Contents

       COVER

       INTRODUCTION

       TITLE PAGE

       ABOUT THE AUTHOR

       ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

       CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       CHAPTER FIFTEEN

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

       EXTRACT

       COPYRIGHT

       CHAPTER ONE

      THIRD DOOR ON the left. Why the hell hadn’t he given in to his original instinct, phoned the hotel with a refusal, then binned the short letter hand-delivered to his office? He’d never heard of Alina Fletcher—didn’t have the time or energy for enigmatic invitations.

      Except one phrase, vaguely referring to his family, had captured his interest five weeks after his sister and brother-in-law had died in Barcelona, less than two since his second trip to Spain regarding their estate.

      He felt drained. Flying overseas and coping with local authorities while handling the glitches regarding his latest hotel acquisition had been exhausting. The basic Spanish he’d acquired on other trips had helped; deprivation of sleep didn’t. He desperately needed a break to enable him to grieve for Louise, and for Leon, who’d been his best friend since primary school. Any additional angst was definitely unwelcome.

      The open doorway allowed him a clear view of the woman facing the window. Slim build. Medium height. Short dark brown hair. His gaze slid rapidly over a sky-blue jacket and trousers to flat shoes. Unusual in this time of killer heels.

      ‘Ms Fletcher?’ He was curter than he’d intended, influenced by a hard clench low in his abdomen.

      She turned slowly and his battered emotions were rocked even more. Pain-filled eyes underlined with dark smudges met his. Widened. Shuttered. Reopened, clear and steady. Whatever had flickered in their incredible violet depths had banished his lethargy. His dormant libido kicked in, tightening his stomach muscles, accelerating his pulse.

      Inappropriate. Inexcusable.

      ‘Ethan James? Thank you for agreeing to meet me.’

      No welcoming smile. Did he detect a slight accent? He’d have to hear more—wanted to hear more.

      He cleared his throat. ‘Did I have a choice?’ Moving forward with extended hand, he frowned at her hesitation. She was the one who’d requested the meeting.

      After a cool, brief touch she gestured to the seating. ‘Coffee? Black and strong?’

      His eyes narrowed at her assumption of his preference, flicked to the wedding ring she wore. Married. Why did he care? The perfume she wore didn’t suit her. Too strong. Too exotic. He wasn’t thinking clearly—hadn’t been since that devastating early-morning phone call.

      ‘What do you want?’ No games. Either she told him the reason they were here