The Australian Affairs Collection. Margaret Way

reaction? What if Sophia rang him first with a distorted version of events?

      Taking bites of some dark rich chocolate for courage, she debated the pros and cons...

      ‘She what?’ The outrage in Ethan’s voice seared down the phone line. She’d got no further than telling him his mother had visited before he’d exploded.

      ‘I’m sorry, Ethan. I didn’t know whether to let her in. I—’

      ‘She’s never been there before—never been invited. What did she want?’ Barked out, agitating her even more.

      ‘Someone sent her a photo of us kissing. I didn’t know what to tell her.’

      She’d screwed up. No, he’d put her in that position by keeping her a secret. It was his family who had the issues.

      ‘You should contact her. I...I... I’ll see you tonight.’

      She hung up.

      * * *

      ‘Alina?’

      She’d gone. Ethan realised his knuckles were white from his grip on the mobile phone. His free fist ground onto his desk. She’d sounded distressed. What the hell had his mother said to her?

      He’d never been so angry. Or so worried when Alina didn’t answer his call back. He selected his mother’s number.

      ‘Ethan, we haven’t heard from you for a while.’

      Not since they’d criticised the wording for the gravestone. Lucky for her there was half a city between them else he’d be tempted to throttle her.

      ‘So you thought you’d pop into my home when you knew I wasn’t there?’

      She spluttered. He gave her no chance to refute his claim.

      ‘Don’t bother denying it. My receptionist logged the same female voice yesterday, saying she might call in. Your voice is quite distinctive.’

      It wasn’t said as a compliment. Anyone who truly knew him would have been wary of his low, controlled tone.

      ‘I was worried. I’d received a photograph of you with that girl I met in your apartment.’

      He almost lost it at her throwaway reference to Alina. Gritted his teeth, needing to know how his mother had discovered she was there. He waited for a long, tense moment.

      ‘Okay, I described her to an acquaintance who lives a few floors below you. She said she’d seen her—sometimes alone, sometimes with you. I’m only looking out for your welfare, Ethan. There’s something not quite right about her. She just about ordered me out.’

      ‘After, I’m guessing, you began to interrogate her. Listen carefully, Mother. You’ll have no more contact with me at all if you bother Alina again. Understand?’

      ‘Ethan, you—’

      ‘Goodbye, Mother.’

      He dragged his fingers through his hair. Alina, sweetheart, you didn’t deserve that. I made a mistake—should have known she’d start digging at the slightest rumour I might be dating.

      He tried the apartment. No answer. Tried Alina’s number twice more. It went to voicemail each time.

      * * *

      There was no sound in the apartment, no sign of Alina. Her mobile lay on the kitchen island. She has to be here. Has to be.

      Ethan strode to her bedroom. The breath he felt he’d been holding for ever whooshed out at the sight of her handbag by her dressing table. Her bathroom door was open. Not there. One place left to check.

      The gym area was silent apart from the low hum of the water pumps. The lights were dimmed, giving him limited vision of the figure floating in the pool. The only movements were slight flicks of her feet, gently propelling her along towards him. A rush of relief swamped his body. He sagged against the doorjamb, his heart racing. He’d had no reason to think she would run, yet he’d feared she might.

      Wiping his hand over his mouth, he wondered why this fragile, damaged woman stirred him as no one ever had. It went deeper than the embryo she carried. His anger towards his mother had been at her treatment of Alina. His concern had been solely for Alina’s feelings.

      He toed off his shoes, stripped to his boxer shorts, watching her slow progress through the water. Not wanting to startle her, he walked along the side, meeting her halfway. Felt his lips curl. How did she keep a straight line with closed eyes?

      They flew open, though he’d swear he’d never made a sound. Her head turned. One look into sorrowful violet and he dived in, surfacing next to her. He hauled her into his arms, the anxiety he’d experienced giving his action more force than he’d intended.

      He buried his head in her neck, his lips seeking her pulse, his heart rate lifting at the feel of its erratic beat. The feel of her hands clasping his shoulders, her legs brushing his as they trod water, the tantalising aroma from her skin—all heightened his senses.

      Her wrists stiffened, preventing him from drawing her closer. He raised his head, meeting censure in her eyes.

      ‘Alina, I...’ Where the hell were the words he needed? ‘You hung up on me. Didn’t answer your phone.’

      Indignation flared, making the colour of her eyes even more stunning. Her hands lifted and slammed onto his skin, clearing his mind. He huffed out air, drew in fresh breath, regained control.

      ‘I’m not angry, Alina—not at you. You sounded so upset. When you didn’t pick up I was...’ Admit it. Tell her how you felt. ‘I’m not sure what I felt. Just knew I had to see you, hold you.’

      ‘Your mother—’

      ‘Had no right to come here. If I’d even suspected she might I’d have told you not to grant her entry. I’m sorry, Alina—and, believe me, so is she right now.’

      ‘You’ve talked to her?’

      His chest tightened. Hadn’t she believed him when he’d said he’d protect her?

      ‘More like a short, angry lecture. Plus her one and only warning. I made it clear if she upsets you again I’ll have even less contact with them.’

      ‘That’s a bit drastic. They’re your family, Ethan. I knew about her attitude, so I shouldn’t have overreacted—though she certainly lived up to her reputation.’ Her tone softened with regret. ‘I’m really messing up your life, aren’t I?’

      He shook his head. ‘Quite the opposite, Alina Fletcher. You enrich my life every day. You and our baby have changed my world.’

      Her hands relaxed, allowing him to tighten his hold, bringing them into full body contact. Her fingers traced a featherlight path up his neck, across his chin. A glimmer of desire flickered in her eyes. It was satisfying for a few seconds—until his body responded to the flimsy barrier of cotton bathers and silk boxers between them, to the press of her breasts on his bare chest. To the flesh-on-flesh contact of their thighs.

      His mouth crashed down on hers. No preamble, no gentle brush of lips—this was need, satisfying a hunger that had been building for days. From that first gut-clench, that first look into her haunted eyes.

      He tilted her head for better contact, took what she offered, his tongue caressing hers, tangling, tasting the sweetness he’d dreamt of. And she was an active participant, giving and receiving, her fingers weaving into his hair, holding his head to hers.

      His heart thumping, pulses pounding at every point, his lungs screaming for air, he had never felt so gloriously alive.

      Reluctantly breaking the kiss, still holding her close, he gazed into violet eyes as bright as the stars in a moonless night, stunned and bewildered by the ardency of their kiss. He’d crossed an unspoken boundary, knew he should apologise. Knew it would be a lie.

      ‘Do you want another apology?’

      How