The Australian Affairs Collection. Margaret Way

I think I’d better reread it.’

      She put her hand on his thigh. ‘Thank you for...for being there.’

      ‘Always.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘I’ll be right back.’

      Ethan went to the kitchen, turned on the kettle and sank against the bench, taut hands rubbing his face. He’d had to fight for composure in the bathroom; he still shook inside.

      Seeing her sickly pallor as she’d hunched over the toilet had scared the hell out of him. Hearing the rasp in her voice had affected him in a way nothing had before. Because he’d feared for their baby? Or because Alina had been hurting? Both had ripped him apart.

      On his return, he felt the taut knot in his gut ease at the tinge of colour in her cheeks. He gave her the tea and biscuits, scrutinised her as he drank his tea, the same flavour. If he had to he’d make herb tea his regular drink at home. Just in case.

      ‘I feel better. Thank you.’ She started to rise.

      He stopped her, catching hold of her arm. ‘You’re sure?’

      Her smile was steadier. ‘I’m fine.’

      Alina went to the kitchen, where the salad she’d been preparing waited, not realising he was behind her until he spoke.

      ‘What can I do to help?’

      Help? He hadn’t offered before. She’d never been sick before. ‘I can manage. You go do whatever you had planned.’

      He hesitated, his cobalt eyes gleaming with an emotion she didn’t dare try to decipher. The new upheaval in her abdomen had nothing to do with her being pregnant.

      ‘Go. I can handle kebabs and salad.’

      Why did it take so much effort to drag her eyes from him? She forced herself to concentrate on the half-finished carrot.

      ‘I’ll call you when it’s ready.’

      The grunt he made was unintelligible and utterly male. It tickled the edge of her memory. Was quickly relegated to the clouds, where it belonged. She sneaked a peek as he left, wished she hadn’t.

      His grey shirt was moulded to muscles toned to perfection from swimming and working out. Her gaze was drawn down past his trim waist to firm buttocks that flexed with each step. Her breath quickened. This was crazy. She was checking him out like a teenager.

      Her knees shook. She flattened her hands on the benchtop for support, barely aware of the peeler handle digging into her palm. She craved ice-cold water, cursed the heat flooding her body. Daren’t risk walking to the tap.

      He spun round, catching her off guard. ‘By the way...’ His mouth stayed open. His eyes widened. He grinned—a conspiratorial I-know-what-you’re-thinking grin. Moved slowly towards her, holding her spellbound with captivating blue eyes.

      The music from the speakers reached a dramatic crescendo, heightening the atmosphere. It had hardly registered until then. Now it filled the space between them. The width of the room. The breadth of the kitchen island. The length of his arm.

      She faced him, her brain in a quandary as warnings of danger sparred with reminders of his kisses. He halted at that arm’s distance, his eyes now sombre, his features composed. A façade. She noted his rigid stance, the way he’d fisted his hands.

      ‘Are you game to try again?’

      She heard the caution in his voice. The kiss? He’d initiated it; she was the one who’d allowed it to become more intimate. This time there’d be no intoxicating flavour of wine or coffee. She guessed he’d used mouthwash, had seen him drink peppermint tea. Just in case.

      Until Tuesday’s highly emotional embrace in the pool his kisses had been mostly tender—a gentle way of gradually familiarising her with his touch. Their intimate kiss, though interrupted, had been a giant advance in their relationship. A definite declaration that he found her attractive. Desired her.

      There’d been no mention of their sleeping together, but she couldn’t deny her body responded to his virility, couldn’t stop his image invading her thoughts. Oh, Lord, had her nausea been triggered by guilt, by feelings of infidelity?

      He quietly waited for her answer. They both knew there was only one way to resolve the issue.

      ‘Yes.’

      Her single husky word had him enfolding her and gently covering her mouth with his. The music faded. The air around them crackled. Time stood still. His lips moved slowly, persuasively over hers. His hands stroked unhurriedly, without pressure. He kept space between their bodies.

      Her fingertips inched up his chest until they touched his skin. His body trembled. His earthy Ethan aroma filled her lungs, clouding her brain. Dominating her will. Freeing her will. Her fingers twisted into his hair. Her lips parted.

      Ethan held his breath, every muscle tensed in a supreme effort not to sweep his tongue inside to explore the sweetness he’d sampled earlier. Being restrained with a woman was a new experience for him. Mutual attraction led to equally satisfying sex. No strings. No commitment.

      This was different. For indefinable reasons. After the initial spontaneous jolt everything he’d done had been influenced by the fact she was pregnant. Or had it? When they were apart she was in his head. When they were together he couldn’t stop looking, touching and inhaling her essence, fresh as spring.

      He slowly traced a line with his tongue around the soft, moist inside of her lips. She gasped, taking in his breath. Quivered under his roaming hands. His body hardened and he shuffled his feet, widening the gap. Sliding his tongue in deeper, he cautiously stoked hers, fully prepared to stop at the slightest hint of distress.

      There was none—only a timid response that almost had him hauling her closer. There was no sense of time. It felt as if he were standing on the edge of a precipice, knowing there was something wonderful waiting if he’d just let himself fall. With a rough shuddering breath he lifted his head to gaze into clear, shining eyes.

      ‘I guess it was one of those inexplicable pregnancy things, huh?’

      Her spontaneous laugh zapped his already strained senses.

      ‘Seems like it.’

      To double-check, he kissed her briefly, firmly. ‘So—you feel okay?’ His pulse kicked up even higher when she flick-licked her bottom lip and smiled, as if she’d tasted something delicious.

      ‘Go—or you won’t be eating dinner tonight.’

      He went, deeming it an option he’d happily choose.

      * * *

      On Saturday morning Alina paced restlessly round the apartment. Something was itching at her brain—wouldn’t surface, wouldn’t go. She’d booted up her computer. Closed it down. She’d changed, walked into the gym, turned, walked out. Changed back into jeans and a top. Curled up with her embroidery, packed it away after a few stitches. Every room was tidy; everything was clean.

      She glanced at the kitchen calendar and the notation for tonight: Dinner with parents. An unavoidable ordeal to be endured. She was convinced they wouldn’t be adding her to their regular guest list unless they wanted Ethan there too. And he’d given her the impression he’d happily miss most of their organised events.

      A picture flashed into her head at the sight of today’s date. She quickly blocked it out. She didn’t do special days.

      Tenuous, ghost-like memories nipped at the edge of her mind, wouldn’t be dismissed. Tears welled in her eyes as memories crashed back. Her mother-in-law’s birthday. Mum. Unlike Sophia, she’d welcomed Alina, drawn her into the family and loved her as a daughter. She’d be lucky if Sophia tolerated her for the time she was here.

      Ethan had family and friends for support. She didn’t begrudge him any of them; he’d need all the help available next year. She had no one. Unless...

      You only have to reach out. There’ll be no recriminations,