The Magnate’s Baby Promise / Having the Billionaire's Baby: The Magnate’s Baby Promise / Having the Billionaire's Baby

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.

“I hope you’re feeling better.” Isabelle’s hand on her arm startled her and when she met the woman’s warm brown eyes, they were fraught with concern.

The little white lie twisted inside. “Just a bug.”

“I’m sorry if what Victor said upset you. He’s just being protective of Cal. It’s nothing personal.”

“Well,” Ava cleared her throat, emotion clogging it, “it sure felt like it.”

Isabelle gave her a small smile. “I know. Victor can be a little…autocratic. Abrasive, even. But he’s a man used to running a billion-dollar business. Sometimes it’s hard to—” she gave an elegant shrug “—shut that off.”

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Ava said impulsively. At Isabelle’s nod, she said, “You and Victor are so different…” She paused, not wanting to offend, but the other woman’s smile drove her onward. “How did you and Victor meet?”

Isabelle laughed. “We are different, there’s no doubt about that. Cal was six when his father ran out. We never married, so there I was, five years later, a single mum and working at a winery on the north coast. Victor was looking to buy it, he saw me serving in the café and—” She trailed off, her face soft with remembrance. “We fell in love. People scoff at love at first sight, but truly, that’s what it was. As you probably know,” she added with a sparkle in her eyes. “Like you and Cal, I had no idea who Victor was. He didn’t know about my life, about my son. But we fell in love and that was it. We were married a year later, when Cal turned twelve.”

Ava couldn’t help but smile at the woman’s misty-eyed reminiscence. “He swept you off your feet.”

“And he didn’t take no for an answer—not that I didn’t make him jump through a few hoops first.” She arched a brow in a woman-to-woman look before taking a sip of her wine.

Ava nodded with a smile and finished the rest of her water. It surprised her that this warm, intelligent woman was married to a man like Victor Prescott. Yet there’d been a few times she’d spotted the cracks in the man’s ice-hard facade: When Isabelle had reached out to squeeze his hand and he’d returned the grip firmly. Her animated retelling of a story that relaxed his craggy face, softening the controlled lines. Yet in the next moment, the mask returned and he was back to studying Ava like she was a particularly fascinating bug under his microscope.

Isabelle tapped her hand on the table, bringing Ava’s attention to the sparkling wedding set on her ring finger. “Ava, I know it’s short notice, but would you like to go shopping with me tomorrow?”

Shopping? She glanced over to where Cal and Victor were still talking in hushed animation, then returned to Isabelle.

“We can buy heaps of shoes, drink cappuccino and people-watch,” Isabelle teased, with a gleam in her eye. “Uh!” She gestured with mock severity when Ava opened her mouth. “Don’t tell me. You’re a handbag girl instead.”

Ava laughed then. She wanted to know more about Cal, so what better way to get a handle on him than through his mother? “Sure. Shopping it is.”

“Excellent!” Isabelle beamed. “Do you have any preferences?”

“Somewhere…inexpensive?”

Isabelle laughed and laid a hand on Ava’s. “Think of it as Cal’s treat. He can afford to indulge his fiancée, after all. And I promise we’ll find something you love.”

“Are you ready to go?” Cal said suddenly. Startled, she glanced up, only to find his expression shuttered down tight. She nodded and rose to her feet.

“No coffee?” Isabelle asked, surprised.

“Can’t—early start tomorrow. I’ll see you later, Mum.” Cal placed a quick kiss on his mother’s cheek then nodded curtly at Victor.

“I’ll send a car for you at eight,” Isabelle said as Cal placedAva’s wrap around her shoulders. “Retail therapy,” she added at her son’s questioning look. And then Cal was gently but firmly guiding her from the room.

The ride back to Cal’s apartment was heavy with expectancy. Ava waited for Cal to reveal what he and Victor had discussed in muted anger at the restaurant, but she was still waiting by the time they’d entered the apartment elevator.

“Are you going to tell me what Victor said?”

As the elevator doors slid closed Cal swung his loaded gaze to her, holding it in silent analysis. Despite the awkward, drawn-out moment, she refused to back down.

He jammed a finger on the top-floor button again. “Victor had doubts about our marriage, our…” his gaze lingered on her mouth, “compatibility. I rebutted them.”

Ava felt the sudden urge to lick her lips but instead nibbled on the inside of her cheek. “It looked pretty heated.”

He shrugged and went back to staring at the blinking numbers as they ascended. “That’s Victor—can’t stand people disagreeing with him.” He crossed his arms, still focused on the floors. “I suppose you’ll need some money.”

Ava frowned. “For what?”

“Tomorrow. For shopping.”

“If that’s your way of offering, then no, thank you.”

“I can afford it.” He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. “Here.”

When she remained still, he impatiently waved the card under her nose.

She blinked then drew in a sharp breath. “Platinum Amex?”

He shoved the card into her hand as the doors slid open.

“Don’t get too excited.” He indicated she go first. “There’s a limit.”

“I don’t need an allowance,” she said tightly. “I’m not some kept woman.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

She slapped the card to his chest as she walked past him, but he snared her arm, forcing her to stop. “Let me make this clear to you, Ava. After tomorrow, the public will know you’re my bride-to-be. And the first thing you’ll be judged on is your wardrobe.”

She frowned and pulled free. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

“I’m releasing our engagement announcement to the press. What?” he asked calmly as panic flushed the blood from her face. “The sooner we announce it, the less chance of a leak.”

A soft melodic jangle permeated the warm apartment and with a shaking hand, Ava reached into her purse. Pulling out her mobile phone, she turned to the kitchen.

“Hi, Jillian.” She tried for nonchalance but after she hung up from her aunt’s “just checking to see if you’re okay” call, she knew she hadn’t fooled either of them.

From the sound of it, Cal was also engaged in a call in the living room. He may have given her privacy but he’d pointedly placed the offending credit card in the center of the breakfast bench. It sat there, glinting in the subtle mood lighting, teasing her with its shiny newness.

She reached out, fingering the bumpy numbers. It wouldn’t just be small-town gossip this time—Cal’s announcement was sure to make national news. People would be talking, and not just about how she and Cal had met and who “the real Ava Reilly” was. They’d focus on her clothes, her hair, her figure.

She rolled her eyes. Following fashionable trends wasn’t an option when she had a business to keep afloat. The clothes and makeup she did have were at least three years old. Sunscreen was about as close as she got to moisturiser.

But now…the sudden and inexplicable desire to indulge, to splurge on something impractical and feminine, made her insides ache with longing. Many years ago—a lifetime ago—she’d given in to the frivolous call. When Grace was alive.

“So you’ve changed your mind?”

As if the card had bitten back, Ava snatched her hand away. Cal stood in the kitchen doorway, his jacket off, sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned, muscular arms. The glow from the track lighting barely brushed him, illuminating the golden hairs on his forearms, glinting across the angular face, throwing him half in shadow, half in light. With a sharp movement, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, patiently awaiting her answer as she stood there like a gawky teenager.

The man was beautiful. Her mind emptied, tongue suddenly dry. As if sensing the small war waging in her head, his mouth tweaked.

“Should I alert the media?” Cal said with deliberate nonchalance.

“What?”

He spread his hands wide, outlining an imaginary billboard. “‘Woman turns down all-expenses-paid shopping spree.’”

Finally, a smile. Despite the brief pleasure that small action gave him, he noticed the sadness that accompanied it.

“Once upon a time I would’ve jumped at the chance.” She shifted from foot to foot before reaching down to pull off her high heels. Two inches shorter, she seemed tiny, more vulnerable somehow. She barely met his chin.

“Grace and I…” she paused, shook her head.

Cal recalled her conversation with his mother. “Your sister.”

“I thought you and Victor were deep in a business discussion.”

“I have an uncanny ability to multitask.”

Her tiny snort of laughter surprised them both and for one moment, the tension lifted.

“Your sister died young,” he stated softly.

Her smile dimmed. “She was nineteen.” She made to turn away, hesitated and instead fixed him with a steady look. “My mother died three years ago of cancer, my father had a heart attack seven months after that. It’s been just me and my aunt ever since.” She glanced away so quickly that Cal barely had time to distinguish any emotion in her expression. Vulnerability? Sadness? Her voice reflected neither with her next statement. “Don’t you already know everything about me?”

“Not everything.” He knew her skin shivered when he kissed that sweet spot on her neck, the way she gasped when he nibbled her earlobe. He knew the way her eyes darkened to a stormy blue when she was all fired up about something, in the throes of passion. But suddenly that wasn’t enough.

“I don’t make a habit of digging into people’s private lives,” he said firmly.

The moment lengthened as Cal steadily held her gaze, until he shifted, taking a step closer and the air suddenly flared hot.

“Why did you run?”

He was far from touching distance but Ava’s whole body still vibrated with anticipation. She remained motionless, holding her breath. He couldn’t know how she’d regretted walking away that night, wondering if things would’ve turned out differently had she stayed.

She decided on an offhand shrug. “To avoid an awkward morning?”

“Really?”

At his slow, dubious eyebrow raise, irritation flared. “Yes. Despite what you think of me, you were my first and only one-night stand. I thought you’d be relieved not having to deal with the morning after.”

“You didn’t give me a choice,” he said softly.

“Well, welcome to the club.”

Ava knew she’d struck a nerve. Surprise flitted across his face before he swiftly smoothed it out. Slowly he crossed his arms, bringing the defined muscles in his shoulders, his biceps, into relief.

Under his gaze bravado seeped out, only to end on a gasp when her belly fluttered. Her hand flew to her stomach.

“What?” He was by her side in an instant, his hand covering hers in sudden shocking familiarity.

She didn’t know what made her more breathless, the tiny life moving inside or Cal’s warm palm scorching her belly. When she looked up their eyes locked. And held.

In those seconds, his eyes echoed sheer amazement until he dropped his hand and moved away. Yet the undeniable truth lingered, lengthened into a realisation she’d be a fool to ignore or misinterpret. Cal was emotionally involved in this baby. And in that flash of intimacy, she knew without hesitation that she wanted—ached—for him to kiss her.

She dragged in a breath, rough shards of frustration, before stepping back. “It’s late. I should…”

“Yes.”

Still he just stood there, filling the doorway until she was forced to meet his eyes again.

“Excuse me.”

Through the haze of conflicting emotion Cal finally registered her questioning eyes. When he silently moved aside, she brushed past him, the warmth of her body drifting by on a wave of tantalizing perfume. Captivated by her gently swaying hips as she crossed the lounge room, his eyes lingered long after she disappeared into his spare room and shut the door with a decisive click.

He cursed softly, still rooted to the spot. If reality mirrored fantasy, she’d be pulling him towards the bedroom, begging him to make love to her just about now. Instead, he was left with a raw taste in his mouth, a small fire burning a hole in his gut.

With a growl, he stalked out the kitchen, through the living room and down the hall. When he reached his bedroom he began to unbutton his shirt, cursing under his breath when the buttons stuck and he ended up ripping one free.

Ava Reilly was no innocent—she knew exactly what she was doing, from her gentle charming of his mother to the steady gaze she’d given Victor when they’d been introduced. But then this…this pure wonder would practically shine from deep within her and knock him for a six.

Trust your first impressions, Cal, Victor had told him the first day he had started work at VP Tech. They’re there for a reason.

Grudgingly he had to admit that over the years, Victor had been right on that one. Apart from making his mouth water, Ava had an air of charming, almost old-world innocence. A far cry from the decadent things they’d done weeks ago in his bed. Things he still wanted to do.

What, a small voice rationalized, if she wasn’t pretending? What if their night together had been as mind-blowing as he’d remembered?

With a swift jerk he pulled his shirt free of his pants. All his ideas on how to prove—or disprove—his theory involved various stages of getting Ava naked. Something she’d no doubt object to, given her current frame of mind.

Pity.

Chapter Five

Ava blinked awake in the darkness, the unfamiliarity panicking her for one second before realization crashed in. She was in Sydney, in Cal’s apartment. Today she’d be his official wife-to-be.

With a groan, she reached for her phone to check the time. Five-thirty. If she were home, she’d already be heading outside to watch the sunrise, coffee in hand.

She flung off the sheets and shoved her feet into her sheepskin slippers. Just because she was suddenly living someone else’s life didn’t mean she should drop her early morning ritual. Yet when she opened the bedroom door into the darkened living room, surprise gave her pause.

Where was the nausea? The morning sickness? She ran through a mental checklist. Aching breasts—to be expected. A mild twinge in her lower back—probably the strange bed. But her stomach? Nothing.

Thank you, pregnancy gods. With a small sigh, she padded across the room into the kitchen, the watery aquarium’s blue glow sending shards of light across the apartment. After inspecting the cupboards, full of gleaming cookware and barely used crockery, she finally found the cups. She chose an elegant bone china teacup and saucer, decorated with tiny blue flowers and totally out of place in Cal’s bold apartment. With smooth efficiency, she turned on the water jug and finished her inspection of the kitchen while the water boiled.

The state of the art coffee machine clicked on with a soft beep and her brows wrinkled. Coffee was out unless Cal used decaf…which she seriously doubted. She scowled at the shiny appliance as if it was the manufacturer’s fault her daily cup was suddenly off-limits.

“It’s on a timer, not telepathy.”

She whirled, picking out Cal’s large shape in the muted glow.

“You’re up early,” she blurted out.

“So are you.”

When he stepped into the kitchen Ava swallowed. The sudden desire to smooth down his sleep-rumpled hair, stuck in spikes over his head, forced her fingers into a tight fist behind her back. She wanted to run her hands over that broad, cotton-clad chest, to see if the well-worn T-shirt felt as soft as it looked. Instead she turned back to the counter and busied herself with jiggling her caffeine-free tea bag furiously in the cup.

“We country folk get up at the crack of dawn,” she said.

“So do we corporate types.”

She glanced up with a smile and to her surprise, Cal returned it. Surprise turned to relief as the tension lightened.

She sniffed the air. “Is that butterscotch?”

“Guilty,” he reached past her, way too close, to snag a cup from the cupboard above. The aroma of warm man mingled with coffee had her inhaling sharply. “Java Butterscotch, to be exact. I also have Hawaiian Mocha, Blueberry Morning and Cinnamon Hazelnut. I like the variety,” he added defensively at her amusement.

“I bet you keep that Gloria Jean’s on the corner in business.”

When he chuckled, something hot and intimate sent her body into its own little hum. Yet Ava didn’t have time to savour the warmth, the delicious anticipation, because following on its heels came a familiar well of nausea.

No! With a quick swallow of her now-tasteless tea, she nodded to the patio. “I’m going to sit out on the balcony.”

Cal watched her pad across his lounge room. Dressed in a neatly knotted, fluffy red robe and a pair of absurd slippers, her hair in curly disarray down her back, she couldn’t have turned him on more if she’d greeted him in black satin lingerie.

Remembrance assailed his senses, the hint of floral scent innocent yet paradoxically seductive. He knew exactly how that hair felt between his fingers, across his skin, and couldn’t stop a small curse escaping as the tangle of memories sparked in his brain.

With his coffee poured, he made his way to the balcony. Yet when he saw her profile, cup raised to her lips, something gave him pause.

He must have made a sound, caught the corner of her vision. She whipped her head around, her shadowed eyes landing squarely on him at the exact moment the sun speared across the balcony. Glints of gold crowned her, a radiant halo for her soft lush features. But it was the expression in her eyes that sent shards of desire straight into his manhood.

Her study of him was intensely personal. Arousing. He felt the burn of her gaze as if she’d run a slow hand over his body, leaving tiny flames in her wake. Her eyes roamed leisurely, first across his shoulders, then his chest. He remained frozen in her commanding grip, taking perverse enjoyment in her unabashed exploration, a hint of a smile kinking the corner of her mouth. Then her eyes dipped lower, much lower, and he instantly hardened.

In a blink her eyes flew to his, full of stricken mortification, before she whipped her head back to the view.

And damn, if he didn’t take that as a challenge.

He slid the door open and the gentle warmth of the patio heater rushed him.

Her nose twitched and she suddenly turned, eyeing his cup like it was a redback spider. “Can you…not…?”

“Drink coffee?” He took a sip, smiling.

She swallowed thickly. “The smell…I was fine a moment ago but now…”

“Morning sickness?” His smile fell as she nodded, her eyes panicky as she took another convulsive swallow. Her vulnerability chased away the gentle teasing on his tongue. Swiftly he placed the cup on the floor behind him, then closed the patio doors on it.

She took a ragged sigh. “Thanks. I’m a coffee drinker but apparently this baby hates it.”

Cal automatically glanced to her waist, then back to her face. The soft morning light still bathed her, lingering on the tinge of shimmer in her curls. Seeing her this way, devoid of makeup and fancy clothes, a blush still evident on her cheeks, she truly was beautiful. Not like the over-sexual, half-dressed bodies the media portrayed as “perfect,” or the expensive, skinny socialites who frequented the few glittery events he’d reluctantly attended. No, Ava’s beauty was subtle and seductive, a hint of innocence in those blue eyes, combined with a lush mouth that tilted like a siren’s call at the edges.

He remembered her smile, the way her throaty laugh had taken hold of his libido and squeezed.

“What?” she asked curiously, breaking his dangerous train of thought.

With ever-decreasing efficiency he reined himself in. “I’ll be home at seven with the papers for you to sign.”

Had he just imagined her flinch? It had come out harsher than he’d intended but when she merely nodded in acknowledgement, he mentally shrugged it off.

“Have a good time today, Ava,” he added softly before reopening the patio door, scooping up his cup and leaving her there.

Wrestling his body into submission took longer than expected, but subdue it he did. When he finally left the apartment a half hour later, he’d dressed with a lot less care than he usually reserved for his morning ritual, aided by the tingling recollection of Ava’s perusal. The now-familiar irritation of being unable to switch off his thoughts put him in a bad mood for the rest of the day, flaring up whenever he was alone with only memories for company.

Finally, at 7:00 p.m., after a long, frustrating day of meetings, product reports and several cryptic messages from Victor which he’d ignored, Cal stalked into his apartment with precious little patience left.

A wall of delicious aromas slammed into him, stopping him dead. Garlic. He sniffed experimentally as his mouth began to water. Tomatoes, frying meat. He tossed his briefcase on the couch and walked into the kitchen.

The sight of Ava, barefoot in jeans, sweater and an apron, humming a melody as she stirred something in a simmering pot on his cooktop, speared him on a primitive level.

My woman. Mine.

It churned up emotion so surprising, so intense that it slammed the breath from his lungs. The cliché—barefoot and pregnant, in his kitchen no less—no longer seemed amusing. Because when she threw him a smile and said, “Dinner’s ready in five minutes,” he wanted nothing more than to drag her into his bed.

“You didn’t have to cook.” His words came out sharp, borne from frustration and his apparent lack of control.

“I like to cook,” she said calmly, her attention resolutely on the pot. “If you don’t want it, you don’t have to eat it.”

Swallowing his retort, he sighted the groceries on the kitchen bench. “Did you order that in?”