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

She gave him an odd look. “No, I went to the supermarket.”

“Did you carry all this?”

She rolled her eyes at the dark suspicion in his voice. “No. Your mother pushed the cart then your doorman delivered it upstairs.”

“I thought you went clothes shopping.”

“We did.” When she offered him a platter of carrot sticks, he took one, crunching it thoughtfully. “You also needed food in your fridge.”

“I have food.”

“Wine, water, juice, coffee, cereal.” She ticked the items off on her fingers. “No fruit, meat, dairy or vegetables.”

She turned back to the pot and gave the sauce another stir, but when he remained silent she threw a look over her shoulder. “What?”

He shoved down a myriad of conflicting thoughts, smoothing his expression. “How’s the nausea?”

She handed him a knife with a smile. “Gone until the morning, I suspect. Make yourself useful and cut the feta?”

At his round dining table they ate in silence, an odd half tense, half expectant silence. Cal was fully aware of every move, every sound as they devoured the spaghetti and Greek salad she’d made. The tiny scrape of fork on plate, the gentle swallow of water being sipped only amplified the quiet. When he spoke, it was like a shot.

“What did you buy today?”

She downed her fork with deliberate care. “Yes.”

Cal eyed her well-worn attire but said nothing.

“A few dresses,” she said stiffly. “Some jeans, shoes, skirts. A few tops and a jacket. Don’t worry,” she added in a small voice. “I won’t embarrass you.”

Damn. He’d hurt her but didn’t know how to fix it, so he did the only thing he could. He let silence do the mending.

“We’ve had some interview requests,” he finally said, placing the cutlery across his plate.

She sat back in her chair, digesting that information. “Do you expect me to give interviews?”

He shrugged. “Only if you want. There’s also a bunch of glossies angling for a spread—Vogue, Elle, Cosmo, for starters.”

“Fashion shoots.” She shook her head. “That’s just…surreal.”

“You’re now a news item. You’re in demand.”

“But only as your fiancée,” she countered.

“I thought,” Cal said slowly, “women liked getting pampered, dressed up and photographed.”

“I don’t do ‘pampered and dressed up.’” She stood abruptly. “I’m practical, a simple country girl who wears jeans and steel-capped boots. I clean the kitchen, I cook, I wash up. I work with dirt and dig a veggie patch.” In quick jerky movements, she began to clear the table. “I’m not glamorous, I’m not model material…I…I have crow’s feet and dry heels!”

Her delivery was so frustratingly honest that Cal swallowed his snort of amusement. He couldn’t tell if she was simply explaining herself or warning him off.

“So doing girly things scares you.”

She shot him a look that lacked venom. “I didn’t say that.”

“Why not give it a go? You might like it.”

“Do you think I might also like some interviewer digging around in my personal life for a couple of hours?”

“That,” he returned, following her into the kitchen with his plate, “is where my press office comes in. I can prep you.” Decision made, Cal rinsed his plate.

Needing movement, Ava wiped the sparkling benches while he stacked the dishwasher. But when everything had been cleared, tidied and returned to its drawer or shelf, there was nothing left to occupy her hands.

“Go sit outside,” Cal said as he reached for the cupboard. “I’ll bring you some tea.”

Once alone on the balcony, the rigid composure she’d been battling drained. The warmth of the patio heater brushed her skin, a delicious contrast to the sharp bite of cold wind. She grabbed up the throw rug and wrapped it around her shoulders, tucking her feet beneath her bottom as she sat.

Like Alice down the rabbit hole, everything had changed. Gone was peace and quiet, replaced by the shiny boldness of newly acquired fame and fortune. Over lunch at a North Shore café, Isabelle had bluntly described what to expect leading up to the wedding.

“You’ll be on everyone’s invitation list,” the older woman said in between bites of her smoked salmon sandwich. “Parties, social appearances. Requests for fashion shoots and interviews. That’s the upside. The downside is less delightful but just as important.”

“Rumor and innuendo?”

At Isabelle’s serious nod, Ava’s smile had dropped. “Yes. Imagine your worst doubts, your deepest fears plastered on the front page of every newspaper in the country. If there’s anything you’ve ever done but don’t want the press to know, they’ll find it.” She leaned back, fixing Ava with a steady look. “It’s how you handle it that matters.”

Ava shuddered. It was one thing to think the worst of herself, to harbor that black cloud of failure, but to have her insecurities publicly aired for everyone to see?

That was not going to happen.

The moment was broken by the door swooshing open. Cal stepped outside with two steaming cups and a sheaf of papers.

The contract.

He placed it and a pen in front of her, then the cup. With outward calm, she picked up the papers and flicked through them. He’d efficiently tagged the places for her signature but instead of blindly signing, she tucked them beside her on the couch. “I’ll have to read this over.”

He nodded, settling in the one-seater across from her, a casual version of the previous night. “Of course.”

Ava snagged her cup and for a few minutes they remained silent. She’d never felt the need to fill a lull with inane chat, but Cal’s presence made her acutely aware of her own, the way she looked, dressed, acted. He made her as nervous as a teenager on her first date.

“Your mother loves to shop,” Ava ventured lamely.

“My mother believes shopping is a great icebreaker.” He smiled, shifting his large bulk more comfortably in the seat. “It’s her great people leveler.”

“We did talk a lot.”

“About?”

“Mostly me. The wedding.” She deliberately omitted the topic of Cal’s childhood, unwilling to betray Isa-belle’s generous openness. “I had no idea there were so many bridal magazines on the market.”

He couldn’t hide a wry grin. “I always suspected Mum was a closet wedding freak. Sorry.”

“I don’t mind,” Ava said truthfully. The woman’s enthusiasm had been appealing when she’d gifted her with a bunch of current bridal magazines in the car. Cosmopolitan Bride, Vogue Bride, Australian Bridal Directory, The Bride’s Diary…the sheer volume of what Ava had assumed was a narrow topic made her head spin. At first it had taken all her acting skills, pitiful as they were, to smile and thank her for the gift. But Isabelle had sensed her less than enthusiastic response and had clamped a lid on her excitement, instead changing the topic to their day ahead.

And as the day passed, Ava had managed to banish the heavy reality that had settled like cement in her chest and instead found herself enjoying the outing. The subversive shine of the city had already begun to leach in, the bustle and movement exciting her in a way she’d not felt in ages.

“We have two formal functions Thursday and Friday night,” Cal said, bringing her back to the present. “I assume those dresses you bought are appropriate?”

She took exception at his tone. “Cal, I’m not completely clueless. I do know how to dress.”

“Yes.” His eyes ran over her, warming her more thoroughly than the tea ever could. “I believe you do.” Then he glanced away. “It’ll be your first public appearance as my fiancée, so be prepared. There’ll be cameras, as well as questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Ones you’ll be expected to know as my fiancée.”

“Like what?”

“Well, what would you want to know?”

That threw her for a second and she scrambled. “Umm…why don’t you have a computer at home?”

He shook his head. “Don’t need one when I have this.” He pulled the phone from his pocket and handed it to her. “The new V-Fone. It’s a computer, scheduler, GPS and phone in one, all operating with One-Click software. It integrates with my work computer so I’m always contactable. We’ve had a one-hundred-percent customer satisfaction rating since its launch three months ago.”

She ran her hand over the smooth, cold surface, marvelling at the power in such a tiny device, before handing it back. “What are your working hours like?”

He made an offhand gesture. “Long and filled with meetings, budget reports, investment strategies.”

“Do you like what you do?”

“I get to travel the world and make million-dollar decisions.”

“But do you like it?” She probed. “I’m assuming one day you’ll be doing Victor’s job. That’s pretty different than developing software.”

His smile was brief and humourless. “I’ve worked damn hard to earn the right. VP Tech has been my goal since I was seventeen.”

“I see.” He still hadn’t answered her. And was it her imagination or did she sense hesitation in that smooth reply?

“I work twelve- to fourteen-hour days, Monday to Saturday,” he added, almost as if trying to justify his non-answer.

“Not Sunday?”

“Sundays are for…relaxing.”

She flushed at the deep timbre of his voice. “What’s your favourite meal?”

“Lamb roast.” The muscles in his face relaxed. “My turn.” He paused, assessing her, and for a moment Ava’s insides twisted at his complete and utter focus.

“What is…” he paused, “your favourite childhood movie?”

Her mouth tilted. “The Sound of Music. Yours?”

“The Great Escape. What did you want to be when you grew up?”

“A ballerina—but I wasn’t skinny enough.”

His eyes grazed her and even beneath the throw rug, she felt her body leap in response. “You look perfectly fine to me.”

He was flirting with her. But why? He’d made it perfectly clear she wasn’t to be trusted, yet here he was, handing out little snippets of his inner self like party favours. It wasn’t in her to question why the sudden good fortune. She just went with the flow.

As the hour ticked by into the next, they shared personal likes and dislikes—he liked action movies, she romantic comedies, they both hated cabbage and pumpkin but loved tropical fruit. After retouching on Cal’s career highlights, they landed on the topic of exes.

“I’ve dated, no one serious,” Cal said, swirling the dregs of coffee around in his mug.

“Your mother mentioned Melissa…” She paused at his sharp look.

“What did she say?”

“Just that you were engaged but called it off.”

“I see.” He placed his cup on the table and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His face became stony and she wondered what the other woman had done to make him so defensive. “And what about you?”

Ava shrugged. “A boyfriend in high school, a couple more when I was working in Jillian’s coffee shop. Since I moved back home there’s been no one. Gum Tree Falls isn’t exactly teeming with eligible bachelors, not like…” She snapped off, too late.

“Like Sydney.”

When his eyes narrowed, she could’ve kicked herself. That’s a record for you, Ava. Undoing all that good work in two seconds flat.

Cal did not trust her. The sooner she realized that, the easier this would be. Yet pride couldn’t let her escape without clearing this ridiculous preconception.

“I came to Sydney for a girlfriend’s birthday,” she said stiffly. “It was my first time in the city. We had dinner at the Shangri-La then went on to their cocktail lounge. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend or a one-night stand or anything else that night.”

“But you found me.”

She rose, her face warm. “You approached me.”

“True. But you didn’t say no.”

Cal watched the way her face flushed as she threw off the rug then folded it with swift efficiency.

“So now it’s a crime to be flattered by a man’s attentions? I just wanted one weekend, one night to forget about the money, the pressure, the responsibility. For one night I wasn’t Will Reilly’s daughter, the disappointment, the screwup. The reason for—” She bit off the rest of that sentence, as if realizing she’d said too much. Her eyes, panicky and wide, met his for one fleeting moment, then away.

“It’s late,” she finally mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze as she reached for the door. “I’m off to bed.”

“Ava.”

His command fell on deaf ears because with one small click, he was suddenly alone.

Cal remained still for what felt like hours, although his sleek Urwerk watch indicated only minutes. When he’d caught her in that slip there’d been indignation, and hurt. Could she be that good an actress?

Reluctantly, he cast his mind back to that night at the bar, searching through the events to shed some light on his confusion.

At first she’d been wary, even suspicious. His smooth offer to buy her a drink had been met with reluctant acceptance. As they’d shared flirtatious but cryptic details about themselves, she’d gradually warmed to him, enough to have her willing and eager in his bed.

For one crazy second, he let himself indulge in the remembrance of her smile that tilted her mouth into kissable curves, her husky feminine laugh.

What the hell was he supposed to believe?

With a low curse he sprung to his feet and slammed back inside. The cool shower didn’t bring clarity, nor did lying in bed, staring at the LED clock hands as it ticked off the minutes until sunrise.

Chapter Six

At one-thirty the next afternoon, Cal braked his car with an irritated yank out the front of his apartment building. He may have stopped grilling Victor about this marriage ultimatum but the man wasn’t off the hook yet. Throughout their mid-morning meeting Cal had been icily distant, and as a result the other board members had picked up on the tension. Yet afterwards, instead of calling him on it, Victor had left as swiftly as he’d arrived.

Dammit. With a grunt, he rubbed his temples then glared across at the double glass doors. His normally austere doorman was chatting with a gorgeous dark-haired woman, the old Scotsman sporting a look of rapt adoration on his weathered face.

Then Ava glanced across and spotted him.

All thoughts fled as last night came crashing back, rolling waves breaching his temporary sandbank.

If he’d been enthralled yesterday in the early morning light, now he was riveted. Like some slow-motion teenage movie close-up, the afternoon sun captured her in its singular glow as she walked out to greet him. She looked like every man’s fantasy, from the toes of her black knee-high boots up past the flippy hem of the black skirt barely grazing her knees to the scooped neck of her clingy black sweater. A bright sky-blue trench coat flapped loosely like she’d just flashed someone and her hair bounced over her shoulders in twin shiny black waves, catching the sunlight in raven glints.

His throat went dry, his mouth curving into an automatic smile until he caught sight of an expensively suited man unashamedly eyeing her butt as she walked past. A fierce bolt of ownership surged up, ending in a possessive growl as he glared at the man. The starer merely shrugged, smiled apologetically and kept right on walking.

Ava’s glossy smile curved shyly as she reached for the door handle. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself.” Even with eyes hidden behind fashionably round sunglasses, he sensed the unease as she buckled up. “You look…”

“Acceptable?”

“Gorgeous.” Cal checked his rear vision mirror, barely catching her flush. “You should dress like that more often.”

“Unfortunately, Jindalee isn’t too kind on dresses and suede.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re in Sydney until the weekend. Give those jeans and steel-capped boots a breather.”

Her cautious laugh warmed him and they grinned at each other, staying that way for seconds too long, too long to maintain the neutrality of the mood. Cal finally broke the moment, swiftly glancing back over his shoulder before pulling into the traffic.

Ava held her breath, unwilling to break this fragile truce. The man not only developed powerful computer programs, his mind was a computer. No doubt he remembered every detail of their conversations, every word both spoken and implied. Yet as Cal shifted gears and the car smoothly eased into second, her jangling nerves began to relax. It was a calming flipside to the last few days’ hostility and distrust.

Ava didn’t believe in blind optimism, but when she turned her face towards the warm sunshine as they sped across the Harbour Bridge, hope began to spark deep inside. It was…encouraging.

“Based on what you’ve told me, your due date is the ninth of January.” Dr. Wong smiled as he lifted the wand from Ava’s stomach. “We can usually tell the baby’s sex from about eighteen weeks.” He paused, turned a few buttons on the foetal monitor and then pointed to the screen. “Right now, we’re just ensuring everything’s on track and the baby’s forming at the correct rate. There you go.”

The exam room was deathly silent, the cool air-conditioned cavern punctuated only by the tiny bleeps and clicks as Dr. Wong took stills from the monitor.

“Just look at that,” Ava finally breathed.

Cal remained transfixed on the monitor, at the grey and white snow that indicated a tiny life grew within Ava’s belly. He hardly heard the doctor’s murmur, the soft snick of the door as the man gave them a private moment alone. His heart was beating way too hard, his blood pounding through every vein in his chest.

Come the new year, he’d be a father. An unexpected flash of something so big, so powerful jumped him from the shadows and left him floundering under the weight. Blindly, he glanced down and Ava’s eyes, full of wonder and amazement, undid him all over again.

She was lying on the table, half-covered in a sheet, her skirt rucked up high beneath her breasts. And below that, the soft white skin of her belly, the gentle curve almost imperceptible. He was drawn to her, almost as if he couldn’t help himself. It felt natural, right, that he bend down and cover her trembling mouth in a gentle kiss.

And the oddest thing happened. Everything stuttered to a halt.

It seemed like the world had stopped for one amazing second. Ava’s breath caught in her throat, astonishment rendering her limbs immobile, until she felt her eyes close, her limbs languidly relaxing into the tender kiss.

Cal had kissed her with bruising urgency before, with uncontrollable passion specifically designed to arouse. But this…this…soft pressure of his warm mouth on hers, almost loving in its gentleness, tightened something deep within until she felt the telltale prick of tears behind her lids.

She barely had time to breathe in the scent of leather, shaving cream and coffee that was so uniquely Cal before it was over, too soon. When he drew back, her eyes flew open, a tiny sound of disappointment rattling in her throat. “Cal…”

His answer was throaty and hoarse. “If you want me to apologise for that—”

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