The Innocent's Shock Pregnancy. Carol Marinelli

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      ‘More of a hobby, then?’ he asked, or rather assumed, for he was more than used to women whose daddies found them a ‘little job’ until a suitable husband came along.

      ‘Not quite,’ Merida said, and gave him a tight smile without elaborating further.

      Ethan Devereux was here to see the gallery, not hear her life story.

      They walked past the displays where he had stood bored, and then came back to the desk. Of course she offered him a drink once more, and waved a hand over the nibbles.

      Again, he declined.

      ‘Do you have any more questions?’ Merida asked, just as she always did, and yet it felt a little different this time. The beguiling, sensual air surrounding the amulet display seemed still to cling, and she found that she held her breath as she awaited his response.

      ‘Just one...’ Ethan said.

      He saw her blink rapidly, and rather thought that she’d guessed what his question was.

      Dinner.

      And it should be as seamless as that—because for Ethan it always was.

      Yet he hesitated, and did not know why.

      It wasn’t the fact that he had to head to the hospital that halted him from asking. He could offer to pick her up in an hour.

      Yet he didn’t.

      Instead he reminded himself he was here for Khalid.

      ‘The rugs,’ he said. ‘If I were to order one, how long would it take to make?’

      ‘It would depend on the size.’

      ‘One like that.’

      Merida should be dancing on the spot at the unexpected chance of earning some commission. A commissioned rug was worth a fortune, and she should be engaging him and wowing him with details. Yet all she could think of was dinner. Or rather, the lack of it.

      Which was just as well, given Reece’s warning that he would crush her in the palm of his hand.

      Yet Merida suddenly wanted to experience the feel of his palm more than she had wanted anything before in her life.

      Except Broadway, which she had dreamed of all her life.

      Ethan Devereux, whom she had only just met, suddenly came a very close second.

      Merida stood there, trying to unscramble her mind so she could answer his question as to how long a commissioned rug would take to make.

      ‘I would think around eighteen months.’

      ‘What if I wanted it sooner?’

      ‘Ubaid has many artisans. If they were focused on one piece, perhaps a year...’

      ‘And what if I wanted it sooner than that?’ he pushed.

      ‘I’m afraid it would take time. Patience.’

      Reece might never forgive her, but instead of promising limitless artisans, all devoted to pleasing this man who could name his price, she told him instead that he would have to wait.

      Only they weren’t talking about rugs. She was quite sure of that.

      And so was he.

      ‘I don’t have patience,’ Ethan said, and the words were delivered with a slight snap, for he knew now why he hadn’t invited her to dinner.

      For it would be just dinner.

      And then another dinner.

      No, he did not have the patience for that.

      He wanted to know how she tasted rather than where she was from and what she was like.

      And so, instead of pushing, he ended the encounter.

      ‘Well,’ he said, ‘thank you for the tour. It’s been interesting.’

      Unexpectedly so. And in unexpected ways, he thought.

      Merida saw him to the door and then stood, her smile fixed, as they shook hands again, but for a dangerous second longer than the first time.

      She did not glance down at his hands but she could feel each of his fingers, long and slender, as they closed around hers. And she breathed through her mouth, rather than her nose, for the scent of him had her wanting to draw closer.

      ‘It was a pleasure to meet you,’ Merida said through lips that did not want to talk. It was as if they yearned to meet his.

      She wanted to return to the dark velvet space from which they had so recently emerged.

      What the hell was happening to her?

      ‘Thank you for visiting,’ Merida said calmly, when Get out, get out, get out was what she wanted to scream. Only her acting experience allowed composure to reign on her features.

      He didn’t say thank you again.

      And he didn’t wish her a good evening.

      Ethan Devereux simply left.

      And he left behind a vortex within her.

      She watched the doorman farewell him, and the driver open his car door, and as he disappeared inside Merida learned that she could breathe again.

      The devil had left the building.

       CHAPTER THREE

      HIS DRIVER TOOK him the short distance to the hospital, and to a rear entrance so that he would not be seen arriving.

      This must not get out.

      Tomorrow morning Jobe Devereux was having a minor planned procedure, but that very knowledge would be enough to spook their shareholders.

      Ethan was concerned enough to have flown home.

      His PA, Helene, had given him directions and Ethan took the elevator up to the private wing.

      His father might as well be in his office, Ethan thought as he knocked on his door and walked in.

      Abe was there, and so too was Maurice, their head of PR.

      ‘Ethan!’ His father, sitting in a leather chair, looked surprised to see him. ‘What can I do for you?’

      Do for him?

      There was no real welcome, and no invitation to take a seat. Their relationship had long been a strained one—perhaps because they were incredibly alike, and not just in looks.

      The СКАЧАТЬ