Read Online Bound by the Unborn Baby by Bella Bucannon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bella Bucannon
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didn’t mean using it.
He’d knocked on her door early this morning to tell her he was going to his office. Drowsy, needing to use the bathroom, she’d barely acknowledged his remarks. When he’d leaned in to brush her hair from her eyes, his unique smell and the touch of his fingertips had blown her lethargy away, leaving her wide-awake, tingling.
She dropped the pen. This was ridiculous. What could be simpler than writing a list of clothes and accessories to be worn by the wife of a hotshot billionaire? Or was he even richer? Any woman he dated would have no problem filling the page. But she was a nomad, with a meagre pile of cheap, easy-care clothing. Her serviceable underwear would never grace a magazine page or stir a man’s libido.
Hey, what was she thinking?
Focus. You only have to buy enough to be presentable for a few weeks.
As she put on weight she’d have to shop again. More expense.
For a second her mind flashed to the investment account. Another buried secret.
* * *
Sometime after twelve she sank wearily into a window seat of a busy café. Two bags containing the pathetic results of her attempted retail therapy took the chair beside her. This was hopeless. She’d chickened out every time she’d tried to enter any of the high-fashion boutiques she’d found. Embarrassing Ethan in clothes from the stores she normally frequented wasn’t an option. At this rate she’d be in track pants and baggy jumpers right through autumn.
She needed help...didn’t know who to ask. She was used to working; now she had all day with nothing to do. Or did she? She’d meant her reference to taking courses as a joke, but now she deemed them a plausible time-filler.
As the waitress walked past, carrying two plates of fish and chips, another idea popped into her head. Taking out her notepad, she began a new list, pushing it aside when her order arrived.
Indulging in a gooey cream-filled pastry didn’t solve her wardrobe problem but it tasted good. Drinking Viennese hot chocolate while writing the final items lifted her spirits. Surely he’d give her plenty of notice before expecting her to meet his friends or accompany him to functions?
* * *
Ethan sniffed appreciatively as he entered the apartment—later than he’d intended due to an impromptu meeting with his second-in-command. The sooner he implemented the new changes in his workload, the better.
It was a surprise to find the table set for two, even though he’d called, asking her to order dinner from the hotel. There was a bowl of fresh garden salad in the centre, and a bottle of Shiraz waiting to be opened. His home was warm and welcoming—a pleasurable new experience. He shed the trials of his day and moved forward.
‘Mmm, smells good. Mushroom sauce, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘Hi.’ Alina came around the island, carrying water and glasses. ‘Dinner will be ready by the time you wash up.’
Placing his laptop on the end of the table, he moved nearer, breathed in flowers and sunshine—perfect for her, enthralling for him. If this were real...
It wasn’t.
This morning she’d been dreamy-eyed, and he’d come close to kissing her. He hadn’t thought, had merely acted, something he’d need to curb if they were to build a trusting relationship.
‘Give me five minutes.’
Alina arranged steak with foil-wrapped baked potatoes on warmed plates, placed hot crusty rolls in a serviette-lined basket. Smiled with satisfaction. Everything looked appetising, hopefully tasted as good. If she could convince him to let her cook and clean she’d feel so much better about their arrangement. Support for the child was one thing—her being totally dependent on him another.
No way was she going to compete with his qualified chefs. She’d serve recipes she felt capable of, even if they weren’t gourmet standard. The cookbook she’d bought was for inspiration.
Ethan had already poured his glass of wine when she set down his plate, along with the gravy
He’d knocked on her door early this morning to tell her he was going to his office. Drowsy, needing to use the bathroom, she’d barely acknowledged his remarks. When he’d leaned in to brush her hair from her eyes, his unique smell and the touch of his fingertips had blown her lethargy away, leaving her wide-awake, tingling.
She dropped the pen. This was ridiculous. What could be simpler than writing a list of clothes and accessories to be worn by the wife of a hotshot billionaire? Or was he even richer? Any woman he dated would have no problem filling the page. But she was a nomad, with a meagre pile of cheap, easy-care clothing. Her serviceable underwear would never grace a magazine page or stir a man’s libido.
Hey, what was she thinking?
Focus. You only have to buy enough to be presentable for a few weeks.
As she put on weight she’d have to shop again. More expense.
For a second her mind flashed to the investment account. Another buried secret.
* * *
Sometime after twelve she sank wearily into a window seat of a busy café. Two bags containing the pathetic results of her attempted retail therapy took the chair beside her. This was hopeless. She’d chickened out every time she’d tried to enter any of the high-fashion boutiques she’d found. Embarrassing Ethan in clothes from the stores she normally frequented wasn’t an option. At this rate she’d be in track pants and baggy jumpers right through autumn.
She needed help...didn’t know who to ask. She was used to working; now she had all day with nothing to do. Or did she? She’d meant her reference to taking courses as a joke, but now she deemed them a plausible time-filler.
As the waitress walked past, carrying two plates of fish and chips, another idea popped into her head. Taking out her notepad, she began a new list, pushing it aside when her order arrived.
Indulging in a gooey cream-filled pastry didn’t solve her wardrobe problem but it tasted good. Drinking Viennese hot chocolate while writing the final items lifted her spirits. Surely he’d give her plenty of notice before expecting her to meet his friends or accompany him to functions?
* * *
Ethan sniffed appreciatively as he entered the apartment—later than he’d intended due to an impromptu meeting with his second-in-command. The sooner he implemented the new changes in his workload, the better.
It was a surprise to find the table set for two, even though he’d called, asking her to order dinner from the hotel. There was a bowl of fresh garden salad in the centre, and a bottle of Shiraz waiting to be opened. His home was warm and welcoming—a pleasurable new experience. He shed the trials of his day and moved forward.
‘Mmm, smells good. Mushroom sauce, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘Hi.’ Alina came around the island, carrying water and glasses. ‘Dinner will be ready by the time you wash up.’
Placing his laptop on the end of the table, he moved nearer, breathed in flowers and sunshine—perfect for her, enthralling for him. If this were real...
It wasn’t.
This morning she’d been dreamy-eyed, and he’d come close to kissing her. He hadn’t thought, had merely acted, something he’d need to curb if they were to build a trusting relationship.
‘Give me five minutes.’
Alina arranged steak with foil-wrapped baked potatoes on warmed plates, placed hot crusty rolls in a serviette-lined basket. Smiled with satisfaction. Everything looked appetising, hopefully tasted as good. If she could convince him to let her cook and clean she’d feel so much better about their arrangement. Support for the child was one thing—her being totally dependent on him another.
No way was she going to compete with his qualified chefs. She’d serve recipes she felt capable of, even if they weren’t gourmet standard. The cookbook she’d bought was for inspiration.
Ethan had already poured his glass of wine when she set down his plate, along with the gravy
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