CAROL MARINELLI - His Pregnant Mistress

“You should add the word ‘con’ to your job title, Mia! It’s the twenty-first century. You can’t just pass my brother off as the father because it suits your bank account.”

“I’m not trying to pass the baby off.” Finally she dared look at him. “This is my baby, Ethan. In fact, I never intended for you or your family to find out—especially now Richard’s…”

“But Richard did die,” Ethan said finally. “Richard did die, Mia. And if you’re telling the truth, if this is his child, then we’ve got a helluva lot to talk about!”

She could feel the tiny hairs rising on the back of her neck, the chilling feeling that suddenly everything had become impossibly complicated, and she finally admitted to herself that today wasn’t going to bring closure—that things had, in fact, just started.

Relax and enjoy our fabulous series about couples whose passion ends in pregnancies…sometimes unexpected! Of course, the birth of a baby is always a joyful event, and we can guarantee that our characters will become wonderful moms and dads—but what happened in those nine months before?

Share the surprises, emotions, drama and suspense as our parents-to-be come to terms with the prospect of bringing a new baby into the world. All will discover that the business of making babies brings with it the most special love of all….

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

DON’T look up.

Don’t look up.

Over and over, Mia said those three little words to herself, knew, without a shadow of a doubt, it was the only way she could get through this dark hour in her life.

She attempted to focus on the order of service she held. Her hands trembled so violently it made reading impossible, which was maybe just as well, for even the photograph of her dear friend Richard smiling back at her was enough to cause a fresh batch of tears to well in her eyes, for the stifled scream to build in her throat at the agonizing end to such a beautiful life; it didn’t make sense.

Nothing today made any sense.

Nothing in the formal surrounds of the church, or the austere people that packed the tiny pews, captured the essence of what Richard was about. She could count on one hand Richard’s true friends—the so-called dreamers and drifters that were relegated like herself to the back pews of the church. While the Carvelles and their entourage sat at the front, sweltered in the unfamiliar tropical heat in heavy black suits, the sultry, balmy heat of the late afternoon in Cairns clearly a distant memory, as one by one they had drifted down south, as one by one they had abandoned their roots and headed for the concrete security of the financial capital, their money too big, their egos too wide for the lush, unspoilt beauty of far North Queensland where they had first made their fortune, building and developing the type of luxury hotels that ensured the tourists returned. Too much was never enough where the Carvelles were concerned, the grass was always greener, the wallets always deeper somewhere else.

Only Richard had stayed.

As she stared at the order of service her mouth hardened and it took a moment to register that the emotion she was feeling was anger.

Anger towards the insensitive might that was the Carvelles.

Even the photo of him they had chosen looked wrong, wooden and formal in a suit and tie a world away from the casual, scruffy shorts and T-shirt guy Richard was.

Had been.

The mental correction caused a searing pain to rip through her, her hands moving to her stomach, massaging the life within, willing herself to stay calm for the sake of the baby she carried inside.

Richard’s baby.

The surge of panic that overwhelmed her was exacerbated by the rustle in the pews as the congregation stood and Mia attempted to stand, her legs trembling violently as the procession moved, willing herself to hold it together, to just get through the necessary formalities without drawing attention to herself.

So she stared down, screwing her eyes closed as the procession passed, the horrible scent of incense from the minister’s lantern as he led the mourners an aching reminder of her father’s funeral just two years previously. But despite her vow not to look up, to keep to the plan Mia had put in place merely to get her through, as the music stilled, and the congregation hushed, Mia’s strategies fell by the wayside as her eyes slowly lifted. Drawn, not to the coffin, but to the dark-suited figure that followed behind, to the face that had haunted her dreams for the last seven years, to the face that had loved her, the eyes that had adored her and to the man who had so cruelly discarded her.

Ethan.

Only his haughty profile was visible as he walked with the sombre procession, taking his place in the front pew, staring fixedly ahead as the minister’s voice welcomed the congregation on this sad day.

And though the minister’s words were well delivered, though it was Richard that had brought her here today, it was Ethan that held her attention, Ethan whom she stared at as the congregation shuffled to a stand, realizing, not for the first time, just how different Ethan was from his younger brother whom they were here to mourn. Richard, pale-skinned with light auburn hair, so vulnerable and fragile; the absolute antithesis of this confident, jet-haired swarthy-skinned, imposing man standing tall at the front of the church, easily a head above the rest. The only sign of emotion in his impassive face was that his jaw clenched in stony silence as the rest of the congregation started to sing, one hand held behind his back, the knuckles white with tension against his immaculate suit, and as an age-old hymn she’d heard a million times before filled the sacred space only now did she really hear it for the first time, each and every word seeming to dredge through the remnants of her soul. And only now did she really feel it, begin to understand it: the timeless wonder of love, the everlasting promise of peace, and as the words soared skywards, as her tears fell downwards, all Mia could think, all Mia could wish at the loneliest moment of her life was that the man who stood so distant and aloof at the front of the church didn’t still touch her so.

She wished with her whole heart that the seven years that had passed since she had seen Ethan Carvelle could have rendered him less impressive, less authoritative…less beautiful.

She had known today would be hard, but it wasn’t just saying goodbye to Richard that was on her mind. She had said her farewells to him weeks ago. Expended most of her grief in painful stages as day by day the cancer that had ravaged his body had taken him piece by piece, like a beautiful statue being slowly dismantled, his short-term memory fading first, followed closely by pride as his functions had decreased. Yet all that Mia could deal with, even the agony of watching his sparkling humour slowly slip away, watching as he’d struggled to make a point, to finish a joke, hadn’t come close to the tragedy of his vacant eyes, which one black morning, had failed to recognize her. A mouth that hadn’t smiled as she’d entered his sun-drenched room in the hospice. Mia had known then that for Richard, her dear, kind Richard, it was over. She had said goodbye to him then, her mourning commencing that very day for the wonderful man who the doctor had gently told her would never now return.