Staking His Claim

It had puzzled Ella, too. Keira had spent weeks pouring over books, searching websites for inspiration. But she’d never even drawn up a short list. Now Ella knew why: Keira had been dithering about motherhood. Choosing a name would’ve been a tie to bind her to the baby.

To rid herself of that critical, disturbing gaze, Ella said, “I can ask Keira if there’s one she particularly liked.”

Yevgeny’s gaze didn’t relent. “You were supposed to be the baby’s godmother, yet you have no idea of the names your sister might have been considering?”

She was not about to air her theory about why Keira hadn’t picked a name in order to jump to her own defense. She simply stared back at him wordlessly and wished that he would take his big intimidating body, his hostile pale blue eyes and leave.

“Why don’t you ask Dmitri what they planned to name the baby?” Let him go bully his brother. Ella had had enough. “Anyway, the baby’s new parents will probably want to pick one out. Now, if you don’t mind, it’s been a long day. I’m tired, I need to rest.”

The baby chose that moment to wake up.

At the low, growling cry, Yevgeny scooped her up in his arms and came toward the bed.

No. Panic overtook Ella. “Call the nurse!”

“What?”

“The baby will be hungry. Call the nurse to bring a bottle—they will feed her.”

He halted. “The nurses will feed her? From a bottle?”

Ella swallowed. “Yes.”

Disbelief glittered for an instant in his eyes, then they iced over with dislike. He thrust the waking baby at her. “Well, you can damn well hold her while I go and summon a nurse to do the job that should be yours.”

“She’s not my baby…” Ella’s voice trailed away as he stalked out of the private ward leaving her with the infant in her arms.

Three

The baby let out a wail.

Ella stared down at the crumpled face of the tiny human in her arms and tried not to ache.

How dare Keira—and Dmitri—do this to her?

She’d barely gotten her emotions back under control when, a minute later, Yevgeny swept back into the ward with the force of an unleashed hurricane. Ella almost wilted in the face of all that turbulent energy. In his wake trailed two nurses, both wearing bemused, besotted expressions.

Did he have this effect on every woman he encountered?

No wonder the man was spoiled stupid.

At the sight of the baby in her arms, the nurses exchanged glances. Ella looked from one to the other. The baby wailed more loudly.

“Feed her,” Yevgeny barked out.

Instead of rebuking him for his impatience, the shorter nurse, whom Ella recognized from the first feed after the baby’s birth, scurried across to scoop the baby out of her arms, while the other turned to the unit in the corner of the room and started to prepare a bottle in a more leisurely fashion. Freed from the warm weight of the baby, Ella let out a sigh of silent relief… and closed her eyes.

They would take the baby to the nursery and feed her there. Ella knew the drill. All she needed to do was get rid of Yevgeny, then she could relax… even sleep… and build up the mental reserves she would need for when the baby returned.

“Do you want the bed back raised higher?”

That harsh staccato voice caused her eyelashes to lift. “If you’ll excuse me, I plan to rest.”

“No time for rest now.” He gestured to the nurse holding the bundle. “You have a baby to feed.”

Ella’s throat tightened with dread.

“No!” Ella stuck her hands beneath the covers. She was not holding the baby again, not feeling the warm, unexpected heaviness of that little human against her heart. “I am not nursing her. She will be bottle-fed. The staff is aware of the arrangement—we’ve discussed it.”

The nurse holding the baby was already heading for the door. “That’s right, sir, we know Ms. McLeod’s wishes.” The other nurse followed, leaving Ella alone in the ward with the man she least wanted to spend time with.

Yevgeny opened his mouth to deliver a blistering lecture about selfish, self-centered mothers but the sound of light footsteps gave him pause. Ella’s gaze switched past him to the doorway of the ward.

“Can I come in?”

The tentative voice of his sister-in-law from behind him had an astonishing effect on the woman in the bed. The tight, masklike face softened. Then her face lit up into a sweet smile—the kind of smile she’d never directed at him.

“Keira, of course you may.” Ella patted the bedcover. “Come sit over here.”

Yevgeny still harbored resentment toward his brother for the shocking about-face on the baby—not that he’d ever admit that to Ella—and he found it confounding to witness her warmth to her sister. He’d expected icy sulks—or at the very least, reproach. Not the concern and fondness that turned her brown eyes to burnished gold.

So Ella was capable of love and devotion—just not toward her baby.

Something hot and hurtful twisted deep inside him, tearing open scars on wounds he’d considered long forgotten.

To hide his reaction, he walked to the bed stand where a water pitcher sat on a tray. Taking a moment to compose himself, he poured a glass of water then turned back to the bed.

“Would you like some water? You must be thirsty.”

Surprise lit up Ella’s face.

But before she could respond, a vibrating hum sounded.

“That will be Jo Wells. I left an urgent message for her earlier.” Ella’s hands dived beneath the covers and retrieved her phone.

In the midst of perching herself on the edge of the bed, Keira went still.

And Yevgeny discovered that he’d tensed, too. Given Ella’s reluctance to keep the child, she should’ve been grateful for his offer to take the baby. She could wash her hands of the infant. He’d never contemplated for a second that Ella would actually turn him down.

Her insistence on getting in touch with the social worker showed how determined she was to see through her plan to adopt the baby out. Evidently she wanted to make sure it was airtight.

The glass thudded on the bed stand as he set it down, the water threatening to spill over the lip. Yevgeny didn’t notice. He was watching Ella’s brow crease as she stared at the caller ID display.

“No, it’s not Jo—it’s my assistant,” she said.

The call didn’t last long. He glanced at his watch—7:00 p.m. on a Friday night. She’d be charging overtime rates. Ella’s tone had become clipped, her responses revealing little. Another poor bastard was about to be taken to the cleaners.

Ella was already ending the call. “If you wouldn’t mind setting up an appointment for early next week I’d appreciate that,” she murmured into the sleek, white phone. “Just confirm the time with me first, please.”