The Desert Lord's Love-Child: The Desert Lord's Baby

Farooq had discarded his jacket, now stood with shirt half unbuttoned, raven mane mussed, glossy locks raining down his leonine forehead, with Mennah perched on his left hip, looking at her gleefully as if asking her to share this incredible find, this giant she’d already twisted around her little finger. He, too, was smiling hugely. She knew it wasn’t at her. This was his pleasure at holding Mennah, his whimsy at his unbridled reaction to her.

“So this is what a bundle of joy is.” He looked down on Mennah, giving her a playful squeeze. She squealed, buried her face into his chest, her fingers going for the hair. He winced, his lips spreading wider with her first pull. He carefully disentangled her fingers. “Ma beyseer, ya kanzi es-'sagheer. It doesn’t work that way, my little treasure. Your father’s hairs remain where they are. Let me give you something else to maul.”

He dipped into his pocket, produced what Carmen assumed was a cell phone. It had probably been designed for him. He pushed a button, had it displaying a video of animals in the wild. Mennah grabbed it in eager hands, lost interest in the moving pictures in just seconds and decided to find out if it was chewable.

Carmen groaned. “Farooq, she’ll ruin it.”

He gave her an imperious glance. “What if she does?”

“Oh, no, you’re not!”

“I’m not what?”

“You’re not walking into her life and showering her with grossly overpriced stuff and letting her tear it apart. I’m not letting you turn her into a brat who thinks nothing has value.”

Imperiousness gave way to scorn. “A harping mother already?”

“A responsible adult, you mean. Maybe you don’t know what that is, having been born submerged in golden spoons, but I’m not letting you do that to my daughter.”

“You’re contesting my parenting methods? When I haven’t had ten minutes to put them into practice? You think I’ll indulge her into becoming a thoughtless, useless, destructive creature? Another assumption, Carmen?”

Mennah saved Carmen from withering under his barrage by performing her favorite trick. Testing gravity. The phone clattered on the hardwood floor.

Carmen swooped down to pick it up, looked at him accusingly.

He shrugged, secured Mennah on his hip as she tried to pluck out his buttons. “It’s too sturdy to be damaged by anything Mennah can do. That’s why I gave it to her.”

She simmered. “That’s not the point. Now she’ll think it’s okay to throw stuff that isn’t her toys around.”

Imperiousness rose further. “She won’t. I’ll see to it.”

“I’ll see to it. As long as you don’t sabotage my efforts.”

Their eyes locked, dueled. Carmen felt her heat rising, her breath shortening as she hauled all the height she could into her five-foot-seven frame in answer to his straightening from his relaxed pose for their confrontation, dwarfing her in size and aura.

Challenge suddenly drained from his eyes, intimidation flooding in its wake. “Who were you waiting for?”

She blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “The super. I have a short in the laundry room. He was supposed to come fix it.”

One eyebrow rose. “You make filet mignon au champignons for him whenever he comes to install a lightbulb?”

“It’s for Mennah.”

His lips twisted on derision. “Of course. Because filet mignon is a staple of a nine month old’s diet.”

“I gave her a taste two days ago and she’s refused to nurse ever since, so I thought if I gave her another taste, she might …”

The rest of her words backed up in her throat. At the word nurse, his gaze moved to her breasts. Breasts that immediately throbbed, their nipples conquering the thickness of her clothes, jutting their hunger. And that he could do this to her with a look, that he should see her helpless response …

His eyes dragged back to hers, pupils almost engulfing the gold in blackness. “So you were waiting for the super. Who didn’t come.” She jerked a nod. “Show me your problem.”

“I’m sure it’s just a short. I would have investigated it myself, but I was almost electrocuted once …”

“When was that?”

“I was twelve …” She groaned. “What’s with the interrogation?”

“You have quite a lot of hang-ups.”

“And you what?” She kept her tone sweet for Mennah. “Think someone who has a couple of phobias shouldn’t be a mother?”

He smiled down at Mennah, drawled, “You said it, not me.”

“You mean you do think it!”

“I mean you said it, not me.” The words were sharp steel, the tone softest silk. Of course for Mennah, too. “I say exactly what I mean. You’d do well to remember that, Carmen.”

She held her tongue as he haughtily gestured for her to lead the way. At the laundry room, he handed her Mennah. Then, without needing a ladder, he stretched up his six-foot-five frame, examined the bulb socket by the light coming from the corridor. In a few precise actions, with the screwdriver she kept handy on a tool shelf, he dismantled it, did something to the wires inside, put everything back together, screwed the bulb back in place then flicked the switch. The light burst on.

Mennah yelped. Carmen croaked, “I’m amazed.”

His lips twisted. “That I know basic maintenance techniques?”

“Considering you have hordes of people waiting on your every blink, I’m wondering why you deemed to pick up the skills.”

“I was taught every survival skill early on, then made myself fully self-sufficient. I can do anything anyone does for me better than them. I only abide others’ services to save precious time for the more important things only I can do.”

Okay. Whoa. “So you’re Sheikh MacGyver, huh?”

He smiled. But not at her, at Mennah, held out his arms to her again. Mennah pitched forward, eagerly throwing herself at him.

Carmen berated herself for her stupid reaction. He’d said he wasn’t taking Mennah from her, and she shouldn’t feel jealous of Mennah’s instantaneous and unrestrained delight in him. He was her father. He deserved the same love Carmen got from her.

His lazy drawl aborted her chaos. “About that filetmignon …”

She gulped down the silly tears. “What about it?”

“You say Mennah loved it, and it did smell delicious when I came in. It’s a pity to let it go to waste.”

“You want to eat?”

“I’ve been known to indulge in the practice.”

“But it’s already cold.”

“You do have means to reheat it, don’t you?”

“Reheating will overcook it, destroy its buttery softness …”