The Sheikh's Secret Baby

He met the question in her eyes. ‘I make a point of regularly changing my phone number,’ he informed her coolly. ‘My security people tell me it’s safer that way.’

‘And, of course, it keeps troublesome ex-girlfriends at bay?’ she guessed, forcing herself to confront the bitter truth.

He shrugged. ‘Something like that,’ he conceded. ‘When did you try to contact me?’

Accurately, she was able to relay the exact month—because at that stage her pregnancy had been well established. She’d been determined to show Zuhal that she intended going ahead with the birth, with or without his approval. That she didn’t need a man—or a husband—in order to survive, because experience had taught her that marriage was by no means the magic bullet which so many women imagined it was.

Feeling on firmer footing now, she sucked in a steadying breath. ‘Eventually, I managed to get through to one of your aides. Adham, I think his name was. I told him I needed to speak to you urgently and he promised he would pass on the message to you.’

‘But I never got it,’ he said, his voice hardening.

‘So blame him.’

‘Adham is a loyal servant who would have been acting in my best interests. The palace was in uproar because of my brother’s disappearance and, of course, that impacted profoundly on my future. And not just that.’ His black eyes bored into her. ‘Do you have any idea of the amount of women who are eager to speak to me, who try to phone the palace switchboard?’

‘Strangely enough no, I don’t,’ she answered, colour rising in her cheeks so that suddenly she felt hot and uncomfortable. ‘Tallying up the numbers of your ex-lovers isn’t a pastime which has ever appealed to me.’

‘You could have told him you were pregnant!’ he accused. ‘You knew that would have ensured you got through to me straight away. Why didn’t you do that, Jazz?’

Jasmine licked her lips. Because she’d been scared. Scared of Zuhal’s influence and of the reality of confronting it for the first time. He’d always left his sheikh status at the door of the bedroom, but during that brief and fruitless phone call, she’d got an inkling of the real man behind the very sexy facade. It had taken her ages to get through to his office and during the long wait she’d realised just how powerful her former lover really was. She remembered the way his aide had spoken to her—as if she were a piece of dirt he’d found on the bottom of his shoe. And she’d been fearful that, although Zuhal obviously didn’t want her any more, he might want to claim sole custody of their baby—and he’d have the wherewithal to make it happen.

And that was something she could never allow.

‘You told me you were planning to marry a royal princess,’ she reminded him. ‘I thought that was another reason why your aide was so off with me. There were reports about your burgeoning romance in all the papers. About how two desert kingdoms were going to be united and it was going to be the greatest thing to happen in the region for decades. The Dream Desert ticket, I think the tabloids called it.’ Which had been another reason why she’d stopped reading them. ‘Wouldn’t it have completely ruined everything if some casual lover had come forward with the news that you were to become a father?’

Zuhal’s eyes narrowed as he forced himself to dismiss her persuasive words. Because weren’t these accusations and counter-accusations diverting his attention from the monumental discovery he had just made?

He had a son.

A ready-made heir.

Perhaps fate was showing him a little benevolence for once.

He looked at the woman standing in front of him. A few minutes ago he’d been kissing her and her response had indicated that if it hadn’t been for the baby’s cry, she would have allowed him to be deep inside her by now. Would she, he found himself wondering, with a brand-new disdain which had blossomed as a result of his unbelievable discovery? Had she become one of those women who would cast aside the needs of her baby in pursuit of her own carnal pleasures? And if that were the case, then wouldn’t that be easy to prove in a court of law—thereby putting him in a morally superior position and demonstrating his own suitability to bring up the child, instead of her? Surely that would be simpler all round.

He noted the trepidation flickering in the depths of her green-gold eyes as she returned his gaze, just as he noted the sudden tension which was stiffening her narrow shoulders. The silence between them was growing into something immense and uncomfortable but, unlike most people would be, Zuhal was unperturbed by it. Indeed, he often orchestrated silence when necessary, for it was a powerful tool in negotiation and never had negotiation been more vital than now.

‘How are you managing for money?’ he questioned casually.

He could see a look of faint confusion criss-cross her brow and wondered if she was disorientated by his sudden change of subject.

‘I manage,’ she said defensively.

‘I said “how”, Jazz?’

She shrugged. ‘I sew.’

He frowned. ‘You sew?’

‘Yes. You remember. I always liked sewing. I was planning to go to fashion college when my mother got sick and I had to defer my place to look after her.’

He thought back. Had she told him that? Even if she had, he suspected it would have gone in one ear and straight out of the other. He hadn’t really been interested in her past, just as he hadn’t been interested in her future, because he’d known there could never be one—not for them. The only thing which had interested him, and for a time had obsessed him, had been the magnificence of her body and the sheer sexual dynamite of their coming together.

‘That’s right,’ he prevaricated as some long-buried fact swam up from the depths of his subconscious. ‘You wanted to be a fashion designer. Is that what you’re doing now?’

She gave him the kind of look which suggested he had no idea how normal mortals lived. ‘I wish,’ she said. ‘You can’t just set yourself up as a fashion designer, Zuhal, especially when you’ve got no real qualifications. For one thing, the overheads would be prohibitive, and for another, there’s a whole heap of competition out there. You see that sewing machine over there?’ Her finger trembled a little as she pointed to it. ‘That’s what I was doing when you arrived. Mostly, I specialise in soft furnishings—cushions and curtains, that sort of thing. People always need those and Oxford isn’t far away. There are plenty of folk with deep pockets who change their decor all the time, even if there’s nothing wrong with it. Probably because they’re rich and bored and can’t think of anything better to do,’ she added.

She seemed eager to deflect his attention from the life-changing news with her mundane chatter, he thought grimly. And she would be, wouldn’t she? But her words made him consider both her income and her environment and for the first time Zuhal took proper notice of his surroundings, his lips curving with ill-concealed contempt. The furniture was of the cheapest variety, the rug threadbare and the paint on the window frames peeling. Only the curtains and cushions redeemed the place, their brightness adding an unexpected touch of jollity to the small room. Presumably her own handiwork.

His disdain turned into anger. And she was bringing up his son in a place like this! The heir to the Al Haidar dynasty was growing up in some scruffy little house on the outskirts of Oxford, with no security at the door and barely enough warmth inside. He wanted to berate her. To tell her she was unfit to care for his child, but something made him bite back his words as he sensed that hostility would be counterproductive to his cause. He looked at her faded jeans and the sweater with that ugly stain on the shoulder. Wouldn’t it be sensible to offer her an easy way out? To leave her free to live the kind of life she had been destined to live before their paths had unpredictably crossed in an upmarket London hotel.

‘We need to discuss the future,’ he said.

She looked at him warily. ‘What do you mean?’

He took a step closer and then wished he hadn’t because her unsophisticated soapy scent suddenly made his senses become keen and raw. And wasn’t it crazy that, despite his anger, he could still feel the powerful jerk of his erection pressing uncomfortably hard against the zipper of his trousers? Hadn’t she always had that power over him—and hadn’t it been that power which had made him terminate their relationship sooner than he’d intended?

‘What do you think I mean, Jazz?’ he demanded. ‘Did you think I would be content to be granted a brief look at my son before shrugging my shoulders and walking away? That I would be prepared to say goodbye to a child who has been kept a stranger to me until now?’

She swallowed. ‘Of course I didn’t.’

‘You say that with remarkably little conviction!’ he accused.

‘Because it’s all happened so quickly! I wasn’t expecting you to just turn up like this, Zuhal. It’s difficult to know what to think.’

‘At least we are agreed on something,’ he said. ‘Though I think that, of the two of us, I have received by far the greater surprise today. I need a little time to assess the situation properly and work out where we must go from here. Decisions made in the heat of the moment will benefit no one, least of all my son.’

‘You mean…’ Her green-gold eyes looked hopeful. ‘You mean you’ll go back to Razrastan and contact me when you’ve had a chance to mull it over?’

He gave a short laugh. ‘Go back to Razrastan? Are you really that naïve, Jazz? Do you think that, having found my child, I will now exit myself from his life?’ Ruthlessly, he found himself taking pleasure from her lip-biting response to his words. And why shouldn’t he enjoy her distress? She hadn’t given his feelings a second thought when she’d kept his progeny hidden from him, had she? ‘I will return later to take you to dinner. Somewhere neutral away from here, where we can consider our options. I will have one of my people book somewhere suitable.’

‘No. I can’t. That isn’t going to work,’ she protested. ‘I’m not leaving Darius while I go out for dinner with you!’

‘Why not?’ he demanded. ‘Do you think I’m going to have him spirited away while you’re out?’

She met his gaze with a fierce challenge on her face—a look he had never seen her use before. ‘I wouldn’t put it past you.’

He inclined his head in unwilling admiration. ‘You are wise indeed not to underestimate my determination,’ he conceded. ‘But you still haven’t explained your refusal to dine with me.’

‘Because I don’t have a local babysitter, not yet,’ she babbled. ‘And I’m not leaving Darius with a stranger!’

His lips twisted. ‘You think I would compromise childcare, Jazz? He is a royal Prince of Razrastan—and he will be cared for by the finest professional money can buy.’

‘No.’

‘No?’ he verified incredulously.

‘I’m not leaving him with a stranger,’ she repeated stubbornly.

A pulse flickered at his temple as he trained his gaze on the minuscule kitchen which could just be glimpsed over her shoulder. ‘You expect me to eat dinner here?’

‘I don’t particularly care whether you eat or not, since food is the last thing on my mind,’ she returned. ‘But since you are determined to have this meeting, I dare say I can rustle up something for supper.’

There was a moment of tense silence before, slowly, he nodded his head. ‘Very well. I will return at eight.’ He paused. ‘In the meantime, my bodyguards will be stationed around the property, so if you’re contemplating making some dramatic break for freedom, I urge you think again.’

Jasmine stared at him, feeling as if she was being backed into a corner. Was that how he intended her to feel? As if he had all the power and she had none? Because that was true, wasn’t it? She looked at him. ‘Bodyguards?’ she echoed. ‘Are you out of your mind? We’ve been living here perfectly safely for the last six months. This is rural Oxfordshire. We don’t need bodyguards.’

‘On the contrary, you most certainly do. You may have lived that way in the past, Jazz, but those days are over. This child has pure Al Haidar blood pulsing through his veins and will be treated accordingly.’ He slanted her a warning look. ‘I will see you later. Just make sure you are ready to receive me.’

His final request was like a throwback to the past and she wondered how she was supposed to do that. Was he hinting that he’d like her to be waiting for him wearing some tiny scrap of silk-satin lingerie the way she’d done in the past—showing as much flesh as possible without actually being naked? She studied his hard face. Unlikely. At this precise moment, his expression betrayed nothing but contempt. His bearing was both regal and imperious as he turned and walked out of the front door, closing it softly behind him. Jasmine could hear the purr of a powerful car engine as it started to move and now that the shock of seeing him again had begun to wear off, she began to tremble.

Unwanted tears stung her eyes, but she brushed them away as she tried to centre herself and make sense of what had just happened and to wonder how it had all come to this.

She heard Darius beginning to wake again and determination flooded through her in a hot rush as she recognised that she needed to have her wits about her when dealing with a man as powerful as Zuhal.

But most of all she needed to be strong.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE SHOULD NEVER have fallen for the royal Sheikh—that was the thought which plagued Jasmine for the rest of the afternoon, even while she was playing peep-oh with Darius then splashing him in the bath and making him giggle in that heartbreakingly innocent way of his.

But Zuhal had been determined to seduce her, despite the fact that she had been a shop girl and he a royal prince of noble descent. Her marriage had ended and she’d been feeling a failure when the Sheikh had waltzed into the Granchester boutique and subjected her to a highly effective charm offensive. She remembered his dark gaze licking over her skin and it had felt like being bathed in sweet black molasses. Sensing an unknown danger, she had let the other, rather pushy assistant deal with him, but her reluctance to engage had only seemed to increase his desire. Had she been surprised when he had turned up the following day to subject her to some more of that lazy charm? Not really. And she would have challenged any woman with a pulse to have resisted him for long. The strict rules of the hotel concerning relationships between guests and staff meant their resulting flirtation had been conducted amid great secrecy, and afterwards she’d realised that had probably added an extra layer of piquancy.

But the tumultuous ending of her marriage had left her feeling undesirable and Zuhal had changed all that so, of course, she’d agreed to have dinner with him. The restaurant had been small and badly lit—chosen mainly for discretion, she’d suspected—and even though the implied secrecy of that had been a little disappointing, already she’d been in too deep to care. To her astonishment—but not his—she had ended up in bed with him.

It had been…bliss. No other word for it. The soft plunder of his lips. His slow undressing as he had peeled off her cheap clothes. Her first sight of him naked—all that honed and burnished flesh and the unmistakable evidence of just how much he’d wanted her. She should have been shy, or even daunted—but she had been neither. In fact, she had been wet and ready, uttering nameless pleas as he’d stroked erotic pathways over her heated skin. Even the brief pain of losing her virginity hadn’t marred her mounting enjoyment and Zuhal had confessed afterwards that it had added an extra layer of excitement to his. Orgasm had followed orgasm and he hadn’t said anything until afterwards, when she’d been lying gazing up at the ceiling in dazed disbelief as he’d circled a puckered nipple with one careless finger. Turning her flushed face towards his, he had drawled out a single word.

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