Sheikh's Royal Baby Revelation

by Annie West

  Or an all-out assault on her senses.

  Ashraf considered seducing her here and now. Till he remembered her concern to do the right thing by him and Oliver. He owed her more than that. Even though he was impatient for their physical union.

  She spoke of a visit to his country, whereas he intended to keep Tori and Oliver with him in Za’daq. Permanently. That would require a concerted attack on Tori’s doubts and defences. Showing her how much his homeland had to offer, how much he could offer.

  ‘You have my word. On my family name and my country’s honour I won’t keep you or Oliver in Za’daq if you wish to leave.’

  Ashraf’s mouth curved. He looked forward to convincing her to stay.

  CHAPTER SIX

  TWO DAYS LATER Tori peered through the window of Ashraf’s private jet, taking in tawny desert plains far below and misty blue-smudged mountains in the distance.

  If it wasn’t for the high ridge of mountains this might be central Australia’s vast arid zone. But the tension prickling her skin belied the comparison.

  This was where she’d been kidnapped.

  Where those men—

  Ashraf’s hand covered hers where it gripped the armrest. His touch quelled the shudder ripping through her.

  ‘Okay, Tori?’

  She wasn’t. She’d told herself she could do this, that it was right to do this. But at the sight of the desert she felt terrifying memories stir. Distress prickled the back of her eyes and she feared she’d lose the exquisitely prepared meal she’d just eaten.

  ‘Of course.’ She blinked, keeping her focus on the view as the shudder reduced to a rippling undercurrent of unease. ‘It can’t be long till we land.’

  Ashraf said nothing. He must have registered her anxiety, yet instead of pulling back and following her lead in the change of subject he leaned closer, his warmth penetrating through her jacket and shirt.

  Tori caught her bottom lip, stunned at how needy she felt for more. Even now, when fraught memories threatened her fragile composure.

  Ashraf’s breath caressed her cheek as he pointed to the mountains in the distance. ‘Those foothills mark the border territory between Za’daq and Assara. You were abducted there, then brought to the encampment on this side of the border.’

  Tori didn’t want to think about it. Yet she craned towards the window.

  ‘Then you crossed back into Assara. No wonder we couldn’t find a trace of you. If you’d worked in Za’daq we’d at least have been able to identify you through your work visa.’

  Tori wasn’t interested in unmarked borders or the state of record-keeping in the neighbouring country of Assara. She stared at the sharply folded hills and her stomach swooped.

  ‘The people there are very poor,’ he went on. ‘That’s one of the reasons I’m considering allowing mineral exploration in the region.’

  ‘Mining doesn’t necessarily lead to money for the locals. Some are employed for minimum wages but most companies bring in their own expertise.’

  She worked in the industry but that didn’t mean she was blind to its flaws.

  ‘It depends on the terms negotiated,’ Ashraf responded. ‘Nothing will be endorsed unless it provides decent local employment and infrastructure. Profits will be channelled into regional initiatives.’

  Tori blinked. In her experience profits went to wealthy investors, making them wealthier.

  ‘That’s very admirable.’

  His fingers tightened, reminding her that he still held her hand. Then he withdrew, leaving her feeling ridiculously bereft.

  ‘You thought my interest was for personal gain?’ Ashraf’s lovely deep voice sounded different. Distant. Or perhaps affronted.

  ‘No.’ She swung round to meet his stare. ‘I—’

  ‘It’s fine, Tori.’

  Though when he said her name it wasn’t with the warmth she’d become accustomed to.

  ‘It’s what many will think—that I’m looking for riches to spend on myself rather than the public good.’

  No mistaking his bitterness.

  ‘But contrary to popular opinion my focus is my people, not myself.’

  She was intrigued—not only by his words but also by the hint of vulnerability she’d sensed at his withdrawal. It belied the haughty cast of his expression.

  ‘Your people believe you’re not interested in them?’

  He shrugged, those wide shoulders spreading. ‘Many do. Or at least...’ He paused, as if choosing his words. ‘I spent several years scandalising polite society with my “reckless, self-absorbed, self-indulgent lifestyle”. Some find it hard to believe that’s over.’

  Anxiety forgotten, Tori twisted towards him. ‘That sounds like a quote.’

  ‘Sorry?’ His eyebrows crinkled in confusion.

  ‘The bit about being reckless and self-indulgent. It sounded like someone else’s words.’

  Ashraf’s eyes widened and she read his surprise. Then his gaze became shuttered. Clearly this wasn’t something he’d allow her to pursue. But whose words had made such an impression?

  ‘You’re not reckless and self-indulgent now.’

  It wasn’t a question. How could it be when Tori had first-hand experience of Ashraf’s character? He’d tried to protect her in the desert. He’d searched for her for over a year, never giving up. He’d accepted his role as Oliver’s father without question, without even hinting about the need for a paternity test. No avoidance or denial, just unflinching acceptance of the circumstances and a determination to do the best he could.

  One black eyebrow rose as if he doubted her assessment.

  ‘Well, you’re not.’

  It was true that he’d been notorious—as Tori had discovered when she trawled the Internet. But for the last two years he’d barely been out of Za’daq. Every photo showed a serious, almost grim man, usually surrounded by a flock of courtiers or regional leaders. News reports about him focused on social and political issues, regional trade discussions, health improvements and so on.

  However, older reports revealed that the younger Ashraf had lived a lifestyle that kept the paparazzi on its toes.

  Skiing at the trendiest resorts, escaping to fabled islands in the Pacific and the Caribbean, frequenting exclusive clubs, casinos and the sort of parties that fuelled the media’s insatiable appetite for gossip.

  She’d found photos that had made her stare. Prince Ashraf stumbling out of a casino in the early hours, accompanied by not one glamorous model but three, all looking as if they’d like to eat him for breakfast. A long-distance shot of him diving, naked, off a billionaire’s yacht after a week-long party. Even the grainy quality of the shot hadn’t disguised his taut, powerful frame, and Tori’s pulse had tripped to a rackety beat.

  ‘You sound very sure of my character,’ he murmured, and she couldn’t work out if he was annoyed, intrigued or merely making an observation.

  Tori shrugged, turning to the view. This time those rugged hills didn’t fill her with quite the same dread, though she still found herself clasping her hands tight.

  ‘There’s a lot I don’t know about you, Ashraf, but we’ve shared some intense experiences. Self-absorbed isn’t how I’d describe you.’

  ‘How would you describe me?’ he asked after a heartbeat’s silence.

  Tori sucked in a breath.

  Magnetic. Sexy. Disturbing.

  And one step ahead of her since the moment he’d confronted her in Perth. Tori felt she was playing catch-up with someone who knew the rules in a game she had yet to learn. And yet...

  ‘Decisive. Obstinate, but with a well-developed sense of responsibility. Used to getting your own way.’

  Tori heard a crack of laughter but refused to look at him. She’d seen him smile, felt the full force of his attractiveness, and wasn’t ready to face it again. Not when she was so out of her
depth.

  ‘If only that were true. Being Sheikh means tempering my impatience for change so I can persuade others to see my vision for the future.’

  Curious, unable to resist, she finally turned, noting the tiny lines bracketing his firm mouth. Lines that spoke of weariness and restraint.

  ‘I thought the Sheikh of Za’daq had absolute power? Can’t you just make a decree?’

  ‘You’ve done your homework.’

  ‘A little. I haven’t had time to discover much.’

  Again Tori experienced that plunging sensation in her stomach. Everything had happened so quickly.

  ‘There’s plenty of time to learn all you want to.’ He paused, ebony eyes resting on her in a way that made the blood sizzle under her skin. ‘And you’re right. Technically I have the power to do as I wish. But in practice the Sheikh works with the Royal Council, which is made up of powerful provincial leaders. It would be madness to institute major change without bringing the Council on board.’

  His tone was easy but Tori sensed strong emotion ruthlessly repressed. Or perhaps she was making something from nothing. Essentially he was a stranger. Surely it was crazy to believe she could read him.

  Tori tugged her gaze back to the view.

  ‘It’s true, you know...’

  His voice dropped, holding a low, resonant note that ran through her like warm treacle.

  ‘The border province is peaceful now. You have nothing to fear in Za’daq. You and Oliver are safe in my country.’

  Safe? Protected from marauding bandits, perhaps. But Tori knew with a shiver of premonition that the most perilous threat came from the man beside her. The man determined to raise Oliver as a Za’daqi prince. The man who’d turned her world on its head and undermined all her certainties.

  * * *

  She was glad of Ashraf’s supporting hand as the plane’s door was opened to reveal steps down to the Tarmac. For as they emerged bright sunlight engulfed them, and with it the scent of the desert.

  A tremor of panic racked her, making her shake all over, gluing her soles to the top of the steps. Rough fingers seemed to scrabble up her nape then curl around her windpipe, crushing the flow of air.

  It should be impossible to smell anything other than aviation fuel and the warm cinnamon notes of Ashraf’s skin as he stood close. Yet her nostrils twitched, inhaling the faint scents of dry earth and indefinable spice she associated with the desert.

  Instead of hurrying her down the stairs Ashraf stood unmoving, his hand firm at her elbow, giving her time to take it all in. The airport building to one side. Cars at the foot of the steps, where a knot of people waited. Hangars, aircraft. And beyond that, just visible over a collection of modern buildings, arid brown earth.

  Tori inhaled sharply, fear stabbing her chest. Her arms tightened around her sleeping son and the pulse of her blood became a panicked flurry in her ears.

  Ashraf spoke. She heard the reassuring murmur of his voice, felt his gaze on her face, and finally managed another breath, steadier this time.

  Eventually his words began to penetrate. A gentle flow describing the new airport building, finished last year. The recent economic boost as Za’daq had capitalised on its location to become a regional transport hub. The businesses clustered around the airport as a result.

  Another listener would have heard a sheikh proud of his country. But Tori, catching his eye as her body finally unfroze, saw concern glimmer in those black eyes. A whump of emotion hit her. Like the invisible force-field of an explosion that would have knocked her off her feet if he hadn’t held her.

  He knows. He understands.

  There was no impatience in those strong features. Just reassurance to counter the chill that defied the blaze of sunlight and turned her bones brittle.

  Had he expected her to panic? Tori had been nervous, but nothing had prepared her for the sudden freezing dread.

  She took a breath, then another. This time Ashraf’s warm scent filled her nostrils, and Oliver’s comforting clean baby smell. Tori licked her lips, moistening her mouth. Ashraf followed the movement and heat of another kind flared.

  ‘So much development in such a short space of time,’ she murmured, her voice husky. ‘It must have taken a lot of work.’

  It wasn’t an insightful observation but it was the best she could do. Ashraf nodded. He appeared relaxed, yet Tori felt the tension in his tall frame, as if he was ready at any moment to gather up both her and Oliver. His eyes flickered to the baby and Tori read his unspoken question.

  But with his help her panic had passed. Her knees had stopped wobbling and her hold on Oliver was firm. She inclined her head and Ashraf turned towards the steps and the group of people watching.

  He led the way, taking his time as he spoke about the long-term vision to make Za’daq a centre for communications and information technology.

  Neither the aircraft crew nor the people by the limousines would have guessed at Tori’s sickening wave of fear. Gratitude filled her for Ashraf’s support. Especially when they finally reached the Tarmac and she read the barely veiled disapproval on some of the faces turned her way.

  An older man approached and bowed. The bow spoke of deference, but the dismissive glance he cast her and Oliver spoke volumes. It shored up her determination to stand tall.

  Ashraf frowned as the man spoke. His voice was no longer mellifluous and reassuring as he asked the man a question, then another, in the same language.

  A short time later, after a few brisk words from Ashraf, the entourage retreated to the limousines.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, turning to her. ‘Something has come up which requires my attention. I won’t accompany you to the palace. But you’ll be well looked after.’ He gestured towards a slight gangly figure in a pale grey robe who, instead of retreating with the others, stepped forward. ‘Bram will see you settled.’

  This man also bowed to Ashraf, but then turned and bowed to her too. ‘Ms Nilsson.’

  He straightened and Tori looked into a pair of blue eyes, startling against swarthy skin.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

  ‘And you... Bram.’ Had she heard that right? She’d thought it an Irish name.

  He smiled, his mouth hitching higher at one side because of a long scar cleaving his cheek. ‘This way, please.’

  Tori peered up at Ashraf. He was her only anchor in this foreign place. She battled the impulse to clutch him. That impulse was far too strong.

  Ashraf opened his mouth to speak again but she forestalled him. ‘It will be good to get Oliver settled.’ Their son was awake now, waving one tiny hand. Soon he’d be demanding a feed.

  The predictability of his needs helped ground her. Nothing was more important than Oliver. So, within minutes of arriving in Za’daq, she and her son were on their way to the capital while Ashraf attended to his important business.

  Bram, in the front beside the driver, turned with that lopsided smile. ‘There’s our destination. The royal palace.’

  Tori’s nerves jangled as she stared. Of course a king would live in a palace. She’d had so much on her mind she hadn’t considered that.

  The palace sprawled magnificently across a hill above the city. Its acres of white stone gleamed in the sun, making it visible well beyond the city fringe.

  From a distance its size and pristine colour caught the eye, and then its fairy-tale towers and gilded domes. Eventually, as the limousine climbed a road lined with public parks, Tori felt her breath catch at the palace’s sheer beauty. There was carved marble, patterns of lustrous tiles worked in deep blues, greens and golds. Even the intricate ironwork of the tall fence pleased the eye.

  Yet Tori’s skin turned clammy. This was Ashraf’s home? The place he wanted her and Oliver to live? This was a palace for a potentate, proclaiming wealth and power. Despite its beauty, it sent a shudder through
her.

  It didn’t matter that they were only visiting, or that he hadn’t mentioned marriage again. She suspected Ashraf wasn’t a man who’d easily give up when he had his mind fixed on an idea. If they were to agree on some way of sharing Oliver this place would become a significant part of her son’s life and therefore hers.

  As the daughter of a senior politician she’d attended functions at luxury hotels and private venues, but never anywhere like this.

  She looked down at the slate-blue trousers and jacket she’d thought so perfect for travelling and felt completely out of her depth. But how did one dress for a palace straight out of a fairy tale?

  A bubble of panicked laughter rose as she tried to imagine herself bedecked in glittering gems or ermine or whatever it was that royals wore in places like this.

  If Ashraf were here beside her it would be easier.

  Even thinking that felt like a betrayal. Tori had always stood up for herself and it was especially important that she do so now. Ashraf and his managing ways had swept her back to a country where she’d never wanted to venture again.

  Once more icy fingers played up her spine. Had she made the biggest mistake ever, coming here? She’d agreed to come when she’d been tired and stressed, thrown by seeing Ashraf again when she’d believed him dead.

  She’d experienced a destabilising uprush of emotions on seeing him so caring of Oliver, so charismatic that her heart had fluttered in a ridiculous butterfly beat high in her throat. That toned, muscle-packed body, those incredible eyes that seemed to see more of her private self than anyone ever had. Even the thin scar along his ribs that told the story of their near-death experience made her feel close to him. As if they shared something profound.

  Tori huffed a silent laugh. They did share something significant. Oliver.

  Of course she’d done right in coming here. This was a first step in coming to an agreement about how their son would be raised.

  Tori’s gaze slewed back to the dazzling white edifice taking up the whole hilltop, her hands clenching. She needed some space after days and nights in Ashraf’s company. Yet...she missed him.