by Heidi Rice
The hot promise in his eyes had the heat rushing straight to her core as he climbed off the bed.
‘You need to build up your stamina for the night ahead,’ he added, wiggling his brows as he teased her.
The flush exploded in her core as she watched him stride across the bedroom in his boxer briefs. Her gaze drifted down the line of his spine and snagged on the bunch of muscle in his taut backside.
She would tell him about the baby soon, but for tonight she wanted to indulge in the pleasure of having him all to herself. And make full use of the chance to get to know him better. A lot better.
She choked off a playful laugh.
In every possible sense of the word!
CHAPTER TWELVE
KASIA AWOKE THE next morning feeling warm and sated and a little overwhelmed by the feel of Raif’s big body wrapped around hers. His arm was draped over her waist, his even breathing stroked her nape. His hard chest pressed against her back, his muscular thighs cradled her own legs and something long and firm nestled against her bottom.
She blinked, adjusting to the morning light flooding through the open curtains, and couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across her face.
Who would have guessed the Bad-Boy Sheikh was a secret snuggler?
But, then, there were so many things she’d discovered about him last night. Information that she’d stored away carefully to take out and examine at a later date. Not just the devastating details about his childhood but also what she’d learned about his strength of character, his code of honour and his ability to admit when he was wrong.
The heat settled in her abdomen, loosening her thigh muscles and making her feel giddy at the memory of all the times he’d taken her during the night. That first time, fast and furious and frantic, and unbearably exciting.
And then later, as they’d sat eating together and he’d insisted on feeding her a bite of his steak, the succulent flavour had exploded on her tongue and she’d groaned. The food had been abandoned, and they’d ended up back in the bedroom—and this time the fire had built slowly, sensuously. He’d made her beg, using his tongue and teeth and touch to drive her insane. Around midnight, they’d bathed together in the whirlpool tub in the suite’s bathroom and then started all over again, making the delicious discovery that she could drive him insane in return. She’d finally dropped into a deep, dreamless sleep with his arms around her.
She sighed, the surge of arousal nothing new, but in the stark light of morning came self-consciousness as well.
Shifting on the bed, she lifted his arm and scooted out from under it. Laying it down again, she heard him grunt. He had rolled over onto his back.
She had to cover her mouth to hold in her delighted laugh at the sight of his beautiful torso, all strong lines and sculpted contours, revealed by the sheet lying low on his hips and the tent formed by his morning erection.
Liquid heat throbbed at her core.
Yes, she would definitely have to take care of that erection soon, but first things first. She needed to wash her face, check her hair hadn’t gone completely wild during the night, brush her teeth and work out the etiquette for the morning after a night such as the one they had just shared. She could feel delicious tenderness in her sex, the rub of beard burn on her nipples. Was that normal?
She tiptoed across the room, plucked the bathrobe off the floor where it had been flung during their mad dash back to bed after supper, and put it on. But as she walked passed the open door to the living area, a vague whiff of last night’s dinner hit her nostrils.
Nausea rose from nowhere like a tidal wave. Slamming a hand over her mouth, she dashed into the bathroom, reaching the toilet just in time before her stomach and everything inside it heaved.
When the violent retching finally stopped, she flushed away the evidence of her first bout of morning sickness and slid into a sitting position on the floor. Exhausted.
The nausea still sat like a crouching tiger under her breastbone, ready to pounce, the subtle scent of rose perfume from the vanity offending her nostrils.
She gulped in air. But as she gripped the vanity unit, attempting to hold the new wave of nausea at bay, a deep voice—thick with concern—had her jerking round.
‘Kasia, what’s wrong? Have you just vomited?’
Panic gripped her already tender insides as Raif crossed the room. He wore only the boxer briefs, but the jolt of arousal that always accompanied the glorious sight of his nearly naked body was short-lived.
Her stomach rebelled.
He grabbed her, holding her upright on unsteady legs and sweeping the wild hair back from her face as she bent over the toilet.
‘I’ve got you,’ he said, stroking her back as she retched. The wave finally passed as her stomach emptied, leaving her exhausted and shaky. And terrified.
Tears leaked from her eyes, emotion and anxiety overwhelming her.
Why did the sickness have to hit for the first time this morning?
She’d felt vaguely queasy in the last week, but she’d hadn’t been prepared for anything like this. And the last thing she wanted was for him to witness it.
‘Has it passed?’ he asked gently.
She nodded. ‘Yes, I think so.’
Dropping the toilet seat, he directed her to sit on it, then filled a glass with water.
She had to leave. She needed more time to work out the best possible way to break the news of her pregnancy to him. And having to admit it while she was sitting on the toilet of his luxury bathroom, with her hair rioting around her head as if she’d been electrocuted and her nipples still sore from his lovemaking, definitely wasn’t that moment.
The anxiety she’d taken a break from the night before bounced back.
She didn’t feel sexy and empowered any more. She felt weak, inadequate and worn out.
‘Sip this,’ he said, handing her the glass. She did as she was told, but the cool, refreshing liquid soothing her raw throat did nothing to tame the anxiety still churning in her stomach as she watched him rip Cellophane off a new toothbrush then add toothpaste, and run it under the tap.
Taking the glass from her, he handed her the prepared toothbrush.
She brushed her teeth, aware of his watchful gaze.
‘What do you think has caused this sickness?’ he asked when she had finished rinsing out her mouth.
She concentrated on wiping her lips, deliberately avoiding eye contact as she spoke. ‘It must have been something I ate.’
But even she could hear the tremble of dishonesty in her voice. She had always been a terrible liar.
‘I should probably head home,’ she said, more firmly. ‘It might be a bug and I don’t want you to catch it, too.’
He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even moved.
She swallowed down the lump of shame at her deception. She couldn’t deal with him now, not in this condition.
If she could just get out of here, she would be able to regroup, recharge, re-evaluate. At least her stomach had finally settled.
But as she dropped the towel on the vanity and turned to go, his fingers closed around her biceps. ‘Not so fast. Look at me, Kasia.’ He grasped her chin.
Their gazes connected and the guilt exploded in her chest like a nuclear bomb as he studied her face, the mushroom cloud billowing across her collarbone and rising into her cheeks.
‘We ate the same thing, and I am not sick,’ he said, but she could hear it already in his voice—the edge of suspicion. And see it in the hooded look in his dark eyes. ‘And if it was a stomach bug, I doubt it would have resolved itself so quickly.’
‘Please, I have to go.’ She tried to wrestle her arm free, the frantic urge to flee overcoming her, even though a part of her knew it was already too late.
Raif was not a stupid man, and he could read her far too easily.
His grip on
her arm tightened, a muscle in his jaw flexing as his gaze dipped to take in the swell of her cleavage. And assess the size of her breasts again, which he had noticed the night before were larger than they had been. When his gaze returned to hers, the last of the warmth and concern had leached away, to be replaced by the brutal chill of anger.
Guilt and regret combined in the pit of her stomach to create a deep well of sadness.
The guarded, wary cynicism in his eyes, which had been banished the night before—as they’d eaten and talked and bathed together, as they had made love—had returned.
The closeness, the connection was gone so quickly she wondered if it had ever really existed in the first place, especially when he spoke again, the bite of contempt evident in every syllable:
‘Answer me without lying this time, are you carrying my child?’
* * *
Raif could see the answer in her face before she replied.
‘Yes,’ she said, then ducked her head.
The slow-burning fury in his gut turned to white-hot rage but worse than that was the stabbing pain of her betrayal.
Kasia carried his child and she had not told him. Had she ever intended to tell him?
She had said nothing all through the night they had spent together. While he had taken her with fire, with passion more times than he could count. But also while they had talked, and communicated with more than words.
When he had woken up a few minutes ago, the first thing he had done was reach for her. The wave of panic when he had found her gone had been real and devastating and not just because of the painful erection he’d been sporting. He hadn’t just wanted to take her again, he had wanted to hold her, to touch her, to capture her in his arms and keep her with him. He had never had that need for any other human being in his entire life. He had tried to dismiss it, forced himself to control it, but that instant visceral yearning had scared him on a fundamental level.
The sound of her in the bathroom had brought with it a wave of relief, which had only disturbed him more.
As he had stared at the ornate plasterwork on the ceiling, willing his erection to subside—not easy while her scent filled his nostrils—he had forced himself to assess all they had done the night before, and had tried to figure out what had happened to him.
Kasia had captivated and aroused him, intoxicated him with her passion, her wildfire responses, yes, but more than that he had found a closeness with her during the hours they had spent together. As they had talked, as they had teased each other.
He had spoken of things in his life he had never told another living soul. Not just the truth about his mother, but the truth about the tattoo—how his father had him branded like cattle. The more he’d thought about everything he had said and done, the weaker he’d felt.
Why had he trusted her? When he had never truly trusted anyone in his life? And after so short an acquaintance?
But then his hearing had tuned into the noise from the bathroom and he’d realised she was being sick. All he’d wanted to do was help her.
She’d looked so fragile, seemed so shaky in his arms. He’d held her while she’d retched and felt wretched himself.
That, too, had been a brand-new sensation. If he had been in a similar situation before, not that he ever had, his inclination would have been to allow his lover her privacy. But with Kasia, as with everything else about them, he had been determined to intervene.
Had he sensed her condition the night before? Was that why he had felt this weird connection to her? Had revealed information that he had never trusted anyone to know before now?
It had to be, he thought, desperate to dismiss the hollow feeling that had started to seep into his bones.
She had betrayed him. Had hidden the truth from him. And that he could never forgive.
‘Why did you not tell me?’ he asked, struggling to control the rage, not just at her deception but at his own stupidity.
Her face lifted. The sheen of tears looked genuine, but he steeled himself against them.
She had deceived him, deliberately. The tears weren’t real.
‘I wanted to wait for the right time,’ she said, her voice faltering. She dropped her chin, to stare at the fingers she was clutching. ‘Last night was...’ Her jaw clenched. ‘Last night was special, I didn’t want to ruin it.’
His heart swelled, but he pushed his fury to the fore.
She had deceived him and manipulated him into telling her things he should never have revealed. He would not make that mistake again.
He could not undo last night—but he could use it to his advantage, something he was more than prepared to do for the sake of his child.
His gaze dropped, to take in the swell of her breasts where the lapels of her robe drooped. The surge of heat was inevitable and familiar—and gloriously uncomplicated—the surge of possessiveness not so much. But still it made sense. His child grew inside her. He had always known he would have to become a father, that he would need to have heirs to ensure a peaceful transition of power within his tribe.
Yes, there was his honour to be considered too now. The urge to protect his honour at the oasis, which had made him demand marriage, an urge he had been determined to dismiss only last night as a knee-jerk reaction to the circumstances of his birth, had become stronger than ever.
He needed to start thinking clearly again. Thinking pragmatically. And make decisions based on the good of his people, his position, not based on weakness or want or the whims of a girl he couldn’t even trust.
The child was the only thing that mattered now... His child and the child he had once been. He would give this child the legacy he had worked for twenty years to create, ever since a small band of Kholadi tribesman had discovered him abandoned and dying in the desert, his shoulder covered in scabs from the enforced tattoo, and had recognised him as one of their own.
He owed his tribe his loyalty and his life. He owed this girl neither.
Tucking a finger under her chin, he lifted her gaze back to his and forced himself to hold onto his fury. And ignored the shiver of sensation that always assailed him when he touched her. This indiscriminate desire would come in useful in the years ahead. But for now he had to ask the only question that mattered.
‘Do you intend to keep the child?’
‘Yes,’ she said, covering her belly with her clasped hands as if to instinctively protect the babe within from the suggestion of termination.
He nodded, resenting the leap in his chest.
It was not joy or gratitude he felt. Why should he be grateful or joyous when she had chosen to keep the very existence of this child from him?
‘Then we must be married as soon as possible.’
‘No!’ She stepped back, her eyebrows shooting up as if she was surprised by his demand, panic sparking in her eyes. ‘That’s not... I can’t marry you.’
He grasped her arm, the fear that she would run again churning in his gut, but he clung onto his fury, forced himself to loosen his grip. She still appeared fragile and shaky from the bout of nausea. And bullying her had not worked before. Which meant he would have to reason with her. Something that would be a great deal easier if her nearness didn’t fire every one of his senses, and her refusal to accept their situation didn’t make his temper ignite.
‘There is no other option now,’ he said, struggling to bite down not just on his fury but also his resentment. ‘I will not have my child born a bastard, as I was.’ He ground out the words, hating that he was being forced to reveal his feelings again, feelings he wished he had never shared. ‘As the mother of my child, you will become my princess, you will have everything you could ever want, and our child will be heir to the Kholadi principality. Is that not enough?’ He was offering her everything he had. How dared she refuse him?
‘No.’ She tugged her arm loose. ‘Because I won’t have the one thing I w
ant most. A choice.’
It was the same argument she had used before, the argument that he had eventually agreed to last night, after much soul-searching. But the situation was very different now. They weren’t independent people any more. They were parents and they must protect their child.
‘There are no choices now,’ he said. ‘Not for either of us.’
‘I refuse to believe that, there is always a choice,’ she said, the tears spilling over her lids.
These tears were not fake, even he was forced to acknowledge as much despite his resentment.
Her wariness and her regret were replaced by pride and stubbornness in the upward tilt of her chin and the stiff set of her shoulders. She was prepared to fight him on this, and there was something about her bravery and determination that had a tiny kernel of respect blossoming inside him. But he refused to give in to it.
He had given way once before. He would not do so again.
‘The only choice now is marriage,’ he said.
‘I can’t marry without love,’ she said, as she straightened. ‘And I won’t.’
‘Love!’ The enraged shout came out before he could think better of it. ‘There is no such thing as love. It is romantic nonsense. If that is what you have learned from your fancy education, it is better you stop wasting my brother’s money.’
He had gone too far, said too much, even though every word was true. Her body went rigid, the fierce compassion sparking in her eyes that had stirred him to make so many reckless, foolish decisions from the moment he’d met her.
‘That you think love is nonsense is precisely why I would never choose to marry you.’ She hurled the words at him, the fire and passion reverberating through her slender body, then turned and fled from the room.
He swore viciously in Kholadi, the ugly curses echoing off the marble surfaces like rifle shots.
He forced himself to breathe, waiting for the squeezing pain in his lungs to ease, and stayed rooted to the spot, even though his instinct was to storm after her. Not to let her get away.