by Penny Jordan
From Back Cover…
He neither loved nor respected her
A link had been forged the day Claire saved the heir to the desert kingdom of Omarah from assassins. Otherwise, she wouldn't have agreed to masquerade as the infant's mother—and Raoul D'Albro's unwanted wife.
Raoul was prejudiced against Claire. And as long as his eyes burned with contempt for her, Claire felt shielded from his powerful masculinity.
"Even if you were my type," he assured Claire coldly, "your evident greed and the fact that you have a lover would be sufficient to kill my desire for you." Raoul was wrong—in this and more!
Darker Side of Desire
by
Penny Jordan
CHAPTER ONE
'DARLING, I'm sorry about this, spoiling what was supposed to be your holiday treat too.'
'Being with Uncle Henri is far more important than spending the day shopping with me,' Claire assured her godmother. 'It was just lucky that the hospital managed to get through to you before we'd left the hotel.'
'Umm.' A worried frown creased her godmother's forehead. 'Henri has had these attacks before of course, but…'
'You must go to him,' Claire told her firmly. Her godmother's second husband had suffered from angina for several years and Claire knew that her godmother was deliberately playing down her concern because she didn't want to spoil what had been intended as her birthday treat to mark Claire's twenty-second birthday.
'There's a flight back to Paris in just over an hour. I could be on it.'
'You will be on it,' Claire corrected. She glanced at her watch, surprised to see that it was still only seven in the morning. The call which had disturbed their sleep and altered their plans seemed to have come hours ago not a mere fifty-odd minutes. 'I'll help you pack and ring down to reception to tell them that we'll be checking out. I'll come to the airport with you.'
'No, Claire.' Susan Dupont spoke firmly. 'No, I want you to stay on here and enjoy your day as we'd planned. You're looking so tired, darling,' she added softly. 'I wish I could do more to help you. If I could only pay Teddy's school fees for you…'
They had been through this discussion so many times before that she knew what her goddaughter's response would be before it came. Although Henri was a good and kind husband, she was solely dependent on him financially, and both she and Claire knew that if she did pay Teddy's school fees it would have to be without the knowledge and permission of her French husband, who, while he allowed her to spoil her goddaughter upon occasions, saw no reason why he should be responsible for that same goddaughter's brother's school fees, and this was something that Claire would not allow her godmother to do.
'Now promise me that you will spend the day shopping and enjoying yourself,' Susan Dupont pleaded. 'The room is paid for for tonight, and I'll speak to reception and have them forward the bill on to me.'
Claire smiled, signalling her acceptance. Two days in London staying at the Dorchester, all expenses met by her godmother, had been a delightful surprise birthday present, and even if she did not really have the spare cash to shop at the more exclusive stores she knew her godmother had visualised for the treat, she wasn't going to add to her distress by refusing to stay on at the Dorchester when her godmother left. She could easily fill in time wandering round the art galleries and museums, it would give her something to write to Teddy about when she next sent him a letter; and if she returned home all she would be doing would be moping about the small flat which was all she could afford at the moment.
Unconsciously she sighed. Life hadn't been easy since the death of her parents. Teddy had only been eight at the time, and because their parents lived and worked abroad, he had already spent two years at the exclusive and expensive private school their father had also attended. Ten years separated brother and sister. Claire had been on the point of starting university when her parents died. Like Teddy, she too had attended boarding school; her parents had been comfortably enough off for her to share in all the 'extras' the school provided, and she had not really given a thought as to how she would spend the rest of her life.
Then her whole world came crashing down around her. In six short months she had grown from a carefree teenager into an adult. Her father's generous salary ceased with his death, and apart from a modest insurance policy there had been no provision made for the future. There wasn't even a house to sell as her father and mother had lived abroad at his company's expense.
The family solicitor had tried to be as gentle as possible. Teddy would have to leave school, the man had told her, there simply wasn't the money… The proceeds of the insurance policy could be used to buy a modest house and provide a small income. But, rightly or wrongly, Claire had ignored his advice. His school and the friends he had made there were Teddy's whole world. If she took him away from school she would have to pay child-minders to look after him while she was at work and being taken away from his school so soon after losing their parents was bound to have a profound effect upon him, she decided, and so, instead of taking their solicitor's advice, Claire had used some of the money to pay for her own secretarial training, using the rest, carefully eked out over the years, to pay for Teddy's schooling.
Inflation had caused school fees to soar and over the last two years the money she had put aside hadn't been sufficient. A large part of her own salary went towards keeping Teddy at school. Her job was a good one, she worked for the Managing Director of an advanced electronics company based within half-a-day's drive of Teddy's school, but she didn't earn anything like enough to pay for six more years' schooling. Teddy was exceptionally clever, so his school told her, almost definitely Oxbridge material, and for the past few months the problem of how to raise the cash to keep him at school had constantly taxed her mind. She had no real financial assets. Her small Mini was already on its last legs, and the only thing she could think of was to try and get an evening job to supplement her daytime earnings.
This brief stay at the Dorchester was very much an unaccustomed luxury, but she was determined not to add to her godmother's problems by letting her see how disappointed she was that she could not remain with her.
'Now promise me you'll go down and have breakfast. Don't stay up here on your own,' Susan Dupont cautioned when her case was packed. 'Who knows, you might run into that gorgeous man we saw downstairs last night.'
Her godmother was an inveterate matchmaker, and Claire subdued a small grimace. The gorgeous man her godmother referred to had done nothing for her. Oh, he had been gorgeous right enough—far too gorgeous with that thick dark hair, and those unusual green eyes. And despite the formal tailoring of his European suit there had been no mistaking his Middle Eastern origins. They were there in the arrogant pride of his profile; faintly cruel in a way which had sent shivers down her spine and made her think of herself as foolishly imaginative. She had disliked him instinctively. There had been something in the way he looked at her, a careless scrutiny that observed and dismissed with languid hauteur coupled with an unmistakable contempt that burned her pride.
She had seen him again later, in the restaurant, dining with a group of men. Unaware that her gaze had rested on him she had flushed uncomfortably when her godmother followed it and remarked teasingly, 'Mm, there's definitely something about those tall, dark, forceful-looking men, isn't there?'
To cover her embarrassment, Claire had replied acidly, 'He's probably the sort of man who thinks he simply has to dangle a diamond bracelet in front of a woman's eyes and she'll jump right into bed with him.'
Her godmother's rich chuckle had surprised her. 'My dear,' Susan Dupont had responded roguishly. 'I suspect that most women, if they thought such a gorgeous male creature was even thinking about taking them to bed, would be
offering him the diamonds!' She had laughed again at Claire's shocked expression, noticing the sudden tightening of her lovely full lips with a faint sigh. She was full of admiration for the way Claire had shouldered her burdens since her parents' death, but it sometimes seemed to her that Claire was old before her time, not physically but mentally. There had been no time for fun, for the careless enjoyment of dalliance with the opposite sex, before the blow had fallen and now Claire seemed to concentrate all her energies and time on her job and her younger brother. If only Henri would allow her to help, but he had grandchildren of his own and Teddy was, after all, no relation.
'No, don't come to the airport with me,' Susan Dupont reiterated when Claire followed her out on to the steps in front of the hotel to wait for her luggage to be placed in the waiting taxi. 'Go back inside and have your breakfast.' As she got into the taxi she placed a cheque in Claire's surprised hand. 'This is the rest of your birthday present, darling. I want you to buy yourself something nice… something… sexy…' she added with a twinkle. 'Something that would appeal to our friend from the restaurant last night.'
She was gone before Claire could protest. The cheque was a generous one and Claire already knew that she would not spend it on herself. She would use it to replace those items of Teddy's school uniform which most needed attention. Twelve-year-old boys grew so quickly… She suppressed a small sigh.
It was all too easy to imagine the sort of 'something' that would appeal to the insufferably arrogant male nature she had sensed lurking below the warm olive skin and cold green eyes of the man her godmother had referred to. Rich silks and satins. Fabrics with a sensual appeal that would bring the glitter of sexual appreciation to those strange eyes. He would like his women supine and obedient, toys to be played with and then discarded when other, and more important matters took his attention. Unknowingly, her mouth hardened, and she was oblivious to the appreciative looks directed towards her by the hotel staff as she stepped back inside the foyer.
Slenderly built with fine bones, she had an air of fragility of which she herself was unaware. Silver-blonde hair which she wore in a shoulder-length bell because it was easy to maintain, framed a classically oval face. Long-lashed grey eyes surveyed the world with a cool aloofness that had been born the day she woke up and suddenly found she was alone with full responsibility for an eight-year-old boy. Always neatly groomed, her clothes were useful rather than alluring. Neat suits and high-necked blouses which she wore for work, bought normally in end-of-season sales. There were no 'pretty' clothes in her wardrobe, apart from the ridiculously expensive gifts she received from her godmother; beautiful silk undies, a cashmere jumper, things she never wore without thinking how much they cost and how that money might have been eked out on more practical garments. Of course she longed for nice clothes, for luxuries, and perhaps when Teddy eventually left university… She pulled a brief face. By then she would be in her thirties… It was a subject on which she refused to dwell.
There had been several men at work who had approached her for dates, but once they learned about Teddy their interest had waned sharply. And who could blame them? She was certainly not prepared to enter into any relationship which was one of mere sexual indulgence, and yet what man would want to marry her knowing she was responsible for a young brother? That problem was one she refused to dwell on too deeply. Of course she had had the normal feminine dreams. She had envisaged for herself a husband, a family, at some dim date in the future, after she had left university and enjoyed her freedom for a few years, but now she was resigned to the fact that she would probably never marry, and since she was not prepared to go from one affair to another, she had found herself coolly freezing off any male attempts to get closer to her, knowing in advance what would happen when they learned about Teddy.
Thousands of women lived alone these days anyway; she had a good job, a comfortable if small flat. When Teddy was qualified she would be able to travel… and yet somehow the picture of her future did not appeal. Although she enjoyed her job she was no career woman. Of course she did not want to batten on to a man simply to escape being alone. She wanted to love and be loved, Claire admitted as she headed for the lift. She wanted to share and enrich her life with another human being.
Her room was on the second floor, where the corridor was carpeted in a richly warm crimson and cream with a luxuriously thick pile. The room she had shared with her godmother was almost as large as her entire flat, and far more luxuriously furnished. Dressing in a soft tweed suit in mauves and lilacs with a toning grey silk blouse, she brushed her hair into its neat bell, applied a discreet touch of make-up and then picked up her bag and key. Over breakfast she would decide how to spend her day.
At first when she stepped into the dining-room she thought she must have mistaken her directions and that she had inadvertently strayed into a private room. A large party of Arabs—all male—were seated together in deep discussion, and her own entrance occasioned an immediate and embarrassing silence which held her immobile on the threshold of the room until a waiter came forward and led her to a table.
All the way down the length of the room Claire was conscious of male eyes following her progress, studying her, assessing her, but the scrutiny she was most aware of was that which came from ice-cold green eyes that seemed to follow her every step, carelessly dismissing while still assessing her.
It was an unnerving experience, and she was dismayed to discover how much her hands trembled when she eventually sat down. She should have breakfasted in her room, but it was too late—and too obvious—to get up now and walk away.
As her composure returned she realised that she was not, as she had thought, the only female in the room. Several tables away a young Arab girl was trying to feed a small baby, strapped into a highchair. The child, a little boy, was protesting volubly, pushing away the proffered spoon, and Claire could tell that the girl was getting impatient with him. Twice she slapped the small plump legs, raising crimson marks, making the child cry loudly in retaliation. The girl was too uncaring to be the child's mother, and Claire guessed that she must be his nurse, but there seemed to be little sympathy between them, and she was aware, as she glanced up from her own breakfast, that the man with the green eyes was also studying the little boy and his nurse, with a frown.
When the proffered spoon was pushed away for the umpteenth time the girl lost her temper, forcing it into the small mouth. The result was inevitable. The child started to cry loudly, and his efforts to avoid the unwanted food dislodged the dish holding it, spreading it over the table and the floor. The girl threw down the spoon, smacking the chubby legs hard as she pushed away her own chair. Claire noticed that as she stood up she glanced at her watch, hesitated, and then saying something in Arabic to the gathered men, walked towards the door.
The baby was still crying, quite hard now, and against her will Claire felt herself sympathising with him. He had been naughty with his food, but perhaps if the girl had cajoled instead of forced he might have been better behaved. He was wriggling violently in his chair, and Claire gasped as she saw it tilt, rushing instinctively to steady it before it fell.
Close to the baby was enchanting, with soft olive skin and huge tear-drowned dark eyes. He clutched hold of her blouse, the crying stopping as he gazed up at her. He wasn't even secured properly in the chair, and Claire wondered a little at the child's parents, allowing such an inexperienced and uncaring girl to have charge of him. Was one of the men seated at the table the child's father? She glanced towards them and found herself pinned where she stood by the sharply cold glance of the man with the green eyes. What was the matter with him? she thought, unconsciously touching her tongue to suddenly dry lips. Did he think she was going to run off with the baby? His eyes dared her to so much as touch the child, and perhaps it was that, or perhaps it was the piercingly forlorn cry the baby gave as she started to move away that prompted her next action.
Almost automatically she turned back, smiling a little as the baby, se
nsing victory, lifted his arms. She half expected the man watching them to tear the baby out of her arms, but surprisingly no one moved. When she had been training to be a secretary she had often supplemented her income by baby-sitting and although it had been a couple of years since she had last held such a small child she found herself instinctively slipping back into the mothering role.
The olive cheeks were faintly flushed, his skin hot, and Claire guessed that he was probably teething. His clothes were obviously expensive but crumpled and stained with food. Suddenly realising what she was doing Claire moved to put him back into the chair. He cried protestingly, clinging on to her. Torn between common sense and an inborn instinct to comfort him she glanced across the room. He was still watching her and it was something in that look that impelled her towards defiance. Turning away from the chair and walking back to her own table, she soothed the complaining howls, murmuring soft nonsense which seemed to have the desired effect for the cries gradually ceased. She had just reached her table and turned when she saw the men enter the room.
Later she decided she could only have acted by blind instinct, because surely there hadn't been enough time for her to register the menacing appearance of the gun; the silent intent of the man pointing it towards the now empty highchair, and even as he sought her out she was pushing over the sturdy table and crouching behind it, cradling the baby as she heard the sharp splinter of china and another noise that chilled her blood.
Gunfire was something she was familiar with from television, but she had never before experienced it so close at hand. The silence that followed those staccato spurts of sound was, in its way, even more terrifying than what had gone before. Dimly she was aware of running feet, of doors being closed, of someone approaching, a dark hand resting on her shoulder. She knew she tensed, unable to turn and look up, her too-vivid imagination working overtime, so that when she was eventually able to move the first thing she saw was the gun, held casually in the hand of the man standing over her.