Desert Princes Bundle

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘And so for that one omission I was to be punished by being kept in ignorance of my son?’

  ‘Giovanni—’

  ‘No! You have no defence against my accusation because there is no defence,’ he said viciously. He could see the shimmer of tears in her pale green eyes, but he hardened his heart against them. ‘Why did you do it, Alexa? Do you really hate me so much?’

  Hate him? She could have wept at how wrong he was. She had loved him with a passion she had never felt before, nor since.

  ‘Not as much as you seem to hate me.’

  But he seemed distracted, his eyes narrowed, as if he were trying to keep up with his racing thoughts. ‘The past is past and we can’t bring it back,’ he clipped out. ‘The question is—what are we going to do about it?’

  She could see the calculating look in his eyes as he though went a list of options, and Alexa felt her blood grow cold in her veins. ‘Do about it?’

  He heard her fear, and suddenly Giovanni was filled with a sense of his own power. Did she think that she was in complete control—the one who could make the big decisions and have everything her own way? Up until now, maybe—but she was about to wake up to a lesson in reality.

  ‘Do you really image that I am about to just walk away?’ he demanded softly.

  She tried to stay calm, even though the tone of his voice and the implacable look of determination on his face were making her begin to panic. ‘No, of course not. But…but…’

  ‘But what?’ he queried.

  ‘Well, it isn’t going to be easy, is it? If you want to see Paolo.’

  ‘If I want to see Paolo?’ he echoed dangerously.

  ‘Well, yes—I mean, you live in Italy and I live in England. We’re going to have to consult lawyers about access, aren’t we? Draw up some kind of agreement.’

  A nerve flickered in Giovanni’s cheek. Did she realise that with her dust-dry statement about lawyers she had concentrated his mind perfectly? he wondered. That her tentative but lukewarm attempt at appeasement had helped seal her fate?

  His black eyes glittered. ‘You have had things your way for far too long, cara, and that is all about to change.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She could hear the fear in her voice, and she saw from the glint of triumph in his eyes that he heard it too.

  ‘I want to take my son to Kharastan to meet his grandfather,’ he stated flatly.

  Alexa stared at him. Her first thought was that she had played this all wrong—and please couldn’t she have the time-tape back to rewind it? But how far back would she go? To before this afternoon? Or before she had her baby? Maybe she would take it back even further than that—so that she would never have gone to Italy and never met him in the first place.

  She could hear the pounding of her heart, and feel the corresponding dryness of her mouth. ‘Giovanni, please let’s not be hasty.’

  ‘Hasty? You have some kind of nerve! You’ve had nearly five years, and now you’re trying to waste yet more time?’ He took a deep breath, enjoying the sudden panic which had clouded her eyes. ‘Well, I’m sorry—that isn’t an option. I’ve missed enough, and I don’t intend to miss a second more. I’m taking Paolo with me.’

  Giovanni realised that the subject which had dominated his thoughts until a couple of hours ago had now begun to develop different repercussions.

  He was son and heir to a sheikh. But this was no longer just an isolated piece of information, to do with as he wished. The momentous discovery of his own birthright would impact on his son, he realised.

  His son!

  ‘You can’t just pluck a child from the English countryside and transplant him to some exotic place he’s never even heard of!’ she protested.

  ‘I want to take him to Kharastan,’ he repeated stubbornly. ‘And I’m going to.’

  Alexa could see from the obdurate look on his face that he meant it, and she realised that she was going to have to be very careful. ‘He won’t come without me,’ she pointed out softly.

  His answering look could have withered at ten paces, but she forced herself not to recoil beneath its onslaught.

  ‘Then you shall come too,’ he said silkily. As he had originally intended—and, sweet heaven, she would pay for what she had done.

  ‘And if I refuse?’

  ‘You can’t refuse.’ His mouth curved. ‘You have no choice, Alexa. Unless you want an all-out war, with our son as the spoils, then I advise you to co-operate with me.’

  ‘With our son as the spoils?’ she echoed. ‘Like some kind of trophy? If that’s how you see him—’

  ‘That is enough!’ His voice cut through her protest like a guillotine. ‘You have been playing God all his life—you can hardly blame me if I’ve now decided to do the same.’ He raked his fingers through his thick dark hair, his hard-edged smile laced with triumph. ‘The wedding is early next week. We shall fly out there together.’

  She felt dizzy and frightened at his use of the word we—because it almost made them sound as if they were a real family, and nothing could be further from the truth. How words could paint such false and haunting images inside your head, she thought, as a great wave of sadness overwhelmed her. ‘What about my job? And what am I going to tell Paolo?’

  With uncharacteristic hesitation Giovanni mulled over the possibilities—but he had not added to his monumental success without knowing that sometimes you had to step back. At the moment he was nothing other than a curiosity to the boy, and he had no influence on him. At least, not yet—though all that would soon change. Again he felt the clench of something like pain around his heart, and his eyes gleamed dark accusation at her.

  ‘That is your problem, cara, not mine.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘WAKE up, darling. Wake up.’

  Jet-black curls moved beneath Alexa’s stroking hand, and Paolo stirred as the sound of the jet’s engines changed, indicating that they were beginning their descent into Kharastan.

  ‘He’ll come to in a minute,’ she said, aware that Giovanni was watching her every movement, those keen black eyes weighing up everything she did, as they had done for the whole seven-hour flight, and before that as well. She felt as if she was undergoing some silent and tough assessment—as if he was examining her behaviour as a mother to see if she came up to his exacting standards. No, Giovanni hasn’t changed, Alexa thought despairingly—but you aren’t going to let him get to you.

  He had picked them up first thing that morning, in a shiny black chauffeur-driven car which had had all the neighbours gawping before it whisked them off to a nearby airstrip, where one of Sheikh Zahir’s private jets had been waiting for them.

  It was the first time Paolo had ever been on an aeroplane—and Alexa sincerely hoped that he wasn’t going to measure every future flight against this one. She was no experienced traveller herself, but this aircraft of the Sheikh’s fleet was something outside the experience of most people—herself included. The exterior of the plane was dazzling white and sleek as a bird, while its interior was all restrained luxury, with gleaming woods and pure gold fittings.

  There were low divans on which you could sleep, a dining area complete with table and overhead chandelier, a seating section where pure silk embroidered cushions were heaped upon squishy sofas, and a bathroom which wouldn’t have looked out of place in a luxury hotel.

  It seemed that everything they desired could be catered for—from soft-boiled eggs to lamb chops—but Alexa had asked if they could try some typical Kharastani cuisine, thinking that it might be a good idea to get Paolo used to the local food, while he was slightly over-awed with the lavishness of the plane.

  She had seen Giovanni’s eyes narrow as they’d met hers, and he had given a reluctant nod of his dark head in response. Alexa hadn’t been looking for his approval, but she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t enjoyed it when it came.

  Yes, Paolo had loved every second of the flight—which was more than could be said for her. Because for her the most part
had been like tiptoeing through a minefield of unasked questions and forbidden subjects—made worse when their son had decided to nestle in his seat and sleep.

  At least while he was awake there was some degree of civility between her and Giovanni—rather than the thinly disguised friction which was bubbling away beneath the surface like a cauldron of unwanted and un-expressed emotions. It was almost as if neither of them dared approach the more difficult topics—as if to do so might start some mid-air row which would embarrass them and frighten Paolo, or give the discreet crew something to frown upon.

  The sudden drone of the engines told Giovanni that soon they would be stepping into a strange and beautiful land—peopled by an exotic nation of strong, black-eyed men he might have ruled had Fate not decreed it differently.

  ‘What have you told him, Lex?’ asked Giovanni softly, as he watched the boy begin to stir from sleep and he felt the increasingly familiar pang of disbelief and delight that this long-limbed child should have sprung from his loins.

  She heard the urgency and the faintly proprietorial note in his voice, and once more it gave Alexa cause for concern. How far would he go to get what he wanted? she wondered. And how much of Paolo did he want? What if he decided that a four-year-old boy was a pain, and he most definitely didn’t want to be a hands-on parent?

  Yet deep in her heart Alexa knew this was a no-hoper—she had only to see the rapt look on her estranged husband’s face to understand that. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of staring at his son—displaying that sense of a newly formed love-affair which almost every parent had for their child.

  ‘So, what have you told Paolo about me?’ he repeated.

  ‘I haven’t mentioned you specifically.’ She saw the look of simmering fury which hardened his dark face. ‘He knows we’re going to Kharastan—I told him we’re going to a very special wedding in a royal palace. With you.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘He asked when we were going.’

  ‘He didn’t ask why?’ he questioned incredulously.

  Alexa shook her head. ‘Children think differently to adults.’

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  ‘I wouldn’t know, would I?’ he declared hotly. He saw the colour flare in her cheeks and he knew that his barb had thrust home. ‘So, how exactly are you going to explain to him? He needs to know who I am, Alexa—and we need to agree some kind of strategy for telling him.’

  She felt her blood run cold. How quickly things could change. Twenty-four hours and he considered it his right to be included in decision-making. We, he had said—and just the sound of it had sent shivers running down her spine. But how could she prevent it?

  ‘Not yet,’ she said.

  ‘You’re hedging.’

  ‘I’m thinking about Paolo.’

  ‘No,’ he contradicted forcefully. ‘You are not. If you were thinking of Paolo then you might have stopped to consider his needs—and all children need a father!’

  ‘Even if that father has judged a woman and found her wanting in a way that they used to do in Medieval times?’ she declared. ‘Who puts a woman on a pedestal so high that there is no way for her to go other than crashing down?’

  ‘But you played the innocent to ensnare me, didn’t you?’ he accused softly. ‘And I was fool enough to fall for it—mesmerised by the bewitching fall of red-gold hair and those green eyes which sparkled so innocently.’

  ‘I did not lure you,’ she said proudly. ‘I never said I was a virgin.’

  ‘Yet you knew how important it was to me.’ Was it the fact he had grown up to the sound of men creeping in late at night as his mother brought her latest young lover home which made him place a higher price than most Italian men on the question of purity? ‘You tricked me!’

  ‘No.’ Alexa bit her lip. ‘I was too young and inexperienced to ever dream of concocting such a fabrication.’ Too much in love and in awe of this masterly man.

  ‘So why didn’t you tell me, Lex?’

  ‘Because our relationship was about romance—or at least I thought it was. Not a clinical breakdown of past partners—and don’t forget I’d had only one!’

  A nerve flickered in his cheek. His time with Alexa had been the only time in his life he had allowed himself to believe in the supposed fairytale of love. ‘Not romance,’ he snapped. ‘I’d call it fantasy. You pretended, Lex—you know you did!’

  ‘You never asked! It seemed somehow…tacky to discuss something so clinical. You made me feel like the only woman who mattered. I thought you wanted to prolong the anticipation—the glorious agony of making us wait,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t realise that you would have such double standards—that it was okay for you to have had loads of lovers, but my one solitary sexual encounter would be the launching pad for a whole heap of unreasonable accusations. I was either virgin or whore in your eyes, Giovanni—a stereotype, not a real woman.’

  ‘A real woman would not have kept my son hidden away from me,’ he said stonily.

  Alexa drew a deep breath. ‘I did what seemed best at the time. I was wrong. I’m sorry.’

  He flashed her a cold black look. ‘You’ve decided that now is a good time to apologise?’ he mocked. ‘Buying yourself brownie points while you can, are you, Lex?’

  Oh, what was the use? Alexa sat back in her seat, closing her eyes tiredly as she thought of the sleepless nights she’d spent since he had walked back into her life.

  For nights now she had lain awake and seriously pondered the possibility of just gathering up a few vital belongings and fleeing from Lymingham with Paolo—away from Giovanni and all the complications his return had thrown up. It hadn’t been a lack of adventure which had stopped her, but the certain knowledge that she could have run to the ends of the earth and he would find her, now that he had discovered his son. And something else had stopped her, too—something that she had not expected to strike her so forcefully.

  The fact that she could no longer deny Paolo what was rightfully his—a father.

  But how did you tell a child something like that? How did you explain in words a four-year-old could understand just why she had never mentioned him before—and in such a way that she would not paint a black picture of Giovanni? Because that wouldn’t be fair to either of them. And wasn’t another reason behind her reluctance to tell Paolo the slight fear that her son would lash out and be angry with her? Was Giovanni right, after all—was she letting her own self-interest govern her behaviour to the detriment of her son?

  ‘You’re going to have to say something to him soon!’ Giovanni’s voice broke into her troubled thoughts. ‘Because other people already know.’

  Alexa opened her eyes. ‘What do you mean? Which people?’

  ‘I have told Malik—the Sheikh’s aide. Some explanation was necessary,’ he said grimly. ‘How else could I explain why I suddenly wanted to bring a child with me? And Sheikh Zahir will also have been told by now. And word will get out, particularly when we arrive.’ His black eyes sparkled with a hurt he hid behind the patina of a readily accessible anger. ‘Even if I had said nothing onlookers would have to be pretty unobservant not to make the connection—given the likeness between us.’

  ‘No, I guess not,’ she said slowly, her mind full of conflicting thoughts. Because—if she was truthful—wasn’t that another thing which freaked her out? Similarity was perhaps the wrong description—mirror-image might be more accurate, because Paolo was a lminiature version of his father.

  Alexa glanced down at the dozing child. True, Paolo’s skin had not quite the same dark lustre of his father’s—but the jet hair with the hint of a curl to it, and the elegant and patrician features were the same. And the eyes…It was the deep dark eyes which matched most precisely—slanting and intelligent and framed with a thick sweep of black lashes which most women would have paid a fortune to possess.

  With her contrasting pale and golden looks Alexa could not detect a single physical characteristic that she shared with h
er son, and it left her feeling something of an outsider. Like the unsuspecting bird who had nurtured a cuckoo’s chick in her nest. And now she was afraid that Paolo was going to fly away—to a glamorous new life of palaces and sheikhs—while his shop assistant mother faded ever more distantly into the background.

  ‘So, what are you going to say to him?’ he demanded.

  Alexa cast a fleeting look at Paolo, who had fallen back into a deep sleep in the way children seemed able to do in the blink of an eye. She was sure he couldn’t hear—but didn’t they say that hearing was the most acute of all the senses?

  She placed her finger over her lips, but Giovanni shook his head.

  Did she think she could shush him because of the child’s proximity, and thus avoid discussing topics which needed addressing? Nice try. His mouth curved into a hard smile.

  ‘If you don’t want to be overheard, then come and speak to me in private.’ He rose to his feet and walked over to the far end of the luxury cabin, well out of earshot of his son—and arrogantly beckoned to her.

  For a moment she thought of defying him. But almost in the same moment realised that it would be a complete waste of time. Because Giovanni held all the cards, she realised. They were on one of the Sheikh’s flight and he was the son of the Sheikh: the honoured guest. Whereas she was merely a means to an end.

  She had something he wanted—his initial desire for a sexual partner had been superseded by something far more important. Now he wanted their little boy. With a sinking heart, Alexa realised she was effectively trapped—and it had nothing to do with being in the enclosed space of an aircraft. She was going to be as trapped when they landed in Kharastan as she had felt during her short, ill-fated marriage.

  But in the meantime she had her son’s feelings and welfare to consider, and the question Giovanni had asked was important. How was she going to tell him? If Alexa could have buried her head in the sand and prayed for the whole issue to just disappear, then she would have done. But it wasn’t going to, because Giovanni wouldn’t let it—and even Alexa recognised that it would be wrong to do so.