She noticed the faint shadow of new beard at his jaw and found herself wondering how often he shaved. She didn’t know. Just as she didn’t know what he liked to eat for breakfast, or how he spent his days. She didn’t know anything about his mother or his father and very little about his dead wife. His wife, she reminded herself bitterly. The woman he was married to when he slid your panties down before giving a low laugh of exultant pleasure as he discovered your molten heat. The memory filled her with shame—shame that she had done it and shame that it still had the power to turn her on.
This man is nothing but a stranger to me, she realised. I may have borne his child, but I don’t know him. Just as he didn’t know her. To him she was just a woman he’d bedded one night in a tiny Scottish town. A woman who had pressed her body close to his and murmured against his mouth, ‘Please. Oh, please...’
Shuddering with self-recrimination, she found herself wishing she could close her eyes and, when she opened them again, discover that this whole meeting had been nothing but a bad dream.
But that wouldn’t be fair on Cameron, would it?
She couldn’t keep hiding the truth about his father’s past, no matter how much it suited her. She had been without a father during her own childhood and had been bitterly aware of the great gaping hole that had left in her life. Did she really wish the same for her child?
She wondered if her misgivings were showing on her face and if it was that which prompted the speculative look which Kadir iced at her.
‘There’s something else we need to discuss, Caitlin,’ he added silkily. ‘Just in case you were thinking of concocting some kind of disappearing act, I would strongly advise against it. Because not only would it be a complete waste of your time, it would also make me angry and that is never a good idea. And besides,’ he finished, his voice dipping to a husky note so that it sounded like smoke on velvet, ‘no matter where in the world you go with my son, be sure that I will seek you out and find you.’
CHAPTER THREE
CAITLIN’S PULSE WAS hammering as she fled the hotel for the ferry terminal to catch the boat taking her back to her tiny island home. Usually, on one of her rare trips to the city, she would treat herself to a detour. A little relaxation and luxury and a contrast to her very basic life on Cronarty. She would peer into the windows of the big, bright shops before treating herself to a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows floating on the top as she watched the tourists bustle by. But today her mind was so full and her heart so heavy that she couldn’t face it. How could she possibly relax in the light of what she’d just learned? She needed to get home—and as quickly as possible.
On board the ferry she stared straight ahead, breathing in the cold, clean air in an attempt to calm herself. But nothing could stop the thoughts which rattled through her head as she saw the craggy peaks of Cronarty in the distance. She’d been born on this island. Been schooled here. She’d grown up watching her mother dream her foolish dreams, then watched as those dreams had been smashed—over and over again. As her mother had gone to pieces, Caitlin had internalised it all with the acquired bravado of the only child, refusing to show any pain, even when that pain had become unbearable. And although she had been glad to escape to the big city once the long battle had ended, Cronarty had been the only place she had thought of coming to when she’d discovered she was pregnant and alone. The island had felt safe, with its soaring clifftops and stunning beaches, against which the mighty, foam-capped waves of the Atlantic crashed.
But suddenly it didn’t feel safe any more.
She shook her head, as if that might somehow dislodge the memory of the dark and brooding sheikh, but his image seemed to be firmly rooted in her mind.
Stepping off the ferry, Caitlin began to walk towards her tiny cottage, the chill wind whipping around her. Sometimes Morag brought Cameron to meet the boat if she’d been away but they wouldn’t be expecting her back until later. What on earth was she going to say to them? How could she possibly explain to her sensible babysitter that her son’s father was a powerful desert sheikh with whom she’d had a one-night stand? More importantly, how was she going to tell Cameron himself? She bit her lip. She hadn’t lied to him. She never lied to him—she’d answered any questions he put to her but there hadn’t been many. He’d been too busy kicking a ball or swimming in the cold waters down by the bothy to pay much attention to his ancestors. Children on this remote place weren’t into tablets or mobile phones. Why, she didn’t even own a television set!
And Cronarty inspired its own particular form of loyalty—so that when Caitlin Fraser had returned to its shores, her belly huge and swollen with child, nobody had interrogated her about where the father was. In a way, living there was a bit like living in a capsule that time had forgotten. Cameron hadn’t yet started school on the mainland, so his upbringing had been beautifully unspoiled. And yes, she was sure people occasionally wondered why the pale and fey Caitlin Fraser had a wee boy whose hair was as black as the night and whose skin possessed the deep gleam of polished gold. But they never asked.
And now?
Caitlin stared up at the sky, where heavy clouds as dark as iron were massing ominously on the horizon.
Now the outside world was about to burst in on their quiet little life like an unexpected explosion detonating the night sky. Her son was soon to discover that his father was one of the most powerful kings of the desert and tomorrow they were being flown to London so he could meet him. How did you even begin to frame something as monumental as that?
Guilt had riddled her heart for years whenever she’d thought about the lack of a father in Cameron’s life—a guilt which had been quickly absolved by recalling Kadir’s marital status and reminding herself that men were capable of great deception. Yet Kadir’s wife was now dead. There no longer existed a reason why her son could legitimately be kept from his father. Not even her own sense of hurt at having been so badly deceived...
She shivered as she saw the outline of her home in the distance, but suddenly it wasn’t her little cottage she was seeing, but an altogether different view. A treeless landscape, with distant hills. And a woman with her own dreams of becoming a successful photographer, whose life was about to be turned upside down.
She had been leaning on a five-bar gate, steadying her hand to get the perfect shot of the golden eagle circling overhead. The shot had been perfectly framed when an exotic voice of silk and smoke had disturbed her and the bird—which had swooped away out of focus. Caitlin had whirled round to remonstrate, but the words had died on her lips as she’d found herself staring at the owner of the voice.
Who wouldn’t have been speechless if they were confronted by a man like Kadir Al Marara who had just appeared out of nowhere? A towering figure of a man, with jet-dark hair and skin the colour of burnished metal? Who stood out from the rusty browns of the Scottish landscape with the effortless dominance of a mighty mountain peak rising up in front of you? His black eyes had glittered with an expression she hadn’t recognised, something she’d momentarily thought was haunted. It was only afterwards that she realised she had probably been right. He had studied her for a moment in silence, in a way which should have felt insolent but, instead, it had felt as if she had been waiting all her life for a man to look at her that way.
‘I have disturbed you,’ he had observed.
‘Yes. You’ve frightened the eagle away.’
‘It will return.’ His voice had sounded assured, like no voice she’d ever heard before, and Caitlin had been fascinated by his exotic accent and the woven fabric of his words. When he’d spoken, it had sounded like poetry.
‘Do you know about eagles, then?’ she had asked him curiously.
The shrug of his shoulders had simply drawn attention to their power and Catlin had been so mesmerised by the play of muscles beneath his fine suit jacket that suddenly she hadn’t cared whether or not he was an ornithological
expert or that her perfect shot was now a distant memory.
‘I know a great deal about falcons, for we have many in my country, and all birds of prey share familiar traits.’
‘What country is that?’
‘Xulhabi.’ Dark eyebrows had been raised.
‘I’ve never heard of it.’
He had smiled again but this time the smile had been tinged with darkness. ‘Few people have.’
It hadn’t been the most conventional of beginnings, yet what had happened next had followed a time-honoured pattern—although it had certainly never happened to Caitlin before. The atmosphere between them had been electric. Off the scale. She’d wanted him to touch her. She’d longed to feel his lips on hers and the weave of his fingers through her hair. Even though she’d tried to tell herself it was wrong to feel that way towards a total stranger, she hadn’t seemed able to walk away from him. She didn’t remember what they’d talked about, only that it had felt like the best conversation of her life. At last, she had glanced at her watch, saying she really needed to be on her way, but he had seemed to share her reluctance to leave. And when she’d explained she was driving back to Edinburgh, he had offered to meet her halfway, for dinner. There was a place he’d known...
She’d known it, too. The food was famous and the views to die for. She remembered protesting that he couldn’t possibly get a table at such short notice, but of course he had. He was a sheikh, wasn’t he? A fact he had neglected to tell her during the delicious meal they’d barely touched or the ecstatic night which had followed. But she remembered that when they’d found themselves in a softly lit bedroom, he’d seemed to have second thoughts. Suddenly, he had drawn back, with a stricken look on his face, which should have warned her.
‘I should go,’ he had ground out harshly.
She should have listened to him. She should have let him beat a hasty departure—but desire had made her into a creature she barely recognised. A creature which had been hungry and yearning and craving her first experience of sex. But it had been more than that. She had wanted to comfort him, too. Had wanted to wipe that tortured look from his face and replace it with a smile again.
‘Please. Stay.’ Her words had been little more than a whisper but his answering kiss had told her that his doubts had fled. She remembered the way he had undressed her. His slow exploration and her own wondering reaction as he had taken her to the stars and back. Why, it had been so easy between them that he hadn’t even noticed she was a virgin.
‘Caitlin! There you are!’
She’d been so lost in her thoughts that she almost jumped out of her skin as Morag appeared in front of her, her greeting splintering Caitlin’s erotic introspection. But something was missing, because the childminder didn’t have her precious charge with her...
Caitlin blinked in alarm. ‘Where’s Cameron?’
Had Morag detected the sudden panic in her voice—was that what prompted her perplexed frown? ‘He’s gone to play with little Rory MacIntosh today, remember?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course. Silly of me. I don’t know what I was thinking of.’ Caitlin shunted out a sigh of relief but the concern hadn’t left Morag’s usually cheery face. And wasn’t it an indication of her unsettled state that her first thought had been that Kadir must have somehow arrived here before her, to spirit Cameron away, right from under everyone’s noses?
She looked at the kindly woman she’d known all her life and wondered how she was going to explain everything, knowing she needed to tell the ex-nurse the truth and nothing but the truth. She needed to tell someone.
‘Have you got time for a cup of tea before you go?’
Briefly, Morag’s eyes narrowed, before her face crinkled into a smile. ‘Tea? I thought you’d never ask!
* * *
‘If you would like to follow me, Miss Fraser?’
Caitlin nodded as she trailed the Sheikh’s aide through the huge and intimidating house, aware of Cameron’s hand held tightly in hers. Her own heart was pounding with apprehension but she thought her son seemed more excited than nervous. Maybe that wasn’t so surprising. It wasn’t every day a four-year-old got to fly on a private jet. Or to travel in the chauffeur-driven limousine which had been waiting for them when they’d touched down in London. She’d thought he might have been overwhelmed by a bombardment of new and very luxurious experiences, but the little boy had seemed to take them all in his stride.
‘Where are we going, Mummy?’ he’d asked at one point and Caitlin had known this was the moment of truth.
Looking directly into jet-dark eyes, which were so achingly like his father’s, she had swallowed the lump in her throat. Just keep it simple, Morag had advised her earlier, and Caitlin had clung on to the ex-nurse’s words like a lifeline.
‘We’re going to meet your daddy, Cameron. Remember, I told you about him last night? He’s come to England from a land a long way away so that he can see you.’
This information had been received with a wriggle of Cameron’s shoulders—a gesture which had hinted at anticipation rather than suspicion and Caitlin had told herself she was glad. But she hadn’t really been glad, had she? She had been afraid of so many things—some vague, some not. Because what if he was as blown away by his father as she had once been? What if he looked at her and found her dreary and poor and dull in comparison to his more dazzling parent?
And now they were here at Kadir’s home—or, rather, one of his many international properties, as his aide, Makim, had coolly explained. Caitlin had received this particular piece of news with a sinking heart. She’d been hoping the meeting might take place in another hotel. She had wanted the reassurance of being on neutral territory, knowing that at any minute she could just walk out with her son and that nobody would be able to stop her. But the car had brought them to the most beautiful house she’d ever seen—tall and white and elegant, sitting on a prestigious edge of London’s Regent’s Park. In the extensive grounds she had spotted several stony-faced guards with suspicious-looking bulges in their suit jackets and walkie-talkies within easy reach. A couple of hungry-looking guard dogs had been patrolling the perimeter and she had successfully dissuaded Cameron from going up to pet them. It certainly wasn’t the sort of place you could just walk away from.
She wished Morag were there to provide a little moral support, but the babysitter had been summoned away by a female servant and was currently in the kitchen drinking fresh mint tea.
‘Mummy! Mummy, look!’ exclaimed Cameron, letting go of her hand to point at a pair of stone cheetahs, which stood at either side of a huge set of ornate doors, as if they were guarding it. The two statues were gilded and their narrowed eyes glittered green, like real emeralds. Maybe they were emeralds, Caitlin thought faintly as Makim rapped on the doors, which were opened by a robed servant.
But she barely noticed the servant, she was too mesmerised by the man walking towards them, his eyes fixed intently on the small boy who was gazing around the stately salon in wonder. For a moment Cameron seemed too preoccupied by the vaulted ceilings, the jewelled chandeliers and mighty portraits of robed men on horses to notice anything else. But he must have gradually become aware that someone else was in the room and Caitlin witnessed the exact moment when it happened—the beginning of an instinctive love affair between her son and the father he had never met. And that knowledge was like a sharp blade to her heart.
She saw Cameron’s eyes widen as Kadir walked towards him and the robed Sheikh crouched down so that his eyes were on a level with his child’s. And, far from being disorientated by this exotically dressed stranger, Cameron just gazed back at him with all the bold curiosity of a child.
‘Hello, Cameron,’ said Kadir softly.
‘Hello.’ Cameron’s voice didn’t hold the slightest trace of shyness.
‘Do you know who I am?’
‘I think so.’ There was a pause. ‘My daddy?’
He lifted his gaze to acknowledge the watching Caitlin and she felt another stab of apprehension as she met the fleeting look of anger in his eyes. She told herself it would soon pass and the best way to facilitate that was not to react to his rage—though her resolve was tested when Kadir rose to his feet and held his hand out to Cameron.
And Cameron took it.
‘Shall I show you some of the pictures in the room and explain who they are?’ the Sheikh was asking.
‘Yes, please.’
It was astonishing—and Caitlin’s lips flopped open. When it came to family, it had only ever been her and Cameron. He had never grown up in the bosom of a big, extended clan, with aunts and cousins and grandparents—perhaps that was what made him such a contained child. But there was no such containment now. He went to Kadir automatically and held up his hand to the Sheikh, who curled his olive-dark fingers around it. Almost jealously, Caitlin watched as they moved around the room in perfect symmetry, achingly aware of the physical similarities between them as they stopped in front of the largest portrait of all. Had she deliberately blinded herself to the parallels between them, because it had been less painful that way?
‘Do you see that man on the horse...the man with the crown on his head? That is your great-grandfather.’
‘Is it?’
‘Indeed it is. He was a very famous warrior and also a great scholar. And you see those tall mountains behind him, with snow on them? They are the high mountain ranges of Xulhabi, where sometimes you can see snow leopards, if you are quiet enough and look carefully enough.’
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