by Annie West
He’d said that before. She blinked as her skin crawled. Something wasn’t right. Did he think she’d lied to him about being unable to conceive? Surely not.
* * *
Tariq looked down at those soft sherry eyes and saw hurt shimmer there. He hefted in another deep breath. He had to get hold of himself.
But from the moment Samira had said the word ‘baby’ he’d frozen inside. The world had decelerated into slow motion, a sense of unreality filling him.
He’d believed he’d never have to face this again. He swallowed, a bitter taint on his tongue. For an instant he’d almost been tempted to think Samira had tricked him into fatherhood, pretending to be infertile. Till his brain had switched on. This was Samira. Honest, up-front Samira. She’d never behave so dishonestly.
Tariq reached out and stroked the hair off Samira’s flushed cheek and she turned her head into his touch, sighing. With relief? He knew he hadn’t responded as she’d hoped.
‘It’s very exciting news,’ he managed at last. ‘The twins will be delighted to have another playmate too, I’m sure.’
‘You think so?’ Samira smiled, her eyes sparkling. She was lit from within, almost incandescent. Tariq shied from the memory of Jasmin with that same expectant glow. And the unavoidable recollection of her months later, parchment-white and still, so very still, beneath the neatly folded hospital sheet.
‘It’s a miracle and a little scary.’ Her hand reached out to grasp his. That was when he noticed she was trembling.
Instantly Tariq pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her slender shoulders. She leaned into him, hugging tight. How could he not have realised she’d be nervous as well as excited?
‘Miracles can be a little frightening.’ Tariq injected a smile into his voice. ‘But you’ll be in the best of hands, I promise.’ Ruthlessly he thrust aside the knowledge that the best hands hadn’t saved Jasmin. Samira didn’t need to hear that.
‘Thank you, Tariq. I know you’ll look after me.’ Her breath shuddered against his chest. She felt so fragile in his arms, so vulnerable. Reassuringly he tightened his hold, pretending to a certainty he was far from feeling. ‘It’s just...’
‘Just what?’
It took her a long time to reply. When she finally did, the words came in a rush. ‘I had a miscarriage four years ago.’
Her words stopped his voice. They all but stopped his heart.
He stepped back a fraction so he could look down into her face. The pain he saw there stabbed through him, slicing a furrow through his heart. She’d been pregnant?
His hands closed convulsively around her and he pulled her close, rocking her against him.
‘That must have been devastating.’
‘It was,’ Samira whispered. ‘It happened just after the news broke about Jackson’s infidelities, when I returned to Jazeer to escape the paparazzi.’
Tariq felt her tremble and comforted her as best he could with long, slow sweeps of his hand at her back. All the time he felt a roiling burst of emotions deep in his gut. Frustration, anger and regret. Samira had gone through so much. Her lover’s betrayal, public humiliation as the scandal hit the press and the paparazzi hounded her and, on top of that, such personal heartbreak.
‘I had no idea. No wonder Asim kept you close in the palace.’ If he’d known he’d have offered his help. But what could he have done?
‘I sort of went into a meltdown.’ Samira burrowed deeper into his chest. ‘I didn’t trust myself in the public eye and I hid out in the palace, not wanting to see anyone. I stayed there for months.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘Really?’ Over-bright eyes lifted to meet his.
It felt as if he’d swallowed splinters of shattered glass when he saw the hurt in those huge eyes.
‘Really.’ Had she thought herself weak for taking time to recover from such devastating blows? ‘I can’t imagine how you coped.’ The idea of losing Risay or Adil made him break out in a cold sweat.
‘I had no choice.’
Pain hammered him when he thought of her going through that alone. Tariq had known Samira for years and understood that, despite Asim’s willingness to support her, Samira would have drawn in on herself, closing out the world and suffering in silence. He’d seen it when she was a kid. She didn’t share her hurt. That was one of the reasons her proposal in Paris had blindsided him, because she’d opened up enough to let him glimpse her pain at not being able to conceive.
‘You’re not alone now,’ he found himself saying. ‘This is our baby and I’ll be here to take care of you.’
He must have said the right thing because Samira’s face lit up with a glow that rivalled the luminous desert sunset.
‘Thank you, Tariq. I needed to hear that.’
He took her hand in his, so small yet so capable, and raised it to his lips. She tasted of sweet, heady woman and despite the gravity of the moment Tariq registered his body’s eager response.
He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted Samira. The thought of her, sexy and ripe with his child, sent his hormones into overdrive.
Until his brain engaged again.
She’d had a miscarriage. She’d been told she’d never be able to conceive again, yet against the odds she had. It didn’t take a genius to realise the risks for Samira and the child had to be higher than average.
He mustn’t do anything to endanger them. She might be in her second trimester, when the risk of miscarriage was supposed to lessen, but Tariq knew how unpredictable, how downright dangerous, pregnancy could be.
The image of Jasmin’s still face rose again. She’d died giving birth to the babies he’d planted within her, the babies he’d married her to acquire.
Tariq shuddered, fear icing his spine. He wouldn’t let history repeat itself. He’d take every possible precaution.
And, he vowed, he’d do it without adding to Samira’s natural anxiety. After one miscarriage she must be nervous about the outcome of this pregnancy. She didn’t need his fears compounding her own.
‘Come on,’ he urged, gently brushing Samira’s shirt from her shoulders, valiantly ignoring the delicious bounty of full breasts in that made-for-seduction lace bra. ‘Let’s get you into that bath while it’s still warm.’
Samira complied with an alacrity that had him almost bursting out of his too-tight skin. She shimmied out of her trousers, wriggling her hips in a tantalising display that made him swallow hard. Tariq had to turn away, pretending to adjust the water temperature when she undid her bra and her ripe breasts swung free. His palms itched to reach for them and his groin tightened unbearably.
The final straw came as she shoved her panties off and swiped her hand over her waist and the slight swell of her belly. Her beatific smile stole his breath but the sight of her naked body, indescribably lush and feminine, almost broke him.
Quickly Tariq reached for her arm, ignoring the sultry invitation in her eyes.
‘Hold onto me as you step in. Don’t slip.’
‘Of course I won’t slip. You’ve got me.’ Her words were a breathy laugh of joy that curled around his heart, making it beat fast and hard.
Stoically Tariq averted his eyes from the sight of her rose-tipped breasts bobbing in the water, the shadow between slender thighs that parted as he watched. Heat speared him.
‘Join me?’ Her voice was a throaty invitation, her fingers clinging to his. She knew as well as he did that he’d never once refused an invitation to get naked with her. On the contrary, he’d shocked her once or twice with the ways and places he’d chosen to sate the ever-present carnal desire they shared.
Tariq forced himself to stand tall, pulling his hand from hers. Samira’s smile vanished, her brow wrinkling.
‘Relax now.’ He couldn’t help himself and bent down to kiss her cheek,
inhaling her sweetness. ‘It’s been a big day.’
Finally she nodded, disappointment tinging her expression. ‘Yes. It’s been a lot to take in.’
Tariq made himself step back. ‘Your maid will be waiting in the bedroom when you’re ready to get out. Just call and let her help you. Yes?’ He waited till she agreed, then turned and made himself walk, stiff-legged, out of the bathroom.
He ached all over. He wasn’t used to denying himself the pleasure of Samira’s body. He’d never known such temptation as watching her strip before him, knowing she carried his child.
He’d found pleasure with Jasmin. He’d been thrilled by her pregnancy. But he’d never experienced anything like this.
Tariq wiped his hand across his face and discovered he was sweating.
Samira was pregnant with his child.
He would do whatever it took to keep the pair of them safe. He would take no chances. Tariq closed his eyes, feeling deep in his gut that churning fear of failure he’d known only once before.
His imagination failed him at the idea of losing her as he’d lost Jasmin.
No! He wouldn’t let it happen again.
Not to Samira.
* * *
‘Are you sure there’s nothing bothering you, Samira?’ Over the long-distance connection her sister-in-law, Jacqui, sounded concerned.
‘No, no. I’m fine.’
‘Except?’
Samira heard Jacqui’s determination to get to the bottom of things. It was a trait that had made her a successful journalist before she’d taken to writing books.
‘Come on, you can talk to me. Something’s not right.’
Samira sighed and sat back in her favourite comfy chair, the one Tariq had transported all the way from Jazeer to her work room. Staring at the mountains bathed in shades of pink and gold by the dying sun, she reminded herself how lucky she was. The doctor had allayed the worst of her fears, assuring her there was no reason she shouldn’t carry this baby to term.
‘Everything is fine, truly. I don’t have any complaints.’ She paused, hearing Jacqui’s waiting silence. ‘It’s just that Tariq is...’ Again she hesitated. How could she admit her husband hadn’t been in her bed in the weeks since she’d broken the news about the baby? Or that she missed him so badly his absence marred her joy at this miracle pregnancy?
How far she’d come from the woman who’d blithely assumed she could have a paper marriage with Tariq. Once she’d experienced his love-making she’d been hooked. Yet it wasn’t just sex she missed, it was the intimacy. The pillow talk, the tenderness, the feeling of wellbeing and closeness that had no equal in her experience.
Was it anxiety about the pregnancy that made her so needy?
A huff of laughter came over the phone. ‘If you ask me Tariq is just like Asim—proud, assertive and overprotective. It’s a wonder to me that two such strong, opinionated men grew to be such good friends.’
‘They bonded when they were very young. You know our home life wasn’t easy.’ Now, that was an understatement! ‘And, from what Asim said, Tariq’s upbringing was tough. His uncle expected him to be a man from an early age. I don’t think there was time for fun, except when he visited us. He was too busy preparing for the demands of the sheikhdom.’
‘From what Asim said? Hasn’t Tariq told you about his past?’
Samira shrugged. ‘I’ve known him all my life, so I know the important things.’ Yet he’d surprised her. He was more complex, powerful and determined than she’d thought. ‘Tariq isn’t the sort of man to open up, seeking sympathy.’
‘That makes two of you.’ She paused. ‘Maybe that’s the problem. Perhaps you need to open up more to each other.’
Samira opened her mouth to protest, then stopped. ‘Is that what you and Asim did?’
Again that gentle huff of laughter. ‘Getting your brother to talk about feelings was almost impossible.’
‘You managed it.’ Asim and Jacqui were blissfully happy. They were one of the reasons she’d had the nerve to propose marriage. She’d wanted at least a modified version of their happy family, even if it was centred around respect and child-rearing rather than passionate devotion. She drew a fortifying breath. ‘How did you do it?’
‘What? Drag your brother, kicking and screaming, out of his comfort zone to confront his feelings?’ Jacqui paused and Samira sat forward, eager for the answer. ‘It wasn’t easy.’ There was no laugh in her voice now. ‘I shared myself with him. I was totally honest.’
Samira cringed. Tariq already he knew her secrets: her desire for a family and her miscarriage, her hopes for this child. Surely that was enough? All she wanted was to resume the intimacy they’d shared until last month.
‘Samira? Are you there?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you’re not sure you wanted to hear that?’
Jacqui was too perceptive. ‘You’ve given me a lot to think about.’
She just wasn’t sure it was the answer for her.
* * *
Samira smoothed the rich cream satin over her thighs. It felt decadently luxurious. A baby bulge didn’t stop a woman from appreciating beautiful lingerie.
She twisted in front of the workshop’s full-length mirror. The neckline plunged deep, edged with the exquisite embroidery she’d commissioned in the mountains. She’d placed an order for more, knowing the delicate finery on the translucent fabric was just right for this design.
She had long-term plans to launch an exclusive range of lingerie. The project gave her a new creative outlet and would provide valuable income for the village women.
Her mouth twisted. Who’d have thought pregnancy would inspire her to design slinky nightgowns? She might be halfway through her pregnancy but hormones only made her more aware of her body’s needs.
Or maybe that was Tariq.
Her hands bunched in the slithery fabric, her pulse tripping. Her husband made her hot and bothered with just a look or the casual brush of his hand.
Which was tragic when a casual brush of the hand was all she’d had from him since she’d told him about the baby. That and his solicitous grip at her elbow whenever she descended the long staircase to the royal reception rooms. He always managed to be at her side then, the epitome of protectiveness.
As if she were some feeble, ancient relative. The thought infuriated her. And hurt.
A commotion at the door had her spinning around just as a tiny body launched itself at her.
‘Mama!’ Small arms wrapped around her legs, hugging tight.
‘Risay.’ She bent to pick him up but wasn’t fast enough.
‘Let me.’ Tariq was already there, disengaging hands that she saw now were sticky with honey, and lifting Risay high. ‘I’m sorry about your...’ He stopped as he took in her décolletage.
Instantly her nipples tightened, grazing the soft fabric. She drew in a sharp breath as heat shafted through her body at his look.
Naked but for a thin layer of satin, she felt too exposed. The speculative gleam in Tariq’s eyes told her he hadn’t missed her response. Worse, it created a needy, melting sensation between her legs.
‘Mama!’ Risay leaned towards her, arms outstretched, and she dragged her attention back to him, smiling at his cheeky grin.
‘He’s not supposed to bother you while you’re working.’ Tariq’s voice was like the stroke of silken gauze across her bare arms and shoulders. She shivered and kept her eyes on Risay.
‘I don’t mind.’ She took Risay’s hand and leaned in, brushing his cheek with a gentle kiss. ‘It’s rare that they escape Sofia’s eagle eye.’ Footsteps made her turn. Sure enough, there was Sofia, tutting under her breath.
‘My apologies, sir, ma’am.’ She turned to the toddler who gave her a broad grin. ‘And as for you, Master Trouble, you’ll
come back right now and finish your meal.’
‘Mama,’ he said defiantly.
Samira couldn’t prevent a tiny smile of delight. Discipline was important, of course, and her hours in the work room were precious if she wanted to keep her business ticking over till she was ready to devote more time to it again. But she couldn’t be angry that Risay wanted to be with her. Or that he called her Mama.
‘I’ll be along soon. After you’ve finished eating.’
Finally, with pouts that failed to hide his triumph, Risay let Sofia carry him out.
Tariq made to follow till Samira put out her hand. She’d avoided taking Jacqui’s advice for too long. Now she was desperate enough to try even that.
‘Don’t go.’ Slowly he turned and her breath stalled as she met his eyes. Her skin tightened, the hairs lifting on her arms at the intensity of that stare. Her hand dropped to her side as she battled that familiar upsurge of longing.
‘Please?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TARIQ COULDN’T TAKE his eyes off Samira. The sheen of the clingy material she wore complemented the glow of her skin and the luminous brightness of her sherry-gold eyes. Stoically he tried not to stare at the swell of her breasts, tip-tilted with hard little nubs that thrust so invitingly towards him. The delicious sweep from waist to hip. The pronounced curve of her belly where she cradled his child.
He swallowed and ripped his gaze back up again.
His wife. His for the taking.
He read the invitation in her eyes and had to weld his feet to the floor rather than stalk back and haul her into his arms.
How he wanted her.
How he’d missed her.
All these weeks it had been hell holding back: being at her side in public or with the boys. Making sure she didn’t work herself too hard. And all the time keeping his hands to himself.
When he did allow himself to touch her it was exquisite torture. He wanted so much more than her arm in his, the inadvertent brush of her hip or breast as they stood together, presiding at some function.