He glanced at her. He didn’t think he could like a person less if he tried.
‘Nadir, please, if I...’ She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘If I tell you that you’re the father can we just leave it at that? Can we just...can we just part as friends?’
Nadir reeled. Was she serious? Because she couldn’t possibly expect him to walk away from her after basically admitting the child was his with little more than Have a nice life. In fact, if he discovered that this child really was his then he wouldn’t be walking away at all.
He stared down at her and noticed she had the look of a frightened mouse that had just been caught in a very large inescapable trap.
Apt, he thought—very apt. From the minute he’d laid eyes on her, his first instinct had been primal. He’d wanted to wrap her up and keep her. He’d wanted to brand her as his own. Disconcertingly, that urge was just as strong as ever.
He tugged on the collar of his shirt. Somehow, in the time between meeting her and now, he had lost his equilibrium and he wanted it back. Not even the thought of having to renounce the throne tomorrow affected him as deeply. Or maybe it was the combination of the two. ‘I don’t think you could have ever called us friends, Imogen.’ Bed partners. Lovers. Now those fitted. Friends, not so much.
She looked up at him as if he’d just kicked a puppy. ‘Good to know,’ she said flatly, her ponytail swinging around her shoulders as she made to move past him. ‘Frankly, I don’t know why you’re even here.’
It was supposed to be her parting shot but Nadir moved so that once again he was directly in front of her.
‘Come now, habibi. I know you’re smarter than that.’
‘Look, Nadir, the stand-over tactics are very intimidating. Well done you. But you can’t stop me from walking away.’
He blew out a frustrated breath. ‘If you’d cooperate and tell me what I want to know I wouldn’t need to use any tactics. Now, my car is waiting at the corner.’ He arched his arm towards a low-slung black beast of a Mercedes. ‘Shall we?’
‘No,’ she bit out, ‘we shall not. Not until I understand what this is about.’
The line between her brows reappeared as she stared at him and a pulse point beat frantically in the base of her throat. A pulse point he still had an inexplicable urge to cover with his lips. His tongue.
He muttered an old Arabian curse and realised what he’d just done. What was it about this woman that made him unconsciously regress to his native language? By Allah... He cursed again. Jerked his eyes back to hers. ‘What this is about,’ he began with a calmness that belied the heated blood pounding through his veins, ‘is that it looks very much like you had my child and didn’t tell me.’
If possible, the line between her brows deepened and he had the stupidest notion to place the pad of his finger against it and smooth it away. ‘What’s her name?’ he asked gruffly.
Emerald eyes darkened almost to black before dropping from his. ‘This is pointless, Nadir.’ Her soft, desperate plea fell between them as insignificant as one of her gauzy dance costumes and he savoured the defeat in it.
‘Pointless for you, perhaps,’ he agreed pleasantly.
A soft moan broke from her lips and his body registered it as one she used to make in bed and it appalled him that he could be so angry one minute and so aroused the next. It was those damned memories of having her spread out naked on his bed that were the problem.
During his more unguarded moments those memories crept up on him like the flu and reminded him that once—once—he had thought he’d found something special with a woman.
A low growl filled the base of his throat. This, he would have said, was not an unguarded moment and yet his control over his body felt tenuous, tangled up in the silken awareness of the female in front of him, who was dressed in nothing more provocative than denim jeans and a red T-shirt.
‘Please, Nadir...’
‘Please what, Imogen?’ he rasped, hating the sound of his name on her treacherous lips and welcoming another shot of anger as it jetted through him. ‘Please forgive you for keeping the birth of my child from me? Because she is mine, isn’t she?’
He didn’t know if it was his words or his tone that brought her chin up but her beautiful eyes glittered angrily. ‘I did not keep her birth from you. You knew I was pregnant and you didn’t want anything to do with her.’
Her voice had grown shrill and a couple of shoppers hesitated before passing them by.
‘I don’t think so. Now come.’
‘You didn’t even believe it was your baby. God,’ she exclaimed, ‘can’t you just forget that we ever saw each other again?’
‘Like you want to?’
She didn’t answer, to her credit, which was just as well because his control was heading in the same direction as his day. ‘Tell me,’ he began silkily. ‘Do you believe in fate, Imogen?’
‘No.’
‘Then you’ll just have to put this meeting down to luck, won’t you?’
She glared at him and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, which meant she was thinking hard. Not that it mattered. He stepped closer to her, inhaling her wonderful, sweet scent that was somehow the same and yet different. He swallowed against a sudden rush of conscience. He had nothing to feel guilty about here. ‘You’re coming with me,’ he said quietly. ‘Even if I have to put you into that car myself.’
Her brows shot up at that. ‘Not even you would do something so heinous.’
Nadir gave a sharp bark of laughter. If only she knew how close he was to doing exactly that.
‘Then what are you afraid of, habibi?’
‘I’m not afraid. I’m confused,’ she said with bald honesty. ‘What do you want?’
‘To talk.’ He had a lot of questions to clear up; not least of all was how she had hidden herself away so effectively his security team hadn’t been able to find her until now. And then there was the small matter that he wanted to be a part of his child’s life. A permanent part. But he had no doubt she’d welcome that. It would mean money and status and he hadn’t met many people who wouldn’t put that ahead of integrity and self-respect.
CHAPTER THREE
IMOGEN SLICKED HER tongue across her dry lips, her heart pounding towards a heart attack as Nadir led her towards the car.
To talk, he said. But was that really what he wanted? And why was he so angry with her about Nadeena?
Every instinct in her body warned her that she shouldn’t go with him but really she wasn’t afraid of Nadir. And, despite his hostile manner, it wasn’t as if he would want to have anything to do with Nadeena in the long run.
In truth, he probably just wanted to make sure she wasn’t going to go to the press with news of his indiscretion. Her stomach turned. That was the most likely scenario here. That and to ensure that she wasn’t going to make any financial demands on him in the future. Maybe he’d even offer to set up a trust fund for Nadeena. If he did, she wouldn’t take it. She would provide for her daughter herself. Nadeena need never know that her father hadn’t loved her enough to want her in his life.
Unable to stop herself, her eyes ran over his face. He was still the most ruggedly attractive man she had ever laid eyes on, with thick black hair that fell in long layers, olive skin and an aquiline nose that perfectly offset a square jaw that always looked as if it was in need of a shave. And his mouth. Surely that had been fashioned by Ishtar because it could look either surly or sexy depending on his mood.
Currently, he wasn’t in a good one. But okay, she would be rational. Talk to him. Answer his banal questions. Reassure him that she wanted nothing from him. ‘Fine. I can give you a few minutes.’
He didn’t answer and warning bells clanged loudly inside her head again as the car door was smoothly opened by a burly chauffer. Then a waft of deliciously cool ai
r hit her and she bent her head and manoeuvred inside as best she could with Nadeena still strapped to her chest.
‘Wouldn’t you be better taking that thing off?’
His gruff question came from the opposite seat and Imogen momentarily lost her train of thought as his masculine scent enveloped her. ‘That thing is a sling and no, I can’t. Not without waking her.’
‘So wake her.’
‘Not a good idea. Don’t you know you should never wake a sleeping baby?’
His slight hesitation was loaded. ‘How would I?’
Cold censure laced every word and she had to force her eyes to remain connected to his. Nadeena really did have his eyes, she thought absurdly. Lucky her. ‘So I’m here.’ She let out a pent-up breath. ‘So talk.’
‘This is not a conversation for a limousine.’ Nadir made a motion with his hand and said something in rapid-fire...Italian? Greek? Before Imogen knew it, the car was in motion.
‘Wait. Where are we going?’
Nadir’s eyes snagged with hers and the heat from his gaze made her go still all over. His eyes drifted over her face with insolent slowness and sexual awareness turned her mouth as dry as dust.
Determined not to be so weakened by him again that she turned into a puppet on a string, she forced air in and out of her lungs in a steady stream. But the act took up every ounce of her concentration so when he informed her that they were going to his apartment it took longer than it should have for his words to take hold.
‘Your apartment? No.’ She shook her head. ‘You’ve misunderstood me. I meant a few minutes here. In the car. And it’s illegal to drive with an infant not strapped into a proper baby carrier.’
Nadir leaned forward and spoke to his driver again and instantly the big car slowed.
‘My apartment is close by. And it is you who has misunderstood me, Imogen. We have to talk and a few minutes isn’t even going to cover the first topic.’
Imogen narrowed her eyes. ‘I don’t see why. I did what you wanted fourteen months ago and disappeared from your sight so I don’t understand what you want with me now.’
His sculptured lips thinned into a grim line. ‘You did disappear, I’ll give you that. And you still haven’t told me her name.’
Her name? Imogen lowered her gaze to the safety of her daughter’s head. No way could she reveal her name. No way did she want to see this man who had once meant so much to her mock her for her sentimentality. Maybe even pity her. At the time she’d named her she’d been feeling particularly sorry for herself and hopelessly alone. The three-day blues they called the come down from the emotional high some women experienced after giving birth. Now she wished she’d named her Meredith or Jessica—or any name other than the one she had.
Fortunately the car pulled up at the kerb before she had to answer and, feeling sick, she followed Nadir as he strode through the large foyer of his building with a bronzed water feature at one end and a smartly dressed concierge at the other.
‘When did you move to London?’ she asked, suddenly wondering if they had been living in the same city the whole time.
‘I didn’t.’ He stabbed at the button to call the lift and she remembered that of course he had apartments in most of the major financial centres in the world.
Casting a quick glance around his beautifully appointed living room, she inwardly shook her head at the absurd difference in their lifestyles. Of course she’d known that he was wealthy when she’d met him—her fellow dancers had informed her as to whom he was—but, apart from his outrageously divine apartment on the Île Saint-Louis, their time together had been incredibly normal. Nights in bed, mornings at the local patisserie, afternoons strolling or jogging along the Seine. More time in bed.
Shaking off the rush of memories, she headed straight for a set of plush sofas and laid Nadeena on one. Glancing back at Nadir, she asked him to hand her the baby bag he’d carried up and checked Nadeena’s nappy while he stood beside her.
Of course Nadeena went quiet in that moment. Her big, curious eyes riveted to Nadir, as most other females were when they first clapped eyes on him. She blinked as if trying to clear her vision and a small frown formed between her round silvery-blue eyes.
‘She has my eyes,’ he said hoarsely.
The sense of awe in his voice was hard to miss and an unexpected swell of emotions surged inside Imogen’s chest. Emotions that were so twisted together they were too difficult to define.
‘Here you go, little one.’ She lifted Nadeena into her arms and settled her back in the crook of her shoulder, silently willing her not to complain. Then she glanced at Nadir. ‘I need to feed her.’
Nadir waved his hand negligently. ‘Go ahead.’
Imogen moistened her lips. ‘I’d like some privacy.’
He paused and Imogen was sure her cheeks turned scarlet.
‘You breastfeed?’
Even though she had breastfed in cafés and parks and not blinked an eye before, this moment, in a quiet living room with a man she had once believed she had fallen in love with felt far too intimate. His continued perusal sent another frisson of unwelcome awareness zipping through her. ‘Yes.’
She knew her voice sounded husky and when her eyes met his she couldn’t hold his stare. What was she doing here in this room with him? More importantly, what was he doing in this room with her and Nadeena? She felt self-conscious and it was all too easy to remember how it felt to have him at her breast, drawing her aching nipple deep into his mouth. All too easy to recall the pleasure that had turned her into an incoherent puppet for him to master at his will.
When she continued to hesitate and Nadeena grew restless Nadir pivoted on his foot and stalked to the long windows overlooking some sort of dense green park that most likely belonged to him as well. Imogen quickly arranged her T-shirt and Nadeena latched on like a baby that had never fed before.
‘When were you going to tell me I had fathered a child, Imogen?’ His quiet question held a wealth of judgement and loathing behind it and Imogen felt as if someone had just dropped an icy blanket around her shoulders.
She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t because all of a sudden she felt horribly guilty about the fact that she had never intended to tell him. And hot on the heels of her unexpected guilt rode anger. Anger she welcomed with open arms. He was the one who had run away when he’d learned she was pregnant, not her. He was the one who had made it clear that he didn’t want a baby in his life when she had felt such a rush of elation at the time she had almost grinned at him like a loon. Then she’d seen his stricken face and her world had fallen apart.
A sound like a low growl came from deep in Nadir’s throat and he towered over her. ‘Never? Is that the word that is at this moment stuck in your throat, habibi?’
‘Don’t call me that,’ Imogen growled back, unable to contain her rioting emotions.
‘It’s preferable to what I want to call you, believe me.’
Imogen had never seen Nadir angry before and he was magnificent with it. Fierce and proud and so powerful.
She swallowed, hating that she still found him so utterly attractive. ‘How dare you come over like the injured party in this scenario?’ she snapped. She was the one who had been as sick as a dog carrying Nadeena. She was the one who had been all alone in the birthing suite as Nadeena had come into the world. She was the one who struggled day to day with the demands of motherhood and putting food in their mouths. And she had asked for nothing from him. Absolutely nothing. ‘I have done very well for myself since you left my life,’ she said, her body vibrating with tension. ‘I have survived very well on my own. I’ve eked out a life for myself and Nadeena is healthy. She’s happy and—’
‘Nadeena?’
Imogen’s eyes squeezed shut and her temper deflated when he repeated the baby’s name. His irreverent tone somehow made
her remember how lonely she had felt when Nadir had walked away from her. She’d felt lonely before, of course, but with Nadir she had felt as if she had got a glimpse—a taste—of paradise, only to have it snatched away when she was least prepared.
Powerful memories surged again and she couldn’t look at him. ‘Why am I here, Nadir?’
He didn’t say anything, his eyes troubled as they made contact with her own. He leant against the cherry wood dining table, his gaze riveted to Nadeena, kneading her T-shirt like a contented cat, his silence drawing out the moment. Drawing out her nerves until they lay just beneath the fine layer of her skin like freshly tuned guitar strings. ‘Why is there no public record of her birth?’
Bewildered by both the flat tenor of his voice and the unexpected question, Imogen frowned. ‘There is.’
His gaze sharpened and she could see his agile mind turning. ‘Under what name?’
Imogen stared at him. At the time of Nadeena’s birth she had only put her own name down on the birth certificate. She hadn’t known what to put in place of the father’s and a kindly registrar had told her that it wasn’t essential information. That she could fill that part out later. So far, that section was still blank because she’d been so busy and so tired learning how to care for an infant she hadn’t even thought about putting Nadir’s name on it. Sensing that this was a loaded question, she raised her chin. ‘Mine.’
‘Imogen Reid.’
His earlier words—‘I have not searched for you for the past fourteen months to be given the runaround now’—and his personal bodyguard waiting for his arrival came back to her and clicked into place in her mind and confused her even more. ‘Benson.’
There was only the briefest of pauses before he roared, ‘You gave me a false name!’
Imogen pressed back against the seat of the sofa. ‘No.’ Well, not intentionally. ‘Reid was my mother’s maiden name and...’ She swallowed, hating herself for explaining but compelled to do so by the fury she read in his eyes. ‘It wasn’t deliberate. The girls suggested that I use a stage name because they sometimes had trouble with the clientele and you only asked me my name one time.’ She took a quick breath. ‘At the beginning.’
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