Her body clenched and mortification filled her. She tried to twist away from him now but somehow that only made her more aware of the press of his hips, forcing the hard ridge of his erection into her belly.
Erection!
Imogen’s eyes flew to his. ‘No.’
He gave a hollow laugh. ‘Oh, yes, Imogen, you still turn me on,’ he said thickly. ‘Despite your treachery.’
His head descended towards hers and she shoved against his chest. She didn’t want him—not again. He’d accused her of sleeping with someone else while seeing him—had probably done so himself while he was seeing her—he’d thought they were having an affair that he’d had no trouble ending while she had nearly died inside when he’d walked away from her. She didn’t want him. She couldn’t!
But she did and none of that mattered to her wounded heart when his lips touched hers in a searing kiss that narrowed the time they had been apart to nothing. Still, she attempted to resist him, clamping her lips into a straight line that, in the end, was no defence at all.
Certainly no defence against her own raging need to touch him and be touched by him and when he took advantage of her confusion and drove his tongue into her mouth Imogen was lost. He just felt too good, tasted too good, and it had been so long for her. So long since she had felt the press of a man’s lips. The press of his lips.
All of a sudden she was no longer pushing him away, but drawing him closer. Her hands flattening over the hard muscles of his chest to snake up around his neck, her mouth moving beneath his in an age-old request for more. And he gave it to her. Eagerly. Impatiently. Thrusting his tongue into her mouth and drinking in her very essence.
His other hand came up to cup her jaw, holding her steady. A low groan, more like the growl of a hungry wolf, worked its way out of his throat as he angled his mouth over hers and ravaged her lips as if he was as desperate for her as she was for him.
Nothing else seemed to matter in that moment. The room disappeared. The world. It was just the two of them. As it always had been when they’d come together. Like magic.
‘Nadir,’ she whispered, shuddering against him as his strong fingers followed the line of her spine, spanning her waist before dropping lower to cup her bottom and bring her even closer. Unbearably close. Imogen squirmed and forked her hands into his hair to anchor herself to him, one leg already rising to rest over his lean hip.
And then suddenly she was free and he had stepped back from her, reaching out to steady her as she stumbled without his body weight to hold her up. ‘It seems I still turn you on as well, hmm, habibi?’
What?
Dazed, she blinked up at him and then his condescending words hit her and she was instantly appalled at her behaviour.
Had he just kissed her to prove a point? To prove how weak she was when it came to him? To prove how much power he still had over her? Her face flamed and she was so angry she wanted to punch him.
Realising just how close she was to hitting someone for the first time in her life, she lowered her bunched fists to her sides. ‘Don’t ever touch me again.’ Was she hyperventilating? She placed a hand against her chest. It felt as if she was hyperventilating. ‘I hate you, Nadir. I really hate you.’
‘Don’t be stupid about this, Imogen,’ he rasped, pulling his phone from his pocket again. ‘You can’t provide everything our daughter needs and I want her to grow up secure.’
‘I want that too. Which is why I would never marry you.’
From the stiffening of his spine she could see that he didn’t like that. ‘Be serious,’ she continued desperately, trying to appeal to his rational side. ‘You never wanted Nadeena.’
‘I may not have planned Nadeena.’ His expression grew fierce. ‘But she is here and this is the best solution.’
Imogen’s nostrils flared as if she was a lioness sensing danger. Nadeena’s emotional welfare was on the line and Imogen had vowed a long time ago that she would rather be a single mother than have her child raised by a parent who didn’t want her. Especially the autocratic tyrant Nadir had turned into. But then maybe he had always been that way. She had never challenged him before, had she? ‘This is the worst solution.’
Nadir put the phone to his ear. ‘Bjorn, tell Vince we’ll be at the airport within the hour.’
He rang off and Imogen felt icy-cold with dread. ‘You selfish bastard,’ she raged raggedly. ‘You won’t even consider my needs.’
‘Actually, I would say I was considering them very well.’
‘Ha!’ she scorned. ‘You’re nothing but a bully.’
His eyes flashed a warning she was in no mood to heed. ‘Careful, Imogen. I will only tolerate so much from you.’
‘Like I care,’ she fumed, restless energy making her muscles vibrate. ‘You can’t do this, you know. I have rights.’
She stared at him as if she really knew what she was talking about but inside she was quaking. Not that she’d let him see that. The stakes were far too high for him to think that he had the upper hand. For him to assume that she was a pushover.
‘What you have,’ he said in a carefully modulated tone, his face a cold mask, ‘is my child.’
A discreet knock at the door interrupted the stark silence that followed that statement and Nadir turned to answer it.
‘And Imogen?’ She glanced at him, hoping he was about to tell her this had all been a joke. ‘You will marry me.’
It was a great parting shot, she thought as she sagged against the arm of the sofa and speared wishful daggers into his broad back. But she would have the last word because she would never marry a man she didn’t love.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE PLANE TOOK OFF into the air and Nadir wondered if he needed to have his head examined for bringing Imogen and Nadeena to Bakaan with him.
He could have easily had Bjorn or any one of his men watch her. And what was with the announcement that he was going to marry her?
He scowled. He hadn’t intended to blurt it out like that but hell, that woman could make him do things he’d never intended to do. She always could.
Back in Paris it had been her coy smiles to get him to play tourist or to laze around reading the Sunday papers over brunch. Who had time for that, anyway? Not him. And the fact that he’d done it still rankled.
He’d been so overcome with lust back then he’d let her call the shots. He wouldn’t do that again. Not that he was planning to be an asshole about it. He wasn’t. But nor was he going to be hoodwinked by her nice girl persona either. Hoodwinked by her innocent sexuality.
No. She’d run once. He wouldn’t give her the chance to do it again.
Still, he could have waited until he returned tomorrow afternoon before revealing his plan and he had no ready answer as to why he hadn’t.
Probably he’d still been shocked from finding her with his child. That had to be it. He gulped down a mouthful of water from the bottle his staff had handed him upon boarding. He noticed that Imogen hadn’t accepted one and he frowned.
She hadn’t said boo to him since they’d left his apartment and that was fine with him. All except for the way she made him feel that she was being some sort of martyr in coming with him. And why would she be?
It didn’t make sense. Was she still playing him in some way? Acting hard to get to whet his appetite? Not that it had worked. That kiss... He scrubbed a hand across his face, gulped down more water. He hadn’t meant to kiss her before, let alone back her against the wall. And he didn’t like to admit that he’d got lost in that kiss. Only the fact that she had as well had salved his pride.
Damn, but she tasted sweet. Exactly as he’d remembered. Even now his body throbbed with an inexplicable urge to have her. It was like a driving need. All-consuming. It had always bothered him. The extent of his need. Needing people led to emotional weakness, which led
to mistakes being made. He knew that better than anyone and yet fifteen months ago he’d let himself be drawn into her silken web anyway.
Of its own accord, his mind returned to the Sunday afternoon he had found out she was pregnant—an extraordinary blue-sky summer day in Paris. Not wanting to think about his later flight home to New York, they had wandered around Paname—as the Parisians affectionately called their city. He had shown Imogen some of his favourite haunts and she’d dragged him around what felt like every flea market in the known universe. That was where he’d learned she adored Aubergine Provençal and that she was a hoarder of ancient postcards and scarves. The afternoon had ended with her vomiting over his toilet bowl and a doctor announcing her condition with a happy flourish that had floored him.
And okay, he hadn’t taken the news that well. What contented bachelor would? So he’d flown back to New York and called his thousand-dollar-an-hour lawyer.
‘First, establish the kid is yours.’
When Nadir had told him that was going to be a nine-month wait, his lawyer had shaken his head. ‘Not so,’ he’d said. ‘Modern medicine has moved right along. There’s a test, see. It’s called some amnio thing. I had to arrange one for a client a few months back. Boy, was he relieved when the results came back negative. The lady had been sleeping around. Tried to pin him with someone else’s kid.’
His lawyer had tsked in disgust and Nadir had murmured some agreement. Asking Imogen to take the test had made sense. So he’d texted her with the request. Perfectly reasonable in his view.
Finding her gone without a trace when he’d flown back to Paris hadn’t been reasonable at all.
A dream he’d often had over the last fourteen months winged into his consciousness. It had always been about a child of indiscriminate gender. But the eyes had always been emerald-green and ringed with brown curly lashes. Usually the baby then became the woman, which was when he usually woke up. Usually sweating. Usually cursing.
* * *
He thought about her claim that she hadn’t run away from him. The different surname. His gut tightened. Was he being played for a fool? And what was up with the buffoon who had tried to defend her? The one who had trod off like a trained seal at her bidding.
Seeing Imogen with her arm linked through his, that sweet smile on her face that could fell an army of warriors...another screw in his gut turned.
She lived with him. He knew that and the water turned sour in his mouth. He’d nearly decked the guy when he’d tried to keep him from her. As if he’d had a chance. On some level he knew his reaction wasn’t logical, but logic had never been his firm friend when she was around.
He glanced over as she laughed at something Nadeena had done. He had always loved her laugh. Deep and throaty and redolent of all the pent-up passion of her personality. She had laughed a lot when they had been together. Laughed and teased him as no one else ever had. And she had done it right away, something he’d found as sexy as hell. As sexy as he found her now in faded denims and a simple cotton T-shirt. As sexy as he found her—
Breathing? a mocking voice in his head suggested.
No, Nadir silently snarled back.
And why was he even thinking like this? Brooding over things he couldn’t change wouldn’t make this whole situation any easier. It didn’t matter that he had never met a woman who affected him as strongly—or as quickly—as Imogen. It didn’t matter that she made him angry or frustrated or horny or hell—guilty. What mattered was that they get married and make the best of the situation.
What mattered was that he was a father.
A father.
Hell. The thought rocked him. But he knew it was true. He had known the minute the kid had looked up at him with his twin sister’s soulful eyes staring back at him. His eyes. And Imogen had given her an Arabic name as if she’d been racked with guilt over knowing she was never going to tell him about his child. Anger rolled through his blood, thick and renewed, and he recalled how she’d called him a bully. Did she just expect him to give up on his daughter without a fight? Whether she liked it or not, he had a hundred options up his sleeve. And he didn’t give a damn how Imogen felt about that because he wanted his daughter.
He had wanted Nadeena—truly wanted her—from the moment he had looked at her with her chubby hands fisted on Imogen’s soft breast and her wide eyes staring up at him as if she was trying to learn everything about him, as if she was looking directly into his soul. He swallowed heavily. He’d taken one look at her and he’d been...he’d been smitten.
It had been the same the first time he had looked at Imogen and felt that his life would never be the same again.
Hell. What was he thinking?
His life hadn’t changed when he’d first laid eyes on Imogen. They had only been having an affair.
No, his life had changed when she had become pregnant with his baby. And now hers was about to change and he had no doubt that she would acquiesce when she got down from her high horse and realised how much he could provide for her. He nearly laughed. As if she hadn’t already thought of that.
But that was okay. He could live with her wanting him for his money. It would be a small price to pay to know that his daughter was safe and well.
He signalled the hostess waiting to serve them. This was going to be okay.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Coffee, please and...’ he glanced at Imogen ‘...food for Miss Reid—Benson. I haven’t noticed her eating anything yet.’
‘Miss Benson said she’s not hungry, sir.’
Nadir checked out the thin outline of her once curvy body. ‘Give her something anyway. Have the chef cook up Aubergine Provençal.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. What was that?’
Yeah, what was that? He scowled. ‘An omelette, then. Something. Anything. Just as long as it’s vegetarian.’
‘Of course, sir.’
Nadir flipped open his laptop, determined to focus on work for the rest of the trip. Once he renounced the throne tomorrow and married Imogen his life could get back to normal. Or as normal as it would be with a wife and a child and why didn’t that notion bother him half as much as it had fourteen months ago?
* * *
Marriage?
The word clunked around in Imogen’s brain for the millionth time like a giant-sized anvil and she hoped to God Nadir was at this very minute coming to his senses and seeing how ridiculous the idea was.
The best solution...
Of course there were other solutions, and she’d looked some up on her phone as she’d waited for his plane to take off. Not that she wanted to head down the shared custody route and she was sure—once he had calmed down and thought rationally—that neither would he. What rich playboy would? Especially once he learned how detrimental having a child would be to his bachelor lifestyle and she had every intention of pointing it out to him. Because, although she didn’t think those things, she knew that once the reality of parenthood set in Nadir would never take his responsibilities seriously. Not with his reputation as a serial dater. No, he wasn’t the faithful type and she’d been serious when she’d told him she wouldn’t marry him.
And he couldn’t force her. No one could do that in this day and age. The worst he could do was to take her to court and fight for custody of Nadeena. And that was... She swallowed heavily, her eyes darting across the aisle to where he was ensconced in work. Could he win? Would a court of law side with his sob story that she had run away with Nadeena?
Not that she had run; she’d simply taken charge of her life. Taken charge without him in it. And he hadn’t wanted to be in it. Or at least that was the message she had taken from his acerbic text.
She still remembered with embarrassing clarity the burst of happiness she had felt when it had pinged into her phone. It had sat there for a full five minutes before she had clicked on i
t and by then her heart had constructed a full-on fairy tale around what it would say. She had imagined that the text would confirm that he’d had time to think about things and he missed her. That he wanted her in his life. That he wanted their baby. In fact the foolishly sentimental organ in her body had imagined every possible thing he could have written except for what he had.
Imogen, there is a DNA test that can be done while the child is in utero. I have organised an appointment for you at a specialist. If the child is mine I will be in contact.
Devastated by his callousness and influenced by Caro’s dire warnings, Imogen had left. And really, what had been the alternative? To write back to him and plead? Are you sure you don’t want our baby? Are you sure you don’t want me? She did have some pride.
A delicious smell wafted into the cabin and Imogen’s stomach growled as a flight attendant stopped beside her.
‘The chef has prepared an omelette for you, Miss Benson. It’s vegetarian.’
‘Oh.’ How had the chef known she was vegetarian? ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t order this.’
‘Prince Nadir ordered it for you.’
Imogen glanced across at the man she was trying hard to think about rationally. Objectively. Something that was almost impossible, given his startling demands and that kiss...
Kiss? She felt a blush heat her cheeks. That kiss had shattered her equilibrium. As had her response. Given his hateful, overbearing behaviour, she’d like to have been left cold when he had touched her. She’d like to have been able to say she was over her sexual infatuation for him and was completely unmoved. She’d also like to be able to say there was no poverty or no ugly wars in the world either.
She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. It didn’t make sense that he could still make her heart jump just by looking at her and her body throb for more with one touch. How could a man who was a veritable stranger and who totally disregarded her needs and desires still affect her so intensely?
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