‘You’re getting married.’
‘And I was getting married that weekend, too.’
‘I had no idea the fact I was divorced and an American were such issues for you.’
He frowned, but it was swallowed quickly, as he dropped his head, his lips brushing hers. ‘It isn’t.’
‘Not for your “mistress”, anyway. I dare say someone like me is the perfect candidate for that role.’
His hands found the bottom of her shirt, lifting it so he could hold her bare hips, his lips more determined at hers now so a whimper filled her mouth and she felt herself kissing him back, needing him in a way that infuriated her.
‘You are the perfect candidate to be in my bed, yes,’ he agreed, but it hurt. God, it hurt. She’d never felt so...cheap.
She lifted her hands, pushing at his chest, putting some vital distance between them. ‘Damn you, Sariq, no.’ She shouted the words and then lowered her voice, aware that there were dozens of guards on this level. ‘No.’ A whisper. She wrapped her arms around her chest, moving away from him towards the sofas. Her knees were trembling but still she didn’t sit. Her eyes were on him, showing her pain and hurt.
‘I cannot offer you more than this,’ he said again. ‘You know what expectations are upon me. My marriage is a bargaining chip; my bride an important part of my political strategy. I cannot bring you to the palace as my mistress—it would offend my future Emira and it would offend my people. I’m sorry if this hurts you, but it is the truth.’
Her heart looped through her. Offend his bride. Offend his people. ‘And what about me, Your Highness? Do you care that I am offended by this offer?’
He had the decency to look—for a brief moment—ashamed. But he rallied quickly, his expression shifting to a mask of determination. ‘You shouldn’t be. I’m offering us a way to both get what we want.’
She made a scoffing noise.
‘Money aside, think about how good this could be. How much fun we’d have...’
She closed her eyes, the temptation of that warming her, because if she weren’t so horrendously offended, she could see the appeal of his offer. On one level, he was offering her something she desperately wanted. More of Sariq? But everything about the way he’d made his offer filled her with disgust and loathing. He had somehow managed to cheapen what they’d shared so it felt tawdry and meaningless. And he didn’t seem to get that!
‘I thought you actually liked me,’ she said with a small shake of her head. ‘I thought you enjoyed spending time with me. That you valued me as a person.’ Pain lashed her, because he didn’t. He was just like her ex. The realisation was awful and horrifying.
‘I do,’ he promised immediately, crossing towards her. ‘But I’m a realist and I see the limitations of this.’
‘Which is sex,’ she said crudely, lifting her brows, waiting for him to acknowledge it.
‘As it was in New York,’ he said firmly.
Her heart dropped. Her stomach ached and tears filled her eyes. It had just been about sex for him? She wracked her brain, trying desperately to remember anything he’d said or done that indicated otherwise, but no. There was nothing. He’d wanted her. He’d made a point of saying that over and over, but that was all.
She’d been a fool to think there was more to it, that they were in some way friends or something.
‘I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have asked you for money. It was a mistake. Please forget...’
‘No.’ He held onto her wrist as though he could tell she was about to run from the room. ‘Stop.’
Her eyes lifted to his and she jerked on her wrist so she could lift her fingers to her eyes and brush away her tears. Panic was filling her, panic and disbelief at the mess she found herself in.
‘How is this upsetting to you?’ he asked more gently, pressing his hands to her shoulders, stroking his thumbs over her collarbone. ‘We agreed at the hotel that we could only have two nights together, and you were fine with that. I’m offering you three months, on exactly those same terms, and you’re acting as though I’ve asked you to parade naked through the streets of Shajarah.’
‘You’re ashamed of me,’ she said simply. ‘In New York we were two people who wanted to be together. What you’re proposing turns me into your possession. Worse, it turns me into your prostitute.’
He stared at her, his eyes narrowed. ‘The money I will give you is beside the point.’
More tears sparkled on her lashes. ‘Not to me it’s not.’
‘Then don’t take the money,’ he said urgently. ‘Come to the RKH and be my lover because you want to be with me.’
‘I can’t.’ Tears fell freely down her face now. ‘I need that money. I need it.’
A muscle jerked in his jaw. ‘So have both.’
‘No, you don’t understand.’
She was a live wire of panic but she had to tell him, so that he understood why his offer was so revolting to her. She pulled away from him, pacing towards the windows, looking out on this city she loved. The trees at Bryant Park whistled in the fall breeze and she watched them for a moment, remembering the first time she’d seen them. She’d been a little girl, five, maybe six, and her dad had been performing at the restaurant on the fringes of the park. She’d worn her Very Best dress, and, despite the heat, she’d worn tights that were so uncomfortable she could vividly remember that feeling now. But the park had been beautiful and her dad’s music had, as always, filled her heart with pleasure and joy.
Sariq was behind her now, she felt him, but didn’t turn to look at him.
‘I’m glad you were so honest with me today.’ Her voice was hollow. ‘It makes it easier for me, in a way, because I know exactly how you feel, how you see me, and what you want from me.’ Her voice was hollow, completely devoid of emotion when she had a thousand throbbing inside her.
He said nothing. He didn’t try to deny it. Good. Just as she’d said, it was easier when things were black and white.
‘I don’t want money so I can attend the Juilliard, Your Highness.’ It pleased her to use his title, to use that as a point of difference, to put a line between them that neither of them could cross.
Silence. Heavy, loaded with questions. And finally, ‘Then what do you need such a sum for?’
She bit down on her lip, her tummy squeezing tight. ‘I’m pregnant. And you’re the father.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHEN HIS MOTHER had died, Sariq had been speechless. Perhaps his father had expected grief. Tears. Anger. Something rent with emotion. Instead, Sariq had listened to the news.
‘She died, Riq. So did the baby.’
He’d stood there, all of seven years old, his face like stone, his body slowing down so that blood barely pumped, heart barely moved, breath hardly formed, and he’d stared out of a window. Then it had been a desert view—the sands of the Alkajar range stretching as far as the eye could see, heat forming a haze in the distance that had always reminded Sariq of some kind of magic.
Now, he stared out at New York, streets that were crammed with taxis and trucks, the ever-present honking of horns filling him with a growing sense of disbelief. There were trees in the distance, blowing in the light autumnal breeze. His heart barely moved. His blood didn’t pump. He could scarcely breathe.
Time passed. Minutes? Hours? He couldn’t have said. He was conscious of the ticking of the clock—a gift from a long-ago American president to his father, on the signing of the Treaty of Lashar. He was conscious of the colour of her hair, so gold it matched the thread of his robes. The fragrance she brought with her, delicate and floral. He was conscious, somehow, of the beating of her heart. In contrast to his, it was firing frantically. It was beating for two people. Their unborn child was nestled in her belly, growing with every second that passed.
He closed his eyes, needing to block the world out, needing to block
Daisy out in particular.
His breathing was ragged as he went back in time, calculating the dates. It had been what?—almost four months?—since his visit to America. When had she found out? And why had she waited until now to tell him?
Except, she hadn’t come here to tell him.
His eyes flared open and flew to her with renewed speculation and his heart burst back to life, pushing blood through his body almost too fast for his veins to cope. The torrent was an assault.
‘You weren’t going to tell me.’
A strangled noise was all the confirmation he needed. He stood perfectly still, but that was no reflection of his temperament or feelings.
‘You came here today to collect a cheque. If I hadn’t suggested you join me in the RKH, you would have taken the money and left. True?’
She didn’t turn to face him and suddenly that was infuriating and insupportable. He gripped her shoulders and spun her around. Tears sparkled on her lashes and his gut rolled, because he hated seeing her like this but his own shock and anger and disbelief made it impossible for him to comfort her.
‘This baby is a disaster for you.’
She was right. His eyes swept shut once more as he tried to make sense of the political ramifications of having conceived a child with a divorced American—a woman he spent approximately forty-eight hours of his life with, if that.
‘I didn’t come here to tell you, because I understand your position. You have to get married and have children with someone who will strengthen your position, not weaken it. This baby was a mistake.’ Her face paled. ‘No, not a mistake,’ she quickly corrected, her hand curving over her stomach so his eyes dropped to the gesture, something different moving through him now. Was that joy? In the midst of this? Surely not.
‘A surprise,’ he substituted, his voice gravelled by the emotions that were strangling him.
‘You could say that.’ Her short laugh lacked humour.
‘So what was your plan?’
‘Plan?’ She bit down on her lip. ‘I wouldn’t say I have a plan.’
‘You came to take money from me under false pretences? And then what?’ It was unreasonable, and not an accurate representation of how he felt. He wasn’t sure why he had chosen to hone in on that. The money was beside the point, but her duplicity wasn’t.
She flinched but nodded, as though his accusation had some kind of merit. ‘Believe me, I hate that I came here with my hand out. I hate having to ask you for anything. But I can’t afford a child, Sariq. I can’t afford this.’ Tears ran down her cheeks now and his chest compressed almost painfully.
‘The hotel doesn’t pay you well?’
‘My salary’s fine.’ She dashed at her tears, her eyes showing outrage. Outrage that she was crying. Outrage that she had to explain her situation to him. But he needed to understand...
‘I lost a lot of money in my divorce. I have a mountain of debt with interest rates that are truly eye-watering. My salary lets me chip maybe five thousand dollars a year off the total owed. I should be out from under that in about, oh, I don’t know, seventy or eighty years?’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t afford to stop working. The hotel provides my accommodation so once I stop working, I’ll need to find somewhere to live, which I can’t afford. Benefits won’t cut it. I hate that I’m asking you for money,’ she repeated, and he felt it, every single shred of her hate and fury and fear, too. ‘But we’re having a baby and I need to do what I can for her or him.’
‘Yes.’ It was an immediate acquiescence. He turned away from Daisy, stalking towards the door, staring at it for a moment. His mind was spinning at a thousand miles per hour. His marriage was important. Unifying his country further mattered. But so did begetting an heir. His situation as the last in his family’s line had troubled him for a long time, but never more so than since losing his father. He was conscious of how much rested on his survival, how vulnerable that made him. And if there was one thing he hated, it was feeling vulnerable.
This child alleviated that.
He had an heir—or he would, in six months’ time.
‘Look at me, Sariq.’ Her voice cut through him, the grief there, the pain. He turned and his heart jolted inside him, because she was clearly terrified. If he stopped for a moment and saw this from her perspective, he could see how unsettling the discovery of her pregnancy must have been. Neither of them had wanted complications from that weekend. It had been a stolen time of passion, short and brief. And definitely over.
But it wasn’t.
This baby would bind them for ever.
‘I can’t afford to do this on my own, and I hate that, but the alternatives don’t bear considering.’ A shiver moved her slender frame. Her too-slender frame. Had she lost weight since he’d seen her last?
A frown pulled at his mouth. ‘You’re slim.’
She blinked, the statement apparently making no sense.
‘You haven’t gained weight. In fact, the opposite appears to be true.’
‘Oh.’ She nodded jerkily. ‘Yes. I haven’t felt well. The doctor at the free clinic says that will probably pass soon enough.’
His frown deepened. He didn’t feel that was it. Was it possible that she hadn’t been eating? That she hadn’t been eating well enough? Because she was worried about money?
And as for a free clinic? She was carrying the sole heir to the throne of the RKH, one of the most prosperous countries in the Middle East—and the world! She should have top-level medical care. He needed to fix this—he needed to find a way to make this work, for everyone.
‘The baby’s healthy,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m fine, apart from the all-day nausea and complete lack of appetite.’
He nodded slowly, fixing his eyes to her. There was only one solution, and he needed it to happen immediately. ‘I’m glad you came to me today, Daisy. I’m glad you told me.’
She let out a whoosh of breath, her relief apparent. ‘You are?’
A simple nod. ‘But we must move quickly in order to avoid a major diplomatic incident.’
She blinked. ‘Oh, I’m not going to tell anyone about this, Your Highness.’
He laughed then, a deranged sound. ‘For God’s sake, we’ve conceived a child together. We’re going to be parents. Call me Sariq.’
She bristled, her eyes showing strength and determination. ‘We are not going to be parents together.’ She spoke with a cool authority that was belied by the quivering of her fingers. ‘You’re going to be in another country, far away. I’m going to raise our child.’
His eyes narrowed imperceptibly. ‘You know what this baby means to me.’
She froze.
‘You know how imperative it is that I have an heir.’
‘But this baby isn’t your heir,’ she mumbled after a moment. ‘We’re not married. It can’t be...’
‘We’re not married, yet.’
Her eyes flared wide in her beautiful face, and her lips dropped to reveal her glossy white teeth. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Good. He needed a moment to organise this. He crossed to his desk, picking up the phone. ‘Have Malik call me.’
He disconnected the receiver once more and turned to face her. She was standing where he’d left her, shaking her head.
‘Sit down, habibte.’
She shook her head harder. ‘I’m not marrying you.’
Determination flooded him as he saw the only path before them clearly, and knew he had to guide them down it. ‘There is no alternative, Daisy, so I suggest you move past shock to acceptance. The sooner you do so the better, for both of us.’
She stared at him, her insides awash with uncertainty and disbelief. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘Does it sound like something I’d joke about? This child has more value to my people and me than I can possibly describe. You are carrying my royal heir. There is no option but
for us to marry.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ she spat, crossing her arms over her chest, wishing his eyes didn’t drop to her cleavage in that way that reminded her of everything they’d shared that weekend. ‘There is one option, and it’s the one we’re going to take. I’m going to leave here now, with a cheque that will help me cover medical expenses and rent in some kind of home in which to spend the first year of our child’s life, until I can go back to work—’
‘Go back to work?’ His laugh was a caustic sound of derision. ‘And who will be raising the crown prince of the RKH?’
‘Or princess,’ she snapped caustically. ‘And I don’t know. I’ll find a family day care.’
‘Family day care?’ he repeated, and she nodded, though she could understand his reaction to that. It was a little haphazard and ill-thought-out.
‘I don’t know, okay? I haven’t gotten that far. I just know that I can do this on my own.’ She lifted her chin, breathing in deeply in an attempt to calm her nerves. ‘I haven’t told anyone anything about what happened between us and I don’t intend to. I won’t say a word about the fact you’re this baby’s father. Your name won’t appear on the birth certificate. It will remain untraceable.’
His jaw clenched. ‘You think this will please me? For my own child not to bear my name?’ His nostrils flared with the force of his exhalation. ‘Honestly, Daisy, your naivety would almost be adorable if it weren’t so inappropriate.’
Anger flared inside her. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘How hard do you think it would be for someone to piece this together?’ He held her gaze with obvious contempt. ‘You cannot imagine the scrutiny my life is subject to. You are acting as though I am any other man, as though this child is like any other love child.’
‘I’m sorry, it’s my first time being pregnant after a one-night stand,’ she muttered sarcastically. ‘I have no idea how I’m supposed to act.’
‘You’re supposed to be reasonable,’ he responded flatly. ‘There is no way I’m having my child raised anywhere besides my palace and I think you knew that when you told me about your pregnancy.’
The Secret Kept From The King (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 8