The Sheikh's Secret Baby

‘And is your wife…’ Somehow her voice didn’t tremble on the word. ‘Is she happy about her position as the new ruler’s consort?’

‘My wife?’ he echoed, frowning at her uncomprehendingly. ‘I don’t have a wife, Jazz.’

‘But I thought…’ Jasmine swallowed as her perceived view of the world did a dramatic shift. ‘I thought you were seeing a princess from a neighbouring desert region, soon after we split. Zara, I think her name was.’

Zuhal nodded. ‘I was.’ His eyes narrowed as they swept over her. ‘Yes, Zara was the latest in a long line of mooted royal brides, with a pedigree almost equal to my own.’ He shrugged. ‘But she had a laugh which used to set my teeth on edge and I could not contemplate a life-long partnership with her. And back then, there was no sense of urgency. Now it is different, of course. Now I must rule my country and for that I will need a wife by my side.’

Jasmine’s heart flooded with heat and began to pound loudly with something which felt like hope, even though afterwards she would ask herself how she could have been so stupid. But for a few seconds she actually allowed herself to believe in the fantasy which still haunted her some nights when sleep stubbornly refused to come—of her desert prince returning to sweep her off her feet. ‘I still don’t understand,’ she said cautiously, ‘why you’re here.’

He lifted up the palms of his hands like a man on the point of surrender. ‘I’ll tell you exactly why I’m here, Jazz,’ he said, a hard smile flattening the edges of his sensual lips. ‘Next month my life will change beyond recognition, when I sign the papers which are currently being drawn up to officially recognise me as the Sheikh Regent. But beneath all the inevitable celebrations that the line will continue my people are grieving and uncertain, for my brother’s disappearance has unsettled them. The country needs stability and they are looking to me to provide it, for while Kamal had many commendable character traits, steadfastness was not one of them. I need a bride,’ he said, not seeming to notice that she had gasped again, or that her hands had started trembling. ‘But this time I cannot afford to be picky. I must marry someone suitable—and quickly.’

She gulped the words out breathlessly. She just couldn’t help herself. ‘Someone l-like?’

‘Someone of royal blood. Obviously.’ His black eyes crinkled with that rare flash of mischief which used to tie her up in knots. ‘Not a divorced girl from England, I’m afraid, Jazz—just in case you were getting your hopes up.’

‘I wasn’t,’ she said, furious with him, but even more furious with herself—for allowing herself that stupid little daydream which had made her heart begin to race. Hadn’t she learnt anything during the time she’d been his secret mistress? That she was as disposable as an empty baked-beans can? ‘Is that why you’re here, Zuhal?’ she demanded. ‘To talk about your marriage prospects? What were you hoping for—my advice? Perhaps you’d like me to help you vet your future bride for you?’

‘No, that’s not why I’m here. Do you want me to show you why I’m here, my beautiful Jazz?’ He had started moving across the small room until he was standing right in front of her. Until he had pulled her without warning into his powerful arms, his black eyes glittering with pain and desire and something else, as he stared down into her face. ‘I’m here because I’m empty and aching and because I know you can take that ache away.’

She should have given him a piece of her mind. Should have told him she wasn’t just something he could put down and then pick up again, as the whim took him. So why didn’t she? Was it his touch which made common sense fly out of the window, or just the yearning inside her which had never gone away? She should have realised that by aching he meant sex, but for one crazy moment Jasmine thought he was talking about his heart. So she let him tilt her chin with those strong, olive-dark fingers, just as she let his mouth travel towards hers in what felt like a slow extension of time. She had to urge herself not to rise up on tiptoe to make the kiss come sooner, but somehow she retained enough restraint to hold back. But perhaps that wasn’t such a good idea because by the time their lips touched, she felt a flash of connection so intense that she gave a little moan of joy.

And Jazz forgot everything. Forgot why he shouldn’t be there and why she shouldn’t be reacting to him like this. Why it was wrong to allow his strong hands to burrow beneath the thick-knit sweater she was wearing and to cup her breasts with luxuriant familiarity. It felt like the best place she’d been for a very long time as his mouth explored hers with a thoroughness which left her reeling, his tongue licking at her with intimate familiarity. The blood pumped through her veins like honey as she felt the drift of his fingers over her nipples—briefly flicking over the engorged buds before creeping down to her torso.

And this was heaven. Jasmine’s throat dried as he reacquainted himself with the curve of her belly and she wriggled accommodatingly as he slipped his thumb beneath the waistband of her jeans and began to tease the warm, bare skin. Did she suck her stomach in, hoping that he would move his hands further inside the thick denim to caress her where she was hot and wet and longing to be caressed, and didn’t she want that more than anything else? She could feel the hard press of his erection and instinctively her thighs parted by a fraction and she could hear his low murmur of appreciation.

He drew his lips away. ‘You’ve changed shape,’ he observed unevenly.

‘Y-yes.’ She nearly asked him whether or not he liked it—and how crazy was that?—when a sudden thought hit her like a squirt of icy water and fear began to whisper over her. Drawing in a deep breath, she looked directly into his eyes as comprehension began to dawn on her. ‘Are you here just because…because you want to have sex with me, Zuhal?’

He seemed momentarily taken aback by her question but she knew the moment she saw him shrug that her worst fear was true. Well, maybe not her worst fear…

‘You…you want some kind of physical release, is that it?’ she continued unsteadily. ‘Some easy, uncomplicated sex, before you return home in search of your suitable royal bride?’

At least he had the grace to look abashed but the look was quickly replaced by one of defiance. ‘What did you expect, Jazz?’ he murmured. ‘That I would present to my very conservative people a foreign divorcee as the woman I had chosen?’ His black gaze burned into her. ‘We both know that was always going to be a non-starter. Just as we both know that the chemistry which has always sparked between us is still there. Nothing about that has changed. I still want you so much that I could explode with it—and so do you. You come alive whenever I touch you, don’t you? Your body cries out for mine, the same way it always did. So why waste it?’ His voice dipped into a sensual caress. ‘Why not give into what we both want—and make love one last and beautiful time?’

Dazedly, Jasmine listened to his arrogant statement—and didn’t his attitude justify some of the tough decisions she’d been forced to make? She was about to tell him that it was a mistake to call what he had in mind making love and wondering if he would attempt to persuade her otherwise, when a distant sound changed everything. She moved away from him—not so quickly as to arouse suspicion—praying that Darius was only whimpering in some kind of happy little infant dream and would shortly go back to sleep.

But her prayers went unanswered. The whimper became louder. It morphed into a cry and then a protesting yell and she saw Zuhal’s face change. Watched the black eyes narrow as his gaze swept questioningly over her and she quickly stared down at the threadbare rug for fear that he might see the sudden tears welling up in her eyes. She thought about all the things she could say.

She could pretend that it was a peacock, because weren’t they supposed to sound like young babies? Or maybe that was babies younger than Darius which sounded like those squawking birds. And anyway, peacocks lived in the grounds of stately homes, didn’t they? They promenaded elegantly over manicured lawns—their magnificent blue-green plumage wouldn’t dream of gracing the scruffy little garden of a rented cottage just outside Oxford.

‘What was that, Jazz?’ Zuhal questioned ominously.

She knew then that the game was up. That she could attempt evasion to try to deflect his attention and send him on his way by pretending that the baby belonged to someone else and she was just childminding. But she couldn’t. Not really—and not just because the time frame would prove her a liar. No. No matter what had happened in the past or how little Zuhal thought of her now, she was going to have to come clean. And hadn’t she always wanted that anyway, on some subliminal level?

‘What was that, Jazz?’ he repeated, only now a note of something dangerous had been added into the mix to make his voice grow even darker.

Slowly she lifted her gaze to meet the accusation in his eyes and prepared for her whole world to change in the telling of a single sentence. ‘It’s my child. Or rather, our child,’ she said, sucking in a breath of air. ‘You have a son, Zuhal, and his name is Darius.’

CHAPTER TWO (#uf872adb6-26a0-5ecf-8be2-cd04b463155a)

AND THEN, AS IF by magic, Darius went back to sleep. Jasmine could hear it quite plainly in the sounds which were issuing from his baby monitor. The lessening of his cry into a gulping sob which gradually became a little coo, which was so much a feature of his daily nap. She knew he would now be peacefully asleep again and that if only her son’s timing had been a little better, Zuhal would have been none the wiser.

But Jasmine knew there was no point wishing that Darius had delayed his cry until the Sheikh had been hurried away from the premises. If Zuhal hadn’t been kissing her, then he would already have left. If she hadn’t been stupidly letting him kiss her and wanting the kind of things she should be ashamed of wanting…

And anyway—wasn’t this what she had always wanted to happen? Had tried to make happen, if she hadn’t been blocked along the way by his position and power. So don’t let guilt beat you up, she told herself fiercely, even though it was difficult not to flinch as she met the naked accusation in his black eyes. You’ve tried to do your best.

‘My son?’ he repeated incredulously.

She nodded. ‘Yes, he—’

‘Don’t you dare say another word. Just take me to see him,’ he cut over her words, his voice laced with a layer of ice she’d heard him use before—though never with her.

‘You will see him. I promise—just not yet. Let him sleep, Zuhal. Please,’ she said, with the confidence of someone who’d been bringing up a baby on her own for the last nine months and knew how cranky they could get if they were woken prematurely.

‘I won’t waken him but I want to see him.’ His autocratic command hissed through the air. ‘Take me to him, Jazz. Now.’

Her lips dry, Jasmine nodded. How had she ever thought she could oppose his wishes? She’d never managed it in the past—so why should now be any different? He had dumped her without warning—and, even though he had told her from the start that she could never have any future with him, it had still seemed to come out of the blue. But she had held it together then, just as she must hold it together now. ‘Come with me,’ she said in a low voice, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling with unease as she led the way from the room.

Feeling like a participant in some bizarre dream, Zuhal followed Jazz up the narrow staircase, his mind spinning with disbelief as she reached the top and gestured towards the open door of a nursery painted in sunny shades of yellow. He wanted to convince himself that she’d been lying and that it was no child of his who lay sleeping in a cot beneath the window. But as he silently crossed the room to gaze down at the infant, he knew there was absolutely no question that this was his baby. It was more than the shock of ebony hair so like his own. More than the olive skin, which was a paler version of his. It was something fundamental and almost primitive which activated a powerful surge of recognition deep within him as he gazed down at the gently parted lips of the baby boy. He saw Jazz tense as he reached down and briefly laid his forefinger against the baby’s soft cheek, before withdrawing it and turning abruptly on his heel, to walk out the way he had come. He didn’t say a word until they were back downstairs—he didn’t trust himself to speak—and even though he wanted to rage and rail at her, he kept his voice low.

‘Do you realise the constitutional significance of what you’ve done?’ he hissed.

Jasmine flinched and a part of her wished she could have given into the luxury of tears if she hadn’t recognised the need to stay strong. Constitutional significance? Was that the only thing he cared about in the light of his discovery? Of course it was. It was why he’d ended their relationship and why he had turned up here today, to use her body as he might use a stone vessel filled with water to quench his thirst. For him nothing mattered other than the needs and demands of his beloved country and everything else came second to that.

‘Did you not think to tell me, Jazz?’ he continued, still in that icy undertone of suppressed fury. ‘That the seed of my loins had borne fruit?’

Jasmine shivered as his words created a powerful image in her mind which made her heart clench with impotent longing until she forced herself to push it away and focus on what was important. ‘I did try to tell you.’

His cold expression suggested he didn’t believe her. ‘When?’

‘After we…split up.’ When he’d sweetly informed her that she was the kind of woman who made a perfect mistress, but not the kind of woman he could ever marry. ‘Not for many weeks, it’s true. I… I didn’t realise I was pregnant. At least, not straight away.’

‘Why not?’ he bit out witheringly. ‘You may have been a virgin when we met but please don’t make out you were born yesterday, Jazz. What do you mean, you didn’t realise you were pregnant? What, were you waiting for the stork to fly in through the window and surprise you?’

His words were cruel. Sarcastic. Deliberately so, it seemed. Jasmine tried to convince herself that his anger was understandable. Wouldn’t she have felt just as angry if the situation were reversed—to have discovered that she’d become a parent and have been kept in the dark about it? ‘I was all over the place,’ she admitted. ‘I was operating in a bit of a fog—on autopilot, if you like. Just getting through the day took all my energy and I felt disorientated because…well, it was weird getting used to life without you.’

Zuhal’s lips tightened but to his surprise he found he couldn’t disagree with her because he too had been disconcerted by the discovery that Jazz had left a peculiar hole in his life. He had explained it away by reminding himself that it had all been about sex—the best sex he’d ever had. Against all the odds she had captivated him—for he had never been with someone as low-born as her before. She’d been working in the boutique attached to London’s famous Granchester Hotel where he’d been staying, and on a primitive level he had initially been drawn to her pert breasts and curvy hips. By the buttery swing of her blonde hair and the way her lips curved into a sweet smile whenever she was serving customers. But although many women caught his eye and made it clear they were his for the taking, Zuhal rarely gave into his most base desires. Sometimes he took pleasure in denying himself sexual gratification because deprivation was good for the spirit and what was easily gained was easily discarded. Plus, he liked a challenge—and a challenge had certainly been presented to him when the humble shop girl had blushed as he’d spoken to her and had had difficulty meeting his gaze.

His hunger ignited, he had been pleased to discover she was divorced because divorced women were often cynical about marriage, with few of the marital ambitions of single women, which bored the hell out of him. They also possessed an earthy expertise which made them the best lovers.

But Jazz hadn’t been experienced.

He remembered his shock—and then his pleasure—when he had discovered her innocence. When she had opened those soft thighs and he had broken through the tight hymen, which had flagged up the gratifying knowledge that he was her first ever lover. He remembered the orgasm which had followed. Which had rocked him to the core of his being. And the one after, and the one after that…

With an effort he dragged his mind back to the present because none of that was relevant now. Not in the light of his discovery that she was a secretive little manipulator.

‘Talk me through what happened, Jazz,’ he bit out and could see her trying to compose herself, rubbing her hands up and down over the arms of her sweater, as if she were cold.