Sheikh's Royal Baby Revelation Read online

  White-hot desire was a better description, but he sensed she’d baulk at such straight talking. He’d seen her nervous reaction to the craving they both felt.

  ‘That’s not enough.’

  ‘You want romantic love?’ He searched her face, watching her gaze skitter away.

  ‘It’s usually the basis of marriage.’

  ‘In your country, but not mine. Here love often comes with time, with respect, with liking and shared experience. All of which we have.’

  ‘We shared one night of captivity!’

  ‘An intense experience. You can’t deny the connection between us is strong because of it. Far stronger than if we’d met on an online site and begun dating.’

  Tori pursed her lips but said nothing.

  ‘We have what it takes to make a good marriage. For Oliver’s sake we need to try.’

  Ashraf paused but she refused to admit his point. He ignored the churning in his belly and plunged on.

  ‘I want our son to have what I didn’t. Two parents who care for him. Who are there for him every day.’ He watched her brow knot. ‘Every child deserves a supportive environment. Without that life can be tough.’ His lips curled as a sour tang filled his mouth. ‘I don’t want that for Oliver.’

  ‘I didn’t know your childhood was difficult.’ There was curiosity and sympathy in Tori’s look, but instead of pressing for details she went on. ‘But I don’t see how that applies to Oliver.’

  Ashraf shook his head. ‘I want Oliver to have the best in every way. I can declare him legitimate, and that will give him legal status, but I want him to be part of a real family. To give meaning to the bare legality and make it something more.’ He paused and turned to look at the innocent child who, he knew, would suffer if Ashraf wasn’t careful.

  Suddenly his lungs ached, pain searing deep.

  ‘I want him protected from scorn and prejudice.’ He took another slow breath that still didn’t fill his chest. ‘Above all I don’t want him to believe, for a moment, that I’m not committed to him or don’t want him here. I won’t have him growing up in the shadows, unsure where he fits.’

  * * *

  Tori’s arguments stilled on her tongue as she read the lines of tension wrapping around Ashraf’s mouth and pleating his forehead. An icy wave washed over her, despite the balmy evening.

  Here was something she didn’t understand. Something important. Ashraf wasn’t posturing. Whatever the problem was, it was deep-seated. She felt the ache of it just watching his still frame as he stared at Oliver.

  ‘What do you mean, growing up in the shadows?’

  Ashraf turned and for the first time she could recall, his dark eyes looked utterly bleak. But only for a moment. Just as she was registering what looked like anguish, his expression became unreadable.

  He lifted wide shoulders and spread his hands. ‘I wasn’t meant to be Sheikh, you know.’

  Slowly Tori nodded. ‘You said your older brother was supposed to inherit. Is this something to do with him?

  ‘No.’ The word was emphatic. ‘Karim’s reasons for rejecting the throne are his own and private.’ He paused as if to make sure she got the ‘no trespassing’ message.

  Tori got it, all right, but that didn’t stifle her curiosity. She watched as Ashraf swung his legs off the lounger to sit facing her, elbows on his thighs. The stance emphasised the power in his athletic frame and awareness fluttered through her, making her hurry into speech.

  ‘So you weren’t first in line to the throne... What’s that saying? Having an heir and a spare lined up?’

  Ashraf’s huff of laughter was humourless. ‘Good in theory, but I was never the spare—not as far as my father was concerned. He hated me because I wasn’t his.’

  ‘Not his?’ Astonishment gripped her.

  ‘My mother left him for another man when I was tiny. The official story in Za’daq is that she died. My father couldn’t bear the thought of the public knowing the truth. In those days the press was carefully controlled. Nothing went public that would offend the Sheikh.’

  Tori shook her head, still grappling with the first part of what he’d said. ‘She left to be with another man? The man who’d fathered you? Yet she didn’t take you?’

  She couldn’t imagine leaving her baby behind.

  ‘She knew the Sheikh wouldn’t denounce me as illegitimate because his pride wouldn’t permit a public scandal. She was right. Publicly, he didn’t.’

  Ashraf’s expression, as hard as cast bronze, confirmed that in private things had been different.

  ‘Surely she could have taken you?’

  ‘You didn’t know his pride.’ Ashraf shook his head. ‘Once he’d acknowledged me as his son he’d never release me. Anyway, she probably thought I’d be better off here. Her lover wasn’t wealthy.’

  Tori stared, her mind racing. ‘You never asked her why she left you behind?’

  His mouth tightened. ‘I didn’t get a chance. She died of complications from influenza when I was a child. I only discovered that later—when I set out to locate her.’

  Tori sank back, stunned. Ashraf an unloved child...abandoned by his mother and left to the mercy of a proud, arrogant man for whom he was a reminder of his wife’s desertion. Her skin crawled.

  ‘I never had what you’d call a family life.’

  Ashraf’s voice was uninflected. He might have been talking about the weather.

  ‘Except for my brother, Karim, no one cared about me.’

  He drew a breath that made his chest rise, then turned to lock his gaze with hers.

  ‘My father never told anyone about my parentage but he made his disapproval clear to me in every possible way. There was no warmth or encouragement. He constantly found fault and his attitude rubbed off. The courtiers, all the people who mattered in Za’daq, took their cue from him. Everyone viewed me as useless, shallow, lacking the virtues my brother possessed. Whispers and innuendo followed me no matter how hard I tried.’

  ‘So you acted up?’

  She thought of those press reports about the Playboy Prince, spending his time flitting between scandalous parties and shockingly dangerous sports. Because he’d had nothing better to do with his time? Or because he too had believed he had nothing better to offer?

  Tori’s hand went to her throat. It was hard to imagine Ashraf, of all people, so vulnerable.

  His mouth twisted. ‘As a kid I tried hard to please my father. But nothing was good enough. Later...’ He shrugged. ‘Later it seemed a fine revenge to make him squirm a little by living down to the reputation he’d built for me.’

  She didn’t know what to say. Finally she asked, ‘Did you ever meet your real father?’

  Ashraf’s expression had been wry before, his features taut. Now, though, it was as if an iron shutter slammed down, blocking out even the cynical amusement that had gleamed in that half-smile a moment before.

  ‘That’s the ultimate irony. When the old Sheikh was taken ill he needed a bone marrow donor. Even though he was so sick he still couldn’t bring himself to countermand the suggestion that I get tested for compatibility. That’s when we discovered I was his son after all. He’d spent years despising me on the basis of unfounded suspicion. Just because he’d found an old letter that predated my birth, sent to my mother by the man she later ran off with. He assumed—wrongly—that she’d slept with him and conceived me as a result.’

  ‘Oh, Ashraf.’

  She sat up, instinctively covering his clasped hands with one of hers. It was like touching warm but unforgiving steel. All that hate. All that distance between father and son for nothing but pride.

  One of those large hands moved and covered hers. Eyes dark as a stormy night captured hers.

  ‘I want Oliver to have what I never did. A family. Parents together in one place, loving him, caring for him—’

&nbs
p; He broke off and Tori wondered with a wobble of distress if Ashraf’s throat had closed as convulsively as hers had. She swallowed, trying to dislodge the choking knot of emotion blocking her larynx as she imagined his childhood.

  ‘I don’t give a damn what people think of me. But I don’t want him subjected to prejudice because he’s not in my life full-time. Because he’s not seen to belong.’

  Her gaze slewed to their precious boy, who’d woken and was now staring at them with lustrous eyes so like Ashraf’s that her chest squeezed.

  ‘He does belong. He’s ours.’

  But as she spoke Tori’s heart sank. Ashraf was right. Oliver could be legitimised, but to some his birth out of wedlock would for ever leave a taint of scandal.

  ‘Whether he’s in Australia or Za’daq he’ll attract public interest. It’s inevitable. I want to do everything to protect him from the negatives of that. I want to support him. I want him to feel safe and secure, proud of who he is. Sure right from the start that we’re united and on his side.’

  Ashraf’s voice rang with sincerity. Tori wanted that too. She could understand Ashraf’s reasoning now, and her heart ached for the boy he’d been, a victim of circumstances beyond his control, abandoned by both parents.

  Part of her wanted to nod and say of course she’d do anything for her son. Yet even as she opened her mouth her own survival instinct kicked in. Everything rebelled at the thought of marrying for appearances’ sake.

  Flashes of memory filled her brain. Of her parents’ marriage where whatever tenderness there might once have been had died. All that had remained was a sham, a pretence of a happy family constructed to salvage pride and win votes.

  Tori had vowed never to have a marriage like that. Since childhood she’d known she wanted more. She’d promised herself she’d never settle for anything less than love.

  ‘I...’ She met Ashraf’s gaze and her throat dried. She was torn between determination to do what was best for Oliver and fear that she’d become like her mother, living an unhappy half-life. ‘I need time.’

  After what seemed like a full minute he nodded. ‘Of course. I understand.’

  But that wasn’t what his eyes said, or the pressure of his hand on hers. He was a determined man. A king. How far would his patience stretch?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FOUR DAYS LATER Tori knew Ashraf’s patience was far stronger than hers.

  Heat climbed her cheeks as she realised she almost wanted him to break the impasse between them. She lived on tenterhooks, feeling the tension screwing tighter with each hour.

  Despite her reservations about marriage, Tori couldn’t switch off her intense response to Ashraf’s magnetism. The yearning for his touch, his tenderness, his body, just wouldn’t fade. She remembered being in his arms, lost in a sensual abandon so profound the world had fallen away. The memories were fresher than ever and more tempting.

  Late each day he came to her rooms to share a meal and spend time with Oliver. From that they’d begun to develop a new type of intimacy which was simultaneously challenging and precious.

  Despite the unanswered question hanging over them, those hours were relaxing and companionable. Ashraf never mentioned marriage. He was an easy, amusing companion, sharing anecdotes and asking about her day, fascinated by what she and Oliver had done.

  Nor did he shy from answering her questions. His frankness intrigued her, especially when she discovered areas of common ground or subjects in which their differing views led to stimulating debate.

  Debate, not argument.

  Unlike her father, Ashraf never tried to browbeat her into accepting his views.

  It was her favourite time of the day. A time she recalled late at night, long after Ashraf had left and she’d retired to her lonely bed.

  Tori shivered and stared absently at the tiny shop’s display of bright fabrics. She lifted the filigreed glass of tea to her lips. The scalding liquid warmed her and might even explain the flush she felt in her cheeks.

  What she recalled most often, and in excruciating detail, was how Ashraf, after kissing Oliver on the brow, always took her hand and pressed a lingering kiss there as he said goodnight. His eyes shone like polished onyx and he held her hand so long she was sure he must feel the throb of her pulse racing out of control.

  Every night she wondered if this would be the moment he’d break his self-imposed distance and pull her close, giving in to the ever-present spark of desire between them.

  And every night, just as she decided she couldn’t stand the suspense or the longing any more, he’d say goodnight and leave her alone in her sumptuous apartment.

  ‘I won’t be much longer, Tori. I promise.’

  Azia’s voice interrupted her thoughts. Tori looked towards the crimson curtain that hid the small shop’s changing room and smiled.

  ‘Take your time. I’m enjoying all these fabulous silks. It’s like being in Aladdin’s cave.’ She nodded to the shop owner, who beamed and pulled down a bolt of sea-green silk threaded with silver before taking it to Azia.

  It was a treat to be on a girls’ shopping expedition with Bram’s wife, while a nanny looked after Azia’s little daughter and Oliver. Two days ago, when Bram had introduced her to his wife, Tori had been reluctant to accept Azia’s invitation to coffee in the city. She knew all about duty visits, having done her share while supporting her father.

  But Azia’s smile had been warm and Tori had longed to get away from the palace’s gilded luxury. She loved her apartment, with its pretty courtyard and pool, but she didn’t know her way around the massive building and didn’t feel comfortable wandering through it.

  To her surprise, their coffee date had been fun and Tori had laughed more than she had in ages. Azia had an irreverent sense of humour and a kind heart. The next day they went to lunch and visited an exhibition of exquisite beadwork by an upcoming designer.

  Today they were at the silk shops in the bazaar, where Azia was determined to find fabric for a special outfit.

  ‘How about this?’ The curtains swished back to reveal Tori’s new friend draped in green and silver.

  Tori tilted her head. ‘It’s very beautiful...’

  ‘But...? Come on, tell me.’

  ‘Personally, I loved that bright lime-green. This one is pretty, but that bright pop of colour really complemented your colouring.’

  Azia laughed, but her expression was uncertain. ‘I liked that one too but it might be a bit too bright.’

  ‘Too bright?’ Tori frowned. ‘Why shouldn’t you wear bright colours? You look fantastic in them.’

  Her friend shrugged. ‘It’s for a royal event and...’ She glanced at the shop owner, who took the hint and moved towards the front of the shop, giving them some privacy.

  Azia shrugged. ‘I don’t really fit in there. I’m not high-born and nor is Bram. Last time I went to a reception I overheard comments—’ She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. I just want to fit in.’

  Her words echoed Ashraf’s, jolting Tori’s composure. Who were these people who busied themselves making others feel out of place? What gave them the right to judge? Because they were rich or born into powerful families?

  Tori knew about the flaws hidden in many powerful and ‘perfect’ families.

  ‘Which colour makes you happy?’

  ‘The lime,’ Azia answered instantly.

  ‘Then buy the lime. You look beautiful in it.’

  Azia wavered, then nodded. ‘You’re right. I will. Thank you.’

  With a rattle of curtain rings she stepped back into the changing cubicle, leaving Tori alone with her thoughts. Inevitably they returned to Ashraf. He’d spoken of not being accepted. How had that moulded him into the man he was? He wasn’t uncertain or insecure. In fact he was one of the most determined people she knew.

  But what if Oliver wasn’t strong enou
gh to endure the censure of others so easily? Her spirits plunged. Was she selfish, refusing to marry Ashraf and give Oliver a conventional family? Not all conventional families were like hers, where only one parent had loved and supported her.

  Her father had been too wrapped up in his career to care for anyone but himself. He’d married Tori’s mother because she came from a family with money and political influence. Tori had always thought if she married it would be to someone who wanted her, not what she represented.

  She sighed and put down her tea. At least she and her mother had been close. How Tori wished she were here now, to talk over this enormous decision.

  For the first time she understood why her mother had stayed with her father. For the security he offered while she raised Tori. A woman would put up with a lot for her child.

  Not that Ashraf would be a hands-off father, like her dad. On the contrary, he’d be very hands-on—

  ‘You look flushed.’ Azia emerged with a bolt of bright silk under her arm. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken so long.’ She paused. ‘Do you already have something for the reception or should we look now?’

  ‘I’m not going.’ Tori got up from the visitor’s chair.

  ‘You’re not? But...’ Azia looked confused. ‘It’s a very special event, hosted by the Sheikh himself. You’d enjoy it. There’s music and traditional dancing as well as a spectacular feast.’

  Tori shrugged, suppressing a pang of regret. It did sound interesting. ‘I don’t have an invitation.’

  Azia’s brow knotted. ‘That’s impossible. Bram wouldn’t forget your invitation. He never forgets—’ She broke off as the shop owner bustled forward to complete the sale.

  * * *

  Hours later, as the sun paused above the horizon, making the sky ribbons of scarlet and tangerine, Tori entered her private courtyard. It was beautiful, with its delicate marble arches and fragrant garden.

  Her gaze strayed to the long green-tiled pool. Ashraf had been delayed. She had time to swim before he arrived. She liked swimming, but hadn’t done much since Oliver’s birth—partly from lack of time and partly because of babysitting costs. This was a wonderful luxury.