The Desert King's Secret Heir Read online

  She caught the velvet brown of his eyes that from a distance looked pure black. She read determination in his jaw, strength in his proud stance and honesty in his direct gaze. For a second longer she wavered. Then she spun on her heel and darted into the bedroom.

  She’d hear if he tried to scoop up Dawud and take him. Dawud would yell and it would be impossible to exit quickly with that mob outside.

  Yet relief hit when she emerged to find him still in the hall. He stood, head bent as if listening to Dawud’s high voice carolling enthusiastically. Arden dropped the two bags, a bulky one full of Dawud’s toys and clothes and a small one for her.

  Idris’s head jerked up. ‘Ready?’

  Arden nodded, trying and failing to read his expression. ‘I’ll need a child’s car seat and—’

  ‘No need. Arrangements have been made for a car seat. All you need is your bags and your son.’

  Your son. Not Dawud. As if Idris was trying to distance himself. Pain turned like a twisting stiletto in her chest. Arden told herself she was pathetic. Seconds ago she’d worried Idris might try to kidnap Dawud. Now she was disappointed he wasn’t more enthusiastic about him.

  He hasn’t even asked if he’s the father.

  Because this whole situation was a mighty inconvenience for him. More than an inconvenience. Coming just before his marriage to Princess Ghizlan it must be a headache of massive proportions.

  She made herself nod and put down the bags. ‘I’ll get him.’

  ‘You can introduce me.’ When she hesitated Idris continued. ‘It will make things easier. It will be scary enough for him facing the crowd outside, even with my security men keeping them back.’

  Arden hadn’t thought of that. It was odd, and unsettling, having someone else point out what her son needed before she did. She couldn’t get her brain past the immediate. Right now that was overwhelming. Introducing Dawud to his father. The man she’d thought he’d never know.

  The doorknob felt slippery in her clammy hand and she breathed deep, securing a smile for her son. This had to be done and it was up to her to ensure he felt none of the tension crawling up her spine and along her hunching shoulders. Deliberately she pushed back her shoulder blades and walked into the room.

  ‘Mama!’ He swung round as the song ended, a huge smile on his face.

  Reaction hit her square in the chest as she met his laughing gaze. Eyes of dark brown velvet, so like his father’s. When he’d been born they’d been a constant, difficult reminder of the man who’d duped and deserted her. But over the years they’d become simply Dawud’s eyes.

  Now, seeing the similarities, not just in his eyes but in his whole face, from his jet dark hair to his determined chin, a powerful tide of emotion rose. Arden wobbled to a halt.

  ‘Mama?’ Dawud scrambled to his feet and came towards her, arms outstretched. But before he reached her he halted, head turning, eyes growing.

  Arden sensed rather than saw Idris beside her. It was as if he generated his own force field, one that made her flesh prickle and tighten whenever he got close.

  Was he as nervous as she? As if this were an irrevocable step beyond which the future could never be the same?

  She fell to her knees and held her arms out for Dawud. ‘Hello, darling.’ Dawud’s eyes remained fixed on the man looming over the pair of them, his head craning high to take him in.

  Arden was just about to scoop him up when she felt a brush of air beside her as, in a single movement, Idris sank to the floor, settling cross-legged. His knee touched hers but he didn’t seem to notice. His attention was fixed on Dawud.

  Idris leaned forward a fraction and said something in his own language. Something melodic yet strangely husky, and made a fluid, graceful movement with one powerful hand from his face to his chest.

  For a second Dawud stood motionless, then a smile creased his features. ‘That!’ He pointed at Idris, first his head then his chest.

  Idris made the gesture again, slower this time, a courtly gesture of greeting, she realised. Dawud clapped his hands and chuckled, then waved one hand in front of his face, trying to emulate the gesture.

  Again that unseen cord tugged at her insides. To watch Dawud smiling at his father, trying to copy him...it was something she’d never expected to see. Not after the hell she’d gone through trying to locate Shakil and finally acknowledging defeat. She didn’t even know if she wanted to see them together, yet the shining joy in her son’s face was hard to resist.

  Unwillingly, as if forced by an unseen hand, she turned her head for a better view. The forbidding majesty who wore hand-made clothes worth more than she earned in six months smiled at Dawud the way Shakil used to smile at her.

  Her heart knocked her ribs and dislodged the last of the air in her lungs.

  She was still reeling when he turned. Was it imagination or did his eyes glow brighter?

  ‘It’s time we left. I can carry Dawud if you like. But my men will keep the paparazzi back so they can’t jostle you and Dawud might be happier in your arms than mine.’

  Arden nodded. Again he was thinking ahead to the logistics of getting them out of here. Of keeping them safe. She suspected this big man would protect Dawud from all comers. More, he was thinking of Dawud’s feelings and his reaction to the stress of change.

  A squiggle of heat channelled through her belly and she looked away before he could see how his consideration affected her.

  She leaned forward and scooped Dawud into her arms, relishing his scent and the way he snuggled into her. ‘Come on, Dimples. We’re going out.’

  ‘Man come too.’ His gaze was still fixed on Idris.

  ‘Yes, darling. The man will come too.’

  The man in question was already on his feet, holding his hand out to help her up. More proof of his thoughtfulness.

  But Arden pretended not to notice, scrambling to her feet without assistance.

  Touching him was just too unsettling.

  Already she feared she was about to walk out of the frying pan and straight into the fire.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘WHAT IS THIS PLACE?’ Arden had spent most of the trip focused on Dawud, in the car seat between her and Idris. Now she looked around the underground garage with its security door to the street already closing.

  ‘My embassy. You’ll be safe here. We approached from the back entrance and weren’t followed. My staff ran interference along the route so the press can’t be sure exactly where we’ve gone.’ He turned and unclipped Dawud’s safety harness as easily as if he’d been doing it for years.

  Perhaps he had. The Internet search she’d done on him after the reception didn’t mention a wife or children but—

  Her thoughts frayed as Dawud leaned forward, reaching for Idris instead of her.

  He was a friendly, confident child, but at the moment, selfishly, she felt a pang at his fascination with the big man looking down at him so intently.

  Then it struck her that though his attention was fixed on Dawud, Idris hadn’t reached out to take him. Because he felt her qualms? Or because he didn’t want to?

  Arden lifted her son into her arms, reassured by his warm weight and clean little boy scent.

  ‘I’d prefer a hotel.’ She was indebted enough to Idris. More, she knew a foreign embassy was like foreign soil. While here she was in his territory, under his control. Her nerves prickled with foreboding. A spectre of doubt rose. Had she walked into a trap?

  Dark eyebrows rose speculatively. ‘You’d prefer to run the gauntlet of the press? To hope no hotel employee sells photos of you both to the media?’

  Arden gathered Dawud closer, instinctively drawing into the corner of the wide back seat.

  ‘I hadn’t thought.’ Shock hammered anew and to her horror she began to tremble. It had been a terrible day that
got worse by the moment. The picture he painted was as disturbing as the pack of jackals who’d howled questions at them when they got into the car, then tried to follow them down the street.

  ‘It’s all right, Arden. There’s private accommodation here. You won’t be disturbed while we sort out a solution. I can guarantee the discretion of every member of staff.’

  Because he was an absolute monarch and he’d have their heads if they betrayed him?

  The proud jut of his jaw and the fierce light in his eyes spoke of certainty.

  Looking up into a face as hard and beautiful as that of some carved ancient god, Arden felt the terrible imbalance of power between them. He had only to snap his fingers and his staff would obey.

  Had she felt this vulnerable facing the paparazzi?

  ‘I need your word first. I want a promise that when I want to leave, with my son, you won’t stop us. That we’re both free to go.’

  For a heartbeat fire pulsed between them. Then his gaze dropped to Dawud. Reflexively her hands tightened and Dawud wriggled, protesting, till she eased her grip. She didn’t take her eyes off Idris. Nothing in the world was more important than her son. She’d never let him go.

  ‘You have my word. You’re not a prisoner but a guest.’ He lifted his gaze to mesh with hers and heat consumed her.

  ‘Come. Let’s get the boy settled somewhere more comfortable so we can talk.’

  Still Arden hesitated. She was wary of entering his territory. But it was worse than that. Her fear was sparked as much by the way the scent of sandalwood and hot male flesh filled her nostrils, stirring a longing she’d believed herself immunised against. Her body betrayed her with its yearning for a man who’d never be right for her. Even if he’d cared for her, which he hadn’t, he was a royal sheikh, a monarch, and she was a single mum from a less than impressive family tree. She didn’t belong here.

  Frantic thoughts raced. Of her escaping with Dawud in her arms. But to where? Idris and the press would find them.

  Idris didn’t speak, just sat, watching her as Dawud shifted impatiently and demanded to be put down.

  They both knew she was out of options.

  Finally, heart heavy, Arden turned towards the door.

  * * *

  Arden had thought the embassy magnificent the night of the reception, with its soaring double storey ceilings topped by intricately glazed domes, its radiant chandeliers and of course the dais with the gilded throne. But she’d assumed the rest of the building would be a little more ordinary.

  She’d assumed wrong.

  For a start it was even bigger than she’d expected, not one building but several, with a private garden at their centre. Somewhere, she guessed, were offices where staff went about diplomatic duties, but she found herself in a town house, several storeys high and furnished in the luxury she’d seen only in lifestyle magazines.

  Yet it wasn’t the expensive fittings or exclusive address that impressed; it was the blessed quiet. Peace after the ruckus she’d left behind on her street. Arden hadn’t realised how high her anxiety had been till her heartbeat finally eased into something like a normal rhythm.

  She settled Dawud into a bright bedroom, spreading out his favourite toys where he could see them. To her surprise Idris didn’t insist on that talk to ‘sort out a solution’. Instead he left them to relax and explore. Then a young woman with a gentle smile brought a meal for Dawud, explaining the ambassador employed her to care for his children and that she’d been asked to assist, if that was acceptable.

  Again Arden was given no cause for complaint. Her consent was sought, though Idris or some super-efficient underling had thought of and provided everything before she even asked.

  It was ungrateful to feel managed. It was just that she was used to making her own decisions. She was dependent on no one, a lesson learned in childhood. Arden told herself she should learn to accept assistance gratefully, for Dawud’s sake. But it was tough.

  They had been treated with courtesy and respect. Yet she remembered the fire in Idris’s eyes when he spoke of the press knowing more than he about Dawud, and again when he spoke of his cousin, as if there was a rift between the pair. None of that anger had been directed at her.

  So far.

  No matter how plush the surroundings, she couldn’t forget they were in Idris’s domain. Were they prisoners despite his promise? Arden shivered, vowing to leave as soon as possible.

  Misha, the nanny, offered to sit with Dawud while Arden met ‘His Majesty’. Arden was trying to find a reason to put off that meeting when Dawud’s drooping eyelids opened wide.

  ‘Man! Hello, man!’ He sat up in bed, dimpling as he grinned, and Arden felt a familiar trickle of awareness course from her nape all the way down her spine.

  Her breath snagged and her nostrils widened. She told herself she couldn’t possibly detect the tang of sandalwood on the air, but her nerves rioted anyway. She swallowed, trying to banish the memory of how Idris had tasted, hot and delicious on her tongue. Not an ancient memory this time but one that was raw and new and all too disturbing.

  Reluctantly she turned. Idris leaned in the doorway, immaculate in a dark suit that emphasised his height and hinted at hard-packed strength beneath. His stance was relaxed but there was nothing casual about his expression.

  Arden’s chest squeezed. He hadn’t even noticed her. His attention was fixed on Dawud as if utterly absorbed. The stark intensity of that scrutiny made her stomach churn, as if the squirrels in their local park had invaded her body, leaping and circling faster and faster till she felt nauseous.

  He turned, spearing her with that dark gaze, catching her unprepared. Fire licked inside and she pressed her palm to her belly, only to let it fall, knowing she gave away too much when he followed the movement.

  ‘Everything is satisfactory?’

  His calm riled her. She’d been through hell today, and was still scared of what the future held for her son. Yet Idris took it in his stride.

  ‘If you call being hounded by the press satisfactory.’ Her lip curled. ‘Being forced to hole up here instead of...’

  Silence descended as Arden ran out of energy, the air rushing from tight lungs. ‘I’m sorry. That’s ungrateful.’ Even if it was his fault, manhandling her like that, especially in public. ‘The room is lovely. And Misha—’ she turned to smile at the young woman putting away some toys ‘—has been such a help.’

  ‘Good. Then you have no qualms about leaving Dawud here while we share a meal?’

  Of course she had qualms! Arden wanted to go back to the way things had been, just her and her precious boy, safe and secure.

  Except then he’d never have a chance to know his father. Despite feeling she teetered on the edge of a very high, very dangerous cliff, Arden knew how important it was for Dawud to grow up supported by both parents. Even the fiasco with the press was worth it if they found a way for him to have a constructive connection with his father.

  Apart from anything else, it would be far safer—if anything happened to her, Dawud wouldn’t be adrift in the world as she had been.

  She recalled the night she’d given birth in a bare hospital room, terrified and alone but for a midwife. She had friends but none close enough to share the intimacy of birth. It had struck her how utterly dependent her baby was on her. She’d vowed to do everything she could to give him love and the sense of belonging she’d been denied as a kid.

  ‘Arden?’ Idris took a step closer, frowning.

  She blinked. ‘Thank you. Dinner would be good.’

  ‘Man!’ called an imperious voice. ‘I want man.’

  ‘Please,’ Arden said automatically.

  ‘Peeze.’

  Was that a twitch of Idris’s precisely sculpted lips? Before she had a chance to decide, he crossed the room and sat on the edge of Dawud�
�s bed.

  Seeing them together, dark heads inclined towards each other, surveying each other with grave interest, Arden’s heart gave a silly little flutter. Once, years ago, she’d longed for this, had spent so many hours fruitlessly searching for the man who’d left her pregnant and alone, refusing to believe he’d callously misled her. Until there’d been no alternative.

  A hiccupping sigh rose as her little boy brought his hand up to his forehead then swiped it down to his chest, all the while watching the big man before him.

  When Idris repeated the gracious gesture of greeting he’d used earlier, Dawud beamed. He swiped his little hand back down from his head in mimicry, this time all the way to his tummy. ‘More.’

  ‘Please.’ That deep voice was gentle and Arden blinked, feeling foolishly emotional. It had been a long, difficult day. That was all.

  ‘Peeze.’

  Idris’s mouth hitched up at the corner in a smile Arden had never seen before. A smile that melted a layer of the brittle protection she’d placed around her heart. He repeated the gesture yet again, this time accompanying it with a lilting flow of words in his own language.

  His words wove like an exotic, alluring current around the room, mesmerising her, and she wasn’t surprised when Dawud leaned closer, obviously rapt.

  How long Arden would have sat there, enthralled, she didn’t know. But Misha got up, excusing herself to go and tidy up the bathroom after Dawud’s enthusiastic splashes.

  Suddenly, with her departure, the atmosphere changed. Idris didn’t turn but his words this time were clipped.

  ‘I spoke to Hamid. He says the child isn’t his.’

  Arden blinked and found herself sinking into a nearby armchair.

  ‘Of course he’s not Hamid’s!’ What a crazy idea.

  ‘Is he mine?’ Idris asked before she could continue. Again, he didn’t face her, but kept his gaze on Dawud. Trying to read her son’s parentage in his face?

  The sight of Idris’s broad back felt like an insult.

  ‘Let me get this straight. You think I went from your bed to your cousin’s? What sort of woman do you think I am?’