Crowned For His Desert Twins by Clare Connelly
CHAPTER FIVE
‘SO?’
Her stomach was in a constant cycle of loop-the-loops. She wasn’t sure if it was deliberate or not, but the room he’d led her to was impossibly intimidating. Vaulted ceilings with a wall made of glass on one side, framing a view of the city that now, given the lateness of the hour, twinkled against the black of the sky. The floor in here was mosaic and very old, and at the front of the room there were two large thrones, gold and marble, imposing and grand. The flower arrangements in the corridor had given way to enormous trees in golden pots, some wrapping tendrils around the marble pillars that stretched like limbs towards the ceiling. His voice echoed in the room and she shivered, an unintentional response to the emotions of that moment.
‘You have come to my palace and demanded to see me, yet now stand mute. Are you here simply to waste my time?’
Outrage fired through her, finally slotting her brain into gear. ‘I just hadn’t expected your palace to be quite so...palatial,’ she finished lamely, crossing her arms over her chest, then regretting the gesture when his eyes dropped to the hint of cleavage exposed by her simple white linen blouse. She wore it tucked into her faded jeans, with cream sliders that revealed pale pink toenails. It was a simple, elegant outfit but under his inspection she felt as though she were wearing lingerie. Desire stirred in her stomach, catching her completely off guard. How could she feel anything but revulsion for this man?
‘Why don’t we cut to the chase?’ he murmured. ‘Tell me how much you want.’
She frowned, not understanding.
‘You cashed the cheque I gave you; I presume you want more? Is it blackmail, India? Are you demanding money in exchange for your silence?’
Heat fired behind her eyes. ‘How dare you?’
His smile was cynical. ‘I’m sure you can understand why I think you capable of this.’
‘No, actually,’ she muttered. ‘I have wracked my brain for anything that happened between us that night that would justify your harsh opinion of me, and drawn a blank. At no point did I say or do anything to give you the impression I sleep with men for payment. That you would think me capable of that says more about you than it does me.’
For a moment his eyes flashed with uncertainty, but it was gone again almost immediately, harsh contempt usurping it. ‘We have already discussed the matter of your employment. Frankly, it’s none of my business. You can do what you want with your life, but do not involve me again.’
‘And that’s it? Case closed?’
‘There is no case. I have no interest in debating this matter with you. If you need more money, tell me how much and I will have my aid cut you a cheque.’
Her lips parted in surprise. Of course such a thing would be easy for him, but it still made her head spin to imagine the ease with which he was making that offer. After all, India had spent the morning looking under the sofa cushions for loose change, to be sure she could cover her bus fare to the airport.
Take the money and run! Get out while you still can...‘Are you so afraid of people finding out you slept with me that you would effectively offer me a blank cheque?’
‘I would prefer to keep news of our liaison private, yes.’ His lips compressed and India felt there was more he wasn’t saying, something serious and sombre. ‘It would be far from ideal to have this story breaking in the press right as I am due to announce my engagement.’
‘Your engagement?’ She froze to the spot, her eyes scanning his face. She’d thought he couldn’t hurt her more than he already had, but those simple words pulled at something deep in her soul, so she spun around, looking for support—and found none. Her knees were trembling, almost unequal to the task of supporting her. He was engaged? Had he been engaged that night? She hated to think she’d been so wrong about him...
‘I am to marry before my thirtieth birthday. It is required in order to assure my ascendence to the throne.’
‘I see,’ she mumbled, numb, moving towards the windows purely so she could prop her hip against something steady.
‘Your father has remarried, darling. He won’t be able to make it to your party after all.’
Soon Khalil would be married, and shortly after that he would have children of his own, children who were his true heirs, children he would actually want. Her brow broke out in hot and cold, memories of her own childhood horribly close, the feeling of rejection that had surrounded her again and again as she’d grappled with the fact her father had made a very deliberate choice not to know nor love her. Was history going to repeat itself?
‘So you might understand why I would offer any amount of money to ensure your continued cooperation. Name your price, and I will willingly pay it.’
Oh, how tempting it was! She could simply state an amount—an exorbitant amount that would see Jackson through college and clear all her mother’s medical debts, an amount that would mean she could stay home with their baby for the first year of his or her life, with no worries or stress, and then afford childcare afterwards when she was ready to return to work. Heck, she could ask him for enough to cover her own college fees and she could finish her beloved economics degree, and get the kind of job she’d known she wanted ever since she was a schoolgirl!
And what would she tell their baby? Oh, it wouldn’t matter for years, but one day the baby would be a child and then an adolescent, and they would look into her eyes and ask her about their dad—would she ever be able to meet their questions if she’d lied to Khalil, and prevented him from having a part in their child’s future?
Panic spread through her, because she knew she could accept his money and walk out—not exactly with her head held high but with her needs met, at least—and yet she would never take that option. It was the coward’s way, and if her epic journey here today had proven anything, it was that India was no coward.
‘Thank you for your offer, but that is not why I’m here.’
He was silent, and she kept her gaze averted, her eyes focussed on the distant city, its shimmering lights offering solace and reminding her of Manhattan. She tried not to think about the view from the balcony, when he’d led her outside and kissed her as though he were drowning and she his sole lifeline.
‘Perhaps you could get to the point, then. I do not have all night to stand here with you.’
She turned slowly, keeping her back pressed to the glass. He spoke as though he had plans, and perhaps he did. Maybe he’d been with another woman, making love to her, driving her as wild as he’d driven India. Jealousy spiked through her and she dug her fingernails into her palms to control her heated flashbacks.
‘It is a shame that you believed Ethan,’ she said quietly, her voice softened by hate. ‘I don’t know why he lied to you, but he did. I’m not what he accused me of. I’m not what you think.’
Impatience sparked in his gaze, but his voice rang with cool control. ‘Why does it matter? That night was a mistake—not the first of my life, but one I have learned from. If I could undo it, I would. As for your request for money, it could have been made from America; there was no need to arrive at my palace gates so dramatically.’
Her jaw dropped at the unfairness of that. ‘I beg your pardon, Khalil, but I tried to speak to you over the phone and you were always “unavailable”. If there had been any other choice, I would have avoided coming here, I promise.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘What a surprise.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘If your goal is to blackmail me, then arriving like this, inspiring gossip and interest from my palace staff, would only serve to provide me with the necessary motivation to silence you.’
‘Then it’s just as well blackmail isn’t the point of my trip.’
‘Then what is?’
She ground her teeth together, sadness washing over her. It had been a single night in a lifetime of nights, and yet, for all their time together was brief, she had felt an undeniable connection to this man. Beyond a connection, she’d felt a sameness, an understanding, as though in some vital way they had been forged from the same elements.
She’d been wrong.
‘Come on, India. Name the amount you want so we can both move on.’
She thrust her hands onto her hips and straightened off the glass, but without its support she was instantly woozy, swooning a little before she caught herself. He moved quickly, instincts no doubt firing to life because if he’d paused to consider his actions, he might have chosen to stay where he was and let her drop to the cold hard floor. But instead, he crossed to her quickly, catching her behind her back, holding her to him. From a distance he’d seemed so cold and in command, but like this, she felt it—his warmth and fire, the harsh ructions within his chest as he controlled his breathing, his anger, and something more, barely contained within him. All she could do was look up into his eyes, desire storming through her, the night they’d shared a memory that was so fresh for India she almost felt as though they were travelling back in time.
Kiss me. The idea flared in her mind and terrified her. India pulled away, still unsteady, but needing space before she did something stupid and actually begged him to kiss her for real.
‘I’m fine,’ she lied as exhaustion and nausea threatened to swallow her. ‘I just want to get this over with.’
‘On this, we are in agreement.’
‘I have a flight booked for tomorrow afternoon, and accommodation arranged at a hotel in the city. As soon as we have had this...conversation... I will leave this palace, and shortly thereafter your country, with no intention of coming back. I am not here to threaten you, nor to blackmail you. I am not here to ask you for money—at least, not directly.’ He lifted a single, mocking brow. ‘I came because I needed to tell you something about that night.’
India was at a crossroads, on the brink of moving in a direction from which she could never return. Once she’d told him about the baby, there was no going back: he would know that he would be a father, regardless of what he chose to do with that information.
‘I’m listening.’
‘I know.’ That was part of the problem. He was staring at her as though he could pull her apart, piece by piece, and examine her until he was satisfied. Anxiety pulsed in her veins.
‘I’m not asking you for anything, nor am I expecting anything of you. I’m telling you this because I—well, for personal reasons—feel it’s very important that you should have all the information.’
‘I have never known anyone to prevaricate to this degree.’
She looked across the room and her gaze inadvertently landed on the thrones. Thrones that belonged to his parents and would soon pass to Khalil and his wife, and then to their children. Biting back a small sob, she pressed her hand over her stomach, sympathy for the little person who would surely grow up being unwanted and unacknowledged by their father landing in her gut like a rock. It was a pain she knew far too well.
‘I’m getting to it.’ Her tongue darted out, licking her dry, lower lip, and while her gaze continued to rest on the thrones, his eyes were squarely on her face, following the movement of her tongue as though he couldn’t look away.
‘The thing is, Khalil, there’s no easy way to tell you this,’ she whispered, her voice almost lost in the cavernous room. ‘I’m pregnant.’
The dropping of a pin would have been easily audible. He said nothing for so long that she wrenched her eyes back to his face, trying to read how he might be feeling. Except it wasn’t possible. There was a look of steel in his eyes, his features set in a mask of cold rejection.
‘And?’
She frowned, her heart plummeting. ‘And, I thought you should know. I—didn’t see a lot of my birth father growing up. I wish... I just thought...’ but this was going to be a case of history repeating itself. He was clearly showing no intention of acknowledging their baby.
‘I just thought you should know,’ she finished weakly, unable to believe he would be so callous in the wake of her news. ‘And now, I’d like to go to my hotel, please.’
He stood more still than the marble columns that ran through the room, his body held tight with a tension radiating from his gut to his brain. Her words were detonating inside him, tiny little bombs, going off again and again. She was watching him, waiting for him to speak, and yet he didn’t trust himself to say anything just yet.
‘Goodbye, Khalil.’ Her features crumpled in her beautiful face—how could he still find her so stunning after what she’d proven herself capable of? What he knew her to be? She was every bit as bad as Fatima, exploiting her power with men for financial gain. That should make him despise her on every level, but when he’d held her a moment ago, he’d been so tempted to kiss her, to claim her just as he had that night. What the hell was wrong with him?
He watched her slow movements towards the door—she seemed fatigued and ill and, despite what had happened between them, he found it impossible to ignore her obvious suffering. Clenching his hands into fists at his sides, he moved to catch her, his stride easily doubling hers, so it was only seconds until he was with her.
‘Stop.’ He spoke with easy command.
She didn’t. At no point had she acquiesced to his wishes. Not before she knew who he was, and not now, even when surrounded by this palace and an army of guards.
‘India, do not take another step.’
She whirled around to face him then, her face so pale his worry spiked. ‘Why not, Khalil? Do you need to insult me a little more for my apparent lifestyle? Or are you going to tell me you need a paternity test before we can discuss this further?’
The reality of her words began to crack through his frozen brain, and for the first time it occurred to him that she was telling the truth. That India was pregnant—and with his baby? Or another man’s she was looking to foist on him? Perhaps the paternity test was a wise place to start. ‘Could you blame me, given your vocation?’
Her skin paled but she tilted her chin, her gaze defiant even as her lips were trembling. ‘I haven’t slept with anyone else in a long time, so there’s no doubt in my mind that this child is yours. But if you don’t believe me, I don’t even care any more. I did what I came here to do—I told you about our baby. Now I can go home with a clear conscience.’
He felt hot and cold at once, as Fatima morphed into his mind, the way she’d thrown her abortion at him at the same time as ending their engagement. The baby he’d been unable to protect had been a dagger in his side ever since. There was no way he’d allow this baby to come to any harm. He would die to protect it. Who knew what India would do when she left here?
But he needed to act with care—this was a delicate situation and, despite the fact he could block her from leaving the country, he didn’t want to strong-arm her into anything unless it was absolutely necessary, and only because he would do whatever it took to protect this baby.
His expression was grim as he regarded her, his body strong and unyielding even when his heart was thumping into his ribs so hard it was like an anvil. ‘This is not the place to have this discussion,’ he said, after a moment, looking around the room. He’d brought her to the least comfortable place he could think of, intentionally seeking to inspire awe of his position, but she was clearly not well, and he wasn’t so barbaric that he didn’t feel a responsibility to protect her—pregnant or not.
‘You think?’ she snapped, moving away from him. ‘I’m not sure there’s any place to discuss this that would make a difference, though, to be honest. You’ve made up your mind about me and nothing I say or do is going to change it. I’m glad I told you, but now you can go back to ignoring me. I don’t need anything from you.’
He didn’t bother arguing with her—there was no point. He had a pretty clear idea of what her pregnancy would mean for them both, it was simply a matter of working out the finer points of the arrangement. ‘You will spend the night here. In the morning, we can speak about this further.’
Her lips parted. ‘I will do no such thing. Do you honestly think I would ever go near you again?’
It took him a moment to understand what she’d meant. That he was propositioning her to join him in his bed? ‘One night with you was a mistake—and I do not intend to repeat it,’ he said firmly, even as desire stirred, tightening his body, making him ache for her. ‘I meant for you to sleep in a guest bedroom.’
‘I have a hotel room booked,’ she demurred, stepping backwards.
‘It is too late to be travelling into the city on your own.’
‘And whose fault is that?’ she demanded with a stamp of her foot. ‘I was kept waiting for hours.’
He crossed his arms. ‘Let us not lay blame now. The past is irrelevant. We need to focus on the baby, and what is in their best interests.’
She nodded, but her eyes were wary, looking for a trap. ‘That’s exactly what I think. I despise you after the way you treated me but that doesn’t change the fact you’re going to be this baby’s father. And so long as you can treat him or her with respect and love, then I don’t see why you can’t be a part of the baby’s life, in some way or another.’
He instantly rejected the picture she painted—that he would be the kind of father who flew in and out of his own child’s life, a temporary, transient parent that the child never really got to know.
‘We can discuss the details in the morning. Come, I will show you to a guest suite.’
In truth, India was so exhausted, she would have much preferred to simply go along with his suggestion, but a warning beacon blared, so she shook her head again. ‘I have a hotel room booked. All I need is a ride into the city. We can meet for breakfast and discuss this further. The hotel has a nice restaurant—’
‘If we were to meet at a hotel restaurant, everyone would know our business,’ he snapped. ‘And as you seem unaware of the importance of your pregnancy, allow me to spell it out for you: the baby you claim to be carrying—if true—is the heir to the throne of Khatrain. As such, for the duration of your pregnancy, you are one of the most important people in the kingdom and your security is my responsibility. I will not have you wandering through a hotel lobby in the middle of the night, understood?’
Her lips parted on a rush of breath. ‘But...no one knows about us and no one knows about the pregnancy! There is no risk to me.’
‘That is a decision I will make.’
‘You cannot make decisions about my life with such unilateral authority,’ she insisted, and he felt it again, that sharp spurt of desire, like an electric livewire—just the same as the night they’d met, and often since. What was it about this woman that made his body burn?
‘Actually, I can,’ he said with a shrug, as though it barely mattered to him. ‘You are in Khatrain, pregnant with my child. That makes you my responsibility. Furthermore, here my will is absolute, and I will not allow you to leave the palace given your situation, and the political importance of this pregnancy. So you might as well stop arguing and simply accept the hospitality I am offering.’
‘Hospitality?’ she spat with a flash of her eyes. ‘You are turning me into a prisoner!’
‘Don’t be so melodramatic.’ He half laughed, even as tension of a different sort cut through him now, a tension that was born of his own behaviour, and the choices he was now making to protect the baby she purported to know was his.
‘Ha,’ she said with obvious sarcasm. ‘You think my freedom is melodramatic?’
‘It is one night,’ he lied, ‘and from a practical standpoint, it makes sense. You say you are flying out tomorrow. Why waste time in transit?’
India stared up at him with a sense that she was lost at sea, no rescue in sight. She was so angry with him, and it was making her lash out and argue over every small detail, when some of what he said had merit. Besides, she was so tired, the idea of being able to be asleep within minutes was what finally tempted her to concede.
‘Fine,’ she muttered. ‘If you insist.’
His response was to place his palm in the small of her back and guide her towards the door. It was a gesture that meant nothing and yet little lightning bolts of need speared through her, as though her body, filled with a portion of his DNA now, were genetically programmed to recognise and want him, even when her brain was shouting at her to pull away from the man. Only she was tired, and his touch gave her a strength and support she badly needed. At the door, he reached across and took her handbag, hooking it over his shoulder instead, relieving her of the burden of its weight.
She allowed him to do that, because it meant nothing, and it was temporary. In the morning, they’d talk about how this would work, she’d stick firm to the ideas she had for the kind of role that would work for her and their baby, and then she’d leave—putting him, this country, and the whole thing behind her.
But with every step they took, doubts began to plague her. She’d been so sure this was the right thing, but she acknowledged now that she’d given up all of her power by coming here to his country, right into the heart of his palace. Only her fears went way beyond that. Because irrespective of the fact that he was a sheikh and she was not, there was something between them that scared India to death.
She wanted him.
Their bodies were close, brushing as they moved, and it took all of her concentration to remember that she hated him, when her traitorous fingers were itching to reach for his chest, spin him around and feel his warmth against the palms of her hand.
It was all the more reason she had to get this over with and leave. One night with Khalil had been dangerously addictive, any more than that and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to get him out of her head, and, for the sake of her sanity, she had to move on.
