Crowned For His Desert Twins by Clare Connelly

CHAPTER SEVEN

ITWASHER worst fears—fears she hadn’t fully acknowledged to herself until this moment—confirmed. She stared at him, shaking her head, even when she knew there had always been a risk of this. Why had she thought she could give him this news and then leave again? What kind of fool was she?

He crossed his arms over his chest, everything firming into place with the strength and certainty of lightning, bolting towards the earth.

‘You’re pregnant with my children. Clearly you cannot go back to America.’

‘I’m sorry, that is certainly not clear to me. What difference does it make that they’re twins?’ She stared at him in that way she had, as though he were so far beneath her, her blue eyes narrowing scathingly. ‘Or is it simply that you believe me now that a doctor has confirmed their gestational age?’

‘The doctor’s confirmation was important,’ he said unapologetically. ‘Anyone in my position would seek the same assurance.’

‘And my word wasn’t enough?’

Strangely though, Khalil hadn’t questioned the honesty of her statement until she had suggested that he might doubt her. Then, it had been easy to believe she was lying to him—after all, Fatima had already greased the wheels there, her dishonesty and ultimately viciously mercenary behaviour making it impossible for him to trust women, particularly when it came to children.

‘I have the confirmation I wanted,’ he said, as though that was all that mattered. ‘And now we must focus on the future.’

Indignation fired in her eyes so he was tempted to sweep her into his arms and kiss it away, reminding her that before there was this anger between them, a different kind of passion had flared.

‘I have been focussing on the future,’ she said through gritted teeth, looking around the room with a hint of panic in her eyes then striding towards the sofa, where she’d discarded a shirt at some point during her stay. She lifted it up and stuffed it into her backpack, then disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a small, zipped bag that she also added to the backpack. ‘I’ve been focussed on nothing but the future since I learned of this pregnancy, but that future is not here in Khatrain. I’m going home.’

‘The sooner you start to think of this as your home, the better.’

Her lips parted and she stared at him as though she couldn’t fathom this response—as though it had never occurred to her that he might fight to be a part of the children’s lives.

‘You said you would do whatever it took to give your child everything you could in life; are you surprised to discover I feel the same way?’

‘Yes, frankly,’ she said with a shake of her head, as if to dispel the very idea. ‘I’m not here because I want you in their lives! I came because—’

‘You thought I should know. Yes, you have said this, many times. But what did you think I would do with that knowledge, azeezi?’

‘I—don’t know.’ She zipped up her backpack and lifted it over one shoulder, but the gesture—while valiant—lacked certainty, and her trademark defiance was nowhere to be seen. The truth was, she’d feared this response, but she’d told herself it wasn’t possible. She’d lied to herself, because a desire to do the right thing had outweighed her self-preservation instincts. Or was it something else that had motivated her to fly to Khatrain? Had she actually hoped—but, no. India would not allow her thoughts to go in such a mortifying direction. She didn’t want any part of what he was suggesting!

‘I will be Sheikh of Khatrain—did you think I would allow my child to be raised in America? That I would simply visit from time to time, when I happened to be in the area? Did you think this pregnancy would mean so little to me that I would not turn my life on its head to accommodate it—and you?’

Her lip trembled and he felt, unmistakably, pity for her.

‘I thought you wouldn’t want it,’ she said softly, and shock split through him.

‘I thought you’d be angry at me for having conceived. I thought you’d offer money for me to disappear, and that you’d marry someone else soon enough and have royal heirs all of your own, so that you wouldn’t want the embarrassment of our illegitimate child hanging around your neck.’

He stared at her in shock. ‘Nothing you have described is what I feel, believe me.’ His eyes narrowed though as he replayed her statement in his mind. ‘Did you want money? Is that why you came?’

Sadness shaped her features. ‘No.’ Her voice was hollow. ‘And I wouldn’t have taken it, even if you’d offered it.’

‘Even for the baby?’

‘Not unless it was a matter of life and death,’ she said emphatically. ‘Children don’t need much beyond love and that I am well able to provide.’

Admiration flared in his gut, and something else too: gratitude. Because the most important trait he could ask for in the mother of his children was that she would want to protect them with her life, and India clearly felt that in spades.

‘This is a decision you no longer have to make.’

‘You mean it’s a decision I no longer get to make,’ she corrected, fidgeting with her fingers. ‘If I stay in Khatrain, it will be because you’ve forced me.’

‘How about we try a different word?’ he said as he crossed towards her, lifting the backpack off her shoulder and placing it on the floor. ‘What if we speak of persuasion instead?’

‘You have not persuaded me. You’ve dictated to me.’

His look alone silenced her.

‘You cannot afford one baby, let alone twins. Your debts are monumental, and you lost your job at the agency shortly after our night together.’

Her eyes were like saucers in her face, her skin blanching pale. ‘How did you know?’

‘That doesn’t matter.’

‘It matters to me! Have you been spying on me?’

‘Naturally I did my research,’ he said. ‘I thought someone might have taken a photograph of us kissing at the bar, remember? I wanted to be prepared if the story broke in the papers.’ He raked her face with his eyes, his expression grim. ‘You are in no position to fight me.’

‘And yet I would, with all that I am.’

‘It would never be enough.’ He moved closer, near enough to touch. ‘You are in my country, where we play purely by my rules. Even if we weren’t, I have the means—and motivation—to pursue custody of our children through the highest courts in your country. And I would win, India. Your vocational choices make that a given.’

‘Damn it, Khalil, I’m not what you think I am.’

‘Even if that is true, working as an escort is still enough to put doubt into a judge’s mind.’

Her lips parted on a whoosh of hurt and he felt a stirring in his gut, a yearning that spread through him like wildfire, so he caught her face in his hands and held her right where she was.

‘But beyond that, there is a part of you that doesn’t want to fight what I am suggesting. There is a part of you that wants to stay here with me, isn’t there, India?’

Her eyes were like pools of doubts, but they were also awash with desire, so much he could swim in it. He stroked her lower lip, and felt her tremble beneath his touch, the pulse point at the base of her throat visible beneath her translucent skin.

‘I found it impossible to resist you that night, and that same desire flashes through me now, even after—’ he shook his head. ‘What kind of fool does that make me?’

He saw hurt in her eyes right before he kissed her, and he blanked it from his mind. He didn’t want to wound her. He was only being honest. And in that moment, all he honestly wanted was to kiss her until he felt sane again.

She was breathless with the pleasure of his kiss, its unexpected nature catching her off guard, so she was completely lost to him, her knees sagging her body forward, and it was the most natural thing for his arm to clamp around her waist, holding her to him.

Fight him. Fight this!

Her brain was screaming at her, warning her that within pleasure lay the potential for so much pain, and yet they were bonded, the two of them; bonded by babies and something else, an undeniable force that held them together, so that when he lifted her and carried her to the bed, she didn’t even think about saying anything to resist him.

She didn’t want to. It was selfish and short-sighted but India’s craving for Khalil usurped everything else. He undressed her quickly, pausing only to undo his own belt and trousers before he separated her thighs with his knee then pushed into her, kissing her as he possessed her body. She groaned at the immediate sensation of relief then white-hot pleasure, his possession of her swift and urgent, the same need rushing through them both, overpowering them, making speech and sense unnecessary. There was only this.

His fingers weaved with hers, pinning her hands above her head as he moved, trapping her. His other hand roamed her breast, cupping it as he kissed her and thrust deep and hard, faster and faster as their need grew to the point where neither could bear it, neither could fight it: they clung to one another as they exploded, pleasure a burst of light that, for a moment, pushed aside the dark.

Khalil’s body weight on top of hers was blissful, but only for a moment. Reality began to push against her and regrets were not far behind. This situation was complicated enough without having brought sex right back into it. India’s breathing slowed and his weight became impossible to bear, so she pushed at his chest, rolling out from beneath him and standing, lifting a hand to her forehead and shaking her head.

‘That shouldn’t have happened.’

There was no regret in his face, only determination. Had he planned to seduce her? To prove a point?

‘No,’ he said simply, so she realised she’d asked the questions aloud.

‘Then what the heck...?’

‘I meant what I said. Whatever drew us together that night still exists between us. Nothing that happened since has changed our desire.’

‘But it has for me! Everything is different now.’

She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes darken with something like doubt, but it was gone again almost instantly, arrogance back in place.

‘The fact we have this chemistry is a bonus, India. Our marriage needn’t be a disaster—we can share this, and our children. Many people have wed for much less.’

Her jaw dropped, her mind too spongy to make sense of what he was saying. ‘Did you just say—our marriage?’

‘Of course. What else did you think I meant when I said you would stay in Khatrain?’

‘I thought you meant until I’d had the babies.’

‘And then what?’ he asked, sitting up. ‘Did you believe I would pack you off to America, out of our babies’ lives?’

‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t give you much benefit of the doubt,’ she responded, her eyes devouring his naked form even as she tried to pull away from him.

‘You were wrong.’ He ignored her barb. ‘I meant for you, and the children, to remain here. Obviously we must marry, to ensure their place in the line of succession.’

It was all too much. India shook her head, looking around for the time. She could still make her flight. She just had to convince Khalil that was in everyone’s best interests—she needed him to see sense.

‘You believe that I’ve been engaged in the kind of career that no one in your kingdom would ever accept. What if we were to marry and your suspicions hit the papers? You were worried enough when it was a simple kiss in a bar, but marriage?’

‘That is a consideration,’ he said seriously. ‘But it’s a risk we must take.’

‘What about your father?’ She pushed, desperate.

His lips tightened. ‘There is no option but to marry—for the sake of our children.’

‘You’re not listening to me. I don’t need your help. I can raise my children in the States, on my own.’

‘But they are my children too, India, and I will fight for them with every last breath in my body. I will not allow them to be raised away from me. So what option do we have then?’

Consternation struck her in the middle. She looked around for her clothes—discarded at the foot of the bed—and pulled on her dress, preferring not to have this conversation while she was stark naked, her body still covered in red patches from his stubble and touch.

‘Let me put it this way instead,’ he said slowly, once she was dressed. ‘The line of succession in Khatrain is quite specific. On my thirtieth birthday—in a matter of months—I am to inherit the throne. I will be crowned Sheikh, but only if I am married. It is a peculiar requirement of our country’s constitution. I have known for a long time that I must choose a bride and marry swiftly. If we were to do this your way, and not marry, I still would not permit you to leave Khatrain until the children were born, at which point I would demand that they remain here. In the meantime, I would be forced to marry one of the women my advisors have urged me to consider, and that woman, my wife and Sheikha, would be a stepmother to our children. Is that the future you want?’

She gasped, hot, bright lights flashing in her eyes at the awful picture he painted.

‘Or,’ he continued, his voice husky, his accent thick, ‘you could accept my proposal. Marry me and we will raise the children together. You would live the life of royalty, my kingdom would be your kingdom, the homes I have around the globe yours to enjoy, a fleet of jets at your disposal to travel home and see family any time you wished. And there would be this,’ he reminded her, standing and placing his arms on her hips, holding her tight against his taut body. ‘A marriage that meets both of our needs, yes?’

‘No,’ she whispered, shaking her head, even as the strength of his argument was impossible to fault. How could she deny what he was offering? And what he was implying would happen if she didn’t agree? He was carving out a place for her in his life, in royal life, and, most importantly, in their children’s lives. The alternative was not hard to imagine: she would be sidelined at first and excluded eventually, her children raised without her.

But marrying a man she didn’t love? Who despised her? Since she’d watched her mother fall in love with her stepfather, India had known she wanted exactly that for herself—true, everlasting love. A proper family. That certainty had only solidified as she’d continued to witness her parents’ happiness over the years.

Marrying for love was a luxury no longer open to her. She wanted—more than anything—for her children to be near to her. That had to override everything else.

‘And what will you tell your people about me? More importantly, your parents?’

‘My parents will be so glad to know I’m engaged. They will not ask questions beyond that.’

He made it sound so simple, but it wasn’t. Marriage to Khalil was paved with danger. If the last half-hour had taught her anything it was that she was monumentally weak where he was concerned. What would it be like when they were husband and wife?

It was all too much to consider—she needed more time, a chance to breathe and think this through. But Khalil was staring at her, his mind made up. And on one score, he was perfectly right. She was in his country. His word was law.

‘Getting married is extreme,’ she said, her voice juddering.

‘On the contrary, it is sensible.’

She analysed their situation from every angle, trying to see her way through this, to imagine a different future. But all roads led back to the truth: they were tied together already. Was there any harm in formalising it? And yet, still she clung to the idea of more time, a chance to be sure she wouldn’t live to regret this decision. Lost in thought, she didn’t notice as he moved closer, his hand lifting to her cheek, cupping it. ‘And it is not as though our marriage won’t have a silver lining. It’s clear we share this desire.’

She bit down on her lip as her body responded to his nearness, his touch, overriding her momentary uncertainty. His eyes probed hers and she bit back a sigh, because she wanted to lift up and kiss him, but as soon as she did that, she knew what would happen—again. They couldn’t simply tumble into bed together every time they got close. This conversation was too important to be overpowered by their very mutual desire. India forced herself to step back, away from him and temptation, but it did nothing to tamp down on the slick of heat between her legs. She looked away, frustrated at her body’s response.

‘You don’t understand,’ she murmured. ‘My parents loved each other. I’ve always wanted that.’

His eyes sparkled, a hint of challenge in their depths. ‘It’s unrealistic.’

‘A loving marriage? You’re kidding, right?’

‘It’s unrealistic for us, in this circumstance.’

She clamped her lips, biting back whatever she’d been intending to say.

‘You should be aware that our marriage contract will include a financial arrangement. It’s standard for royal marriages.’

Sadness welled inside her—a sadness born of his beliefs. Why didn’t he see who she really was? Why didn’t he accept her version of events? She wanted to shout at him that she didn’t want his money, that he could take his fortune and run straight to hell with it, but the truth was, if she remained in Khatrain, she would need access to funds immediately to cover costs back home. There was a small amount left in her account, which would pay for upcoming utilities, but Jackson’s college fees were due before long and India would need... She dug her fingernails into her palms to stop tears from filling her eyes. She would need to accept his payment, again. Her pride was stripped to pieces.

‘How much?’ The words were whispered, sadness thickening the consonants.

‘And now I have your interest?’

‘I’m just curious,’ she lied, as though it weren’t vitally important to her.

‘Naturally. What amount do you think would be fair?’ he prompted, arms folded over his chest. ‘It would help, of course, if I knew your going rate—then we could simply multiply that out to cover a lifetime.’

‘Don’t.’ She squeezed her eyes shut, anguished. She hated what he thought of her! And worse, that she was now living up to it, by accepting any kind of marriage settlement.

‘Why not?’ He sighed heavily. ‘Why can’t you at least own your decisions, India?’

Her stomach looped. He couldn’t possibly think any worse of her. The truth was, she knew exactly the amount she needed—enough to cover Jackson’s degree. She would sooner sell the house than ask this man for a cent more—as much as that would pain her. It was her family home, but her mother would have understood. She wouldn’t debase herself for a physical possession, but for Jackson? So he could stay at college, even when she was over here? She couldn’t leave him stranded. He had to be taken care of; her parents would have expected that of her.

‘I need one hundred thousand American dollars,’ she muttered, without meeting his eyes, so she didn’t see the surprise that flashed in them—surprise, because his marriage contract with Fatima had stalled at the point she’d sought ten million dollars on the day of their marriage, and a generous annuity thereafter.

‘I know it seems like a lot.’ She continued to stare at the ground, hating this situation with all her heart.

‘And what do you need this sum for, India?’

Her skin grew pale. She looked away, the awful truth of her financial situation like a lump in her throat.

‘It’s...personal.’

‘So personal you cannot share it with your fiancé?’

Fiancé...!She squeezed her eyes closed. Was she really going to do this?

‘Does it matter?’ she murmured eventually.

‘No.’ Contempt fired in the word and her stomach dropped. ‘Was there anything else?’

She was on a sinking ship, unable to find a life vest. She looked around, panicked, her mind in a spin. But yes, there was one other consideration, the most important one of all perhaps.

‘I think we should wait another month to announce our engagement.’

‘No. We must marry immediately; within days.’

‘Let me finish,’ she insisted. ‘You heard what the doctor said. The first trimester carries a higher risk of miscarriage. I hope and pray with all my heart that we are blessed with two healthy babies in seven months’ time, but if we’re not, if anything happens, then there’s no point in...the marriage between us...wouldn’t make sense.’

‘I also heard the doctor say that your risks are low,’ he reminded her.

‘Low, but not nil. It’s a simple precaution. You’ve made it perfectly clear that I’m far from the ideal bride. Why risk upsetting everyone if it’s not necessary?’

His expression was inscrutable, his handsome, symmetrical face as still as if it had been carved from granite.

‘It makes sense,’ she said softly. ‘We’ll wait a month, and then, if everything looks good, and this still makes sense... I’ll marry you, Khalil.’