The Desert King's Secret Heir

There had to be a way out of this. Somewhere to escape. But Hamid was overseas and her friends had no more resources than she did. Certainly not enough to spirit her and Dawud away.

A shudder racked her. She needed to find somewhere safe till this died down. How she was going to do that when she was due at work tomorrow she had no idea. Would the reporters hound her at the shop, or mob Dawud’s nursery?

Probably both. Her stomach roiled and nausea stirred.

She’d known she shouldn’t have gone to that embassy reception. Not because she’d suspected for a moment she’d see Shakil... Idris as he now was. But because it was pure weakness to give in to her curiosity about his country. Look where it had got her.

It’s not your fault, it’s his. He was the one who kissed you. He was the one who wouldn’t leave.

Yet, if she were truthful, those moments in his arms had been magic, as if—

A sharp knock sounded on the front door. That was when Arden suddenly realised how quiet it had grown. As if the crowd of reporters had left.

She didn’t believe it for an instant. It was a trick to lure her out, preferably with Dawud.

Arden smiled at her son as he looked up at her, singing the simple lyrics they often sang together. She hunkered down and cuddled him, joining in.

But the rapping on the door started again. Peremptory. Unavoidable.

Kissing Dawud’s head, she got up and walked softly into the tiny entrance hall, closing the door behind her. The letter box flap opened. She hadn’t thought of that. She was just wondering what she could use to stick it closed when she heard a man’s voice. A deep, assured voice that had featured in her dreams far too often in the last four years.

‘Arden. Open the door. I’m here to help.’

Her feet glued to the floor. She was torn between the offer of help and the knowledge that this was the man who’d brought disaster crashing down on them.

And the fact that, despite a sleepless night, she was no closer to knowing if she wanted him in Dawud’s life.

As if you’ve got a choice now.

In the background she heard a rising murmur of voices, presumably from the paparazzi. Yet he didn’t speak again. Perhaps because he was used to minions running to obey his every whim. Yet she understood how much courage it took to stand there alone, with a mob of press recording his every move.

And he’d come to help.

She reached out and unlatched the door, staying behind it as she swung it open just wide enough for him to enter.

Swiftly he bolted the door then turned.

Idris. He was definitely Sheikh Idris now. There was no hint of Shakil, the laughing, passionate lover she’d known in Santorini. This man’s face was a symphony in sombre beauty, lines carving the corners of his mouth, ebony eyebrows straight and serious.

‘You’re all right? Both of you?’

Arden nodded. To her dismay her mouth crumpled. Until now she’d been buoyed by fury and indignation. But one hint of concern and she felt a great shudder pass through her. She hadn’t realised before how her anger had masked terror.

‘Arden.’ He reached out as if to take her arm then stopped. His mouth flattened and he dropped his hand.

‘We’re okay.’ Her voice was husky. She told herself she’d react this way to sympathy from anyone after facing the press onslaught. It had nothing to do with the concern in his dark eyes. Yet that look ignited a new warmth in her frozen body.

Finally her brain engaged and she frowned.

‘You shouldn’t have come. You’ve made it a hundred times worse. What were you thinking?’

His eyebrows rose in astonishment. Clearly he wasn’t used to anyone questioning his actions.

‘It can’t get any worse. Not after the photos they’ve already got.’ He folded his arms over his dark suit, for all the world like a corporate raider contemplating a run on his stocks, not a Middle Eastern potentate. Surely sheikhs wore long robes and headscarves?

‘But now they’ve seen you here they’ll think—’

‘They already know.’ His tone was so grim it made the tiny hairs at her nape stand up. ‘In fact—’ he paused, his voice dropping to a silky, dangerous note that made her think of an unexploded bomb ‘—some would say they know more than I do.’

Arden wanted to say the press didn’t know anything. They assumed. But it was splitting hairs.

‘Couldn’t you have sent someone instead?’ She crossed her arms tight across her chest, where her heart catapulted like a mad thing against her ribs. Grateful as she was for assistance, she refused to feel guilty about what had happened. This wasn’t down to her. He was the one who’d attracted press attention. She was a nonentity.

‘I did send someone. But they reported you were surrounded. Your phone is switched off and I assumed that if a stranger knocked on your door, claiming to represent me, you’d think it was a ruse to get you out to face the cameras.’ Ebony eyes held hers, challenging.

Reluctantly Arden nodded. He was right. She’d never have opened the door to anyone she didn’t know.

‘I had to come. There was no other choice.’

How did he sound so calm when they were in this mess? Arden couldn’t begin to imagine how she and Dawud could go back to their normal, anonymous lives. She wanted to rant, to point the finger of blame at him, but what would that achieve? She had to protect Dawud. There was no time for the luxury of hysteria.

Besides, despite her fine words, she hadn’t been forced into that telltale kiss.

Shame filled her. She’d clung to his broad-shouldered frame, losing herself in his sensuality, in the pull of an attraction that was as powerful as it had always been.

Despite the way he’d abandoned her years ago.

Despite the fact he had a fiancée.

Arden hated herself for that. She should be immune to him now. Her stomach dropped and she stepped away, her back colliding with the wall. Determination filled her. She would not fall under his spell again.

‘What?’ His voice was sharp.

‘Your fiancée.’ The word rasped out, rough-edged.

‘Not my fiancée.’

‘But Hamid said—’

‘Hamid doesn’t know everything.’ That twist of his mobile mouth looked cruel. As if the words he held back would flay someone alive.

Slivers of ice pricked her all over.

In that instant he morphed from saviour to threat.

She’d been almost relieved to see him but suddenly, as if scales fell from her eyes, she saw him not as the man she’d once loved, or as Hamid’s cousin and a potential safe harbour in this press storm, but as an absolute monarch, accustomed to getting whatever he wanted.

Arden licked her lips. ‘What do you want?’