Sheikh's Convenient Marriage

But she certainly wasn’t imagining Gabe’s detached manner as they rode in one of the glass elevators towards the top of the tall building. She might as well have been travelling with a statue for all the notice he took of her, but unfortunately she wasn’t similarly immune.

She tried to look somewhere—anywhere—but he filled her line of vision in his sexy, off-duty clothes. Her gaze stayed fixed determinedly on his chest for she didn’t dare lift it to his face. She tried to concentrate on the steady rise and fall of his breathing instead of giving in to the darkly erotic thoughts which were crowding into her mind. He didn’t want her—he couldn’t have made that more clear. Yet all she could think about was the way his hands had slid round her waist when he’d still been deep inside her, the spasms dying away as he’d pumped out the last of his seed.

His seed.

The elevator stopped, the doors opened and Leila stepped out—straight into a room which momentarily took her breath away. An entire wall consisted of windows which commanded a breathtaking view of the night-time city, where stars twinkled and skyscrapers gleamed. The floors were polished and the furniture was minimalist and sleek. It was nothing like the ancient palace she called home and she felt as if she had walked into a strange new world.

For a moment she just stood and stared out of the windows. She could see the illuminated dome of St Paul’s Cathedral and moonlight glittering on the river Thames. There was the sharp outline of the Shard and the pleasing circle of the London Eye. For years she had longed to come here, but never like this—because now she was seeing the famous city through the distorted lens of fear.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.

Leila allowed herself a moment of fantasy that this was a normal date between two people who had been lovers. How would that work? Would he open champagne and let her drink some before taking the glass from her hand and kissing her? Was that how he usually operated? Probably not at two in the morning when his night was being disturbed by a woman he was indifferent to...

For a moment she wondered what she might have done in this situation if she’d been a normal, Western woman—with all the freedoms that those women seemed to take for granted. There would have been no need for her to behave like this. Moving around under cover of darkness. Having to throw herself on the mercy of someone who didn’t want her...

‘No, I don’t want a drink, thanks,’ she said. ‘That’s not why I’m here.’

‘Then why don’t you sit down,’ he suggested, ‘and tell me why you are?’

She sank onto a leather sofa which was more comfortable than it looked. ‘Look, there’s no easy way to say this—and I know it’s going to come as a shock, but I think I’m pregnant.’

For a moment Gabe didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. It was a long time since he had felt fear, but he felt it now. It was there in the hard beat of his heart and the icy prickle of his skin. And along with fear came anger. The sense that something was happening to him which was outside his control—and hadn’t he vowed a long time ago never to let that happen to him again?

Yet on some instinctive and fundamental level, her words were not as shocking as she had suggested. Because hadn’t he already guessed what she was going to say? Why else would she have pursued him like this across thousands of miles? She was a desert princess and surely someone like her wouldn’t normally seek out a man who’d shown her nothing but coldness, no matter how much she had enjoyed the sex.

But none of his thoughts showed in his face. He had been a survivor for too long to react to her dramatic words—at least, not straight away. He had spent his life perfecting this cool and impenetrable mask and now was not the time to let it slip. He studied her shadowed eyes and seized on the words which offered most hope. The only hope.

‘You only think you’re pregnant?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, but I’m pretty sure. I’ve been sick and my...’

Her words tailed off, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to say the next bit, but Gabe was in no mood to help her out—and certainly in no mood to tiptoe around her sensibilities. Because this was the woman who had disguised herself. Who had burst into his suite and come on to him without bothering to tell him who she was. She might have been a virgin but she certainly hadn’t acted like one—and he was damned if he was going to let her play the shy and sensitive card now. Not when she was threatening to disrupt the ordered calm of his life. Disrupt it? She was threatening to blow it apart.

He felt a sudden flare of rage. ‘Your what?’ he prompted icily.

‘My period is late!’ she burst out, her cheeks suddenly turning red.

‘But you haven’t done a pregnancy test?’

‘Funnily enough, no.’ She bit her lip. ‘It’s not exactly easy for me to slip into a chemist back home to buy myself a kit. Somebody might recognise me.’

He wanted to say, You should have thought of that before you let me strip you naked and lead you to my bed. But he was culpable too, wasn’t he? He had deflected the advances of women before and it had never been a problem. So why hadn’t he sent this one on her way? Why hadn’t he read any of the glaring clues which had warned him she was trouble? Had the subterfuge of her disguise and the fact that she was being pursued by bodyguards turned him on? Brought colourful fantasy into a life which was usually so cool and ordered?

‘I used a condom,’ he bit out.

Like a snake gathering strength before striking again, she drew her shoulders back and glared at him with angry blue eyes. ‘Are you seriously suggesting that somebody other than you could be the father, Gabe?’

He remembered the way her trembling hand had circled his erection until he had been forced to push it away, afraid he might come before he was inside her. Had she inflicted some microscopic tear in the condom with those long fingernails of hers? And had that been deliberate?

But he pushed those thoughts away, because nothing was certain. And a man could drive himself insane if he started thinking that way.

‘I’m not suggesting anything, because at the moment all we have is a hypothetical situation,’ he said. ‘And we’re not doing anything until we have facts. There could be a million reasons why your period is late and I’m not going to waste time thinking about some nightmare scenario which might never happen.’

Nightmare scenario.

Leila flinched as his words cut into her like the nicks of a dozen tiny blades. That was all this was to him. Remember that. Hold that thought in your mind and never forget it. A nightmare scenario.

Had she thought that he would make everything all right? That he would sweep her into his arms as men sometimes did in films and stroke her hair, before telling her that she had no need to worry and he would take care of everything?

Maybe she had. Maybe part of her had still bought into that helpless feminine fantasy, despite everything she knew about men and the way they treated women.

‘Perhaps you could go and buy a pregnancy test for me,’ she suggested, staring out at the dark sky, which was punctured by tiny stars. ‘Since I find the thought of braving the London shops a little too much to contemplate at the moment.’

Something small and trembling in her voice made Gabe’s eyes narrow in unwilling comprehension. He wasn’t used to picturing himself inside the skin of a woman—except in the most erotic sense—but he did so now. He tried to imagine this pampered princess transplanted to a foreign country, bringing with her this terrible secret. How must it feel to give such momentous news to a man who did not want to receive it?

‘We’re not having some do-it-yourself session,’ he said flatly. ‘I will make an appointment for you to see someone in Harley Street tomorrow.’

Her eyes were suddenly wide and frightened.

‘But somebody might tip off the press if I am seen going to the doctor’s. And my brother mustn’t find out. At least, not in that way.’

‘Haven’t you ever heard of the Hippocratic oath?’ he questioned impatiently. ‘And patient confidentiality?’

Leila almost laughed. She thought that, for a man of the world, he was being remarkably naive. Or maybe he just didn’t realise that royal blood always made the stakes impossibly high. It made the onlooking world act like vultures. Didn’t he realise that professional codes of conduct could fall by the wayside, when a royal scoop like this offered an unimaginably high purse?

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ she said.

Gabe watched as she reached for her handbag. She was wearing that same damned raincoat, which reminded him uncomfortably of their erotic encounter in Qurhah. For one tempting moment he entertained the thought of having sex with her again. It had been the most amazing sex of his life and he still couldn’t work out why.

Because he had been the first?

Or because her touch had felt like fire on a day when his heart had been as cold as ice?

He remembered the way her long legs had parted eagerly beneath the quest of his hungry fingers. The way she had moaned when he had touched her. He could almost feel the eager warmth of her breath on his shoulder as he’d entered her, as no man had done before. Vividly, he recalled the sensation of tightness and the spots of blood on his sheets afterwards. He closed his eyes as he remembered seeing them spattered there like some kind of trophy. It had felt primitive, and he didn’t do primitive. He did cool and calculated and reasoned because that was the only way he’d been able to survive.

Pain gnawed at his heart as he tried to regain his equilibrium, but still his body was filled with desire. Wasn’t it also primitive—and natural—for a man to want to be deep inside a woman when she’d just told him she might be carrying his child?

His mouth tightened. If he pulled her into his arms and started to kiss her, she would not resist. No woman ever did. He imagined himself reacquainting himself with her scented flesh, because wouldn’t that help him make some kind of sense of this bizarre situation?

‘Leila,’ he said, but she had stood up very quickly and was brushing her hand dismissively over the sleeve of her raincoat, in a gesture which seemed more symbolic than necessary.

‘I must get back before anyone realises I’ve gone,’ she said.

She walked across to the other side of the room, and Gabe felt the bubble of his erotic fantasy burst as she fixed him with a cool look. For a moment it almost seemed as if she had just rejected his advances—even though he hadn’t actually made any.

‘Phone me at my hotel and tell me where to meet you tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I will have to use Sara as a decoy again, but I’m sure I can manage it.’

‘I’m sure you can,’ he said with the grim air of a man whose whole world was about to change, whether he wanted it to or not.