The Sheikh's Secret Son

With a concerned expression, her companion briefly exited the room. He reappeared a few moments later with her drink. Once again the beguiling cologne he wore stirred the air, conjuring up potent imagery of a very different land whose history stretched back to the dawn of time.

‘Do you need your medication?’ he asked gruffly. ‘I have it here.’

He gave her the painkillers, along with the glass of water.

‘Thanks.’ Pressing the foil packet with trembling fingers, Darcy emptied a couple of capsules into her hand. Then she hurriedly swallowed them down with the drink, all the while aware that her one-time lover watched her avariciously, almost like a hawk about to bear down on his prey.

‘That’s better,’ she remarked, for no other reason than that it was something to break the silence that had fallen.

‘Even though we are no longer lovers,’ Zafir suddenly declared, ‘if I choose not to marry Farrida, and it can be proved that Sami is indeed my son, there is a way you can repay me for not telling me sooner that you were carrying my child when you left the bank.’

Darcy bristled. ‘When I was forced to leave the bank, do you mean?’

Unperturbed, the steady black eyes held her gaze. ‘That is a conversation for later...not now. Concerning your repayment—I have a solution. I want you to replace Farrida by agreeing to become my wife.’

‘What? You can’t be serious.’

Relieving her of the glass of water, he put it down on a nearby bookshelf. When he turned back, a muscle flinched tellingly at the side of a breathtakingly carved cheekbone.

‘One convenient bride is much the same as another. Except that you have one important thing in your favour, Darcy. It seems that you have already given me the requisite heir.’