Carrying the Sheikh's Baby Page 12

  ‘That’s about the dumbest thing I ever heard,’ he said, cradling her face in his palms. ‘You were six, Catherine. You couldn’t have known what the hell was going on.’

  She could smell soap on him and the scent of the sex they’d shared, and feel his heart pounding in strong steady beats beneath her cheek. He caressed her hair, cupping the back of her head—comforting her in the way she’d meant to comfort him.

  She forced herself to draw away and look up into his face.

  ‘I know. But I can see now for years I used what happened then as an excuse to be a coward in every area of my life.’ Until I made the decision to come to Narabia with you. ‘But if what happened with my mother wasn’t my fault, how could what happened to your mother be your fault?’

  ‘I’m not sure how the two are related,’ he said, but he didn’t look guilty any more, he just looked shattered. ‘I was fourteen going on thirty with enough life experience to know better. You were just a little kid.’

  His lips tilted in a devastating smile and his hand roamed up her thigh and squeezed her butt, sending delicious tendrils of heat skidding back into her sex.

  It was a distraction technique, and they both knew it. But when he rolled over, and his erection brushed her hip, the shimmer of desire felt like a relief.

  Who knew sex was by far the simplest and most straightforward part of any relationship to navigate?

  ‘Are you trying to tell me something, Zane?’ she asked with a soft laugh, deciding that simple was what they both needed now.

  ‘No, I’m planning to show you,’ he said. And then he kissed her, teasing butterfly kisses that sent her senses soaring, as he delved into her slick folds and found the swollen nub of her clitoris.

  The soft laugh choked into a carnal moan of pleasure as she forgot about everything but the glorious feeling of being possessed by this powerful, complex man.

  If this night was all they could have, it seemed foolish not to make the most of it.

  * * *

  ‘The Sheikh has left without me?’ Cat stood in the soft morning light staring dumbly at the horizon, her heart beating an uneven tattoo.

  Zane had brought her to climax twice more during the night. He’d taught her how to pleasure him using her hands, her mouth, her tongue... And had done the same for her, driving her to gasp and sob and cry out. But when one of Kasim’s servants had woken her up half an hour ago, the tent had been empty, all traces of Zane gone—except the lingering scent of him that clung to her skin.

  For a moment she’d even wondered if she’d dreamt the whole thing, the confidences they’d shared, the overwhelming emotions, the stunning intimacy.

  When she’d finally tumbled into sleep she’d felt safe and secure in his arms. And now she felt bereft. She’d even been looking forward to the hour-long ride back to Allani, because it would give her one last chance to be with him, to be held by him.

  ‘My brother left before dawn.’ Kasim watched her. And she was reminded of Zane’s anger towards him the night before.

  Kasim had arranged their night together to expose his brother to ridicule this morning. Was that why Zane had departed without a word? To save her reputation? It seemed the only explanation that made any sense.

  She clung to it as she kept her face impassive. Or as impassive as she could while the vicious pain stabbed under her breastbone. She’d been abandoned once before. She could survive this, until she found out the reason why. And she was sure Zane had one.

  ‘I see,’ she murmured.

  ‘He asked me to arrange a ride for you to Allani, where a vehicle will be waiting to drive you back to the palace,’ Kasim said.

  ‘But I don’t know how to ride a horse,’ she said, wondering why Zane hadn’t mentioned she couldn’t ride.

  The sound of a loud snort startled her and she whipped around to see a group of men leading a line of camels. As the giant creatures drew closer, snorting and chewing and spitting, the pungent smell of urine and compost hung on the dry desert air.

  ‘This is not a problem.’ Kasim smiled, the easy grin reminding her of the far too charming man from the night before. ‘Abdullah and his herders will show you how to ride a camel.’ Leaning close to her, he whispered in her ear, ‘But be sure to lean back on take-off and landing, or Zane will have my hide for compromising his woman’s dignity.’

  She found herself smiling back, the blockage in her throat making it impossible for her to correct him again.

  Even if she could never acknowledge being Zane’s woman, after everything they had shared last night she always would be in some small corner of her heart.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE FOLLOWING WEEKS passed in a haze of hard work on the project, as Cat forced herself to forget about her brief liaison with the Sheikh.

  She persuaded herself she’d overreacted about the things Zane had told her during their visit to the Kholadi camp and everything she thought they’d shared.

  Because Zane was conspicuous by his absence.

  When she’d arrived back from the Kholadi Oasis—after an eventful journey discovering the joys of camel riding—Ravi had greeted her to explain that His Divine Majesty would be unavailable for the next few weeks as he was travelling on a series of diplomatic missions to neighbouring kingdoms.

  At that point she’d forced herself to bury her hurt and disappointment deep. Zane had made no promises to her, and she had made none to him in return. They’d simply been exploring their sexual connection. Nothing more or less. She needed to get her thoughts and feelings in perspective. In two months’ time her visit to Narabia would be over and she would return to her life in Cambridge a wiser and more experienced woman. And if her nights were still filled with erotic dreams—that woke her up sweating and aching—that was a cross she would willingly bear for those two nights in Zane’s arms.

  And luckily, the work was exhilarating, with Ravi tasked to help and support her in everything she wanted to do. That Zane had lifted any embargo on her acting independently was a victory of sorts, which she tried not to read too much into.

  With Kasia’s assistance, she set up a series of group interviews with citizens across the spectrum of Narabian society. Before now, her work had always involved being a bystander, an observer, but with this project she felt so much more invested. And honoured to be even a small part of Zane’s plans to bring Narabia’s fascinating society into the glare of world attention.

  Each evening when she returned to the palace she could hardly contain her enthusiasm about the conversations she’d had. And the progress she was making with the study. The only regret she had was that she couldn’t discuss any of it with Zane. She would have loved to get his unique take on the country’s complex culture and traditions.

  She tugged her veil off, determined to keep the spurt of melancholy at bay as she and Kasia entered her chamber in the women’s quarters.

  The dusty road trip back from a small workers’ encampment near the oil fields had been long and tiring—which was probably why she was dwelling on stuff that did not need to be dwelt on.

  Zane and she weren’t an item—they never had been. It had been a two-night fling.

  ‘You look tired,’ Kasia said as she poured water into the basin. ‘We should cancel tomorrow’s trip to Kavallah?’ the girl added, now as good as fluent in English.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Cat replied, leaning over the basin to splash the cooling water on her face. The truth was she was exhausted, had been for several days, but that could only be because of the many sleepless nights she’d endured in the last few weeks.

  She really needed to stop obsessing about Zane. And their mini fling.

  ‘Ravi says the Sheikh has left today on a diplomatic mission to Zahar,’ Kasia said as she filled another bowl with water and washed her own face.

  Cat fought to quash the misery lodged in her chest, and the predicta
ble colour climbing up her neck at the mention of Zane.

  He was going about his business and she needed to do the same.

  Eventually her appetite for him would fade—this was just a physical blip brought on by working too hard and not sleeping enough.

  ‘When will you speak with him again, about the project?’ Kasia asked as she lit the oil well beneath the Persian samovar Cat kept in her chambers—so they could have tea with the debriefing they always did after one of their field trips.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, feeling stupidly dejected at the news Zane had gone off on another foreign trip without asking to see her.

  ‘How long has it been that you and the Sheikh are together in his bed?’ Kasia asked.

  The hectic colour burned Cat’s scalp. She splashed more water on her face, trying and failing to cool the heat. The direct question was a surprise. Kasia and Ravi were the only people who knew she had spent the night with Zane in the palace all those weeks ago. She had been instructed never to mention it. And to Cat’s surprise, she never had. Until now.

  ‘Kasia,’ Cat said, trying to speak calmly while the blush was running riot. ‘You mustn’t talk about that. I told you, it was a mistake.’

  She had to believe that.

  ‘I think maybe we must speak of it,’ Kasia said, giving her a strange look.

  A serving boy entered with a tray of the pastries they usually indulged in with their tea. The sweet confections made in layers of flaky patisserie and dripping with syrup were delicious, and Cat had become a bit addicted—but over the last couple of days she’d gone off them. And after today’s long hot drive back, the rich treat definitely didn’t appeal.

  Filling a porcelain cup for Cat with the aromatic tea, Kasia handed it to her, then ladled a pastry onto a plate as the boy bowed and left.

  ‘We definitely don’t need to talk about it ever,’ Cat said, determined to steer the conversation back onto safer ground. She waved off the plate Kasia passed her way. ‘I think I’ll give the baklava a miss,’ she said as the aroma of lavender syrup and pistachio wafted into her nostrils.

  Her stomach turned over.

  Kasia lowered the plate, but her face had brightened.

  ‘It has been a month,’ Kasia said. ‘Since that night,’ she continued. ‘And now you cannot eat your baklava.’

  ‘What?’ Cat stared. It hadn’t been a whole month, had it? She’d never counted the days, the prospect of a pregnancy so small. And her breasts had felt heavy, swollen recently, her stomach bloated, which had made her sure she was about to start her period.

  Kasia nodded. Her smile radiant now. ‘The Sheikh must marry you if you carry his heir,’ she said, her voice giddy with excitement. ‘And then you can stay in Narabia always as our Queen.’

  Shock gripped Cat’s insides—but with it came the emotion that had assailed her the night she’d drifted to sleep in the Kholadi camp, before Zane had arrived... The last time she had contemplated the possibility of pregnancy.

  Before she could assess what the emotion was, exactly, her stomach heaved into her throat, bringing with it a wave of bile.

  She dropped her tea, slammed a hand over her mouth. The sound of the porcelain chiming on the copper tray rang in her ears as she raced into the bathroom.

  The contents of her stomach emptied into the toilet bowl in wretched spasms. Sweat misted her face, her limbs shaking as the retching continued until it felt as if everything she’d eaten that day had come out.

  She slumped back on her haunches. A wet cloth covered her forehead as Kasia knelt beside her; her eager grin had a strange feeling of unreality settling over Cat.

  But beneath that was a deep drawing need that was impossible to suppress.

  ‘I can’t be pregnant,’ she said. Determined to believe it and ignore that strange wave of need—and something even more disturbing—making her hands shake.

  A pregnancy would be a disaster, for her as well as Zane.

  ‘I ate all that you ate, and I am not sick,’ the girl replied. ‘You are tired now these past days, and your breasts...’ The girl’s gaze dipped to the bodice of Cat’s robe, which tightened around her torso like a titanium corset. ‘They are more full, yes?’

  ‘I can’t be pregnant, Kasia,’ Cat murmured again, starting to feel positively drained—the fear consuming her. She didn’t want to cause a constitutional crisis, or force Zane into a marriage he didn’t want. But what would happen if she were?

  You’re getting ahead of yourself, again. Nothing’s confirmed.

  ‘But you have not bled since you first lay with the Sheikh? Is this not so?’ Kasia said, sounding perplexed at Cat’s failure to be as overjoyed as she clearly was at the prospect of an unplanned pregnancy.

  Cat dismissed the foolish clutch in her heart—and tried to control the terrifying emotion that had assailed her once before when she’d contemplated the possibility of carrying Zane’s child.

  ‘What’s the actual date today?’ she asked, her throat raw. She needed to get a grip. She wasn’t always that regular. And she’d had a period only four days before her first night with Zane. And they hadn’t used penetration during their night at the oasis. Surely there was no need to panic.

  ‘The fifteenth of April,’ Kasia said, starting to look concerned.

  Cat frantically calculated the dates. Her heart jumped into her throat as she completed the maths.

  Thirty-eight days since her last period.

  She pressed a hand to her stomach. The panic and confusion accompanied by a deep jarring surge of protectiveness and that strange emotion she hadn’t been able to name all those weeks ago at the oasis.

  She sat down heavily on the divan. ‘Oh, God,’ she mumbled.

  She’d never been this late before. Not even close. Against all the odds, she could be carrying the Sheikh’s child. Zane’s child.

  Vulnerability opened like a huge chasm in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘I think now the Sheikh will have to come back to the palace and speak with you,’ Kasia said, her tone confident and amused at the prospect of that meeting.

  The opposite of what Cat felt, because she now knew what that unnamed emotion was—however foolish and inappropriate in the circumstances—which had begun to choke her.

  Not panic or shock or fear... But hope.

  * * *

  Your Divine Majesty,

  Dr Smith has asked me to relay a request. She asks if she can make an appointment to speak with you on your return from Zahar and wishes to know when that will be.

  Regards,

  Your humble servant,

  Ravi

  Zane stared at the note that had been passed to him by one of his advisors. The rambling welcome from the Crown Prince of Zahar in a dialect he didn’t understand faded into the background as his gaze ran over the lines of the short missive again. And again. Emotions he’d struggled to tame over the last few weeks—during a series of increasingly desperate and interminably dull diplomatic missions—sprang up his torso. Alive and vivid and stronger than ever.

  Passion. Desire. Concern. Surprise. But perhaps, most disturbing of all, a fierce sense of responsibility.

  What possible reason could Catherine have for contacting him? Other than the obvious reason?

  He’d been calculating the dates of their first encounter. And each day that had passed, his agitation had increased. He should have gone to see her, to confirm that she had had her period, long before now. But each time he had returned from another trip or tour, he had forced himself not to give in to the urge. Because he still hadn’t managed to control the needs that raged through him every night.

  It had nearly killed him to ease her out of his arms as the red light of dawn had shone through the fabric of the Kholadi tent nearly a month ago now. It had taken every ounce of his self-control to dress in the darkness and leave her
succulent and responsive body lying naked on the sheets. To resist the intoxicating scent of sex twisting his guts into knots.

  He’d done the right thing. He couldn’t stay. Couldn’t risk falling asleep in her arms. He’d already come perilously close to revealing the truth about what had happened the night before he’d been snatched by his father.

  But in the weeks since he’d waited for the need—and that terrifying sense of connection—to fade.

  Even though he hadn’t told Catherine everything, he had told her things he had never confided in anyone, an impulse that had made him deeply uneasy the following morning.

  But despite his desperation to create distance between them in the weeks since... The need to see her, to speak to her, to touch and taste her hadn’t died. If anything it had got worse. And now this? He had not expected her to contact him. Certain that she must realise absence was the only way to curb their hunger for each other.

  Even if it hadn’t curbed it up to now.

  He should ignore the note. He would be returning to the palace in two days. She hadn’t said the problem was urgent. Whatever it was. And it would send entirely the wrong signals if he rushed back to see her simply because she’d asked him to.

  But still the sense of urgency and anticipation tightened around his larynx, threatening to strangle him as he remembered the silken softness of her hair against his fingertips, the brush of her breasts shivering against his chest, as she told him of the mother who had abandoned her.

  He wasn’t the only one who had made themselves vulnerable that night.

  ‘Your Majesty, the Crown Prince would like to show you to his stables. He has a fine stallion to offer you as a gift.’

  Zane’s head rose at the whispered prompt from one of his diplomats.

  So Prince Dalman had finally finished talking.

  Crumpling up the note, he shoved it into the pocket of his robe. And before he could think better of it, he said what he had wanted to say as soon as he had read it.