Carrying the Sheikh's Baby Read online

  ‘Tell the Prince I am very sorry, but I have urgent business and must return to Narabia.’

  The advisor looked surprised, probably because he had transcribed the note and knew its contents, but he covered it well. ‘Yes, Your Divine Majesty.’

  The advisor made their excuses to Dalman, who looked suitably affronted at the abrupt change of plans.

  As Zane left the palace and climbed into an SUV to take him to the nearby airfield, the obvious reason for Catherine’s request occurred to him and a dropping sensation turned the need in his stomach into a hollow ache.

  Of course, she had wanted to see him to tell him any chance of a pregnancy was now off the cards.

  He rubbed a hand across his jaw, staring blindly at the jet as the airfield came into view and he recognised his reaction for what it was. Not relief, but disappointment. Bone-crushing disappointment.

  ‘Damn it,’ he cursed viciously under his breath. All the frustration and irritation of the last few weeks, which he had kept locked so carefully inside, finally coming out in the open.

  What the heck was happening to him? This was madness. He didn’t want Catherine to be pregnant. He didn’t want her to have his child. Quite apart from anything else, if she became pregnant—and the news got out, which of course it would—he would have to force her to marry him. The way he suspected his father had once forced his mother.

  History would repeat itself. Because how exactly was he supposed to explain to her that he would not be able to let her leave the country? That her free will would no longer be her own?

  He didn’t love Catherine, could never offer her that, because he knew he could never allow himself to be that vulnerable again.

  But even knowing that, a part of him—that dark, selfish part of him that had abandoned his mother without a backward glance—had hoped she would be pregnant. So he could make her stay. And the only possible reason for that was the hunger that had refused to die.

  Need and desire reverberated through his body.

  He imagined her kneeling in front of him, the way she had all those nights ago in Kasim’s camp. Taking his swollen penis into her mouth, tentatively licking around the engorged head, her eyes dark with arousal and excitement as she concentrated on driving him to orgasm.

  As he shifted in his seat, trying to relieve the pounding ache before he had to leave the car and get on the jet, he realised he had never been any better than the man who had hurt him. But even that wasn’t enough to curtail the need.

  ‘Ravi tells me you wished to see me.’

  Cat tried to contain her nerves—and her shock at being summoned to Zane’s office only three hours after she’d requested a meeting that morning. After her nausea attack yesterday, and another one this morning, she’d become more and more convinced she might actually be pregnant.

  But she’d thought she would have several days to compose herself. To figure out what she wanted to do, before she would have to inform Zane of her symptoms. For that reason, and of course the need to keep her condition a secret, she had kept the note deliberately vague and non-committal.

  The very last thing she had expected was to see him so soon.

  The fact that the sight of him—magnificent in his ceremonial robes—had brought back memories of the last time she’d seen him, naked in her bed, wasn’t helping with her composure.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me,’ she said, not sure what the protocol was as the all-too-familiar flush crept up to her hairline.

  His eyes narrowed and then his gaze darted to the door behind them. ‘Ravi, leave us,’ he said. ‘I do not wish to be disturbed.’

  If he thought the order odd, the chief advisor didn’t say so, he merely bowed deeply and then left the room. Leaving them alone in the office.

  Cat felt the intensity of Zane’s gaze over every inch of her skin. Even in the ankle-length robe she felt exposed, nervous, more than a little terrified of what his reaction would be when she revealed the reason she had asked to see him. She took a deep breath, trying to gather the courage she needed, when he spoke.

  ‘Have you menstruated yet?’ His gaze was locked on hers, intense as always but also unreadable. The nerves began to strangler her.

  ‘No, I... I haven’t,’ she managed. ‘I... That’s why I asked to see you.’

  What was that tiny flicker of reaction on his face? Surprise? Irritation? Concern? Why was it so hard for her to tell what he was thinking?

  He nodded, then indicated the deep leather couch that stood under the office’s arched windows. ‘Sit down, Catherine, before you fall down,’ he said, his voice strained, but not unkind.

  She perched on the seat, surprised when he settled beside her and lifted her clutched hands out of her lap. He ran his thumb over her knuckles; the spurt of longing shocked her so much she tried to tug her hand back.

  But he held on, then lifted his gaze. ‘You have been chewing your nails,’ he observed. ‘What are you so nervous about?’

  ‘I think...’ She swallowed past the swell of emotion. What was he going to say and do? ‘I think I may need to take a pregnancy test after all,’ she finally got out.

  He didn’t drop her hand, as she had sort of expected. He didn’t look angry or annoyed or even frustrated; his expression remained carefully neutral. But his fingers tightened reflexively on hers. The sure solid touch was somehow reassuring.

  He seemed to absorb the news. Then he nodded. ‘Have you had any other symptoms?’ he asked, his tone surprisingly calm, she thought, seeing as her own throat felt as if it were burning.

  ‘I’ve been sick a couple of times now, and my breasts have been swollen and oversensitive.’

  His gaze dipped to her chest. ‘Yes, I see your point.’

  The flush fired across her collarbone.

  He’d licked and suckled and played with her breasts that night at the oasis until he’d driven her wild with passion. So the idea she should be embarrassed by his observation now was absurd. But still it was a struggle to get the words out, while he sat next to her, exuding the raw sex appeal that had always captivated her.

  ‘I thought I was about to start my period,’ she said. ‘But it’s been thirty-eight days now. And I’ve never been that late before.’ The babble of information finally stopped, the embarrassment crippling her, which was even more ludicrous.

  His brows lowered fractionally, but it looked more like a frown of concentration than annoyance.

  ‘How bad is the nausea?’ he asked.

  ‘Not too bad.’ She huffed out a breath, finally managing to get up the strength to tug her fingers out of his. ‘I’m so sorry, Zane. I know you didn’t want this to happen.’

  ‘Catherine, don’t start apologising again.’ He held up his hand. The wry smile boosting her confidence. At least he didn’t seem to be angry. That had to be good, didn’t it? ‘First we will establish if there is a child.’

  ‘Then what?’ she forced herself to ask as he stood.

  He captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger, and stroked the sensitive underside. ‘Then we will consider the options open to us,’ he said.

  But as he let go of her face and strode to the door to get Ravi to call for the palace doctor to attend them, her heart ricocheted against her chest wall in hard, heavy thuds, like a bomb waiting to explode.

  What options was he talking about?

  * * *

  ‘There is no mistake? Dr Smith is expecting a child?’ Zane asked Dr Ahmed, the palace’s physician, surprised he could keep his features controlled and his voice even, when all manner of thoughts and feelings were bursting in his chest.

  Whatever happened now, Catherine was his responsibility. Catherine and his child.

  ‘Yes, Your Divine Majesty. I estimate she is four weeks’ gestation. The blood and urine tests both confirm this. And I can arrange for a sonogram tomorrow, at
the clinic in Zahari,’ he added, mentioning the nearest healthcare centre.

  How ironic that one of his first actions as the acting Sheikh had been to invest in a network of state-of-the-art maternity clinics five years ago. He hadn’t expected to need one himself quite so soon.

  ‘Do it,’ he said. He didn’t want Catherine’s care compromised in any way. She was his woman now, no question.

  ‘If this is how you wish to proceed?’ the doctor said, his tone suggesting the remark was a question.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I?’ he asked, confused by the man’s reply.

  ‘Can I ask, Your Divine Majesty, is the child yours?’

  Zane had expected the medic to be curious; still it surprised him that the man was bold enough to ask the question. No one questioned the Sheikh. ‘Yes, it is.’

  The man’s forehead creased in a thoughtful frown. ‘This woman is not Narabian. Perhaps taking her to the Zahari clinic is not the best course of action—’ the man cleared his throat ‘—as this will alert the populace to her condition—which would force Your Majesty’s hand.’

  Anger filled Zane, clutching at his stomach—what was this man suggesting? That he should not acknowledge the child as his? Or worse? But on the heels of it was the guilt that had crippled him as a boy.

  This pregnancy was an accident. An accident they could have taken precautions to stop. But he’d wanted her to stay, so he’d been only too happy to let her take the risk. And now, if he acknowledged the child, she would be forced to marry him. Worse than that, she would effectively have no choice about continuing with the pregnancy.

  But everything inside him rebelled against the idea of offering Catherine a choice. This was his child, his heir. He didn’t want her to terminate the pregnancy. And he still wanted Catherine, more than he’d ever wanted any woman. Although this all-consuming desire would no doubt fade in time, it had been torturing him for over a month.

  And from the breathless blush that had lit up Catherine’s face when she’d mentioned her tender breasts, and his gaze had strayed to the provocative display of cleavage pressing against her robe, he knew it still tortured her too.

  That the news of her pregnancy hadn’t caused the panic he would have expected was perhaps a shock in itself. He had never even contemplated fatherhood until that first night with Catherine. But much more shocking was the realisation that however wrong, however selfish he was being, he didn’t want to take the chance of losing her or his child.

  Yet more proof that he wasn’t as unlike his father as he had once assumed.

  Letting the disgust rush up his throat, he sent the doctor a scathing glare.

  ‘She will go to the Zahari clinic for her sonogram,’ he said.

  Realising his mistake, the doctor bowed profusely and babbled a series of apologies. Zane raised a hand to silence him. ‘Arrange the appointment for tomorrow. I need to speak to Catherine in private.’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ the doctor said. ‘She awaits you in my surgery.’

  Opening the door into the doctor’s surgery, he saw Catherine’s head jerk up. She sat on an examination table, her robe replaced by a hospital gown. Unfortunately, the clinical outfit did nothing to disguise her voluptuous curves.

  Arousal pounded back into his groin at the thought of his child nursing at those full breasts in eight months’ time.

  He wanted to see that, with a passion that surprised him. Apparently pregnancy was only going to make Catherine more irresistible.

  Thank goodness they would have eight months to enjoy it before they would have to deal with the reality of a child.

  But first he had to persuade Catherine that her future, their child’s future, was here with him.

  Maybe he couldn’t offer either one of them love. But love was a fickle, dangerously destructive emotion—his own parents had taught him that.

  What he could and would offer the child was his name and his heritage. And what he would offer Catherine was his protection, his wealth and, for as long as it lasted, every ounce of the passion now pounding through his veins.

  * * *

  ‘What did the doctor say?’ Cat asked as Zane returned to the room. But she had already guessed when the palace doctor had left her, telling her he would have to inform the Sheikh first of her condition.

  As a consequence, she’d been sitting on the clinic bed for the last twenty minutes trying to control the tangle of increasingly terrifying scenarios running through her head.

  Capturing her hand, Zane sat beside her and slung an arm around her shoulders to pull her close to his side. His thumb ran across her knuckles, easing the trembling in her fingers. He nudged her hair with his chin, then placed a kiss on her cheek. ‘It appears you are going to have my heir, Catherine.’

  She let out a staggered breath, the panic releasing in a rush—washed away by the huge swell of emotion at his show of tenderness.

  ‘You’re not angry?’ she said, unable to hold back the hiccup as tears stung her eyes.

  ‘No. Are you?’

  She shook her head, brushing a tear away with her fist. ‘No, I’m...’ What was she? Shocked? Overawed? Amazed? Joyful? Scared? All of those things and more. ‘I’m not angry. It feels like a positive thing,’ she added. ‘Even if it’s going to be challenging. What...? What will we do now?’ she asked, feeling desperately unsure.

  He’d said the baby would be his heir. But what did that mean? Would he ask her to stay in Narabia?

  Giving up her life in Cambridge wouldn’t be hard. She’d discovered an adventurous side to her nature in the last month and a half that would make it next to impossible to return to the cloistered, academic existence she’d lived there. Kasia was already a closer friend and confidante than any of the colleagues she had shared coffees and lunches and dinner and theatre dates with over the years. And as far as her academic studies went, she would relish the chance to spend years here, discovering all the secrets of this fascinating country.

  But what would her life be like in Narabia as the mother of Zane’s child? Would she be expected to live in the palace? How could she live here, so close to Zane, and not yearn to be with him? But what right did she have to ask for more? This was an accidental pregnancy and he’d already made it clear he had no desire to continue their brief sexual liaison. And even if he offered her more, how could she accept it, knowing that it was only being offered because she carried his child?

  The thoughts rattled through her tired brain, starting to make her head hurt.

  Taking her shoulders in firm hands, he nudged her round to face him, forcing her to meet the intense blue gaze that seemed able to see all of her weaknesses.

  ‘So you want to have this child?’ he asked.

  She shuddered, his eyes stark with an emotion so intense it took her breath away.

  She nodded, because at least the answer to that question was easy. ‘Yes.’

  He brushed his thumb across her cheek, gathering another tear. ‘Then there’s only one answer to your question. We will be married and you will become my Queen.’

  ‘What?’ His confident, pragmatic tone shocked her almost as much as the proposal.

  His sensual lips tipped up into a smile that had her heart thundering against her ribs.

  ‘You must marry me, Catherine,’ he said again, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  Cat scrambled back, sure she must be dreaming now. Or in some strange fugue state brought on by the emotional overload of the last few days. ‘But... I... I can’t,’ she said.

  ‘Why can’t you?’

  ‘Because...’ So many objections swirled in her head she couldn’t cling to one. ‘I’m not Narabian, for starters,’ she managed. ‘How could I possibly be your Queen? Surely your people would object to—’

  ‘Shhh.’ He touched a thumb to her lips, silencing the onslaught. ‘I am half-American. M
y mother was American. The people embraced me and her because that was my father’s choice. If I choose you, that is all the legitimacy we need.’

  ‘But why would you choose me?’ she murmured, the question striking at her greatest insecurity.

  She’d watched her own parents’ marriage disintegrate all those years ago, and she could still remember the words her father had spoken as her mother had left that night.

  Please stay, Mary. Don’t leave us. I love you. Cat needs you and we can work this out.

  Her mother’s reply still haunted her.

  The problem is, Henry, I’m not sure I ever loved you. And I’m sure Cat will be fine without me. She’s always been more loyal to you than me.

  Her mother’s departure had broken her father in so many ways. But it was those words—so flippant and callous and final—that had destroyed him. He’d been a good man, a dedicated father, but ever since that day something had gone out of him. He’d never smiled the way he had when her mother had been there, he’d never laughed with the same abandon.

  On some level, Cat could see clearly now, she had tried to fill the hole her mother had left behind, because she’d felt responsible for her departure—but she’d never been able to. Because she had lacked her mother’s spirit, her mother’s charisma, her mother’s charm.

  She couldn’t bear to be cast in that role again. Even for the sake of her own child.

  ‘Because you are going to have my child.’ Zane’s hand flattened against her belly. The warm possessive weight sent shivers throughout Cat’s body. ‘And because I still desire you, very much.’

  ‘You do?’ Cat blurted out. ‘But I thought you didn’t want me any more.’

  ‘Why would you think that?’ he said, his brows arching up his forehead.

  ‘Because you left me at dawn. And you’ve avoided me ever since,’ she said, admitting to herself for the first time how much his absence had hurt.

  ‘I was trying to protect you,’ he murmured.