Carrying the Sheikh's Baby Read online

  ‘Now, don’t start apologising for nothing again,’ he said and continued playing with her hair.

  There was no edge to his voice, the tone relaxed, but she suddenly felt hideously exposed. The fog of afterglow finally clearing from her dazed brain and making her realise exactly what she’d done.

  The project? Her contract? If she thought a kiss had compromised that, what about falling into bed with the Sheikh?

  Sitting up, she grabbed the sheet to cover her breasts and felt the slight soreness where he’d reddened the areolas with his kisses.

  ‘Hey,’ he said as she scooted off the bed. ‘What are you doing?’

  She leaned over the edge to locate her robe. ‘I should go back to the women’s quarters. I need to pack.’

  She could feel tears stinging the backs of her eyes.

  What had she done? She’d really messed up this time. This wasn’t just a mistake. It was a catastrophe.

  She spotted the edge of her robe under the bed, but as she leaned over further to pick it up the sheet around her body tightened and she couldn’t budge.

  ‘Why do you have to pack?’

  She glanced over her shoulder, to see him propped up on one elbow, his fist gripping the other end of the sheet and preventing her from moving.

  ‘Because I have to leave. Obviously. I can’t possibly stay here after what just happened.’ She tugged on the sheet, knowing she was becoming hysterical but not quite able to stem the flow of feelings. She was her mother’s daughter after all. ‘Zane, please let go.’

  ‘No way,’ he said. ‘Not until you stop talking garbage. We slept together, Catherine. It was good. And kind of inevitable after that kiss.’

  Was it?

  She wanted to argue with him, appalled by his casual response to actions that had put the whole project in jeopardy.

  ‘I... I still can’t stay,’ she stuttered, desperate to tug the sheet out of his grip.

  The blush fired up her chest. The last thing she needed right now was to have to wrestle with him.

  Then he gave the sheet a sharp yank and she collapsed against his chest.

  He clasped her round the waist and kissed the top of her shoulder blade as she tried to squirm away from him. ‘Calm down, Catherine... You’re overreacting again.’

  He suddenly stilled, the low curse startling her as he let her go.

  ‘What the hell is this...?’

  Taking her chance, she scrambled off the bed, but as she turned back to him, the sheet now wrapped securely around her, she could see what he was staring at.

  The flecks of her blood on the bottom sheet.

  His gaze rose to hers; the colour had drained out of his face. ‘Is this menstrual blood?’

  She could have lied to him again. But she wasn’t a dishonest person. And the words simply wouldn’t leave her lips. Her face flushed with guilt in the tractor beam of his gaze and she was forced to shake her head.

  ‘You lied?’ he said. ‘You were a virgin.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to lie... I just didn’t want you to stop,’ she said.

  ‘Did I hurt you?’ he said.

  ‘Not really,’ she said, the concern in his words striking right at the heart of all her insecurities. That it would matter to him, that he would care, felt huge when she knew it shouldn’t.

  ‘It’s a yes-or-no answer, Catherine,’ he said, his eyes dark with a torment she didn’t understand.

  ‘It only hurt for a moment. Then it felt very good.’

  He nodded and then looked away. She took the opportunity to slip the robe back on, her body trembling with reaction, the sore spot between her thighs beginning to throb.

  They’d just made love... He’d given her her first—and then her second—proper orgasm. But it had meant much more to her than it should—which had to be why this conversation felt far too intimate.

  His jaw clenched, the tension in the hard muscles of his chest suggesting that he wanted to say something. For the first time he looked frustrated. Maybe he was annoyed with her after all. But he didn’t say anything and, as always, it was hard for her to tell what he was thinking.

  Although she suspected it was probably along the same lines as what she was thinking. That this had been a very bad idea.

  ‘Do you need me to escort you back to the women’s quarters?’ he asked.

  The dismissal felt like a blow. But she tried hard not to let the hurt show. She shook her head, scared she would give herself away if she spoke.

  He pointed to a door on the opposite side of the chamber. ‘If you leave through there, one of the guards can show you the way.’

  ‘Okay,’ she managed past the boulder of grief in her throat, for all she’d lost—No, not lost... Thrown so carelessly away.

  ‘We can talk more about the repercussions of this tomorrow,’ he said, not unkindly. But still she felt compromised, and wobbly and hopelessly exposed.

  She nodded, her throat raw.

  Because what could there possibly be left to talk about now?

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘YOU CANNOT LEAVE, CATHERINE.’ Zane watched Catherine’s face flame, her eyes full of humiliation. And confusion.

  ‘But surely I must. I can’t possibly continue with the project if—’

  ‘Please let me finish.’ He held up his hand, struggling to control the swift kick of temper... And frustration.

  He should not have touched her. Should not have given in to the hunger that had flared as soon as he’d heard her laughter coming from his mother’s old chamber. Because the possible repercussions of her innocence would now force his hand. And hers.

  ‘The project can continue,’ he said. She opened her mouth to deny this claim. ‘But the project is the very least of my concerns at this point.’

  ‘It is?’ She seemed astonished—and he wondered, not for the first time, why she put so little value on herself. She was a vibrant, beautiful woman; she’d given herself to him with no restraint, no hesitation last night. But he had seduced her. Not the other way around.

  ‘Certain facts from last night need to be addressed.’ He watched her response carefully, some of his anger dissipating when her brows launched up her forehead.

  ‘What facts?’ Either she was a better actress than his mother, or she was genuinely confused. The bitter cynicism tying his guts in knots began to ease. Whatever else this was, it hadn’t been a set-up.

  ‘In your research,’ he asked, because he needed to be sure, ‘did you read anything about the Laws of Marriage for the Sheikh?’

  She shook her head, her glorious eyes widening.

  ‘You were untouched. As the Sheikh, if I take a woman to my bed who has never before known a man, Narabian law requires me to marry her and honour her as my Queen. It is an ancient tradition—brought in many centuries ago—to protect young girls in the Sheikh’s palace from being exploited.’

  ‘But I’m not that young, and you didn’t exploit me. You didn’t even know I was a virgin,’ she said, sounding a little frantic now.

  The frustration flared. Which made no sense at all. He did not want to be forced into a marriage any more than she did.

  ‘The fact though remains that you were one.’

  ‘I’m so sorry I lied. I shouldn’t have lied to you. It was stupid and selfish and shameful and—’

  ‘Catherine, please stop,’ he said, cutting off the guilt-ridden monologue as he got up from behind his desk and crossed the office.

  She sat, staring at her hands, which were clutched tightly enough in her lap to whiten her knuckles. Kneeling in front of her, he covered her hands with his.

  ‘I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?’ she said, her voice so forlorn he wanted to sweep her up in his arms again.

  Not smart.

  He resisted the impulse. Getting any more intimate with this wom
an would be a mistake. She’d already had an unpredictable effect on him. Because it wasn’t just ancient Narabian law that made him want to protect her from the consequences of their actions.

  He nudged her chin up with his index finger. ‘Listen to me, Catherine. You were not the only one in that room last night. And you weren’t the one with experience of these matters. I was.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m the only one who lied,’ she said. ‘And now you’re in a massive constitutional bind because of me.’ She blinked furiously, and he felt the deep pang under his breastbone at the misery sheening her eyes.

  How ironic was it that it had been seeing her in his mother’s salon—so sweet and open and artlessly arousing—that had made it impossible for him to deny his desire any longer?

  He knew the stories about that chamber. That it had been a prison. That his father had locked his mother in there when she became pregnant with him. He had no idea whether those stories were true, because it had upset his mother too much to talk about his father when she was sober.

  He suspected the truth was less lurid, and more complex though, because the only time his mother had talked about his father—when she’d been the worse for drink—she had always insisted Tariq had been the only man she had ever loved. And that she had never been able to forget him.

  Something he had never understood. How could his mother continue to care for a man whose love, whether real or imagined, had eventually destroyed her?

  Or rather, he had never understood it, until now.

  He didn’t love Catherine. And he wasn’t about to fall in love with her. He had promised himself long ago he would never allow himself to be damaged by love the way his mother had. Love was a destructive force, because it required the loss of self. And whatever love his mother had still felt for his father, he’d had no delusions about how his father had felt about her, once he’d been brought to the palace.

  But he could see how easily an intense physical attraction—such as the one he and Catherine shared—could mess with your head. And all your priorities. Or he wouldn’t be kneeling in front of her now, desperate to take the misery out of her eyes.

  ‘We should be able to ignore the constitutional bind on two conditions,’ he said.

  Catherine’s head shot up. ‘We can? Oh, thank goodness.’

  Her profound relief kicked at his pride. He clenched his teeth, determined to ignore the contrary reaction.

  ‘What are the conditions?’ she asked, the eagerness in her voice prodding at his composure.

  ‘That your virgin state last night doesn’t become common knowledge,’ he said, something he’d already taken steps to control, by asking Ravi to burn the bed sheets and having a confidential word with Kasia not to spread news of their liaison. ‘And that there are no unforeseen consequences.’ Which was by far the more problematic detail.

  ‘Unforeseen consequences? You mean if I get pregnant?’ she asked, the turmoil in her face becoming more acute.

  ‘Yes. I didn’t use any protection,’ he said. ‘Are you by any chance on the pill?’

  * * *

  Zane didn’t look angry, he just looked troubled. But still Cat felt the tension in her stomach tighten, and the misery caused by this conversation threatened to engulf her.

  How could she have been so reckless? So impulsive? She hadn’t even considered contraception until this moment. Heat blazed across her cheeks and she was forced to shake her head.

  He swore softly under his breath.

  ‘I... I should have said something,’ she stammered. How could she have got so swept up in the moment that she hadn’t considered the risk of pregnancy? Perhaps because she’d been far too busy worrying about her position at the palace, and the feelings that Zane had aroused ever since she’d met him, to worry about anything else.

  ‘I’m not sure I gave you a chance,’ he murmured.

  ‘I’m sure I won’t get pregnant,’ she said, trying to right this situation. ‘I had my period only a few days ago. I’m nowhere near the middle of my cycle.’

  He nodded, but he didn’t look entirely convinced. ‘That’s something, I guess.’

  ‘And you pulled out,’ she said, remembering the seed she had washed off her stomach as soon as she’d returned to the women’s quarters. ‘I’m sure the chances are very slim. But maybe I could take emergency contraception?’

  He shook his head. ‘Such options are illegal in Narabia. It would cause an uproar if the people believed you were trying to prevent a pregnancy.’

  Cat could well imagine; having discovered the power of the Sheikh after studying the ancient scrolls, she knew the Sheikh was treated like a living god.

  ‘I’m afraid the Sheikh’s seed is considered sacred,’ he murmured, the wry smile disconcerting but also comforting. Apparently, he didn’t blame her for this disastrous turn of events—even if she was not going to be able to stop blaming herself. ‘Stopping it finding fertile ground would be considered a capital offence.’ He continued, ‘Do you wish to return to the UK?’

  She shook her head, the impulse instant and unequivocal. ‘No, I think... The chances are so slim... I really don’t think it’s necessary.’

  He nodded. ‘Good. Then we are agreed.’

  That he was happy for her to stay, despite everything, seemed huge. But as he walked back to his desk and took his intoxicating scent with him, regret pulsed low in her abdomen.

  She stifled the ludicrous reaction. Hadn’t her foolish pheromones got her in enough trouble already?

  ‘We shall continue with the project as normal,’ he added, sitting back down behind his desk. ‘If you fled the country now, there would be questions about why, and then keeping the truth of what happened last night under wraps would be even harder.’

  She nodded, the rush of joy ridiculous in the circumstances, but there nonetheless. She’d been convinced she would be returning home today. And while the reasons why she would have to stay were hardly ideal, she was still glad she didn’t have to leave Narabia.

  The memory of Zane’s lips on the yearning spot between her thighs, the sound of lace ripping, had the febrile heat flushing through her system.

  She squirmed and squeezed her thighs together, but could do nothing to stop the flood of warmth.

  ‘Catherine? What’s your answer?’

  She looked up to find Zane watching her, with the same intensity with which he had watched her last night.

  ‘I’m sorry. Did you say something?’ she said, realising he must have been talking and she hadn’t been listening.

  His gaze narrowed, searing her skin. The warmth glowed between her clenched thighs like molten lava, doing nothing to make this situation any less mortifying.

  ‘I am taking a trip to visit the Kholadi chief, Kasim, tomorrow. Would you like to accompany me? They are Narabia’s only remaining nomadic tribespeople and such a trip will help re-establish your reasons for being in this country.’

  Her sex pulsed hard, at the thought of accompanying him...anywhere. ‘Yes, that would...’ She cleared her throat, her voice distressingly husky. Like that of a lover. Which of course she was not. Or not any more. ‘That would be very useful.’ She stood. ‘Thank you, for being so reasonable about all this.’

  ‘Catherine, wait...’

  She turned from the door, unnerved as he crossed the room.

  ‘You mustn’t blame yourself for something I was a great deal more responsible for than you,’ he said.

  He was being generous. Far too generous, really. She shouldn’t have lied to him about her inexperience. But even though she knew that, her frantic heartbeat slowed at the understanding in his eyes.

  ‘Are we clear on that?’ he prompted.

  She nodded, too emotional to speak.

  ‘Good.’ He touched his thumb to a lock of hair.

  ‘I will have the necessary garments sent to y
ou for tomorrow’s trip.’ He tucked the errant tendril back behind her ear, and then thrust his hand into the pocket of his trousers. The shimmer of sensation ran down her neck and tightened her nipples. ‘It will be a hot journey and you’ll have to wear the full veil while we travel.’

  ‘To observe the traditions of the nomadic tribespeople?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’ His lips tipped up on one side. ‘To stop your skin from being fried to a crisp.’

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Then left the room on unsteady legs, the tug of intimacy at his familiar caress and the protective comment crucifying her. But as she hurried back to the women’s quarters, determined to read up on all the information she had on Narabia’s nomadic tribes in preparation for the trip, so they could both re-establish the distance they had so comprehensively lost, it wasn’t caution and concern that dominated her thoughts, but the dangerous burst of longing.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘YOUR EXCELLENCY, I’M SORRY, but I think there’s been a mistake.’

  Zane glanced round from adjusting the stirrup on his saddle, to find Catherine standing behind him in the stable yard. He steeled himself against the familiar surge of arousal at his first sight of her since yesterday in his office. Even with the ankle-length black riding robe draped over her, he could still imagine the abundant curves beneath. Could still capture her scent in his memory—fresh and spicy and so seductive. Could still see the wonder in her eyes when she’d looked at him, touched him.

  He’d invited her on this day trip to the Kholadi Oasis in Narabia’s desert lands on the spur of the moment yesterday. He’d persuaded himself at the time it was because they needed to re-establish a professional distance between them. But now he wasn’t so sure.

  He still wanted her. Too much.

  Making the impromptu invitation, and the motives behind it, indulgent at best—and dangerous at worst.

  He faced her. ‘You can call me Zane, Catherine,’ he said, attempting to quell his annoyance at the formal address.

  Even if they weren’t going to repeat the folly of two nights ago, he was still responsible for her, until they had established she was not carrying his child.