by Annie West
Ashraf might be new to fatherhood, but that didn’t mean his feelings for Oliver were less real. Or that he had a smaller claim to parenthood.
The knowledge rushed at her like a biting wind, piercing the mental armour with which she’d shielded her fears. She’d told herself Oliver was hers. That because she barely knew Ashraf, that he came from a faraway place and a time in her life best forgotten, his claim on the baby was less.
How untrue that was. This man, who ruled a country and probably slept in a gilded bed with silk sheets, surrounded by every luxury, had bunked down on the hard floor beside his son. That hadn’t been done to make a point.
‘Tori! Are you okay?’ Ashraf stepped close in a couple of long strides, one warm hand closing around her elbow. ‘You look unsteady on your feet.’
She shook her head, pushing her hair back from her face, and stood straighter. ‘I’m all right.’ As all right as she could be when her life had suffered a sudden seismic shift.
As if from a huge distance she saw her plans for a new life in Perth fracture. Whatever the future held, it wasn’t going to be as straightforward as she’d expected.
Ashraf led her to the rocking chair, his hold supportive and expression serious. When Tori experienced another jolt of awareness she felt like a fraud. Then, when he leaned close to pass Oliver over, the warm, evocative scent of spiced cinnamon and male flesh surrounded her. Her nipples tingled, and it wasn’t just reaction to Oliver’s hungry cry. It was connected to the pulsing throb low in her body.
She shivered and tightened her hold on her baby.
‘You’re cold?’
The words trawled over her bare arms like a velvet ribbon.
No, she was burning up.
How could she react so viscerally to a man she barely knew? She wasn’t by nature promiscuous. Yet with Ashraf...
She’d told herself that what had happened that night in Za’daq had happened because they’d been in mortal danger. That they’d been driven by a primal impulse to procreate and ensure the survival of another generation. What excuse did she have now?
It was as if she was wired to respond instantly and catastrophically to Ashraf.
‘No, not cold. Just tired.’
‘I’ll get you a hot drink. You need to replace fluids.’
Then, before she could stop him, he strode out of the room.
* * *
Ashraf spent as long as he could in the kitchen. Anything to stay away from Tori and regroup.
She’d stood in the doorway, looking dazed and delicate, and he’d been torn between concern and fascination at how the hall light behind her outlined her tantalising shape through her nightdress. Pouting breasts, narrow waist, long, slender legs and gently rounded hips.
He’d wanted to grab her hard against him. Need had clawed, urgent and unstoppable.
Her hair was a messy halo, her cheeks flushed. Her lemon-yellow nightgown had a row of buttons down the front, presumably to make breastfeeding easier. Only a couple of those prim buttons had been fastened, allowing him tantalising glimpses of pearly skin.
Memories of losing himself in Tori’s sweet body bombarded him, of her soft cries of encouragement and the incredible bliss of a coupling that had far transcended the brutal reality of that foul kidnappers’ hut.
He frowned and moved to the kettle, filling it with water. His years of scandalous indulgence might have been designed to infuriate his father, but they hadn’t been a complete sham—even if his sexual exploits had been exaggerated. He was used to sophisticated women well versed in seductive wiles. He was used to silk, satin and lace, or complete nudity. Not dainty cotton with embroidered flowers. Not nursing mothers.
Ashraf shook his head and straightened. Nothing about this trip was going to plan. But he was adaptable. He had no intention of leaving without his son. Or Tori.
* * *
Tori had finished feeding Oliver but Ashraf still hadn’t returned. Had he thought better of spending the night there? The possibility made her feel curiously bereft. But sneaking off without declaring his intentions wasn’t Ashraf’s style.
‘Shall we swap?’
At the sound of his low voice she swung round, hugging Oliver close.
Far from planning to leave, Ashraf hadn’t even bothered to dress. Tori’s skin tingled with a blush as she fought to stop her gaze going lower than the mug he held.
She’d never been particularly bashful, and until today rarely blushed. Maybe that was due to her father’s demands that she accompany him to public events from an early age. Or because female geologists were still outnumbered by men. As a result she’d learned to hide anything that might be viewed as feminine weakness.
Ashraf put the steaming mug down on a chest of drawers and reached for Oliver.
‘He’s almost asleep.’ Tori hugged him closer, as if the baby could protect her from unwanted feelings.
‘Good. I’ll hold him for a little, then put him down while you have your drink.’
Remembering the look on Ashraf’s face as he’d watched Oliver, how could she resist? Tori passed the baby to him, supremely conscious of her nakedness under her nightie and Ashraf’s bare arms brushing hers.
Not that Ashraf noticed. His attention was all on Oliver as he paced to the window, stroking the baby’s head with one big hand. Something dipped hard in Tori’s chest and she turned away, picking up the mug and taking a sip as she sat down.
‘This is good!’
‘No need to sound surprised. Even kings can boil water.’
She liked the teasing lilt in his voice too much.
‘I expected tea.’
Dark eyebrows lifted as he caught her eye then turned away, rocking Oliver. ‘I didn’t know how you took it, and I didn’t want to interrupt, so I made my own favourite.’
‘Lemon, honey and...’ she paused, taking another sip ‘...fresh ginger?’ So simple yet so delicious.
He nodded, but kept his gaze on their son.
Tori drew a shaky breath and confronted the reality she’d fought from the moment Ashraf had told her his intentions.
‘I’ve been thinking.’
‘Yes?’
His head lifted, gleaming eyes pinioning her. It didn’t matter that Ashraf was more than half naked and holding a sleeping baby. He looked as powerful as any sovereign in full royal regalia.
Anxiety feathered her spine but she kept her gaze on his, refusing to be intimidated.
‘I can’t marry you.’ She watched the corners of his mouth fold in, as if he was holding back an objection. ‘But I understand your desire, your right to be involved in Oliver’s life.’ Her heart pattered faster as she made herself continue. ‘I’m still not sure about him being a prince, though. Surely when you eventually marry your legitimate children will inherit?’
‘I told you I can legitimise Oliver. I intend to. And I have no intention of taking any other wife.’
Heat flashed through her like a channel of lava, incinerating more of her defences. It shouldn’t make a difference, but when Ashraf spoke like that part of her enjoyed it—though it was ludicrous to believe he cared about her as anything other than Oliver’s mother.
Of course he’d marry. Some glamorous princess who’d charm his people and give him a bevy of children.
Something sharp lodged in Tori’s ribs and she had to breathe slowly to ease the spike of discomfort.
‘I’m not entirely convinced becoming Crown Prince of Za’daq is what I want for him.’
Ashraf’s brow corrugated and his mouth tightened. Tori wondered what he wasn’t saying. That it wasn’t up to her to decide such things?
‘Because you believe my country is unsafe? That’s understandable, given your abduction, but believe me, that’s not the case now.’
‘That’s part of it, but not all.’
How did she even
begin to express her horror at the idea of her precious boy being thrust into such a public role with no choice? She’d spent her childhood and teenage years as a handy asset in her father’s politicking. She’d hated it—especially as she’d got old enough to understand his cynical use of a good photo opportunity and his focus on self-aggrandisement rather than public service.
‘I want Oliver to have the opportunity to be a child just like any other.’ Not shunted around to smile for the press when the polls looked bad or family values were a hot issue for voters.
‘Oliver will have that. You have my word.’
‘You’ve said he’s destined to become Sheikh. What if he doesn’t want to be?’
The idea of her little baby inheriting seemed impossible. Ashraf was so vital and strong. Tori’s insides squeezed at the idea of him dying. But he’d come close just last year.
‘That’s what you’re worried about?’ He shook his head and the lamplight caught indigo shadows in his inky hair. ‘Most women would be thrilled at the idea of their child inheriting riches and power.’
‘Most women don’t have a politician for a father. Power shouldn’t be an end in itself.’ She paused, weighing her words. ‘It can have a negative effect on a person and on those around them.’
Her father would say he did what he did for the public good. Tori knew he was driven instead by the need for acclaim and power. He was self-serving, and as a father...
‘You’re right. Power is an obligation.’ Ashraf studied her intently as if fascinated by a new insight.
Tori wished she had more than her nightie and a hot drink to shield her from that penetrating gaze.
Conditioned by a lifetime’s training, she found it hard to admit aloud her negative feelings about her father and his profession. But this was about Oliver. Nothing, not even the ingrained habit of old loyalty, took precedence.
‘Yet you want to tie our child to that before he’s even old enough to understand!’ She wanted to grab the now sleeping baby and tuck him close. Her fingers clamped hard around the warm mug.
Ashraf’s features tightened, the proud lines of nose and forehead growing more defined. ‘I will give Oliver the opportunity to inherit what is his right as my son. To lead the people of Za’daq is an honour as well as a responsibility. I won’t deprive him of his birthright.’
For a long, pulsing moment Ashraf’s eyes bored into hers and she felt her breath clog in her lungs. He was formidable. Daunting. Yet still she felt the fizz of attraction like effervescence in her blood.
Biased by seeing her father and his cronies at close quarters, Tori had told herself she disliked powerful men. But strength was intrinsic to Ashraf and still she was drawn, fascinated, even as her saner self warned her to keep her distance.
‘There’s always a choice, Tori. No one will force Oliver if he truly doesn’t want to become Sheikh. My brother, Karim, was heir to the throne. Yet when my father died Karim declined his inheritance. I was proclaimed Sheikh instead.’
Tori wanted to ask why Karim had chosen not to inherit. What he was doing now. Had Ashraf wanted the throne? But the stern set of his mouth warned against questions.
‘Surely it’s not too much to give our son the opportunity to learn the ways of his forebears? To have access to both cultures—Za’daqi and Australian.’
‘I agree.’
‘You do?’ The fierce glitter in his eyes softened.
‘I told you I’d been thinking.’
She swallowed, her stomach churning at what she’d decided. But she had to follow through. It would be cowardly and selfish not to.
‘I have serious doubts about the Sheikh thing...’ Ashraf’s eyebrows rose, yet he didn’t interrupt. ‘But I’m willing to accept your suggestion. Not to marry,’ she hurried to clarify, ‘but to take Oliver to Za’daq for a visit.’
She read no change in Ashraf’s features. No smile, no lessening in the intensity of that stare. But the next breath he drew was so deep it lifted that mighty chest like a cresting ocean wave.
‘Thank you, Tori.’ He stepped close, one arm effortlessly holding Oliver, the other reaching for her.
She stumbled to her feet, feeling at a disadvantage in the low rocking chair.
Ashraf took her hand, and the hard, enveloping warmth reminded her of the physical differences between them. Differences that, to her dismay, made her body hum and soften.
Instead of shaking her hand, he lifted it. ‘You are generous as well as wise and beautiful.’
Tori blinked, and would have tugged free of his grasp except, still holding her gaze, he pressed his lips to the back of her hand. Instantly energy arced from the spot, shooting to her breasts, her pelvis, right down to her toes.
‘There’s no need to soft-soap me.’
‘Soft-soap?’
For the first time Ashraf looked out of his depth. Tori enjoyed that puzzled expression. It was rather endearing. For once she didn’t feel as if she were the one playing catch up.
‘Flatter me,’ she explained.
‘I never flatter. I simply speak the truth.’
Which trashed her fleeting sense of superiority.
She stood, her hand in his, staring up into liquid dark eyes and wishing—
What? Wishing that they’d met under different circumstances? Ashraf would still be a king and therefore not the man for her. Wishing that he was someone altogether different? Some guy she’d met at a weekend barbecue? But she couldn’t imagine that. Ashraf’s identity was part of what made him intriguing.
But it wasn’t the forceful, charismatic side of his personality that had made her change her mind. It was his genuine interest in Oliver. His determination to be a meaningful part of his son’s life even if that meant waking in the night and walking the floor with a teething baby. One thing she was sure of: Ashraf wouldn’t be a father who only showed up for the fun stuff. He’d be there through thick and thin.
Oliver deserved no less. Therefore Ashraf deserved more.
Belatedly she realised he still held her hand. She slipped it free. ‘Don’t get too excited. It will take me a while to organise. I’ve only recently begun this job and—’
‘Getting leave from your work will be no problem.’
Tori’s hackles rose. ‘You haven’t already asked without consulting me, have you?’
She saw him register her rising indignation. Good. She had no intention of being railroaded.
Ashraf shook his head. ‘I know the CEO of your company. He’s interested in exploring for diamonds in Za’daq.’
Tori wasn’t surprised. The possibility of finding diamonds and other gems in the region was what had taken her to the survey team in neighbouring Assara. That experience was part of the reason she’d won her current position.
‘He knows it was you I came to meet. I’m sure, if I indicate that his company can bid for the upcoming exploration contract, he’d believe it worthwhile to give you leave of absence.’
Tori opened her mouth, then shut it again. Of course he would. The company would probably pay her airfare and keep her on full pay indefinitely!
She felt cornered. She’d counted on having more time before taking Oliver to Za’daq. A year, perhaps.
‘I need to sort out a passport for Oliver.’
‘No problem. I can expedite that.’
Tori stared up at the big man holding their son and unease slipped down her spine. She reached out and took Oliver, hugging him close before putting him in his cot. The comfort of his tiny body against hers eased her nerves. No one would steal her son. Yet she took her time, trailing her knuckle over his satiny cheek, feeling her heart lurch as he turned towards her touch.
Breathing deep, she straightened. ‘You’ve already made enquiries, haven’t you?’
Ashraf’s expression confirmed it.
‘You haven’t got him a pas
sport already?’
‘I cannot without your consent. But my staff have checked with the Australian authorities and there’s no problem.’ He paused. ‘I cancelled my schedule to come here but I need to return soon. We can leave tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow!’ Tori crossed her arms over her body, holding in rising panic. ‘That’s impossible.’
He spread his hands in a gesture that might have seemed apologetic if not for the look of satisfaction on his face. ‘One of the perks of being a visiting head of state...’ His expression grew sombre. ‘You don’t appear happy to have these impediments removed. Didn’t you mean it about bringing Oliver to Za’daq?’
‘Of course I did.’ She rubbed her hands up her arms. ‘I just didn’t expect things to move so fast. And...’ She chewed her lip.
‘And...? Something’s bothering you? What is it?’ His gaze probed. ‘Tell me, Tori. I can’t deal with the problem if I don’t know what it is.’
She hitched a breath. ‘I feel you’re taking control. As if I have no say. That makes me wonder how much power I’ll have in Za’daq.’ She angled her chin. ‘Whether you’ll have the power to take Oliver from me there.’
* * *
Ashraf read Tori’s fear and guilt scrolled like an unwinding roll of calligraphy through his belly.
Of course she was concerned. She’d be crazy not to worry. It was true. In Za’daq, once he’d claimed Oliver as his heir, Ashraf would have the authority to keep his son permanently. Just as he’d have the ability to keep Tori within his borders or, alternatively, have her deported.
Ashraf refused to countenance Oliver living half a world away. He’d do whatever it took to have his son with him, where he belonged. Marrying Tori would ensure that. But their future together would be most successful if Tori chose to marry. If she wanted it.
Oh, she wanted him. He’d read her physical response. But persuading a woman like Tori into marriage would take patience and finesse.
