Sheikhs: Rich, powerful desert kings and the women who bring them to their knees...

by Clare Connelly

  “Hakim?” Radiz looked as though he’d seen a ghost. His eyes dropped to the baby again. “She named him Hakim?”

  Miranda nodded, hating that she felt sympathy for him. His surprise was understandable. His emotionalism natural.

  Wanda lifted her eyes to Radiz, observing him with obvious fascination.

  “Wanda, this is Mastepha’s brother, His Highness Sheikh Radiz Zamin of Fasiya.”

  “The child’s grandmother?” He asked, his voice regal and dripping in ice.

  “Yeah.” Wanda eyed him suspiciously. “I’m Tom’s mother.”

  “The father.” His eyes narrowed as he turned back to Miranda. “You lied about all of it.”

  She looked from one to the other and realised someone needed to take control. “Wanda, thank you for bringing the book. I’ll make sure Steph gets it.”

  She nodded, taking the hint. “I’ll come and play with you another time, dearest.” She kissed Hakim on the cheek and backed away. “Nice to meet you, er, sir.”

  “Where is my sister?” He asked, turning back to Miranda, his eyes showing his fury.

  She shivered. “She had an appointment. She’ll only be a few hours. As I said, I’ll have her call you when she gets back.”

  “I will wait here.” He stepped past her easily, moving into the apartment. His eyes scanned the small lounge, his pain growing greater with every scattered toddler object he saw.

  “How could you keep this from me?” He demanded, spinning around, his tone obviously filled with feeling now.

  “Hush,” she snapped, looking pointedly at Hakim. “Get a hold of yourself. You’re frightening the baby.”

  “He is not the one who should be frightened,” he responded darkly, his eyes sticking to hers like glue.

  She shuddered, but turned her back on him. “I will not be intimidated by you. You are the one who said to me that we do what we must. I did what I had to. I did what I had to do protect your sister. And I will not be judged by you, of all people.”

  “Me of all people?” He demanded firmly.

  “Yes, you. You who was all too happy to capitalise on the situation. You should be ashamed of yourself.” It was an unfair accusation, for she had been willing and compliant in their relationship. But the shock at seeing him again after six months made her brain fog over.

  “I am ashamed,” he muttered with a searing intensity.

  Miranda nodded, her back still to him. “You can wait, if you must. I’m going to settle Hakim for his nap.”

  “Hakim,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.

  He stood, enormous and imposing, in the centre of the lounge. To retrieve the milk, she had to move past him. It brought her dangerously close to his muscular strength, and even just the hint of his masculine fragrance made her ache. But she knew she had to be stronger than that. She lifted her eyes to him. “Excuse me. His bottle’s in here.” She looked away again, and stepped into the kitchen.

  They were over. Completely over. That had to be her mantra, if she had any hope of getting through the next little while.

  She grabbed the milk, and Hakim immediately began to cry with impatience. He was a rather imperious being, totally convinced of his right to demand. As all babies were, she supposed. But all babies were not heirs to the throne of a fabulously wealthy country.

  “Come on, your highness,” she whispered, tilting the milk into his mouth and smiling as he instantly stopped crying and smiled against the rubber teat.

  Radiz was barely comprehending this strange turn of events. Months of not hearing from his sister and he’d finally decided to come and see her for himself. To find this. The woman who had shared his bed so spectacularly ensconced in his sister’s apartment, apparently helping to raise his nephew. He watched as Miranda cooed over the child, her beautiful face completely serene as she began to hum quietly to him.

  She was so comfortable with him. With children. She was a natural. Then again, hadn’t he found her loving and kind? It was part of her genetic composition. To love and adore. She was warm, and he was not. She turned around, her eyes casting across the lounge room and then landing square on his face. The warmth disappeared. The calm energy she exuded tightened around her. She skipped her eyes past him, but the tightness remained. She saw what she was looking for and moved gracefully across the room.

  The baby’s eyes were closed. She transferred him easily to one arm and bent to reach for a pacifier. As her fingers connected with it, it fell to the floor.

  “Darn it,” she whispered, and began to crouch down.

  “Allow me,” Radiz said quietly. He reached for the dummy. It had a plastic lid on it, which he removed and then passed to her. Their fingers brushed, and curiously, he looked to Miranda to see if she still felt that spark travel between them.

  If she did, she didn’t show it. “Thank you.” She eased the bottle out of his mouth. It came with a little ‘pop’ sound. Hakim stirred slightly, but Miranda quickly placed the dummy in and rocked him gently. “Excuse me,” she muttered, without looking at Radiz.

  She walked slowly through the apartment, holding her breath, only exhaling it once in the safety of Steph and Tom’s room. She placed Hakim in the crib carefully, then switched on his little white-noise machine. He did an adorable stretch and then settled, completely still and content.

  Beyond the door was Radiz. And he was angry and confused.

  She had to go and face the music, only she desperately didn’t want to. Would it be entirely churlish to hide out in the bedroom until Steph returned? Would he even let her?

  She smiled in spite of her misery. Like his nephew, Radiz was not a man to be ignored.

  She opened the door and moved into the lounge. He was holding a photo of Steph and Miranda. It had been taken on Miranda’s last birthday. Steph had an arm looped around Miranda’s shoulders, and she was laughing. Tom had taken the photo and just as he’d pressed click, he’d shouted, “I see green monkeys”. It was completely absurd, but the absurdity of it had made them laugh wildly, and from that moment on green monkeys had been two words that could be relied on to make them laugh.

  Radiz turned at the sound of her return. His eyes clung to her, sweeping from her face to her toes, and then slowly rising along the length of her body. His casual, proprietorial inspection made the hairs at her nape stand on end, but she kept a bland expression in place.

  “You lied to me so convincingly,” he said thickly. He held the photo up, so that she could see the picture it contained. “You know my sister well.”

  Miranda didn’t respond.

  “Damn it, Miranda,” he snapped, placing the picture down with anger. “Do not stand there silently. I deserve to know the truth.”

  “I agree,” she said softly. “But it’s not my truth to tell.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Steph is my best friend,” she said, unable now to meet his eyes. “And I won’t be put in the middle of the two of you.”

  “You put yourself there,” he responded curtly. “So stop acting coy and tell me what the hell is going on.”

  “You might be Sheikh Fantastic of Fasiya but you’re nothing to me. I’m not one of your subjects and you can’t command me. And lower your voice. Hakim needs to sleep.”

  “Hakim,” he groaned, and spun away from her. “How old is he?”

  “Four months old,” she answered eventually. She looked surreptitiously at the clock on the wall. Steph wouldn’t be back for hours.

  “She was pregnant when we… when you were in Fasiya?”

  Miranda nodded. “Obviously.”

  He thrust his hands into his pockets, and Miranda realised he was wearing jeans. It was unusual for him. At least, she’d only ever seen him in robes, and that last night, his tuxedo. The casual look suited him. “And did you never want to tell me the truth, Miranda?” He began to walk towards her, panther like and radiating barely contained anger. “Did you not feel, when we made love, that you owed me the t
ruth?”

  He stopped an inch from her, his expression impossible to comprehend. His eyes delved beyond hers, into her soul.

  “It is not my truth,” she said simply.

  “But you lied to me, too. I asked you again and again about your relationship with Mastepha, and you swore on your mother’s soul that you didn’t know my sister.”

  “No, I didn’t,” she corrected quickly. “But you’re right. I did lie to you.”

  “You preferred me to think of you as a thief?”

  Miranda tamped down on the gentle swell of desire that was rising through her. “You didn’t think of me as a thief. You didn’t think of me as a person. You saw me as a body to have sex with.”

  He stayed close to her, and held his reaction in check with effort. “And you fell in love with me.”

  There was no sense denying it. He knew it to be the truth. Miranda swallowed, her body flushing hot and cold at his stonily delivered assessment. “Yes.”

  Chapter Nine

  His eyes held hers. Miranda waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. Their relationship flashed before her, a series of erotic, fulfilling, but emotionally hurtful encounters. Miranda thought about the kind of woman she wanted to be, and it was not someone as weak and desperate as she’d been in Fasiya. “You should go.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “This is Steph’s place. She wouldn’t want you here like this. You need to go.”

  He grunted in frustration. “You want me to go because of us, not because of Steph. At least have the decency to be honest with me now.”

  “Fine,” she said fiercely. “I want you to go because I can’t stand being in the same room as you. I have to stay here with Hakim. You do not. So please go.”

  His laugh was the last thing she expected. “You can’t stand being near me, Miranda?”

  He shocked her by reaching up and flicking one of her taut nipples with his finger. He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her hard to his chest. Miranda was so surprised she didn’t think to pull away. She looked up at him, and opened her mouth to demand an explanation, when he kissed her. His lips were punishing in their intensity, his tongue was an invasion of her mouth.

  Miranda froze in his arms, her brain unable to compute the sensory invasion. She lifted her hands to his chest, intending to push him away, but her traitorous fingers curled in his shirt instead. Her body clenched with desperate fire.

  “You no longer want me?” He whispered, lowering his mouth to her ear and taking a lobe between his teeth.

  If only that were true. Miranda wanted him more than she could say, but she had learned her lesson the hard way. She wasn’t about to let him get under her skin again.

  He dragged his fingers down her back, making a sound of impatience as he lifted the hem of her dress so that he could cup her backside. He pushed her closer to his body and she felt the strength of his erection against her stomach.

  It would be so easy. The baby was sleeping in another room, they would be alone in the apartment for hours. They could fall back into one another’s arms as if no time had passed.

  But it would kill Miranda. It had taken all her strength to try to keep her life in order after the first time. She wasn’t sure she could go through that again.

  “Not enough,” she whispered back, and now she did push him away. She stepped backwards, out of his arms, and pushed the skirt of her dress down, smoothing it into place.

  Radiz watched her, his breath not entirely even, as she returned her appearance to normal.

  “Not enough?” He prompted, wondering why she’d done it. Why had she pulled away from him? He’d been so close to possessing her, his body was still tight with hope.

  Miranda had no intention of entering into a post-mortem of her feelings. “You can’t be here. I don’t want to call the police, but I will if you make me.”

  He stared at her as though she was slowly losing her mind from the side of her head. “The police? Have you forgotten who I am?”

  “No.” Her smile was without pleasure. “And I’m sure the media will arrive in their droves to see you being interviewed by the cops.”

  His eyes rested heavily on her face. “I am not going anywhere. If I leave, you might take Hakim and disappear. I’m not going to let the heir to Fasiya out of my sight.”

  Miranda closed her eyes. It was Steph’s worst fear. “He’s not the heir to Fasiya. At least, he isn’t just the heir. He’s a baby. A beautiful little boy, very much adored by his mother and father. Please don’t… don’t… see only his political worth.”

  “He is the royal bloodline, and Mastepha knew her baby would carry the same responsibilities that we grew up with.”

  “And don’t you think that might have something to do with why she’s hiding him?”

  His expression didn’t change. “She has no right to hide him.”

  “He’s her child!” Miranda responded harshly, walking instinctively towards the door, as if to bar Radiz access.

  “Relax. I’m not going to kidnap him. But I am going to stay here to make sure you don’t.”

  Miranda glared at him, but it was obvious that his mind was made up. “Fine,” she snarled. “Don’t snoop through her things though. Just… sit down and keep out of my way.”

  He didn’t know why, but he was amused. His lips lifted in the hint of a smile, but he suppressed it with effort.

  Whenever Miranda looked after Hakim, she did little things around the flat to help Steph. And despite Radiz being in her midst, she tried to carry on almost as normal. She bustled into the kitchen, feeling grateful that at least a wall now separated her from the man she’d fallen crazy in love with.

  Whilst studying sociology, her mother had lived in Paris. She’d spent a semester dating a teacher from the Sorbonne. Their relationship hadn’t lasted, but she’d learned a lifetime worth of cooking skills. Her boeuf bourguignon was sensational, and she’d taught Miranda how to make it.

  She set about sautéing onions and garlic, then added diced bacon and cubed beef. She stirred it with a wooden spoon, refusing to let herself think about the man in the lounge room. She lifted her fingers to her lips; they still tingled from where he’d kissed her.

  Miranda heard a crackling noise and looked down. The beef was catching at the bottom of the pan. She made a sound of surprise and stirred it, then quickly added some more butter and flour. It formed a brown roux, which she heated for a few more minutes before adding the stock.

  “It smells good. I had no idea you could cook.”

  Miranda jumped and spun around, her eyes wide as they came to rest on Radiz leaning indolently against the kitchen door. “I told you to stay out of my way,” she ground out, turning her attention back to the dinner.

  “And I am,” he responded. “I have more questions for you.”

  She looked at him tersely. “I’m not answering questions.”

  “These aren’t about Steph.”

  Miranda sighed. “What do you want to know?”

  He was quiet for a moment, his eyes resting on her thoughtfully. “How are you?”

  She stiffened her spine. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t? I’m not allowed to ask about your welfare?”

  “You’re not allowed to pretend you care,” she corrected angrily. She turned back to the dinner, and stirred it aggressively. A splatter of melted butter leaped out and landed on her wrist. She exclaimed and turned the heat down, then went to the sink.

  She had just flicked the cold tap on when Radiz came to stand behind her. He reached around and lifted her wrist, to inspect the small red mark. “Silly,” he chided, wrapping his fingers around her flesh and guiding it to the water. His whole body was pressed against hers, holding her to the kitchen bench. His warmth and strength were actual quantities she wanted to drink up.

  “I’m okay,” she mumbled, her voice thick. “I’m fine.”

  He didn’t move. His fingers were tight on her wrist, and
his other hand lifted to her nape. He pushed her hair aside, and lowered his mouth, to kiss the sensitive flesh just below her ear. “You should not cook while angry,” he joked, stroking her wrist with his fingers now.

  Miranda closed her eyes and tilted her head. She wanted him. So desperately. She craved him. But she couldn’t give in to it. She knew she would regret it forever if she did.

  “I’m fine,” she said again, and she flicked the tap off with purpose. “It’s just a tiny burn.”

  Her carelessness with her own skin angered him. “You should not be burned at all.”

  “You make me nervous,” she said seriously, stepping away from him. Distance was vital, but even with the space of the kitchen between them, her body was on fire. “If you don’t want me to hurt myself, stop watching me cook.”

  “Oh my… Shit.” Radiz and Miranda spun around at the sound of Steph’s voice. Her hair had been cut into a pretty bell shape around her face, neat and elfish. Her eyes were enormous saucers in her face as she stared at her brother.

  “Oh, thank goodness you’re home,” Miranda whispered. She turned the stove off altogether and placed the Le Creuset into the oven. She set the temperature to low and the timer for two hours, all while Radiz watched her with concentrated silence. “The bell will ding when your dinner’s ready. Hakim’s been asleep for about an hour. Wanda dropped off your book. And your brother is here.”

  She walked out of the kitchen without looking at Radiz.

  “Mirry,” Steph’s voice was a strangled cry, but for once, Miranda felt more sympathy for herself than her best friend.

  “You need to talk to him,” Miranda whispered. “I told you, this is not the kind of thing you can keep secret.”

  “You are not going anywhere, Miranda,” Radiz was, once again, powerful ruler, commander of all he surveyed.

  “You can’t boss me around, Radiz. Like I said, this is nothing to do with me.”

  Steph frowned and looked from one to the other.