‘That was when I was still labouring under the illusion that you were a good-time girl. A social butterfly. I thought you’d hate your life here and you’d want to be free again. And that’s what I wanted too.’
Ella saw the muscle which was working frantically at his cheek and the expression in his black eyes. But for once, they were not empty. Instead they were filled with the most terrible look of bleakness she had ever seen. Even worse than the time he’d told her about his mother.
‘You wanted me to leave?’ she guessed slowly. ‘And to leave the baby behind, with you?’
He winced, but he did not look away from her. The truth was painful but he could not deny it—and didn’t he deserve this pain? Didn’t he deserve all the recriminations she chose to hurl at his head? ‘Yes.’
‘To bring her up as your father once did, without a mother?’
‘Yes.’ He shook his head, as if he was coming out of a deep sleep. ‘It’s only been during the past few weeks that I realised I couldn’t possibly go through with it. That I couldn’t inflict on my own child what I had suffered myself. But for a while, the intention was there.’ He met the question which blazed from her eyes. ‘How you must hate me, Ella.’
For a second she thought that perhaps it would be easier if she did, because the man who stood before her was the most complex individual she’d ever met. And didn’t she suspect that the dark and complicated side of him wanted her to hate him? That it would be easier for him if she did, if she pushed him away and thus reinforced all his prejudices against women.
But Ella realised that nobody had ever been there for Hassan, not emotionally. After his mother had left, he’d never let anyone get close enough to try, and she wondered if she had the courage to do that. To risk being rejected by him all over again.
Yet what choice did she have? To live a life blighted by regret because she hadn’t had the guts to put her pride aside and reach out for a man who badly needed love. Her love—and their daughter’s love. Couldn’t she and Rihana help his damaged heart to heal?
‘I don’t hate you, Hassan,’ she said softly. ‘In fact, I love you. Even though you didn’t want me to love you. And even though you did your best to make me turn my heart against you. I have to tell you that it hasn’t worked. And that if you were to ask me to stay here, with Rihana, and to be a proper wife in every sense of the word, then I would do it in a heartbeat. But I will only do it on one condition.’
Her soft and powerful words had momentarily stilled him, but now he stirred because conditions were familiar territory to him. His eyes were wary as they looked at her. ‘Which is?’
She swallowed. ‘I need to know that you care for me in some small way. That there’s a small seed of affection in your heart which maybe we can nurture and grow. And that you will nurture it, because while I’ve grown rather fond of the sand which surrounds us, I can’t live my life in an emotional desert.’
For long, silent seconds he stared at her, recognising the courage it had taken to lay open her feelings like that. How she humbled him with her courage! His eyes began blinking rapidly and when eventually he could bring himself to speak, his voice sounded strangely hoarse to his ears—the way it had done when he’d had his tonsils removed as a boy. ‘Not a seed,’ he said brokenly.
‘Not a seed?’ she repeated in confusion.
He shook his head. ‘Not a seed, no, but an eager young plant in its first rapid flush of life. For that is the strength of my “affection” for you, Ella!’ A rush of emotion surged through his veins as he reached out and pulled her in his arms. ‘But I do not know it by such a mediocre word as affection, because for days now I have been realising that it is called something else. Something I have never known before, nor dared to acknowledge.’
‘Could you perhaps try acknowledging it now?’ she suggested gently, knowing instantly what he meant because she could see it written all over his face. But she needed badly to hear it. She had bared her heart to him and now Hassan needed to redress the balance. To be her equal in every way there was.
He took both her hands in his. ‘Ella, I … love you. You hear how my voice falters on these words, but that does not mean you should doubt them. With all my heart and body and mind, I love you. You are everything a woman should be and I do not know why a generous fate should have brought you into my life. You have offered me your heart when I do not deserve—’
‘No!’ Her fierce word cut him short but her hands were trembling as she reached up to cup his dark and beloved face between her palms. ‘You didn’t deserve the childhood you had and maybe I didn’t either. But I think it’s time we had some lovely things in our life together, and they are right here at our fingertips. We can reach out and take them any time we want, starting right now. Not palaces or privileges or some flashy lifestyle with stuff, but you, me and Rihana.’
‘And our marriage will not fail,’ he declared softly.
‘No, it won’t—because we won’t let it fail,’ she agreed shakily. ‘We will learn from all the mistakes our parents made and we will give Rihana the kind of childhood that neither of us knew.’
His lips were passionate as he claimed hers in a kiss far deeper than any kiss he’d ever known. It was about more than passion and maybe about even more than love. It was about understanding and forgiving. About commitment and sharing. About making a happy home for the little girl who lay sleeping in her crib.
Bobby Jackson had christened his daughter Cinderella because he’d wanted her to marry a prince and somehow his rather ambitious dream had come true.
But Ella and Hassan had very different aspirations for their little girl, and that was why Rihana’s middle name was Hope.
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
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First published in Great Britain 2012
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited,
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
THE SHEIKH’S HEIR © Harlequin Books S.A. 2012
Special thanks and acknowledgement are given to Sharon Kendrick for her contribution to The Santina Crown series.
ISBN: 978-1-408-98197-9
53-0512
Harlequin (UK) policy is to use papers that are natural, renewable and recyclable products and made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The logging and manufacturing processes conform to the legal environmental regulations of the country of origin.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIR
TEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Sheikh’s Heir Page 15
