by Tessa Radley
He spread his hands. “It no longer matters, Tiffany. Marry me, then as soon as the child is born we can test for paternity. If she is mine, I will support her. It is my duty.”
Money. Duty. Those were the reasons a man like Rafiq married. It wasn’t the kind of marriage she wanted for herself. Nor had she ever intended to marry a man of his wealth and position. She’d seen the strain a high-profile lifestyle had placed on her parents’ marriage—a show-biz union—not a royal wedding, and her father didn’t even have the kind of power this man did.
“Marriage between us would be a mistake,” she argued desperately.
Rafiq was arrogant—even more arrogant than her father. Tiffany shivered. Her father had trampled all over her mother’s feelings with little respect. Given that the man before her had been treated like a proper prince since the moment he’d been born, she could expect even less from Rafiq.
If she were foolish enough to marry him…
“Why should it be a mistake?” His frown cleared. “We will work on it. All marriages take work.”
Tiffany goggled at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. “You’re prepared to put work into our marriage?” That was more than her father had ever done.
For a moment he hesitated, then he smiled, a charming smile that, despite all her reservations, caused tiny electric quivers to shoot through her. “Of course, I will work at it,” he assured her.
So what if she reacted to his smile? She wanted the man. No problems there. Her body adored him. Just as well she wasn’t ruled by her senses. “You’ll really work at it?”
Rafiq’s gaze bored into her. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure you have great intentions.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why can’t you believe me?”
Okay, so maybe she’d been wrong. Her gaze slid away from his. Maybe marriage to him would work for their child. But it was a big decision to make—probably the biggest decision of her life. A group of students dressed in denim and some in traditional dress sauntered past them, chatting and laughing.
Tiffany drew a deep breath, weighing up whether to confide in Rafiq what a dreadful mess her parents’ marriage had been, then dismissed the impulse. Why would Rafiq care?
When she turned her attention back to him, it was to find that he’d moved. He stood before her now, blocking her way, formidable and intimidating.
“I’m prepared to marry you, Tiffany. What have you got to lose?”
He said it as though she should be grateful for his largesse. It irked her that he thought she’d be such a pushover. “I’m not quite the nobody you think. My father is Taylor Smith.”
He didn’t react to the name. Finally he shook his head. “Should I know him?”
“In some circles he’s very well-known. He’s a film director.”
“A film director.” He raised an eyebrow. “What kind of film director?”
“He doesn’t make skin flicks, in case that’s what you’re thinking.” His films might be respectable, but her father’s private life was a different story. The scandals that followed him would not meet the approval of someone as upstanding as Rafiq. “He’s quite successful. He directed Legacy.” Tiffany named a film that had taken the world by storm a couple of years ago. Recognition lit Rafiq’s eyes.
“I watched that movie on the jet—it was about two years ago.”
“That must’ve been when it first came out.” His casual reference to flying by jet made Tiffany realize that while her father might travel by jet as part of his work, this man owned one. Help, his family probably owned a fleet of Lear jets!
“If your father is wealthy and successful, why were you working in Le Club?” he was asking.
Tiffany braced herself to hold his gaze. “After my purse was stolen, I called home. I discovered my father had left my mother for another woman the day before I met you in Hong Kong.”
A host of unidentifiable emotions flickered over his face. “That would’ve been a shock.”
“It was,” she agreed, reaching blindly past him to touch a full, pink bloom, to give herself something to do. The velvet smoothness of the petals under her fingertips steadied her as she stroked them. “But there was nothing I could do. I could hardly add to my mother’s stress at the time by telling her about the fix I was in—or asking her for money she didn’t have. And my father was nowhere to be found. Nor could I have his business manager arrange it—because that was who he chose to run off with.”
“So that’s why—” He broke off.
“That’s why what?” she prompted, glancing up at him.
The bitter chocolate of his eyes had turned black. “You had no one you could ask for money.”
“I would’ve gotten out of there.”
“By continuing to work at Le Club…by selling your body?” He looked suddenly, murderously angry.
“No, I would never do that!”
“Okay, I shouldn’t have implied that you would. But now I understand why you are so reluctant to marry me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t trust any man not to let you down.”
Tiffany forced herself not to flinch. “That’s ridiculous! You expected me to leap on your proposal? To marry you without thinking it through?” At his glowering expression, she said, “Oh, you did! I can see it on your face. Rafiq, how arrogant!”
Dark brows lowered over his eyes. “But when you think it through, you’ll realize that it’s the best option you have open to you.” Rafiq reached forward and plucked one perfect, pale pink bloom then handed it to her. “Think of the child. This way the baby starts its life with both its parents.”
Clutching the stem, Tiffany bent her head and inhaled the fragrance of the flower.
Yes. Rafiq was right. She had to think about her baby. Not about herself, what she wanted, but what would be best for her baby. She’d wanted to give her daughter the chance to have a meaningful relationship with her father, unbroken by the estrangement of living in separate countries she’d had with her father growing up.
Rafiq was offering that.
Raising her head, Tiffany said, “I need time to marshal my thoughts. Let me think about your proposal.”
“I have a function tonight. I can afford to give you one night.” He gave her a slow, incredibly sexy smile that caused her heart to roll over. “But be warned, I will demolish every one of your objections.”
The Mercedes swept out of the forecourt of his home, returning Rafiq to the bank for the meetings that lay ahead for the rest of the day. Uncharacteristically, instead of pulling out his laptop and busying himself with the necessary preparation, he leaned back against the butter-soft leather headrest and stared out the window.
Tiffany came from a family that had wealth—and, possibly connections. It should’ve delighted him. It certainly made it easier to present her to his father as his prospective bride. The king would relish the red-carpet connection. Instead Rafiq felt as though someone had claimed a private treasure, one that he’d prided himself on discovering and appreciating when no one else did, and exposed it to the world.
Of course, the revelation meant that Tiffany didn’t need his resources, his wealth—as he’d mistakenly believed. She had no need to marry him, except for the baby’s sake. She didn’t even particularly want to marry him….
It was a startling realization. And it changed everything. Because he wanted her, had no intention of letting her go—at least not yet, and certainly not because of some fairy-tale notion of love that she desired.
They had so much more. She’d woken a fire, a depth of passion, that he’d never suspected existed within himself. He intended to stoke that fire, feed the flames and experience the full blast of the heat.
Tiffany would marry him.
The extent of his determination astonished him. What had happened to the part of him that withdrew when his paramours wanted a commitment and his fath
er demanded a wedding date be set? Where had the voice of reason gone that anxiously warned him to take a step back before he got boxed in and caged for life?
Perhaps it was silent because this time he had an escape hatch. He stared unseeingly at the streetscape, not noticing the busy market as the Mercedes cruised past. Tiffany had even sensed it when she’d expressed her doubts about his promise to work on their marriage. The solution that had seemed so crystal clear after his discussion with Khalid was starting to become murky.
Because of this desire she roused in him.
Rafiq tried to tell himself this want wouldn’t last. By the time the baby was born, the desire would be spent. Then he would do as he’d intended. If the DNA tests proved the baby was a member of their family, he would keep the baby—and divorce Tiffany. He’d have done his duty. The baby would be legitimate. In terms of the marriage contracts, he’d settle a fair sum of money on Tiffany.
He’d support his child. Make sure it—he, Rafiq amended—went to the right schools, was given a fitting education and upbringing. The fact that Tiffany’s father had wealth was an inconvenience, but Rafiq had no doubt he had the resources, the power, to win any legal battle her family chose to mount to seize the child. He would start by having Taylor Smith investigated to find out exactly what kind of financial resources the man had, and whether he possessed an Achilles’ heel.
If the baby wasn’t his…?
The Mercedes slowed to turn into the bank’s underground car park. Still he hadn’t started up his laptop, opened his calendar to view his coming appointments. The conundrum of Tiffany held his full attention. Rafiq didn’t even want to think about how he would feel if it had all been an elaborate lie, if the baby wasn’t his.
If she’d lied to him—he’d make Tiffany rue the day they’d ever met.
The night was long. Tiffany barely slept. Restlessness had taken hold of her.
Yes?
Or no?
What answer to give Rafiq?
Tiffany rolled into a ball, huddling her belly, and stared blindly into the darkness. If she refused to marry him and left Dhahara, while her daughter would have a mother, she’d grow up never knowing her father. Then what if Rafiq wanted nothing to do with her baby later…when she was older? At least if she married Rafiq now, he’d see the baby every day. A bond would form. How could it not?
Did she really have a choice?
With a sigh Tiffany flopped over onto her back. The man she’d met again in Dhahara was every bit as arrow-straight as the first time she’d met him. Suppressing her anxieties that she might lose her child, she’d come to Dhahara to establish contact with a banker…and discovered a sheikh. A royal prince.
Rafiq was a busy man. An important man. Tiffany already knew he traveled extensively. Would he take time out to spend with a family he'd never wanted? A baby daughter who was not the male heir he expected? Or would it be a reenactment of her own childhood with a father who was never home?
Through the window she could see only the brightest stars sprinkling the darkness. The moon was fuller than the sliver that had hung in the sky the night her baby had been conceived. If she married Rafiq, she would be the moon to his sun…barely meeting and separated by vast chasms of yawning space.
That realization made the decision so much easier. She did not want that kind of marriage. She would refuse his offer of marriage, and take her chances alone. One day she would tell her daughter who her father was. They didn’t need Rafiq to be a family.
The decision that had been tormenting her made, Tiffany finally drifted off to sleep.
Tiffany’s decision to turn down Rafiq’s proposal was reinforced the next morning when she went down to breakfast and Lily hastily closed the newspaper she’d been leafing through—but not before Tiffany had caught a glimpse of Rafiq’s handsome features spread over the page.
“May I?” She gave Lily a grim smile and reached for the paper.
Lily must’ve seen something in her face because she spread her hands helplessly. “You must realize, it’s not my nephew’s fault—women have been throwing themselves at him since he was a teenager.”
So much for Rafiq’s explanation to his aunt that they were business acquaintances. Lily had clearly read much more into their relationship.
Yet Lily’s words brought no comfort. Tiffany stared at a series of photos of Rafiq at what was obviously a society event, a beautiful dark-haired woman clinging to his arm. This was why he hadn’t been home for dinner last night. He’d generously given her time to make her decision, while he’d escorted another woman to a function.
Most women think I’m charming.
It appeared Rafiq had been right.
“She’s beautiful,” said Tiffany expressionlessly, her stomach tightening into a hard knot. So this is how it begins. It was her father all over again. There would always be women. The knowledge hurt more than she’d ever thought it could.
“It’s the opening of the new wing of the hospital. Her family is well-known in Dhahara—and I’m sure Rafiq allowed himself to be photographed with her because of the large donation her family made to the new wing.”
That possessive hand on his sleeve was a world away from polite. The tilt of the woman’s head, her kohl-outlined eyes and society-goddess smile all announced her confidence in securing the man beside her to the world. Tiffany had never wanted a high-profile man who attracted women like bees to a honeypot. She had no intention of enduring what her mother had put up with.
Marriage to Rafiq was her idea of hell on earth.
She was going to say no—not only because her daughter deserved more than an absentee father, but also because she wasn’t prepared to tolerate a string of photos with women that caused her to feel sick with doubt. Now she just had to communicate her decision to Rafiq. No doubt, he’d be glad to be rid of her. By tonight she’d be gone.
Turning her head away from Lily’s concerned glance, Tiffany helped herself to apricots and dates and spooned over creamy yogurt and honey, sure that if she tried to eat anything more substantial she would gag—despite the beautiful display.
By the time Rafiq strode in minutes later, the offending newspaper had been folded and tucked away. Yet not even the flash of his white smile and his warm greeting could bring any softening to Tiffany’s resolve. Her stomach started to churn, and nausea rose in the back of her throat.
Her spoon clattered into her bowl, and Tiffany pushed her chair back.
“Not so fast,” Rafiq’s tone made her pause. “Stay. We must talk.”
Lily glanced at him. “I’ve got a few calls to make. I’ll make them in your study if you don’t mind, Rafiq.”
Tiffany wanted to scuttle after Lily, anything to avoid the coming unpleasantness. Then she stiffened her spine. She’d sit across the table from Rafiq and give him her answer.
The sooner she got it over with, the better.
“I have one thing to ask of you,” Rafiq said after his aunt had left them alone, his voice pure liquid. He’d pulled a chair up beside her, turning it so that he was so close that she could inhale the scent of lemon and soap.
Jolted out of her thoughts, Tiffany stared at him.
“We will create a tale of how we met. No one need ever know of our ignominious start. We will keep to the story that we are business acquaintances…who met during your time at university.”
“You mean lie?”
He ignored her angry comment. “You did go to university, didn’t you?”
He hadn’t asked her that in Hong Kong. “I studied English literature and French. Our paths were unlikely to have crossed.”
“You speak French?”
She nodded.
“Good,” he said. “We will say that you assisted me with some translation.”
He was sweeping her objections aside. Tiffany knew she had to make a stand, before he walked all over her. “I haven’t said I’ll marry you.”
“Oh, we both know what your final answer will be. I only want
to whitewash our meeting so that our families are not hurt by the scandalous nature of our first encounter.”
Her father was far from an angel. And once Rafiq discovered Taylor Smith’s affairs, he’d be trying to protect his family from the taint of her father’s reputation. “Now that you know my family is wealthy, you’re obviously no longer worried that I might blackmail you and Sir Julian,” she said with a bite in her voice, the memory of the image of him and the beautiful woman still burning like salt in a raw wound.
He shook his head. And her heart leaped. Then he killed the hope. “The deal with Sir Julian has already been announced. It can no longer be jeopardized.”
Already hurting with an emotion she didn’t want to label for fear of admitting what she dared not confront, it stung that he hadn’t admitted that he’d been wrong to doubt her.
“I’m not going to marry you,” she said baldly.
There was a silence.
“I beg your pardon?” His voice turned ominously soft. To her relief he made no move to shift closer.
“I can’t marry you.”
As Taylor Smith’s daughter, Tiffany was every bit as unsuitable as a blackmailing club hostess he’d met one night in Hong Kong. Her father might be a film director, but Tiffany had no doubt that his list of affairs had made him too scandalous for Rafiq’s conservative family to tolerate.
He raised a brow. “You must marry me.”
“The only reason for our marriage is to legitimize the daughter you’re not even convinced is yours.” It irked her to remind him of that, but right now she needed every argument she could muster.
“The DNA tests will tell the truth when the time comes.” He reached out and took her hand. “But you’re mistaken, Tiffany. The baby is far from the only reason I have for desiring to marry you,” he argued, his eyes glowing with a light she was starting to recognize.
Oh, no!
Tiffany tried to free her hand, waving the other to ward him off. But when he trailed a finger down the side of her face, little quivers of delight followed in its wake. “Rafiq, that’s not going to work,” she said rather breathlessly.
