But it wasn’t funny. She pushed at the sheet roughly, and her voice matched it. ‘This is so not funny,’ she said with a shake of her head, pushing her feet out of the bed and looking for her uniform. ‘Oh, God. This is a disaster.’
His frown was way sexier than it should have been. ‘Why?’
‘Why? Because I told you, no one could know about this, and now that guy, Malik, has seen me naked in your bed! Oh, God.’ She paced across the room, pulling her shirt on as she went, snagging a nail on one of the buttons and wincing.
‘Malik can be trusted,’ Sariq assured her.
‘Says you, but what if he can’t? What if he tells my boss?’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t lose this job, Your Highness.’
At this, he barked a short, sharp laugh into the room. ‘Your Highness? Daisy, I have made love to you almost the entire night. Can you call me Sariq now?’
She knew it was absurd, given that she’d already crossed a major professional line, but using his first name felt a thousand kinds of wrong.
‘Daisy,’ he insisted, moving out of bed, his nakedness glorious and distracting and inducing a panic attack because she’d slept with her client—a lot—and now it was daylight and the magic of the night before had evaporated and she had to face the music. ‘Relax. We are two consenting adults who happen to have had sex. This is not something you need to panic about.’
‘You don’t get it. I’m contractually forbidden from doing this,’ she muttered, his amusement only making everything worse. ‘It doesn’t matter that we’re consenting. You’re off-limits to me, or should have been.’
‘It was one night,’ he insisted calmly, coming to fold her in his arms and bring her to his chest. ‘Two nights, if you count tonight. And I am counting tonight, Daisy, because I fully expect you to be here with me.’
‘What if he tells—?’
He held a hand up imperiously, silencing her with the single gesture. ‘If Malik hadn’t interrupted us, would you be feeling like this?’
She bit down on her lip, staring at him, and, finally, shook her head.
‘Good. Then this problem is easily solved. I will order him to forget he saw you and it will be done.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Nice try, but it’s not actually that easy to remove a piece of someone’s memory.’
‘Malik will do as I say. Put him out of your mind. I have.’
She looked up at him, doubts fading in the face of his confidence. ‘I mean it,’ she insisted. ‘Tomorrow, you go back to your kingdom and nothing changes for you, but I need this job. My life has to go on as it did before, Sariq.’ His name—the first time she’d said it—felt like magic. She liked the way it tasted in her mouth, and she especially liked the way he responded, the colour in his eyes deepening in silent recognition.
‘And it will.’ He dropped his head, his mouth claiming hers, so that thought became, momentarily, impossible. His kiss was heaven and his body weight pushed her backwards until she connected with the wall, so she was trapped between the rock hardness of him, and the wall, and her body was aflame with needs she knew she should resist.
But he lifted her, dispensing with the sheet and pressing her to the wall, his arousal nudging the heat of her sex, so she pushed down, welcoming him deep inside her as though it had been days, not hours, since they’d made love. His possession sent shockwaves of heat flaming through her and he hitched his hips forward and backwards, driving himself into her in a way that had her climaxing within a minute. Her nails scored marks down his back and she almost drew blood from her lip with the effort of not screaming, in case he had other members of staff on the other side of the door.
It was the most sublime feeling, and whatever worries she had seemed far away now. He stilled, holding her, his expression taut, his arousal still hard inside her. She rolled her hips but he dug his hands into her flesh, holding her still.
‘What is it?’
‘I’m not wearing a condom.’ He bit the words out, and she gasped.
‘Oh, crap. I didn’t even think...’
‘Nor did I.’ He lifted her from him, easing her to the ground gently, keeping his hands on her waist. ‘Shower with me, habibte.’
Perhaps she should have declined, but she’d hours ago lost her ability to do what she ought and had abandoned herself, apparently, to doing only what she wanted.
‘I suppose it is my job to cater to all your needs,’ she purred, earning a small laugh from him. As she stepped into the shower and got the water going, she saw him remove a small foil square from the bathroom drawer and smiled to herself.
Half an hour later, still smiling, she blinked up at him. ‘Didn’t Malik say the President was waiting?’
Sariq’s eyes narrowed. ‘He can wait.’
‘Your betrothal is all but confirmed.’
Sariq fixed his long-term aide with a cool stare. ‘And so?’
‘The American—’
‘Daisy.’ He couldn’t help the smile that came to him. Her name was so perfect for her, with her pale blonde hair and ready smile. ‘Her name is Daisy.’
‘The timing of this could be very bad, if it were to be in the papers in the RKH.’
‘It won’t be.’
‘You are the Emir now, Sariq. More is expected of you than was a month ago. The affairs you once indulged in must become a part of your past.’ Malik shook his head. ‘Or if you must, allow me to engage suitable women for you, women who are vetted by me, by the palace, who sign confidentiality agreements and are certain not to sell their story to the highest bidder.’
‘Daisy won’t do that,’ he murmured dismissively. ‘And the days of palace concubines are long gone. I have no interest in reinvigorating that habit of my forebears.’
‘Your father—’
‘My father was a lonely man—’ Sariq’s voice held a warning ‘—who was determined to mourn my mother until the day he died. How he chose to relieve his bodily impulses is of little interest to me.’
‘My point is that these things can be arranged with a maximum of discretion.’
‘Daisy is discreet. There are three people who know about this, and it will stay that way.’
‘If either of your prospective brides were to find out...’
Sariq tightened one hand into a fist on top of his knee, keeping his gaze carefully focussed on the view beneath him. The White House was just a spec in the distance now, the day’s meetings concluded with success.
‘They won’t.’
‘I don’t need to tell you how important it is that your marriage settle any potential fallout from your father’s death.’
Now, Sariq turned his head slowly, pinning his advisor with a steely gaze. ‘No, you don’t. So let it go, Malik. This conversation is at an end.’
‘He’s protective of me, of the kingdom. I’ve known him since I was a boy.’
Daisy lifted a hand, running the voluminous bubbles between her fingers. The warm bath water lapped at her breasts and, beneath the surface, she brushed an ankle against his nakedness, heat shifting through her. Midnight had come and gone and yet both were wide awake, as though trying to cram everything into this—their last night together.
‘He won’t say anything?’
‘He’s more concerned you will,’ Sariq said with a shake of his head.
‘Me?’ Daisy’s brows shot up. ‘Why in the world...?’
‘For money.’ Sariq lifted his shoulders.
‘Who would pay me for that information?’
His eyes showed amusement. ‘Any number of tabloid outlets? Believe it or not, my love life is somewhat newsworthy.’
A shudder of revulsion moved down Daisy’s spine. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘Unfortunately, I am. Malik feels this indiscretion could be disastrous for my country, and, in some ways, there’s truth in that.’
‘I’ll try not to take that personally.’
‘You shouldn’t. It’s not about you so much as it is the women I’m supposed to marry.’
She froze. ‘What?’
‘I’m not engaged,’ he reassured her quietly. ‘And I will marry only one. But there are two candidates, both daughters of the powerful families who would have, decades ago, made a claim for the throne. The thinking is that in marrying one of them, I will unify our country further, bonding powerful families, allaying any prospective civil uprising.’
She absorbed that thoughtfully. ‘Do you like these women?’
‘I’ve met them a handful of times; it’s hard to say.’
‘You took me to bed after meeting me only a handful of times,’ she pointed out.
‘Then I like them considerably less than I like you,’ he said, pushing some water towards her so it splashed to her chin.
She smiled back at him, but there was a heaviness inside her. ‘What if you’re not suited?’
‘It’s of little importance. The marriage is more about appearances than anything else.’
‘You don’t think you should care for your bride?’
Something darkened in his features and there was a look of determination there. ‘Absolutely not.’
She shook her head. ‘Why is that so ridiculous?’
‘When it comes to royal marriages, arrangements of convenience make far more sense.’
‘It’s your life though. Surely you want to live it with someone that you have something in common with?’
‘I will have something in common with my wife: she will love our country as I do, enough to marry a stranger to strengthen its peace.’
‘And over time, you may come to love her?’
‘No, habibte. I will never love my wife.’ His eyes bore into hers. ‘My father loved my mother and it destroyed him. Her death left him bereft and broken. I will never make that mistake.’
She was quiet. ‘Do you think he felt it was a mistake to love her?’
‘I cannot say. I think at times he wished he hadn’t loved her, yes. He missed her in a way that was truly awful to watch.’
‘I’m sorry.’
He shrugged. ‘I have always known my own marriage would be nothing like his. If it weren’t for the fact that I need a child—and as quickly as possible—then I would never marry.’
Something tightened in her chest—a fierce, primal rejection of that. In order to have children, to beget an heir, he would need to have sex, and, though she had no reason to presume he wouldn’t, the idea of him going to bed with anyone else turned parts of her cold in a way she suspected would be permanent.
‘Children? So soon?’
‘I am the last of my family. It’s not an ideal situation. Yes, I need an heir. My marriage will be organised within months.’ His eyes assumed a more serious look. ‘I have to leave here in the morning. I won’t be back.’
Inexplicably, a lump formed in her throat. ‘I know that.’
‘And you, Daisy? What will your future hold? Will you stay working here, servicing guests of this suite of rooms for the rest of your life?’
Her lips twisted. ‘I hope not.’
‘The way you play the piano is mesmerising. You have a rare talent. It’s wrong of you not to pursue it.’
Her smile was lopsided, his praise pulling at her in a way that was painful and pleasurable all at once. ‘Like I said, it was a pipe dream.’
‘Why?’
‘My circumstances wouldn’t allow me to study. Becoming a concert pianist isn’t exactly something you click your fingers and do. It’s hard and it’s competitive and I had to get a job.’
‘Why? When you had a scholarship...’
‘I couldn’t do it.’
He compressed his lips. ‘If money was the only issue, then let me do as Malik suggested and offer you a settlement. He wanted me to ensure it was more profitable for you to keep your silence than not...’
She sent him a look of disbelief. ‘I’m not going to tell anyone about this, believe me.’
‘I know that. But I’d like to help you.’
‘No.’ She shook her head, tilting her chin defiantly. ‘Absolutely not. You might be richer than Croesus but I’m not taking a cent from you, Sariq. I absolutely refuse.’
And while he might have been used to being obeyed, there was more than a hint of respect in his eyes when he met her gaze. ‘Very well, Daisy. But if you should ever reconsider, the offer has no expiry date.’
She nodded, knowing she wouldn’t. Once Sariq left, she would set about the difficult job of forgetting he ever existed. For her own sanity, she needed to do that, or missing him could very well be the end of her.
It was six weeks after he left that she put two and two together and realised the significance of the dates. A loud gasp escaped her lips.
‘What is it?’ Henry, beside her, turned to regard her curiously.
She shook her head, but the calendar on the counter wouldn’t be silenced. She scanned through the guests she’d hosted in the last month and a half, since Sariq had left, and her pulse quickened.
Yes, she’d definitely missed a cycle. Instinctively, her hand curved over her flat stomach as the reality of this situation hit home.
She couldn’t possibly be pregnant, though. They’d used protection. Every time? Yes, every time! Except that once, against the wall, but he hadn’t climaxed, he’d been so careful. Surely that wasn’t enough...
But there was no other explanation. Her cycle was as regular as clockwork; missing a period had to mean that somehow she’d conceived Sariq’s baby.
She groaned, spinning away from Henry, uncertainty making it impossible to know what to say or do. First of all she needed proper confirmation.
‘Do you mind if I clock out? I just remembered something.’
‘Not at all. Make the most of the quiet days, I say.’
She bit down on her lip, grabbing her handbag. ‘Thanks, Henry.’
There was a drugstore just down the block, but she walked past it, taking the subway across town instead. It was safer here, away from the possibility of bumping into anyone from the hotel. She bought three pregnancy tests, each from a different manufacturer, knowing that it was overkill and not caring, and a huge bottle of water, which she drank in one sitting. Once back at her small apartment in the basement of the hotel, she pulled a test from its packaging, taking it into the bathroom and following the instructions to the letter.
It took almost no time for two blue lines to appear on the test patch.
She swore under her breath, staring at the lines, a hardness filling out her heart.
What the heck could she do? Sariq had left America six weeks earlier. She hadn’t heard from him and she had no expectation she would. He’d made it very clear that he needed to marry one of the women who would promise a greater hope of lasting peace for his people. He would make a match of duty, of national importance, and he’d need to have a legitimate heir with whomever he chose.
This baby would be a disaster for him, and, by extension, for his people. What if the sheer fact that she was pregnant somehow led to an all-out war in his country?
Nausea rose inside her. She cupped her hands over the toilet bowl, bending forward and losing all the water she’d hastily consumed. Her brow was covered in perspiration. She pressed her head to the ceramic tiles of the wall and counted to ten, telling herself it wasn’t that bad, that things would work out. She could raise a child on her own. No one ever needed to know.
Daisy re-read the email for the hundredth time before sending it.
Sariq, I’ve reconsidered. Tuition for the Juilliard is in the attachment. Anything you can do to help...
There was nothing in there that could possibly give away the truth of her situation. No way would he be able to int
uit from the few brief lines that there had been an unexpected consequence of their brief, passionate affair.
And that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To do this on her own? She bit down on her lip, her eyes scanning her phone screen, panic lifting through her. Because in all honesty, she couldn’t have said what she wanted. Their baby, yes, absolutely. Already, she loved the little human growing inside her.
She’d begun to feel the tiniest movements, like little bubbles popping in her belly, and she’d known it was her son or daughter swimming around, finding their feet and getting stronger every day.
Time was passing too quickly. In only five months she’d have to stop working, and then what? Panic made her act. She needed help and Sariq had willingly offered it. Lying to him wasn’t exactly comfortable for Daisy but she had to make her peace with that. Sariq had explained what he needed most—a wife and a legitimate heir to inherit his throne.
He’d be grateful to Daisy for this, in the long run, surely.
She read the email once more, her finger hovering over the ‘send’ arrow. She’d tried everything else she could think of. Thanks to her ex, her credit rating had tanked. She couldn’t get a loan, and, even if she could, what in the world would she pay it back with?
For their child, she would do anything, even offer a tiny white lie, via email, to the man she’d had two passionate nights with months earlier. The end justified the means. The email made a whooshing sound as she finally sent it, but Daisy didn’t hear it over the thunderous tsunami of her blood.
He stared at the email with an expression that was impossible to decipher. Three and a half months after leaving New York he had begun to think he would never hear from her again.
He re-read the email and a smile lifted his face. He had prayed she would come to her senses, but instinctively known not to push it. It wasn’t his place to run her life. Daisy had to decide what she wanted. He wished he could give her more. He wished he could see her again. But knowing he could give her this small gift was enough.
Except it wasn’t.
The Secret Kept From The King (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 6
