by Kay Thorpe
Before Lucy knew what he was doing, Kahlil had captured the drop of sauce at the corner of her mouth with his fingertip. ‘It was careless of me to feed you that last mouthful so clumsily. I’m surprised you don’t reprimand me.’
As their gazes locked, Lucy felt a bolt of sensation rip through her at the thought of chastising Sheikh Kahlil of Abadan. He had tapped unerringly into one of her most seductive fantasies.
‘It is my responsibility,’ he continued softly, ‘to make sure that when I feed you everything goes in your mouth…’
Lucy swallowed hard as he put his now sauce-coated fingertip into his mouth and sucked it clean.
‘Coffee?’ he murmured, holding her stare.
There was no mistaking the real question in his eyes—and it had no connection with coffee. Lucy sucked in a few steadying breaths, but it did no good. Her heart was beating out of control. He still wanted her. He couldn’t have made it more obvious. They could simply pick up where they had left off…
Madness! She couldn’t think of it! She mustn’t think of it, Lucy thought, angry with herself as she remembered that her first concern was to get Edward safely away from Abadan. Only then could she seek professional advice regarding his legal position.
‘Coffee,’ she said firmly.
‘Why are you so shy now?’ Kahlil asked, turning back to her after giving his instructions to the servants and then dismissing them. ‘Isn’t it a little late for modesty? Or is there someone else in your life?’
‘There’s no one,’ Lucy confessed.
‘No one?’ Kahlil repeated, raising one ebony brow in wry amusement. ‘Then what is the matter, Lucy? Why are you so reluctant to tell me anything about your private life?’
Lucy’s knuckles went white as her hands balled into fists at her side. ‘I have to get back—’
‘Do you want to?’
Her hesitation was a beat too long. As Kahlil reached for her hand Lucy felt herself grow weak—not at the strength of him, as his power closed around her, but at the tantalising delicacy of his touch. He drew her onward by silken threads of desire, slowly, gently, like one of his most diffident mares. And as his hold on her increased, she melted. He felt so strong, so warm, and so uncannily familiar. It was as if they had never been apart, she realised, breathing faster. And then they were on their feet, facing each other, and she was longing for him to kiss her, for him to take her in his arms so that once again she could forget—
Forget! She could forget nothing, Lucy realised, coming to with a jolt. This wasn’t a matter of her pride, or even her hopes and dreams—this was Edward’s future, his security, his happiness. He belonged with her. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, do anything, anything to put that at risk. ‘I have to go.’
Kahlil reached out and teased a few strands of her hair.
‘I mean it, Kahlil,’ she said, closing her eyes against the look in his eyes and the sensuous curl of his mouth.
‘I won’t stop you,’ he said, knowing she wanted to stay. And he wanted her to stay. But he sensed that she was wound up like a spring. Another question without an answer, he reflected, staring keenly down at her.
Did he care? Kahlil almost laughed out loud. The hard man of Abadan discovering he had a heart? This was dangerous territory where a woman was concerned, and not a place he cared to visit. ‘You are free to go,’ he said coolly, standing back from her.
Lucy guessed that anything other than a direct command from Kahlil could never have resulted in someone leaving his presence so abruptly. She had to be cautious. ‘I’m sure you have things to do too,’ she said pleasantly.
I’ll walk you back to your apartment—’
‘No!’ The sharp exclamation escaped her lips before she could stop it.
‘No?’ Kahlil queried, his voice turning cold.
His eyes were instantly alert, the formidable mind instantly in gear, Lucy saw with a shiver of apprehension. ‘Kahlil, please,’ she said, struggling to come up with some excuse. ‘I would like to check my plans one last time. There are things I have to be sure of before our next meeting,’ she improvised desperately.
‘Business can wait,’ Kahlil informed her. ‘I set the meetings, and therefore I can delay them if I wish. If you need more time, you only have to ask.’
She had to tell him, Lucy realised. He would find out sooner or later. Better she told him than anyone else. ‘I have to go back now,’ she explained, hearing her voice hoarse with apprehension, ‘because I’m not alone—’
‘Not alone?’ he cut across her harshly. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I have a child with me,’ Lucy said, and then, bracing herself, she added, ‘My son.’
‘Your son!’ Now it was Kahlil’s turn to be completely thrown.
For a moment there was absolute silence. Lucy was frightened when Kahlil refused to look at her, but just stared over her head. She could feel his shock—and, when his shock began subsiding, his mounting suspicion.
This was the price he must pay for trusting her—and for delegating the competition to one of his advisors, Kahlil raged inwardly. Must he oversee everything personally? Clearly, yes! he concluded, raking Lucy with a look. A son! She had never said anything about a child. What type of woman was she?
Suddenly he couldn’t wait to get away from her. He needed time to think, to rationalise his feelings, to decide on his next move. ‘Go to him, then,’ he ordered harshly. ‘Go to your son!’
‘His name is Edward,’ Lucy said quietly as every ounce of her maternal defence mechanism sprang into action. It was terrible to hear Edward spoken about with such anger—and by Kahlil. ‘My son’s name is Edward,’ she said again clearly.
She saw she had Kahlil’s full attention now. His eyes were narrowed with distrust. But was it the fact that she had a son alone, or was it her forthrightness? She doubted anyone had ever interrupted Kahlil in his life before. But then perhaps he had never encountered a mother in defence of her child.
Snapping his gaze away from her, Kahlil tried to come to terms with Lucy’s startling revelation. As a general rule, he actively encouraged expats working in Abadan to bring their families with them. A happy worker was a good worker, and nothing led to discontent more quickly than homesickness, or the longing for those you loved. The same applied to Lucy. If she had a child, then of course she should have brought him with her. What he took issue with was the manner in which she had kept the information from him. What else was she hiding?
‘There is a good play scheme here in the palace, for children of my staff,’ he said, turning to her, ‘as well as a school…’
Lucy didn’t hear any more. Had she joined his staff? Was that how he saw her? Perhaps there was a vacancy for a mistress—
She must keep her head if she was ever to return home safely with Edward. She waited until she was sufficiently composed to say, ‘Edward’s a little too young for a play scheme, but thank you.’
The words hung in the air between them like an accusation.
‘How old is the child?
Kahlil’s words plunged like a dagger into Lucy’s heart. She couldn’t bring herself to answer his question. ‘Will you let me go to him?’ she said instead, softly.
‘Go,’ Kahlil said, gesturing impatiently towards the doors.
Kahlil watched her fumbling with the heavy gold handles, not bothering to wait for the servants to open the doors in her haste to get away from him. He did nothing to help, just stood in silence. He would do nothing to aid her path to damnation. He didn’t need to. She was doing very well on her own.
It was already dusk by the time Lucy returned to her own rooms at the palace. She was weak with relief after fleeing from Kahlil, and seeing how happily Edward had settled in to his new surroundings almost made her believe that things might be all right after all.
‘He woke up soon after you left,’ Leila told her, ‘but he’s been absolutely fine.’
‘There are so many new distractions, I’m not surprised,’ Lucy murmured
, seeking reassurance in Edward’s comforting warmth as she lifted him into her arms. But she couldn’t compete with this, she realised, looking around. More things had been brought out for him to play with: chalkboards, paints, a wooden train set, toy cars, and even a rocking horse that he was struggling to push Leila away from now that he had mastered the way to ride it.
‘I’m afraid he’s quite determined to ride it on his own,’ Leila explained, ‘without me holding on to him. You must be keen on riding,’ she added, when Lucy came to take her place in the firing line.
‘Yes, I am,’ Lucy murmured distractedly, helping Edward to settle back onto the saddle again.
‘Or perhaps he takes after his father,’ Leila commented, smiling. Then, seeing the look on Lucy’s face, she quickly said, ‘I’m sorry—I mean—’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Lucy broke in, reassuring the younger woman with a smile. ‘You’re probably right, as it happens.’
Leila’s comment brought home to her the fact that she didn’t know anything about Edward’s father. The thought frightened her. But it did seem likely that Kahlil would ride as well as he did everything else. He was built for sport, for action—
Lucy refocused, seeing Leila was still watching her. ‘Where did all these things come from?’ she said, hoping to deflect the young girl’s curiosity.
Leila’s eyes widened. ‘Apparently this was Sheikh Kahlil’s nursery when he was a child,’ she confided. ‘The servants told me that lots of things had been kept in storage.’
Sheikh Kahlil—my lover! Edward’s father! Even the way Leila spoke his name with such awe brought the perils of her situation home to Lucy.
‘Everyone in the palace has been so kind,’ Leila carried on happily, oblivious to the turmoil spinning around Lucy’s head. ‘The older servants told me that it was good to have a baby around the palace again—Are you all right?’ she said, breaking off.
‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you. I’m absolutely fine,’ Lucy said, managing a thin smile. She was anything but. She was recognising that this was Edward’s rightful heritage—all this attention, all this luxury, this was the privileged lifestyle she was denying her son. How could she not tell Edward about Abadan? He must learn about his second country. How could she let him grow to maturity never knowing the truth—that Sheikh Kahlil, the heir to the kingdom of Abadan, was his father?
But if she told Kahlil they had a son together, he would think she had some ulterior motive. Why else would she have kept the news of their child from him for so long? Being so rich and powerful meant Kahlil must harbour suspicions about everyone. How would he feel about a woman who turned up with a young child, claiming he was his son? And what if Kahlil took it into his head to send her away and keep Edward with him in Abadan?
In spite of Edward’s protests, Lucy swept her son off the rocking horse and hugged him close. There was not going to be an easy answer, an easy solution. She would just have to get them both out of Abadan somehow, and seek legal advice when she got back.
‘You must hear this.’
Lucy turned as Leila distracted her.
‘We were recording some tunes,’ Leila explained, ‘so the children in the playgroup could sing “Happy Birthday” to Edward at his tea party tomorrow. Edward grabbed the microphone—’
As Leila turned on the machine Lucy had to admit the improvement in the clarity of his few words was marked. He had even tried to speak a word or two in Abadanese. But she was used to changes coming thick and fast now. She could hardly keep up with them. He had been able to take a few steps for some time, as long as something or someone supported him. And Kahlil had missed everything.
Guilt speared through Lucy as she thought of it. And then there was something far worse. She felt Kahlil enter the room. She didn’t even need to turn around to know he was there. An icy hand slithered down her spine. Edward was staring unblinking at the door. And then Kahlil must have made some signal she could not see, for, without uttering a word, Leila hurried past her out of the room.
‘Kahlil!’ Lucy’s grip on Edward tightened as she turned around to face him.
‘Strange,’ he said, coming closer. ‘I imagined an older child. Now, why did I think that?’
Lucy’s throat dried. She wasn’t sure if an answer was expected of her. And when Kahlil was cloaked in formal Arabian robes, as he was now, she found the sight of him utterly terrifying. They gave him such grandeur, as well as an untouchable quality that made him seem like a stranger. And in many ways he was. Dressed head to foot in black, unrelieved apart from the gold agal that held his headdress in place, he was certainly a formidable figure, with his dark complexion and harsh, unyielding face. But, far from being terrified, Lucy noticed that Edward was transfixed, and didn’t flinch or hide his face as the tall, robed figure bore down on them.
Instinctively Lucy took a step backwards, but the moment Kahlil was in reach Edward shot out a hand, and to her surprise Kahlil allowed him to wrap his chubby fist around one of his long, tanned fingers.
‘I am very pleased to meet you, Edward,’ Kahlil politely, letting the boy hang on to him.
Lucy’s heart was hammering as she watched her son’s reaction to his father. His eyes wore the same determined expression as Kahlil’s. And, just like Kahlil, his unblinking expression seemed incapable of showing fear.
‘I was just going to give him a bath,’ Lucy said, starting to turn away.
‘Not so fast,’ Kahlil said, catching hold of her arm. ‘How old is this child?’
‘Edward…Edward is almost one. Tomorrow is his birthday,’ Lucy said, tilting her chin to stare Kahlil in the eyes.
‘Is he mine?’
She had not anticipated a question half so blunt. As Lucy tensed she felt Edward tense too.
‘I asked you, is he my child?’
Kahlil delivered the words in a merciless staccato sequence, not loud enough to alarm Edward, but chilling to Lucy. The evidence was there in front of his eyes, how could she deny it? There was no mistaking the fact that Kahlil was Edward’s father; the likeness between them was uncanny.
‘Do we have to do this in front of him?’ she said. Edward was finding the whole situation fascinating, but Lucy knew there were too many raw emotions in the air, and she wanted to protect him at all costs from the anger that could erupt at any second between Kahlil and herself.
A variety of emotions charged across Kahlil’s face: tension, enchantment with Edward, then suspicion, and finally fury. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Please, Kahlil—’
But he strode away from her and tugged on a silken rope to call the servants.
Leila must have been hovering outside, Lucy realised, waiting for just such a summons. The young girl hesitated on the threshold, and then came hurrying forwards.
‘You called for me?’ she said, bobbing respectfully to Kahlil.
‘Yes. Will you take Edward for his bath now, please?’ Kahlil asked, dipping his head to indicate that she should remove the child from Lucy’s arms.
‘Of course,’ Leila whispered, with another bow.
‘And then leave us alone,’ Kahlil instructed. ‘Miss Benson will come to collect her son when we have finished our meeting.’
Lucy’s blood ran cold as she passed a reluctant Edward over to the nanny. Kahlil made the exchange to come between them sound so innocent and clear-cut.
‘Go with her now,’ Kahlil said directly to Edward, ‘and I will come to see you later.’
Lucy felt a rush of resentment at the way Kahlil had cut her out. She wanted Edward to protest, to kick up a fuss; he did neither. He simply locked gazes with his father and quietened immediately.
‘I’ll look after him. Don’t worry,’ Leila assured her, as if sensing Lucy’s unease.
But there was an acute sense of threat hovering around Lucy that couldn’t be appeased by Leila’s reassurances. It was almost as if Edward was going for good, She battled the apprehension raging inside her, but it was all she could do to
watch Leila carry Edward across the room without going after them. She had no reason to doubt the nanny, or think the young girl might run off with him. But the dangerous undercurrents in the nursery made Lucy doubt her ability to control anything in Abadan.
Her best course of action was to confront the situation calmly, and find out how Kahlil intended to proceed before doing anything.
As the door clicked shut behind Leila and Edward the room seemed ominously quiet. The quiet before the storm, Lucy thought, mentally preparing herself.
Kahlil’s voice split the silence like a blade. ‘Why have you brought the child here?’
Lucy stared at up him, holding her ground. ‘You know why. I’m working here—I have a contract—’
‘Have you come to Abadan to extort money out of me?’
‘I have come here to do a job, and that is all,’ she said. ‘The only money I expect to be paid in Abadan is the money that is owing to me.’
‘Well, you won’t be getting that yet,’ Kahlil said stonily. ‘You haven’t completed the contract. And you may never complete it.’
Was he threatening her? Trying to drive her away? Lucy’s face darkened. ‘I can’t believe you would be so unprofessional.’
‘And I can’t believe you would bring the child here—a pawn in your sordid game.’
‘Edward isn’t a pawn in anyone’s game,’ Lucy said, incensed that Kahlil might think her capable of such a thing. ‘He came with me because I’m a single mother, and that’s what single mothers do. When their support system falls down, they adapt, they find a way to carry on—’
Kahlil’s sound of contempt was meant to wound her, and it did.
‘Think what you like of me,’ Lucy told him coldly, ‘but don’t you dare bring Edward into this.’
Kahlil’s gaze hardened. No one ever countermanded Sheikh Kahlil of Abadan, or gave him instructions. Lucy saw that at once.
‘Can you prove he’s mine?’
Lucy went cold, and for a moment she couldn’t think what to say. In that instant she saw herself through Kahlil’s eyes. It was obvious what kind of woman he thought she was, and every protective instinct she possessed reared up in defence of her son. ‘Prove he’s yours?’ she said with disdain. ‘Why on earth should I want to?’
