The Desert Lord's Love-Child. Оливия Гейтс

you’re what? Surprised I had one?”

      “Had?” he probed. “She’s dead?”

      She nodded, her throat closing all over again. “Cancer.”

      “When?”

      “Just over ten years now. She died on my sixteenth birthday.”

      His eyes narrowed, the amber intensifying. “On the very day?”

      She nodded, tears she hadn’t shed then brimming.

      What was he doing, interrogating her this way? What was she doing, pouring out information about herself? She’d never talked about her past with him. There was so much she’d never wanted to share with others, especially someone as blessed as he was.

      Their time together had been consumed in conflagrations of mindless passion. When they had talked, it had been about their tastes, fantasies, beliefs. She’d assumed he’d run a background check on her, had a full report with her statistics somewhere in his security files, one he probably hadn’t bothered to read. And why should he have? He surely didn’t clutter his mind with the particulars of the steady parade of women who warmed his bed. And she’d already known of his background, since he was such an international figure.

      She broke contact with those eyes that made her feel turned inside out for his inspection. “We’ll go in now. But I’m warning you … when Mennah sees you, she may be upset, may even cry. She doesn’t like strangers.”

      “I’m not a stranger.”

      He was so close he singed her cheek, the side of her neck with the heat of his vehemence, the intoxication of his breath. She shuddered, leaned on the door.

      “You’re still one to her …” The words petered out on her lips, in her mind, evaporated by the intensity in his gaze.

      Mennah’s yammering took on an excited edge. She must have sensed them even through the noise she was making. Carmen opened the door, turned up the dimmer, drenching the cheery room in soothing illumination. Mennah let out a squeal, started kicking her legs in welcoming delight as soon as she saw Carmen.

      “Oh, darling, me, too.” Hungry strides took her to Mennah, before she froze. Farooq had clamped her shoulder.

      Suddenly Mennah’s happy noises ceased, her smiles dissolving into a look of surprise. She’d seen Farooq towering behind Carmen.

      Wide-eyed, she stuffed both hands in her mouth and stared at him, chewing on her chubby fingers. Carmen felt apprehension rising, thoughts streaking over how to stop what she knew would come. The wobbling chin, the down-turning lips, the whimpers and tears and the arms outstretched for her.

      She wondered why she’d want to spare him that.

      The answer formed alongside the question in her mind.

      She’d misjudged him, deprived him of Mennah’s first precious months of life. He should have been the second person who held her, whom she saw. She should have been secure in his presence from her first moment of life, should be squealing her pleasure at the sight of him now, too. If, after Mennah’s delightful welcome to her, she whined and whimpered at Farooq, Carmen didn’t know what she’d …

       “Ya Ullah, ma ajmalhah.”

      Farooq’s awed words jolted through her heart. How beautiful she is. Being fluent in Arabic had secured her the opportunity of organizing his conference, the reason she’d met him.

      He went on, in a more ragged rasp, as if to himself, “Ma arwa’ha, hadi’l mo’jezah as’sagheerah!”

       How marvelous she is, this little miracle.

      And he had no idea just how miraculous Mennah was. The baby everyone had sworn Carmen would never be able to conceive. Now, after her hysterectomy, the only baby she’d ever conceive. Mennah was beyond a miracle. She was Carmen’s every reason to go on living.

      Overloaded with emotion, she felt him brushing past her, watched with breath gone and heart stampeding as he leaned down in leashed eagerness, reaching one powerful finger to brush Mennah’s cheek, a sound of agonized enjoyment escaping him.

      Transferring his gentleness to the hands still half-stuffed in Mennah’s mouth, he whispered, “Ana abooki, ya sagheerati.”

      I’m your father, my little one. Delivered in a vocal caress that was delight soaked in wonder and pride and possessiveness and a dozen other emotions.

      Carmen’s heart splintered.

      Oh God. Oh God. If she’d had the least doubt before, she no longer had it. He wanted Mennah. Fiercely wanted her.

      And she’d once had a taste of how fiercely he could want …

      Her eyes snapped to Mennah, dread of her reaction mounting, every muscle ready to snatch her up at the first whimper, to soothe her, ameliorate his disappointment, promise she’d soon get used to him. Not that she had any idea how Mennah would do that, when she had no idea how he intended to be in her life from now on, at best as a long-distance father …

      Mennah’s piercing squeal had her heart almost kicking her off her feet. She surged forward, but Mennah was … she was … She was smiling!

      And not any smile, but a huge, dimpled one. Then she was eagerly rolling to a sitting position, holding up her arms, her chubby hands closing and opening, beckoning, demanding to be picked up. By Farooq!

      Farooq whooped in elation, scooped her up. “Erefteeni, ya zakeyah!” He held her up, his large hands spanning her rib cage. “You’re so clever you recognized me at once.” He tickled her and she kicked her legs, screeching sharp sounds of pleasure, reaching out both hands to his face, her palms landing anywhere. He let her paw him, his chuckles escalating into guffaws.

      Suddenly he took her to his chest, enfolded her, closed his eyes on a deep, long groan. Carmen’s heart swelled so fast, so hard she felt it might burst. Next moment, it almost did.

      Mennah mashed her face into his neck and went still. Closed her eyes, too. As if to savor her father’s feel, inhale his scent, absorb his power and protection.

      And Carmen’s tears wouldn’t be held back anymore.

      She swung around, ran out, needing to get as far as possible before a storm of anguish like those that had overcome her all through her pregnancy overtook her.

      She closed the door to the bathroom, slumped on it as sobs shredded through her.

      To see them together, father and daughter, to know what she’d deprived them of, to know she hadn’t had to run, to endure all the pain alone, that he would have been there for her, if only for the sake of the daughter she’d been carrying …

      A knock at her back almost heaped her to the floor again.

      “Mennah wants to see you now, Carmen.”

      Farooq’s voice was … tender. It had to be the distortion of hearing it through the door … But no, it was tender for Mennah. She would never know anything soft or indulgent from him again.

      She wiped both sleeves over her eyes, ran shaking fingers through her mess of tangles. Then she opened the door and stepped back into the hall. The sight that greeted her almost sent the dammed anguish flooding again.

      Farooq had discarded his jacket, now stood with shirt half unbuttoned, raven mane mussed, glossy locks raining down his leonine forehead, with Mennah perched on his left hip, looking at her gleefully as if asking her to share this incredible find, this giant she’d already twisted around her little finger. He, too, was smiling hugely. She knew it wasn’t at her. This was his pleasure at holding Mennah, his whimsy at his unbridled reaction to her.

      “So this is what a bundle of joy is.” He looked down on Mennah, giving her a playful squeeze. She squealed, buried her face into his chest, her fingers going for the hair. He winced, his lips spreading wider with