The Desert King's Secret Heir. Annie West

attention. She was a nonentity.

      ‘I did send someone. But they reported you were surrounded. Your phone is switched off and I assumed that if a stranger knocked on your door, claiming to represent me, you’d think it was a ruse to get you out to face the cameras.’ Ebony eyes held hers, challenging.

      Reluctantly Arden nodded. He was right. She’d never have opened the door to anyone she didn’t know.

      ‘I had to come. There was no other choice.’

      How did he sound so calm when they were in this mess? Arden couldn’t begin to imagine how she and Dawud could go back to their normal, anonymous lives. She wanted to rant, to point the finger of blame at him, but what would that achieve? She had to protect Dawud. There was no time for the luxury of hysteria.

      Besides, despite her fine words, she hadn’t been forced into that telltale kiss.

      Shame filled her. She’d clung to his broad-shouldered frame, losing herself in his sensuality, in the pull of an attraction that was as powerful as it had always been.

      Despite the way he’d abandoned her years ago.

      Despite the fact he had a fiancée.

      Arden hated herself for that. She should be immune to him now. Her stomach dropped and she stepped away, her back colliding with the wall. Determination filled her. She would not fall under his spell again.

      ‘What?’ His voice was sharp.

      ‘Your fiancée.’ The word rasped out, rough-edged.

      ‘Not my fiancée.’

      ‘But Hamid said—’

      ‘Hamid doesn’t know everything.’ That twist of his mobile mouth looked cruel. As if the words he held back would flay someone alive.

      Slivers of ice pricked her all over.

      In that instant he morphed from saviour to threat.

      She’d been almost relieved to see him but suddenly, as if scales fell from her eyes, she saw him not as the man she’d once loved, or as Hamid’s cousin and a potential safe harbour in this press storm, but as an absolute monarch, accustomed to getting whatever he wanted.

      Arden licked her lips. ‘What do you want?’

      Her gaze flicked to the closed sitting room door before she could stop herself. He noticed. Of course he noticed. How could he not hear the muffled children’s ditty and guess who was in there?

      The fact he hadn’t even turned his head towards the other room only scared her more.

      Thinking he’d washed his hands of her once their affair was over, even covering his tracks with a false name, she’d believed herself a sole parent in every sense. But Idris was here now, and she realised in dawning horror that she had no idea how he felt about a child. A male child. A child he might consider his heir. A child he might try to take.

      Terror dug razored claws into her belly and her stomach cramped so hard she doubled up, gasping. Surely he didn’t plan to steal her baby!

      ‘Arden? What is it?’ This time he did reach out, long fingers branding her upper arm and sending flames licking through her.

      ‘Don’t touch me!’ It was a hoarse whisper, the best she could do. But it was enough. He reared back as if scalded.

      She straightened, forcing herself to stand tall, jutting her chin to lessen the distance between them.

      ‘Tell me what you want.’

      Had she just made the biggest mistake of her life, letting Dawud’s father into her home? A father who had the power, physically and financially, to take her baby away?

      ‘Tell me!’ Heat glazed her eyes. If he thought he was taking Dawud from her, he understood nothing about a mother’s love.

      Something she couldn’t decipher glowed in those narrowed eyes. ‘I want to get you and your son to safety, where you won’t be bothered by the press. Then, we need to talk.’

      Her stomach did that roller coaster dip again. Talk didn’t sound at all appealing.

      But she was out of choices. She and Dawud couldn’t stay holed up, hoping the press would leave. They had to go out some time. Idris was her only lifeline. No one else could get them away from the press. She had to trust him, for now at least.

      ‘Pack what the pair of you will need for a couple of days. There’s a car outside to take you away and one of my men will be posted nearby to make sure none of the paparazzi break in here to get more fodder for a story.’

      Arden’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t thought of that. Of some stranger pawing through their belongings, sullying their home.

      ‘Don’t worry. It won’t happen. I won’t let it.’

      Arden snapped her mouth closed, reeling at his absolute conviction. Never in her life had she been able to rely on anyone. Every time she’d begun to trust she’d been let down. Her parents, foster parents, even Hamid, pretending there was more to their friendship than existed.

      There was something inherently appealing about Idris’s assurance. Just as well she knew better than to depend on him. But, for the moment, she and Dawud needed help.

      ‘Give me ten minutes.’ She started down the hall then stopped, hesitating outside the sitting room door.

      ‘Don’t worry. I’ll wait here.’ It was as if he read her mind, her worry about Dawud.

      She hesitated, unable to dismiss the thought of him simply striding in, picking up Dawud and carrying him out of the door.

      ‘You are both safe with me.’ That deep voice mesmerised—so grave, so measured. She badly wanted to trust him. He took a single step nearer. ‘You have my word, Arden.’

      She caught the velvet brown of his eyes that from a distance looked pure black. She read determination in his jaw, strength in his proud stance and honesty in his direct gaze. For a second longer she wavered. Then she spun on her heel and darted into the bedroom.

      She’d hear if he tried to scoop up Dawud and take him. Dawud would yell and it would be impossible to exit quickly with that mob outside.

      Yet relief hit when she emerged to find him still in the hall. He stood, head bent as if listening to Dawud’s high voice carolling enthusiastically. Arden dropped the two bags, a bulky one full of Dawud’s toys and clothes and a small one for her.

      Idris’s head jerked up. ‘Ready?’

      Arden nodded, trying and failing to read his expression. ‘I’ll need a child’s car seat and—’

      ‘No need. Arrangements have been made for a car seat. All you need is your bags and your son.’

      Your son. Not Dawud. As if Idris was trying to distance himself. Pain turned like a twisting stiletto in her chest. Arden told herself she was pathetic. Seconds ago she’d worried Idris might try to kidnap Dawud. Now she was disappointed he wasn’t more enthusiastic about him.

      He hasn’t even asked if he’s the father.

      Because this whole situation was a mighty inconvenience for him. More than an inconvenience. Coming just before his marriage to Princess Ghizlan it must be a headache of massive proportions.

      She made herself nod and put down the bags. ‘I’ll get him.’

      ‘You can introduce me.’ When she hesitated Idris continued. ‘It will make things easier. It will be scary enough for him facing the crowd outside, even with my security men keeping them back.’

      Arden hadn’t thought of that. It was odd, and unsettling, having someone else point out what her son needed before she did. She couldn’t get her brain past the immediate. Right now that was overwhelming. Introducing Dawud to his father. The man she’d thought he’d never know.

      The doorknob