Six Sizzling Sheikhs. Оливия Гейтс

      How long would that take? It was difficult to imagine Khaled with a child, his child. Would he charm Sam? Would he tire of him? The fear gnawed at her, ate away at her insides.

      When would he leave?

      It was stupid to be afraid of his leaving, when that was what she’d wanted all along: to be left alone. Yet already the thought of his rejection made her insides twist and roil. Stupid.

      ‘That sounds sensible,’ she finally said, and took a sip of juice.

      Eventually she fell into an uneasy doze, only to be woken when the attendant began to serve dinner.

      ‘Will you have wine?’ Khaled asked as the steward prepared to pour, and, still befuddled by sleep, Lucy nodded.

      The wine was rich and red, and glinted in the dimmed lights of the cabin. Lucy felt as if she were in a fancy restaurant rather than on an aeroplane. The table between their seats had been laid with a linen tablecloth and napkins, winking crystal and creamy porcelain plates.

      Outside the hard, blue sky was replaced by endless black, lit only by the plane’s wing lights. The attendant served a salad of baby spinach leaves with roasted peppers and pecans, and then retired to the rear of the cabin. Khaled lifted his glass, smiling faintly.

      ‘To our future.’

      Lucy’s fingers felt cold as they curled around the stem of the glass; she raised it to her lips. Our future. Khaled’s meaning couldn’t have been plainer: he was staying in her life, in Sam’s life. They had a future.

      What would it be like, Lucy wondered, to see Khaled on a regular basis? To have a relationship, a future with him, even if it wasn’t the one she’d once imagined?

      How long would it last? How long did she want it to last? The prospect of inviting him into her life once more terrified her. What she couldn’t do was invite him into her heart.

      Except she wondered how much choice she really had when it came to Khaled. She’d been so weak before. She wanted to be strong now, to keep him at a distance, but could she?

      Would he leave her broken-hearted again—or worse, break the heart of her son?

      ‘What are you thinking?’ Khaled asked, his voice low and husky with suppressed laughter. ‘Your forehead is crinkling as if you’re trying to work out a rather difficult maths problem.’

      ‘No, nothing like that.’ Lucy took a sip of the rich, red wine and let it slip like liquid velvet down her throat, firing her belly. ‘Just…thinking.’

      ‘It is bound to be awkward for us at first,’ Khaled said, also sipping his wine. ‘Considering our past. But I’m sure, for Sam’s sake, we can move past whatever we felt for each other.’ His voice was so neutral, so bland and indifferent, that Lucy couldn’t keep from giving a rather sharp laugh.

      ‘That’s a good way of putting it—“whatever we felt for each other”.’

      Khaled frowned. ‘What are you implying, Lucy?’

      She shrugged and took another sip of wine. ‘Only that we rather obviously felt different things. But you’re right, Khaled, it will be awkward, and we can move past it. I have already.’ She smiled with bright determination, knowing she sounded too defiant, too childish, but not caring.

      Whatever we felt for each other. Ha! She knew what he’d felt: nothing.

      ‘You think I didn’t care for you?’ Khaled said slowly, and now he was the one who sounded like he was working out a maths problem.

      ‘I’d say you spelt that out quite clearly when you left,’ Lucy replied shortly. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

      Khaled looked away, and Lucy saw the tension in his jaw, his powerful shoulder. ‘There were reasons why I acted the way I did.’

      ‘What—your knee?’ Khaled stiffened, and Lucy ploughed on with relentless determination. ‘Obviously your injury was more serious than anyone supposed, Khaled. I see that now, and Eric told me you didn’t want anyone to know. But, even so…’ She took a breath, feeling the hurt once more, so fresh and raw. ‘Even so, you didn’t have to…to take your bat and go home!’ He jerked, turning back to her, his eyes narrowing dangerously. ‘If you were hurt, I wanted to be with you,’ she said quietly. ‘Comfort you. Help you.’

      ‘Help me,’ he repeated, and it sounded like a snarl. A sneer.

      ‘Yes,’ Lucy agreed. She sat back, tired and defeated once more. What was the point of remembering, rehashing, the past now four years later? Four years too late. It didn’t change things. It just made them hurt again. Hurt more. ‘But obviously you didn’t want that from me,’ she finished, setting her glass on the table. ‘And I accepted that, and moved on. So.’ She forced herself to look up, and even to smile. ‘That’s why we can get past the awkward bit. For Sam’s sake…and for our own.’

      Khaled gave a little laugh and shook his head. ‘Obviously we felt different things. Obviously I didn’t want your help. It’s so very clear in your world, isn’t it, Lucy? You have all the answers without having asked any of the questions. So very black and white.’ He gave another little laugh, the sound taut with bitterness, and Lucy stared at him in surprise.

      ‘Then tell me—’ she began, but Khaled cut her off.

      ‘No matter. I am glad we are in agreement. The past is finished, and we can move on.’ He lifted his glass in a mock toast before taking a sip. ‘In fact, I think we have already.’

      By the time the plane landed at Heathrow, Lucy was exhausted. Khaled, she noticed, looked tired as well; his face had the greyish tinge of fatigue, and she wondered if his knee was paining him again. How long did these flare ups last?

      They didn’t speak as they left the plane. Khaled issued a few terse instructions to a hovering attendant regarding their luggage and then gestured to a dark sedan idling by the kerb.

      Lucy climbed in, grateful for the comfort, and Khaled followed. ‘What is your address?’ he asked, and Lucy gave it to him.

      She didn’t particularly relish the thought of Khaled seeing her rather humble Victorian terrace on the outskirts of London. It was far from what he was used to, whether it was the Biryali palace or his luxury flat in Mayfair. She thought of the days and nights she’d spent in that flat, and forced the memory from her mind.

      ‘Where will you be staying?’ she asked as the car pulled away from the kerb. ‘Do you still have your flat?’

      ‘No. I sold it.’ Khaled’s voice was brusque, and with a pang of surprise Lucy realised he hadn’t been back to England since his accident. Since their break-up. What did he think or feel, coming back here? Did the rain-slicked pavement and cold, damp air bring back a flood of memories of his time on the team, or his time with her? ‘I’m staying at a hotel,’ he continued. ‘I’ll give you all my contact information.’

      They didn’t talk for the rest of the trip, which was just as well, as Lucy’s eyes were fluttering with exhaustion when the car pulled up to her house.

      ‘You don’t need to…’ she began, but Khaled had already opened his door and was striding around to open hers.

      Lucy slipped out and fumbled for the keys in her handbag as the driver retrieved her luggage.

      It felt awkward and strangely intimate to be standing in the moonlight outside her front door, Khaled gazing down at her with his usual, unfathomable expression. It felt, she thought with an amusement born from exhaustion, like a date.

      ‘You’re seeing me to my door?’ she asked, and Khaled frowned.

      ‘I have a responsibility to keep you safe.’

      Since when? Lucy wanted to ask. When had she become his responsibility? She opened her mouth to make some querulous reply, then closed it again. What was the point?