Six Sizzling Sheikhs. Оливия Гейтс

gaze slid from Sam to Lucy. ‘And you are Sam’s mother.’ His mouth twisted in something close to a smile, cynical though it was. ‘My son’s bride.’

      Lucy stared. Wedding. Bride. Something was going on, something she didn’t understand, didn’t even want to think about. She opened her mouth—although as to what she was going to say she had no idea—but Khaled cut her off before she uttered a word.

      ‘Lucy is tired from such a long journey,’ Khaled said smoothly. ‘As we all are. I’m sure we’ll look forward to chatting and getting to know each other over dinner, Father.’

      Ahmed jerked his head in a terse nod of acceptance, and Khaled brought his hands together, touching them to his forehead in the classic gesture of obeisance. Then, with one hand returning to clasp Sam’s, he took Lucy’s elbow and guided her from the room.

      She followed him through the twisting corridors to an upstairs hall of bedrooms. ‘You and Sam can stay here,’ Khaled said, stopping in front of a doorway. ‘I’m right down the hall if you need me.’

      Lucy didn’t even glance in the bedroom. ‘Khaled, what was your father talking about, calling me your—’

      ‘You’re tired,’ Khaled cut her off. ‘Have a rest, and we’ll speak later.’

      Frustration bubbled inside her. ‘I don’t want to rest,’ she hissed. Sam tugged on her hand, eager to explore their new bedroom. ‘I want to know what’s going on,’ Lucy insisted, keeping her voice low for Sam’s sake.

      ‘Now is not the time.’ Khaled’s voice and expression were both implacable. ‘Rest, Lucy, and later I will answer whatever questions you might care to ask.’

      ‘Trust me,’ she replied through gritted teeth, ‘there are quite a few.’

      Khaled smiled faintly, a little sadly even, and to her surprise he brushed her cheek with his fingertips, causing an electric shock of awareness to ripple inwards from her skin. ‘I’m sure there are.’

      Then he disappeared down the corridor, and Lucy followed Sam into their bedroom.

      No luxury had been spared, she soon saw. There were two bedrooms, each with a king-size bed, and a sitting room connecting them. Each room had a pair of French doors that led out to a shared terrace twice as large as her garden back home.

      Sam hung over the balcony, gazing in rapt wonder at the view of the gardens. Lucy saw a swimming pool on its own landscaped ledge glinting in the distance.

      Clearly so did Sam, for he breathlessly asked, ‘Can we go swimming? Can we?’

      ‘Later,’ Lucy promised, pulling him back from the railing. Even though she’d been spoiling for a fight with Khaled, she reluctantly recognised the wisdom of his words. She was exhausted, and so was Sam. ‘I’m not even sure what time it is back home, but I think we both need a rest.’

      Sam was surprisingly unresistant to the idea of a nap, and within a few minutes Lucy had settled him in one of the bedrooms. He looked so small in the huge bed, his hair dark against the crisp, white pillow. Lucy sat on the edge of the bed, stroking his hair as he drifted to sleep, until her own fatigue drove her to the other bedroom and the sanctuary of sleep herself.

      She awoke several hours later, the sky outside just darkening to violet. A cool breeze blew in from the French doors, ruffling the gauzy curtains. The only other sound was the lazy whir of the ceiling fan.

      Lucy rose from the bed and checked on Sam, who was still sprawled in the middle of the wide bed, fast asleep. Smiling at the sight, she went to have a shower and dress for dinner while she could.

      An hour later, both she and Sam were washed and dressed and ready to head downstairs.

      ‘You both look refreshed,’ Khaled said as they came down the stairs into the foyer.

      ‘Thank you,’ Lucy murmured, and couldn’t help but notice that he also looked much refreshed—and irresistible. Her heart gave an extra two bumps as her gaze swept over him. He wore a crisp white shirt, open at the throat, and somehow she couldn’t quite tear her gaze away from that smooth column of brown skin. The memory of kissing his pulse there sent heat flaring to her cheeks. She forced herself to look away.

      Khaled stretched out a hand to her, and after a second’s hesitation Lucy took it. She shouldn’t like the way his hand felt encasing hers, cool and dry and strong. She shouldn’t feel bereft when he let go to tousle Sam’s hair.

      She shouldn’t want this…again.

      Ahmed stood in the doorway to the dining room, his manner stiff and formal as he greeted both Lucy and Sam.

      A few minutes later a servant ushered them to their places at the vast table. A week ago it had held places for twenty, but now one end was set only for four.

      ‘This has all come as a surprise,’ Ahmed said, smiling slightly as the first course was served. Sam looked down at the unfamiliar food—marag lahm, a meat soup—and grimaced. Lucy laid a warning hand on his shoulder. ‘I had no idea my son was hiding such secrets.’

      ‘It was a secret to him as well until recently,’ she said, meeting Ahmed’s gaze directly. She refused to be intimidated. She thought of how Khaled had spoken of his father, of his endless, senseless suspicion of his own son.

      ‘And not something that should be discussed at present,’ Khaled interjected mildly, although his pointed glance at Sam was clear enough.

      Ahmed’s lips thinned. ‘I see.’

      Sam wriggled impatiently. ‘I don’t like this,’ he said in a whisper that carried through the entire room. ‘I want pizza.’

      ‘I’m afraid we do not have English food,’ Ahmed said shortly. ‘In Biryal, boys eat what they are given and are glad.’

      Sam stiffened under Lucy’s hand and she saw him bite his lip, near tears at the strangeness of everything, as well as Ahmed’s terse reproof. The fairy tale was unraveling, she thought.

      ‘Biryali boys eat Birayli food,’ Khaled agreed, smiling at Sam. ‘And English boys eat English food. Do you know which you are, Sam?’

      Sam, still biting his lip, shook his head uncertainly.

      ‘You’re both,’ Khaled explained gently, and Lucy’s heart rate kicked up a notch. ‘You’re Biryali and English.’

      ‘Am I?’ Sam said, caught between excitement and uncertainty.

      ‘Yes. And while you’re here, perhaps you can eat both Biryali and English food. This soup,’ Khaled continued, taking a small spoonful, ‘is actually quite tasty. It’s just meat, the same kind of meat as in hamburgers.’

      Sam did not look convinced, but to Lucy’s surprise he dutifully took a bite, wrinkling his nose before he shot Ahmed a nervous glance.

      Smiling, Khaled leaned over and whispered, ‘Not too bad, eh?’

      Actually, Lucy thought over an hour later, it was too bad. The whole meal had been interminable, with Sam’s squeamishness over the food and Ahmed’s terse conversation. He’d fired sudden, staccato questions at Sam or her, or even Khaled, who managed to keep his equanimity for the entire meal.

      Lucy’s started to fray. She felt strange, tired and near tears, and she wanted desperately to be in her own house, her own bed, with a large glass of wine and a good book.

      Khaled must have sensed something of what she felt, for as soon as the last course was cleared he excused both Lucy and Sam from the table and led them back to their rooms.

      ‘I’m not tired,’ Sam insisted, but Khaled hoisted him on his shoulder as he carried him upstairs, sending him into a fit of giggles.

      ‘But you have a big day tomorrow, Sam. I want to show you our lovely pool—that is, if you like swimming?’

      ‘I do!’