Six Sizzling Sheikhs. Оливия Гейтс

were turned down and the lamps dimmed, creating warm pools of light and shadow.

      With Khaled’s encouragement, Sam soon had his teeth brushed and his pyjamas put on, and Lucy tucked him in bed.

      ‘I like it here, Mummy,’ he said sleepily, his thumb creeping towards his mouth. ‘Let’s stay for ever.’

      Lucy managed a laugh, despite the feeling of a fist squeezing her heart, draining it of its joy. ‘That’s a rather long time, Sam.’

      ‘I know,’ he said. His eyelids started to flutter, and Lucy watched him for a few moments before she slipped quietly from the room.

      Khaled was in the sitting room, stretched out on the sofa, looking relaxed and comfortable. It was, Lucy knew, finally time to talk.

      Yet, now that they were alone, she found herself strangely, stupidly tongue-tied. All she could think about—all she could remember—was the last time they’d been alone, when Khaled had reached out and touched her, and she had gone so willingly to him. As she always had.

      Here: take me. Love me.

      Use me. And then leave.

      She moved around the room, mindlessly plumping pillows and aligning Sam’s shoes so they were perfectly straight, until in exasperation Khaled finally said, ‘Lucy?’

      She turned. ‘What?’

      ‘You told me you had questions?’ There was a lilt to his voice, and he smiled. Something about his absolute, easy confidence annoyed her, finally spurring her to action, to words.

      She planted her hands on her hips. ‘Why did those journalists ask when the—our—wedding was? Why did your father refer to me as your bride?’

      Khaled’s smile widened; it was almost lazy. ‘Because they all think we’re going to get married.’

      Lucy’s eyes narrowed. ‘And why would they think that, Khaled?’

      He shrugged. ‘Because in this country, as in many others, if a man and woman have a child marriage is the expected outcome.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘Of course, marriage usually precedes children, but…’

      ‘That’s not true.’ Khaled arched an eyebrow, waiting, and Lucy shook her head. ‘Plenty of men, even in countries like Biryal, have illegitimate children. Mistresses. Harems, for heaven’s sake. That doesn’t mean they marry their—their concubines!’

      Khaled smiled and his voice turned suggestively soft. ‘Are you calling yourself my concubine?’

      ‘No.’ Lucy glared at him. ‘I’m just pointing out that just because we have a child doesn’t mean that people would expect us to marry.’

      ‘True, but in this case, when Sam is my named heir…’ He trailed off, shrugging a bit, and Lucy felt herself turn cold.

      ‘Have you made that public knowledge?’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘Of course?’

      Khaled shrugged again, the movement more expansive, and yet somehow still indifferent. ‘If I had not, Biryal—not to mention the tabloids—would be rife with rumour and speculation. Sam’s place as my heir would be suspect. I will not have his position or inheritance jeopardised.’

      Lucy let the words trickle into her consciousness like cold water dribbling down her spine. After a moment she sank slowly onto the sofa opposite Khaled. ‘I didn’t sign up for any of this,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

      A flicker of sympathy lit Khaled’s eyes and then turned to cold ash. ‘Perhaps not, but you should have considered the implications of telling me about Sam.’

      ‘I just thought…’ Lucy stopped. Her brain felt fuzzy with both fatigue and sorrow. ‘I don’t know what I thought,’ she finally said with a little shrug of self-defeat. ‘I’d convinced myself you wouldn’t care about Sam, that you’d walk away.’

      ‘Like I walked away from you?’

      ‘Yes.’ She looked up and met his hard gaze. He didn’t look repentant, more resolute than anything. ‘And yet I’m honest enough to realise I would have been disappointed if you’d done that,’ Lucy admitted quietly. ‘I realise that now, seeing you with him. I want Sam to have a father. A good one, more than I’ve ever had—or you’ve had, for that matter.’

      ‘And he will.’ Khaled’s voice and gaze were both steady.

      ‘How?’ Lucy’s voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands, taking in a few deep breaths. She didn’t want to cry, not in front of Khaled. Not at all. But she couldn’t take this—all this sudden change, the way her life and Sam’s life were sliding out of control, out of context. Both were unrecognisable.

      ‘You could marry me.’

      Any threat of tears evaporated in the face of complete incredulity. Lucy dropped her hands. ‘Are you insane?’

      Khaled’s smile was crooked and somehow strangely vulnerable. ‘No, eminently sensible, I should think.’

      ‘Marry you?’ Lucy shook her head, scarcely able to believe he’d even suggested such a thing. ‘Those were just rumours!’

      ‘And don’t rumours hold a thread of truth?’ He was smiling, that fluid mouth she knew so well tilted up at the corners, yet his gaze was golden and intent.

      ‘You certainly didn’t deny the rumours,’ Lucy said slowly. ‘You didn’t answer the journalists, or correct your father.’ Realisation was dawning, creeping over her mind the way the sunlight peeked over the horizon, then flooded the world with harsh light. ‘These rumours hold more than a thread of truth, don’t they?’ Khaled didn’t answer; his expression didn’t even flicker. If anything it became more resolute. ‘Don’t they?’ she repeated more loudly.

      He raised a finger to his lips. ‘You’ll wake Sam.’

      At that moment, Lucy didn’t care if she woke the entire palace. Realisation was now as bright as the sun at midday, glittering with relentless heat. ‘And you’re still not denying them. Tell me I’m wrong, Khaled. Tell me I’m paranoid and ridiculous and absurd—tell me you didn’t tell people we’re getting married.’

      ‘Well.’ His mouth crooked upwards once more, and his eyes gleamed. ‘You’re putting me in a rather difficult position. I’m afraid I can’t say any of those things.’

      Looking at him lying there, relaxed, confident and smiling, Lucy was forcefully reminded of the man who’d left her in London. Reminded of the reckless, feckless charmer she’d been in love with, the man who’d left her without a word—and she felt a hard, cold fury lodge in her stomach like a ball of ice.

      ‘How?’ she whispered. ‘How could you play with my life—with Sam’s life—without even a scruple? To suggest something so absurd—’

      ‘Is it?’ Khaled cut her off softly. He leaned forward, intent once more. ‘Is it so absurd, Lucy? Or is it, in fact, sensible?’

      Sensible. The word stopped her short. Sensible, as opposed to romantic. A sensible marriage, a way of uniting their awkward little family, uniting the kingdom of Biryal if it came to that. No more custody battles, no more arguments about the future, how Sam would spend his time or his life. No awkward questions, no uncomfortable negotiations.

      No possibility of distancing herself or keeping her heart safe.

      No stability. No trust.

      She didn’t need to hear his arguments. She knew them, felt them. Of course it was sensible. Who had suggested it first, Lucy wondered—Ahmed or Khaled? Some royal advisor with diplomacy in mind? Fortunately she wouldn’t be swayed by such sensible arguments. She didn’t even need to consider them. ‘Sensible, perhaps,’ she said coolly. ‘Possible,