One Night Of Consequences Collection. Annie West

also like to be able to say there was no poverty or no ugly wars in the world either.

      She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. It didn’t make sense that he could still make her heart jump just by looking at her and her body throb for more with one touch. How could a man who was a veritable stranger and who totally disregarded her needs and desires still affect her so intensely?

      He shouldn’t be able to. That was the logical answer. Back in Paris, yes. Back then her mother had just died and her absent father had remarried a month later and Imogen had been looking for a change. She’d been looking for excitement and adventure. She’d been looking for passion.

      She pulled a rueful face.

      Maybe this was just a case of being careful what you wished for.

      Because she’d got it, hadn’t she. The excitement. The adventure. The passion. She’d got it in the form of a man who had awakened a hunger in her she hadn’t even realised she’d possessed and who had given her a child. The child she loved. The child she could deal with. The man not so much. Especially not when he kissed her. When he touched her.

      So she’d just have to be ready the next time and make sure he didn’t get that close. And maybe he wouldn’t try and touch her again because, although he had been as aroused as she had been, he hadn’t wanted to desire her any more than she did him.

      She watched her daughter stacking wooden blocks together on the floor in front of her and tried not to feel so anxious. She had to trust that even now Nadir was reconsidering his outrageous proposition—because surely no one would call ‘You will marry me’ a proposal. That even now he was trying to come up with a way to bow out of it gracefully.

      And if he wasn’t, well, Imogen had a plan. She would sit down with him over a cup of tea and she would go over all the information she had downloaded in a calm and rational manner. She’d point out, in the nicest possible way, that if his actions were motivated by some sort of guilt—or attack of conscience—then he could rest easy because she didn’t need him in her life and she certainly didn’t want to trap him.

      She smiled. That word ought to put the fear of God into him. No man wanted to feel trapped, did they?

      ‘Ma’am? Did you want the omelette?’

      Yes, yes, she did. She just didn’t want to have anything to do with the man who had ordered it for her. But that wasn’t the hostess’s fault and Imogen smiled up at her. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

      Her upbeat thoughts lasted right up until they landed and Imogen found herself in a small airport that made Tullamarine look like LAX. For some reason she’d thought Bakaan would be like Dubai—or the pictures she’d seen of Dubai. It wasn’t. But, even so, it was immediately apparent from the few people milling around in traditional garments and the warm dry air that smelled faintly of vanilla and spice that she had entered an ancient realm full of mystique and promise. Much like her impression of Nadir had been that first night.

      A shudder ran through her as the car raced through the night dark city and headed up an incline that led to an impressive well-lit palace that sat just above the ancient city like a golden mirage. As much as she hated to admit it, she was a little unsettled and a lot intimidated by the formality of the palace and the very real sense that she was the one who was trapped instead of Nadir.

      ‘My Lord, it is so good to see you again.’

      Imogen looked past Nadir to where a small white-haired servant in white robes knelt on the polished stone steps of the palace, his sombre tone increasing Imogen’s sense of unease.

      ‘Staph—’ Nadir pulled the old servant to his feet ‘—I told you not to do that the other day.’

       He’d been here recently?

      The servant’s mouth quirked but the solemn note didn’t leave his voice. ‘We are glad of your return, My Lord.’

      ‘I wish I was.’ He switched to Arabic then and the old man bowed at her feet and beamed at her, speaking in rapid-fire Bakaani. She smiled hesitantly, wondering what it was that Nadir had just told him.

      ‘My Lord, Mistress Imogen, Princess Nadeena.’

      Shocked at the label he had given her, Imogen shook her head. ‘I am not his mistress,’ she corrected a little more sharply than she’d intended. Had Nadir told him she was?

      The little man dropped to his knees again and started spouting effusively in Bakaani but there was no smile this time.

      Confused, Imogen shot Nadir a helpless glance and he sighed. ‘Staph meant you no discourtesy, Imogen. The word does not mean the same in our country as it does in the West.’

      ‘Oh, well...please tell him to get up. The ground must be really hard on his knees.’

      She felt awful and smiled warmly at the man to show him she hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. ‘I’m sorry, I—’

      ‘Leave it, Imogen.’

      Nadir’s face softened as his eyes fell on his daughter, half asleep in her arms. ‘Do you want me to take her?’

      ‘No!’ Nadir had offered to take her as they had boarded his plane earlier but she hadn’t been ready for that. She still wasn’t, even though her reluctance made her feel totally selfish. There was just too much unfinished business between them. ‘No. I’ve got her.’

      His eyes narrowed but he didn’t push and she was grateful. ‘Come then. I will show you to our suite.’

       Their suite?

      She hurried after him.

      ‘I hope you know I’m not sleeping with you!’

      Nadir turned halfway up the steps and the servant cast her a worried look.

      Shaking his head, Nadir lowered his voice so he wouldn’t be overheard. ‘Bakaan is a conservative country, Imogen, and Staph does understand some English. Please keep your discussions about our situation private.’

      ‘I just want you to know that I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you in case you need to organise another room for us,’ she half whispered.

      ‘There are many bedrooms in the suite we will be using.’

      ‘Well, good.’ She felt her cheeks redden when she realised that he’d just confirmed her earlier suspicion that he didn’t want to sleep with her any more than she wanted to sleep with him.

      Or any more than she wanted to want to sleep with him, she amended to herself. ‘At least we’re on the same page about that.’

      The look he gave her was a mixture of exasperation and something darker that she couldn’t define. ‘Imogen, I doubt at this point that we’re even in the same book, let alone on the same page. But the steps of the Shomar Palace are not the place to discuss it.’

      Silently agreeing, Imogen followed him through a wide doorway into an atrium with high coved ceilings and delicate mosaic-covered walls. The champagne marble tiles that lined the floors and the ornate brickwork dated back to what she thought might be the Moorish period, the surrounding artwork and centuries-old statues recording a history that was both dark and wondrous.

      ‘Has Prince Zachim been notified of our arrival?’

      ‘Yes, My Lord. Will you be needing anything else?’

      ‘Not tonight. Thank you, Staph.’

      The man nodded. ‘I will bid you goodnight then.’ His English was stilted but Imogen appreciated the effort. ‘And may I say congratulations, My Lady.’

      This time Imogen waited for the servant to retreat before questioning Nadir. ‘What is he congratulating me for, exactly?’

      ‘Our marriage. This is your room.’ He opened one of the doors inside and waited for her to precede him.

      Imogen didn’t move,