Secret Sheikh, Secret Baby. Carol Marinelli

money well spent, the fact was, it was money she didn’t have. Now it was time to pay it back.

      She did not share this information with Liam—not that it stopped him from divulging what was on his mind.

      ‘My girlfriend and I will have to get married if we go.’ He didn’t look too pleased at the idea.

      ‘That’s not just in Zaraq.’ Felicity frowned. ‘If you want to live together in most parts of the Middle East you have to be married. Have you done any research at all?’

      ‘This is it!’ Liam shrugged and carried on chatting, but Felicity was lost again. Midway to putting a small, perfectly cut sandwich to her lips, she saw him—across the room, talking to Noor. Worse, he was looking at her, and in the light he was better than beautiful, he was utterly stunning. He had a rakish, haughty face, full, sensual lips—and in four split seconds Felicity achieved more insight into her sister Georgie’s eating disorder than she had in all her research and education.

      The most natural thing was to carry on, to chat to Liam, to eat the tiny sliver of bread. But she was so supremely self-conscious, so awkward, so aware of her mouth, her teeth as they bit in, her tongue, her jaw as she chewed, her throat as she swallowed, she gave in, put the loaded plate down, and settled for water instead.

      Who the hell was he?

      It was a question that would remain unanswered. Through the afternoon lectures, despite her eyes scanning the room for him, despite feeling as if she were on high alert waiting for him to reappear, there was no further sign of him. When the session ended at five p.m. it was with a certain reluctance that she accepted she would never see him again. Her mystery man would remain just that—a mystery.

      ‘See you.’ Liam grinned, rushing past as she lingered in the foyer. ‘But not in Zaraq!’

      Felicity laughed. ‘Not for you then?’

      ‘Nope. Do you want to grab a coffee?’ he offered, but though she would have loved to linger a little while longer, to catch one final glimpse of him, her train left in twenty minutes. If she missed that one then she’d miss her connection, and she wouldn’t make it back home tonight. Felicity declined, smiling. As she walked through to Reception she could see the grey London streets and the rain threatening. She rummaged in her bag for her small umbrella and heard her phone bleeping.

      ‘Hi, Mum!’

      ‘How was it?’

      ‘Great.’ Felicity smiled. ‘Too good actually. Now I think I want to go to Zaraq.’

      ‘Well, you’re not going anywhere tonight…’

      Felicity groaned as her mother continued.

      ‘I looked up the trains and there’s been some trouble on the line. No service till tomorrow. There is a bus, apparently, but it only takes you halfway and you have to change.’

      ‘It will take hours.’ There was no chance of her getting home before midnight at this rate.

      ‘What are you going to do?’

      ‘Don’t worry.’ Felicity could hear her mother getting anxious, and as always moved quickly to quash it. ‘I’ll be fine; I can stay in London overnight.’

      ‘But you haven’t booked in anywhere. You don’t know anyone!’

      ‘Mum, I’m twenty-six,’ Felicity interrupted calmly. ‘I’m more than capable of surviving a night in London.’

      Her credit card wasn’t, though!

      Still, as Felicity turned off her phone she was suddenly glad of the train cancellation. The thought of a night to herself was rather tempting—it had been way too long since she’d had one. Her time recently had been taken up with visiting her sister in the eating disorder unit, or stopping by at her mum’s for a little pep-talk. Even since Georgie’s discharge she hadn’t been able to relax, with her mother or sister ringing almost constantly. Then there was taking Georgie to out-patients’ appointments, and trying to work overtime as the never-ending medical bills and loan repayments rapidly caught up.

      It would be nice to have a night alone.

      A night when for once Felicity Anderson could just be that.

      Not midwife, not daughter, not sister, not carer, not provider.

      Just plain old Felicity would do very nicely.

      Karim liked London.

      He was an occasional visitor, though recently he had been coming a lot more often. He had been overseeing the recruitment process for his hospital and university, as well as visiting his mother and checking on several investments and businesses he had stakes in. He wasn’t busy enough though for his liking—not in the way he was in Zaraq, or had been. Karim blew out a long breath.

      It was hard to get excited about million-dollar deals when they were but a drop in the ocean of his family’s vast wealth. Hard too to inject enthusiasm into the recruitment process. The hospital and the university had been his inception, both ideas had fired him up at the time—but Karim didn’t want to be watching films or looking at brochures of well-equipped hospitals. He wanted to be working in one. He wanted to stretch his brilliant mind with a complicated diagnosis, or to immerse himself fully in a long operation. But thanks to his status those opportunities were getting fewer and further between.

      Still, he loved the relative anonymity London gave him. Here, though he worked seemingly hard, there was no real responsibility. Here he was carefree—a playboy prince who regularly indulged. It was so very different from his rigid, high-profile life back home. Here he could walk the streets unrecognised—which his security team hated him doing more than anything. Karim refused to bend. Dressed in a dark suit with a full-length overcoat he actually enjoyed the rain, enjoyed the changing seasons he witnessed when he came here. Late autumn was a season he liked, perhaps the most. This weekend he would drive to the country, get out of the city…

      As his phone bleeped he gave it a cursory glance and then rolled his eyes. It was Leila again—he would have his aide, Khan, speak with her and forbid her from pestering him.

      Yes, he would drive to the country—and, he decided, he would not go alone…

      Karim thought only briefly of the rather difficult conversation he had had with Leila earlier this week, telling his long-term mistress that her services were no longer required. She hadn’t taken it at all well—but then, what woman ever did?

      Karim enjoyed and had bedded many women, though he believed absolutely in monogamy. After all, he always ensured the fling, or relationship, or whatever it was called, was confirmed as over before he readily moved on to the next! But not for much longer. He was being pushed further and further towards marriage by his father—something Karim was doing his best to avoid. Leila had delusions of grandeur—had thought that their three-month fling might be leading somewhere—and was refusing to listen now Karim had told her that marriage to her was not and never had been his intention. Over the past two weeks she had become demanding. When Karim didn’t take her calls she would pester his aides—and, most importantly to Karim, the sex hadn’t been that good!

      Well, it had been good, Karim corrected—it had just taken too long! He was a marvellous lover—he had no issues there—and he lavished his lovers with attention. He did all the right things, and they certainly wept for more. It was really a time issue. With an appetite as insatiable as Karim’s sometimes there simply wasn’t time, and Leila had been insisting recently on the full theatre, when for Karim sometimes all he needed was her mouth.

      Enough, he had decided. It was over and he had dealt with it—to his father’s dismay. His father had told Karim in no uncertain terms that it was time now to find a bride—which was why he’d flown to London. For one last play, one last feast of indulgence, before duty caught up and he married a suitable bride.

      When he had slipped into the meeting room and been greeted by that stunning blonde he had felt the attraction—how he had felt it. And at lunchtime