The Desert Lord's Love-Child. Оливия Гейтс

hear it.”

      He pursed his lips. “Eat in silence, you mean?”

      She rolled her eyes. “As if.”

      He smiled then—a slow, hot smile, all for her this time, amused at her wisecrack.

      She didn’t know what held her up all the way to the kitchen.

      Once there she shakily tried to take Mennah to put her in her high chair. He declined, did it himself as if he’d been doing it every day. Then, without being told, he placed Mennah’s toys on her tray and she immediately began the game of throw and fetch.

      After her bones solidified enough in her limbs, Carmen began the reheating procedure then turned around, only to be stabbed in the heart again by the poignant sight Farooq and Mennah made together, so alike, sharing such an elemental, almost tangible bond.

      She located something resembling her voice. “You’re taking to your father role spectacularly. And I’ve never seen her like this with anyone. Not that she’s seen many people.”

      “She recognized me. As I did her. The bond is … elemental.”

      What she’d just thought. “Yes,” she choked. “And I—I’m truly sorry for depriving you of-of …” She made a helpless gesture at them, her hand trembling. “This. But please believe I thought I was doing the best thing. For her.”

      He said nothing to that. Not out loud. His eyes said he believed nothing she said.

      Oh, well. He wouldn’t get over his anger that fast.

      She inhaled before she blacked out. “I’ll cooperate in any way so you’ll be a part of her life, be with her whenever possible.”

      “I will be with her always.” This wasn’t a statement. This was a pledge. A decree.

      “A-always? B-but you live halfway across the globe …”

      His gaze hardened. “And so will she.”

      “But you said …”

      “I said I won’t take her from you, and I won’t. You will both be with me. We will marry.”

      Four

      Something was burning.

      Was that her sanity going up in flames? Why else could she have imagined he’d said—said …

       We will marry.

      But she wasn’t imagining him exploding from his relaxed pose by Mennah’s high chair and … charging at her …

      She blinked as he zoomed toward her, couldn’t even brace herself, couldn’t think, blink, breathe.

      Next second he bypassed her. She whirled around in the draft of his movement, uncomprehending, watching as he yanked the pan off the stove, quickly poured its contents onto the serving plate she’d prepared before turning off the flames.

      Then he looked at her, one eyebrow raised disapprovingly. “You seem bound on not feeding me this filet mignon.”

      Carmen stared at him. Had he really said we will marry?

      But how? Why? He didn’t want her. Or at least, he’d never wanted her for more than a passing diversion. He—he …

      He was doing this for Mennah.

      Comprehension materialized like a jagged rock inside her heart, expanding outward, tearing it apart.

      She might have loved him at first glance, but she’d never entertained the fantasy of being his in any way but a fleeting one. That he should be offering the ultimate commitment, no matter the cause, and no matter that he wasn’t actually offering, but decreeing it, was … was …

      Her mind screeched to another halt.

      Oblivious to the effect of the bomb he’d just dropped on her, Farooq bent to the serving plate then straightened, crowding her view, draining the spacious kitchen of light and oxygen. Or she might be about to pass out again …

      “Your efforts weren’t successful. I believe the dish is still edible. All it now needs is a hostess who deems to serve it.”

      She gulped, kept staring, frozen.

      “Well?”

      It was the way he said it. The condescension was too much. She smirked. “Didn’t you brag about not needing people to serve you? Why don’t you serve it yourself? Or are you handy only with macho stuff? Is serving food a lowly female chore?”

      He stared at her as if she’d grown another head.

      No wonder. He must be shocked that she could still talk. She knew she was. And more, that she could talk to him that way. No doubt people didn’t dare sneeze in his presence.

      Mennah squealed, demanding their attention. And again this incredible transformation came over his face. His very vibe changed to a soothing transmission as he turned to Mennah with a smile that tampered with Carmen’s heart and brain function all over again.

      “You heard that, ya sagheerati? Your mother thinks she can get away with anything as long as you’re around.” He turned eyes heavy with disturbing things on Carmen. “She forgets there will be times when you won’t be.”

      The sheer danger of the sensuality infusing his words kicked into Carmen’s heart and loins. It made her melt. It made her mad. It made her reckless.

      She tossed her head, straightened from her swooning position. “You really know nothing about me if you think I’d use Mennah as a shield—or as anything. And I need no shields against you.”

      “You don’t?” His stare was all mock-serious interest, giving her more rope. “Are you certain about that?”

      Oh God, what was she doing, provoking him this way? She knew she was no match for him, even in her own country. No one was a match for him, anywhere. He was just too powerful, as a diplomat, a tycoon and royalty. She was audaciously speaking her mind counting not on Mennah’s presence but on his restraint, his basic benevolence. Both qualities she’d already strained to the limit.

      But there was no stopping her now. After the upheaval of the last hour, her emotions were hurtling at the speed of her chaotic thoughts, without brakes.

      “It’s clear you have an ego of planetary proportions,” she taunted. “You must have Atlas-level strength to be able to lug it around. And to think I once contributed to expanding it.”

      His gaze scraped down her body, making her feel he’d taken off every scrap of clothes, leaving her exposed, vulnerable. “You think your being the first and only woman to ever end a liaison with me contributed to my cosmic ego?”

      Was that an edge of bitterness? Had her desertion meant something to him after all, on a personal level?

      No. This intensity must be the outrage of a prince who expected people to prostrate themselves before him, who couldn’t believe that, for whatever reason, she hadn’t, just that once.

      She shrugged, all artificial animation and contentiousness draining out of her. “Oh, I’m sure I caused a chink in it. One that could be detected with a microscope.”

      “We’re talking galactic scope. Don’t you mean a telescope?”

      “Whatever.” She exhaled, ran both hands through her hair. “I’m sure your ego is satisfied, now that you know why I did end it.”

      His eyes followed her movements, the way her shirt stretched over her breasts, spiking her arousal as he drawled, “Oh, I’m not satisfied. You’ll have to work to that end. Hard. And long.”

      And it detonated in her every cell. The memory of every sensation, every tremor of the ecstasy he’d inundated her with, how hard and how long he’d done it, taking her the way she hadn’t known she’d needed to be taken, giving her far beyond what she’d imagined