One Reckless Decision

“Tariq,” she said, her voice heavy, and he knew it was true. “You don’t understand.”

All this time he had believed the child lost to him forever, believed that was no more than what he deserved—the reward for his wasted life. And all this time she had smiled so sweetly, made him feel as if she was the family he had longed for—all while knowing exactly where his child, his son, was!

“What exactly is it that I do not understand?” he asked her icily, his gaze boring into her. He held himself carefully, afraid that if he moved he would shatter into a rage so hot it would burn him, her, the whole house, the entire damned city. “Were you planning to tell me? Ever?”

“I couldn’t,” she said, her voice thick, her eyes bright with tears. “It is not my secret to tell.”

“That excuse might work, Jessa, were I not the only other person on this earth who has a right to know at least as much about the child I never knew I had as you!”

“It is not about you!” she cried, throwing her arms wide. “It’s about him, Tariq! It’s about what he needs!”

“You let me think that he was lost to us forever. You let me think it!” His whisper was fierce, furious. He could taste the acrid flavor of betrayal in his mouth, feel it corroding him, turning everything he had believed about her—about the two of them—to burned-out husks and charred remains.

“This is exactly the reaction I was trying to prevent!” she cried.

“You have said enough.” He silenced her with a slash of his hand through the air, and then he turned and stalked toward the door.

She had never planned to tell him. She had made love to him, comforted him, and had had no intention of telling him that all the while she knew where his son—his heir—was. He stopped walking when he reached the doorway, and stood there for a moment, fighting for control.

“Don’t you think I would have noticed the resemblance at some point?” he asked, not turning back to her. “What story did you plan to tell me then?”

“When would you have seen him?” she asked after a moment, sounding genuinely confused. He turned then and stared at her in disbelief.

“Are you ashamed to be seen with me?” he asked acidly. “I think it is too late for these protestations, Jessa. You have been photographed in my company.”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about!” she cried. “I didn’t think you’d ever lay eyes on him. Why would you spend time with my family?”

“I told you I was taking you to my country,” he snapped at her. “What do you think that entails?”

“I’m sure you take a thousand women to your country!” she threw back at him, color high in her cheeks, her eyes dark.

“You are incorrect,” he said icily, each word cutting. “I would never take a woman to my people unless I planned to keep her. Though that is no longer a subject you need concern yourself with.”

She stared at him in shocked silence. He felt something move in him, but stamped it down. No. Damn her. Her pain did not, could not, matter—not anymore.

Tariq shook his head and turned back toward the door.

“Please…” she said, though it sounded more like a sob. “Where are you going?”

The look he threw back at her should have burned her alive.

“To see my son,” he bit out.

And then he strode from the room before he broke something. Before she broke him any further than she already had.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

OTHER than informing her that her presence was required only to assure him access to the child, Tariq cut her off completely. He did not speak to her on the plane, he merely sat in a thunderous silence that made Jessa ache in ways she would have thought impossible, though she would not let herself dissolve into tears as she wished. He did not speak to her in the car that took them from Leeds to York and then up the York Road toward the North Yorkshire Moors, and the small village along the way where Sharon had moved almost four years ago. Jessa could hardly stand to look at the cultivated fields that spread out on all sides, that intense British green against the cold gray skies. She could see only the coming heartbreak, the doom, the end of everything she had fought so hard to provide for the son she had loved enough to let go. She knew that no one could emerge from it unscathed, not her sister and Barry, not Tariq, not herself.

And worst of all, not Jeremy.

“I don’t know what your plan is,” Jessa said in a low voice as the car turned into the village and made its way along the high street. It was not the first time she had attempted to speak to him, but there was a desperation in her voice that had not been there before. “You cannot simply arrive at my sister’s house and make demands!”