He stared down at her and noticed she had the look of a frightened mouse that had just been caught in a very large inescapable trap.
Apt, he thought—very apt. From the minute he’d laid eyes on her, his first instinct had been primal. He’d wanted to wrap her up and keep her. He’d wanted to brand her as his own. Disconcertingly, that urge was just as strong as ever.
He tugged on the collar of his shirt. Somehow, in the time between meeting her and now, he had lost his equilibrium and he wanted it back. Not even the thought of having to renounce the throne tomorrow affected him as deeply. Or maybe it was the combination of the two. ‘I don’t think you could have ever called us friends, Imogen.’ Bed partners. Lovers. Now those fitted. Friends, not so much.
She looked up at him as if he’d just kicked a puppy. ‘Good to know,’ she said flatly, her ponytail swinging around her shoulders as she made to move past him. ‘Frankly, I don’t know why you’re even here.’
It was supposed to be her parting shot but Nadir moved so that once again he was directly in front of her.
‘Come now, habibi. I know you’re smarter than that.’
‘Look, Nadir, the stand-over tactics are very intimidating. Well done you. But you can’t stop me from walking away.’
He blew out a frustrated breath. ‘If you’d cooperate and tell me what I want to know I wouldn’t need to use any tactics. Now, my car is waiting at the corner.’ He arched his arm towards a low-slung black beast of a Mercedes. ‘Shall we?’
‘No,’ she bit out, ‘we shall not. Not until I understand what this is about.’
The line between her brows reappeared as she stared at him and a pulse point beat frantically in the base of her throat. A pulse point he still had an inexplicable urge to cover with his lips. His tongue.
He muttered an old Arabian curse and realised what he’d just done. What was it about this woman that made him unconsciously regress to his native language? By Allah... He cursed again. Jerked his eyes back to hers. ‘What this is about,’ he began with a calmness that belied the heated blood pounding through his veins, ‘is that it looks very much like you had my child and didn’t tell me.’
If possible, the line between her brows deepened and he had the stupidest notion to place the pad of his finger against it and smooth it away. ‘What’s her name?’ he asked gruffly.
Emerald eyes darkened almost to black before dropping from his. ‘This is pointless, Nadir.’ Her soft, desperate plea fell between them as insignificant as one of her gauzy dance costumes and he savoured the defeat in it.
‘Pointless for you, perhaps,’ he agreed pleasantly.
A soft moan broke from her lips and his body registered it as one she used to make in bed and it appalled him that he could be so angry one minute and so aroused the next. It was those damned memories of having her spread out naked on his bed that were the problem.
During his more unguarded moments those memories crept up on him like the flu and reminded him that once—once—he had thought he’d found something special with a woman.
A low growl filled the base of his throat. This, he would have said, was not an unguarded moment and yet his control over his body felt tenuous, tangled up in the silken awareness of the female in front of him, who was dressed in nothing more provocative than denim jeans and a red T-shirt.
‘Please, Nadir...’
‘Please what, Imogen?’ he rasped, hating the sound of his name on her treacherous lips and welcoming another shot of anger as it jetted through him. ‘Please forgive you for keeping the birth of my child from me? Because she is mine, isn’t she?’
He didn’t know if it was his words or his tone that brought her chin up but her beautiful eyes glittered angrily. ‘I did not keep her birth from you. You knew I was pregnant and you didn’t want anything to do with her.’
Her voice had grown shrill and a couple of shoppers hesitated before passing them by.
‘I don’t think so. Now come.’
‘You didn’t even believe it was your baby. God,’ she exclaimed, ‘can’t you just forget that we ever saw each other again?’
‘Like you want to?’
She didn’t answer, to her credit, which was just as well because his control was heading in the same direction as his day. ‘Tell me,’ he began silkily. ‘Do you believe in fate, Imogen?’
‘No.’
‘Then you’ll just have to put this meeting down to luck, won’t you?’
She glared at him and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, which meant she was thinking hard. Not that it mattered. He stepped closer to her, inhaling her wonderful, sweet scent that was somehow the same and yet different. He swallowed against a sudden rush of conscience. He had nothing to feel guilty about here. ‘You’re coming with me,’ he said quietly. ‘Even if I have to put you into that car myself.’