The Desert Lord's Baby (Throne of Judar 1)

Okay. Whoa. “So you’re Sheikh MacGyver, huh?”

He smiled. But not at her, at Mennah, held out his arms to her again. Mennah pitched forward, eagerly throwing herself at him.

Carmen berated herself for her stupid reaction. He’d said he wasn’t taking Mennah from her, and she shouldn’t feel jealous of Mennah’s instantaneous and unrestrained delight in him. He was her father. He deserved the same love Carmen got from her.

His lazy drawl aborted her chaos. “About that filet mignon…”

She gulped down the silly tears. “What about it?”

“You say Mennah loved it, and it did smell delicious when I came in. It’s a pity to let it go to waste.”

“You want to eat?”

“I’ve been known to indulge in the practice.”

“But it’s already cold.”

“You do have means to reheat it, don’t you?”

“Reheating will overcook it, destroy its buttery softness…”

“Let me…” He dropped a kiss on Mennah’s downy cheek as if compelled before going on, “Let us worry about that.” Suddenly all ease evaporated, suspicion flaring in eyes that slammed back into hers. “Are you sure you’re not waiting for someone?”

“Someone?” she jeered, seeing red. “You mean my ‘sponsor’? One of many, no doubt. You think I entertain men in rotation, a few feet from my sleeping infant? Why don’t you just call me a whore? C’mon, get it off your chest. I know how men of your culture view easy women and I was easy, with you. But I never let you ‘sponsor’ me. Oh wait, I did. I shared your ‘privileges.’ But surely you didn’t think that was enough for me. You must have checked your collection of priceless cuff links to make sure I hadn’t ‘shared’ more than your hundred-star existence. I trust you weren’t too disappointed to find everything accounted for.”

His eyes spat danger, sending a frisson of anxiety radiating through her limbs. “Such caustic wit and a rapier tongue. You hid them well.”

“I didn’t hide them. There was no reason for them to surface. You weren’t a domineering brute back then.”

The flames in his eyes leaped. “The domineering brute would have walked in here with bodyguards and diplomatic attachés, snatched his daughter and walked out over your weeping, begging body. I am still waiting for you to remember basic courtesy and invite me to share the meal you were preparing when I arrived.”

And if it were possible to die of mortification, she would have keeled over.

Embarrassed, cornered and mad as hell about it, and at him, she mumbled sourly, “Okay. Fine. But if the meat is leathery and the sauce is congealed, I don’t want to 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.