Ruling Sheikh, Unruly Mistress

‘You’re laughing at me.’

‘You used to have a sense of humour,’ he reminded her, aiming this over his shoulder as he returned to the fire.

‘And so did you,’ she called after him.

There was a moment of complete stillness between them as if they both accepted this, and then she went inside the pavilion to sort out her clothes, leaving him to see to the food. When she returned he tipped the omelette he had prepared for her onto a palm frond.

‘Eat,’ he encouraged as she sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the fire. He was still trying to talk himself into believing Lucy’s pallor was due to the long flight—or to dehydration—or to not eating for some time—to anything other than what made the most sense.

‘This is delicious,’ she said with surprise.

They were both off guard and almost exchanged a smile, but Lucy’s gaze dropped too quickly. He knew without doubt then that she was hiding something big from him.

She tossed away the headdress and began devouring the omelette as if she hadn’t eaten for days. He remembered her appetite for more than food. Here there was privacy afforded by mile upon mile of unseen sand. That she wanted him, he had no doubt. That he wanted Lucy had never been in doubt—and now more than ever. This was one last chance to taste what might have been and her absence from his life had only sharpened his appetite.

She glanced at him as if she could read his thoughts, but there was strain in her eyes—the strain of keeping that secret from him.

Chapter Twelve

WHEN Lucy had finished eating she went to rinse her hands in the oasis. Razi braced himself for her return when he knew he would be hearing something monumental. But she surprised him once again.

‘I’d like to talk to you about money,’ she said, settling down on the opposite side of the fire.

He scratched his jaw. ‘I admire your candour.’

She had to make this work. There was no point wishing she and Razi could thrill together at the news of their child, when Razi was the ruler of a country and she was a chef. The best she could hope for was that she could get a good job back in England and secure her baby’s future. Meanwhile, she had to open a discussion that would allow her to go home. ‘I realised there could only be one reason why you left me so much money—’

‘You did?’ Razi’s green eyes glinted.

‘You wanted me to open a restaurant.’ She let this hang, daring him to disagree. If he did, it would turn their brief, though precious—at least to her—liaison into something sordid.

‘That was my intention,’ he confirmed.

This gave Lucy the courage to make her next suggestion. It was bold, but it was a way of keeping in touch with Razi, so that when she was ready to tell him about their child they could discuss their baby’s progress—though only over a boardroom table; something she believed he might agree to and she could handle. It was better than the prospect of never seeing him again and infinitely better than entrusting their child to strangers to pass between them. ‘I have identified a small site suitable for a restaurant and I’ve drawn up a business plan—’

‘Do you have it with you?’

‘Well, no…’ The one—the only thing on her mind when she had left England for Isla de Sinnebar had been the future of her child. She pressed on. ‘I’d like to use some of your money to help me with the start-up.’

‘And that’s why you’re here?’

It went against the grain to tell him even the smallest white lie, but when the stakes were so high and he had just given her a way out…‘If you’re interested in taking a look at my predictions I’ll email a copy of my proposal to you as soon as I return.’

‘I don’t believe you didn’t think to bring a copy with you,’ he told her flatly.

‘I didn’t presume to—’ She dried up. What? She didn’t presume to stand her ground in front of the desert king? Razi knew her better than that. And while she hesitated it only took the slightest adjustment in his gaze to call her a liar. She couldn’t appear strong in one area and then fall back on the old, self-effacing Lucy when it suited her. ‘At first, all I wanted to do was return the money,’ she admitted, remembering how humiliated and angry she’d felt when she first found the pile of banknotes on the nightstand.

‘And now your situation has changed?’

‘I got an idea for a restaurant.’ She couldn’t hold his gaze and her cheeks were blazing.

Razi’s expression darkened. ‘So you want to open a restaurant and you’ve drawn up a plan?’ Springing to his feet, he stood towering above her, his anger palpable. ‘You didn’t have to come to Isla de Sinnebar to tell me that, Lucy. You could have emailed me your proposals as you’ve just offered to do now. You’re a hopeless liar,’ he said grimly. ‘Isn’t it about time you told me the truth?’

The ease that had briefly existed between them had vanished and in its place tension snapped like an oncoming storm. She stood up to face him. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry I came—I should have realised—’

‘Realised what, Lucy?’

There was something potent in Razi’s stillness that made her body yearn and fear him all at the same time, but she should have remembered that he moved a lot faster than she did. She should have remembered what it felt like to have him hold her firmly in place in front of him so she was drowning in his potent heat.