Hot-Blooded Husbands Bundle

There was a strangled gasp he recognised as anger. ‘What were you intending to do—keep Robbie and me a dark secret for the rest of our lives?’

He paused in his stride. ‘I am not quite that ruthless,’ he countered grimly. ‘But our marriage and the fact that we have a seven-year-old son is something I preferred to tell my father to his face. It is—complicated.’ That seemed to be the word to describe the situation.

Not for Melanie, it seemed. ‘Explain complicated,’ she commanded, following him as he moved on into the bathroom.

His mouth flattened. He did not want to say this! ‘He knew about our relationship eight years ago and is therefore against you before he even sets his eyes on you.’ 172

She did not say a word, but simply turned and walked away. In a mood that hung somewhere between fury and frustration, Rafiq closed the door, shrugged off his robe and stepped beneath the shower.

By the time they met up again Rafiq knew hostilities were back with a vengeance. They met on the landing. Melanie had clearly used another room to dress and was now wearing a suit from the selection he had bought for her. It was long and slinky, in a shade of rich moss-green that did wonderful things for her sparking eyes.

By the way she pursed her beautiful mouth as she ran her gaze over him he did not impress, he noted heavily. ‘It is expected of me.’ He felt compelled to defend the long white tunic, dark red top-robe and chequered gut rah which was covering his head.

It was only when she walked down the stairs without saying a word that he remembered another time she had seen him dressed like this: he had been throwing her out of his life. A silent curse rattled around inside him. Once again he considered leaving his father to wait while he seduced this woman of his into a sweeter temper.

But shocks were bad for his father’s health. Rafiq would never forgive himself if the old sheikh took a turn for the worse while Rafiq was lost in the act of lovemaking.

As they stepped outside the car was waiting with its engine running. As soon as they were on their way he offered his mobile phone to Melanie. ‘Ring your friend,’ he said, ‘and warn her that we are coming to collect Robert.’

Without comment she made the connection with Sophia’s mobile phone. ‘We have to go to Rahman,’ she explained. ‘Can you have Robbie ready to travel by the time we arrive to pick him up?’

Whatever her friend said to her, Melanie’s expression was rueful. ‘No. But you had better prepare him for a bit of a shock. His father has turned himself into an Arab, so if he knows beforehand he might not find himself looking at a total stranger.’

With that, she gave him back his phone.

‘Was that necessary?’ he asked.

She turned an icy stare on him. ‘Yes,’ she said.

He released a sigh. ‘It was not my intention for this to happen.’

‘Keep your excuses,’ she told him. ‘And just so that you know,’ she added, ‘I am coming with you only because I have made that decision. Your father deserves to meet his grandson. But let one person look upon him like a leper, Rafiq, just one—!’

‘And you will do what?’ he questioned curiously.

‘I am relying on Rahman’s reputation for being a free and equal society,’ she said. ‘If I don’t like what we meet there then Robbie and I are coming home to England.’

‘With or without me?’

‘Without.’

He sighed and said nothing more. For what could he say other than to offer yet another apology? But he suspected it would not be enough for a woman looking at her ruined wedding day.

The rest of the journey was achieved in silence. The meeting with his son did not take place with shock but with awe. ‘Will I have to dress like that?’ Robbie asked dubiously.

‘Not unless you want to,’ Rafiq answered smoothly, while Sophia Elliot looked on in complete silence. No mocking tilt to a sleek black eyebrow, no glowering frown of disapproval.

They made their farewells and within the hour were boarding the Al-Qadim private jet to Rahman.

Within the next hour, his son was fast asleep in one of the cabins and Melanie was curled up on a soft cream leather sofa, clearly unimpressed by her luxury surroundings.

Rafiq decided that he had taken enough of her cold shoulder. Picking her up as she was, he sat himself down and placed her on his lap, then lifted up a hand to remove his headgear and toss it aside. ‘There—is that better?’ Dark eyes mockingly quizzed her. ‘Can you bring yourself to look at me now?’

What he didn’t expect from his bit of sarcasm were the tears that filled her lovely eyes.

‘You’re ashamed of me,’ she said.

‘No,’ he denied.