Raoul’s lips tightened.
According to his family, his first concern should be to marry and produce children. His father was not so intolerable on the subject as his mother, but neither were pleased at his delay. They had fallen in love and married young themselves, and couldn’t understand why he resisted their happy fate.
“My absence is not important. I have three brothers who help my father and grandfather in governing Hasan,” he said.
“Oh.” Julia seemed to be thinking his comment over with more concentration than it deserved. “What about sisters—do you have any?”
A smile eased the tension in Raoul’s face. “Two. They are treasures to us all.”
“But not in helping to govern the country, right? I suppose they have to wear robes and masks over their faces and not say anything except when spoken to?”
Perplexity creased the space between his eyes. He and Julia hadn’t spoken of their personal lives when they’d met before, so in the ways that mattered most they did not know each other.
“There are many incorrect ideas about my country. Women in Hasan do not wear the chador,” he explained. “They are as free as their western counterparts. Perhaps more free, because our men do not have the same limited views of feminine beauty.”
Julia didn’t look convinced. “Your sisters—”
“Have no interest in ruling Hasan,” he said, having had this discussion with more than one American woman. “Jasmine is an artist who wishes to be left alone to work—she will not even act as our cultural minister. And Fatima is a doctor. She occupies a position similar to your surgeon general, but spends most of her time treating patients.”
“I see.”
Raoul glanced at his watch. He would prefer staying to talk with Julia, but he was expected in that meeting. “I’ll see you later,” he said. “Perhaps Kane will change his mind about going to dinner with us and we can be alone.”
Color flooded back into Julia’s face with extraordinary speed and her eyes flashed in annoyance. “Oh, yes,” she mocked. “My ‘invitation’ to help you sample Chicago’s cuisine.”
“You raved about your pizza and Italian beef sandwiches when we met in Washington. You said—”
“I don’t care what I said,” she snapped.
He chuckled. She had such fire, he adored that part of her. “You would not have agreed if I had simply asked.”
“So true.”
“So I ensured you couldn’t refuse.”
Her eyes grew frosty, even remote, and Raoul looked at her in puzzlement. “I’ve already had enough men thinking they know what’s best for everyone else,” Julia said evenly, but she was plainly furious. “I won’t let anybody control me.”
Obviously he wasn’t accomplishing anything by staying, so Raoul gave her a courteous bow and opened the door again. “It may have seemed that I was trying to do that, but I wasn’t. We will speak later, when you are feeling…better.”
Something hit the door as he closed it behind him, and he wondered what Julia had thrown. Nothing too dangerous, he decided with a small smile.
He liked this Julia even better than the temptress he had known in Washington. She was just as seductive, but there were depths he’d only glimpsed during their tempestuous few days together.
Depths he wanted to explore.
We will speak later, when you are feeling…better.
Better.
Julia practically snorted. He’d meant logical. Or sensible. Or some other male notion about the return of reason to an irrational woman. She willed herself to calm down, certain so much emotion couldn’t be good for either her or the baby. And the worst part was knowing she’d brought the whole thing on herself.
Sitting back in her chair, she put a hand over her abdomen and practiced her deep breathing.
Her life had changed so much since she’d had that June appointment with the gynecologist. She’d felt herself going cold while hearing the results of the tests, but the doctor just kept talking. Just kept explaining. Saying that endometriosis usually got worse, that a pregnancy might relieve the symptoms, or even eliminate them. But, as time passed her chance of conceiving a baby would grow less and less…that it was probably a condition she’d had since first starting her periods.
Julia shuddered, thinking about her childhood.
She’d been so frightened of her father, a loud, over-bearing army officer who controlled his household with the same iron fist he used to control the men under his command. She’d tried to tell him how much her menstrual periods hurt, but he’d told her to stop whining. Pain was an illusion.
“Some illusion,” she muttered.
The worst part was that she’d finally accepted his iron-man philosophy, deciding she just had a low threshold for pelvic pain and shouldn’t complain. Maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything to know the truth earlier, but she would have been prepared.
The phone rang, making her jump, and she reached for the receiver, happy to think about anything but the mess she’d made for herself.
“Yes?”
“How did it go?” Maggie Steward’s soft, concerned tones were a balm to Julia.
“Lousy,” she admitted. “God, I’ve done something really stupid. And insensitive and insane.”
“This afternoon?”
“No. Over six months ago.”
“So Sheik Oman is the…” Her friend’s voice trailed and she sighed. “Okay. Let’s have dinner tonight and we’ll talk about it.”
“I can’t.” Julia stabbed a pen at her daily planner. “Raoul announced that I’d invited him to dinner, right in front of Kane. Before I could tell him to take a hike, Kane jumped in and said he’d take us both.”
“Really?”
“Really. What’s wrong with that boss of yours lately? He’s been really strange. You should have heard his inquisition about me being sick in the restroom.”
“He’s your boss, too.” Maggie’s tone was prim, the way she sometimes got when she was protecting Kane. She never let her hair down, so to speak, when it came to the president of the company.
“He’s not my boss, he’s my boss’s boss,” Julia said fliply.
“Is that supposed to make a difference?”
“I guess not.”
Despite the stress of the past two hours, a smile crept across Julia’s face. Maggie was only a few years older than herself, but she certainly knew how to put an impertinent employee in her place. At least she knew how to put
