eyes blazing.
‘Damn right, it’s true. Kazim is legally my son, and I won’t allow you to take him. You have no rights to him.’
‘We’ll see about that—or rather my lawyers will,’ Zahir snapped icily.
His jaw tightened. In all his thirty-six years he had never been spoken to in such a disrespectful manner—and certainly not by a woman. Under his father’s rule Qubbah had gradually become a more liberal kingdom, and he himself had spent much of his life in the US and Europe, where he accepted that men and women were equals, but he was a prince and he was used to being treated accordingly—to being fawned on, he admitted honestly, and to the unashamed adoration of women from both cultures.
He was not used to being yelled at by a flame-haired banshee, and the fact that Erin looked even more gorgeous when she was angry was no help at all. She was breathing hard, and he found himself fixated by the frantic rise and fall of her small breasts. Irritation, and another far more primitive emotion surged through him. He could not remember ever wanting a woman with such shaming urgency, but this woman was definitely out of bounds—Faisal’s widow and, apparently, the adoptive mother of his son. Zahir spun round and raked a hand through his hair. Hell, she was an unforeseen complication he could do without, he thought furiously. On the other side of the world an old and heartbroken man was waiting to greet his grandson. He had promised his father he would bring Faisal’s son to Qubbah, and he would not fail him. But clearly the situation was not as straightforward as he had assumed. He knew without conceit that he was a brilliant businessman and a shrewd tactician, feared and revered in the boardroom, but for the first time in his life he was at a loss to know what to do next, and he hated the feeling.
‘I can’t believe you thought you could just turn up here and whisk a three-year-old child off to another country, when he doesn’t even know you,’ Erin threw at him. ‘Kazim is little more than a baby, for heaven’s sake, who has just lost his father. Didn’t it occur to you that he would be terrified at being dragged off by a complete stranger?’
‘I was not going to drag him anywhere,’ Zahir snapped, stung by her criticism. ‘I came here alone today, rather than with my usual team of staff, so that he would have a chance to get to know me. My brother must have known I would come for him once I learned of his existence,’ he added harshly. ‘I assumed Kazim’s nanny had been instructed to continue caring for him until I arrived. I have already employed a highly qualified and experienced nanny to take charge of him in Qubbah.’
Fear gripped Erin, and her confusion intensified, but she hid both emotions. ‘Well, I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey,’ she said, forcing herself to sound calm. ‘But Faisal made it clear that he wanted Kazim to grow up in England—with me. He asked me to adopt Kazim, and I was happy to do so.’
‘In that case, why did he make no mention of you in his letter?’
Zahir had voiced the question that Erin could not answer, but she was saved from having to try when Gordon Straker stood up.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but it looks as though the weather is getting worse, and I have a train to catch,’ he said apologetically. He was already pulling on his coat, glancing worriedly out of the window at the heavy sky that warned snow was likely to continue falling for many hours yet. ‘Erin, if you need my advice at all…’ He hesitated and turned his eyes briefly to Zahir before moving them back to Erin. ‘Please contact me at my London office, any time.’ He walked towards the door, but paused when Zahir spoke sharply.
‘Are you sure there is nothing in the will about the child? No clause stipulating who should care for Kazim—no financial provision made for him?’
‘No,’ the solicitor replied simply. ‘Your brother left everything to Erin—in the expectation, I imagine, that she would provide for Kazim.’
‘Which I will,’ Erin burst out fiercely, infuriated at Zahir’s plainly sceptical expression. ‘I love Kazim as if he was my own child.’
‘Really?’ Zahir swung away from her and gave a harsh laugh. Erin sounded convincing, but he found it impossible to believe that she was prepared to devote her life to a child who was not her own flesh and blood out of love. Not when his own mother had abandoned him.
He had barely given his mother a thought for the past decade, Zahir realised with a jolt. Georgina had been his father’s second wife, an American who, according to his three older half-sisters, had found it difficult to settle to the life of strict protocol demanded of wife to the King of Qubbah. Zahir had not known that, and as a young boy he had simply accepted her frequent trips back to the US and waited impatiently for her to return to the palace. But when he was eleven she had not returned, and he’d never seen her or spoken to her again.
His father had explained that she was busy looking after her sick mother and couldn’t come back. Zahir had missed her desperately, and for a long time after she had gone he had kept her silk robe hidden beneath his pillow and wept into it every night. But when he was fourteen he learned the truth—that she had refused to live in Qubbah any longer and had accepted a huge financial settlement from his father in return for not seeking custody of her only son.
She had sold him—and he had never cried again after he’d found out, nor spared her another thought. But he had learned a valuable lesson about love and trust, Zahir conceded bitterly—a lesson that had been reinforced six years ago, when he had been betrayed by the only other woman he had ever loved.
Noises from beyond the library door catapulted him back to the present: the sound of a child crying mingled with a distinctive, broad Yorkshire accent. A moment later the door was flung open and a woman appeared with a hysterical toddler her arms.
‘Sorry to disturb you.’ She addressed Erin, oblivious to the tension in the room. ‘But Kazim has banged his head on the kitchen table. You know how he runs everywhere. Look, there’s a lump the size of an egg come up on his forehead, but he won’t let me console him—he wants you.’
Quickly Erin held out her arms and took the sobbing child from the cook, her heart clenching when he wrapped his arms around her neck and burrowed close. ‘Shh, it’s all right, darling. Let me look at your head.’ She brushed his dark curls off his brow and inspected the livid bruise, before applying the ice pack Alice had handed her. ‘That’s quite a bump you’ve got there, but there’s no real harm done.’
Kazim’s sobs gradually subsided as she cuddled him. He smelled deliciously of soap and baby powder, and the intensity of her love for him squeezed her heart like a giant fist. She had adored him since he was three months old, and nothing would ever make her give him up, she vowed fiercely. But when she glanced up and saw Faisal’s brother watching her, with his dark, forbidding gaze, she was filled with a sense of foreboding.
Alice heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Kazim’s a little daredevil,’ she cheerfully informed the two men. ‘He’s always running and climbing, and he’s constantly getting into mischief. Erin has her work cut out, looking after him.’
Erin saw Zahir frown and groaned silently. Thanks, Alice—that’s a real help.
‘Shouldn’t you seek medical advice for his head injury?’ he queried coldly.
Kazim was squirming in her arms, wanting to get down and clearly none the worse for his accident. ‘He’s fine,’ Erin said tersely. ‘He’s a lively three year-old, for goodness’ sake, I can’t keep him wrapped in cotton wool. I’m a fully trained nanny and qualified in first-aid,’ she continued, when Zahir looked unconvinced. ‘I’m perfectly capable of looking after him.’
