want some kind of physical release, is that it?’ she continued unsteadily. ‘Some easy, uncomplicated sex, before you return home in search of your suitable royal bride?’
At least he had the grace to look abashed but the look was quickly replaced by one of defiance. ‘What did you expect, Jazz?’ he murmured. ‘That I would present to my very conservative people a foreign divorcee as the woman I had chosen?’ His black gaze burned into her. ‘We both know that was always going to be a non-starter. Just as we both know that the chemistry which has always sparked between us is still there. Nothing about that has changed. I still want you so much that I could explode with it—and so do you. You come alive whenever I touch you, don’t you? Your body cries out for mine, the same way it always did. So why waste it?’ His voice dipped into a sensual caress. ‘Why not give into what we both want—and make love one last and beautiful time?’
Dazedly, Jasmine listened to his arrogant statement—and didn’t his attitude justify some of the tough decisions she’d been forced to make? She was about to tell him that it was a mistake to call what he had in mind making love and wondering if he would attempt to persuade her otherwise, when a distant sound changed everything. She moved away from him—not so quickly as to arouse suspicion—praying that Darius was only whimpering in some kind of happy little infant dream and would shortly go back to sleep.
But her prayers went unanswered. The whimper became louder. It morphed into a cry and then a protesting yell and she saw Zuhal’s face change. Watched the black eyes narrow as his gaze swept questioningly over her and she quickly stared down at the threadbare rug for fear that he might see the sudden tears welling up in her eyes. She thought about all the things she could say.
She could pretend that it was a peacock, because weren’t they supposed to sound like young babies? Or maybe that was babies younger than Darius which sounded like those squawking birds. And anyway, peacocks lived in the grounds of stately homes, didn’t they? They promenaded elegantly over manicured lawns—their magnificent blue-green plumage wouldn’t dream of gracing the scruffy little garden of a rented cottage just outside Oxford.
‘What was that, Jazz?’ Zuhal questioned ominously.
She knew then that the game was up. That she could attempt evasion to try to deflect his attention and send him on his way by pretending that the baby belonged to someone else and she was just childminding. But she couldn’t. Not really—and not just because the time frame would prove her a liar. No. No matter what had happened in the past or how little Zuhal thought of her now, she was going to have to come clean. And hadn’t she always wanted that anyway, on some subliminal level?
‘What was that, Jazz?’ he repeated, only now a note of something dangerous had been added into the mix to make his voice grow even darker.
Slowly she lifted her gaze to meet the accusation in his eyes and prepared for her whole world to change in the telling of a single sentence. ‘It’s my child. Or rather, our child,’ she said, sucking in a breath of air. ‘You have a son, Zuhal, and his name is Darius.’
AND THEN, AS IF by magic, Darius went back to sleep. Jasmine could hear it quite plainly in the sounds which were issuing from his baby monitor. The lessening of his cry into a gulping sob which gradually became a little coo, which was so much a feature of his daily nap. She knew he would now be peacefully asleep again and that if only her son’s timing had been a little better, Zuhal would have been none the wiser.
But Jasmine knew there was no point wishing that Darius had delayed his cry until the Sheikh had been hurried away from the premises. If Zuhal hadn’t been kissing her, then he would already have left. If she hadn’t been stupidly letting him kiss her and wanting the kind of things she should be ashamed of wanting…
And anyway—wasn’t this what she had always wanted to happen? Had tried to make happen, if she hadn’t been blocked along the way by his position and power. So don’t let guilt beat you up, she told herself fiercely, even though it was difficult not to flinch as she met the naked accusation in his black eyes. You’ve tried to do your best.
‘My son?’ he repeated incredulously.
She nodded. ‘Yes, he—’
‘Don’t you dare say another word. Just take me to see him,’ he cut over her words, his voice laced with a layer of ice she’d heard him use before—though never with her.
‘You will see him. I promise—just not yet. Let him sleep, Zuhal. Please,’ she said, with the confidence of someone who’d been bringing up a baby on her own for the last nine months and knew how cranky they could get if they were woken prematurely.
‘I won’t waken him but I want to see him.’ His autocratic command hissed through the air. ‘Take me to him, Jazz. Now.’
Her lips dry, Jasmine nodded. How had she ever thought she could oppose his wishes? She’d never managed it in the past—so why should now be any different? He had dumped her without warning—and, even though he had told her from the start that she could never have any future with him, it had still seemed to come out of the blue. But she had held it together then, just as she must hold it together now. ‘Come with me,’ she said in a low voice, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling with unease as she led the way from the room.
Feeling like a participant in some bizarre dream, Zuhal followed Jazz up the narrow staircase, his mind spinning with disbelief as she reached the top and gestured towards the open door of a nursery painted in sunny shades of yellow. He wanted to convince himself that she’d been lying and that it was no child of his who lay sleeping in a cot beneath the window. But as he silently crossed the room to gaze down at the infant, he knew there was absolutely no question that this was his baby. It was more than the shock of ebony hair so like his own. More than the olive skin, which was a paler version of his. It was something fundamental and almost primitive which activated a powerful surge of recognition deep within him as he gazed down at the gently parted lips of the baby boy. He saw Jazz tense as he reached down and briefly laid his forefinger against the baby’s soft cheek, before withdrawing it and turning abruptly on his heel, to walk out the way he had come. He didn’t say a word until they were back downstairs—he didn’t trust himself to speak—and even though he wanted to rage and rail at her, he kept his voice low.
‘Do you realise the constitutional significance of what you’ve done?’ he hissed.
Jasmine flinched and a part of her wished she could have given into the luxury of tears if she hadn’t recognised the need to stay strong. Constitutional significance? Was that the only thing he cared about in the light of his discovery? Of course it was. It was why he’d ended their relationship and why he had turned up here today, to use her body as he might use a stone vessel filled with water to quench his thirst. For him nothing mattered other than the needs and demands of his beloved country and everything else came second to that.
‘Did you not think to tell me, Jazz?’ he continued, still in that icy undertone of suppressed fury. ‘That the seed of my loins had borne fruit?’
Jasmine shivered as his words created a powerful image in her mind which made her heart clench with impotent longing until she forced herself to push it away and focus on what was important. ‘I did try to tell you.’
His cold expression suggested he didn’t believe her. ‘When?’
‘After we…split
