black marble reception counter, stood a young, clean-shaven man in a dark suit and white headgear. Tiffany approached him, determined to brazen this out. “I have an appointment.”
His brow creased as he scanned the computer screen in front of him, searching for an appointment she knew would not be listed for today … or any day. Finally he shook his head.
But Tiffany had not come this far to be deterred. She held her ground, refusing to turn away.
“Call Rafiq Al Dhahara.” Her conjuring up the name she’d memorized from the business card caused him to do a double take. “Tell him Tiffany Smith is here to see him.” She mustered up every bit of authority that she had. “He won’t be pleased if he learns you sent me away without bothering to check.”
That was stretching the truth, because Rafiq might well refuse to see her. Even if he did agree to speak to her, he would certainly not be pleased to find her here in Dhahara.
But the bank official wasn’t to know that.
Tiffany waited, arms folded across a stomach that was still behaving in the most peculiar fashion, as it fluttered and tumbled over.
He picked up a telephone and spoke in Arabic. When he’d finished, his expression had changed. “The sheikh will see you.”
The sheikh?
Oh, my. This time her stomach turned a full somersault. “Sheikh?” she spluttered. “I thought he was—” she searched a mind gone suddenly blank for the impressive title on his business card “—the president of the Royal Bank of Dhahara.”
The bank official gave her a peculiar look. “The royal family owns the bank.”
“What does that have to do with Rafiq?”
He blinked at her casual use of his name, and then replied, “The sheikh is part of the royal family.”
Before she could faintly repeat “royal family,” the elevator doors to the left of the marble reception counter slid open, and Rafiq himself stepped out.
His face was haughtier than she remembered, his eyes darker, his cheekbones more aristocratic. Sheikh? Royal family? He certainly looked every inch the part in a dark suit with a conservative white shirt that even in this sweltering heat appeared crisp and fresh. Yet his head was uncovered, and his hair gleamed like a black hawk’s wing. After all the soul-searching it had taken to bring her here, now that she faced him she couldn’t think of a word to say.
So she settled for the most inane.
“Hi.”
“Tiffany.”
The sphinxlike gaze revealed no surprise. He’d told her he never wanted to see her again. Ever. Now she stood before him, shifting from one foot to the other. The displeasure she’d expected was absent. Typically, he showed no emotion at all. The wall of stony reserve was as high as ever.
He bowed his head. “Please, come with me.”
If it hadn’t been for one never-to-be-forgotten night in Hong Kong, she’d never have known that his reserve could be breached.
That night …
The memory of the catastrophic extremes, heaven and hell, pleasure and shame, still had the power to make her shudder.
Tiffany had been sure nothing would make her contact him again. Nothing. But she’d been so wrong. She pressed her hand to her belly.
Her baby.
He ushered her into the elevator. Unexpectedly, the elevator dropped instead of rising. Her stomach rolled wildly. Tiffany gritted her teeth. Seconds later the doors opened to reveal a well-lit parking level where a black Mercedes-Benz idled, waiting. Rafiq strode forward and opened the rear door.
She hesitated. “Where—?”
His dark gaze was hooded. “There is no privacy here.”
He was ashamed of her.
Despite a tinge of apprehension Tiffany swallowed her protests and, straightening her spine, stepped past him and slid into the leather backseat.
She’d come to Dhahara because of her baby. Not for herself. Not for Rafiq. For their unborn child.
She couldn’t afford to let fear dominate her.
For her daughter she had put aside her desire never to encounter Rafiq again. For the baby’s sake, she would keep her relationship with Rafiq cordial. Unemotional. Her daughter deserved the right to know her father. Nor could she allow herself to indulge in wild notions that he might kidnap her child, hide her away.
He was a businessman. He’d told her he’d been educated in England and the United States. He headed a large bank. Even it if was a position he’d gotten through nepotism, neither he—nor his royal family—could afford the kind of international outcry that would come from taking her baby from her. He was a single man—or at least she hoped he was—what would he do with a baby?
The silence was oppressive. Fifteen minutes later the Mercedes came to a smooth stop, and the rear doors opened. Rafiq’s hand closed around her elbow—to escort her or ensure she didn’t escape? Tiffany wasn’t sure. As he hurried her up a flight of stairs, she caught a glimpse of two guards in red berets standing in front of stone pillars that flanked a vast wooden front door. Then the door swung inward and they were inside a vaulted entrance hall.
She gazed around, wide-eyed. Despite the mansions she’d seen, this dwelling took luxury to new heights. “Where are we?”
“This is my home.”
A hasty glance revealed magnificent dark wooden floors covered in Persian rugs, original art hanging on deep blue walls. Refusing to be impressed, Tiffany focused her attention on Rafiq. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
His lips quirked, and something devilish gleamed in his eyes. “Talk? Our best communication is done in other ways. I thought that must be why you are here.”
Damn him for the reminder.
Tiffany compressed her lips. “I need to talk to you.”
“Whenever we talk, it seems to cost me money.” The humor had vanished, and he gave her a brooding look.
His words only underscored what she already knew: he thought her the worst kind of woman. What would he say when he discovered she was pregnant with his child? A frisson of alarm chilled her.
“I haven’t come all this way for money, Rafiq.”
“I’m very relieved to hear that.”
He strode down a hall hung with richly woven tapestries that held the patina of age. Tiffany resisted the urge to slow and inspect them.
“But for the moment I will reserve judgment,” he was saying. “I will be more convinced of that once I have heard what you have to say to me.”
He didn’t believe her. He thought this was about money.
