in the same direction as his day. ‘Tell me,’ he began silkily. ‘Do you believe in fate, Imogen?’
‘No.’
‘Then you’ll just have to put this meeting down to luck, won’t you?’
She glared at him and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, which meant she was thinking hard. Not that it mattered. He stepped closer to her, inhaling her wonderful, sweet scent that was somehow the same and yet different. He swallowed against a sudden rush of conscience. He had nothing to feel guilty about here. ‘You’re coming with me,’ he said quietly. ‘Even if I have to put you into that car myself.’
Her brows shot up at that. ‘Not even you would do something so heinous.’
Nadir gave a sharp bark of laughter. If only she knew how close he was to doing exactly that.
‘Then what are you afraid of, habibi?’
‘I’m not afraid. I’m confused,’ she said with bald honesty. ‘What do you want?’
‘To talk.’ He had a lot of questions to clear up; not least of all was how she had hidden herself away so effectively his security team hadn’t been able to find her until now. And then there was the small matter that he wanted to be a part of his child’s life. A permanent part. But he had no doubt she’d welcome that. It would mean money and status and he hadn’t met many people who wouldn’t put that ahead of integrity and self-respect.
IMOGEN SLICKED HER tongue across her dry lips, her heart pounding towards a heart attack as Nadir led her towards the car.
To talk, he said. But was that really what he wanted? And why was he so angry with her about Nadeena?
Every instinct in her body warned her that she shouldn’t go with him but really she wasn’t afraid of Nadir. And, despite his hostile manner, it wasn’t as if he would want to have anything to do with Nadeena in the long run.
In truth, he probably just wanted to make sure she wasn’t going to go to the press with news of his indiscretion. Her stomach turned. That was the most likely scenario here. That and to ensure that she wasn’t going to make any financial demands on him in the future. Maybe he’d even offer to set up a trust fund for Nadeena. If he did, she wouldn’t take it. She would provide for her daughter herself. Nadeena need never know that her father hadn’t loved her enough to want her in his life.
Unable to stop herself, her eyes ran over his face. He was still the most ruggedly attractive man she had ever laid eyes on, with thick black hair that fell in long layers, olive skin and an aquiline nose that perfectly offset a square jaw that always looked as if it was in need of a shave. And his mouth. Surely that had been fashioned by Ishtar because it could look either surly or sexy depending on his mood.
Currently, he wasn’t in a good one. But okay, she would be rational. Talk to him. Answer his banal questions. Reassure him that she wanted nothing from him. ‘Fine. I can give you a few minutes.’
He didn’t answer and warning bells clanged loudly inside her head again as the car door was smoothly opened by a burly chauffer. Then a waft of deliciously cool air hit her and she bent her head and manoeuvred inside as best she could with Nadeena still strapped to her chest.
‘Wouldn’t you be better taking that thing off?’
His gruff question came from the opposite seat and Imogen momentarily lost her train of thought as his masculine scent enveloped her. ‘That thing is a sling and no, I can’t. Not without waking her.’
‘So wake her.’
‘Not a good idea. Don’t you know you should never wake a sleeping baby?’
His slight hesitation was loaded. ‘How would I?’
Cold censure laced every word and she had to force her eyes to remain connected to his. Nadeena really did have his eyes, she thought absurdly. Lucky her. ‘So I’m here.’ She let out a pent-up breath. ‘So talk.’
‘This is not a conversation for a limousine.’ Nadir made a motion with his hand and said something in rapid-fire...Italian? Greek? Before Imogen knew it, the car was in motion.
‘Wait. Where are we going?’
Nadir’s eyes snagged with hers and the heat from his gaze made her go still all over. His eyes drifted over her face with insolent slowness and sexual awareness turned her mouth as dry as dust.
Determined not to be so weakened by him again that she turned into a puppet on a string, she forced air in and out of her lungs in a steady stream. But the act took up every ounce of her concentration so when he informed her that they were going to his apartment it took longer than it should have for his words to take hold.
‘Your apartment? No.’ She shook her head. ‘You’ve misunderstood me. I meant a few minutes here. In the car. And it’s illegal to drive with an infant not strapped into a proper baby carrier.’
Nadir leaned forward and spoke to his driver again and instantly the big car slowed.
‘My apartment is close by. And it is you who has misunderstood me, Imogen. We have to talk and a few minutes isn’t even going to cover the first topic.’
Imogen narrowed her eyes. ‘I don’t see why. I did what you wanted fourteen months ago and disappeared from your sight so I don’t understand what you want with me now.’
His sculptured lips thinned into a grim line. ‘You did disappear, I’ll give you that. And you still haven’t told me her name.’
Her name? Imogen lowered her gaze to the safety of her daughter’s head. No way could she reveal her name. No way did she want to see this man who had once meant so much to her mock her for her sentimentality. Maybe even pity her. At the time she’d named her she’d been feeling particularly sorry for herself and hopelessly alone. The three-day blues they called the come down from the emotional high some women experienced after giving birth. Now she wished she’d named her Meredith or Jessica—or any name other than the one she had.
Fortunately the car pulled up at the kerb before she had to answer and, feeling sick, she followed Nadir as he strode through the large foyer of his building with a bronzed water feature at one end and a smartly dressed concierge at the other.
‘When did you move to London?’ she asked, suddenly wondering if they had been living in the same city the whole time.
‘I didn’t.’ He stabbed at the button to call the lift and she remembered that of course he had apartments in most of the major financial centres in the world.
Casting a quick glance around his beautifully appointed living room, she inwardly shook her head at the absurd difference in their lifestyles. Of course she’d known that he was wealthy when she’d met him—her fellow dancers had informed her as to whom he was—but, apart from his outrageously divine apartment on the Île Saint-Louis, their time together had been incredibly normal. Nights in bed, mornings at the local patisserie, afternoons strolling or jogging along the Seine. More time in bed.
Shaking off the rush of memories, she headed straight for a set of plush sofas
