only had to stir for there to be a change in the room. Without a word being spoken the older man Lucy presumed must be a doctor left Mac’s side and closed the door softly behind him, while Mac strode towards her across several acres of exquisitely patterned rugs.
Her world shrank around him. Her heart responded as it always had, with heat and with longing. He stopped a short distance from the bed, with his face in shade. Even though she couldn’t see his features clearly she knew immediately that this was not the passionate, easy-going lover she had known in Val d’Isere, but a stranger far removed by rank and dignity from the pitiable aspirations of a kitchen girl.
‘Lucy?’
The voice was the same. Mac was the same, and yet he was utterly changed. And not just by a costume, but by the fact he was a king. He had assumed his powers, and with them the weight of duty that had turned his face set and hard. He was looking at her, but she sensed his inner gaze was turned towards a future she could never share.
She had been shrinking back on the pillows, Lucy realised, pulling herself upright. She had to rally for the sake of her baby. She couldn’t allow herself to be intimidated by anyone, not even the ruler of Isla de Sinnebar. She must have fainted for want of food and that was unforgivable. She had to be responsible now she was pregnant. She had to think clearly and act for a baby that couldn’t act for itself.
The baby wasn’t the only reason her body had let her down. When Mac had entered the building her soul had flown to him. That was one part of her that steadfastly refused to accept reality. And perhaps should take a look at him now, Lucy reasoned as Mac surveyed her coldly.
Beneath the lightest of quilts she cradled her belly protectively, glad that whoever had carried her to the bed had at least left her fully dressed, minus her jacket and her shoes. She could see them close by, the jacket hanging on a chair back and her shoes lined up neatly underneath. They were a reminder that she had come here dressed for business and a discussion that would change both their lives. ‘Who are you?’ she murmured. She knew the answer and it was a crazy question, but she had to have her suspicions confirmed.
The man she’d known as Mac shrugged and as he moved his robes swirled, filling the air with the mysterious aromas of Eastern spices. ‘My name is Razi al Maktabi. Some of my friends know me as Mac.’
‘Razi al Maktabi? Known to the world as His Imperial Majesty, Sheikh Razi al Maktabi of the Isla de Sinnebar?’ The implications of this swamped her thinking and her heart raced in terror as the man she’d known as Mac swept into the gracious and traditional Arab acknowledgement.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ She hated that her voice sounded so hurt and weak, but she had never been a good actress.
‘It never came up.’
No, they’d been too busy making love, or having sex, as Razi al Maktabi must no doubt remember it. It was too late now to curse her blindness, or to remember that even when she’d studied Mac’s business card her imagination had failed to extend further than thinking Mac some distant cousin of the ruling Sheikh—if she’d thought about it at all.
The chasm that had always existed between them had just widened to a gulf, Lucy realised, taking in the stern face beneath the flowing headdress. Razi al Maktabi wore the clothes of a king well. The exquisite workmanship of the gold agal holding his headdress in place only hinted at the power he wielded, but it was her love for the man that made her heart ache with longing. She had to remind herself she was here for her baby and couldn’t be distracted, not even by Mac’s fierce glamour.
‘What do you want from me, Lucy?’
She sank back on the pillows, speechless. He was so cold towards her. Their time together had meant nothing to him. Mac had closed his mind to ever seeing her again, and yet here she was, stirring up unwanted memories of how easy she’d been, how plain, how infinitely replaceable. She couldn’t blame him for thinking she would only be here if she wanted something from him.
She had to leave her feelings aside and concentrate on rescuing something for the sake of their child. Easing her legs over the side of the bed, she tried to stand, but only succeeded in swaying towards him as a second wave of dizziness swept over her. Mac’s lightning reflexes prevented her from falling to the ground. But there was such a thing as pride. He had taught her that. Easing her arm from his grip, she felt for the side of the bed and shakily sank down. ‘Could you give me a moment, please?’
To his credit, the man she must learn to call Razi stood back as she planted her fists on the mattress, willing herself to be as strong and businesslike as he was. If she was going to finish what she was here to do she had to find strength from somewhere.
‘When did you last eat?’ he demanded.
She stared up distractedly. ‘I can’t remember.’
‘You can’t—’ He stopped. ‘Fortunately, I ordered broth from the kitchen.’ He pointed to a dish on a heated trolley. ‘You’d better drink it before we talk.’
There was no warmth in his eyes as he crossed the room to put the dish on a tray. He brought it to the bed where she had intended to turn her head, but pregnancy intervened and she was consumed by ravening hunger.
‘Drink,’ Razi insisted, standing back. ‘I’ll wait. You’ll feel stronger when you’ve eaten something.’
She drank the soup greedily, relieved to feel warmth and nourishment flooding her veins. When she looked up to thank him Razi’s expression remained unchanged. He was telling her the easy relationship they had shared in Val d’Isere was over and must never be mentioned again, let alone rekindled.
She had barely laid down her spoon before he took the tray away. Having put it down, he turned to face her. ‘Why are you here, Lucy?’
Yes, why was she here? Suddenly all the reasons that had seemed so sensible in England appeared ridiculous. She had no idea about the laws governing Isla de Sinnebar, except that the ruling Sheikh held all the power. So where did that leave her? She was the chalet girl Razi had got pregnant on his last holiday before taking the throne. Would he care?
She had to steel herself to see beyond that. There was a child to consider. ‘I apologise for arriving uninvited,’ she began politely, ‘but I had to see you.’
‘You had to?’ Razi’s dark gaze narrowed with suspicion.
He didn’t need to tell her the short time they’d shared was over and he had no interest in revisiting any part of it or that they were two strangers who shared no intimacies now. Razi was the all-powerful ruler of a country with much weightier matters to consider than some dalliance with a cook. Would he even be interested in her rights as a mother, or when she told him would he insist on keeping the child and simply dismiss her as superfluous to requirements?
This last thought was so shocking she grasped her throat in anguish and, misreading her gesture, Razi poured her a glass of water. ‘You look exhausted,’ he said. ‘Was it really worth putting yourself through this?’
Yes. A thousand times yes, Lucy thought fiercely, drinking the cooling fluid down. But not for the reasons Razi imagined. He thought she was on some pathetic mission to reawaken his interest in her, which was why he was at such pains to make it clear he didn’t want her. Why would he want her when she could only be an embarrassment to him?
‘I asked you a question,’ he prompted coldly. ‘Why are you here? What do you hope to gain from this
