by coming to Isla de Sinnebar to tell Razi he was about to become a father, but it was clear from Razi’s expression that he took her weak voice for an admission of guilt. ‘I don’t want anything from you,’ she insisted firmly.
‘You don’t? Really?’ he mocked. ‘It’s a long way to come for nothing, Lucy.’
What could she say to convince him? Lucy wondered as Razi’s sweeping brows rose in disbelief. He was a formidable all-powerful sheikh, while she was a rumpled mess, sitting up in bed half dressed, sipping from a glass of water in an attempt to act normally, as if she were strong, as if she were recovering.
He walked across the room to flick a switch and the curtains parted. She recognised the familiar skyline outside and deduced the bedroom was a penthouse suite on top of his office building. There would be staff on call and she had no doubt her time with Razi could be counted in seconds now. The fact that he was here at all was nothing more than a common courtesy he had granted to a member of staff who had passed out at his feet. He could hardly ignore her under those circumstances—he could hardly wait to get away, either. ‘Razi—I really must talk to you before you go.’
‘I don’t believe we have anything to say to each other.’
His stark rebuff showed how misguided she’d been. She had imagined the man she had known as Mac would take a civilised view after a civilised conversation in the sterile confines of his office. Trying to impose her thoughts and wishes on a ruling Sheikh was a hopeless task. Asking him to recall some holiday flirtation with a chalet girl sounded ridiculous, even to her. How could she tell Mac her wonderful news when there was no Mac?
‘Are we finished here?’ he demanded.
She was hit by panic as he turned to go. ‘I don’t even know what to call you.’
‘Razi or Mac—whatever you like.’
His dismissive gesture suggested it really didn’t matter what she called him as she wouldn’t be part of his life for very much longer. Mac had seemed appropriate for the sexy guest who, once you got over the shock of his blistering glamour, was at least human, but this man was a warrior king with all that that implied. The desert had always seemed such a romantic place to her, as had the image of a desert king, but the reality was so very different. The desert was a hostile environment and the desert king a stranger. ‘Your Majesty,’ she called after him.
He spun around to face her at the door. ‘Call me Razi.’
With that one command Mac had shed his playboy skin and become Razi the King, a man who was so resolute and inflexible he was as removed from her as if they’d never met. Yet there was something between them. And she had to believe it was more than the memory of what an explosive combination they’d been in bed. There was a real connection between them that she felt more strongly than ever and she refused to believe he didn’t feel it too.
‘What do you want?’ he said, picking up on these thoughts.
It took all her strength to hold his dark, brooding gaze and not show the love she felt for him, or blurt out the truth for why she’d come in the pointless hope that Razi would relent and soften towards her and that somehow they could cross the barriers dividing them and make this work.
‘Do you want a job?’
The question was so unexpected she almost laughed. Not even as his cook—and certainly not as his mistress. Any woman waiting for Razi al Maktabi would truly wait in lonely isolation until and if he found time for her. She had made a huge mistake coming to Isla de Sinnebar, and a second mistake imagining she could reason with this man—but worst of all she had placed her baby in danger, because Razi would never let her go if he knew she was carrying the royal child. Going home must be her aim. The only safe way to tell Razi about their child was from the safety of a lawyer’s office.
‘Didn’t I leave you enough money?’
Lucy sucked in a shocked breath, realising money had never occurred to her.
‘How much do you want?’ he said, easing away from the door.
Could a man change so much? Lucy wondered, seeing the suspicion in his eyes.
A king would be suspicious of everyone’s motives, she reasoned, but Razi needn’t worry, because his money was ring-fenced for her daughter’s future. She hadn’t touched it. ‘I’m not here for your money—though now you mention it—’
‘Yes?’ His face eased into a cynical smile as if he had been expecting this all along.
‘You left me a ridiculous amount of money in Val d’Isere,’ she began nervously.
‘Have you never received a tip before? I find that hard to believe.’
A tip for good service? Lucy wondered, feeling mortified as Razi’s sweeping brows lifted in mocking denial of everything they’d shared. ‘A tip? Yes,’ she said as her mind cleared. ‘Of course.’ She borrowed Razi’s mannerism and shrugged, as if a guest leaving her a tip big enough to buy a house with was an everyday occurrence. ‘I can’t think why else you’d leave me so much money.’
‘What aspect of money and payment would you like to discuss first?’ he offered, so certain of moral victory he opened his arms in a gesture of encouragement.
To see Razi so cut off from human feeling broke her heart. It hadn’t even occurred to him that she might be here to see him, or that what she felt for him was deep and everlasting love that asked for nothing in return. But this wasn’t about Lucy Tennant or even Razi al Maktabi, it was about a small defenceless child. She were here in Isla de Sinnebar to tell a man who no longer existed that they were going to have a baby together. The fact that something in Razi’s history meant he couldn’t imagine a woman loving him as she loved him was irrelevant.
The man she knew had gone and in his place was the ruler of Isla de Sinnebar, a warrior sheikh, who probably knew more about mastering a fiery stallion at the head of his troops than love. And now she was desperate to buy time. She might be strong and determined in her mind, but, unlike Razi, she was human and exhausted. Pregnancy had drained her and the enormity of the task ahead of her had begun to tell. ‘Would you mind if I freshened up before we talk? All I need is—’
‘Five minutes of my time?’ he interrupted.
‘If you can spare it?’
‘I can spare you five minutes—in my office. When you’re ready to see me ring the bell and someone will come to escort you. Don’t keep me waiting, Lucy.’
And with a swirl of robes he was gone.
He was a king with measureless powers, a king who had sworn to devote himself to a country and its people, but he was also a man and had thought that part of him locked away before Lucy’s reappearance.
She was a brief, bright memory, and must remain so, he told himself firmly. He wasn’t a ruler under sufferance. He wanted to be King so that he could change things for the better in Isla de Sinnebar.
He wanted the responsibility that came with rebuilding a backward country and would allow nothing to stand in the way of progress or the happiness of his people—and that included Lucy Tennant. If she wanted more money she could have it, but she could not stay. His first action would be to get her out of the building and away from public view. Her mere presence in a country that was still so backward-looking
