bed where she had been lying reading one of the research books she had brought to Zuran with her, Mariella went to check on Fleur.
A brief glance at her watch showed her that it was nearly eight p.m. Fleur was awake but obviously quite content, and happy to oblige when Mariella checked her mouth to look at the small pearly white tooth just beginning to appear. Her face was still a little bit swollen and flushed, but the paracetamol seemed to have eased the pain she had suffered the previous night.
Mariella had retreated to ‘her bedroom’ late in the afternoon, desperate to escape from the highly charged atmosphere in the main living area.
It had become impossible for her to look at Xavier without imagining him as he had been earlier: naked…male.
He had retrieved the things she had carried out to the four-wheel drive and put them back in the bedroom, and when Mariella had come across a sketch-book and pencils she had forgotten she had brought, along with her book, she had fallen on the book with a surge of relief.
Apart from the fact that she genuinely found the subject interesting, it gave her a perfect excuse to distance herself from Xavier, who had been busily working on his laptop.
On the pretext of Fleur needing a nap she had come into the sleeping quarters and had remained there ever since.
A thorough understanding of anatomy was essential for any painter in her type of field, and she had quickly become totally engrossed in trying to trace the development of the modern-day racehorse from the original Arabian bloodstock.
As Kate had said, the potential commission from the prince was indeed a prestigious one.
Picking up her sketch-book, Mariella started to work. Those incredible muscles that powered every movement…Her pencil flew over the paper, her absorption in what she was doing only broken when Fleur started to demand her attention.
Smiling, she discarded the sketch-book and then frowned sharply as she looked at what she had done, her face burning mortifying and disbelieving scarlet.
How on earth had that happened? How on earth had she managed to sketch, not a horse, but a man…Xavier…Xavier, swimming, Xavier standing, Xavier: his body lean and naked, clean-muscled and powerful.
Guiltily, Mariella flipped over the page. Fleur was blowing kisses at her and becoming increasingly vociferous.
Tucking the sketch-pad safely out of sight, Mariella went to her and picked her up, fastening her into her car seat and then carrying her into the kitchen.
‘Look at this yummy dinner you’re going to have,’ Mariella crooned to Fleur as she prepared her food.
It had been her intention to take Fleur back into the bedroom to feed her, but instead Mariella carried her into the living area.
Fleur was Xavier’s daughter, after all, and perhaps they both needed reminding just what that meant, albeit for very different reasons! Perhaps too he ought to be made to see just what he was missing out on by not acknowledging her.
He was working on the laptop when Mariella walked in and put Fleur down in her seat so that she could feed her.
She was a strong, healthy baby with a good appetite, who thankfully no longer seemed to be too bothered by the tooth she had been cutting.
Absorbed in her own enjoyable task, Mariella didn’t realise that Xavier had stopped work to turn and study them until some sixth sense warned her that they were being watched.
His abrupt, ‘She has your nose,’ made Mariella’s hand tremble slightly. She and Tanya shared the same shaped nose, which they had both inherited from their mother. Fleur had their nose, but, according to Tanya, her father’s deliciously long thick eyelashes.
Mariella could feel her face starting to burn. What was it about a certain type of man that enabled him to behave so uncaringly towards the child he had fathered?
The way Xavier was behaving towards Fleur was so reminiscent of the way her father had behaved towards her! She knew all too well what it was like to grow up feeling rejected and unloved by one’s father and she couldn’t bear to see that happen to Fleur!
Xavier ought to be made to see that she was at least in part his responsibility instead of being allowed to just walk away from her. The way she felt had nothing whatsoever to do with money, Mariella recognised, and everything to do with emotion.
Fleur had finished her meal and was beginning to drift off to sleep. Bending down to double-check that she was comfortably fastened into her seat, Mariella tenderly kissed her downy cheek, then straightened up and headed for the kitchen to wash out her feeding things.
Left on his own with Fleur, Xavier studied her frowningly. She was far fairer skinned than his cousin and, whilst Xavier could see an unmistakable physical resemblance to Mariella in her, he could see none to Khalid. Fast asleep now, Fleur gave a small quiver.
Immediately Xavier went over to her. Desert nights could be unbelievably cold—she felt warm enough, but perhaps she needed an extra cover?
He could hear Mariella in the kitchen and so he went through into the bedroom area, to get an extra blanket from the carry-cot.
Mariella had tucked her sketch-pad in between the carry-cot and the box of baby equipment, and as Xavier reached for a blanket he saw the sketch-pad, and its very recognisable sketches.
Frowning, he picked it up and studied it.
Having washed Fleur’s feeding cup, Mariella walked into the bedroom intending to put it away, coming to an abrupt halt as she saw Xavier bending towards the carry-cot.
‘Where is Fleur?’ she demanded immediately. ‘What—?’
‘She’s fast asleep where you left her,’ Xavier answered her adding, ‘From looking at her, it is plain to see her resemblance to you, but as to there being a similarity to her supposed father…’
Mariella had had enough.
‘How can you deny your own flesh and blood?’ she demanded bitterly. ‘I can’t imagine how any woman could ever desire you, never mind—’
Before she could say ‘Tanya’ he had cut her off as he asked with cutting brutality, ‘Indeed? Then, what may I ask, are these?’
Mariella felt the breath wheeze from her lungs like air squeezed from a pair of bellows as he held up in front of her her own sketches.
Chagrin, embarrassment, guilt and anger fused into one burning, searing jolt of emotional intensity had her lunging frantically towards him, intent on snatching her betraying sketches from him. But Xavier was withholding them from her, holding them out of her reach with one hand whilst he fended her attempt to repossess them with the other.
Furiously Mariella redoubled her efforts, flinging herself at him, and trying to shake off his hard grip of her wrist as she did so.
‘Give those back to me. They are mine,’ she insisted breathlessly.
As she tried to reach up for them she overbalanced slightly, her fingers curling into his arm, her fingernails accidentally raising livid weals on his olive skin.
‘Why, you little…’
