Marriage?
The word clunked around in Imogen’s brain for the millionth time like a giant-sized anvil and she hoped to God Nadir was at this very minute coming to his senses and seeing how ridiculous the idea was.
The best solution...
Of course there were other solutions, and she’d looked some up on her phone as she’d waited for his plane to take off. Not that she wanted to head down the shared custody route and she was sure—once he had calmed down and thought rationally—that neither would he. What rich playboy would? Especially once he learned how detrimental having a child would be to his bachelor lifestyle and she had every intention of pointing it out to him. Because, although she didn’t think those things, she knew that once the reality of parenthood set in Nadir would never take his responsibilities seriously. Not with his reputation as a serial dater. No, he wasn’t the faithful type and she’d been serious when she’d told him she wouldn’t marry him.
And he couldn’t force her. No one could do that in this day and age. The worst he could do was to take her to court and fight for custody of Nadeena. And that was... She swallowed heavily, her eyes darting across the aisle to where he was ensconced in work. Could he win? Would a court of law side with his sob story that she had run away with Nadeena?
Not that she had run; she’d simply taken charge of her life. Taken charge without him in it. And he hadn’t wanted to be in it. Or at least that was the message she had taken from his acerbic text.
She still remembered with embarrassing clarity the burst of happiness she had felt when it had pinged into her phone. It had sat there for a full five minutes before she had clicked on it and by then her heart had constructed a full-on fairy tale around what it would say. She had imagined that the text would confirm that he’d had time to think about things and he missed her. That he wanted her in his life. That he wanted their baby. In fact the foolishly sentimental organ in her body had imagined every possible thing he could have written except for what he had.
Imogen, there is a DNA test that can be done while the child is in utero. I have organised an appointment for you at a specialist. If the child is mine I will be in contact.
Devastated by his callousness and influenced by Caro’s dire warnings, Imogen had left. And really, what had been the alternative? To write back to him and plead? Are you sure you don’t want our baby? Are you sure you don’t want me? She did have some pride.
A delicious smell wafted into the cabin and Imogen’s stomach growled as a flight attendant stopped beside her.
‘The chef has prepared an omelette for you, Miss Benson. It’s vegetarian.’
‘Oh.’ How had the chef known she was vegetarian? ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t order this.’
‘Prince Nadir ordered it for you.’
Imogen glanced across at the man she was trying hard to think about rationally. Objectively. Something that was almost impossible, given his startling demands and that kiss...
Kiss? She felt a blush heat her cheeks. That kiss had shattered her equilibrium. As had her response. Given his hateful, overbearing behaviour, she’d like to have been left cold when he had touched her. She’d like to have been able to say she was over her sexual infatuation for him and was completely unmoved. She’d also like to be able to say there was no poverty or no ugly wars in the world either.
She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. It didn’t make sense that he could still make her heart jump just by looking at her and her body throb for more with one touch. How could a man who was a veritable stranger and who totally disregarded her needs and desires still affect her so intensely?
He shouldn’t be able to. That was the logical answer. Back in Paris, yes. Back then her mother had just died and her absent father had remarried a month later and Imogen had been looking for a change. She’d been looking for excitement and adventure. She’d been looking for passion.
She pulled a rueful face.
Maybe this was just a case of being careful what you wished for.
Because she’d got it, hadn’t she. The excitement. The adventure. The passion. She’d got it in the form of a man who had awakened a hunger in her she hadn’t even realised she’d possessed and who had given her a child. The child she loved. The child she could deal with. The man not so much. Especially not when he kissed her. When he touched her.
So she’d just have to be ready the next time and make sure he didn’t get that close. And maybe he wouldn’t try and touch her again because, although he had been as aroused as she had been, he hadn’t wanted to desire her any more than she did him.
She watched her daughter stacking wooden blocks together on the floor in front of her and tried not to feel so anxious. She had to trust that even now Nadir was reconsidering his outrageous proposition—because surely no one would call ‘You will marry me’ a proposal. That even now he was trying to come up with a way to bow out of it gracefully.
And if he wasn’t, well, Imogen had a plan. She would sit down with him over a cup of tea and she would go over all the information she had downloaded in a calm and rational manner. She’d point out, in the nicest possible way, that if his actions were motivated by some sort of guilt—or attack of conscience—then he could rest easy because she didn’t need him in her life and she certainly didn’t want to trap him.
She smiled. That word ought to put the fear of God into him. No man wanted to feel trapped, did they?
‘Ma’am? Did you want the omelette?’
Yes, yes, she did. She just didn’t want to have anything to do with the man who had ordered it for her. But that wasn’t the hostess’s fault and Imogen smiled up at her. ‘Yes. Thank you.’
Her upbeat thoughts lasted right up until they landed and Imogen found herself in a small airport that made Tullamarine look like LAX. For some reason she’d thought Bakaan would be like Dubai—or the pictures she’d seen of Dubai. It wasn’t. But, even so, it was immediately apparent from the few people milling around in traditional garments and the warm dry air that smelled faintly of vanilla and spice that she had entered an ancient realm full of mystique and promise. Much like her impression of Nadir had been that first night.
A shudder ran through her as the car raced through the night dark city and headed up an incline that led to an impressive well-lit palace that sat just above the ancient city like a golden mirage. As much as she hated to admit it, she was a little unsettled and a lot intimidated by the formality of the palace and the very real sense that she was the one who was trapped instead of Nadir.
‘My Lord, it is so good to see you again.’
Imogen looked past Nadir to where a small white-haired servant in white robes knelt on the polished stone steps of the palace, his sombre tone increasing Imogen’s sense of unease.
‘Staph—’ Nadir pulled the old servant to his feet ‘—I told you not to do that the other day.’
He’d been here recently?
The servant’s mouth quirked but the solemn note didn’t leave his voice. ‘We are glad of your return, My Lord.’
‘I wish I was.’ He switched to Arabic then and the old man bowed at her feet and beamed at her, speaking
