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‘Oh, Marina, I’m sorry. I had no idea.’
‘How could you? It wasn’t as if I was ever home to share my news. And we seemed to have so little in common back then. You seemed content to stay in the family fold while I was continually rebelling against it. Our brothers provided the necessary heir and spare and our father made no bones about it. I figured I was surplus to requirements and so I might as well enjoy myself.’
‘A redundant princess,’ Aisha said softly to herself, remembering another time, another conversation.
‘What did you say?’
She smiled and shook her head as they resumed walking. ‘Nothing. It’s funny how different we are. But there were times I envied you your freedom and the fact you got to choose your lovers. There were days I wished I could be more like you, headstrong and rebellious, instead of bound by duty. But I guess they both have their down sides.’
‘Amen.’ Marina sighed and turned her face to the heavens. ‘And now you’re married to one of his best friends. Small world, isn’t it, when someone who has told you to get out of their life for ever suddenly turns up on your doorstep? Oh, Aisha, I can’t go with him. Don’t make me go with him!’ Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes with the pain of the past. Tears rolled down her cheeks with the complexities of the present and her fears for the future. ‘What a mess!’
‘He must have hurt you so very much.’
‘He hates me.’
‘Are you sure? He was there when they rescued you.’
‘I doubt that he wanted to be. The others would have expected it, that’s all.’
Aisha nodded. ‘It’s true they are close. Zoltan told me they were the brothers he never had. But hate you? People say things in the heat of the moment—stupid things—but they don’t mean them, not really.’
Marina shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together until she could find the words, the burden of her secret suddenly too heavy to bear. ‘Oh, he hates me. Even if he had forgotten how much, he will surely hate me when he discovers the truth.’
Aisha stopped walking and turned to her, fear in her eyes. ‘Discovers what truth?’
Marina looked at her through eyes scratchy and raw, and her soul bleaker than at any other time in her life. ‘The truth about his son.’
Her sister’s mouth opened wide. ‘Oh no, Marina, surely not? Is Chakir Bahir’s child?’
She nodded.
‘But you told everyone you didn’t know who the father was.’
Marina put a hand to her mouth. ‘I know. It was easier that way. And nobody had any trouble believing it.’
‘I’m so sorry!’
‘Don’t be. I had a reputation as a party girl and it came in handy. It made it easier to hide the truth. It was easier to pretend it didn’t matter.’
‘Even from Bahir.’
‘He has no idea.’
Aisha’s feet stilled on the path, her gaze fixed on nothing, and when she looked up at her sister Marina was afraid of what she saw in her eyes. ‘I think you need to get on that plane. With Bahir.’
Marina pulled back. ‘I won’t go with him. I can’t face him.’
‘But you have to tell him.’
‘Do I?’
‘Of course you do! You have let him know that he is a father; that he has a child.’
She shook her head. ‘He doesn’t want to know.’
‘He has a right to know. It is right that you tell him. And you must tell him. You have no choice.’
‘He won’t want to hear. He never wanted a child.’
‘Then maybe he should have thought about that.’ Aisha gave her sister’s shoulders a squeeze. ‘I’ll tell Zoltan it’s all set.’
‘No! I only told you so you would understand why I can’t see him again. I would never have told you otherwise.’
Her sister smiled, a soft and sad smile. ‘I think you told me because you already know what you have to do. You just needed to hear it from someone else.’
Knowing Aisha was right didn’t make boarding the Al-Jiradi private jet any easier. No easier at all when she’d seen the plane land and knew he was already waiting inside. How Zoltan had managed to talk Bahir into this was anybody’s guess. He would not be happy about it; of that much she was certain.
‘You can do this,’ Aisha said as she gave her older sister a final squeeze. ‘I know you can.’
Marina smiled weakly in return, wishing she believed her, and waved one last time before disappearing into the covered stairs leading to the plane. Right now her legs were so weak and her stomach so tightly wound, it felt like if it snapped she would spin right off the stairs. A fate infinitely preferable, nonetheless, to being enclosed in the cabin of an aircraft with Bahir.
But it had to be done. For more than three years she had wrestled with the question of whether to tell Bahir of Chakir’s existence. At first it had been easy to say nothing, the pain of their break-up still raw, the savagery of his declaration never to have children still uppermost in her mind. Why should Bahir be informed of his child’s existence, she’d reasoned, when he’d told her he never wanted to see her again? He would not thank her for discovering that, no matter what either of them wanted, they were bound together via the life of a child they had jointly created.
Then, when Hana had come into the world, there had been plenty to think about, and the question of Bahir’s rights to know had been easy to ignore. Suddenly mother to two fatherless children, why complicate matters with the father of only one? And Bahir had made it clear he was not a family man; he didn’t want her or a child and they certainly didn’t need him.
But she’d had reason to wonder lately as she’d watched her young son grow and turn from baby to toddler to young boy, and she’d found herself wondering what Chakir himself would want.
She swallowed back on a lump of apprehension that had lodged in the dry sandy desert that was now her throat. So despite Bahir telling her that he never wanted a child, and even though she was more than happy to accept that as his final word on the topic, maybe for the sake of their son’s wishes this would be worth it. For Chakir’s sake.
Please God, let it be worth it.
She managed a tremulous smile for the cabin attendant who welcomed her to the plane. Then she was inside the cool interior and he was there, standing with his back to her at a rack filled with magazines, seemingly oblivious to her presence. She wished she could be so oblivious to his, but she could not.
Just the sight of him was enough to make her heartbeat skip and her skin tingle while she sensed a pooling heat building between her thighs. She cursed her body’s wayward reaction and wished she could look away. Damn the man! When would she ever be able to look at him and not think of sex? After all the things he had said to her, after the way they had parted, after all the years that separated them, still he conjured pictures of tangled sheets, tangled limbs and long, hot nights filled with sin.
Then again, how was it possible not to think of sex when it was some kind of god that filled your vision? Was there some kind of formula for masculine perfection; some ratio of leg-length to height or shoulder-width to hip? Some magic number that nature had allocated at conception that marked a man for physical supremacy?
If so, this man was it, and that was just the view of his back.
He turned then, as the attendant ushered her to the seat across the aisle, and the blast of resentment in his eyes made her catch her breath and forget all about magic numbers.
‘Bahir,’ she uttered in acknowledgement.
‘Princess,’ he said sharply on a nod before he returned his attention to sorting through the rack. She was amazed he’d managed to pry his jaw apart enough to form the word, it had been so firmly set.
The cabin attendant chatted cheerily while she settled Marina into her wide leather seat, but Marina caught not a word of it, too consumed by Bahir’s reaction, too stunned to think about anything else.
So that was what she would get—the silent treatment.
Clearly Bahir was as resentful of being in her company as she was being in his. Equally clearly, he was in no mood for small talk.
Which suited her just fine.
So long as she could eventually find the words to tell him he was a father.
He tried to focus on the business magazine he’d selected from the rack but the words were meaningless scrawl, the article indecipherable, and he tossed it aside. Hopeless. It was no different from the online journal he’d been reading since he’d boarded the jet in Nice, his attention riveted not by the words he was attempting to read but by a simmering resentment that bubbled faster and more furious the closer the plane got to Al-Jirad. Why the hell had he agreed to this again? He still wasn’t sure he had agreed. But Zoltan had called and said she’d agreed to go with him and he knew he would have looked weak if he’d refused again.
Much better to look like it didn’t matter a bit.
Except that it did.
Because right now, as the attendant stowed Marina’s hand luggage and made her comfortable, and as he tried to pretend she wasn’t there, his focus was still held captive by the images captured on his retinas—those damned eyes, her pupils large, catlike and seductive. The jut of her collarbones in the vee of the open neck of the fitted ruffled shirt that flirted over her curves, and the jewel-studded belt hugging her swaying hips.
He growled, his nostrils flaring. He picked up his laptop again, determined not to give in, trying to find focus instead of distraction. Because, if it wasn’t enough that his mind was filled with images of her, now he could smell her. He remembered that scent, a blend of jasmine, frangipani and warm, wanton woman. He remembered the taste of it on her glistening, sweat-slickened skin. He remembered pressing his face to the curve of her throat and drinking it in as he plunged into her sweet depths.
He shifted in his seat and slammed the computer shut as the plane started to taxi to the runway. How long was the flight to Pisa—three hours? Four? He growled again.
Too long, however long it took.
How did you find the words to tell someone he was a father? Not easily, especially when that man sat across the aisle from you, rumbling and growling like a dark thundercloud. Any moment she expected to see lightning bolts issuing from his head.
And that was before she had managed to find the words.
What was she supposed to say? Excuse me, Bahir, but did I ever tell you about our son? Or, Congratulations, Bahir. You’re a father, to a three-year-old boy. It must have somehow slipped my mind …
The plane came to a halt at the start of the runway and she glanced across the aisle to where he sat, his posture closed off, his expression grim. Even though she let her gaze linger, even though she was sure he would be aware, still he refused to look her way.
And she wondered how, even if she could find the words, was she supposed to tell him about his child when he wouldn’t even look at her?
Did he hate her that much?
How much more would he hate her when he learned the truth?
The engines whined, preparing for take-off, echoing her own nerves, spun tight by his presence, and spun even tighter by the search for the words to tell him.
She closed her eyes and let the jet’s acceleration push her deeper into her seat, forcing herself to relax as the whine became a scream and then a roar as the plane launched itself and speared into the sky.
It wasn’t as though there was a rush. They had four hours of flight time and then a two-hour drive to her home in the most northern reaches of Tuscany. Why tell him now and spoil the fragile if tense cease-fire that seemed to exist between them? For he would not remain silent once he knew. He would be intolerable. Perhaps with a measure of justification. Still, why make their hours together more difficult than they already were?
No, there was plenty of time to tell him.
Later.
They were an hour into their flight when they were given the news. One hour of interminable and excruciating silence, filled with the static of all the things that were left unsaid, until the air in the cabin fairly crackled with the tension, a silence punctuated only when the smiling flight attendant came to top up their drinks or offer refreshments.
But this time she had the co-pilot with her and neither of them was smiling.
‘So fly around it,’ Bahir said after they’d delivered their grim message, too impatient for this trip to be over to tolerate delays, whatever the reason.
‘That’s not possible,’ the co-pilot explained. ‘The storm cell is tracking right into our path. And the danger is we could ice up if we try to go over. The aviation authorities are ordering everyone out of the area.’
‘So what does that mean?’ Marina asked. ‘We can’t get to Pisa at all?’
‘Not just yet. We’re putting down at the nearest airport that can take us. We’ll be beginning our descent soon. Just be prepared as we skirt the edges of this thing that it could get a bit rough. You might want to keep your seatbelts fastened.’
Bahir usually had no trouble sitting. He could sit for hours at a stretch when his luck was with him and the spinning ball might have been his to command. But right now he couldn’t sit still a moment longer.
He was up and out of his seat the moment they’d gone. God, if it wasn’t enough that he had to spend six hours in her company, now he would be forced to spend even more time. He raked clawed fingers through his hair. And with her sitting there, her legs tucked up beneath her and those eyes—those damned eyes—looking like an invitation to sin.
‘The co-pilot suggested keeping your seatbelt fastened.’
He ignored her as much as it was possible to do. That was the problem with planes, he realised. There was not enough room to pace and to distance yourself from the thing that was bugging you, and right now he sorely needed to pace and find distance from the woman who was bugging him.
Besides, any possible turbulence outside the plane was no match for what was going on inside him. He turned and strode back the other way, covering the length of the cabin in a dozen purposeful but ultimately futile strides, for there was no easing of the tightness in his gut, no respite.
Suddenly he understood how a captive lion felt, boxed and caged and unable to find a way out no matter how many times it turned to retrace its steps, no matter how hard it searched.
‘The co-pilot said—’
‘I know what he said!’ he spat, not needing input from the likes of her.
‘Oh, good. Because I thought maybe you’d developed a hearing problem. I should have realised it was a problem with your powers of comprehension.’
‘Oh, I’ve got a problem all right, and it begins and ends with you.’
She blinked up at him, feigning innocence. ‘Did I do something wrong?’
Suddenly the turbulence inside him exploded. He wheeled around and clamped his hands on the arms of the chair either side of her, his face occupying the space hers had been just moments before. He almost grunted his satisfaction, because he liked the way she’d jumped and pressed herself as far back as she could in the chair. He liked knowing he’d taken her by surprise. And, strangely, he liked knowing she wasn’t as unaffected by his presence as she made out. ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’
Inches from his own, those rich caramel eyes opened wide enough until they were big enough to lose yourself in. He watched them, knowing the dangers, watching their swirling depths as she tried to come up with an answer. He’d lost himself in those eyes once before, lost himself in their promises and their persuasion. But that was before, and for all their seductive power he sure as hell wouldn’t let that happen again, no matter what pleasures they promised.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
He shook his head, not believing. ‘Then maybe I should spell it out for you. I’m talking about being stuck here—you and me. I expressly told Zoltan I wouldn’t do this. I told him there was no way you would agree. And yet here we find ourselves, together. How did that happen, do you suppose? Unless you agreed to it. And I have to ask myself, what possible reason could you have for doing that? What were you thinking?’
She tried to hide her nervous swallow, but he missed nothing of the tiny tilt of her chin and the movement in her throat. He had trained himself to spot the tiniest shift in facial expression or body language of his opponents, a skill that had stood him in good stead through many a poker game. He knew she was hiding something. Did she imagine that there was a chance for them again? Did she think that, because he’d accompanied Zoltan and the others to Mustafa’s camp, it meant something? That he was ready to take her back?
She looked up at him, all wide-eyed innocence. ‘You think I really want to be here, imprisoned thousands of feet above the earth with you and your black mood?’
Her words were no kind of answer, and he would have told her, only he was suddenly distracted by a stray strand of hair that looped close to the corner of one of those eyes. ‘Somebody must have agreed,’ he rumbled as he raised one hand. ‘And it sure as hell wasn’t me.’ She flinched as his fingers neared, holding her breath as he gently swept the hair back, surprised when he felt a familiar tremor under her skin, disturbed even more when he felt a corresponding sizzle under his own.
Abruptly he pushed himself away and stood with his back to her, rubbing his hands together to rid himself of the unwelcome sensation. ‘Don’t you think I’ve got better things to do than waste my time babysitting a spoilt princess?’
‘I absolutely agree,’ she said behind him. ‘I’m quite sure there’s a casino just waiting to be fleeced by the famous Sheikh of Spin. I can’t imagine how you managed to drag yourself away.’
His hands stilled. He didn’t need any reminders of why he wasn’t still at the roulette table. He turned slowly. ‘Be careful, princess.’
She jerked up her chin. ‘That’s the second time you’ve addressed me by my title. Is it so long that you’ve forgotten my name? Or can you just not bring yourself to utter it?’
‘Is it so long that you’ve forgotten that I said I never wanted to see you again?’
‘Maybe you should have thought of that before you turned up outside my tent that night.’
‘Is that what this is about? Why should that change anything? Or were you merely hoping to thank me?’
‘Thank you? For what?’
‘For rescuing you from Mustafa.’
‘Oh, you kid yourself, Bahir. You weren’t there for me. You were along for the ride, only there to have fun with your band of merry men. A little boys’ own adventure to whet your taste for excitement. So don’t expect me to get down on bended knees to thank you.’
A sudden memory of her on bended knee assailed him, temporarily shorting his brain, just as her mouth and wicked tongue had done back then. Not that she’d been thanking him exactly that time. More like tasting him. Laving him with her tongue. Devouring him. In fact, if he remembered correctly, he’d been the one to thank her …
He shook his head, wondering if he would ever be rid of those images, knowing he would miss them in the dead of sleepless nights if they were gone. But that minor concession didn’t mean he welcomed their presence now while he was trying to make a point. ‘I wouldn’t want your thanks anyway. If I did anything that night, it was out of loyalty to Zoltan and my brothers. It was duty, nothing more.’
‘How very noble of you.’
‘I don’t care what you call it. Just don’t go thinking that I’ve changed my mind about what I said back then. You’d be kidding yourself if you did. What we had is over.’
‘You really think you have to tell me that? I have no trouble remembering what you said. Likewise, I have no trouble believing you mean it now, just as you meant it then. And, for the record, it is you who are kidding yourself if you think I am insane enough to want you to change your mind. After what you said to me, after the way you treated me, I wouldn’t take you back if you were the last man left on earth!’
He sat back down in his seat. ‘So we understand each other, this is merely duty. Of the most unpleasant kind.’
Her eyes glared across at him as he buckled up. ‘Finally you say something I can agree with.’
Her agreement offered no satisfaction. His mood only mirrored the darkening sky as the plane descended judderingly through the clouds, icy rain clawing at the windows, the tempestuous winds tearing at the wings—and a sick feeling in his gut that, whatever the weather, things were not about to improve.
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