than emotional, the way she’d had to be for most of her life. Because could she really blame him for jumping to such a conclusion, when all he had was the evidence of how she’d behaved?
She realised that he was lashing out at her because of what she’d just told him. That he was scared. Because what man would jump for joy at being informed that a total stranger was having their baby? He probably thought she was trying to railroad him into marriage or commitment—he was certainly arrogant enough for that. Well, maybe it was time to reassure him that she could manage perfectly well on her own.
‘Because actually, I don’t sleep around, though of course you’re perfectly at liberty not to believe me,’ she said quietly.
‘You made an exception just for me, did you?’
‘There’s no need for false modesty, Hassan. I’m sure plenty of women have made an exception for you in the past.’ But stupidly, that hurt too. Why on earth should it hurt to think of him in bed with other women? She sucked in a deep breath. ‘I realise this has come as a shock to you—’
‘Oh, the mistress of all understatement!’ he mocked, because somehow mockery was easier than having to acknowledge that what she said was true. And that even as she stood there in her blue silk dress, with her scarlet lips trembling, his child was growing deep inside her.
‘But I want you to know that I am planning to have this baby and to keep it and to … to love it.’ She saw his mouth twist with derision and she guessed what he thought was about to follow. ‘And I’m not asking you for anything.’
He gave a cynical laugh. ‘That really would be a first. So why bother telling me?’
‘Because you’re the father and I felt it was my duty to let you know.’
Hassan stilled as he plucked one word from her breathless sentence.
Duty.
It was a word which had made him the man he was. A word his own mother had rejected, causing irreparable damage to their royal house and wrecking three lives in the process. Wasn’t it now his duty to stand by and support this woman, no matter how much he abhorred the idea?
‘This is like some bad dream,’ he said suddenly.
Ella nodded. Because hadn’t she thought exactly the same? ‘It came as a shock to me too,’ she admitted.
He shook his head. ‘But I made sure that I was careful.’
‘I know you did.’
He wondered how it could have happened and then remembered the way his hands had trembled as he had pulled on the protection…. ‘Just not careful enough,’ he said bitterly as he looked into her ice-blue eyes. ‘Call it weakness—yes, why don’t we call it weakness?—but having you writhing all over my bed made my attention to detail a little lacking! I’d been away fighting a war and it was a long time since I’d been with a woman. What’s your excuse?’
‘My excuse is that I had a momentary lapse of judgement,’ she said, not wanting to tell him that he had blown her away. Because wouldn’t that make him even more arrogant and unreasonable? ‘As it happens, I’m pretty much a novice when it comes to sex—’
‘You weren’t acting much like a novice that night.’
‘Maybe that has more to do with your breadth of experience rather than my lack of it,’ she answered. ‘There’s no point in us arguing about it. I just felt you had a right to know that you’d fathered a child. And now you do. I’ve discharged my duty. So if you wouldn’t mind leaving, I really do have work to get on with.’
He read defiance in her eyes. It was not an emotion he encountered very often and, to his surprise, he realised that she meant it. That she was not posturing or making empty threats in order to impress him—that she actually wanted him to leave!
The contrary side of his nature made him want to rebel against a woman trying to dictate what his behaviour should be. But so did something else. He felt the sudden twisting of his gut as a rush of unwanted emotion hit him. For a moment, the pain of it took him back to a time he had buried deeper than the most precious artifacts which surrounded his father’s tomb. The time when his mother had walked away to be with the man she ‘loved.’ Leaving behind a small and confused little boy who had vowed fiercely never to allow himself to be hurt as his father had been …
And then the dark mist of memory cleared and he found himself staring into the ice-blue eyes of Ella Jackson.
She was having his baby, he realised incredulously. And therefore this was not just any baby. The child she carried was the son or daughter of the sheikh. And it was his. His.
He had once vowed never to marry. He had told his younger brother that one day the sheikhdom would be his—for no child would ever spring from the loins of Hassan Al Abbas. Blighted by the pain he had felt at his mother’s desertion, he had known that fatherhood would never be on his agenda, but now suddenly it was.
His mouth hardened and the hands which had hung by the sides of his powerful thighs now clenched into fists, because he recognised in that instant that what Ella Jackson had told him had changed his life irrevocably. In that moment, all his plans and certainties underwent a dramatic transformation and he knew what he must do. More importantly, what he must not do. He would not do as his own mother had done. He would not turn his back on his own flesh and blood.
He leaned towards her. ‘I’m not going anywhere. We need to talk,’ he said grimly.
She eyed him warily, his disturbing proximity reminding her that he was dangerous in more ways than one. ‘I thought we’d said everything there was to say.’
‘Are you kidding? We haven’t even touched the surface, Ella. Or did you think you could get away with telling me that you’re having my child and I would just walk away and leave you to get on with it?’
Yes, maybe she had. Maybe she had been that stupid and naive. Maybe she’d hoped that fate, or his reluctance to acknowledge his baby, would have taken him out of her life for good. But not any more. There was no mistaking the dark determination which had made his face look even more intimidating and something about his stance made her realise there was trouble ahead. The phone on her desk began to ring and automatically Ella reached out her hand to answer it.
‘Leave it,’ he bit out.
‘I can’t leave it. It’s my—’
‘I said, leave it. Let the other girl answer it.’
Their eyes met in silent combat as the phone rang six times before Daisy picked it up in the outer office and Ella knew this was a fight she would not win. Because how could she possibly conduct a business conversation with one of her clients under the grim gaze of the sheikh? She wouldn’t trust him not to snatch the phone right out of her hand and slam it down. And what if Daisy heard them arguing through the thin walls? ‘Okay, I’ll talk to you,’ she conceded wearily. ‘But not now and not here. I’ll meet you later, when I’ve finished work.’
‘Good.’ He held her gaze for a moment. ‘Come and have dinner in my hotel suite.’
She shook her head. ‘There’s no way I’m coming to your hotel.’
‘No?’ He saw the parting of her luscious scarlet lips and felt an unwilling kick of lust. But wouldn’t bedding her only be counter-productive to the idea which was slowly forming in his mind? An idea he would need to broach very carefully in order to get her to accept it …
‘Then where else do you suggest?’ he continued. ‘If we have what will inevitably be a difficult conversation in a crowded restaurant, we risk being overheard by waiters or other diners. And I don’t want to find our meeting making headlines in tomorrow’s newspapers.’
Ella heard the undeniable command in his voice and part of her wanted to rebel against it. He was so unashamedly autocratic, she thought. So completely used to getting his own way. If