Sheikh's Captured Bride. Кейт Хьюит

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      ‘No and, right now, I don’t want to think about it. I only want to find out if there is anything for us to worry about. You shouldn’t have come here, Zahir. You should have kept your distance. What happened between us in Maraban ended there. You’re screwing up my life,’ Saffy condemned, dragging her arm angrily free.

      ‘It won’t be at an end if you’re carrying my child.’

      Without another word, Saffy trudged through the hall to the bathroom, retrieved the test kit from the cupboard and pulled out the instructions. Minutes later she stood at the window holding the wand, waiting to see the result. She still felt shell-shocked by the explosive passion that had erupted between them, had never dreamt that she could lose control of her own body to such an extent, had not even suspected that the desire for sex might so badly betray her principles. Of course it had not occurred to her either that she would see him again, that he would deliberately seek her out in London or tell her that he couldn’t sleep for wanting her. At least she wasn’t the only one of them tossing and turning sleepless in the dark of the night, she thought wretchedly. But without the smallest warning, everything had changed. She had believed she could shrug off their encounter in Maraban; she had tried to tell herself that she had used him. In short, she reflected painfully, she had told herself a whole lot of face-saving rubbish in an effort to persuade herself that she was fully in control of events and now reality was banging very loudly at her door.

      Almost absent-mindedly she looked down at the wand in her hand and her entire body froze. She gulped in a breath, checked her watch, gazed down transfixed at the line that had formed just as the instructions had explained. Her legs suddenly felt so woolly she had to perch on the side of the bath. Be careful of what you wish for…for according to the test result, she was pregnant. For a split second a rush of joy consumed her and then she recalled Zahir’s hard, forbidding expression and she groaned out loud, for nothing but complications lay ahead. Zahir and an accidental pregnancy would be a very dangerous combination: Zahir liked to plan everything; Zahir had to be in control; Zahir had been raised in a culture in which such a development was totally unacceptable, socially, morally and every other way there was.

      Why, oh, why had she opened her silly mouth and told him? Regret touched her deep. Now whether she liked it or not he was involved and it would have been much better for both of them if he was not. She didn’t want him involved. Even less did she want him to be hostile to her condition. She might never before have allowed herself to dream of having a baby, but she would never, ever have chosen to have a child by a man who couldn’t possibly want either of them.

      Saffy walked back into the living room where Zahir was drinking coffee—Cameron evidently having played host in her absence—and staring moodily out of the window. He didn’t like cities: he felt claustrophobic in them. Why did she still remember that? Hearing her entrance, he swung round, stunning dark golden eyes shooting straight to her pale, tight features.

      And he knew, that fast he knew, read the defensiveness there and the reluctance to get any closer to him. Why? Was she afraid of him now? Did she think that in some way he meant her harm? Her golden hair had dried into loose, undisciplined waves round her lovely oval face and her eyes were incredibly blue against her pallor. Even with strain etched in every line of her visage she was hauntingly beautiful.

      ‘We do have something to worry about,’ she confirmed.

      Zahir released his breath in a slow hiss, not a muscle moving on his lean bronzed face. ‘I thought you were taking the contraceptive pill.’

      ‘You assumed I was. I saw no reason to tell you otherwise because I didn’t think this situation would arise,’ Saffy admitted doggedly, determined to be honest now because matters had become too serious for her to risk even half-truths.

      ‘Why were you not taking precautions to protect yourself against this development?’ he demanded.

      ‘I had no reason to. I wasn’t having sex with anyone, so you don’t need to wonder whose child it is,’ she told him tightly, colour mantling her cheekbones.

      ‘Naturally I will wonder. I have no wish to offend you but I was certainly under the impression that you had other lovers,’ Zahir countered flatly.

      ‘Don’t believe all that you read in the papers,’ Saffy advised, lifting her head high, her blue eyes guarded.

      ‘I don’t but, even allowing for a fair amount of exaggeration and invented stories, there is room for me to doubt the likelihood that in one brief encounter I have fathered your child,’ Zahir fielded very quietly.

      ‘I didn’t think it was very likely either, but we’re both young and healthy, it was the wrong time of the month for me to have an accident and clearly you have killer sperm,’ Saffy told him drily.

      ‘Don’t make a joke of it,’ Zahir growled.

      ‘I can’t prove it’s your baby until after it’s born,’ Saffy murmured ruefully. ‘DNA testing is too risky during pregnancy. On the other hand you could think back sensibly to that day in the tent and appreciate that ironically you are the only lover I’ve ever had.’

      Zahir frowned, winged ebony brows pleating above questioning dark as night eyes flaring with disbelief. ‘That is not possible.’

      ‘Forget the newspaper stories and your prejudices and think about it rationally,’ Saffy urged with quiet dignity, determined not to allow him to continue to cherish doubts about who had fathered her child. ‘You’re not stupid—I know you’re not. I was a virgin.’

      All colour bled from below his olive-toned complexion as he stared back at her with smouldering golden force and she recognised the exact moment when he recalled the blood stains on the bed because he suddenly swore in Arabic, tore his stunned gaze from hers and half swung away from her, his lean brown hands clenching into fists. ‘If that is true, I have greatly wronged you,’ he bit out rawly.

      ‘We wronged each other a long time ago,’ Saffy cut in. ‘I chose to share that bed with you. It was my decision and this is my…er, problem.’

      ‘If it’s my child, it’s mine too and I don’t see our child as a problem,’ Zahir retorted with a harsh edge to his dark deep voice. ‘We’ll remarry just as soon as I can arrange it.’

      ‘Remarry?’ Saffy gasped in wonderment. ‘You have to be joking!’

      ‘Our child’s future is too serious to joke about and it can only be secured through marriage.’

      ‘And we all know how that turned out the last time,’ Saffy returned doggedly, fighting to think logically because his proposal had shaken her to her very depths. Was he serious? Was he really serious?

      ‘When my father died and I took the throne, everything changed in Maraban,’ Zahir declared levelly. ‘We would be able to lead normal lives now. You’re pregnant. Of course, I want to marry you.’

      Saffy was reeling from a dozen different reactions: disbelief, scorn, anger, frustration among them. Zahir was set on taking charge as usual. He wasn’t reacting on a personal level, he was reacting as a public figure, keen to hide an embarrassing mistake within the respectability of marriage.

      ‘I don’t want to marry you just because I’m pregnant.’

      ‘And what do you think your child would want?’ Zahir shot that icily controlled demand back at her. ‘If you don’t marry me, you will deprive that child of a father СКАЧАТЬ