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Only his black eyes moved—for they were watchful and glittering as they raked over her. Suddenly Caitlin was reminded of the falcon she’d seen on the magazine cover—dark and still and potentially deadly—and a whisper of foreboding shivered over her skin as she returned his hooded gaze.
She was vaguely aware of Rania exiting the salon as fast as her high-heeled shoes would allow, leaving her alone with him, and her heart thumped painfully against her ribcage as she tried to make some sense out of what she was seeing.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘What are you doing here?’
He shrugged. ‘Up until a few moments ago, I was flying the plane.’
His deliberate misunderstanding of her question tipped the temper she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding in check and the words suddenly exploded from Caitlin’s lips. ‘I’m not interested in your piloting skills!’ she hissed, clenching her fists by her sides as she experienced an overwhelming desire to pummel them hard against his powerful chest. ‘I’d like to know why we haven’t landed in Scotland.’
‘Because we aren’t flying to Scotland.’
‘Yes, we are! You know we are! That’s what we agreed!’ she babbled stupidly and then her voice rose. ‘Where are you taking us?’
‘You know exactly where I’m taking you, Caitlin,’ he informed her silkily. ‘To Xulhabi.’
‘You can’t,’ she said, her voice dropping to a disbelieving whisper. ‘You can’t do that. That’s...that’s kidnap!’
Kadir stared at her, steeling himself against the suddenly vulnerable tremble of her lips and the widening of her sky-washed eyes. ‘That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose,’ he drawled. ‘I would prefer to think of it as purposefully reuniting with my family.’
‘How dare you?’
‘I dare because I have no choice,’ he told her simply. ‘I owe it, not only to my people, but also to my son—to allow him to set foot on the soil of his forebears. And he cannot do that if his mother is proving unreasonably resistant, and he is stuck on some remote island far away, unable to access the skills he will require when he rules Xulhabi.’
‘Will you stop saying that?’ she demanded. ‘You make it sound as if it’s a done deal, when Cameron might not want to be the
heir to your wretched country! He might want to be a...a farmer—or a vet!’
‘I’m afraid that’s not going to happen, Caitlin,’ he replied, with a steely air of finality. ‘It cannot happen. His destiny is ordained.’
She gasped as the import of his words must have dawned on her—because suddenly she was launching herself at him like a wildcat, all that vulnerability vanished as she began to pummel her fists urgently against his chest.
‘Caitlin—that isn’t going to do you any good,’ he protested, though without the kind of conviction he might have expected. Because wasn’t there a part of him which was actively enjoying her anger and her outrage? Wasn’t the heavy throb of his erection an inevitable response to having her this close to him again and breathing in her particular scent, which made him think of soap and honey and wild Scottish moors? A sudden wild rush of yearning pulsed through him and he longed to tangle his fingers in the bright banner of her hair, but he forced himself to ignore it and confront the problem in hand. ‘Stop it.’
‘No! I won’t stop it!’ she declared, with another blow to his chest, which he barely felt, even though she was obviously putting all her weight behind it. ‘Not until you direct the pilot—or do it yourself—to turn this wretched plane right round and take us to Edinburgh!’
‘Sorry,’ he said, with an adamant shake of his head. ‘I can’t do that.’
Did his words suddenly take root or did she just realise that he meant them? Was that why she stopped her rhythmic pummelling so he thought she might have ceased her attack? But, no, his guess was way off mark—or maybe he had underestimated her. For she was swooping towards the writing desk with all the force of a heat-seeking missile. And, moments later, she was back, brandishing the jewelled paper knife above him.
‘Take me back home immediately, or I’ll scar that beautiful face of yours!’ she declared.
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted that so badly. And, judging by the hungry look which suddenly flashed from her eyes, so did she. As he caught hold of the wrist of the hand which held the jewelled dagger he could feel her tremble with something which didn’t feel remotely like fear—and the instinctive parting of her lips was as powerful an invitation to kiss her as he’d ever seen. Though what did he know of a woman’s true desires?
Kadir couldn’t deny that the temptation was as powerful as any he had ever experienced, but he resisted it as he had done so many times before. Because this wasn’t about sex. It was about power. His power—and hers, too. He wondered if she understood that she was in the rare position of having something he wanted. Something he hadn’t been expecting to find—and which felt like the most precious gift he’d ever been presented with.
His son.
Within the veins of his child ran the true blue blood of a future king and nothing could change that unassailable fact—not Caitlin’s wishes, nor his own. After so many years of warfare and disruption, the royal line of Xulhabi was more important than any one person’s personal desire or agenda. It was his duty to provide an heir for his people and now it was within his ability to do so. Only Caitlin Fraser stood in his way.
Kadir knew he couldn’t afford to let Cameron out of his sight for a moment because he didn’t trust her. And why should he when she had seemed so eager to block all his attempts to get to know his son better? When she had spoken so primly and parsimoniously about getting ‘some dates in the diary’. As if she were some middle-aged matron scheduling in a dinner party! For all he knew, she might take it upon herself to ‘disappear’—and, although he had the resources to find her, to play a cat-and-mouse game while he hunted her down would be disruptive and unpleasant for everyone concerned. Especially Cameron.
‘Drop the knife, Caitlin,’ he said silkily.
‘I won’t!’ She wriggled within his grasp. ‘Not until you agree to turn this plane round and fly us back home.’
‘Drop the knife,’ he repeated, trying to ignore the insistent throb of his erection and the even more insistent desire to crush his lips down over the soft quiver of her own and lose himself in her kiss. ‘Drop it right now, or I shall be forced to have one of the palace doctors meet us when we land and declare you mentally unsound to care for our son.’
His words must have hit home for her grip loosened and the sound of the knife bouncing off the polished wooden floor sounded deafening as she stared up at him, her mulish expression now tinged with wariness. ‘You wouldn’t dare?’
