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He thought back. Had she told him that? Even if she had, he suspected it would have gone in one ear and straight out of the other. He hadn’t really been interested in her past, just as he hadn’t been interested in her future, because he’d known there could never be one—not for them. The only thing which had interested him, and for a time had obsessed him, had been the magnificence of her body and the sheer sexual dynamite of their coming together.
‘That’s right,’ he prevaricated as some long-buried fact swam up from the depths of his subconscious. ‘You wanted to be a fashion designer. Is that what you’re doing now?’
She gave him the kind of look which suggested he had no idea how normal mortals lived. ‘I wish,’ she said. ‘You can’t just set yourself up as a fashion designer, Zuhal, especially when you’ve got no real qualifications. For one thing, the overheads would be prohibitive, and for another, there’s a whole heap of competition out there. You see that sewing machine over there?’ Her finger trembled a little as she pointed to it. ‘That’s what I was doing when you arrived. Mostly, I specialise in soft furnishings—cushions and curtains, that sort of thing. People always need those and Oxford isn’t far away. There are plenty of folk with deep pockets who change their decor all the time, even if there’s nothing wrong with it. Probably because they’re rich and bored and can’t think of anything better to do,’ she added.
She seemed eager to deflect his attention from the life-changing news with her mundane chatter, he thought grimly. And she would be, wouldn’t she? But her words made him consider both her income and her environment and for the first time Zuhal took proper notice of his surroundings, his lips curving with ill-concealed contempt. The furniture was of the cheapest variety, the rug threadbare and the paint on the window frames peeling. Only the curtains and cushions redeemed the place, their brightness adding an unexpected touch of jollity to the small room. Presumably her own handiwork.
His disdain turned into anger. And she was bringing up his son in a place like this! The heir to the Al Haidar dynasty was growing up in some scruffy little house on the outskirts of Oxford, with no security at the door and barely enough warmth inside. He wanted to berate her. To tell her she was unfit to care for his child, but something made him bite back his words as he sensed that hostility would be counterproductive to his cause. He looked at her faded jeans and the sweater with that ugly stain on the shoulder. Wouldn’t it be sensible to offer her an easy way out? To leave her free to live the kind of life she had been destined to live before their paths had unpredictably crossed in an upmarket London hotel.
‘We need to discuss the future,’ he said.
She looked at him warily. ‘What do you mean?’
He took a step closer and then wished he hadn’t because her unsophisticated soapy scent suddenly made his senses become keen and raw. And wasn’t it crazy that, despite his anger, he could still feel the powerful jerk of his erection pressing uncomfortably hard against the zipper of his trousers? Hadn’t she always had that power over him—and hadn’t it been that power which had made him terminate their relationship sooner than he’d intended?
‘What do you think I mean, Jazz?’ he demanded. ‘Did you think I would be content to be granted a brief look at my son before shrugging my shoulders and walking away? That I would be prepared to say goodbye to a child who has been kept a stranger to me until now?’
She swallowed. ‘Of course I didn’t.’
‘You say that with remarkably little conviction!’ he accused.
‘Because it’s all happened so quickly! I wasn’t expecting you to just turn up like this, Zuhal. It’s difficult to know what to think.’
‘At least we are agreed on something,’ he said. ‘Though I think that, of the two of us, I have received by far the greater surprise today. I need a little time to assess the situation properly and work out where we must go from here. Decisions made in the heat of the moment will benefit no one, least of all my son.’
‘You mean…’ Her green-gold eyes looked hopeful. ‘You mean you’ll go back to Razrastan and contact me when you’ve had a chance to mull it over?’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Go back to Razrastan? Are you really that naïve, Jazz? Do you think that, having found my child, I will now exit myself from his life?’ Ruthlessly, he found himself taking pleasure from her lip-biting response to his words. And why shouldn’t he enjoy her distress? She hadn’t given his feelings a second thought when she’d kept his progeny hidden from him, had she? ‘I will return later to take you to dinner. Somewhere neutral away from here, where we can consider our options. I will have one of my people book somewhere suitable.’
‘No. I can’t. That isn’t going to work,’ she protested. ‘I’m not leaving Darius while I go out for dinner with you!’
‘Why not?’ he demanded. ‘Do you think I’m going to have him spirited away while you’re out?’
She met his gaze with a fierce challenge on her face—a look he had never seen her use before. ‘I wouldn’t put it past you.’
He inclined his head in unwilling admiration. ‘You are wise indeed not to underestimate my determination,’ he conceded. ‘But you still haven’t explained your refusal to dine with me.’
‘Because I don’t have a local babysitter, not yet,’ she babbled. ‘And I’m not leaving Darius with a stranger!’
His lips twisted. ‘You think I would compromise childcare, Jazz? He is a royal Prince of Razrastan—and he will be cared for by the finest professional money can buy.’
‘No.’
‘No?’ he verified incredulously.
‘I’m not leaving him with a stranger,’ she repeated stubbornly.
A pulse flickered at his temple as he trained his gaze on the minuscule kitchen which could just be glimpsed over her shoulder. ‘You expect me to eat dinner here?’
‘I don’t particularly care whether you eat or not, since food is the last thing on my mind,’ she returned. ‘But since you are determined to have this meeting, I dare say I can rustle up something for supper.’
There was a moment of tense silence before, slowly, he nodded his head. ‘Very well. I will return at eight.’ He paused. ‘In the meantime, my bodyguards will be stationed around the property, so if you’re contemplating making some dramatic break for freedom, I urge you think again.’
Jasmine stared at him, feeling as if she was being backed into a corner. Was that how he intended her to feel? As if he had all the power and she had none? Because that was true, wasn’t it? She looked at him. ‘Bodyguards?’ she echoed. ‘Are you out of your mind? We’ve been living here perfectly safely for the last six months. This is rural Oxfordshire. We don’t need bodyguards.’
‘On the contrary, you most certainly do. You may have lived that way in the past, Jazz, but those days are over. This child has pure Al Haidar blood pulsing through his veins and will be treated accordingly.’ He slanted her a warning look. ‘I will see you later. Just make sure you are ready to receive me.’
His final request was like a throwback to the past and she wondered how she was supposed to do that. Was he hinting that he’d like her to be waiting for him wearing some tiny scrap of silk-satin lingerie the way she’d done in the past—showing as much flesh as possible without actually being naked? She studied his hard face. Unlikely. At this precise moment, his expression betrayed nothing but contempt. His bearing was both regal and imperious as he turned and walked out of the front door, closing it softly behind him. Jasmine could hear the purr of a powerful car engine as it started to move and now that the shock of seeing him again had begun to wear off, she began to tremble.
