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She hesitated. ‘Happiness is overrated, don’t you think?’ she said brightly. ‘We waste so much time chasing it and, in my experience, it never lasts. My foster father spent most of his money gambling, or wining and dining whichever woman he happened to be seducing at the time.’
His big body suddenly grew tense and his eyes became so dark it was as if someone had suddenly snuffed out all the light which normally gleamed in their ebony depths. ‘I think many people have experience of fathers who like sexual variety,’ he ground out.
Hannah blinked. Was he saying something like that had happened to him? ‘You mean your—?’
‘This is your story,’ he said roughly. ‘Not mine.’
She nodded. ‘My foster mother was the kind of woman who just pretended nothing was wrong, even though there was barely enough money for food sometimes. She liked to put on a bit of a show in front of all the neighbours. I was forced to resort to unsavoury methods of making sure Tamsyn and I got fed. Skips containing food thrown out by the supermarkets was my favourite.’
He recoiled in horror. ‘So why didn’t you tell someone in authority? Ask to be sent to a different home?’
‘Because Tamsyn was mixed up and difficult!’ she burst out, as all the feelings she’d been bottling up for weeks could no longer be contained. ‘She’d had a terrible start in life—far worse than mine—and she acted out on it. Not many people could have coped with her and I knew that if I complained, we would be split up.’ She pushed back her chair so that it scraped against the marble floor and rose shakily to her feet. ‘And I couldn’t bear for us to be split up!’
He rose as soon as she did—moving towards her with his bronze robes shimmering as he gestured towards the chair she had just vacated. ‘Please sit down, Hannah. I didn’t mean to disturb you with my questions.’
‘I don’t want to sit down! I want...’ Her words faded away and suddenly it was all too much. She had told him far too much. Hannah walked over to the window, blinking back the unwanted tears which had sprung to her eyes as she looked out at the turreted skyline.
‘I think I know what you want, Hannah.’
She blinked away the blur of tears as his voice grew closer. She could hear the richly accented inflection which reminded her so vividly of the night she’d spent with him. That unforgettable night, when he’d whispered things in a language she hadn’t understood but that hadn’t seemed to matter at the time. Because Kulal had made her feel like a woman for the first time in her life. He had taken her in his arms and given her the gift of sexual pleasure. Was that why her skin was automatically reacting to the soft caress of his words, even now? Why the tips of her breasts were growing heavy and she found herself longing for him to cup them again, to circle his thumbs over their nail-hard tips and then to take them in his mouth?
With an effort, she reminded herself it was no good getting aroused at a time like this. Or sentimental. She needed to fight the sudden rush of longing which was welling up inside her. But deep down, she was praying he would pull her into his arms and comfort her. Smooth her head as you would a frightened child. Tell her that everything was going to be all right and he would do everything within his power to make that happen.
But he didn’t. He just continued speaking in that same measured tone and Hannah didn’t dare turn to face him because she didn’t trust her own reaction.
‘Do you?’ she said woodenly.
‘Indeed I do. A solution which could work well for everyone.’
‘A solution?’ she questioned doubtfully, but her question was definitely tinged with hope as she turned to face him.
‘Something which would minimise the damage of this unexpected event.’
Minimise the damage. Those were not the words of someone intent on soothing a troubled heart. Those were fighting words—Hannah instinctively recognised that. Ironing every trace of emotion from her voice, she stared into his ebony eyes. ‘What exactly did you have in mind, Kulal?’
Unusually, Kulal hesitated before saying his next words, aware of their impact and their power. But what other solution could they reach, in the circumstances? He hadn’t wanted to be a father but, since the decision had now been forced upon him, he needed to take control. To do the right thing—as he had spent his whole life doing. The only thing. He met the blinking scrutiny of her gaze with a renewed feeling of resolve. ‘You say that your own mother was given a cheque in order to make her life easier and that she squandered that sum by living beyond her means.’
‘That’s right,’ she agreed steadily. ‘I did.’
‘What if I were to go one step further?’ he mused. ‘What if I were to guarantee you the kind of sum which would mean you wouldn’t “run out” of cash ever again?’
‘You’re talking about a lot of money,’ she said carefully.
‘I am,’ he agreed, with equal care.
‘And what would I have to do in return for such a sum?’ she questioned, her voice trembling a little now.
‘I think we both know the answer to that, Hannah,’ he said, almost gently. ‘You do the only sensible thing. Give me the child to be brought up as my heir.’
‘G-give you the child?’ she echoed.
He nodded. ‘In the absence of any other heir, this child could inherit all that I own—my lands, my crown and my kingdom. Let your baby go and I promise to do everything in my power to provide everything he or she needs. They will grow up as a Zahristan royal with all the luxury that entails, not someone who is constantly being dragged between two cultures.’ He paused and suddenly his face changed, became a harsh, stark study in light and shade. ‘Between two people who are little more than strangers to one another.’
Hannah felt grateful for the anger which had started
to flood through her like a tidal wave, obliterating the trembling emotions which his callous words had provoked. Because anger made you strong. It didn’t weaken or debilitate you in the way that pain or fear or desire did. Perhaps if she had been bigger she might have flown at him and slapped her palm against his arrogant face and hit him over and over again. But her blows would be ineffectual, and to attack him physically would be to humiliate herself.
Instead, she drew on all her reserves of inner strength as her well-honed survival mode kicked in, just as it had done so many times before. And suddenly it was easy to look at those cruel lips without remembering what it was like to kiss them. And even easier to find the right note of contempt in her voice as she stared into the fathomless gleam of his black eyes.
