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How could anyone be so trusting? So devoid of cynicism? The question had begun to haunt him and make him feel vaguely guilty. After all, he was planning to use her gullibility—her naivety—against her to get her to agree to their marriage.

She launched into a story about the Lebanese man she’d met at the farmers’ market. Usually he loved listening to what she had been doing all day, because she was an entertaining storyteller, and he found himself fascinated by how open she was. It also gave him no small amount of pride, her instinctive abilities in social situations, yet more evidence of what an excellent princess she would make for the Kholadi people. She had a genuine openness and honesty and seemed to be able to fit in anywhere. People gravitated towards her naturally—even he was not immune.

But as she talked about the Lebanese great-grandfather and how he had reminded her of her own grandmother, while she was mashing the potatoes, and he tucked into the delicious tray of hors d’oeuvres, the question that had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for days popped out of his mouth.

‘Kasia, how did you lose your parents?’

She stopped mashing abruptly and lifted her gaze. A shadow crossed her face, and he wished he could take the question back.

‘I didn’t lose them exactly.’ A resigned smile curved her lips, intensifying his desire to take the sadness out of her eyes. ‘They lost me.’

He knew he should not pursue this line of questioning, he couldn’t afford to get too invested in Kasia’s past because it had the potential to make him even more conflicted about using her artlessness against her to get what he wanted. For himself, for their child, for his country. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself from asking the obvious next question.

‘How did they lose you?’

Kasia’s heart lifted into her throat at Raif’s troubled expression. He’d never asked her about her past before. She could see he was uncomfortable about asking her now. But the fact he wanted to know more about her seemed like another huge step forward, adding to the progress they’d already made since arriving in New York. The apartment his assistant had rented in Gramercy was, of course, a lot grander than what she would have preferred—with four bedrooms, a roof garden and the sort of stark, modern style that wouldn’t look out of place in a design magazine. But the kitchen was magnificent and it hadn’t taken her long to turn the apartment into a home.

Even though it had only been a week, they’d already slipped into a routine, a routine that involved not just spectacular sex every evening but also private dinners during which Raif devoured her food and discussed his work while taking a genuine interest in hers. But he’d shied away from more intimate conversations—until now.

As happy as it made her to have him ask, it was also hard for her to revisit that time of her life. But she forced herself not to hold back. They needed to be able to share the truth about who they were and where they had come from. She knew the terrible degradation he’d suffered as a child, so why should she feel inhibited about talking about her own childhood?

‘Well…’ She concentrated on mashing the potatoes, not wanting to see his reaction. ‘I never knew who my father was. My mothe

r went with a group of other girls to the mining camps in Kallah to work and came back pregnant, she said by a French mine-worker.’

‘So you are also illegitimate?’ Raif murmured.

‘Yes.’ Panic twisted in her gut, which made no sense. Why would she be concerned about his reaction to her heritage when she hadn’t agreed to marry him yet? ‘Is that a problem?’

‘How do you mean?’ he asked.

‘Maybe you don’t want a bastard for your princess?’ she said, forcing herself to voice her fears.

His brows launched up his forehead but then he laughed. ‘The Kholadi have a bastard for their Chief. Do you take me for a hypocrite?’

She smiled, feeling stupidly shy under that intense gaze. ‘No, I don’t.’

He picked up a piece of pitta and dipped it into the moutabal, then directed her to continue. ‘When did your mother die?’

She shook her head. This bit was tougher. ‘She didn’t die. As far as I know, she’s still living, but she decided when I was four that she could no longer live with the shame of being the mother of a bastard. So she left me with my grandmother and never returned.’

He stared at her for the longest time, swallowing the food, then swore softly in Kholadi. Lifting his thumb, he traced it down the side of her face. The caress was light but very sensual, and the approval—and anger—in his eyes so vivid she felt as if he was stroking her heart. ‘Your mother was a fool.’

She’d spent her whole life convincing herself she didn’t need anyone else’s validation, that her mother’s choices were not her own, but why, then, did his support mean so much? She blinked, releasing the tears stinging her eyes. They rolled down her cheeks unchecked as a fear she hadn’t even realised she had been holding inside her—that she might be as fickle and flawed as her own mother when it came to having a child—was defeated by the honest approval in his eyes.

‘I am sorry. I have made you cry,’ he said. But as he went to remove his thumb, she pressed her palm over his hand, holding it in place, and leaned into the caress.

‘Don’t be sorry,’ she said. ‘They’re not sad tears.’

His lips lifted in a rueful smile. ‘I am glad.’

Fierce joy pierced her heart—for all his wildness, for all his arrogance and over-protectiveness, the father of her child was a good man.

‘I wish to make love to you,’ he said. ‘Will the food wait?’

Her heart jumped at the intensity in his eyes and she nodded. The mashed potatoes would taste terrible cold, but she didn’t care as he switched off the oven and lifted her into his arms.

As he carried her into their bedroom and stripped them both naked, she tried to persuade herself it was the pregnancy hormones making her feel so emotional. But as he made slow, sensual, tender love to her, bringing her to an earth-shattering climax with his tongue, before thrusting deep and rocking them both towards another orgasm, she clung to his shoulders, trying to hold the emotion in, to justify and control it.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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