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Her mouth running dry, Claire stilled as the three-dimensional image formed on the big screen and she quite clearly saw a baby shape, a little face, little hands, little feet. Her heart sounded very loud in her ears.
‘There’s your child,’ she was told.
‘My child...’ Raif whispered in such an impressed tone that he actually stole her attention, which had been locked to the picture on the screen of the baby.
‘Congratulations,’ the older man told them cheerfully.
She was told that tiredness and nausea were normal in the first trimester.
‘I will be very careful with Claire and our child,’ Raif asserted squarely, trying to be disciplined about the image he had been shown but, in truth, he was utterly entranced by what he had seen. ‘I only wish we didn’t have to wait so many months until we can meet him or her.’
Claire stared at him in even greater surprise, but he was still staring at the first copy of the ultrasound, which he had intercepted on its way to her hand. ‘Come on,share!’ she urged him, reaching for it.
Having gazed in smiling fascination at the image, he handed it over with reluctance. ‘I think I must like babies,’ he commented.
‘Don’t you know?’
‘No, I’ve only seen my brother’s little girls once or twice and they were older, not infants,’ he told her. ‘And few of my friends have either married or started a family.’
‘We’re in the wrong age bracket for this,’ she muttered uneasily then as they climbed back into the limousine. ‘I have only one friend with children...she got married straight out of school.’
Claire pondered her distant relationship with her own surviving family members, her half-brother and her stepmother. She remained in touch with both but her relationship with her stepmother would never be anything other than strained. It struck her as very sad that she would not be able to give her child loving parents. It seemed to her then that history could sometimes repeat itself in the worst ways. She hadn’t enjoyed loving parents, and neither would her baby, although at least her baby would have a loving mother, she reasoned.
‘We will cope,’ Raif intoned with assurance.
She wanted to query his use of that word, ‘we’, but decided to say nothing until he had outlined his intentions towards her and their unborn child. His unhidden interest in the baby and her welfare had, however, impressed her. Not that he was going to have much opportunity to enquire into her welfare until the yacht returned to the UK, she reflected wryly. She did hope that she wasn’t going to be forced to argue with him about her ability to continue her work as an assistant chef. She wanted a good reference from Gregoire to add to her CV because it was now all the more important that she find a decent job on her return.
‘I asked for your possessions to be brought here from theMahnoor,’ Raif informed her, surprising her, as they walked back into the white villa. ‘Eileen will take you upstairs to your room.’
Thrown to the heights of disbelief by that startling information, Claire blinked and whirled round. ‘You did...what?’ she asked dangerously.
Raif straightened his broad shoulders and gave her a stoic appraisal. ‘When you have had the chance to change, we will discuss the future on the terrace at the side of the house. Is that acceptable to you?’
Claire sucked in a calming breath, her hands clenched into angry fists by her side as she struggled to keep her temper. ‘As long as discuss isn’t another word for a command.’
‘It is not,’ Raif murmured softly. ‘But understand now that I will not invite a scandal that would damage our child’s future prospects in life. It is my duty to protect youbothfrom that threat.’
And it was as though Raif had decided to suddenly drop the Mr Nice Guy façade. That cool, strong dark gaze locked to her was unexpectedly intimidating, as was the harder set of his lean, darkly handsome features. Claire paled and, turning on her heel, she joined the older woman waiting to show her upstairs. She could hardly have a fight with him in the hall in front of a witness, she reasoned unhappily. Everything they had to discuss was far too private for that.
Eileen showed her into a large and opulent bedroom. Her case was sitting ready to unpack on the bed, the bag of her pet’s belongings set by a wall. Claire practised deep breathing for a minute to get a grip on her heaving emotions. How had she been naïve enough to assume that she could return to work on his yacht as an employee when she was pregnant with his child? Of course, he would not take the smallest risk ofthatnews leaking into the public domain. She supposed he had to be a person of interest to the media, a VIP, the type of rich, titled single man who featured in gossip columns. She reminded herself that he had been genuinely concerned about that video clip she had taken of him undressing on the beach. He actively avoided any kind of public exposure. Did he think she might talk to someone and let the secret out? she wondered worriedly.
She pulled a dress out of her case and her toiletries and went into the en suite bathroom, helplessly awestruck by her luxury surroundings and feeling slightly guilty about the fact because only the greatest fluke had brought her into Raif’s life. Had she not been in that cove at that time that one particular day, they would never even have met. The acknowledgement was oddly chilling and she wasn’t quite sure why.
After a quick shower, she felt calmer and was counting her blessings, no longer fuming about the future that was being reorganised without recourse to her wishes. She had been foolish to think that she could go back to the yacht as though nothing had changed. Everything had changed and it had changed without warning. But the father of her childwasbeing supportive and that was a big positive in such a situation. She simply needed to respect his sensitivities as well.
Raif watched as Claire walked out hesitantly onto the terrace. A simple cotton dress in a daisy pattern floated round her slender thighs. It occurred to him that his father would have choked at the sight of a woman’s bare legs and that his brothers’ wives dressed as though time had stopped fifty years ago to satisfy his father’s outdated notions. Raif smiled, thoroughly entranced by Claire’s sheer natural loveliness, sunlight gleaming off her fair hair.
Eileen brought out the drinks he had requested. Claire accepted a glass with an uncertain look.
‘Mocktails, no alcohol,’ Raif explained.
‘Oh.’ Claire grinned and sipped, scrutinising him below the veil of her lashes, heartbeat quickening.
He had changed as well, but only into another suit.
‘Do you ever wear jeans?’ she asked. ‘Or shorts?’
‘Occasionally. But I’m usually working and meeting people and formal apparel is expected.’
