The Desert Lord's Love-Child: The Desert Lord's Baby. Кейт Хьюит
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is, having been born submerged in golden spoons, but I’m not letting you do that to my daughter.”
“You’re contesting my parenting methods? When I haven’t had ten minutes to put them into practice? You think I’ll indulge her into becoming a thoughtless, useless, destructive creature? Another assumption, Carmen?”
Mennah saved Carmen from withering under his barrage by performing her favorite trick. Testing gravity. The phone clattered on the hardwood floor.
Carmen swooped down to pick it up, looked at him accusingly.
He shrugged, secured Mennah on his hip as she tried to pluck out his buttons. “It’s too sturdy to be damaged by anything Mennah can do. That’s why I gave it to her.”
She simmered. “That’s not the point. Now she’ll think it’s okay to throw stuff that isn’t her toys around.”
Imperiousness rose further. “She won’t. I’ll see to it.”
“I’ll see to it. As long as you don’t sabotage my efforts.”
Their eyes locked, dueled. Carmen felt her heat rising, her breath shortening as she hauled all the height she could into her five-foot-seven frame in answer to his straightening from his relaxed pose for their confrontation, dwarfing her in size and aura.
Challenge suddenly drained from his eyes, intimidation flooding in its wake. “Who were you waiting for?”
She blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “The super. I have a short in the laundry room. He was supposed to come fix it.”
One eyebrow rose. “You make filet mignon au champignons for him whenever he comes to install a lightbulb?”
“It’s for Mennah.”
His lips twisted on derision. “Of course. Because filet mignon is a staple of a nine month old’s diet.”
“I gave her a taste two days ago and she’s refused to nurse ever since, so I thought if I gave her another taste, she might …”
The rest of her words backed up in her throat. At the word nurse, his gaze moved to her breasts. Breasts that immediately throbbed, their nipples conquering the thickness of her clothes, jutting their hunger. And that he could do this to her with a look, that he should see her helpless response …
His eyes dragged back to hers, pupils almost engulfing the gold in blackness. “So you were waiting for the super. Who didn’t come.” She jerked a nod. “Show me your problem.”
“I’m sure it’s just a short. I would have investigated it myself, but I was almost electrocuted once …”
“When was that?”
“I was twelve …” She groaned. “What’s with the interrogation?”
“You have quite a lot of hang-ups.”
“And you what?” She kept her tone sweet for Mennah. “Think someone who has a couple of phobias shouldn’t be a mother?”
He smiled down at Mennah, drawled, “You said it, not me.”
“You mean you do think it!”
“I mean you said it, not me.” The words were sharp steel, the tone softest silk. Of course for Mennah, too. “I say exactly what I mean. You’d do well to remember that, Carmen.”
She held her tongue as he haughtily gestured for her to lead the way. At the laundry room, he handed her Mennah. Then, without needing a ladder, he stretched up his six-foot-five frame, examined the bulb socket by the light coming from the corridor. In a few precise actions, with the screwdriver she kept handy on a tool shelf, he dismantled it, did something to the wires inside, put everything back together, screwed the bulb back in place then flicked the switch. The light burst on.
Mennah yelped. Carmen croaked, “I’m amazed.”
His lips twisted. “That I know basic maintenance techniques?”
“Considering you have hordes of people waiting on your every blink, I’m wondering why you deemed to pick up the skills.”
“I was taught every survival skill early on, then made myself fully self-sufficient. I can do anything anyone does for me better than them. I only abide others’ services to save precious time for the more important things only I can do.”
Okay. Whoa. “So you’re Sheikh MacGyver, huh?”
He smiled. But not at her, at Mennah, held out his arms to her again. Mennah pitched forward, eagerly throwing herself at him.
Carmen berated herself for her stupid reaction. He’d said he wasn’t taking Mennah from her, and she shouldn’t feel jealous of Mennah’s instantaneous and unrestrained delight in him. He was her father. He deserved the same love Carmen got from her.
His lazy drawl aborted her chaos. “About that filetmignon …”
She gulped down the silly tears. “What about it?”
“You say Mennah loved it, and it did smell delicious when I came in. It’s a pity to let it go to waste.”
“You want to eat?”
“I’ve been known to indulge in the practice.”
“But it’s already cold.”
“You do have means to reheat it, don’t you?”
“Reheating will overcook it, destroy its buttery softness …”
“Let me …” He dropped a kiss on Mennah’s downy cheek as if compelled before going on, “Let us worry about that.” Suddenly all ease evaporated, suspicion flaring in eyes that slammed back into hers. “Are you sure you’re not waiting for someone?”
“Someone?” she jeered, seeing red. “You mean my ‘sponsor'? One of many, no doubt. You think I entertain men in rotation, a few feet from my sleeping infant? Why don’t you just call me a whore? C’mon, get it off your chest. I know how men of your culture view easy women and I was easy, with you. But I never let you ‘sponsor’ me. Oh wait, I did. I shared your ‘privileges.’ But surely you didn’t think that was enough for me. You must have checked your collection of priceless cufflinks to make sure I hadn’t ‘shared’ more than your hundred-star existence. I trust you weren’t too disappointed to find everything accounted for.”
His eyes spat danger, sending a frisson of anxiety radiating through her limbs. “Such caustic wit and a rapier tongue. You hid them well.”
“I didn’t hide them. There was no reason for them to surface. You weren’t a domineering brute back then.”
The flames in his eyes leaped. “The domineering brute would have walked in here with bodyguards and diplomatic attachés, snatched his daughter and walked out over your weeping, begging body. I am still waiting for you to remember basic courtesy and invite me to share the meal you were preparing when I arrived.”
And if it were possible to die of mortification, she would have keeled over.
Embarrassed, cornered and mad as hell about it, and at him, she mumbled sourly, “Okay. Fine. But if the meat is leathery and the sauce is congealed, I don’t want to hear it.”
He pursed his lips. “Eat in silence, you mean?”
She rolled her eyes. “As if.”
He smiled then—a slow, hot smile, all for her this time, amused at her wisecrack.
She didn’t know what held her up all the way to the kitchen.
Once there she shakily tried to take Mennah to put her in her high chair. He declined, did it himself as if he’d been doing it every day. Then, without being told, he placed Mennah’s toys on her tray and she immediately began the game of throw and fetch.
After her bones solidified