Sheikh's Royal Baby Revelation. Annie West
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wedding. Recently he returned to visit his village again and heard about the search for you. He remembered three foreigners boarding a yacht in a deserted cove.’
Tori digested that. ‘And from something so vague you located me?’ It was remarkable! She could barely imagine the resources, or sheer luck, required to find her.
‘Eventually. Fortunately the yacht was distinctive, so it could be tracked. Your trail was easy from the Maldives, after I knew you’d escaped and where you were headed.’ His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘If we’d exchanged full names and addresses it would have saved time.’
Heat tickled Tori’s throat. Despite their physical intimacy they’d never got past first names. It seemed strange now.
‘Well, you found me. I’m glad.’ She smiled up at him. Despite the complications she’d now have to face, it was wonderful to know he’d survived. ‘It’s good to see you alive.’
‘And you, Tori.’
His look seared her and she shifted in her seat. It wasn’t just relief she felt. Her emotions were complex and she found herself growing nervous all over again.
The longer she sat with him, the more she realised how little she knew about Ash, despite the way her body hummed with awareness. He seemed light-years away from the stoic man with whom she’d shared intimacies in the desert.
She couldn’t imagine—
No, that was wrong. She could imagine all too easily the urge to be with him again. The realisation sent heat spiralling through her middle and surging up her throat to scald her cheeks.
Yet it wasn’t sexual awareness stretching her nerves tight. It was apprehension. For she knew next to nothing about him. His life, hopes, expectations. How he’d react when faced with what she had to tell him.
For a craven moment she wondered if she could avoid that. It would be taking a giant step into the unknown. But it had to be done.
She moistened her lips, ready to speak, but he was too fast for her.
‘So, Tori. Or should I call you Victoria?’ He leaned closer, his black-as-night gaze pinioning her to the seat. ‘Are you going to tell me about my son?’
IF ASHRAF HAD had any doubts about the child being his, they were banished by Tori’s reaction.
The flush colouring her face disappeared completely, leaving those high-cut cheeks blanched like porcelain. Her gasp filled the silent room.
His investigators had provided a photo—part of a slim dossier on Victoria Miranda Nilsson. A photo of a tiny child with dark hair and what might be dark eyes, though the shot had been taken from too far away to be sure.
Now he was sure. She’d had his baby.
Another surge of adrenaline shot into his blood, catapulting around his body. It took everything he had to sit there, holding her gaze, instead of erupting to his feet and pacing the length of the room.
But Ashraf had learned in childhood to control his impulses, even if later he’d made his name by giving in to them. No, that wasn’t quite right. Even when he’d gone out of his way to provoke with scandal and headlines his actions hadn’t been impulsive, even if they’d seemed so. They’d been carefully considered for maximum impact.
But now wasn’t the time to think of his father and how they’d always been on opposing sides. Now he
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