The Sheikh's Secret Son. Maggie Cox
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you wish, Your Highness.’
The doctor beamed and smiled, but Zafir didn’t miss the brief flash of anxiety that flickered across the heavily lidded eyes. He could tell the man wasn’t quite sure whether his services had pleased him or not, and no matter how admired he was in his field he wouldn’t want to risk losing the Sheikh’s patronage under any circumstances.
* * *
‘I don’t know why you thought I needed a wheelchair, Zaf—Your Highness.’ Colouring in embarrassment beneath the too astute scrutiny of Rashid, as he parked her chair by the side of his boss’s gleaming black car, she privately cursed Zafir’s insistence that she refrain from using his name because she was supposedly his subordinate.
The devastation she’d endured that day when he’d cruelly told her he didn’t want anything to do with her any more was still able to wound her grievously. It wasn’t unlike the symptoms of post-traumatic stress in that it was ever-present—it never went away. That being the case, she couldn’t—wouldn’t pretend that their association had been a casual one, no matter how high he’d risen in the meantime.
‘It’s not that difficult to manoeuvre a couple of walking sticks.’
The Sheikh’s velvety dark brows came together in a forbidding frown. ‘Why am I not surprised you would say that? I shouldn’t have forgotten how stubborn you can be. Stop making a fuss and I will help you get into the car.’
All of a sudden he clicked opened the strap that secured her and, as Rashid held open the door, lifted her bodily into the car. Carefully arranging her bandaged ankle in the footwell, he briskly fastened her seatbelt and ordered his guard to take care of the crutches. Then, without even sparing her so much as a cursory glance, he sat down next to her. Rashid climbed in next to the driver.
Once more the sensual scent of exotic agar drifted beneath Darcy’s nose, whilst the heat from her companion’s body seemed to reach out to meld with her own. Pursing her lips, she wondered forlornly if anyone had recorded how fast a woman’s heart beat when the love of her life acted as if it was a penance even to be in the same vicinity as her. Was there, in fact, a record for such a thing?
To stave off her distress, she blurted out, ‘When I get home you don’t have to come in with me. I can manage perfectly well using my walking aids.’
The man beside her turned slowly to survey her. ‘Save your breath, Darcy, and listen to me. No matter how much you try to reassure me, I make no apologies for insisting that I accompany you. It would be remiss of me to take you home after your accident and then not come in with you to ensure you have everything you need and are safe.’
Now her heart beat hard for a different reason. He was going to meet their son for the very first time. What would he say? What would he do?
Sami was a sensitive little boy and was likely to be overwhelmed by the intimidating sight of Zafir unless she prepared him first. For all her quick thinking and bravado, how on earth was she going to deal with that?
DARCY HAD BOTH feared and longed for Zafir to meet his son, and it was hard to believe that at long last it was going to happen. Yet when the car pulled up outside the modest townhouse in the leafy London suburb where she lived, her fear about their meeting felt as if it might choke her.
She couldn’t attest to being sure of him at all. What if he demanded custody of Sami in order to punish her because she hadn’t told him about the pregnancy straight away? He was a powerful man with access to the best lawyers in the world. What was to stop him from suing her?
Moistening her dried lips, she nervously met his inscrutable dark gaze. ‘You don’t have to carry me into the house,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m happy to go in the wheelchair.’
‘Good.’
For a few seconds he seemed amused, but she knew she shouldn’t be fooled by some imagined sense of his warmth towards her. Not when he was so sure she’d wronged him.
The faithful Rashid remained waiting outside the car at a signal from his boss, and he watched and waited as His Highness helped her into the wheelchair. Steering her towards the front door, Zafir reached up to ring the bell.
Darcy felt sick to her stomach. It was only natural that she should anticipate the worst, she reasoned. This man was no longer her employer and one-time lover...he was now an unknown entity and a serious threat to all she held dear.
Quickly delving into her jacket pocket, she produced her key just in time. ‘You don’t need to ring the bell. I have my key.’
‘Then give it to me and I’ll let us in. Will there be anybody here to help you while your ankle heals?’ His tanned brow furrowed, as if the notion that there might not be perturbed him.
Dropping the key into his palm, she scarcely felt able to reply. But in the next instant he’d wheeled her into the carpeted hallway and the only sound that greeted her was the ticking of the grandfather clock...the clock that had once been her dad’s pride and joy. Other than that, the house was quiet.
‘Sami and I live with my mum, but I think she must have gone out.’
Shutting the door behind them, he commented, ‘I take it that means you don’t have a husband?’
Planting himself firmly in front of her, the handsome Arabian folded his arms across his chest, leaving her in no doubt that he meant business and was going to find out the truth of her situation by whatever means necessary.
Gulping down an uneasy breath, she answered, ‘No.’ How could she tell him that she’d only ever wanted one man for her husband and that was him? ‘There’s no one in my life but Sami and my mother.’
‘I can’t pretend that I’m unhappy about that.’ His long-lashed black eyes focused on her intently. ‘It could potentially complicate things if you were in a relationship.’
Knowing what he meant, she tightened her pale hands on the arms of the wheelchair. ‘As it no doubt will when you marry this woman you’re engaged to,’ she said pointedly, unconsciously lifting her chin. ‘If Sami goes to stay with you in the future I have to confess I’ll be uncomfortable with the idea when I don’t even know her. What’s she like?’
‘Her name is Farrida. She is from an important Zachariah family and her beauty and her intellect are much admired. We have known each other since we were children.’
The aloof manner in which he described his bride-to-be didn’t tell Darcy very much about her at all—certainly not about the important things she wanted to know, such as her character and her values.
‘Is she a warm and friendly person?’ she pressed. ‘I suppose what I’m asking is, does she like children?’
His giving his intended a name, as well as listing attributes she definitely couldn’t match, made the woman even more threatening to Darcy.
‘And do...?’ She hardly dared ask the next question. ‘Do you love her?’
The glance Zafir returned to her was undeniably weary, as if the subject both bored and irritated him. ‘As to whether she likes children or not—she knows that she’s expected to produce heirs. This is not a love match. Arranged marriages are common practice amongst those with political power and wealth in my country. My family and hers typify that. Our destiny has always been to marry someone from a similar background.’
‘So what you’re saying is that you don’t have a choice about who you marry?’
The smile he quirked was wry. ‘My mother, the Dowager Queen, would not insist if the woman did not please me.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
Unfolding his arms, he sighed, and his sigh was tinged with impatience. ‘Surely you, of all women, must know what I mean? Have you so quickly forgotten how it was between