Billionaires: The Daredevil: Claimed for Makarov's Baby / Defying the Billionaire's Command / Redeeming the Billionaire SEAL. Michelle Conder
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that’s the case, then that’s fine. No one is going to condemn you for that—least of all me. I just don’t want you making promises to him. Promises you are unable to keep. Surely you can understand that?’
Their gazes clashed for a moment before he nodded his head.
‘Yes, I can understand,’ he said as he left her suite and headed towards the Sheikh’s private apartments, thinking about everything she’d said and the painful honesty with which she’d chosen her words. He was beginning to understand now that when it came to Leo, she was the one with all the power and it was rare for him to be in the weaker position. Was that why he had stayed away from her since the erotic encounter after his riding accident—because that was his way of wielding power? He had known that he could have taken her in his arms at any time and had her gasping with desire within minutes. But something had stopped him.
What was it? Something to do with the way she made him feel? As if he were some sort of jigsaw which had been scattered and she was eager to put all the pieces back together again. And he didn’t want that. He didn’t want anyone reconstructing him.
The corridors were cool as he walked towards the Sheikh’s private apartments and he could see the outline of the moon beginning to appear in the still blue sky. He thought how ironic it was that for months this had been the one thing he’d wanted above all else. A deal with Saladin Al Mektala. Oil in exchange for diamonds. A foothold in the Middle East at last and a triumph to eclipse all his most recent triumphs.
But suddenly its allure seemed to have faded and all he could think about was the little boy with the golden hair and eyes so like his own. And inevitably those thoughts led back to Erin...
He was shown into a high-ceilinged room which resembled a cross between a library and a study. Oil paintings of magnificent horses lined the walls and priceless artefacts drew the eye like museum pieces. On the Sheikh’s desk was a photo of Saladin holding the prestigious Omar Cup, a gleaming chestnut stallion beside him, and Dimitri took a moment to study it.
‘That was one of my proudest moments,’ said Saladin, his deep voice breaking the silence as he emerged from the shadows of the room, his eyes following the direction of the Russian’s gaze.
‘But?’ said Dimitri, lifting his gaze from the photo and supplying the word which seemed to hang in the air, like the rich incense which scented the room.
The Sheikh’s eyes gleamed as he sat down behind the desk and indicated a chair opposite for Dimitri.
‘Victory seems irrelevant when you are forced to face your own mortality as I have had to do,’ he said heavily. ‘If it had been another man but you racing against me, I might not be here today—for the desert lands breed many enemies who would have been glad to see me disfigured, or to have perished. Who would have enjoyed seeing me fall beneath all the galloping power of those two mighty horses, knowing that I have no living heir and that all my lands would pass into the hands of a distant branch of the family.’ The king’s black eyes gleamed. ‘But then, few men other than you would have accepted my challenge to race, for all kinds of reasons.’
‘But how could I resist a challenge from a king?’ said Dimitri mockingly.
‘Even if doing so caused obvious distress to the beautiful woman accompanying you?’
For some reason it irritated Dimitri to hear Saladin describe Erin as beautiful. He had not brought her here to be gazed at and complimented by a powerful sheikh. ‘I do not live my life in accordance with the wishes of others,’ he said stiffly. ‘I act as I see fit.’
‘But your actions placed you in mortal danger.’
Dimitri shrugged. ‘To brush with death is inevitable. It is part of life itself.’
Saladin picked up a gleaming golden pen. ‘But the timing of such a brush is crucial, don’t you think? And this one especially so. It has made me re-examine my life. I wonder if it will make you do the same.’ Abruptly, he signed the thick sheet of parchment which lay before him and then looked up. ‘The oil fields are yours.’
Dimitri inclined his head. ‘Thank you.’
‘My lawyers will be in touch. But, Dimitri—’
Dimitri had been about to rise from the chair until the monarch’s unfamiliar use of his first name made him pause.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Majesty?’
The Sheikh paused, as if he was about to start speaking in a language unfamiliar to him. ‘I recognise in you someone with demons,’ he said softly. ‘The demons which seem to plague all successful men. And sometimes the only way to rid ourselves of them is to confront them without fear.’
The Sheikh’s words echoed around his head as Dimitri made his way back to his suite. It was a curiously personal remark for a king to make—especially one with the stony reputation of Saladin. Was the bond forged between them over that near-fatal race responsible for such an uncharacteristic statement, and was it true? Dimitri shut the door behind him. Were his demons still dominating his life because he had failed to reach out and confront them?
He realised that it was not just Erin’s deception which had angered him, or the powerlessness he’d felt about being presented with a fatherhood he had not chosen. It was the fear of fatherhood itself. Would his inability to love or nurture damage that laughing little boy whose life was materially poor but emotionally rich? And Saladin’s words came back to him again. Surely he had to try.
He went to Erin’s suite to take her to dinner and she looked up from the book she was reading. The gleam of the chandeliers shone on her dark hair and the claret silk dress caressed her slender body, and automatically he felt his body stiffen with desire. But desire could cloud your judgement. It could distract you from the things which really mattered—and right now he knew what mattered most.
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