The Sheikh's Last Gamble Page 2

  ‘God, Bahir, I’m not asking you to marry her! All you have to do is make sure she gets home safely.’

  ‘And I’m telling you to find someone else.’

  There was silence at the end of the line. A brooding silence that did nothing to encourage Bahir to think he was swaying his friend’s opinion. ‘You know, Bahir,’ his friend said at last. ‘If I didn’t know better …’

  Bahir felt like growling. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, anyone who didn’t know you better might actually think you were actually—worried—about spending time with Marina.’

  ‘Are you suggesting I’m afraid?’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘You just don’t get it, Zoltan. Even if I agreed to take her, there is no way this side of hell freezing over that she’d agree to come with me. Didn’t you hear me say that she hates me? If you’d bothered to ask her you’d already know that.’

  There was a telling pause at the end of the line and Bahir felt a glimmer of hope as he saw a way out of this madness.

  ‘In that case, you might try asking her. She’ll give you the same answer I have. No. If you’re so convinced she needs someone to make sure she’s safe, then you find someone else to do your babysitting.’

  ‘And what if she agrees?’

  He laughed out loud. ‘No way. She’ll never agree. Not in a million years.’

  ‘And if she does, will you do it?’

  ‘It’s not going to happen.’

  ‘Okay—so, if she says no, I’ll find someone else and if she says yes, then you’ll do it?’

  ‘Zoltan … There’s no way …’

  ‘Is that a bet?’

  ‘She won’t say yes.’ She wouldn’t. If there was one thing in this world he could be certain of, it was that she would want to be with him even less than he wanted to be with her. Especially after the way they’d parted. ‘I know she won’t.’

  ‘In which case,’ Zoltan said, ‘you’ve got nothing to worry about.’

  ‘No way!’

  ‘Marina!’ Aisha called as her sister jumped up from the garden seat where they’d been sitting together. ‘Just listen.’

  ‘There’s no point,’ she said, striding swiftly away. ‘Not if you’re not going to make sense.’

  Aisha chased after her. ‘Zoltan and I don’t want you going home alone, surely you can understand that? You should have an escort. It’s the least we can do.’

  ‘I’ll be fine. It’s not that far.’

  ‘Like you thought you’d be fine on the way here too, remember?’

  Marina shook her head. ‘Mustafa’s been put away. And this time I won’t go overland, okay? Put me on a private jet. Nothing can possibly go wrong.’

  ‘You’re going on a private jet, no question, but you’re not going alone. Not this time.’

  ‘Fine! So assign me a bodyguard if you must. But I will not go with that man! It was bad enough to find him waiting for me outside Mustafa’s tent. If I hadn’t known everyone was afraid for me, I would have gone right back inside again.’ And it had had nothing to do with the shivers that had skittered across her skin at finding him amongst the party of her rescuers; nothing to do with that flare of heat she had witnessed in his eyes, before they had turned hard, and as cold and unflinching as ice.

  Aisha studied her sister. ‘You didn’t seem that upset when you arrived back at the palace. “A blast from the past”, you called him. I got the impression that whatever had happened in the past, it wasn’t that serious.’

  Not serious. Marina flung her arms out wide, her fingers flicking the flowers of a nearby jasmine creeper in the process and sending its heady scent swirling into the air. She shook her head, reining her arms in and weaving them tightly around her midriff. ‘You were all so worried about me, and happy I was safe, how could I make a fuss? Besides, I thought it was over, that I’d never see him again. And clearly he was just as relieved himself that it was over.’

  And when she saw the question in her sister’s eyes, she added, ‘Didn’t he take off for Monte Carlo that very same day? No doubt so that there was no chance he could run into me again while I was at the palace.’

  ‘Oh, Marina, I had no idea.’ Aisha slid a hand beneath one of her sister’s tightly bound arms and coaxed her into a walk through the fragrant garden. ‘What happened between you two?’

  What hadn’t happened? Marina dropped her head, the weight of painful memories dragging her spirits with it. ‘Everything and nothing. It all came to nothing.’ She frowned. No, not nothing. She still had Chakir. ‘I was stupid. Naive. I flew too close to the sun and it’s no wonder I came crashing down.’

  ‘Okay. So you had an affair that ended badly, right?’

  And this time it was Marina’s turn to squeeze her sister’s arm. ‘I’m sorry, Aisha. I’m not making sense, I know. But you’re right. I met Bahir one night at a party—eyes across a crowded casino, the whole boring cliché, I guess.’

  She looked intently at her sister, trying to make her understand. ‘But the attraction was so intense, so immediate, and I knew in that instant that we were going to spend the night together. And one night turned into a week and then a month and more, and it was reckless and passionate and didn’t look like ending. And I really thought I loved him, you know. I actually thought for one mad moment—maybe more than just one—that he was the one.’ She sighed, staring blankly into the distance. ‘But I couldn’t have been more wrong.’

  ‘Oh, Marina, I’m sorry. I had no idea.’

  ‘How could you? It wasn’t as if I was ever home to share my news. And we seemed to have so little in common back then. You seemed content to stay in the family fold while I was continually rebelling against it. Our brothers provided the necessary heir and spare and our father made no bones about it. I figured I was surplus to requirements and so I might as well enjoy myself.’

  ‘A redundant princess,’ Aisha said softly to herself, remembering another time, another conversation.

  ‘What did you say?’

  She smiled and shook her head as they resumed walking. ‘Nothing. It’s funny how different we are. But there were times I envied you your freedom and the fact you got to choose your lovers. There were days I wished I could be more like you, headstrong and rebellious, instead of bound by duty. But I guess they both have their down sides.’

  ‘Amen.’ Marina sighed and turned her face to the heavens. ‘And now you’re married to one of his best friends. Small world, isn’t it, when someone who has told you to get out of their life for ever suddenly turns up on your doorstep? Oh, Aisha, I can’t go with him. Don’t make me go with him!’ Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes with the pain of the past. Tears rolled down her cheeks with the complexities of the present and her fears for the future. ‘What a mess!’

  ‘He must have hurt you so very much.’

  ‘He hates me.’

  ‘Are you sure? He was there when they rescued you.’

  ‘I doubt that he wanted to be. The others would have expected it, that’s all.’

  Aisha nodded. ‘It’s true they are close. Zoltan told me they were the brothers he never had. But hate you? People say things in the heat of the moment—stupid things—but they don’t mean them, not really.’

  Marina shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together until she could find the words, the burden of her secret suddenly too heavy to bear. ‘Oh, he hates me. Even if he had forgotten how much, he will surely hate me when he discovers the truth.’

  Aisha stopped walking and turned to her, fear in her eyes. ‘Discovers what truth?’

  Marina looked at her through eyes scratchy and raw, and her soul bleaker than at any other time in her life. ‘The truth about his son.’

  Her sister’s mouth opened wide. ‘Oh no, Marina, surely not? Is Chakir Bahir’s child?’

  She nodded.

  ‘But you told everyone you didn’t know who the father was.’

  Marina put a hand to her mouth. ‘I know. It was easier that way. And
nobody had any trouble believing it.’

  ‘I’m so sorry!’

  ‘Don’t be. I had a reputation as a party girl and it came in handy. It made it easier to hide the truth. It was easier to pretend it didn’t matter.’

  ‘Even from Bahir.’

  ‘He has no idea.’

  Aisha’s feet stilled on the path, her gaze fixed on nothing, and when she looked up at her sister Marina was afraid of what she saw in her eyes. ‘I think you need to get on that plane. With Bahir.’

  Marina pulled back. ‘I won’t go with him. I can’t face him.’

  ‘But you have to tell him.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Of course you do! You have let him know that he is a father; that he has a child.’

  She shook her head. ‘He doesn’t want to know.’

  ‘He has a right to know. It is right that you tell him. And you must tell him. You have no choice.’

  ‘He won’t want to hear. He never wanted a child.’

  ‘Then maybe he should have thought about that.’ Aisha gave her sister’s shoulders a squeeze. ‘I’ll tell Zoltan it’s all set.’

  ‘No! I only told you so you would understand why I can’t see him again. I would never have told you otherwise.’

  Her sister smiled, a soft and sad smile. ‘I think you told me because you already know what you have to do. You just needed to hear it from someone else.’

  Knowing Aisha was right didn’t make boarding the Al-Jiradi private jet any easier. No easier at all when she’d seen the plane land and knew he was already waiting inside. How Zoltan had managed to talk Bahir into this was anybody’s guess. He would not be happy about it; of that much she was certain.

  ‘You can do this,’ Aisha said as she gave her older sister a final squeeze. ‘I know you can.’

  Marina smiled weakly in return, wishing she believed her, and waved one last time before disappearing into the covered stairs leading to the plane. Right now her legs were so weak and her stomach so tightly wound, it felt like if it snapped she would spin right off the stairs. A fate infinitely preferable, nonetheless, to being enclosed in the cabin of an aircraft with Bahir.

  But it had to be done. For more than three years she had wrestled with the question of whether to tell Bahir of Chakir’s existence. At first it had been easy to say nothing, the pain of their break-up still raw, the savagery of his declaration never to have children still uppermost in her mind. Why should Bahir be informed of his child’s existence, she’d reasoned, when he’d told her he never wanted to see her again? He would not thank her for discovering that, no matter what either of them wanted, they were bound together via the life of a child they had jointly created.

  Then, when Hana had come into the world, there had been plenty to think about, and the question of Bahir’s rights to know had been easy to ignore. Suddenly mother to two fatherless children, why complicate matters with the father of only one? And Bahir had made it clear he was not a family man; he didn’t want her or a child and they certainly didn’t need him.

  But she’d had reason to wonder lately as she’d watched her young son grow and turn from baby to toddler to young boy, and she’d found herself wondering what Chakir himself would want.

  She swallowed back on a lump of apprehension that had lodged in the dry sandy desert that was now her throat. So despite Bahir telling her that he never wanted a child, and even though she was more than happy to accept that as his final word on the topic, maybe for the sake of their son’s wishes this would be worth it. For Chakir’s sake.

  Please God, let it be worth it.

  She managed a tremulous smile for the cabin attendant who welcomed her to the plane. Then she was inside the cool interior and he was there, standing with his back to her at a rack filled with magazines, seemingly oblivious to her presence. She wished she could be so oblivious to his, but she could not.

  Just the sight of him was enough to make her heartbeat skip and her skin tingle while she sensed a pooling heat building between her thighs. She cursed her body’s wayward reaction and wished she could look away. Damn the man! When would she ever be able to look at him and not think of sex? After all the things he had said to her, after the way they had parted, after all the years that separated them, still he conjured pictures of tangled sheets, tangled limbs and long, hot nights filled with sin.

  Then again, how was it possible not to think of sex when it was some kind of god that filled your vision? Was there some kind of formula for masculine perfection; some ratio of leg-length to height or shoulder-width to hip? Some magic number that nature had allocated at conception that marked a man for physical supremacy?

  If so, this man was it, and that was just the view of his back.

  He turned then, as the attendant ushered her to the seat across the aisle, and the blast of resentment in his eyes made her catch her breath and forget all about magic numbers.

  ‘Bahir,’ she uttered in acknowledgement.

  ‘Princess,’ he said sharply on a nod before he returned his attention to sorting through the rack. She was amazed he’d managed to pry his jaw apart enough to form the word, it had been so firmly set.

  The cabin attendant chatted cheerily while she settled Marina into her wide leather seat, but Marina caught not a word of it, too consumed by Bahir’s reaction, too stunned to think about anything else.

  So that was what she would get—the silent treatment.

  Clearly Bahir was as resentful of being in her company as she was being in his. Equally clearly, he was in no mood for small talk.

  Which suited her just fine.

  So long as she could eventually find the words to tell him he was a father.

  He tried to focus on the business magazine he’d selected from the rack but the words were meaningless scrawl, the article indecipherable, and he tossed it aside. Hopeless. It was no different from the online journal he’d been reading since he’d boarded the jet in Nice, his attention riveted not by the words he was attempting to read but by a simmering resentment that bubbled faster and more furious the closer the plane got to Al-Jirad. Why the hell had he agreed to this again? He still wasn’t sure he had agreed. But Zoltan had called and said she’d agreed to go with him and he knew he would have looked weak if he’d refused again.

  Much better to look like it didn’t matter a bit.

  Except that it did.

  Because right now, as the attendant stowed Marina’s hand luggage and made her comfortable, and as he tried to pretend she wasn’t there, his focus was still held captive by the images captured on his retinas—those damned eyes, her pupils large, catlike and seductive. The jut of her collarbones in the vee of the open neck of the fitted ruffled shirt that flirted over her curves, and the jewel-studded belt hugging her swaying hips.

  He growled, his nostrils flaring. He picked up his laptop again, determined not to give in, trying to find focus instead of distraction. Because, if it wasn’t enough that his mind was filled with images of her, now he could smell her. He remembered that scent, a blend of jasmine, frangipani and warm, wanton woman. He remembered the taste of it on her glistening, sweat-slickened skin. He remembered pressing his face to the curve of her throat and drinking it in as he plunged into her sweet depths.

  He shifted in his seat and slammed the computer shut as the plane started to taxi to the runway. How long was the flight to Pisa—three hours? Four? He growled again.

  Too long, however long it took.

  How did you find the words to tell someone he was a father? Not easily, especially when that man sat across the aisle from you, rumbling and growling like a dark thundercloud. Any moment she expected to see lightning bolts issuing from his head.

  And that was before she had managed to find the words.

  What was she supposed to say? Excuse me, Bahir, but did I ever tell you about our son? Or, Congratulations, Bahir. You’re a father, to a three-year-old boy. It must have somehow slipped my mind …

  The plane came to a halt at the st
art of the runway and she glanced across the aisle to where he sat, his posture closed off, his expression grim. Even though she let her gaze linger, even though she was sure he would be aware, still he refused to look her way.

  And she wondered how, even if she could find the words, was she supposed to tell him about his child when he wouldn’t even look at her?

  Did he hate her that much?

  How much more would he hate her when he learned the truth?

  The engines whined, preparing for take-off, echoing her own nerves, spun tight by his presence, and spun even tighter by the search for the words to tell him.

  She closed her eyes and let the jet’s acceleration push her deeper into her seat, forcing herself to relax as the whine became a scream and then a roar as the plane launched itself and speared into the sky.

  It wasn’t as though there was a rush. They had four hours of flight time and then a two-hour drive to her home in the most northern reaches of Tuscany. Why tell him now and spoil the fragile if tense cease-fire that seemed to exist between them? For he would not remain silent once he knew. He would be intolerable. Perhaps with a measure of justification. Still, why make their hours together more difficult than they already were?

  No, there was plenty of time to tell him.

  Later.

  They were an hour into their flight when they were given the news. One hour of interminable and excruciating silence, filled with the static of all the things that were left unsaid, until the air in the cabin fairly crackled with the tension, a silence punctuated only when the smiling flight attendant came to top up their drinks or offer refreshments.

  But this time she had the co-pilot with her and neither of them was smiling.

  ‘So fly around it,’ Bahir said after they’d delivered their grim message, too impatient for this trip to be over to tolerate delays, whatever the reason.

  ‘That’s not possible,’ the co-pilot explained. ‘The storm cell is tracking right into our path. And the danger is we could ice up if we try to go over. The aviation authorities are ordering everyone out of the area.’

  ‘So what does that mean?’ Marina asked. ‘We can’t get to Pisa at all?’