Sandra Marton - Pleasure

Madison frowned. So many apologies from a man she would have sworn had never offered one in his life.

A tingle of apprehension danced across her skin but, really, what was there to be apprehensive about? In the prince’s world, lunches on his plane were undoubtedly commonplace.

Why not go along with what was, after all, an efficient arrangement?

His plane was waiting on the tarmac, in a section of Kennedy Airport that was new to her.

The fuselage bore the image of a fierce golden hawk with the words Kingdom of Dubaac engraved below its talons. It was, Madison realized, a royal crest.

Somehow, that changed things—and wasn’t that ridiculous? A private plane was exactly that. What did it matter if it was a corporate jet or a royal one? Still, she hesitated as the driver opened the limousine’s rear door.

“Madame?”

She looked at the outstretched hand. The unrevealing expression. Don’t, a tiny voice inside her whispered but she ignored it, accepted the driver’s hand and walked to the plane.

An attendant waited at the foot of the steps.

“Ms. Whitney,” he said pleasantly. “How are you today?’

A second attendant smiled as Madison stepped through the door to the cabin.

“Welcome, Ms. Whitney.”

So many welcomes. So many polite smiles. So much grandeur, Madison thought, and caught her breath.

She had flown first-class many times on business but this—this was another world. Deep blue carpeting stretched the length of the cabin; cream-colored leather love seats and chairs were arranged in small groupings. A smoked glass table, set for two, stood between two of the chairs. Flowers. White linen napkins and place mats. Gleaming china and flatware.

“Madison.”

And coming toward her was Tariq, wearing a gray suit, white shirt, maroon tie … and, God, he was beautiful. So beautiful.

“Your highness.”

He smiled as he took her hand. “Surely we can dispense with such formality. Won’t you address me as Tariq?”

“Tariq,” she said, and wondered at the flutter of her pulse. He was very different today. Smiling, gracious, charming. Very different, this man who was the father of her child, the source of the sperm that had entered her.

Color flooded her cheeks. Quickly she withdrew her hand and searched for something to say.

“Thank you for the flowers. They were beautiful.”

“I’m glad you liked them. It was gracious of you to accept my apology.”

“Well, I think—I think we both were in shock yesterday.”

“I agree.” The plane’s engines had started; she could feel it moving. Tariq cupped her elbow. “Let’s sit down, shall we?”

He led her to the table, waited until she’d settled into one of the chairs.

“This is—this is lovely.”

“I’ve asked Yusuf to serve us once we’re at flying altitude but perhaps you’d like something to drink? Fruit juice? Water? Tea?”

“Nothing, thank you.”

The plane was still moving. Madison glanced out the window. They had turned onto a runway. Without warning, the little rush of apprehension came again.

“You know—you know, your highness—”

“Tariq.”

“Yes, of course. Tariq. I’ve been thinking about this lunch—”

“You’re thinking you should have said ‘no.’”

Madison looked at him. No smile, this time. No expression at all. A fist seemed to close around her heart but then his mouth curved in a smile.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he said softly. “This way, we can talk as long as we like and have the chance to get to know each other.”

“The flight to Boston’s less than an hour,” she said with an answering smile.

“I promise you, Madison, we’ll have all the time we need. Now, let’s have lunch.”

Iced Perrier, in crystal goblets. A clear broth. Scallops sautéed with asparagus. Blackberries and clotted cream. Mint tea for her, black coffee for him.

For him. For Tariq.

He was charming. Attentive. He was the man she’d met at the party, not the coldly contemptuous one who’d all but forced his way into her apartment last night.

And yet—and yet, something wasn’t right. Something hovered just beneath the sophisticated polish. Something dark and dangerous and yes, incredibly exciting, and why would he have felt it necessary to freeze his seed.

“What are you thinking?”

His voice was low and rough. Madison felt her face heat. She shook her head in denial.

“I wasn’t thinking anything in partic—”

“You were thinking, why did he arrange to give his sperm to FutureBorn?”

It was the topic they’d been discussing for two days now. Why blush over the words? But she wasn’t; she was blushing at the image, the hot, sexy image.

“You are entitled to an answer, Madison, and it is as I told you. I am the heir to the throne of my country. It was not always so—my brother was older by two years, and he would have become sultan on our father’s death.” A muscle knotted in his jaw; he raised a hand imperiously and Yusuf hurried to clear the table, then disappear into the galley. “But Sharif lost his life in an accident. He had not yet married … he left no heir.”

“And you? Why didn’t you marry?”

“I hadn’t wanted to,” Tariq said bluntly. “Not then … but Sharif’s death changed everything. I began searching for a wife.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “Believe me, I tried. It just didn’t happen. Too much pressure, perhaps, or perhaps the Karma’s been wrong. Whatever the reason, time was passing and I still had not taken a wife.”

“Yes, but you’re young.”

“Fate is no respecter of age,” he said quietly. “What happened to Sharif proved it. I kept thinking, what if something happened to me?” His eyes met hers. “Then I saw that program about FutureBorn.”

“The program I was on?”

He nodded. “At first, I saw only your beauty. And then I met you and—”

“I—I don’t want to talk about that night. It was a mistake.”

“The only mistake,” Tariq said huskily, “was letting you go.”

“No. It was the right thing to do. I didn’t want to get involved. I want … I want my own life. A career. A child.”

“But not a husband.”

“No.”

“A child needs a father.”

“Your highness. Tariq—”

“Let me be more explicit. My child needs a father.”

Madison felt the warning tingle again. “Look, I came here in good faith. You said we’d talk—”

“We are.” He rose, took her hand and drew her to her feet. “This child belongs to us both.”

“No. Yes.” God, he was confusing her. He was standing too close; she had to tip her head back to see his eyes and it made her dizzy, or maybe it was just his presence that made her dizzy. “We created this life, but I wanted it.”

“So did I,” he said grimly. “The only difference is, I wanted to choose my child’s mother.”

“I understand that. And I can’t change what happened but I’m willing to grant you certain rights.”

His lips drew back. Was that really supposed to be a smile?

“Will you, indeed, habiba?”

“You can visit six times a year.”

“How generous.”

His tone was flat. Madison wanted to step back but his hands were holding her elbows; she was trapped.

“You know, I don’t have to give you that many visits. I don’t have to give you any visits. So be grateful that I—”

“Grateful?” he said in a low growl.

“All right. That wasn’t quite the way to put it but—”

“Have you heard nothing I said? The child you carry, my child, will be heir to the throne of Dubaac.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“I am tired of arguing over something that is indisputable, Madison. I offered you a way out last night. Now, I offer it again. I will take you as my wife.”