Annie West - Sheikh's Royal Baby Revelation

Her nerveless hands twitched as memory flooded through her. Of channelling her fingers through hair so soft and thick it felt like a pelt. Of being careful to avoid the clotted blood of his head injury.

The twitch in her hands became a tremor. A shudder thundered through her as her heart crashed into her ribs.

Heat suffused her as she met gleaming eyes. Then a wash of icy cold as other memories battered her brain.

Kidnappers. Gunfire.

Her eyes prickled and she blinked rapidly. Tears came easily now—another thing her counsellor said was normal. Yet instinctively Tori tried to dam them.

She swayed. The floor seemed to ripple and the walls appeared to close around the man watching her so intently. Tori grabbed the back of a leather conference chair for support, fingers clawing.

There was no scarring on his face. Nothing to indicate he’d ever been brutalised or shot at. He wore a dark grey suit tailored by an expert. It rivalled anything in her father’s expensive wardrobe, and on this man’s rangy, powerful frame looked spectacular. A white shirt complemented his burnished skin and a perfectly knotted silk tie completed the image of urbane sophistication.

It couldn’t be. It was impossible. And yet...

‘I thought you were dead.’

It didn’t sound like her voice, so husky and uneven. Yet he understood. His eyes widened and something passed across his face.

‘Ah, that explains a lot.’

That voice! That deep, rich voice. She’d only heard him whisper before. They’d both kept their voices low so as not to attract the guards’ attention. His whispers had threaded through her dreams for over a year. How often had she woken from a nightmare or the occasional erotic dream with the sound of his voice in her head?

‘It is you?’

Tori wanted to touch him, to check for herself he was no mirage. But her limbs felt like blocks of basalt. All she could do was stand and stare.

‘It’s me, Tori.’

* * *

Ashraf stared down into her oval face and felt a wave of emotion tumble through him.

He’d searched for her so long, against impossible odds, when even the best investigators had advised him to give up. He recalled the moment he’d received news that she was alive. Alive and safe. Relief had been so intense, so powerful, that for a moment he’d found it difficult to breathe.

He’d been fully prepared for this meeting, and still reality was nothing like his expectation.

Seeing Tori in the flesh unsettled him profoundly.

Maybe it was her eyes. He’d wondered about their colour. Now he knew. Soft blue. The colour of the dainty yet hardy forget-me-nots that grew in Za’daq’s mountain valleys. Her gaze held his and he felt the bite of need, of hunger, of regret and a hundred emotions he wasn’t in the habit of feeling. Those lovely eyes shone over-bright and her lip quivered.

Deep inside something responded with an intensity that rocked him back on his heels. As if his feelings were engaged in a way that was totally unfamiliar.

He’d admired her in Za’daq. She’d been courageous and strong, hiding her fears. He’d found comfort and welcome oblivion in her lithe body.

But he hadn’t expected such a visceral reaction after all this time. He’d told himself danger had heightened their responses.

Ashraf registered the thunder of his pulse and the tingling in his blood that betrayed a surge of adrenaline. He wanted to touch her. More than touch her. He wanted—

He slammed a door on such thoughts. His reason for being here was too important for distraction. Despite other unexpected urges. To comfort and assure her. To protect her as he hadn’t been able to fifteen months ago.

Guilt sliced at the memory. But it was blunted by other emotions. Desire. Possessiveness, rampant and untrammelled.

Ashraf tunnelled his fists into his pockets and forced himself to stand his ground rather than close the space between them.

‘You need to sit. You’ve had a shock.’

She blinked up, eyes round and lips open as if she couldn’t get enough oxygen.

He knew the feeling. His lungs were labouring as if he were the one surprised. He hadn’t expected to feel—

Ashraf leaned past her, pulling out a high-backed chair from the table, and gestured for her to sit. She did, and he saw that even in extremity there was a familiar grace about her movements. He’d thought he’d imagined that, embellished his recollections of this woman with qualities she hadn’t actually possessed. He’d told himself guilt and regret had turned her in his mind into someone more remarkable than she really was.

Striving for emotional distance, he catalogued what he saw. She was the same as in the photos his investigators had sent. Yet she was more .

Regular features in a face that was long rather than round. Fine lips. Even finer eyes. Eyes that watched his every move with an intensity he felt as a sizzle in his veins. Even the faint shadows of tiredness didn’t mar her attractiveness. The hair he’d remembered as pale was platinum-blonde, pulled back and up in a chignon that left her face clear. But why would she hide those cheekbones? She wasn’t classically beautiful, yet he defied any man not to take a second look.

Even in a plain white blouse and black trousers Tori Nilsson drew the eye.

That explained his racing pulse. That and the intimate secret they shared.

For a second his attention lingered on those breasts, quickly rising and falling against her blouse. They seemed plumper than he remembered—

‘Can you sit, instead of towering over me?’

Ashraf huffed back laughter. There was the woman he remembered. Indomitable and practical. How lucky he’d been not to be stuck with a hysterical companion that night.

He pulled out a chair and sat knee to knee with her.

‘You’re really real.’

Slim fingers skimmed shakily over his cheek, down his freshly shaved jaw, and two things struck him.

First, no one these days ever touched him. He’d been busy in the last two years and it had been a long time since he’d had a lover. Plus his position meant that casual touching was out of the question.

Second, her hand shook. Perhaps he’d been unfair, confronting her like this with no warning. But he hadn’t known she’d believed him dead. If he’d realised...

No, even if he’d known he’d still have wanted to see her in person.

‘Yes. I’m real.’

He captured her hand, feeling the quick pulse throb at her wrist. At the same time he registered a hint of scent. Something sweet and enticing, slightly citrusy. It transported him to that night they’d been captives together. He couldn’t recall noticing it then, but at some subliminal level he must have. It both enticed and disturbed him, reminding him of how close they’d come to death, and how he’d allowed himself to weaken in this woman’s arms.

He released her hand and brushed her cheek with his knuckles. Satiny skin trembled at his touch and made his blood fizz.

He’d assumed his physical response to Tori had been fuelled by danger, by the knowledge that he might die. Was this just a hangover from that night? That had to be it.

But he wasn’t here for sex.

Ashraf dropped his hand and sat back.

* * *

‘How did you get away? I heard gunfire. I thought—’

Tori bit her lip, hearing the wobble in her voice. Clearly she’d thought wrong—so why was she upset? Seeing Ash again was a miracle. One she’d never dared hope for. Her reaction had to be due to shock.

‘You thought they’d shot me?’ His eyebrows rose and then he nodded. ‘I’m sure they wish they had. You heard security forces storming the camp. Qadri, the bandits’ leader, had just arrived. He was killed in the raid with several of his followers. The rest are serving time for various offences—including kidnap.’