Penny Jordan - The Sheikh's Baby

‘Come on, my beautiful baby,’ Mariella crooned lovingly to Fleur as she wrapped her up. ‘You and I are going—’

‘Nowhere!’

Turning round, white-faced and clutching Fleur protectively to her, Mariella glared at him. The fine cotton tee shirt was plastered to his very obviously still damp body and her skittering gaze slid helplessly downward to rest indiscreetly on the groin of his jeans at the same time as her heart came to rest against her chest wall in a massive breathtaking thud.

He was standing in the exit blocking her way, but infuriatingly, instead of registering this vitally important fact first, her senses seemed to be far too preoccupied with taking a personal inventory of the way he looked clothed and the way he had looked…before!

Reminding herself that she was an adult, mature businesswoman, well used to running her own life and making her own decisions, and not the sad female with her hormones running riot that she was currently doing a good impression of, she drew herself up to her full height and told him determinedly, ‘I am taking Fleur back to the city and there is no way you are going to stop me. And anyway, I can’t imagine why you would want us to stay after the way you have behaved! The things you have said!’

‘Want you to stay? No, I don’t!’ Xavier confirmed harshly. ‘But unfortunately you are going to have to, unless, of course, you want to condemn yourself and the baby to almost certain death.’

Mariella stared at him. What did he mean? Was he trying to threaten her? ‘We’re leaving,’ she repeated, making for the exit, and trying to ignore both the furious thud of her heart and the fact that he was standing in the way.

‘Are you mad? You’d be lucky to get above half a dozen miles before being buried in a sand drift. If you thought the wind coming here was bad, well, let me tell you that was nothing compared with what’s blowing up out there now!’

Mariella took a deep breath.

‘I’ve just been outside. There is no wind,’ she told him patiently, slowly spacing each word with immense care. ‘The storm is over.’

‘And you would know, of course, being an expert on desert weather conditions, no doubt. For your information, the reason that there was no wind, as you put it, is because we are, or rather we were in the eye of the storm. And anyone who knows anything about the desert would know that. Couldn’t you feel the stillness? Didn’t you notice the sand haze in the sky?’ The look he shot her could have lit tinder at fifty paces, Mariella recognised shakily.

‘You’re lying,’ she told him stubbornly, determined not to let him get the better of her. ‘You just want to keep us here because—’

When she stopped he looked derisively at her.

‘Yes. I want to keep you here because what?’

Because you know how dangerously much I want you, a treacherous little voice whispered insidiously inside Mariella’s head, and you feel the same way.

Shuddering, she pushed her thoughts back into the realms of reality—and safety.

‘You’re lying,’ she repeated doggedly, eyeing the exit rebelliously.

‘Am I?’ Moving to one side, he swept back the tent flap so that she could see outside.

The palms were bending so much beneath the strength of the wind that their fronds were brushing the sand.

As she stared in disbelief Mariella could hear the strength of the wind increasing until it whistled eerily around the oasis, physically hurting her ears.

Out of nowhere it whipped up huge spirals of sand, making them dance in front of her. She could hardly see the sun or differentiate any longer between sand and sky.

Disbelievingly she took a step outside and cried out in shock as she was almost lifted off her feet when the wind punched into her. In her arms, Fleur screamed and was immediately removed to the protection of a much stronger and safer pair as Xavier snatched Fleur from her.

The thought of what would have happened to them if they had been caught in the open desert in such conditions drove the colour from Mariella’s face.

‘Now do you believe me?’ Xavier demanded grimly when they were both back inside and he had secured the tent flap.

Reaching out to take Fleur from him, Mariella, whose fingers had inadvertently come into contact with the damp heat of his tee-shirt-clad chest, withdrew her hand so fast she almost lost her balance.

Immediately Xavier gripped her arm to steady her, supporting whilst he did so, so that it looked almost as though he were embracing them both, holding them both safe.

Against all rationality, given what she knew about him, Mariella discovered that her eyes were burning with emotional tears. She should be crying, she acknowledged grimly, for her own stupidity in allowing her emotions to be aroused so much for so little real reason! Pulling back from him, she demanded, ‘Just how long is this storm going to last?’

‘At least twenty-four hours, perhaps longer. Since the storm is making it impossible to receive any kind of communication signal, it is impossible to know. Such storms are rare at this time of year, but when they do occur they are both unpredictable and fierce.’

As was Xavier himself, Mariella decided as she took Fleur from him.

GETTING UP FROM the bed where she had been lying reading one of the research books she had brought to Zuran with her, Mariella went to check on Fleur.

A brief glance at her watch showed her that it was nearly eight p.m. Fleur was awake but obviously quite content, and happy to oblige when Mariella checked her mouth to look at the small pearly white tooth just beginning to appear. Her face was still a little bit swollen and flushed, but the paracetamol seemed to have eased the pain she had suffered the previous night.

Mariella had retreated to ‘her bedroom’ late in the afternoon, desperate to escape from the highly charged atmosphere in the main living area.

It had become impossible for her to look at Xavier without imagining him as he had been earlier: naked…male.

He had retrieved the things she had carried out to the four-wheel drive and put them back in the bedroom, and when Mariella had come across a sketch-book and pencils she had forgotten she had brought, along with her book, she had fallen on the book with a surge of relief.

Apart from the fact that she genuinely found the subject interesting, it gave her a perfect excuse to distance herself from Xavier, who had been busily working on his laptop.

On the pretext of Fleur needing a nap she had come into the sleeping quarters and had remained there ever since.

A thorough understanding of anatomy was essential for any painter in her type of field, and she had quickly become totally engrossed in trying to trace the development of the modern-day racehorse from the original Arabian bloodstock.

As Kate had said, the potential commission from the prince was indeed a prestigious one.

Picking up her sketch-book, Mariella started to work. Those incredible muscles that powered every movement…Her pencil flew over the paper, her absorption in what she was doing only broken when Fleur started to demand her attention.

Smiling, she discarded the sketch-book and then frowned sharply as she looked at what she had done, her face burning mortifying and disbelieving scarlet.

How on earth had that happened? How on earth had she managed to sketch, not a horse, but a man…Xavier…Xavier, swimming, Xavier standing, Xavier: his body lean and naked, clean-muscled and powerful.

Guiltily, Mariella flipped over the page. Fleur was blowing kisses at her and becoming increasingly vociferous.

Tucking the sketch-pad safely out of sight, Mariella went to her and picked her up, fastening her into her car seat and then carrying her into the kitchen.