Кейт Хьюит – Sheikh's Convenient Marriage (страница 12)

‘What kind of a favour?’ asked Sara.

‘Just that if my brother calls and asks if we’re having a good time together, you tell him yes.’

‘I think it’s unlikely that your brother will call me himself,’ said Sara drily. ‘Is there something going on, Leila? And does that something have to do with a man?’

‘How did you guess?’

‘Because with most of my girlfriends, it’s usually a man,’ answered Sara with a wry tone. ‘Don’t suppose it’s anyone I know?’

Leila hesitated. In a way she was wary of saying anything, but part of her wanted to blurt it out. ‘Actually, you do. You used to work for him and he came to your wedding.’

There was a long silence. ‘I hope you don’t mean Gabe Steel?’ said Sara, her voice low and disbelieving.

‘That’s exactly who I mean.’ Leila could feel a skitter of panic washing over her skin. ‘Why, what’s the matter with him?’

‘There’s nothing the matter with him—that’s the trouble. Just about every woman in London is or has been in love with him at some point. He’s gorgeous, but he’s a heartbreaker, Leila—and my advice is to stay away from him.’

It’s too late for that now.

‘I can’t,’ said Leila slowly. ‘Will you cover for me, Sara?’

Sara’s sigh came heaving down the phone. ‘Okay, I’ll cover for you—just so long as you promise me you won’t do anything stupid.’

I already have, thought Leila, but she injected a breezy note into her voice.

‘I promise,’ she said as she put the phone down.

She could hear the sound of the room-service trolleys being trundled along the corridor towards the rooms of her retinue. Praying that their attention would be occupied by the novelty of eating Western food and that they would eat too much of it, she settled down to wait.

Shortly before ten, she allowed her servants into the room to turn down the bed and generally fuss around while she did a lot of exaggerated yawning.

The next few hours seemed to tick by with agonising slowness but Leila was too strung out to be sleepy, despite her long flight. Just before two o’clock she dressed and slipped on her raincoat and peered outside her room to find the corridor empty. With a surreptitiousness which was becoming second nature, she took the lift down into the empty foyer and walked straight outside to where Gabe’s car was waiting.

Her heart was hammering as the plush vehicle whisked her through the darkened streets of London, before coming to a halt outside a looming tower of gleaming glass which overlooked the wide and glittering band of the river Thames.

And there was Gabe, waiting for her.

The pale moonlight illuminated his features, which were unsmiling and tense. As the vehicle drew to a halt she could see that he was wearing faded jeans and a sweater which hugged his honed torso and powerful arms. He looked shockingly sexy in a rock-star kind of way and that only added to Leila’s feelings of discomfiture. As he bent to open the car door his eyes looked as forbidding as a frozen lake which had just been classified as unsafe.

Her mouth felt dry. Her legs were unsteady as his narrowed gaze raked over her. How was she going to go through with this?

‘Hello, Leila,’ he said, almost pleasantly—and she realised he was doing it again, just as he’d done on the night of the banquet. His civilised words were sending out one message while his eyes glittered out something completely different.

‘Shall we go inside?’

Glass doors slid silently open to let them inside the apartment block. She was aware of a vast foyer with a jungle of elaborate plants. A man sitting reading by lamplight at a desk seemed to show surprise when he saw her walking in beside the tycoon with the dark golden hair. Or maybe she was imagining that bit.

But she certainly wasn’t imagining Gabe’s detached manner as they rode in one of the glass elevators towards the top of the tall building. She might as well have been travelling with a statue for all the notice he took of her, but unfortunately she wasn’t similarly immune.

She tried to look somewhere—anywhere—but he filled her line of vision in his sexy, off-duty clothes. Her gaze stayed fixed determinedly on his chest for she didn’t dare lift it to his face. She tried to concentrate on the steady rise and fall of his breathing instead of giving in to the darkly erotic thoughts which were crowding into her mind. He didn’t want her—he couldn’t have made that more clear. Yet all she could think about was the way his hands had slid round her waist when he’d still been deep inside her, the spasms dying away as he’d pumped out the last of his seed.

His seed.

The elevator stopped, the doors opened and Leila stepped out—straight into a room which momentarily took her breath away. An entire wall consisted of windows which commanded a breathtaking view of the night-time city, where stars twinkled and skyscrapers gleamed. The floors were polished and the furniture was minimalist and sleek. It was nothing like the ancient palace she called home and she felt as if she had walked into a strange new world.

For a moment she just stood and stared out of the windows. She could see the illuminated dome of St Paul’s Cathedral and moonlight glittering on the river Thames. There was the sharp outline of the Shard and the pleasing circle of the London Eye. For years she had longed to come here, but never like this—because now she was seeing the famous city through the distorted lens of fear.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.

Leila allowed herself a moment of fantasy that this was a normal date between two people who had been lovers. How would that work? Would he open champagne and let her drink some before taking the glass from her hand and kissing her? Was that how he usually operated? Probably not at two in the morning when his night was being disturbed by a woman he was indifferent to...

For a moment she wondered what she might have done in this situation if she’d been a normal, Western woman—with all the freedoms that those women seemed to take for granted. There would have been no need for her to behave like this. Moving around under cover of darkness. Having to throw herself on the mercy of someone who didn’t want her...

‘No, I don’t want a drink, thanks,’ she said. ‘That’s not why I’m here.’

‘Then why don’t you sit down,’ he suggested, ‘and tell me why you are?’

She sank onto a leather sofa which was more comfortable than it looked. ‘Look, there’s no easy way to say this—and I know it’s going to come as a shock, but I think I’m pregnant.’

For a moment Gabe didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. It was a long time since he had felt fear, but he felt it now. It was there in the hard beat of his heart and the icy prickle of his skin. And along with fear came anger. The sense that something was happening to him which was outside his control—and hadn’t he vowed a long time ago never to let that happen to him again?

Yet on some instinctive and fundamental level, her words were not as shocking as she had suggested. Because hadn’t he already guessed what she was going to say? Why else would she have pursued him like this across thousands of miles? She was a desert princess and surely someone like her wouldn’t normally seek out a man who’d shown her nothing but coldness, no matter how much she had enjoyed the sex.

But none of his thoughts showed in his face. He had been a survivor for too long to react to her dramatic words—at least, not straight away. He had spent his life perfecting this cool and impenetrable mask and now was not the time to let it slip. He studied her shadowed eyes and seized on the words which offered most hope. The only hope.

‘You only think you’re pregnant?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, but I’m pretty sure. I’ve been sick and my...’

Her words tailed off, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to say the next bit, but Gabe was in no mood to help her out—and certainly in no mood to tiptoe around her sensibilities. Because this was the woman who had disguised herself. Who had burst into his suite and come on to him without bothering to tell him who she was. She might have been a virgin but she certainly hadn’t acted like one—and he was damned if he was going to let her play the shy and sensitive card now. Not when she was threatening to disrupt the ordered calm of his life. Disrupt it? She was threatening to blow it apart.

He felt a sudden flare of rage. ‘Your what?’ he prompted icily.

‘My period is late!’ she burst out, her cheeks suddenly turning red.

‘But you haven’t done a pregnancy test?’

‘Funnily enough, no.’ She bit her lip. ‘It’s not exactly easy for me to slip into a chemist back home to buy myself a kit. Somebody might recognise me.’

He wanted to say, You should have thought of that before you let me strip you naked and lead you to my bed. But he was culpable too, wasn’t he? He had deflected the advances of women before and it had never been a problem. So why hadn’t he sent this one on her way? Why hadn’t he read any of the glaring clues which had warned him she was trouble? Had the subterfuge of her disguise and the fact that she was being pursued by bodyguards turned him on? Brought colourful fantasy into a life which was usually so cool and ordered?