Сандра Мартон – Pleasure: The Sheikh's Defiant Bride (страница 10)
Madison Whitney was not in his BlackBerry.
Tariq frowned as he worked a dollop of shampoo through his hair.
Damn right, she wasn’t. What man in his right mind would want to be with a female who could turn on and off like a lightbulb?
She was a cold piece of work … except, she had been hot with passion when he’d held her in his arms and kissed her, hot with passion when he’d dreamed of her, and this morning, when he’d conjured her up, imagined taking her, entering her, hearing her cry out as he brought her to completion. “Hell!”
Tariq turned the water to cold, shivered under the icy needles, then shut off the shower and stepped out of it.
Was he crazy, getting turned on by a memory? By a woman who had teased him almost to the point of no return?
No. He was just frustrated. A healthy male who went without sex for too long was asking for trouble—and nobody could call this morning’s medical exercise “sex.” Fine. He was going to change that right—The telephone rang as he was zipping up a pair of chinos. Let his voice mail take it. But the caller disconnected; in seconds, the phone rang again. And again. Tariq cursed and grabbed for it. “Hello,” he barked, and this had better be—” “Your highness!”
The attorney. Tariq sighed. “What is it, Strickland? Did you think of another fifty pages I should have signed this morning?”
“Not that, your … I … with … twenty minutes ago—knew that—and so—”
“Strickland, are you on your cell? You’re breaking up.” “—yes—t-tunnel—spoke with—and nobody can explain—” “Damn it, John, I can’t hear you. Call me when you get home. Better still, wait until tomorrow and phone me at my—” Suddenly the transmission cleared.
“Something went wrong with your donation,” Strickland said, his voice as clear as if he were in the room.
Tariq sat down on the bed.
“Don’t tell me I have to undergo that procedure all over again.”
“No, sir. It’s nothing like that. The problem wasn’t with the procedure.”
“What, then?”
There was a silence. Had the connection been lost again? No. He could hear Strickland breathing.
“Damn it, man, speak up!”
“Your donation was couriered to the FutureBorn laboratory, sir. Exactly as planned.”
“And?”
“And—and at that point, it should have gone into storage. Instead it was—it was sent out.”
Sent out? Tariq had a wild image of that damnable little vial, out for an evening on the town. Laughable, except for the sudden chill working its way down his spine.
“Sent out where?” he said, very softly.
“To an office. A doctor’s office.”
“Well, get it back!”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, your highness. It’s been—it’s been used.”
“Used?”
“Yes, sir. Given to a—a recipient.”
“You mean,” Tariq said carefully, “you mean that some woman has been impregnated with my sperm?”
“Inseminated, sir. It would be premature to say she’s been—”
“How in hell could such a thing happen?”
“I don’t know, your highness.”
Tariq’s head was spinning. Somewhere in the vast city, a part of him had entered the womb of a stranger. If she became pregnant, if she bore a child.
“Who is she?”
“Sir. With all due respect—”
“Who is she, Strickland?”
“Your highness, there are issues of privacy here. Until I can research them—”
“Privacy?” Tariq roared, as he shot to his feet. “Some woman I’ve never even laid eyes on is carrying my seed and you’re worried about
There was silence. Then Strickland cleared his throat.
“Her name,” he said, “her name is Madison Whitney.”
Tariq had heard that a man’s vision went red with rage.
A lie.
If anything, his took on a brilliant clarity. He could see Madison Whitney as if she were standing in front of him. That coldly beautiful face, her contempt for him glittering in her eyes.
Impossible. Strickland had her name wrong. Or there was another Madison Whitney in New York.
Strickland erased those possibilities. Tariq’s seed had been, as he delicately put it, “misdirected and utilized.” Utilized by the very woman whose image had made Tariq’s “donation” possible.
The irony was inescapable. And, all at once, so was a far darker possibility.
“She is a vice president at FutureBorn,” Tariq said sharply.
“Yes.”
“Perhaps she did this deliberately.”
“Your highness—”
“If she knew what I intended to do—”
“Sir, it’s not very likely that—”
“She would also know who I am. That I am a man of considerable wealth and—”
“And what, sir? What possible benefit could she see in it? Even if the procedure she underwent worked—and there’s no guarantee it did—having your child to get at your money is a bit far-fetched—if you’ll pardon me for saying so.”
Tariq rubbed his forehead, where an entire assortment of percussionists seemed to have set out their drums.
“Additionally, your highness, it seems the woman had been planning this for some time. She had already selected a donor.”
“A man she knows?” Tariq asked sharply, though why that should matter made no sense.
“She opted for an anonymous donor, sir.”
Tariq closed his eyes while Strickland went on talking.
“I’ll begin checking the grounds on which we’ll sue, and—”
“Is that your best legal advice? That I should sue and let the entire world laugh?”
“The woman might choose to sue, even if you don’t.”
Could this nightmare get worse?
“Thus far, no one has told her of your involvement. It might not please her, any more than it pleases you.”
“I am a prince,” Tariq said imperiously. Later, he would recall those words and wince.
“Your highness. For now, the best option might be to do nothing.”