Bound to the Sheikh & The Sheikh's Secret Baby by Clare Connelly

Author:Clare Connelly [Connelly, Clare]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-01-05T05:00:00+00:00

3

“Abi, wait,” he put an arm out to still her, when she would have attempted to push away from him.

Her body was wracked with silent tears.

“What for?” She demanded, unable to look at him. “You’ve got what you wanted. What more is there to say or do?”

Horror was a pit in his chest. “Many things,” he assured her. “You wanted that too. I know you did.”

She sobbed loudly now. “Yes, I did. I shouldn’t have, but I did.”

It was something. A reason for some relief. But not enough. “Stay tonight. Stay with me.”

“Here?” She demanded, dashing her tears away. “In the room for palace whores?”

His face blanched. What the hell had he been thinking, bringing her to this room and then throwing it in her face? Had he been trying to distress her by throwing her status in her face?

“No,” he denied hoarsely. “In my room. Stay with me. It is one night.”

She shook her head. Too much had happened already that never should have been allowed. She’d wanted memories and all she’d done was remind herself of the agony of their impossibility. “I have to go. My flight is in the morning.”

“Your … your flight?” The panic inside of him was growing. “You can’t leave already.”

“I have to,” she pushed at his chest so that she could stand up from the bed. Muscles that had long since been forgotten were aching inside of her now.

“I need to know more about you. Your life.”

“To what end?” She whispered, pulling her lacy underwear on. Had she chosen them because she’d hoped this might happen? Had the possibility of intimacy been at the back of her mind even when she’d been coming to tell him about their son? How she hated herself for this weakness! “Nothing good can come of that. You’re better to forget all about me. You’re getting married.” And now the tears began to flow faster and her breathing became laboured. She held a hand to her chest and spun away from him. “Please just … give me … what I came for … and let me go.”

He stared at her back, shaking as it was from the force of her tears, and he longed to comfort her. “Your money?” He said darkly, his whole chest squeezing.

She nodded. “And I need my passport. Your henchmen took it when I came through security.”

He might have smiled at her description under different circumstances. “What do you need it for?”

She bit down on her lip. The admission she’d carried on her shoulders and in her heart died on her tongue. We have a son, and he’s very, very sick. How could she tell him the truth? The man who’d taught her about love and desire and left her for his country and his fiancé? The man who had a country at his feet and all the power of his military and his wealth? The man who thought so little of her that he could bring her to a room designed purely for sex with disposable women?

“Abigail?”

She startled.

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