His dark, deepset eyes narrowed, black eyelashes glinting. ‘Yes. Would you like something to eat now?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘I am worried about the amount of weight you have lost, and so is the doctor,’ he reminded her gently.
‘Feeling sick all the time makes for a very effective diet. Have you eaten yet?’
‘I have been so troubled about you that I haven’t even felt hungry,’ Shahir confided.
Her green eyes clung to his lean strong face and she sighed. ‘All right. I get the message. I will try to eat.’
She managed a small meal, and even savoured half of a chocolate mousse before drifting off to sleep again.
Somewhere in the middle of the night she wakened. A shaded lamp shed light into the corner of the room. Shahir was sprawled in a chair by the bed, and she studied him with admiring eyes. A dark shadow of blue-black stubble roughened his jawline and emphasised the beautiful curve of his expressive masculine mouth.
‘Why are you still here?’ she whispered, amazed that he had not left her to the care of the medical staff.
Angling his proud head back, Shahir rested dark-as-midnight eyes on her, his surprise at the question unconcealed. ‘Where else would I be? You’re my bride, and this is our wedding night.’
Kirsten was stunned by that response. She had expected him to say something about his duty of care towards her and the child she carried, or to mention the risk of her going into premature labour. ‘I’d forgotten that…’
‘I hadn’t.’ He stretched out a hand and enclosed her fingers in his. ‘Go back to sleep.’
Even badly in need of a shave he looked quite astoundingly good-looking. ‘Yes, boss.’
He laughed softly, sexily. ‘I like the sound of that.’
‘I should’ve known you’d take it the wrong way,’ she groaned. ‘Will you see that Squeak is looked after?’
‘Our staff will take care of him.’
‘But he’ll be lost without me,’ Kirsten pointed out anxiously.
‘I will personally check that Squeak is OK. How long has he been with you?’
‘My mother gave him to me as a puppy, when I was nine years old. He’s thirteen now,’ she shared.
‘A venerable age. Now, stop worrying.’
Over the following five days it slowly sank in on Kirsten that she had no choice other than to be ultra-careful for what remained of her pregnancy.
‘When will we be flying out to Dhemen?’ she asked Shahir.
‘It would be most unwise for us to attempt the journey now. I am resigned to remaining in London until after the birth,’ he countered, with a wry shrug of acceptance. ‘It is imperative that you rest. Every day that our child stays in your womb makes him or her stronger, though you will find such inactivity frustrating.’
But Kirsten knew that she would only have to live with those limitations for a matter of weeks, and she was willing to do anything that would help her baby to be born safely and in good health. ‘Whatever it takes…Will I have to remain here in the clinic?’
His dark golden eyes were grave. ‘No. If you promise to be sensible, you can stay in our London apartment. Nurses will be engaged to care for you.’
‘I’ll be sensible,’ she swore.
Thirty-six hours later, Kirsten left the clinic and was installed in the penthouse apartment, where she enjoyed a rapturous reunion with Squeak and met the first of the three nurses engaged to watch over her in shifts.
The apartment was very large indeed, and furnished for slick city living with not an antique or a traditional rug insight. Kirsten was soon ensconced in an opulent divan in a vast bedroom which enjoyed a spectacular view of the Thames.
Mid-morning, several large lingerie boxes were delivered. The boxes contained a selection of pure silk and lace nightwear in her favourite pastel shades, and a hand-signed gift card from Shahir. Encouraged by the nurse looking after her, she immediately donned a pale green nightdress with a matching jacke
t, and submitted to having her hair brushed for his promised visit at lunchtime.