It was no good. She couldn’t sit here, pretending this was some polite catch-up with an old acquaintance. The rising burble of her emotions was too unsettling.
‘Excuse me.’ Tori shot to her feet and paced shakily to the wall of glass. She sensed rather than heard him come up behind her.
‘I realise this is overwhelming.’
Tori nodded. She felt as if she’d stepped into a different reality. One where people came back from the dead and where handsome princes mingled with ordinary people.
‘Imagine how I felt when I discovered you’d survived. And that you’d had my child.’
Ashraf’s voice was low, a caress that tickled her flesh and tightened her nipples. Even after the reality of childbirth and six months of single motherhood, there was something seductively intimate about the way he spoke about her having his baby.
In the window she saw his reflection over her shoulder. His face was sombre, and it struck her for the first time that she wasn’t the only one dealing with shock.
She turned to him. ‘So where does that leave us?’
He didn’t hesitate. ‘I want to see Oliver. As soon as possible.’
Naturally. She looked at her watch. It was getting late. ‘There’s a report I have to complete today. It should only take me another hour.’
Ashraf considered her assessingly. Was he insulted because she didn’t instantly jump to do his bidding? Did royal sheikhs ever have to wait for anything?
But he merely nodded. ‘An hour, then.’
* * *
Two hours later Ashraf paced the sitting room of Tori’s small villa, battling impatience and what felt remarkably like nerves.
After sleeping on their way home from the crèche Oliver, his son, had begun to fidget as soon as they’d entered. Ashraf had been torn between the need to reach for the child and wariness because he knew nothing about babies. Except that they were tiny, fragile and totally foreign to his world.
Oliver—the more he used the name, the more he’d get used to it—made him feel too big and clumsy to be trusted with a fragile new life.
Yet none of that had prevented the immediate visceral connection he’d felt. He’d seen a tiny fist wave, caught the gleam of bright dark eyes, and felt emotion pound through his diaphragm strong as a knockout punch.
His son. His flesh and blood.
He’d missed seeing Tori grow big with his baby. He’d missed six months of his child’s life. Precious months he could never get back. He had so much to catch up on. So much to learn and experience. And to give. Ashraf would ensure Oliver had the things he’d never had. Paternal love. Tenderness. Trust. Encouragement.
Ashraf would be involved in his son’s life. In a positive way.
For a fleeting few seconds it hit him how much his own father had missed by distancing himself from his younger son. By choosing hate and distrust.
But he’d had Ashraf’s other brother, Karim. Not that the old man had loved Karim either. Ashraf doubted their father had been capable of love. But he’d taken an interest, encouraged Karim and crowed over his elder son’s successes.
A high-pitched grizzle cut into Ashraf’s thoughts like an alarm signal resonating through his body. Was something wrong with Oliver?
Fifteen minutes ago Tori had led the way to a small white and yellow room with a cot, a rocking chair and a low bookcase littered with toy animals and little books made of boards. A mat on the floor looked like a farm, with more friendly-faced animals.
Ashraf had never felt so out of place. Especially when Tori had lifted their son high and he’d seen how tiny the mite was without his covering blanket. She’d cast a harried glance at him over her shoulder and suggested he make himself comfortable in the other room while she changed Oliver.
Reluctantly Ashraf had complied. He was curious about the boy but he knew he’d have to give Tori space. He’d thrown a live grenade into her world with his appearance today. He guessed she’d battled traumatic memories since the moment she saw him.
Ashraf frowned. Was it too much to expect her to be pleased to see him? He was used to delighted women...eager women.
For his part, he’d seen her and instantly been swamped with the need for more. The attraction between them might have started as the product of mortal danger, but it was there still, stronger by the moment.
Then he recalled her breathless reaction when he’d held her hand, the tell-tale tremble and the flutter of long lashes over soft blue eyes. She might not have wanted to feel it but she’d been attracted.
He glanced at his watch. How long did it take to change a nappy? They had things to discuss. He wanted to know his son. He’d allowed her time, even permitted her to stay at work and finish off the project she was so worried about. As if he, Ashraf al Rashid, was of negligible importance.