CHAPTER FIVE
ASHRAFLAYONhis back, staring through the gloom at the bedroom ceiling, and berated himself for his impatience. Being Sheikh often meant holding his tongue and waiting for the right moment to act, persuading people to accept his plans rather than forcing them to follow. Especially since in Za’daq his reputation as both a profligate playboy and his father’s all but ignored son meant he battled prejudice and mistrust.
He was used to that. Was used to exerting patience as well as an iron will that stopped his father’s old cronies from undermining him too blatantly.
But when Tori had asked what he wanted he hadn’t been his usual composed self. He’d been holding his child in his arms for the first time, had felt the uprush of an emotion that nothing had prepared him for. In that moment he’d wanted never to let Oliver go. To ensure his life was better than Ashraf’s had been.
Plus there’d been the sight of Tori in her plain white blouse, the buttons done up askew in her haste, tendrils of moonlight-pale hair drifting loose to frame her beguiling face. His heart had whacked his ribs in a rhythm of need, want and determination.
He’d realised his error in the split second it had taken her expression to close at the idea of marriage and Za’daq.
Now, here he lay, sleepless, seeking the winning argument to overcome her doubts and persuade her to accept what he offered. What was clearly best for their son.
Tori’s refusal was a salutary lesson against complacency. He was accustomed to eager women, not women regarding him with suspicion. She probably thought marriage to a sheikh meant she’d be walled up in an old-fashioned harem.
His mouth rucked up at one side. The idea had some appeal. Tori available at his beck and call, reclining with an inviting smile on silk sheets... Heat threaded through his veins and gathered in his groin.
He shifted restlessly. Right now he could be lying in a king-sized bed in the exclusive suite that took up the top floor of Perth’s most prestigious hotel. Instead he lay on the carpeted floor of Oliver’s room.
Ashraf grunted and rolled onto his side. It was his fault for not treading carefully. For spooking Tori with his abrupt announcement. They’d discussed the matter through the dinner he’d had delivered to her home, and afterwards. But despite her attempt to appear calm he’d read her tension, and the fear he’d done his best to diffuse.
Finally, seeing tiredness in her slumping shoulders, he’d insisted she sleep. But he hadn’t been able to leave for his luxury accommodation. It was too soon. He’d just found Oliver, and Tori, and something inside had screeched a protest at the idea of leaving them.
So he’d suggested sleeping on the sofa and Tori had eventually agreed, perhaps because she’d realised she hadn’t a hope of shifting him. Apparently Oliver was teething—something Ashraf hadn’t even known was a thing—and Tori had admitted broken sleep was taking its toll.
Another reason for him to remain. Tori’s refusal to accept the logic of his plan was a nuisance, but seeing her exhausted had made him protective.
As soon as she’d checked on Oliver and gone to her own room Ashraf had taken the bedding she’d put on the too-short sofa and spread it on the floor beside the cot. He’d slept in worse places on army manoeuvres. Besides, this might remind him to think before he spoke.
A cry sounded from the cot and Ashraf shot to his feet. Flicking on the lamp, he peered down to find Oliver’s face screwed up and turning red.
Ashraf slipped his hand beneath his squirming son and lifted him to his chest. The baby felt almost familiar this time, his nestling warmth both comforting and a reminder of how scarily fragile he was.
Ashraf inhaled the smell of talc and baby that in a few short hours had become so satisfying. He stilled his thoughts, focusing on the moment. On the wonder of his child, flesh of his flesh. The promise of a fulfilling long life ahead. A life Ashraf was determined to share.
A couple of hours earlier he’d persuaded Oliver back to sleep with gentle words, rocking and a pain-relieving gel rubbed onto his gums. This time he suspected Oliver wouldn’t be so easily settled.
Ashraf paced the room, gentling the fractious baby, murmuring soothing words in his own tongue. He wanted to win Tori a little more sleep. The sight of the smudges of tiredness beneath her eyes had made him feel wrong-footed, steaming in and demanding she upend her life to move to Za’daq.
Except that Tori marrying him, creating a family for Oliver and allowing their child to grow up in the country he’d one day rule, was the most important thing. Ashraf’s experience as an unwanted child, ostracised by his own father, made him determined to ensure Oliverbelonged. That he was accepted and given every opportunity to shine.
He’d do whatever it took to persuade Tori, for Oliver’s sake.
* * *
Tori opened the door and felt her jaw drop. She’d been barely thinking as she’d pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed, blearily acting on instinct when she’d heard Oliver cry. Now she was fully awake, and staring.
Ash... Ashraf...filled the room, tall, athletically built and almost naked. His wide shoulders and bare back gleamed, a symphony of muscle overlaid with burnished satin skin. Tori’s throat closed as her gaze tracked his spine, moved down long, powerful legs, then up to navy underwear that clung to rounded buttocks. Near his feet lay the pillow and bedding she’d put on the sofa.
He’d slept on Oliver’s floor.
The idea stunned her as much as the sight of Ashraf, overwhelmingly virile and masculine, in her private space.
Then there was the way he rocked from side to side, cradling Oliver against his shoulder. Ashraf’s voice was a soft, deep hum as he sang a lullaby in a language she didn’t understand. It didn’t seem to be working on Oliver, who still fretted. But it worked on her. Tori swayed and reached for the doorjamb to prop herself up, her insides turning to mush at the combination of supercharged sexy male and breath-stealing tenderness.
For a dangerous moment she let herself imagine what it would be like if they were a real family—not as Ashraf suggested, for convenience, but because they loved—
No. She wasn’t going there. She’d got this far as a single mother and knew she could manage it. Dreams were all well and good but she couldn’t confuse them with reality.