Prince Nadir's Secret Heir(13)

                Nadir leaned forward and spoke to his driver again and instantly the big car slowed.

                ‘My apartment is close by. And it is you who has misunderstood me, Imogen. We have to talk and a few minutes isn’t even going to cover the first topic.’

                Imogen narrowed her eyes. ‘I don’t see why. I did what you wanted fourteen months ago and disappeared from your sight so I don’t understand what you want with me now.’

                His sculptured lips thinned into a grim line. ‘You did disappear, I’ll give you that. And you still haven’t told me her name.’

                Her name? Imogen lowered her gaze to the safety of her daughter’s head. No way could she reveal her name. No way did she want to see this man who had once meant so much to her mock her for her sentimentality. Maybe even pity her. At the time she’d named her she’d been feeling particularly sorry for herself and hopelessly alone. The three-day blues they called the come down from the emotional high some women experienced after giving birth. Now she wished she’d named her Meredith or Jessica—or any name other than the one she had.

                Fortunately the car pulled up at the kerb before she had to answer and, feeling sick, she followed Nadir as he strode through the large foyer of his building with a bronzed water feature at one end and a smartly dressed concierge at the other.

                ‘When did you move to London?’ she asked, suddenly wondering if they had been living in the same city the whole time.

                ‘I didn’t.’ He stabbed at the button to call the lift and she remembered that of course he had apartments in most of the major financial centres in the world.

                Casting a quick glance around his beautifully appointed living room, she inwardly shook her head at the absurd difference in their lifestyles. Of course she’d known that he was wealthy when she’d met him—her fellow dancers had informed her as to whom he was—but, apart from his outrageously divine apartment on the Île Saint-Louis, their time together had been incredibly normal. Nights in bed, mornings at the local patisserie, afternoons strolling or jogging along the Seine. More time in bed.

                Shaking off the rush of memories, she headed straight for a set of plush sofas and laid Nadeena on one. Glancing back at Nadir, she asked him to hand her the baby bag he’d carried up and checked Nadeena’s nappy while he stood beside her.

                Of course Nadeena went quiet in that moment. Her big, curious eyes riveted to Nadir, as most other females were when they first clapped eyes on him. She blinked as if trying to clear her vision and a small frown formed between her round silvery-blue eyes.

                ‘She has my eyes,’ he said hoarsely.

                The sense of awe in his voice was hard to miss and an unexpected swell of emotions surged inside Imogen’s chest. Emotions that were so twisted together they were too difficult to define.

                ‘Here you go, little one.’ She lifted Nadeena into her arms and settled her back in the crook of her shoulder, silently willing her not to complain. Then she glanced at Nadir. ‘I need to feed her.’

                Nadir waved his hand negligently. ‘Go ahead.’

                Imogen moistened her lips. ‘I’d like some privacy.’

                He paused and Imogen was sure her cheeks turned scarlet.

                ‘You breastfeed?’

                Even though she had breastfed in cafés and parks and not blinked an eye before, this moment, in a quiet living room with a man she had once believed she had fallen in love with felt far too intimate. His continued perusal sent another frisson of unwelcome awareness zipping through her. ‘Yes.’