Prince Nadir's Secret Heir(26)

                She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. It didn’t make sense that he could still make her heart jump just by looking at her and her body throb for more with one touch. How could a man who was a veritable stranger and who totally disregarded her needs and desires still affect her so intensely?

                He shouldn’t be able to. That was the logical answer. Back in Paris, yes. Back then her mother had just died and her absent father had remarried a month later and Imogen had been looking for a change. She’d been looking for excitement and adventure. She’d been looking for passion.

                She pulled a rueful face.

                Maybe this was just a case of being careful what you wished for.

                Because she’d got it, hadn’t she. The excitement. The adventure. The passion. She’d got it in the form of a man who had awakened a hunger in her she hadn’t even realised she’d possessed and who had given her a child. The child she loved. The child she could deal with. The man not so much. Especially not when he kissed her. When he touched her.

                So she’d just have to be ready the next time and make sure he didn’t get that close. And maybe he wouldn’t try and touch her again because, although he had been as aroused as she had been, he hadn’t wanted to desire her any more than she did him.

                She watched her daughter stacking wooden blocks together on the floor in front of her and tried not to feel so anxious. She had to trust that even now Nadir was reconsidering his outrageous proposition—because surely no one would call ‘You will marry me’ a proposal. That even now he was trying to come up with a way to bow out of it gracefully.

                And if he wasn’t, well, Imogen had a plan. She would sit down with him over a cup of tea and she would go over all the information she had downloaded in a calm and rational manner. She’d point out, in the nicest possible way, that if his actions were motivated by some sort of guilt—or attack of conscience—then he could rest easy because she didn’t need him in her life and she certainly didn’t want to trap him.

                She smiled. That word ought to put the fear of God into him. No man wanted to feel trapped, did they?

                ‘Ma’am? Did you want the omelette?’

                Yes, yes, she did. She just didn’t want to have anything to do with the man who had ordered it for her. But that wasn’t the hostess’s fault and Imogen smiled up at her. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

                Her upbeat thoughts lasted right up until they landed and Imogen found herself in a small airport that made Tullamarine look like LAX. For some reason she’d thought Bakaan would be like Dubai—or the pictures she’d seen of Dubai. It wasn’t. But, even so, it was immediately apparent from the few people milling around in traditional garments and the warm dry air that smelled faintly of vanilla and spice that she had entered an ancient realm full of mystique and promise. Much like her impression of Nadir had been that first night.

                A shudder ran through her as the car raced through the night dark city and headed up an incline that led to an impressive well-lit palace that sat just above the ancient city like a golden mirage. As much as she hated to admit it, she was a little unsettled and a lot intimidated by the formality of the palace and the very real sense that she was the one who was trapped instead of Nadir.

                ‘My Lord, it is so good to see you again.’

                Imogen looked past Nadir to where a small white-haired servant in white robes knelt on the polished stone steps of the palace, his sombre tone increasing Imogen’s sense of unease.

                ‘Staph—’ Nadir pulled the old servant to his feet ‘—I told you not to do that the other day.’