His brother had claimed he could do with seeing something pretty so they’d headed to the famous dance hall as a lark. Nadir had taken one look at the statuesque dancer with hair the colour of wheat and eyes the colour of a freshly mown lawn on a summer day and four hours later he’d had her up against the wall in his Parisian apartment with her incredible legs tightly wrapped around his lean hips. Then he’d had her on his dining room table, under his shower, and eventually in his bed. Their affair had been as hot as the Bakaani sun in August. Passionate. Intense. All-consuming.
He’d never felt such a strong pull to a woman before and even though his brain had warned him to back away he’d still made four consecutive unscheduled weekend trips to Paris just to be with her. Right then he should have known that she was trouble. That their affair was unlikely to end well. Little had he known it would end with him finding out she was pregnant and her claiming the child was his. Little did he know that she would then disappear before he’d have a chance to do anything about it.
Likely she’d disappeared because she hadn’t been carrying his baby at all but still, the thought that he had fathered a child somewhere out in the world and didn’t know about it ate away at him. A flush of heat stole over him. He didn’t know what her game had been back then but there was no question that she had played him. He just wanted to know how much—and why. ‘That’s her. Where is she?’ he bit out harshly.
‘Turns out she’s in London. Been here the whole time.’
‘Any sign of a child?’
‘None. Should I ask? I’m sitting inside the café she works at now.’
‘No.’ A welcome shot of rage pumped through Nadir’s bloodstream, priming his muscles. It looked as if today was the day he was being given a chance to rid himself of all the irritating issues in his life and now that he thought about it that could only be a positive thing. A faint smile twisted his lips. ‘That pleasure will be mine. Text me your location.’
* * *
‘That guy looking at you is giving me the creeps.’
Tired from lack of sleep due to her teething five-month-old daughter, Imogen stifled a yawn and didn’t bother turning towards the back of the room even though she knew who Jenny was referring to. He was giving her the creeps as well and not just because of his hard looks. She recognised him from somewhere but couldn’t think where.
She folded a paper napkin at her station at the bar and darted another quick glance outside the café window to see if her housemate Minh had turned up. Her shift had already ended but she’d stayed back to help tidy up until he arrived.
Jenny elbowed her. ‘I think he wants to ask you out.’
‘It’s the blonde hair. He probably thinks I’m easy.’ Fifteen months ago she’d had an equally imposing male think the same thing of her but he’d been wearing a three-thousand-dollar suit and had completely charmed her. He’d also been a billionaire playboy with the attention span of a single-celled amoeba. She wasn’t so gullible when it came to men now. And, anyway, this guy looked as if he belonged to the secret service or something. Which only made her feel more uneasy. The little retro café where she waitressed didn’t usually attract the kind of clientele who required personal security, and she knew that the playboy in the three-thousand-dollar suit used to have his own detail. Was that where she had seen this guy before? With Nadir? It seemed impossible but, before she could dart another quick glance his way, Jenny nudged her.
‘No need to worry now. I think I spot your boyfriend outside.’
Heat shot through Imogen’s face and her head came up as for a split second she thought Jenny was referring to the playboy she’d never be able to forget, no matter how much she tried.