The Paternity Proposition(39)

       
           



       

"That's not the same as having you around."

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Not at all. I just don't want you to take time away from them to be with me. I know if I had children, I would want to be with them always."

One corner of his mouth turned up. "What of your husband's needs for you? Would they not come first?"

"I think he'd have to learn to compromise."

Mazin's humor turned to surprise. "It is the children and the wife who must compromise." He shrugged. "Most of the time. I was married long enough to have learned that on rare occasions the man does not come first."

"I should think not." She leaned toward him. "Tell me about your sons."

"Why do I sense you are more interested in them than in me?"

"I'm not. It's just … " She hesitated, then decided there was no point in avoiding the truth. "I find the subject of your children very safe."

"Because I am unsafe?"

Rather than answer, she took a sip of her wine.

He chuckled and reached forward, capturing her free hand in his. "I know you, my dove. I have learned to read you when you avoid my eyes and busy yourself with a task. You do not wish to respond to my question. Now my job is to learn why."

He studied her, his dark eyes unreadable. She wished she could know him as well as he seemed to know her.

"Why do you fear me?" he asked unexpectedly.

Phoebe was so surprised that she straightened, pulling her hand free of his. She clutched her fingers together on her lap.

"I'm not afraid." She bit her lower lip. "Well, not too afraid," she added, because she'd never been much of a liar. "It's just that you're different from anyone I've ever met. You're very charming, but also intimidating. I'm out of my element with you."

"Not so very far." He patted the table. "Put your hand here so that I may touch you."

He spoke matter-of-factly, but his words made her whole body shiver. She managed to slide her hand over to his, where he linked their fingers together. He felt strong and warm. He made her feel safe, which was odd because he was the reason she felt out of sorts in the first place.

"See?" he said. "We fit together well."

"I don't think that's true. I don't know why you spend so much time with me. I can't be anything like the other women in your life."

Now it was his turn to stiffen. He didn't pull his hand away, but ice crept into his gaze. "What other women?" he asked curtly. "What are you talking about?"

She sensed that she had insulted him. "Mazin, I didn't mean anything specific. Just that I can see that you're a handsome, successful man. There must be dozens of women throwing themselves at you all the time. I have this picture of you having to step over them wherever you go."

She wanted to say more, but her throat tightened at the thought of him being with anyone else, even though it probably happened all the time.

"Do not worry, my dove," he said softly. "I have forgotten them all."

For how long?

She only thought the question. There was no point in asking. After all, Mazin might tell her the truth, and that would hurt her.

"I can see you do not believe me," he said, releasing her fingers. "To prove myself, I have brought you something."

He snapped his fingers. Their waiter appeared, but instead of bringing menus, he carried a large flat box. Mazin took it from him and handed it to her.

"Do not say you can't accept until you have opened it. Because I know in my heart that once you see my offering, you won't be able to refuse it."

"Then I should refuse it before I see it," she said.

"That is not allowed."

Phoebe lightly touched the gold paper around the box. She tried to imagine what could be inside. Not jewelry. The box was far too big-at least eighteen inches by twelve. Not clothes-the box was too slender.

"You won't be able to guess," he told her. "Open it."

She slipped off the bow, then pulled the paper from the box. When she lifted the lid and drew back the tissue, her breath caught in her throat.

Mazin had given her a framed picture of Ayanna.

Phoebe recognized the familiar face immediately. Her great-aunt looked very young, perhaps only a year or two older than Phoebe was now. She stood alone, in front of a pillar. Behind her, open archways led to the ocean. She recognized the palace at once.

Ayanna wore a formal ball gown. Diamonds glittered from her ears, wrists and throat. With her hair pulled back and her posture so straight and regal, she looked as elegant as a princess.

"I've never seen this picture before," she breathed. "Where did you find it?"

"There are photographic archives. You had mentioned that your aunt was a favorite with the crown prince. I thought there might be pictures of her, and I was right. This one was taken at a formal party at the prince's private residence. The original remains in the archives, but they allowed me to make a copy."                       
       
           



       

She didn't know what to say. That he would have gone to all this trouble for her moved her beyond words. Still, she had to make an attempt to speak. "You're right. I can't refuse this gift. It means too much. I have a few pictures of Ayanna, but not nearly enough. Thank you for being so thoughtful and kind."

"My only motive was to make you smile."

She didn't care what his motive had been. There was no other present in the world that could have had so much meaning. Phoebe didn't know how to explain all the feelings welling up inside her. She wanted to go to Mazin and wrap her arms around him. She wanted to try to explain her gratitude, and she wanted him to kiss her until she couldn't think or speak or do anything but respond to him. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, her heart ached and there was a hollow place inside that she couldn't explain.

"I don't understand you," she said at last.

"Understanding isn't necessary." She wondered what was.

He sipped his wine. "In two nights there is a celebration of the heritage of Lucia-Serrat," he said.

"While we are a tropical paradise, our roots are in the desert of Bahania. Along with a special meal, there will be entertainment. Dancers and music. Although this event is not on your Ayanna's list, I suspect you would enjoy yourself. If you are available that evening, I would be honored if you would accompany me."

As if she had other plans. As if she would rather be with anyone but him. "Thank you for asking me, Mazin. The honor of accompanying you is mine."

He stared at her, his dark eyes seeing into her soul. "It is probably for the best that you cannot read my mind," he murmured. "All that is between you and the death of your innocence is a thin thread of honor that even now threatens to unravel."

Once again he left her speechless. But before she could try to figure out if he really meant what he said-and deal with the sudden heat she felt in her belly-the waiter appeared with their menus. The mood was broken. Mazin made a great show of putting the picture safely back in the box. They discussed what they would have for dinner. His comment was never again mentioned.

But Phoebe didn't forget.





Two days later, a large box was delivered to her room. Phoebe knew instantly that it was from Mazin, but what could he be sending her? She unfastened the large bow and ribbon holding it in place, then lifted the cover.

Moving aside several layers of tissue revealed a dark blue evening gown that shimmered as she lifted it up to examine the style. Her breath caught in her throat. The silky fabric seemed to be covered with scatters of starlight. The low-cut bodice promised to reveal more than she ever had before, while the slender skirt would outline her hips and legs. It was a sensual garment for a sophisticated woman. Phoebe wasn't sure she had the courage to wear it.

A note fluttered to the floor. She set the dress back in the box and picked up the folded paper.

She recognized the strong, masculine handwriting instantly. Besides, who but Mazin would be sending her a dress?

"I know you will try to refuse my gift," he wrote. "You may even call me names and chide me for my boldness. I could not face your temper-for the thought of your anger leaves me trembling with fear. So I am leaving this dress in secret, like a thief in the night."

Phoebe knew she couldn't possibly accept such an extravagant gift. However, Mazin's note made her smile and then laugh. As if anything about her could ever frighten him.

She made the mistake of carrying the dress over to the mirror and holding it up in front of herself. Then she tried it on.

As she'd feared, the sensual fabric clung to every curve. Yet something about the material or the style or both made her actually look as if she had something worth clinging to. Her brea**sts seemed fuller, her waist smaller. She had a vision of herself in more dramatic makeup, with her hair cascading in curls down her back. While she'd never believed that she looked anything like Ayanna, with a little help she might come close.

Still wearing the dress, Phoebe dashed for the phone. She called the beauty salon in the hotel. Luckily they had a cancellation and would be happy to assist her in her transformation. If she would care to come downstairs in a half hour or so?