Leila could hear Sharif murmuring in the background and realised they must be in bed together. She couldn’t get off the phone fast enough. She thought about ringing Eva, but didn’t want to be subjected to the third degree.
What did Leila know about Raffa Leon? She didn’t even know where he was, or how to contact him. How she longed to be in his arms now, confiding in him, but she’d made too good a job of driving him away.
‘The babies are doing fine, thank you,’ she informed the empty air. ‘Our twins are doing fine, Raffa.’
* * *
To hell with control! To hell with all Leila’s protestations that she was fine and could live without him, and her sisters’ insistence that Leila needed space. He’d given her long enough and the birth of their child was imminent. He’d kept a watching brief on her from a distance. She attended check-ups regularly. She ate sensibly, worked reasonable hours and got plenty of rest. She was the model of a modern working mother-to-be. He should be satisfied with that, but he wasn’t about to leave her to go through the birth alone.
‘You’re clear to go, Romeo-Lima-two-five-eight—’
‘Roger, Control.’ Opening the throttle on the twin engines, he released the brakes.
For a time he was content to let his spirit soar with the jet. Every second took him closer to Leila and the answers he could only find when they were together. She’d got under his skin. Leila Skavanga had invaded every part of him. Life was vivid Technicolor with her. Without her it was a dull, stormy grey. Levelling off, he handed over the controls to his co-pilot.
‘Coffee, Tyr?’
‘No milk,’ the powerfully built Viking reminded him.
Removing his headphones, he left the cockpit. Both he and Leila had secrets. His was possibly the hardest to keep. Leila’s brother was back in her life. She just didn’t know it yet, but it wasn’t up to him to break the news. Tyr would let his sisters know he was back when he was ready.
The flight attendants jumped to attention as Raffa walked into the galley.
‘I’ll sort myself out,’ he told them as politely as he could and they quickly made themselves scarce. It was a rare beast that challenged him when he was in this mood. Leila would challenge him, but Leila wasn’t frightened of anyone.
He went through the mechanics of assembling two strong cups of coffee. Why the hell did he miss her so much? It wasn’t as if Leila was easy. She was quiet but she challenged him constantly, and was possibly the strongest woman he had ever known.
And now it was coming up to Christmas and she shouldn’t be on her own. Her sisters and their husbands were away for the holidays, and he couldn’t bear to think of Leila alone.
With a shrug and a smile he reached for the satellite phone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SHE WAS STILL working and intended to carry on until the museum closed its doors on Christmas Eve. She’d be back in the new year if she hadn’t given birth by then.
She was all organised. The cards were written, the presents were wrapped, the fire was lit and the house was glowing. Christmas was going to be great. She was going to decorate the nursery over the holidays, and finish the baby shawl she had painstakingly knitted, unpicked and knitted again, until she got it—well, almost right. She had baked too, taking round little pies and cakes as gifts to her neighbours, so the house smelled great. The baby stuff was piled in a corner waiting to be set out in the nursery—the best part—the reward for all her labours. She only had a short time to go now. The doctor had said she might deliver early, as it was twins.