‘You are the sheikh, aren’t you?’ she acknowledged bleakly.
A brief, sardonic inclination of his head was his only response but it was enough.
Turning away from him, she reached into the baby carrier and tenderly removed Fleur. Her whole face softened and illuminated with love as she hugged her and then kissed her before looking him straight in the eyes and saying fiercely to him, ‘This is Fleur, the baby you have refused to both acknowledge and support.’
She had shocked him, Mariella realised, even though he had concealed his reaction very quickly.
As he stepped back from the vehicle for a second Mariella thought he was going to tell her to leave—and cravenly she wanted to do so! The man, the location, the situation were so not what she had been anticipating and prepared herself for. Each one of them in their different ways shattered not just her preconceptions but also her precious self-containment.
The man—try as she might she could just not envisage him in the club where Tanya had performed. The location made her ache for her painting equipment and brought her artistic senses to quick hunger. And her situation! Oh, no… Definitely no! This man had been her sister’s lover, and was Fleur’s father—
The shadowy fear that had stalked her adult years suddenly loomed terrifyingly sharply in front of her. She would not be like her mother; she would not ever allow herself to be vulnerable in any way to a man who could only damage her emotionally. The ability to fall in love with the wrong man might be learned, but it was not, to the best of Mariella’s knowledge, inherited!
‘Get out!’
Get out? With pleasure! Gripping the steering wheel, Mariella reached for the door, slamming it closed and then switching on the ignition at the same time, then she threw the vehicle into a furious spurt of reverse speed.
The tyres spun; sand filled the air. She could hear a thunderous banging on her driver’s door as the car refused to budge. Looking out of the window, she saw Xavier looking at her in icy, furious disbelief.
Realising that she was bogged down in the swirling sand, Mariella switched off the engine. If he wanted her to leave he would have to move the vehicle for her, she recognised in angry humiliation.
As the engine died he was yanking the door open, demanding, ‘What the hell do you think you are trying to do?’
‘You told me to get out!’ Mariella reminded him, equally angry.
‘I meant get out of the car, not…’ As he swore beneath his breath, to her shock he suddenly reached into the vehicle and snapped off her seat belt, grasping her so tightly around her waist that it actually hurt.
As he pulled her free of her seat and swung her to the ground she had a sudden shocking image of the two of them in her dream!
‘Let go of me,’ she demanded chokily, pushing him away. ‘Don’t touch me…’
‘Don’t touch you?’
Now that she was on the ground she realised just how far she had to look up to see the expression in his eyes.
‘From what I’ve heard it isn’t often those words leave your lips.’
Instinctively Mariella raised her hand, taking refuge in an act of female rebuttal and retaliation as ancient as the land around her, but immediately he seized her wrist in a punishing grip, his eyes glittering savagely as he curled his fingers tighter. ‘Hell cat!’ he taunted her mercilessly. ‘One attempt to use your claws on me and, I promise you, you will regret it.’
‘You can’t go anywhere tonight,’ he told her bluntly. ‘There’s a sandstorm forecast that would bury you alive before you could get even halfway back to the city. In your case it would be no loss, but for the sake of the child…’
The child… Fleur!
An agonised sound of distress choked in Mariella’s throat. She could not stay here in this wilderness with this… this… savagely dangerous man, but her own common sense was telling her that she had no other option. Already the four-wheel drive was buried almost axle-deep in sand. She could taste it in her mouth, feel it on her skin. Inside the vehicle, Fleur had begun to cry again. Instinctively Mariella turned to go to her, but Xavier was there before her, lifting Fleur out.
The baby looked so tiny held in his arms. Mariella held her breath watching him… He was Fleur’s father after all. Surely he must feel something? Some remorse, some guilt… something… True, he did pause to look at her, but the expression on his face was unreadable.
‘She has your hair,’ he told Mariella, before adding grimly, ‘The wind is picking up. We need to get inside the tent. Where are you going?’ he demanded as she turned back to the vehicle.
‘I want to get Fleur’s things,’ she told him, tensing as he gave a sharp exclamation of irritation and overruled her.
‘Leave them for now. I shall come back for them.’
Mariella couldn’t believe how strong the wind had become! The sand felt like a million tiny particles of glass shredding her skin.
By the time they reached the safety and protection of the pavilion, her leg muscles ached from the effort of fighting her way through the shifting sand.
Once inside the pavilion she realised that it was much larger than she had originally thought. A central area was furnished with rich carpets and low divans. Rugs were thrown over dark wood chests, and on the intricately carved tables stood oil lamps and candles. In their light Mariella could see two draped swags of cloth caught back in a dull gold rope as though they covered the entrance to two other inner rooms.
‘Fleur needs something to eat, and a change of clothes,’ she announced curtly, ‘and I want to ring the Beach Club to tell them what has happened.’
‘Use a telephone—in this intensity of sandstorm?’ He laughed openly at her. ‘You would be lucky to be able to use a landline, never mind a mobile. As for the child…’
‘The child!’ Mariella checked him bitterly. ‘Even knowing the truth you still try to distance yourself from her, don’t you? Well, let me tell you something—’
‘No, let me tell you something… Any man could have fathered this child! I feel for her that she should have a mother of such low morals, a mother so willing to give herself to any and every man her eye alights on, but let me make it plain to you that I do not intend to be blackmailed into paying for a pleasure that was of so little value, never mind paying for a child who may or may not be the result of it!’
Mariella went white with shock and disbelief, but before she could defend her sister, Fleur started to cry in earnest.
Ignoring Xavier, Mariella soothed her, whispering tenderly. ‘It’s all right sweetheart, I know you’re hungry…’ Automatically as she talked to her Mariella stroked her and kissed the top of her head. She was so unbearably precious to her even though she was not her child. Being there at her birth had made Mariella feel as though they shared a very special bond, and awakened a maternal urge inside her she had not previously known she had.
‘I don’t know what she has to eat, but there is some fruit and milk in the fridge, and a blender,’ he informed her.
Fridge? Blender? Mariella’s eyes widened. ‘You have electricity out here?’
Immediately he gave her a very male sardonic look.
‘Not as such. There’s a small generator, which provides enough for my needs.’ He gave a brief shrug. ‘After all, I come out here to work in peace… not to wear a hair shirt! The generator can provide enough warm water for you to bathe the child, although you, I am afraid, will have to share my bathing water.’
He was waiting for her to object, Mariella could see that. He was enjoying tormenting her.