The three of them lay there. His boys and Samira.
She wore a dress the colour of amethyst that complemented the warm tone of her skin. The flaring skirt with its silky sheen looked indulgently feminine and expensive but there was a dark smear near the waist and a matching mark on her cheek. She’d kicked off her shoes. Her bare feet and legs looked tantalisingly sexy.
Something somersaulted in Tariq’s chest as he took in the three of them, his precious sons and the woman who cared less for her expensive clothes than she did for them.
In the far corner of the room Sofia, the nanny, folded clothes, her back turned. The fact that the boys’ fierce protector, who’d been with them since the day they’d lost their mother, was relaxed enough not to watch the newcomer like a hawk, told him everything he needed to know. Samira and the boys had clearly bonded.
All that remained was to decide how he felt about that.
For somehow in the last twenty-six hours, her proposal had turned from outrageous to possible.
* * *
Samira sighed and cuddled them close, breathing in the smell of baby powder and little boys.
Even if Tariq refused her, these couple of hours had been wonderful. The boys were a delight.
Her heart felt lighter, not just because she’d spent time with two such adorable toddlers but because she’d contributed, helping out while Sofia had packed, keeping the boys constructively amused.
Celeste would tell her she contributed with her fashion designs and charity donations. But there was something innately satisfying about the simple act of caring for this little family.
She breathed deep, knowing it was time to move. The boys were ready for bed and the longer she stayed the harder it would be to leave. What had begun as a simple invitation to wait for Tariq and meet his boys in the meantime had turned into something far more complex, at least for her eager heart.
She opened her eyes to find Tariq standing over her. He didn’t smile and his look was intent, as if he saw right inside her, to longings and regrets she kept strictly private. She felt caught out, at a disadvantage sprawled on the floor, her unguarded emotions too close to the surface.
Abruptly her heart leapt in her breast. Her pulse fluttered as he bent, his hands briefly brushing her as he scooped up Adil, now fast asleep, then left the room with the nanny following.
The gleam in Tariq’s clear green gaze unravelled something within her. Something she didn’t want to feel. It made her feel too vulnerable. She was still grappling with that, her breath coming too fast, when he returned, lifting a sleepy Risay and taking him to the bedroom.
Quickly she sat up, twisting up her hair into some semblance of order, frantically scanning the floor for her shoes.
‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting so long.’ Tariq’s low voice came while she was on her hands and knees, peering under a settee.
Abruptly she sat back, feeling flushed and dishevelled, especially when Tariq looked just as debonair as ever. A lot of big men couldn’t pull that off, appearing either too lean and lanky or so heavy-set you knew they’d run to fat with age. By contrast Tariq was perfectly proportioned and frighteningly attractive.
Samira’s heartbeat skidded into a kick start. It was as well he hadn’t agreed to marry her—that was clear from his carefully neutral expression. She didn’t like the way her body behaved when he was around.
Samira scrambled to her feet, brushing down her dress, noticing for the first time sticky patches where the boys had shared their food.
‘No doubt you had more important business to attend to.’ More important than declining her proposal. Her mouth tightened.
Only sheer doggedness had made her wait despite the lengthy delay. She was determined to make him say the words to her face, despite the temptation to avoid further embarrassment and slink away. She tilted her chin. She was a princess of Jazeer. She would see this through.
‘You don’t understand.’
‘There’s no need to explain.’ He’d already made his position clear. ‘I understand perfectly.’
‘There’s a crisis in Al Sarath. I’ve been dealing with it long-distance.’
Samira froze. ‘A crisis?’
‘One of the provinces has been hit by severe flash flooding in the mountain ravines. It’s wiped away whole villages.’
Samira sucked in her breath, indignation fading as the import of his words hit. The mountain provinces were the poorest in his country. She remembered adobe houses perched in arid gullies so steep they became death traps on the rare occasions distant mountain rains brought unaccustomed water.