Page 23 of The Innocent Carrying His Legacy

Ivy shoved that thought away. She wasn’t needy or desperate right now, and she never would be again. And the annoying Sheikh was right about one thing: her feelings weren’t what she should be thinking about. She had to think of the child and what was best for them, and, if the danger was truly real, then the best place for this baby was with its father. Which meant she was going to have to ignore her own fears and sit down and talk with him.

It would be fine. She was feeling much better now after the nap she’d had earlier. After she’d woken up, a staff member had shown her to a set of interconnected rooms not far from the salon. They consisted of a bedroom, a bathroom and a little sitting room, all looking out onto the same delightful courtyard that the salon did, and with their own set of French doors that opened out onto the colonnaded walk around the courtyard.

The walls were the same white tile as the salon, the curtains gauzy blue and white linen, and the rooms had the same cool, soothing feel. The bathroom had a vast sunken tiled bath and a huge tiled shower, and there was a shelf with various ornate glass bottles and jars full of oils and salts and soaps.

The rooms were beautiful, luxurious—much more luxurious than Ivy had ever experienced in her entire life and it had vaguely shocked her, especially in comparison to the stark utilitarianism of the rest of the fortress. They almost seemed as if they were part of a different building, a fantasy vision of a Middle Eastern sultan’s palace.

Her battered, nondescript black suitcase, sitting on the huge, low bed near the deep windows of the bedroom, had seemed even more nondescript set against all that luxury. A small, mean little suitcase, with its meagre store of clothes.

The staff member who’d showed Ivy around had pulled open a large and ornately carved cedar armoire full of silk robes in a rainbow of colours, indicating that Ivy was to help herself to whatever she wanted to wear. After she’d gone, Ivy had touched the lustrous fabric longingly for a couple of moments, then had firmly closed the doors of the armoire.

She didn’t need silk robes or luxury bedding or a huge bath. She’d enjoy the shower then she’d dress in her own clothes, and hopefully then she’d feel more in charge of herself and this whole ridiculous situation.

So she had. She’d gone to the salon to wait for the Sheikh, deciding to grill him about the danger he’d mentioned and how it would affect her and the baby, and how exactly marriage to him was going to work.

She’d been early and, since she didn’t like waiting, had informed the staff member who’d come in to deliver the delicious-looking meal that she’d like a dustpan and brush to give some attention to the wall near the bookcases that looked a little dusty. This had been brought to her without comment and so she’d at least had something to do while she waited. And then he’d come...

Ivy found her hand drifting to her stomach again, her fingers brushing against the heat left by his palm, and she had the oddest thought that she wouldn’t ever be able to get rid of that heat. It had settled beneath her skin, become part of her.

He caught the movement and his eyes gleamed, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks, as if she’d revealed a secret somehow.

Irritated, Ivy forced her hand away then moved over to the low table where the dinner had been laid out. Floor cushions had been set around it and so she sat, her stomach giving the oddest flutter as the Sheikh did the same with a predator’s fluid grace.

Instantly he began putting things on a plate, but when she reached for her own he said in a peremptory tone, ‘I will serve you.’

‘I can serve myself, thank you very much.’

He ignored her, continuing to put little morsels on the plate. ‘Nevertheless, you will allow me.’

Ivy sat up very straight and glared at him. ‘I will not.’

‘You’re a very argumentative woman.’ He leaned forward and put the plate down in front of her, then reached for the pitcher of ice water and poured her a glass.

‘And you’re a very irritating man.’ She glanced down at the plate, annoyed to find that she was very hungry. The flatbread smelled delicious, the black olives glossy and fat, the pieces of chicken cooked to perfection.

How aggravating.

Is there any point being aggravated? You’ll only end up alienating him and that might not be very good for the baby.

She let out a silent breath. It was true, continuing to argue with him perhaps wasn’t the best of ideas. Especially considering she wasn’t exactly the powerful one here. She wasn’t used to not being in charge or not being in control, but she had no choice about it now, which meant she was just going to have to deal with it and accept that the only thing she had power over was herself.

‘Thank you,’ she forced herself to say stiffly. ‘For the food and for the...rooms you provided. I would have been quite happy with something a little smaller and less luxurious, however. You don’t have to put yourself out for me.’

He pushed the glass of water across the table to her. ‘I’m not putting myself out. These rooms haven’t been used in years, though my staff keep them in good order. Apart from the dust on the skirting, obviously,’ he added, dry as the desert beyond the walls of the fortress.

Ivy felt herself blushing yet again. ‘There’s nothing wrong with wanting to keep things tidy.’

His hard mouth relaxed. ‘Indeed not.’

He was amused, which should have annoyed her even further and yet she found that she wasn’t annoyed. Instead it felt like a victory, which she didn’t understand. She hardly ever made people smile and that had never particularly bothered her before. Yet she was rather pleased with herself that she’d managed to amuse him now.

She looked down at her plate, busying herself with the food so he wouldn’t notice, piling up some flatbread with hummus. ‘There must be somewhere else you could put me. The bedroom especially looks like it should be used for royalty.’

‘You’re not mistaken. This fortress was historically one of the Sultan’s desert palaces and those rooms used to house the harem.’

A little shiver went down Ivy’s spine and it wasn’t altogether unpleasant. ‘I see.’

He raised one black brow, his gaze enigmatic. ‘The term harem refers only to the women’s quarters. It doesn’t mean a sex club.’

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