Page 21 of The Innocent Carrying His Legacy

That had always been his problem. He’d always wanted more. It was a lesson he’d learned eventually, to be content with what he had, but by then it had been too late for his parents. It was his fault, and he knew it. So these days he didn’t want anything at all.

So where does that leave you and this marriage? Ready to commit to a life of celibacy, are you?

Nazir leaned back in his chair, frowning at the laptop screen.

His father had been weak when it came to his appetites and Nazir had been contemptuous of his desire for another man’s wife, no matter that the only reason Nazir even existed was because of that weakness. Nazir himself would never do the same. He was controlled in everything he did, as was befitting a good leader, and he also put high stock in loyalty.

Still, he wasn’t a man who ignored his own bodily needs either. They could play havoc with his ability to do his job and so they needed to be dealt with. His body was a machine and taking care of it allowed it to operate at its optimal level so there was no point in denying it what it needed in order to function.

Which made the question of sex a pertinent one.

If he married Ivy, he was going to have to find a sexual outlet somewhere, and he didn’t like the thought of finding it with another woman. He could be discreet; that wasn’t a problem. He could make sure that to everyone else it looked as if he were faithful to his wife, but the issue was thathewould know that he wasn’t. And whether Ivy herself cared about that or not—and she probably wouldn’t—he did.

He was the product of an extra-marital affair, one that had ended badly for all concerned. An affair that had denied him the mother he could only see in brief snatches of time, where they could never openly display affection, while she lavished all her love on her one and only legitimate son. She hadn’t been able to acknowledge Nazir in any way, not without risking the Sultan’s wrath, and that had been something that had caused them both immense pain. He wouldn’t wish that on any child of his and so any marriage he undertook would have to remain sacrosanct.

You know what that means then, don’t you?

Uncharacteristically restless, Nazir shoved back his chair and got up from his desk, pacing over to the window that looked out onto one of the pretty interior courtyards of the fortress that he’d had designed as a rest for the eyes from the desert sands. He found that the greenery and a fountain helped his mind relax, enabling him to think clearly.

Yet for some reason, right now, looking at the green shrubs and trees didn’t help. There was a restlessness inside him, a disturbance that seemed to be solely centred on the woman that he’d only known a matter of hours.

Marriage was the only option. He could never not acknowledge his own child, regardless of the danger, not after the way he’d had to be kept a secret himself, and though that acknowledgement was risky to both Ivy and the baby, it would also protect them. He’d thought it would be a marriage of convenience initially, but it would certainly not be convenient for him to remain celibate. And since he couldn’t countenance finding lovers outside the marriage, that left him with only one option.

And what about her? What about her feelings on the matter?

Her feelings, as he’d already told her, were irrelevant. However, he’d never forced himself on a woman before and he never would. Yes, his appetites tended towards rough and earthy, and Ivy seemed fragile, but perhaps if she could be persuaded to share his bed, then he could rein himself in. It wouldn’t be the best situation, but it would do.

What if she doesn’t want you?

Yes, that would be a difficulty. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure that was the case. There had been a certain...electricity between them out there in the guardhouse. She hadn’t been able to drag her gaze from his and the few times she had, he’d noticed her staring at the portion of his bare chest where his robe had slipped. And then, only a couple of hours ago, when he’d laid her on the couches of the salon, her fingers had tightened on the fabric of his robe as if she hadn’t wanted to let him go...

No, there was definite interest there, he was sure of it.

Heat shifted inside him, the echo of the raw, possessive feeling that had crept up on him in the guardhouse after she’d told him about the child. He forced it aside. If this had nothing to do with her feelings, then it had even less to do with his.

This was about the child and what was best for it, nothing more.

A knock came at his door.

Nazir turned from the window. ‘Enter.’

One of his guards came in and informed him that Ivy’s things had arrived from Mahassa, and also that she was awake and had been shown to new quarters.

‘Arrange for a meal in the salon in two hours,’ he ordered. ‘Make sure it’s food that she likes and is suitable for a pregnant woman. I will be joining her.’

Exactly two hours later, Nazir strode into the salon.

He’d showered and changed into his usual off-duty wear of a black T-shirt, black combat trousers and soft black desert boots. It was perhaps not quite the right clothing for discussions about marriage or a proposal, but he saw no reason to pretend to be something other than what he was: a soldier, a leader of men. He had a uniform, but he preferred the more comfortable off-duty blacks. It meant he didn’t have to change if anything urgent cropped up and they were also much more suited to fighting in.

As he’d ordered, one of the low tables had been set with dinner—freshly made flatbread, olives, hummus, and chicken. A specially prepared salad. Ice-cold water in a large pitcher as well as more of the fresh lemonade. As an added touch, one of his staff had lit candles in small, jewel-coloured glass holders, which scattered flickering light everywhere.

Nazir made a mental note to give his kitchen staff a bonus, then glanced around the room, since it didn’t appear to contain the woman all of this had been set out for.

Then, suddenly, a small shape unfolded itself from where it had been crouching near one of the bookcases—a woman in a pair of black stretchy yoga pants and a loose blue T-shirt, a wild skein of long, glossy brown hair caught at the nape of her neck in a loose ponytail. In one hand she held what looked to be a dustpan and in the other a brush.

‘Miss Dean,’ Nazir growled. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

She turned sharply, those amazingly clear copper-coloured eyes meeting his. Now she was out of her dusty white robes and into clothing that was more form-fitting, he could quite clearly see the feminine shape of her. She was beautifully in proportion, with what would probably be an hourglass figure when she wasn’t pregnant. Now, though, that figure involved full breasts and a gently rounded little bump that the fabric of her T-shirt clung to.

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