Page 8 of The Innocent Carrying His Legacy

Why are you thinking about her hair?

A strange jolt went through him as he realised what he was doing. Tired, that was what he was. Too tired. There was no other reason for him to be standing there contemplating the colour of a woman’s hair, especially a delicate little English rose such as this one.

A knock came on the door.

‘Enter,’ Nazir growled.

It opened and one of his kitchen staff came in carrying a tray. He went over to the watch station, deposited the tray on the desk, turned and then went out again.

On the tray was a very tall, elegant crystal tumbler and an elegant matching pitcher. The glass was full of ice and a clear fizzing liquid with a delicate sprig of mint as a garnish. The pitcher was full of the same liquid and ice, condensation beading the sides.

Nazir watched with interest as Ivy’s pretty eyes widened, taking in the pitcher and the glass with obvious surprise.

Satisfaction flickered through him, though he ignored that too.

‘That’s not water,’ she said, not taking her eyes off the glass.

‘No, it’s not,’ he agreed. ‘It’s lemonade. It should be slightly flat since you’re likely dehydrated and need some electrolytes, but choices are limited out here in the desert.’

It was obvious she didn’t want to drink it; he could see it in the stubborn firming of her chin. But her lips were cracked and she was sunburned, and she had a baby to think about. And clearly her thirst was greater than her need to best him, because, after a moment, she reached for the glass and took a sip.

Her whole body shuddered and a small, helpless moan escaped her.

And just as her soft gasp had echoed through him when he’d taken her elbow before, her moan sent another echo bouncing off the walls of the emptiness inside him, the emptiness that had been there ever since he’d returned from England all those years ago, so full of righteousness and passion. So sure of himself and his position. Thinking that he was an adult now and could make his own decisions, that he wouldn’t be bound by the rules of the country of his birth, and that he wanted everything that had been denied him.

And how that had led to the disappearance of his mother, the banishment of his father, and his almost execution.

No. There was a reason he was empty inside and it had to stay that way. Nothing could be permitted to fill that void except purpose and that purpose had nothing to do with a small Englishwoman and the child she carried.

Even if that child was his.

Ivy forgot about the Sheikh standing in front of her. She forgot about her fear. She forgot that she was in a desert fortress and that her elbow still felt scalded from where he’d touched it. She forgot that she was supposed to be challenging that titanic will of his, otherwise she’d certainly be crushed beneath it, and the baby along with her.

She even forgot that she’d wanted water and that that wasn’t what was in the glass.

The liquid was cold and sweet, with a faintly tart edge, and it was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted in her entire life. She took another swallow and then another, the lemonade cooling her parched throat and satisfying her thirst, yet at the same time making her realise how much thirstier she really was.

One glass wasn’t going to be enough. She needed the whole pitcher.

Then powerful fingers gently but firmly disentangled hers from the glass and he took it away from her.

‘No,’ she protested, trying to hold onto the glass. ‘I need more.’

But his strength was irresistible and she lost her hold on it, appalled to find that there were tears in her eyes as he put the glass back down on the tray next to the pitcher.

She blinked furiously, the urge to weep rushing through her like a wave. Her emotions had been all over the place with this pregnancy. She didn’t normally let them run riot like this and to lose control of them in front of him, this...giant predator, Lord, how she hated it.

If he’d noticed the lapse in her control, he gave no sign.

‘When you’re dehydrated it’s best to take small sips and often,’ he said in his deep, harsh voice. ‘Drinking too much and too fast will overload your kidneys.’

Ivy looked down at her hands. The flat, uninflected way he said the words was strangely calming, making the intense rush of emotion recede.

Well, it would be stupid to argue with him about the lemonade. He probably did know more about dehydration than her.

‘I’m waiting,’ he said.

Once more in possession of herself, Ivy glanced back up at him.

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