Page 26 of Sheikh's Accidental Pregnancy

“Come in.”

It was Tariq.

“My home is yours for the next nine months, at least,” he said. “This room is your own. I will not come in unless you invite me.”

“I’m not really comfortable with this, Tariq. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t belong here. You know that as well as I do. Have we ever spent more than a half hour in the same room without fighting?”

“Once,” he said. “And that once is why you’re here now. You are carrying my child. Both of you are now my responsibility, and I will not fail to care for you.”

“I am responsible for myself! I choose where and how to live.”

“Choose to live here then, in comfort, with servants to care for you, with everything you need close at hand. I promise not to bother you. The house is large enough for both of us. And it’s better than your sweltering apartment.”

She was silent. She couldn’t bring herself to answer.

Tariq nodded. “Stay for a while. Until you feel better and the heat is not so much of a problem. A week at least. Then decide. If you truly hate me as much as you think I hate you, you may leave at any time. My driver will take you anywhere you wish to go.”

Sara didn’t answer for a long time. She looked around the room. It was large. There was a king-sized four-poster bed. The floor was marble, covered by a thick wool carpet she wanted to dig her toes into. There was a fifty-inch flat screen TV, the walk-in closet was the size of her entire apartment, and the balcony had breathtaking views of the city.

The adjoining bathroom, she’d discovered earlier, was covered in detailed mosaic and had not only a shower, but a soaking tub the size of a hot tub. But the beauty didn’t move her. It wasn’t hers. But he did have a point about the air conditioning.

She turned back to him.

“Do you have chocolate ice cream?”

He smiled.

17

Tariq looked up from his newspaper when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Sara appeared in the kitchen a moment later. She looked bedraggled and rumpled, still in her pajamas—as least he hoped the silky shorts and camisole were her pajamas—and her eyes only half open.

She walked up to the huge fridge without comment or greeting, opened it, and stared inside.

“Looking for something?” Tariq asked. She turned quickly and almost fell over. He folded his paper and waited for her to answer.

“Figures that you’re one of those men who reads newspapers in the morning,” Sara said as she turned her attention back to the fridge. She pulled out eggs and some veggies.

“I have a cook,” Tariq said. “You could sit and let someone else prepare your breakfast.”

“But the cook is not here, and I’m hungry now.” She started opening cabinets and closing them.

“If you tell me what you’re looking for, I can direct you.”

“I’m pretending you’re not here,” she said, claiming a spatula from one drawer and a fork from another.

Eventually, she also found cooking oil and a skillet. She made herself a veggie omelet and left a bit of a mess to be cleaned up later, of course. She brought the pan over to the table and set it on the placemat across from him before sitting down. Tariq frowned when he realized that she was going to eat straight from the pan.

“There are plates, you know,” he said.

“Only if I can find them. I’m starving,” she said. She used her fork to cut the omelet and shoved a bite into her mouth. She looked at Tariq. “It’s all your fault, you know. The baby, my being here. So you’re going to have to deal with my habits.”

After the third bite, she covered her mouth with her hand and ran from the room, ducking into a powder room off the kitchen. Tariq followed her and stood in the hall. He could hear the sound of retching.

He knocked on the door. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“No,” she called out. A wave of panic washed over Tariq, and he stormed in. Sara was hunched over the toilet. “I’m hungry, and I love eggs, but I can’t eat them.” Sara sniffled. Tariq narrowed his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He gathered her hair and held it back with one hand and rubbed her back with the other. He hated to see her feeling so wretched. Not being able to eat seemed like a perfectly designed torture for Sara.

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