âIf youâre pregnant with my child, that changes things.â
âWhat things, exactly?â
He hesitated. âIâm already engaged to be married.â
Her jaw set. âIf you got engaged so quickly, you must have known your fiancée.â
Gabe parked in her driveway. âNo. It was an arranged marriage.â
Horror transfixed her. âSo thatâs why you slept with me. It was a last fling.â
âIt wasnât like that.â
âHow was it, then?â
His gaze pinned hers for long seconds. âYou know exactly how it was between us.â
Sarah stared at him, needing to see the truth in his eyes, feeling crazily emotional and on the verge of tears. âSo how was it, exactly, between us?â
âLike this.â Gabe cupped her jaw and out of nowhere her heart began to pound and the humming, tingling attraction sheâd fought to suppress shimmered through her.
He lowered his mouth, and foolishly she tossed away any thoughts of being sensible and controlled and let him kiss her.
To the Lord.
âOur Lord showed me an inward sight of His homely loving. I saw that He is everything that is good and comforting to us. He is our clothing. In His love He wraps us and holds us. He enfolds us in love and He will never let us go.â
âThe Revelations of Divine Love, Julian of Norwich
Heartfelt thanks to Stacy Boyd for inspirational suggestions, patience and grace in editing.
Itâs always a joy to work with you.
One
Twenty-four hours away from the deadline to sign a marriage contract...
The stark thought shoved Sheikh Kadin Gabriel ben Kadir out of a restless sleep. Tossing crisp linen sheets aside, Gabe flowed to his feet and pulled on a pair of narrow dark jeans. The cool light of a New Zealand dawn flooded his suite, a floor above the Zahiri consulate in Wellington, as he broodingly considered the concept of once more entering into the intimacy of marriage.
Marrying a wealthy heiress would solve his countryâs financial problems. The problem was, after the disaster of his last marriage, he had no desire to ever immerse himself in that particular hell again.
The morning air cool against his torso, he padded barefoot to the French doors and dragged aside heavy linen curtains. Dark gaze somber, he surveyed the gray rain drenching his last day of bachelor freedom. At that moment, like a fiery omen, the sun pierced the thick veil of storm clouds that hung over Wellington Harbour, illuminating a large painting of his twelfth-century ancestors, which dominated one wall of his suite.
Gabe studied the painting of the original Sheikh Kadin on whose birthday heâd had the bad luck to be born. A battle-hardened Templar Knight, Kadinâs main claim to fame was that he had taken someone elseâs bride along with her diamond-encrusted dowry. The captured bride, Camille de Vallois, a slim redhead with dark exotic eyes, had then proceeded to entrance his ancestor to the point of obsession. Gabeâs stomach tightened at the remembrance of the obsession that had haunted his own youthful marriage, although in his case the possessive intensity hadnât emanated from him.
Once they were married, Jasmine, his childhood sweetheart, had become increasingly clingy and demanding, dissolving into tears or throwing tantrums when she didnât get her way. She had resented his busy work schedule, and had become convinced he was having affairs. When he had refused to start a family until their relationship was on a more even keel she had taken that as a sign that he regretted the marriage. The guilt she had inspired in him had taken on a haunting rawness when, after a tense exchange during a boat trip, Jasmine had stormed off in the yachtâs tender, overturned on rocks and drowned.
The memory of the icy salt water dashing off rocks as he had attempted to save Jasmine started a dull ache in the scar that marred one cheekbone, a permanent reminder of that day.
Legend said Gabeâs ancestor had a positive outcome to his passionate involvement with the woman he had married. Gabeâs experience had been such that he would not allow a woman to have that kind of power over him again. As far as he was concerned, passion had its place, but only in short, controllable liaisons. Love was another thing entirely; he would not be drawn into that maelstrom again.
A rap at the door of his suite was a welcome distraction. Shrugging into a T-shirt, he opened the door to his longtime friend and Zahirâs chief of security.
Xavier, who had just flown in from Zahir, strolled into the spacious lounge that adjoined Gabeâs bedroom and handed him an envelope. âSpecial delivery.â