The Innocent Carrying His Legacy Page 17

  ‘If you want to know, you’ll have to go with them, won’t you?’

  Within seconds the boy was gone, the guards closing the doors after them as they went out of the room, leaving her and Nazir alone.

  For a second nothing happened. The room was full of a thick, seething tension.

  Then, much to her shock, Nazir dropped to his knees in front of her desk.

  Ivy stared at him, open-mouthed. ‘What...what are you doing?’ Her voice was breathy with pain and shock.

  He stared straight at her and there was no ice in his eyes now, no expanse of snow. They burned hot, clear, and fierce. ‘I’m here to offer you everything I am, Ivy Dean. My army, my fortress, my money, and every last piece of myself. They’re all yours.’

  She blinked, feeling as if she could hardly breathe. ‘What do you mean?’

  His eyes glittered, his expression slowly changing into one of stark longing. ‘I mean, I’ve tried, little fury. I’ve tried to live the way my father taught me. I’ve tried to live with nothing. Wanting nothing. And I just can’t seem to do it any more. You were in my thoughts constantly. I kept reaching for you at night. I couldn’t look at the courtyard in the fortress without seeing you, without wishing I could see you. Without wanting you desperately.’

  Slowly, Ivy rose to her feet, every part of her shaking. ‘I don’t understand. You sent me away. You said—’

  ‘I was wrong,’ he interrupted, his deep voice vibrating with emotion. ‘I was wrong about everything and you were right. It was fear that kept me from you, Ivy, but not only that, it was shame too. I’ve been my parents’ shame for years, the secret that must be kept hidden. And I could never show my feelings, never let them out in case I betrayed them, and my father never let me forget it.’ A muscle jumped in the side of his jaw. ‘I was ashamed of myself. Ashamed of my feelings. And control was the only way to deal with that. But...you were never ashamed, little fury. You embraced your feelings and showed them to me with strength and courage. And you showed me that it was a choice. That I could choose a better life, one without shame or fear.’ There was naked longing on his face now, the sharpness of it shocking her. ‘A life with you in it. And so that’s why I’m here. I’m here to choose you, Ivy. And I know you may have changed your mind about me, but I wanted to tell you that I love you. You have every piece of my heart, every piece of my soul.’

  She was shaking. Shaking so hard she couldn’t stop. ‘But—’

  ‘I’m going to give up my army. I’m going to give up skulking in the desert and making things difficult for Fahad and Inaris. I’ve decided to buy a house in London and I’ll be living there. If you don’t want to see me, you don’t have to. But I’d dearly love to be able to see my child if—’

  But she didn’t let him finish. Somehow, she found her strength and was around the side of her desk, striding over to where he knelt on her threadbare carpet. She took his face between her hands and stopped his words with her mouth.

  For a single shining minute both of them froze at the connection, at the heat and flash fire of it, the sweetness and the deep familiarity. The sense of coming home, of being safe. Of being loved.

  Then Nazir surged to his feet and she was in his arms, surrounded by his strength and his heat, held secure and protected as the kiss deepened, intensified. She could taste his longing, his need, and he didn’t hold back, didn’t hide it. And so she gave it back to him, letting him know that this was what she wanted, that he was what she’d always wanted.

  ‘No,’ she whispered against his mouth. ‘I haven’t changed my mind. And yes, I want every piece of you, just like you have every piece of me. I love you, Nazir. And you don’t have to give up anything for me. I want you just as you are, armies and fortresses and skulking and all.’

  He kissed her again, deeper, harder. And gradually Ivy began to be aware of a commotion outside her office, a very happy-sounding commotion. She pushed at Nazir’s broad chest. ‘What’s going on out there?’

  His eyes glittered. ‘I brought the kids a few gifts. That will keep them occupied while I keep you occupied.’

  A fierce, bright happiness lanced through her even as she blushed scarlet. ‘Really? Here? Now?’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked as if he wanted to devour her whole. ‘Really. Right here. Right now. Lock the door, little fury. Let me show you how much I love you.’

  So she did and he showed her.

  And in his arms she found what she’d been looking for her whole life.

  A home. A family. And most important of all, she found love.

  EPILOGUE

  IVY WENT INTO labour just as she and Nazir had come in from a nice, long stroll around one of the most picturesque villages in Italy’s Cinque Terre. Instantly, he mobilised the small medical team he had on standby, much to her annoyance since she was only having a baby, not a serious medical event.

  He ignored her, managing the move to the hospital and everything in between. Eventually, though, he ran out of things to manage and was forced to do nothing but be at her side, holding her hand, unable to do a single thing as she gave birth to their son.

  It seemed she was right about that too. He was, indeed, a boy.

  Much, much later, as Nazir cradled his newborn son in the crook of his arm while he cradled his wife in the other, he felt a contentment steal through him unlike anything he’d ever felt in his entire life.

  He’d given up his army, had handed it over to his second-in-command and the fortress with it, and he and Ivy now headed a worldwide charitable organisation dedicated to the well-being of at-risk children. He had no regrets. None whatsoever.

  ‘So,’ he said softly into the silence. ‘How do you feel about a daughter?’

  Ivy groaned. ‘To be honest, I feel it’s in very poor taste to start talking about another child when I’ve only just had this one.’ But after a moment, she snuggled against him. ‘As long as we call her Connie.’

  Nazir had no issues with that. Nor did he have any issues when Connie came with a twin sister they called Cora. Or with the little boy who came along a few years later as an extra-special surprise.

  Because he wasn’t a vicious warlord any more or an unwanted bastard son. Or a lonely man hiding in the desert in a fortress with gates of iron.

  He was the husband of Ivy Al Rasul and the father of four beautiful children.

  And he wanted nothing more.

  * * *

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  Secrets of Cinderella’s Awakening

  by Sharon Kendrick

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT HURT. It really hurt.

  Marnie opened her mouth and yelled as she hadn’t yelled in years. Crawling out of the water, she slumped onto the hard sand, shivering uncontrollably in her stupid orange bikini despite the heat from the late afternoon sun.

  Just her luck.

  Or maybe not. Unless she stupidly believed that fate wouldn’t be cruel enough to throw anything else at her. Because since when had fate ever been fair? Fairness was what happened to other people. To people with homes and parents and food in their belly, and no reason to fear the creak on the
landing.

  Biting her lip, she tried to conquer the pain, which was coming at her from all directions. Because wasn’t her twin sister in prison, grimly fulfilling the predictions made by so many foster parents all those years ago, while she was alone on a faraway Greek island, which suddenly felt more like a battlefield than the paradise she’d been promised?

  Twisting her head, she surveyed her foot and a heel which was scarlet and speckled with black. She let out a whimper, barely noticing the shadow which was falling over her shivering flesh.

  ‘What the hell has happened?’

  The voice was deep. Authoritative. Marnie jerked her chin up to see the silhouette of a man blocking out the sun and she squinted. His torso was covered with droplets of water, which glittered like diamonds on his powerful frame, and he was out of breath—as if he’d been running. Rather distractingly his hand was positioned over his groin and she realised he was just zipping up a pair of faded jeans.

  And despite her throbbing heel, Marnie felt a punch of vivid awareness because it was him. The swimmer. The man she’d noticed before she’d been bitten—if indeed she had been bitten—and not just because he’d been the only other person on the beach. Who wouldn’t have noticed his wild, almost feral beauty when he’d arrived on a noisy old motorbike and laid it down on the wide strip of sand?

  With uncharacteristic fascination she had watched as he’d stripped off his jeans and T-shirt before running into the sea and diving beneath the sapphire froth of the waves. He had moved with a kind of elemental grace as he’d ploughed his way through the water—but his determined progress had looked more mechanical than joyful.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he probed, his rich voice edged with urgency. ‘I heard you scream.’

  Now her eyes had adjusted she could see him more clearly but despite his solicitous question, his face was hard, his mouth unsmiling. The sculpted contours of his features were unmoving, as if they had been hammered from some cold and unforgiving metal. Only his eyes looked alive as they raked over her and she wished she hadn’t worn this bikini, which her workmates had given her before she’d left London, more as a joke than because they actually thought she’d wear it. And if the elastic on her ancient one-piece hadn’t finally snapped the flimsy garment wouldn’t have made it out of the carrier bag. It was too tight, too small, too everything really and it was making her feel almost naked beneath the man’s burning gaze.

  Marnie shook her head, wet strands of hair flopping onto her shoulders. And because she was in pain and because he was making her feel something she wasn’t used to feeling and didn’t particularly like, she took refuge in sarcasm. ‘Does it look like I’m okay?’ she demanded.

  He looked slightly surprised and then irritated, as if he weren’t used to women talking to him that way. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ she wailed. ‘It’s my foot.’

  ‘Let me see.’

  She wanted to tell him to go away. She wanted to tell him she could take care of herself because that was always her default mechanism, but he was crouching down and cradling her foot in the palm of his hand, before running the edge of his thumb over the heel with what felt like consummate expertise. And that one simple act made Marnie’s stomach turn to jelly.

  She wasn’t used to being handled by anyone, but especially not by a man. Parentless kids didn’t get cuddled much in her experience—and when you did, you viewed it with suspicion and tried to avoid it wherever possible for there was usually some sort of agenda involved. That habit had carried over into adulthood and avoiding physical contact had made her life less complicated. Unlike her friends, she didn’t have sex only to regret it afterwards, and she’d never suffered from unrequited love or a broken heart. She feared intimacy with the natural aversion of someone who had never come into contact with it and the only person she had ever loved had been her twin sister.

  But the stranger’s touch was having a potent effect on her—it was driving everything from her mind other than how good he was making her feel and the sensation took her by surprise because it felt irrational. It also felt like emotion—and Marnie didn’t do that either. She’d taught herself not to care because you didn’t get hurt if you didn’t care.

  ‘So what’s happened? Have I been bitten by some deadly Greek sea serpent or something?’ she questioned.

  He lifted his head then and she almost wished he hadn’t because his eyes were so blue that they made the sky behind him fade into insignificance.

  ‘A sea urchin, actually,’ he amended coolly. ‘And they do have the potential to be dangerous. Certainly not something you can ignore, or be flippant about. I have something in my bike which can sort it out for you. Wait here.’

  His response sounded halfway between a reprimand and an order and Marnie opened her mouth to tell him not to bother, but thought better of it and shut it again because really—what choice did she have?

  ‘Suit yourself,’ she said.

  Leon scowled as he turned away, retracing his route across the beach towards his motorbike and wondering why the hell he had made the mistake of getting involved with such a fractious female. Afternoons off in his crazy busy life were rare and riding to the top of the island to watch the sunset had been his only plan for the rest of the day, before the whirl of the upcoming weekend descended on him.

  It was strange being back in Greece. It always was. He’d been away for a long time and trips to his homeland had been erratic, for he had made his fortune in America and Europe. But there had been a couple of tentative meetings with his father over recent years, leading to an uneasy reconciliation after a long period of estrangement. Soon he would attend the wedding of the man who had sired him, telling himself it was the right thing to do, even if found the prospect distasteful. But his father was an old man now and who knew how long he had left?

  With an effort, Leon pushed the thought away and regarded instead the weekend which lay ahead of him. His mouth relaxed by a fraction. He owed it to one of his oldest friends to put in an appearance for his birthday celebrations and at least he’d be able to enjoy some down time. At least, that was the theory. In truth he didn’t really do relaxation, no matter how much he tried. He did adrenalin and hunger and drive. He worked better with projects than with people and nothing distracted him from his primary purpose—of remaining one of the most successful self-made men to ever come out of Greece. And that was important to him. It had been the main salvage to his pride and self-respect after the bitter chaos of the past.

  His scowl deepened as he reached his bike and opened up one of the dusty panniers, because rescuing damsels in distress certainly hadn’t been on his agenda, especially one who answered back as much as this one did. But despite the bitter accusations sometimes levelled at him by women who had tried and failed to pin him down, he wasn’t completely devoid of conscience. What else could he do but help the stricken blonde, even if she seemed remarkably ungrateful that he was putting himself out for her?

  He dug around until he found what he was looking for and returned to find her lying prone on the sand, her eyes closed. For a moment he registered her laboured breathing and the way it made her breasts rise and fall so rapidly. He noticed droplets of sea water drying into dots of salt on the faint curve of her belly and something shifted inside him. Something dark and powerful and strong. As he pulled out an old army knife and extracted a pair of tweezers, he realised his mouth had suddenly grown dry. ‘You’ve got some spikes in your heel,’ he said unevenly.

  ‘You don’t say?’

  He gritted his teeth. What was her problem? ‘Which I’m now going to remove.’

  Her eyelids shot open as he spoke and as she stared at him he noticed her eyes for the first time. They were wary eyes, the colour of one of those wintry skies you sometimes saw over Paris. Beautiful eyes, he thought suddenly as another whisper of awareness rippled over his skin.

  ‘Will
it hurt?’ she said.

  ‘Probably. But there’s no alternative. Are you brave?’

  She shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’

  He almost smiled as he saw the defiant tilt of her chin. He wasn’t used to prickly women. To women who were doing their damnedest not to react to him, even though the outline of her nipples against the stretched fabric of her bright bikini told a different story. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Marnie. Marnie Porter.’

  ‘Okay, Marnie Porter. Why don’t you close your eyes again and try to relax while I remove the spikes?’

  ‘Relax? Is that supposed to be a joke? Do you have any idea what this feels like?’

  ‘Actually, I do. It happened to me some years ago. I’ll be as gentle as I can.’

  ‘I...ouch!’ She glared at him, dark lashes fluttering like demented butterflies. ‘If that’s what you call being gentle, I’d hate to see you being rough!’

  ‘Impossible to make it a completely pain-free experience, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ She viewed him with a renewed look of suspicion. ‘Are you a doctor, or something?’

  Her random question was way off mark but for some reason it pleased him. Mostly because it was rare to meet someone who didn’t know who he was, who had no idea of all the baggage which came with having been born a Kanonidou. Even though he’d been away for a long time, the burden of his heritage never really left him and it came rushing back whenever he returned. And why should she know? She was obviously British—one of the thousands of tourists who visited this part of the world every year and spent the rest of their lives wistfully remembering its beauty. She wouldn’t know about the intrigues of Greek society, or the fact that the lives of some of its better-known billionaires were not as unruffled as they appeared on the surface. ‘No, I’m not a doctor. Do I look like one?’