His Pregnant Prisoner

Part 11

Nakayla stared around the terminal, the beautiful architecture of the private airport building filling her with awe. The same soaring circular ceilings, grand archways and a colorfully hued marble stretched as far as she could see, a far cry from the commercial airport she and Kristoff had flown into.

On learning that she'd been scheduled on a privately chartered flight, Nakayla had called it a huge wastage of resources. But as Rita had pointed out with a lingering question in her eyes, the sheikh had decreed that she be sent off in style.

And no one could defy the mighty sheikh's word.

Whose withdrawal had been absolute and chilling.

When her stomach grumbled, Nakayla opened her energy bar and took a bite. After the elaborate, mouthwatering meals of the past week, the granola bar tasted foul in her mouth but she forced herself to chew.

"We're ready to board you," announced the flight attendant, carefully shying away his gaze from Nakayla.

From gleaming dark wood paneling to supple wide leather seats sitting on priceless Persian rugs constituted the decor. A flat-screen plasma television faced the seats.

Despite the disparity in their lifestyles and cultures, there had been a connection between them from the first moment. A connection that now had a permanent consequence...

Her throat felt thick with an emotion she refused to name.

A woman, dressed in traditional tunic and trousers with her hair concealed in a loose scarf, approached her, a glass of sparkling water in her hand. "Hello, Ms. Archibald," she said deferentially. "I'm a qualified nurse, so please let me know if you feel faint."

Had he informed his whole staff that she was incapable of looking after herself? "I'm a nurse too, so I would know," she added a little sharply.Sighing, Nakayla peered through the window and saw the jagged outline of the capital city set against sprawling desert land in the distance. Turreted domes and spires stood out against the sky and she hungrily clutched the sight to herself.

"Aren't you leaving?" she asked the woman.

"I accompany you to New York," she said demurely, "and then, return to Tahiti."

Nakayla set her glass on the table so fast that the cold water spilled on her fingers.

This was going too far. She'd decided to tolerate the jet because she didn't want to draw Karim's attention by complaining about it. But she drew the line at wasting a qualified nurse's time.

She had learned from Rita that women qualified in the medical field were just not enough for the growing demand in the outlying villages of the city where families still refused to let the women see male doctors.

"Please ask whoever's in charge to take me back to the commercial airport."

"But the sheikh himself—"

"If he has a problem with this," Nakayla replied, as she stood up and grabbed her handbag, "he can come see me himself."

The woman gasped.

"You have your wish, habeebti," came the sudden, soft reply behind her.

Nakayla whirled so fast that she was dizzy.

Karim. The sheer force of his presence was like a blast of toe-curling heat. Her insides plummeted alarmingly.

"You're also going to wish," his tone was silky smooth, like velvet cloaking a knife's edge as he dismissed the nurse with a flick of his head, "we had never met by the time I'm through with you."