Free Strangers in the Desert by Lynn Raye Harris Page A

with us.” Because he’d decided that the only way to convince her she was not cut out for motherhood was to let her spend time with Rafiq. She’d walked away before—for whatever reason—and she would do so again.
    And he intended that she know it sooner rather than later.
    She seemed so serene, and yet he hadn’t missed the tiny gasp that had escaped her.
    “Two weeks,” he repeated firmly. “But you are not to tell him you are his mother. He does not need the confusion.”
    “But I
am
his mother,” she said.
    “That’s the deal, Isabella. Take it or leave it.”
    She tilted her head. “What am I supposed to be to him, then?”
    Adan shrugged. “A nanny. A caretaker. A teacher. Someone who will not be staying.”
    She set the coffee down on a nearby table. The delicate china rattled as she did so, betraying her nerves.
    Or maybe it was anger. He had to acknowledge that she was certainly capable of bypassing nerves and going straight for the anger.
    “And what happens at the end of two weeks?”
    “We’ll decide when we get there.” It was all he could say to her. Because if he told her that he hoped to bedivorced from her at the end of two weeks, she would most certainly fight him.
    But it’s what he expected. Two weeks for her to decide she didn’t want to be a mother after all, and she would agree to a divorce, assuming his solicitor hadn’t managed to get the job done by then. The coronation wasn’t scheduled for another two weeks anyway, because the laws of Jahfar required a minimum twenty-one-day period of mourning before a new king was officially crowned.
    She bowed her head, as if she were thinking. Her arms crossed beneath her breasts, and an arrow of heat sizzled into his groin at the way they nearly spilled over her silky tank top. When she lifted her head again, her eyes speared into him.
    “You know I’m going to accept. What choice do I have? I’ll do anything to spend time with my baby. And, whether you believe it or not, I care about his welfare every bit as much as you do. I won’t tell him I’m his mother.”
    He inclined his head. “Thank you.”
    “It’s not for you,” she snapped. “It’s for Rafiq. Because you’re right, he doesn’t need the confusion right now. He’s too young to understand what it means, and I won’t use him as a pawn in our argument with each other. Until we settle our issues, his understanding of who is who in his life should remain the same.”
    She was so different than she’d once been. The woman before him now lit up like a firecracker, blazing sparks of outrage and righteousness, whereas the woman she’d been before would have nodded meekly, accepting whatever decree he cared to make.
    Like Jasmine, he thought.
No.
Jasmine was perfect,nothing like Isabella used to be—and nothing like her now. Jasmine would not blaze in the night. She would glow softly. She would not defy him.
    But there would be no need, would there? He and Jasmine were friends. There was no reason for sparks between them.
    “Very well,” he said, “tomorrow we are moving inland, to the Butterfly Palace. There are fewer people there, as well as fewer questions.”
    Because it was best if her return to Jahfar wasn’t widely known. His staff knew, of course, but they were discreet and loyal. He had so little privacy anymore, but this was one area in which he meant to keep his—their—personal business confidential. He and Isabella would not play out the last days of their marriage before the public eye.
    She seemed to understand, as she only nodded.
    “Adan,” she said when he turned to go.
    He stopped. “Yes?”
    “I want to speak with my father.” She bit her lip, that lush lower lip he wanted to nibble as he thrust deep inside her body. The image of him doing just that started the telltale tingle at the base of his spine. He clamped down on his libido before he embarrassed himself.
Focus.
    He could
not
keep thinking of her that way. It was counterproductive