“Here I am. And so are you.”

  “The food is incredible in Paris. And sometimes, if you’re looking for a woman, she might appear here, too.”

  Hannah laughed warily. “I’m trying to get out. Hence the train ticket.”

  “Tell me.” He was overwhelmed with the urge to know. “Did you plan to come back to Al-Dashalid? Or are you taking a world tour to escape from the memory of our time together?” He leaned in close, so that his lips were nearly brushing her ear, and breathed in the fresh, floral scent of her. “Or did you miss it?”

  He loved the smile that graced her lips. “I did miss it. But that’s—that’s not why I planned the trip.” She shifted from side to side, the bag still held firmly in front of her, and bit her lip. “I didn’t expect to see—” She pinched the thought off mid-sentence. “Venice is next on my agenda. I didn’t think you’d be here to…to make it happen for me.”

  “We could pick up where we left off, now that I’ve managed to find you.”

  She pressed her lips into a thin line. “I wanted to tell you….” The space between her words lingered in the air. “Thank you. For the incredible time. I left without saying that before, and it’s weighed on me.” Something else was left unsaid, he was sure of it. But he didn’t press.

  “You’re welcome.” He resisted the urge to press a kiss to the curve of her neck and stepped up to the ticket counter. Kyril ordered the replacement ticket in fluent French, and the woman behind the glass batted her eyes at him.

  “Better hurry,” she replied in her native French. “The train is leaving.”

  As if on cue, the whistle blew again, shrill and urgent.

  “It’s leaving!” Hannah squeaked, her voice rising in panic. “Kyril—”

  He took Hannah’s hand. She didn’t pull hers away. “Let’s go, let’s go. You can still catch it, hurry—”

  He rushed her toward the train, the seconds ticking away around them. Kyril wanted badly, with every fiber of his being, to wrap her in his arms and take her away with him. He’d settle for keeping her hand in his. But he couldn’t afford to get caught up in emotions like this. The whistle screeched again, a final warning, and he squeezed her hand and guided her onto the silver train.

  Hannah stepped into the wide-open doors. She turned back to look at him, hiking her bag up to her shoulder.

  That was when he saw it.

  The gentle curve of her belly under the sundress.

  It was a shock that ran from his head to his toes, ice followed by a surprise that was pure heat.

  “I was going to tell you.” She was eye level with him, standing one step up, and her face was stricken, undecided. “I didn’t plan on meeting you here.”

  “Is it mine?”

  There was no hint of deviousness in those big green eyes of hers, only an electric truth. “It is.”

  “Mine.” His mind seized on the details. The little rise in the hem of her sundress where the bump lifted the fabric. The way the curves of her body were smooth and glowing. Her skin shone, and in the center of it all, her eyes searched her face. Was she looking for excitement? Disapproval? Could she see the storm that raged in the center of his chest?

  His hands rose, and he pressed his palms against that curve. Oh, it was like a sigh of relief, touching her like this, and underneath his palms he felt it—an incandescent spark of life.

  One they’d created together.

  Hannah leaned into his hands, an imperceptible shift of her weight, and he slid his hands around to the sides of her waist. A new life, there between his hands. A new life that was his. He could hold her like this forever.

  The train shuddered, the brakes releasing, and he dropped his hands away from her and stepped back.

  “Goodbye, Kyril,” she said, and the doors of the train slid closed between them.

  “Sir? Is everything all right?” The head of his security team drew close. Hannah turned away, disappearing into the car.

  The train pulled away without him, leaving him standing alone on the platform.

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  (Sheikhs of Al-Dashalid Book One)

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