The Sheikh's Pregnant Prisoner

Zafir shook his head. “I walked away, in the middle of the night, without looking back. Hid my identity from her.”

All he cared about now, or ever, was Behraat. Yet, the same thought plagued him. Did that mean he was not entitled to even the little pleasures he wanted?

“She’s due a little anger.”

His gaze steady, Arif shook his head. “You cannot let anything distract you from your path.”

And what Arif didn’t say was that he already had. Frustration and anger mixed in with a healthy dose of unsatisfied libido swirled through him.

All he had ever done was to give of himself to his father, even though he hadn’t known it then, and to Behraat. And yet, in return, he would be denied such a small thing as the one woman that tempted him no end.

No!

“Should I live my life like a monk?” It was a question he’d already asked himself. And with Lauren within reach, the answer was becoming blurry to him.

“The best thing for your future, for the future of Behraat would be to find a suitable young woman, one who knows her place in your life and marry her. Cement your position in front of the High Council.”

A pleasant, traditional, biddable Behraati woman would never talk back to him, would definitely not even think of striking him.

That’s what the future held for him. But he was in no hurry to embrace it just yet.

Tariq’s wife, Johara’s portrait caught his attention.

Johara was delicate, stunningly beautiful, shy, the daughter of a member of a powerful High Council member. Someone like her was what he needed for a future wife.

Lauren, on the other hand, was the exact opposite of Johara. Tall and lithe, hardworking, tough, prickly, and unflinchingly honest.

She asked for nothing, made no demands of him, and had nearly killed herself with flu instead of asking for help once. She had few friends outside of her work at the inner-city ER, no personal life. They had been like two perfectly matched ships crossing each other at a port.

Yet she had come looking for him, had cared enough to mourn for him.

A dangerous temptation for a man who rarely allowed himself any personal attachments...

“My life is, always will be, about Behraat, Arif. No woman will change that. Or change me into something I never could be.”

But, for once in his life, he wanted to indulge himself.

She had made the choice to come, hadn’t she? After the brutal reality of the past few weeks, maybe Lauren arriving in Behraat was his prize.

Just the thought of her was enough to tighten every muscle in his body with need.

But first, he needed to make it right with her. And he knew how to do just that.

After all, there had to be some perks to being the ruler of a nation.

* * *

Lauren pushed the French doors aside and stepped onto the private balcony. Dusk was an hour away and it painted the sky crimson. She tugged the edges of a cashmere sweater tighter around her shoulders, feeling the chill in the air.

It was something that amazed her even after a week in Behraat. As hot as it got during the day, with sunset, chill permeated the air.

She couldn’t believe she was in the royal palace, home to the royalty of Behraat, with its various turrets and domes.

Landscaped gardens, water fountains, meandering pathways amid tiled courtyards, everywhere she looked, old-world charm, sheer opulence and unprecedented luxury greeted her. It was a setting straight out of a princess tale her aunt had read to her years ago from a book her parents had gifted her after another diplomatic stint in some far-off, exotic country, just like Behraat.

The quarters she’d been given boasted a large antique bed with the softest cotton sheets spun with threads of gold, satin drapes and the en suite bathroom with a marble bathtub was fit for a princess. Plush, colorful rugs snuggled against her bare feet, a vanity mirror framed with intricate gold filigree...everywhere she turned, the opulence of Zafir’s wealth, the sheer differences in their worlds mocked her.

Even when she lay down on her bed, there was the soaring ceiling inlaid with an intricate mural that cast a golden glow over the room. As though she needed a reminder of where she was or who she was dealing with.

She turned around and walked back into the suite. Restlessness and uncertainty gnawed at her, even though it had been a full day since she had learned of her pregnancy. “You’re a fully qualified doctor?” she shot at Farrah who hadn’t left except for a couple of hours.

Farrah looked up from her journal and nodded.

“It doesn’t bother you that he’s ordered you to play nursemaid to me?”

“It’s a small request from a man who saved me at my lowest without judgment, when...even my family had forsaken me.” She put the journal aside. “And it is clear that you are important to him.”

Lauren ignored the obvious question in Farrah’s words and shot one of her own. “Because he has jailed me here rather than one of those underground cells?”

“You misunderstand. You’re in Zafir’s private wing. Women are not allowed here. If imprisoning you was what he intended, he could have put you anywhere.” She paused as though waiting for the import of her words to sink in. “Here, he can be absolutely certain of your safety.”

Lauren refused to attach any meaning to Farrah’s revelation.

She walked toward the dark side table laden with exotic fruits and pastries. She picked up the elegant silver jug and poured sherbet into the gleaming silver tumbler and took a sip. Apparently, in Zafir’s world, silverware meant actual silverware.

The smooth fruity liquid slid down her parched throat blissfully. “The only person posing a problem to my safety is His Arrogant Highness.”

“There have been two attempts on his life since he returned to Behraat, Lauren.”

The tumbler slid from Lauren’s grasp, soundlessly spreading a stain on the thick Persian rug at her feet.

Lauren gripped the wooden surface, an image of Zafir dead instantly pressed upon her by her overactive mind. Nausea rose up through her, turning the sweet taste of the sherbet into bitterness.

That he might be dead was a reality she had accepted a few days ago. Yet having seen him, she couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to him. She picked up a napkin and knelt to soak up the stain from the rug. “Why would—”

A knock at the door to the suite cut off her question.

A woman, dressed in a maroon kaftan and head robes that covered her hair, entered the suite. She had a silver tray in her hand, the contents of it covered by a red velvet cloth lined with gold threads.

Kohl-rimmed eyes stole glances at her as the woman spoke to Farrah. Her eyes wide, Farrah stared at Lauren and back at the woman. “His Highness wants to see you in an hour on the rooftop garden,” Farrah said, her gaze tellingly blank of any expression.

The woman stepped forward and stretched her arms. Lauren took a step back, unease settling low in her belly.

Her heart going thump-thump, she pulled the velvet cloth and bit back a gasp. With shaking hands, she took the precious emerald silk gown from the tray and unfolded it, the soft crunch of tissue wrapped in its folds puncturing the silence.

Thousands of tiny crystals, sewn along the demure neckline and the tight bodice, winked at her. A pencil line skirt flared from the waist with a knee-high slit in the back.

A dress fit for a princess, a sheikha, or a rich man’s plaything.

It would fit her like a glove, Lauren realized. Her gaze caught Farrah’s for a second, and the same knowledge lingered there. Her temper rising, she dropped the gown, feeling more dirty than she had ever felt.

The curiosity with which the two women watched her every move, every nuance in her expression, scraped at her nerves.

Were they coming to the same conclusion as her? A female guest tucked away in the High Sheikh’s quarters, on whom he bestowed gifts of the most intimate kind.

What kind of a game was he playing?

A sick feeling coursed through Lauren, settling in her stomach. She showed the velvet case no such care as she had done the dress. She yanked it open and stared at its contents.

A diamond necklace, with matching earrings and bracelet. The name of the top designer in gold threading on the velvet case was redundant to Lauren. She knew this particular design too well. Tears that she dare not shed choked up her throat.

He remembered her obsession with diamonds.

Every surface in her apartment in Queens was littered with brochures and catalogs from the top diamond galleries of the world. It was her guilty pleasure to spend a lazy evening in her recliner, going through the catalogs, marking the ones she liked, while in reality, she didn’t own a tiny pendant.

The diamonds glittered and winked at her as she closed the lid, struggling to keep a check on her unraveling temper.

Did he think she would be softened by this blatant display of wealth, that she would forget everything that had happened? That he could buy her off with expensive gifts?

The fact that he remembered her obsession plunged the stab of his betrayal a little deeper. Whatever he said now, whatever he did, she had to remember that he’d made the choice to cut her out of his life with little regret. That he’d suspected her of the worst.

She dropped the velvet case onto the tray on the bed. “Please instruct her to take it back, Farrah, and to inform His Highness that I don’t intend to see him. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever again.”

CHAPTER FOUR

LAUREN TIED THE sash on the plush thigh-length robe and walked into the sitting area of her suite. With another plush towel, she rubbed the wetness out of her hair. She would have lingered another hour in the marble tub, playing and luxuriating in the innumerable jets and settings, if she wasn’t scared she would turn into a prune. “That marble tub is decadent, Farrah.”

“I’m glad something in my palace gives you pleasure, Lauren.”

Husky, honeyed—his tone sent waves of sensation rollicking over her already tingly flesh. Her knees wobbled. She pulled her towel off her face, her cheeks tightening with heat.

Uncurling himself from the velvet armchair, Zafir cut a direct path toward her, his gaze traveling over her with a thoroughness that instantly put her on edge. Flaring with shock, Farrah’s gaze volleyed between them.

“Leave us, Farrah.” He threw the command without turning his thoroughly disconcerting gaze from Lauren.

“I have nothing to say to you that Farrah can’t—”

“I have,” he said, stopping a few inches from her. Farrah had already gathered her things and quietly exited the room.

His hair still wet, he smelled so good that her stomach did a funny flip.

In a light brown V-neck T-shirt and tight blue jeans, he looked sexy and approachable. Like delicious dark chocolate that she wanted to sink her teeth into. The shirt exposed the strong column of his throat, hugged the hard contours of his chest and muscled abdomen.

Her throat dry, Lauren tucked her hands at her sides and tugged her gaze up.

His tawny gaze glinted with incinerating warmth, a hint of mockery in the grooves around his mouth. It swept over her with invasive familiarity, lingering far too long over the opening in her robe.

Her pulse went haywire, a new kind of oxygen deprivation drying her mouth now.

She tugged at the sash holding it together, the soft silk burning against her overheated skin. His hand shot out to her cheek in a quick movement, too fast for her hazy senses to grasp. Every cell in her being pushed her into leaning into his touch and she resisted it. Just.

When he touched her, his movements were gentle, tracing the circles she sported under her eyes. “You look awful.” He said this in a tone that spoke of regret. As if it hadn’t been in his power to not hurt her. As if he hadn’t made that choice himself.

She stepped back. “Thanks for noticing, Your Highness, and for deigning to see me,” she drawled. “I should curtsy, but seeing that you had me locked up here for two days, I’m not in the mood. Instruct your staff to release me. I want to leave, at once.”

A frown twisted his brows and then smoothed down. Her hands instantly went to her midriff and that incisive gaze followed. She pretended to secure the knot of her robe, her fingers shaking. Heat flushed her from within when he moved closer again, triggering every nerve into a hyper-aware state, stealing rational thought.

“Stop that,” she said softly, suddenly wishing the dark stranger from that afternoon back. She wanted to be angry with him, she was, yet her body seemed disjointed from her mind.

He raised his hands like shields, a butter-won’t-melt expression on his face. “Stop what?”

“Looking at me like that,” she croaked.

“It gives me pleasure to look at you.”

She rolled her eyes, hoping that he couldn’t hear the thudding of her heart. “I fell for that line six weeks ago. Fool me once—”

His finger on her lips cut her off. She trembled all over, the simple contact breathing a firestorm of need all over. “Choosing that gown and the jewelry was the most pleasure I’ve had in six weeks.”

He had picked the gown himself? Her heart, if possible, skipped a beat, his words falling over her like sparkly, magic dust, ensnaring her senses into a web of intoxicated desire. How else could she explain the gooey mass in the center of her stomach?

“If you had worn it and accepted my invitation for dinner, I would have been even more pleased.”

“I...me...my pleasure, self-absorbed much, Zafir?” she mocked him. Something uncoiled in his gaze but her bitter words were the only things she had to fight him with. “Your gifts don’t mean anything to me except that you think you can buy your way out of anything. You locked me up here. Dinner with you is the last thing I want.”

“I wanted to make sure Farrah could take proper care of you. What is bothering you?” he said, steel creeping into his words.

“You’re kidding, right? Should I fall at your feet because you moved me here, because you threw some gifts at me? Three days ago, you accused me of conspiring against you and now...” She vibrated with anger and hurt, barely getting words out. “You talk to me as if nothing happened. I’ve had quite enough of you and this...place.”

“I would like to apologize for that. I knew that you weren’t capable of scheming like that.”

“And you came to this realization after getting concrete proof from David and not a second before?”

His mouth hardened and Lauren realized she hated this version of him. Every time he spoke or thought of Behraat, he became someone she didn’t know, someone she didn’t want to know. “I needed that video, Lauren. I have to be ruthless from time to time. Consider it one of the hazards of being the ruler.”

“More like the effect of being drunk on your own power.”

Instead of the anger she had expected, his mouth curved into a smile. His gaze moved to her mouth and she felt his perusal like a tingle. “Surrounded by my people, I’ve forgotten how outspoken you are.” He pushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “It was the first thing I noticed about you.”

Whatever she had been about to say flitted away. Pure sensation skittered over her skin. He cupped her jaw and pulled her close, the rough pad of his thumb rubbing her skin. “I brought Huma to the ER, you took one look at her, and demanded if I was the one who had given her those bruises. The way you looked at me with fire burning in your eyes...” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

“You reminded me of a lioness I once saw in the zoo...ferocious and breathtaking.” His tone became molten, honeyed on those last words, a fire burning in his eyes.

“I have never in my life become so hard just by looking at a woman, ya habeebti.”

Wet warmth pooled at her core and she clutched her thighs together.

Torture, that’s what it was. And worse than being locked up. Because when he accused her of nefarious intentions, she could fight him, and despise him.

But when he spoke like that, with desire, with honesty, with nothing but that warmth, she stood no chance.

She tried to let her body go slack, but she had no control over her own muscles. All she wanted was to drop the robe and let him ease the ache between her legs. God, and he would...with those clever fingers, he would unravel so easily and efficiently...until there was only her and him and that fire between them.

“Stop touching me,” she finally managed, sounding breathless and shivery.

Forcing her back until the back of her legs hit the bed, he crowded her. His thumb moved over her lower lip, the heat from his body swathing her. “You love it when I touch you. In fact, while we were together, we couldn’t get enough of each other.”

“I used to.” She somehow pulled her sanity together finally. “Now all I want is to put several thousand miles between us.”

His gaze became hard, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “I thought you would have cooled off by now.” He spread his hands around, and the lack of economy in that movement betrayed his rising temper that his even tone hid. “Seeing that you assumed I was dead and I’m clearly not, I thought you would get over your shock and be happy to see me.”

“And that we would take up where we left off six weeks ago?” she yelled the words, masking the lump in her throat. The incredible arrogance in his assumption left her shaking, dousing her desire with the efficiency of an ice-cold bath. “I’m never going to get over it, Zafir.

“If I weren’t a...sentimental fool who jumped on a plane, we wouldn’t have seen each other again...ever. You made a deliberate choice to walk out of my life that night. Don’t act as though you care now.”

Her legs quaked beneath her when she meant to move away from him. She felt light-headed.

His arms forming a steel cage, Zafir picked her up instantly and laid her down on the settee. His forehead wreathed in concern as he studied her face. “Ya Allah, you were about to faint again. What the hell is going on with you, Lauren?”

She had let herself get upset by his gifts this morning and barely touched her lunch. No wonder she felt so weak, so vulnerable. She couldn’t do this again and again. She couldn’t let her child pay the price for her weakness.

Moving back on the chaise, she wrapped her hands around her legs. “I’m just hungry,” she whispered. He immediately picked up the intercom and ordered enough food to feed an army.

When he reached for her, she shook her head. “Leave, before the staff arrives.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve already given them enough to gossip about. I would like to not become another dirty spectacle of your palace, Zafir.”

His jaw tight, he glared at her. “You are awful at taking care of yourself. I will wait until I’m sure you’re not going to collapse again,” he said, the frustrated anger in his voice snaring her again.

After everything that had happened that day, it was the last thing she wanted to hear. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You had the most virulent flu two weeks before I left, remember? And it’s obvious you’ve not recovered from it. When Huma found you on the bathroom floor and called me, you looked like you were about to die. I literally carried you to the clinic. And here you are again looking like a ghost. What have you been doing, starving yourself?”

Shying her gaze away from him, Lauren drank a glass of ice-cold water.

She had been worried over him. But there was no point in reiterating what a fool she had been.

Instead, her thoughts moved to that evening he had taken her to the clinic. For a week, he and Huma had taken shifts, nursing her back to health, not leaving her alone even for a few minutes. By the time her friend Alicia had heard about her illness and arrived with chicken soup, Lauren had been halfway to recovering.

And when she had gotten better, he had come to her that evening, and dismissed Huma, a wild light in his eyes...

It was the last time she had seen him, the only time he had actually stayed over at her apartment in two months...

Her gaze flew open, her stomach twisting at the final nail in the coffin.

Zafir laid his hand on her forehead, frowning. “Do you feel faint again?”

She shook her head, dislodging his hand. “Huma knew, didn’t she?”

A stillness crept into his face. “Knew what?”

“She knew about us...that we were...” she forced the words out, killing any tender thought she had ever indulged in, “having sex?”

His expression became distasteful. “I do not discuss my sex life with Huma. But yes.”

“Did she also know you were leaving the next morning?”

He looked as though he was weighing his response and she wondered why when he had given her the absolute truth earlier. “Huma’s the daughter of an old friend whose life was in danger here. She was under my care in New York. I had to tell her that I was leaving, that I had made plans for her.”

Huma had left a week after he had. With a hug and something muttered in Arabic that Lauren couldn’t understand to her question about Zafir.

“Did she tell you that I had been worried?”

“Yes.”

She bolted from the chaise, fury finally, mercifully coming to her rescue. All this could have been avoided. It could have all ended in New York just as he’d intended.

She turned back to him, one last question gnawing at her gut.

Leave it alone, Lauren, a part of her whispered, the part that preferred to cling to delusion.

No.

Knowing the bitter, eviscerating truth was better than driving herself crazy for years to come with speculation. She’d learned early on, with her parents’ indifference, that hope was toxic, gnawing away at one’s self.

“Were you ever going to call, Zafir?”

Silence stretched between them, its cruel fingers shredding her patched up nerves.

“Leave,” she whispered.

He turned her around, his fingers gripping her tight. “It was a decision I made. But I did...regret the necessity of making it. It doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you in these last few weeks.” Arrogant features softened. “Stay in Behraat for a while, as my guest.”

She stared at him, her mouth hanging open for several seconds. They were mere words but she could already feel herself softening, traitorous desire whispering sweet temptations in her ears.

It seemed nothing had changed in how she reacted to his magnetic presence. After everything she had gone through in the past few weeks, she was ashamed to feel the thrum of excitement his words incited.

“No,” she forced the word out.

He trapped her again. Rock-hard thighs pressed into hers. Molten gaze hovered over her mouth and a low hum began to vibrate over her skin. “Why not?”

She licked her lips and straightened, fisting her hands. It was either that or touch him. God, how she wanted to run her fingers over his sensual mouth, lean into him and relish the heat of his body.

His hands crept into her hair and tugged her closer, his long fingers encircling her nape. Awareness shot through her like a surge of current. “You’re a workaholic and haven’t taken a vacation in forever. Besides, I’ve missed our Friday, what did you call them, movie and...make out sessions.”

“You’re serious?” she said.

He didn’t answer her question, only pulled her closer. It went straight to her head, making her light-headed with longing, shooting need to the apex of her thighs, drenching her in liquid heat.

How she wanted to close her eyes and let him take her to ecstasy once again. How she wanted to delude herself that physical pleasure was intimacy...that lust was caring...that she mattered and not just as a willing woman.

Fears and insecurities she had repressed for so long festered in that void. And she detested herself for feeling so much. “I can’t. In fact, if I never lay eyes on you again after tonight, it’ll be too soon for me.”