Captured By A Sheikh

Sharif lifted the baby against his shoulder.

Ben’s little head came up, and two shiny eyes peered into his.

Love flooded through Sharif, so powerful that the breath caught in his throat. He could not deny the power that his child held over him. He had thought he could produce a son and then simply entrust him to the women in his family. The child had been intended as a gift to his homeland. Now he knew he would protect the child at any cost.

The bathroom door opened. The fragrance of Holly’s hair and the brightness of her spirit filled the room.

She tossed her borrowed shirt onto the bed. “I can wash that by hand….”

“We have a more important matter to—” He stopped, on catching sight of her changed appearance.

“Well?” she asked. “Is it that bad?”

Bad enough that he wanted to resume where they had left off, with a kiss that deepened into something that no man should contemplate with another man’s bride….

Dear Intrigue Reader,

A brand-new year, the launch of a new millennium, a new cover look—and another exciting lineup of pulse-pounding romance and exhilarating suspense from Harlequin Intrigue!

This month, Amanda Stevens gives new meaning to the phrase “men in uniform” with her new trilogy, GALLAGHER JUSTICE, about a family of Chicago cops. They’re tough, tender and totally to die for. Detective John Gallagher draws first blood in The Littlest Witness (#549).

If you’ve never been Captured by a Sheikh (#550), you don’t know what you’re missing! Veteran romance novelist Jacqueline Diamond takes you on a magic carpet ride you’ll never forget, when a sheikh comes to claim his son, a baby he’s never even seen.

Wouldn’t you just love to wake up and have the sexiest man you’ve ever seen take you and your unborn child into his protection? Well, Harlequin Intrigue author Dani Sinclair does just that when she revisits FOOLS POINT. My Baby, My Love (#551) is the second story set in the Maryland town Dani created in her Harlequin Intrigue book For His Daughter (#539).

Susan Kearney rounds out the month with a trip to the wildest American frontier—Alaska. A Night Without End (#552) is another installment in the Harlequin Intrigue bestselling amnesia promotion A MEMORY AWAY…. This time a woman wakes to find herself in a remote land in the arms of a sexy stranger who claims to be her husband.

And this is just the beginning! We at Harlequin Intrigue are committed to keeping you on the edge of your seat. Thank you for your enthusiastic support.

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor, Harlequin Intrigue

Captured by a Sheikh

Jacqueline Diamond

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A former news reporter, Jacqueline Diamond has covered the police beat in several cities of Orange County, California, where this book is set. The author of more than twenty-five Harlequin romances, she’s married and has two sons.

Books by Jacqueline Diamond

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

435—AND THE BRIDE VANISHES

512—HIS SECRET SON

550—CAPTURED BY A SHEIKH

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

79—THE DREAM NEVER DIES

196—AN UNEXPECTED MAN

218—UNLIKELY PARTNERS

239—THE CINDERELLA DARE

270—CAPERS AND RAINBOWS

279—GHOST OF A CHANCE

315—FLIGHT OF MAGIC

351—BY LEAPS AND BOUNDS

406—OLD DREAMS, NEW DREAMS

446—THE TROUBLE WITH TERRY

491—A DANGEROUS GUY

583—THE RUNAWAY BRIDE

615—YOURS, MINE AND OURS

631—THE COWBOY AND THE HEIRESS

642—ONE HUSBAND TOO MANY

645—DEAR LONELY IN LA…

674—MILLION-DOLLAR MOMMY

687—DADDY WARLOCK

716—A REAL-LIVE SHEIKH

734—THE COWBOY AND THE SHOTGUN BRIDE

763—LET’S MAKE A BABY!

791—ASSIGNMENT: GROOM!

804—MISTLETOE DADDY

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Holly Rivers— She’s a dead ringer for her missing sister. Blood may be thicker than water, and so may deception.

Sheikh Sharif Al-Khalil— He doesn’t hesitate to take what he believes he’s entitled to, by whatever means necessary.

Jasmine “Jazz” Rivers— She took the sheikh’s money to have his baby, then disappeared. Is she an extortionist, or a murder victim?

Zahad Adran— Dispossessed of his own inheritance, the sheikh’s trusted aide might be looking to replace it with someone else’s.

Tevor Samuelson— Attorney, old friend and would-be bridegroom, he invites trust. But does he merit it?

Noreen Wheaton— Director of a surrogacy clinic, she’s been known to tamper with client files.

Manuel Estrellas— He risked his job and his life to tell Holly the truth of baby Ben’s parentage. Does he have a hidden agenda?

Yusuf Gozen— He’s sworn revenge on Sharif for the slaying of his despotic brother. Do his targets include the sheikh’s son and the woman he loves?

Special thanks to Gary Bale and Kelly Millard

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Prologue

October

Bahrim City, Alqedar, in southern Arabia

The surrogate mother was gone. And, with her, the baby due to be born in a few weeks.

Furious on hearing the news, Sheikh Sharif Al-Khalil clenched his fists. “The police in California—will they not help?”

Zahad Adran, the sheikh’s cousin, aide and chief of security at the palace, spread his hands in frustration. “They have found no signs of foul play, so there is no criminal investigation.”

The sheikh stared at his aide over the papers stacked on his broad desk, the contracts that would bring money for hospitals and schools. “I will fly to America at once. I must find my son!”

Beneath his red-and-white-checked kaffiyeh, the traditional headdress of his country, Zahad’s scarred face was wise beyond his years. “Cousin, let me deal with this situation. Our people need you, now more than ever.”

“The longer we wait, the harder it will be to find her!” Sharif could scarcely think beyond the need to retrieve the woman who would bear his child.

“If you approve, I will fly to California tomorrow and investigate,” Zahad said. “The director of the surrogacy clinic, Noreen Wheaton, has promised to cooperate. However, we must remember that the mother has many rights under American law.”

Angrily, the sheikh turned away. Mirrored in the glass of an arched window, his eyes glittered with rage. His sharp-featured face, hardened by warfare, was softened only slightly by a short beard and mustache, and by the white, banded headcloth that fell across the shoulders of his business suit.

Nine years ago, while Sharif was away fighting to free their country from a dictator, his wife, Yona, had died in childbirth. He would not risk the life of another woman he loved, but he had done his best to produce an heir.

Beyond the window sprawled Bahrim City, the second largest community in the Arabian nation of Alqedar. Its people depended on him. And he, apparently, had depended on the wrong woman. “She has sold herself already. Perhaps she now intends to raise the price.”

“If we must bribe the girl, so be it,” Zahad said. “Let us hope it is only money she wants, and not custody.”

Sharif swung back to face his cousin. Although he had read of custody battles when he was a college student in New York, this personal betrayal outraged him. “She signed a contract and accepted one hundred and fifty thousand dollars!”

“Of which the clinic has received only half pending the child’s birth,” Zahad reminded him. “In any case, my friend, we cannot ride in like warriors and take what is ours. Please allow me to handle this matter in your stead.”

Reluctantly, Sharif yielded. “Very well,” he said. “You will advise me the moment you learn of her whereabouts. I’ll join you there if this matter cannot be quickly resolved.”

Zahad bowed, although no such formalities were necessary between the two men. “Of course,” he said, and retreated.

Sharif reminded himself that his cousin was a capable man. It was, after all, Zahad who had found the Crestline View Clinic in the first place.

Southern California was one of the world’s few locations that offered high-quality medical facilities, lax laws regarding surrogate parenting, and a population of liberated young women. Even so, it had taken Mrs. Wheaton many tries to find a surrogate who met the sheikh’s high standards.

From the top desk drawer, he withdrew a photograph. It was the woman he knew as H. J. Rivers.

Her face riveted him, the hazel eyes strikingly intelligent within a heart-shaped face. She had dramatic dark-red hair and a gentle mouth that reminded him of Yona.

The accompanying description was spare. “Age twenty-five, never married, Ms. Rivers works as a manicurist at a beauty salon and lives with her older sister. She has sung professionally.

“She wishes to help Your Excellency secure your people’s future, and plans to use the money to make a demonstration recording to further her singing career.”

Mrs. Wheaton’s one qualm was that H. J. Rivers had never previously given birth. Sharif, however, preferred that his son have a virtuous mother. A woman who lived an apparently chaste life, sharing quarters with her sister, suited him well.

Now he wondered whether anything had been omitted or misrepresented. Above all, why had this beautiful woman disappeared with his soon-to-beborn son?

From the desk, he drew the other photograph, the one he had received four months ago. A blurry ultrasound image formed the shape of a baby boy, a son who would enrich his father’s life, and those of their people.

Sharif had fallen in love with this child from the moment he saw the picture. How could he bear to lose him?

Suddenly finding it hard to breathe, he threw open the window. Outside the palace, October sunshine baked mud-brick houses, and a breeze carried the aromas of coffee, spices and frankincense from an open-air marketplace. It was a poor city, although rich in tradition.

The entire Arabian nation of Alqedar had its share of economic woes, but it was the fifty-thousand residents of Bahrim City and its environs who concerned Sharif, because they fell under his family’s protection. For the first time, prosperity lay within reach.

The region’s twisted, pale Jubah trees yielded a silklike fiber prized for its softness and durability. Recently, the fiber had been synthesized under Sharif’s patronage.

He owned the patent jointly with chemist Hakem “Harry” Haroun, who was married to Sharif’s cousin Amy. Soon large-scale production of Jubah cloth would fund badly needed public works. Then no man, child, or woman of Bahrim would die, as Yona had, for lack of a modern hospital.

All was not secure, however. Other regional leaders eyed the project enviously. Also, Sharif had received death threats for his role in overthrowing the late dictator, Maimun.

The future of Bahrim could not rest on his shoulders alone. He needed an heir. The love he felt for his unborn son had been an unexpected bonus.

The creak of hinges snapped Sharif to attention. Pivoting, he reached for his gun.

“Jumpy as a cat, aren’t you?” His aunt Selima glided into the room. In her late sixties, she had a strong, watchful face and black hair distinguished by a shock of silver fanning from a widow’s peak. A gold-embroidered crimson dress skimmed her ample figure.

“Has Zahad told you what happened?” he asked, withdrawing his hand from within his jacket.

“Yes, but we must hope for the best.” His aunt whisked aside piles of paper to clear a space on his desktop. “You requested my instruction and you shall have it.”

“Aunt Selima, this is no time for such matters!”

Ignoring his frown, she unrolled a pad and, from her woven shoulder bag, produced a cherubically naked plastic doll. “Well?” she demanded, holding out a thick, folded cloth. “You won’t learn anything standing over there!”

There was no point in fighting the inevitable. With a rueful smile, the sheikh went to take his first lesson in diapering.

Chapter One

Three months later

Harbor View, California

Where had the baby gotten those dark, piercing eyes? Holly Rivers wondered as she gazed down at the child in her arms. Whoever the father was, if he had eyes like those, he must exert a hypnotic appeal.

Little Ben blinked, and the impression of ferocity vanished. When he stretched his tiny arms and yawned, her heart clenched.

She had thought she knew what love was, until the first time this baby was placed in her arms. Then she’d discovered, in a burst of wonder, the true depth of the human heart.

Did he have to be such a chunky fellow at three months, though? Although her arms were beginning to hurt, Holly hesitated to position him any closer against her for fear of spoiling her antique lace wedding dress.

She hoped Alice Frey, her matron of honor and her employer at the Sunshine Lane Salon, would return soon with their flowers. She needed Alice’s help to feed Ben before the four-o’clock ceremony, and they only had half an hour left.

“Hey, can I come in?” The question was followed by a belated knock on the partly open door of the church’s dressing room. Without waiting for an answer, in marched Trevor Samuelson.

Her groom. The man she was to marry for all the kindness and caring he’d shown over the years, and for the secure home he was offering her and Ben.

Although black and white weren’t the most flattering colors for a blond, blue-eyed man, the tuxedo looked handsome on Trevor. “You look terrific,” she said, smiling.

“It’s not exactly comfortable.” With a wry expression, he tugged on the bow tie.

At forty-eight, Trevor, a successful attorney, was eighteen years older than Holly and a longtime friend of her late parents. Until recently, she’d thought of him as a kind of uncle.

Then, during the past year, his friendly manner had shifted into courtship. At first, she’d kept him at arm’s length.

But after her pregnant sister Jazz disappeared, Trevor had been her mainstay, offering emotional support and spending his own time and money on the search. It had been a relief to share her burden.

Just before Christmas, one of Jazz’s scruffy musician friends, Griffin Goldbar, had showed up with Ben. Astonished at being handed a baby, Holly hadn’t questioned him forcefully, especially after Griff assured her that Jazz would return in a few days.

When she didn’t, Holly had worried all through Christmas. She’d begun to fear that her sister might not return at all.

Two weeks ago, when Trevor assured her that his love was big enough to include the child, Holly accepted his proposal. Maybe his kisses didn’t set her on fire, but she needed him.

She was in no shape, financially or emotionally, to raise a child alone. Besides, he made her feel safe and cherished.

His eagerness had persuaded her not to delay the wedding. Fortunately, she already had her mother’s wedding gown.

“Did I mention how stunning you look?” Trevor brushed his thumb across the wing of dark-red hair that fell to her collar. “Honey, I’m just bursting with pride. I can’t wait to see you walk down the aisle.”

She blushed. “Have many of the guests arrived?” Holly’s parents were dead, and she had no other close family. Neither did Trevor, whose childless first marriage had ended in divorce five years ago.

The guests included her co-workers and some of Trevor’s colleagues. Many couldn’t attend, however, because courts were in session. The wedding had been scheduled on the salon’s afternoon off, a Monday, which was also one of the few days the church had been available.

“They’re straggling in.” The crease deepened in his cheek. “I’m nervous, can you believe that? It’s not as if I’ve never done this before, but it feels like the first time.”

“For me, too, Trev,” teased Holly, and startled a laugh from her fiancé.

He looped his arm around her and Ben, and angled for a kiss. At that moment, an armful of flowers swept through the door and a penetrating female voice rapped out, “Don’t you know it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony? Out! Out!”

“Yes, ma’am.” With a sigh, Trevor executed a mock bow in Alice’s direction, and withdrew.

“How’s our darling?” Alice asked, placing her bouquet on the conference table.

“He said he’s nervous.”

“I don’t mean Trevor! I mean the baby!” Alice clucked at Ben, who cooed back at her. “My goodness, I feel as if you’re my little grandbaby! I wish my son would get married, but it’s beginning to look less and less like he ever will. This may be the only grandchild I ever have, and I don’t want to lose him just because you’re getting married!”

“Don’t worry, Alice. You’re as close to Ben as any grandmother could be.” Holly meant every word.

The short salon owner, who at fifty fought a never-ending battle against gray hair and a thickening waist-line, had adored Ben from the first moment she saw him.

When Holly’s finances were strained by the search for her sister, the salon owner had even offered to let the two move into her small house. Thanks to Trevor, however, that wouldn’t be necessary.

“You know I like Jazz,” said Alice, who had put up patiently with the aspiring singer’s occasional absences from her manicure duties. “But if she doesn’t care enough about this baby to come and get him, she’s an idiot.”

“If only she’d told me who the father is!” Holly said. “Maybe he knows where she went.”

“Yes, well, it’s your wedding day, Holly Jeannette Rivers-almost-Samuelson, so let’s forget Jazz, for once.” Lifting a circlet of flowers, Alice placed it expertly atop Holly’s thick hair. A gauzy veil turned the world blurry until the salon owner tipped it upward. “It’s hinged, thank goodness. So you don’t have to stumble around until your final march.”

“You make that sound like the march of doom!” Yielding her nephew to Alice, Holly picked up her bouquet. The tightly bound flowers had a light, refreshing smell.

“Oh, I like Trevor,” said her friend. “I just think he’s too old for you. And too much like a familiar pair of shoes. Where’s your romantic spirit? Don’t you want to meet someone exciting?”

“Apparently my sister met someone exciting, and a lot of good it did her!” Holly rejoined. “Oh, Alice, I miss her so much. What if something bad’s happened to her? She’s so talented, so intense—”

“And so unreliable,” her employer pointed out as she retrieved a bottle of formula from the diaper bag. “Any day now, she’ll breeze back as if she’d never been away.”

“I hope so.”

The older woman settled onto a chair and positioned the baby for feeding. “Why don’t you get a breath of fresh air? Just make sure Trevor isn’t lurking around stealing glances at his bride.”

“I think that’s romantic,” Holly returned. “He loves me, Alice. He may be an old friend, but he’s got all the qualities of an ideal husband.”

“Rich, handsome and boring.” Her friend sniffed.

Suddenly Holly did need a breath of fresh air. Anyway, it was obvious her friend wanted to be alone with the baby.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, and went out through a short hallway into the courtyard. It separated the Sunday school building, which housed her dressing room, from the Spanish-style stucco chapel.

The air was January-crisp, with thin sunshine straggling through the clouds. Last night’s drizzle had darkened the high stucco wall that blocked her view of the street.

In back, an alley separated the chapel courtyard from a vacant lot filled with wildflowers. In the courtyard, the flowers were more refined: rose-colored camellias, pale pink azaleas and white calla lilies. Still, the predominant fragrance was wet earth.

As usual when she was alone, Holly’s thoughts returned to her sister. People said the two of them looked alike, but she knew better. Jazz was more dramatic in every way: two inches taller, with brighter red hair, darker brown eyes and a more vivacious manner.

Abruptly, she realized she was being watched. Startled, she stared at the man standing across the alley. Where had he come from? The fact that she hadn’t seen or heard him approach gave her a creepy sensation.

He stood motionless, regarding her the way a cat watches its prey. Tall and dark, with a short beard and mustache, he had a muscular build beneath his sweatshirt and jeans. He wore a California Angels baseball cap, turned backward.

The most striking thing about the man was the intensity of the eyes. They burned at her from his chiseled face, disturbing her with their open expression of dislike.

Annoyed, Holly reached up and lowered her veil. Not a twitch of the stranger’s lips betrayed a reaction.

She hurried inside, but an impression of alert tension stayed with her. And of fierce eyes that seemed oddly familiar.

“YOU ARE certain it is she?” asked Zahad. To Sharif, the turtleneck sweater and cap gave his cousin a collegiate air.

“She covered her face when she saw me, but yes,” the sheikh replied. “I am certain.” The resemblance to the photograph of H. J. Rivers was unmistakable.

The two men sat in the front seat of a rented sedan, next to a small shopping center on the far side of the vacant lot. Through binoculars, they had been watching the churchyard for more than an hour.

Although, following Zahad’s advice, the sheikh was dressed in casual American fashion, something about him had distressed Holly Rivers. He should not have stared so hard, he supposed, but he had wanted to see her face clearly.

How innocent she looked, and how lovely, her youth and vivid coloring flattered by the ivory gown. He knew her true nature, however. She had stolen his money, and now she was trying to steal his child.

“They are all snakes,” he muttered. “Her, and those people at the clinic.”

Beside him, Zahad nodded. “I am sorry I steered you to that place. It received many recommendations on the Internet, so I trusted Mrs. Wheaton, but she has deceived us. I am only glad we had not yet paid her the full amount.”

A month ago, the clinic owner had stopped returning Zahad’s phone calls. When he finally reached her, she had nervously declared that there were some unforeseen complications but that they could be handled. Any precipitous action might create legal problems, she had said.