The Sheikh's Pregnant Prisoner

Lauren stared at him. “So you’re a misogynist as well as being a sheikh? I don’t know how much more of this I can handle.”

Something entered his gaze. “This is not New York, Lauren. Nor am I an average Joe.”

“No, you’re not,” she whispered. Even in New York, she hadn’t made the mistake of thinking he was an average man.

A small-scale exporter, he’d told her, struggling to keep his place in Behraat because of the changing political clime. The gleam of interest in his eyes—six feet of stunning, sexy, jaw-droppingly arrogant man’s interest in her, averagely attractive ER nurse, who’d long ago chosen a life of non-adventure and boring normalcy, because it was safe—it had gone straight to her head.

She’d swallowed his lies all too willingly.

Instead, he was the ruler of a nation and, if the media was to be believed, one who had seized power from the previous sheikh. He was the very embodiment of power and ambition she despised, far from the rootless man she had thought him to be.

The black-and-white tiles swam in front of her eyes. She slid into the chair in a boneless heap, tucked her head down between her knees and forced herself to breathe.

The fine hairs on her neck prickled, the air coated with an exotic scent that her traitorous body craved all too easily. Standing over her, his presence was a dark shadow stealing every bit of warmth from her.

His long fingers landed on her nape and her skin zinged. “Lauren?”

The concern edging into those words tugged at her, but she resisted its dangerous quality. Because it was reluctant at best. “Don’t pretend you care.”

Shock flared in his gaze. At least, that’s what her foolish mind told her. But when she looked back at him, it was gone. Before she could move, he trapped her behind the table, his arms on either side of her head. “Did you know already?”

“Know what?” Her answer croaked out of her, every cell in her pulsing with awareness at his proximity.

Her gaze fell on the thin scar that stretched from the corner of his mouth to his ear, on the left side. The memory of tracing the scar with her tongue, the taste of his skin, the powerful shudder that had gone through him, it all came back to her in a heated rush.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” he said, his tone dark and gravelly.

More than impatience colored his tone. She pulled her gaze upward, her stomach doing a funny flip. His nostrils flared. The same memory danced in his eyes, making the irises a darkly burnished gold.

With a curse that reverberated around them, he clamped his jaw, until the memory and the gold fire was purged from those eyes.

The ruthlessness of his will was a slap.

She was tired, hungry, and her composure was hanging by a very fine thread. All she wanted to do was crawl into her bed and never look at the world again.

“What did I know, Zafir?”

“Did you know who I was? Is that why you slapped me and had your friend record the whole thing?”

Her sluggish brain took several seconds to react. When it did, it destroyed the barrage of unwanted memories and their effect on her. “What the hell does that mean?”

He bent down toward her, swallowing her personal space. Until their noses were almost touching and his breath fanned over her heated skin. “Your journalist friend David had a tiny camcorder and shot the whole...incident.”

“So? Which part of the word journalist confuses you?” she said, confusion swirling within her. “He was running that thing all day...”

“Did he know what you were about to do? Did you plan it?”

His voice was no more than a raspy whisper yet each word dripped with menace.

Shredded everything she’d ever felt for him. “Is that how much you know me?”

* * *

Zafir ruthlessly tuned out the hurt resonating in Lauren’s words.

The feel of her soft, warm flesh under his fingers was already disturbing his equilibrium.

His muscles tightened, his blood became sluggish and the spiraling desire to kiss her mouth was a relentless hum in his veins.

He closed his eyes, and let the pictures of Behraat from six weeks ago swim in front of his eyes...the people who had died in the riots, the destruction Tariq had wrought on it. The mindless carnage instantly took the edge off his physical hunger.

A sense of balance returned to him, a cruel but efficient tether to control his body. He swept his gaze over her, letting the harsh reality of his life creep into his words. “Do we really know each other, Lauren? Except for what we like in—”

Pink seeped into her cheeks, her fiery gaze shooting daggers at him. “Stop it, Zafir.”

“We knew each other for two months. I brought Huma to the ER. She told you I was...rich and you pursued me for a donation. You recklessly challenged me and I...rose to it. Against my better instincts, I started an affair. The fact that I hadn’t been with a woman in a few months could have been one factor.”

He continued like the ruthless bastard he was, refusing to let her pale face, the way she retreated from him, the way she shrank into the wall as though she couldn’t bear to be touched by even his shadow, thwart him. “And we continued to sleep with each other because it suited us both.”

He tucked away a distracting lock of hair from her cheek and she flinched. “So no, I don’t know what you’re capable of.

“What I do know is that you were always, what is the word, chummy with the press. That reporter friend David, that lawyer, Alicia and you...”

She ran long, trembling fingers over her forehead. “To set up an abuse shelter in Queens. I have nothing to gain by exposing your true colors to the world.”

Frustration made his words harder. “I need that video, Lauren. The current political climate of Behraat is volatile. Even something as simple as a lover’s tiff can be interpreted in so many different ways. My...predecessor abused his power, toyed with women as if they were his personal playthings. Your act questions my credibility, paints me in the same mold as him.”

She shot her hand out, her slender fingers spread out, defiance shining out of her gleaming gaze as she ticked off her fingers. “Abuse of power? Check. Toys with women as though they were personal playthings? Check. It seems you’re the perfect man for the job, Zafir.”

His skin crawled to think she would cast him in the same mold as Tariq. “I’ve never treated you with anything other than respect.”

“Respect?” The words boomeranged in the sterile room, mocking him. “If you respected me, you wouldn’t be treating me like a criminal, questioning my actions, you wouldn’t have walked out in the middle of the night and disappeared.

“The only thing missing was a bunch of cash on the nightstand and a recommendation to your friends.”

“Enough. How dare you speak as if you sold yourself to me?”

“Because that’s what you’re implying, Zafir,” Lauren shouted back at him. With an increasing sense of emptiness, she fell against the wall.

He trapped her against it, his hot gaze burning, his body a seething cauldron of aggression and sensual intent. There was no control now, only a sense of possession. She had truly angered him and still, Lauren didn’t feel fear. Not when he stood close like that.

Silly, stupid Lauren.

“Is that why you did it? Because you’re angry with me, you thought to teach me a lesson?”

“You know nothing about me. And I’m realizing how little I know you.”

“You have no idea what you have done, Lauren. Are you ready to face the consequences? To take responsibility when another riot begins?”

She’d already learned enough about the atrocities suffered by the people of Behraat. And the sooner this nightmare was over, the sooner she would be able to leave.

She clutched on to the thought like a mantra. “Even though it isn’t something I should have to explain, I will. Your claim that David and I planned...this whole thing is ridiculous. He doesn’t even know about our affair.”

“Then why did he run, Lauren? Why not wait to find out what happened to you?”

“Maybe because against your claims to the contrary, you seem to be walking exactly the same path as the old sheikh. You had your men seize me for a mere slap, Zafir. Can you blame him? What would he do with that video anyway? Put it on YouTube?”

His gaze hardened and she realized it was exactly the thing he wanted to avoid. He pulled her cell phone out of his pocket and slid it into her hand. “Call him. Ask him to meet you in the front lobby and bring his camcorder.”

“Why?”

He glared at her. “So that we can delete that video.”

“I told you. Even if David recorded it, it would be by accident. He would never do anything to hurt me. I know him.”

A vein stretched taut at his temple, something hot and indecent uncoiling in his eyes. “Is that as well as you knew me or even better?”

There were so many things wrong with that question that she couldn’t sift through the nuances for a minute. “What...does that mean?”

“You fell into my bed three days after we met. You traveled halfway round the world to see a man who walked out on you. I will not put much stock in your judgment right now.”

A soft whimper fell from her mouth and Lauren hated herself just as much as she hated him.

Her judgment? He was using their weakness, their utter lack of control when it came to each other against her?

“You’re manipulative too, great.” She whispered the words softly, slowly, as though she needed to believe them herself.

A headache was beginning to blur her vision. “David isn’t even aware of our...liaison,” she said, intent on making him understand. “When he told me he was traveling to Behraat, I persuaded him to let me join him, made him wait until my visa was through. He didn’t even know why I was coming.”

“Why?”

“Why what, Zafir?”

“Why did you come to Behraat?”

Because I’m a silly, sentimental fool. Because, even after all these years, I still didn’t learn.

He was right. Her usual common sense had taken a hike from the minute she had woken that morning six weeks ago and found him gone. But she’d acted the fool enough.

“I thought you were dead, Zafir.” The hollow ache she had battled for six weeks resonated around them. “I came to see the Behraat that you told me so much about. I came to Behraat to mourn you.”

He flinched and took a step back. Shock radiated from him.

“I saw the news coverage of the riots. When I didn’t hear anything from you, when they reported the number of civilian casualties, I thought you had died fighting for your country and its people,” she paused to breathe, to pull air past the lump that seemed to have wedged in her throat like a rock. She rubbed her fingers over her eyes, feeling incredibly tired. “But I’m such a fool, aren’t I? If you had cared, you could have picked up the phone, no wait, you could have barked a command like you did before, and one of your thugs could have informed me that you were alive. That you were through with me.”

He didn’t blink, didn’t move, just stared at her. Had he thought it meant nothing to her? Had she meant nothing to him?

“I never promised you anything, Lauren.”

She nodded and the movement cost her everything she had. “As you pointed out so clearly a few minutes ago, it was an affair at best, an exchange of sex.” She laughed through the tears edging into her eyes, through the haze of something clouding her eyes. All of a sudden, she felt woozy, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room to breathe. “I’ve realized that the man I came to mourn doesn’t exist.

“Or if he did, he’s truly dead.”

Her words hit Zafir like a fist to his gut, rendering everything inside him still. The man he’d been with her, he had been neither the orphan nor the ruler.

He’d been just Zafir, free to pursue whatever he wanted.

But not anymore. Never again.

She licked her lips and swallowed visibly, her skin losing the little color she had. “Now, unless your plan is to torture me, in which case I demand a lawyer, please order one of your thugs to bring me some water. My throat feels like it’s on fire.”

Her gaze unfocused, she swayed on her feet and slid down the wall in a tangle of limbs.

Zafir caught her before she hit the floor, his heart pounding.

Propping her up, he tugged her close, pushed the silky strands of her hair away from her forehead. She was burning up and dehydrated.

It could happen to anyone visiting such a hot clime for the first time, but her fainting was a direct result of his actions. Because she had been locked up the whole morning without water. On his command.

With her body slumped against his, he pulled his phone out and called Arif.

He traced the stubborn angle of her jaw with his finger, mesmerized by the contrast of his rough, brown hand over her delicate soft skin. That was it.

She had mesmerized him the moment he had set eyes upon her. Stunning features, alabaster skin and a sensuous mouth that could make a man forget he wasn’t allowed something as frivolous as a blazing hot affair.

And even if he had somehow resisted her beauty, her biting tongue and no-nonsense attitude had won him over.

He had never met a woman like her before.

But she’d been a distraction, a respite, all that he could ever have. So he had walked away when it was time for him to return to Behraat.

But, why hadn’t he, as she’d so recklessly demanded, told her he was through with her? A simple phone call would have done it...why hadn’t he been able to let go?

As the door opened behind him, he lifted her in his arms and laid her on the stretcher brought in by his personal medical staff. He shook his head as Arif opened his mouth. They waited in silence as the two paramedics checked her vitals.

He couldn’t let her go, not until he found the video footage. But he refused to lock her up.

“Put her in the extra suite in my wing. Plant someone from my personal guard outside her suite and ask Dr. Farrah to give her a thorough checkup.”

All three men froze around him. His command went against one of the traditional customs of Behraat. No unmarried woman strayed near the edges, even by mistake, of a man’s quarters.

Arif said, “We can send her to the women’s clinic in the city and still have a guard there.”

“No.”

Letting Lauren wake up in some unknown clinic amid strangers when this was all his fault, that was inexcusable, even for him.

He wanted her close, somewhere she could be watched without causing a fuss and curiosity, which she undoubtedly would anywhere else.

And he was no normal man like he had told her. He was not the favored orphan anymore either. He was the sheikh, and he was damned well going to use, or abuse—he didn’t care which—his power in this.

“Do as I command, Arif.”

Stealing one last look at her, he turned and headed toward the elevator, Lauren’s words echoing in his ears.

“The man I mourned doesn’t exist. Or if he did, he’s truly dead.”

How close she’d come to the truth. That carefree, reckless, indulgent man he’d been in New York, he truly didn’t exist.

CHAPTER THREE

LAUREN OPENED HER eyes slowly, feeling a sharp tug at her wrist. Her mouth felt woolly as if she had fallen asleep with cotton stuffed into it. It took her a moment to focus around the strange room. Feeling a little frayed, she propped herself on her elbows and scooted into a sitting position.

She was lying on a huge bed on the softest scented cotton sheets. The subtle scent of roses tickled her nostrils. A dark red tapestry hung on the opposite wall while sheer silk curtains fluttered at the breeze. Her whole apartment in Queens could fit into the suite, she thought, awed by the magnificence of the surroundings.

“It is nice to see some color in your cheeks,” said a voice near the foot of the bed in heavily accented English.

The IV tube tugged at her wrist as Lauren moved.

A woman laid a cool hand against Lauren’s forehead and nodded. She wore a bright red tunic with a collar and long sleeves, and black trousers underneath it. Her hair was tied into a ponytail at the back. Her skin, a shade lighter than Zafir’s rich copper tone, shone with a vibrancy that made Lauren feel like a pale ghost.

“The fever is gone. Would you like something to drink?”

When Lauren nodded, instead of handing the glass to her, the woman tucked one hand at Lauren’s neck and held it to her mouth with the other. The cool liquid slid against her throat, bringing back feeling into her mouth. Feeling infinitely better, Lauren looked at her. “Where am I?”

A little line appeared in the woman’s smooth forehead. “The royal palace.”

Holding her growing anxiety at bay, Lauren studied the suite again. Rich, vibrant furnishings with hints of gold greeted her eyes. A high archway lighted with bronze torches led into the balcony on her right, from which she could see the turrets and domes of the palace.

First, he had her locked up accusing her of conspiracy, and now he had staff waiting on her?

She ran a finger over her dry, cracked lips. Her blouse was creased and her cream trousers looked dirty. “I’ve never fainted in my life before. If you remove the IV, I’d like to wash up. And then leave.”

The woman shook her head. “That’s not possible.”

After the day she’d had, Lauren was in no mood to be ordered around. “Excuse me, but who are you?”

“I’m one of the palace physicians, the only female one. His Highness ordered that I attend to you personally,” she said, her words ringing with pride.

It took Lauren a moment to realize who she meant. She was still a prisoner then, upgraded from that stark...cell to the sumptuous palace. “Well... His Highness can screw himself for all I care,” she muttered, emotions batting at her from all directions.

The woman’s mouth fell open, and she looked at Lauren as though she had grown two heads. Lauren felt like an ass. It wasn’t really the woman’s fault.

“I’m sorry....”

“Dr. Farrah Hasan.”

“Dr. Hasan, I have to leave. In fact, if you can just hand me my phone.” She pointed to her gray metallic handbag—the funky bag looked as out of place on the red velvet settee as she felt in the grandiose palace. “I’ll call the airport and reschedule my flight.”

“You can’t leave, Ms. Hamby. Besides the fact that His Highness has forbidden it,” she rushed over her words as if afraid that Lauren would lose it again, “given your condition, you’re very weak. I recommend that you spend at least a week in bed and wait two weeks before you fly long-distance.”

“My condition?” Lauren said, her heart beginning a strange thump-thump loud enough to reach her ears. “Nothing’s wrong with me except the effects of dehydration.” Which was really His Highness’s fault. But she managed to keep the words to herself this time.

“Your pregnancy,” Dr. Hasan said with a frown. “You’re not aware of it?”

Lauren felt as if she’d been physically slapped. She shook her head, huffed a laugh at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. The doctor’s eyes remained serious.

She couldn’t be. “But that’s not...”

She collapsed against the bed, shaking uncontrollably from head to toe. Her breaths became shaky, and a vicious churn started in her stomach. Pregnant? How was that possible? She took her pill without missing it a single day. She clutched the sheets with her hands, tears leaking out of the corner of her eyes.

Fear and shock vied with each other, a heaviness gathering in her belly.

She couldn’t be pregnant. A child needed unconditional love, stability, two parents who loved it, who would put it before anything else, before their own ambitions and duties.

Zafir and she couldn’t even bear to look at each other without distrust.

Panic unfurled its fangs, and she felt woozy again.

“Just breathe, Ms. Hamby,” the doctor said, and Lauren let that crisp tone wash over her, glad to have someone tell her what to do.

As her breathing became normal again, a little flicker of something else crept in. She shoved her top away under the cotton sheets and splayed her fingers on her stomach. A tiny life was breathing inside her, and it felt as though it breathed courage into her.

A baby.

Her job as an ER nurse at an inner-city hospital in Brooklyn consumed every ounce of her energy, both physical and emotional. Christ, she had never even had a normal boyfriend.

She saw and dealt with unwed, single mothers and their difficulties on a day-to-day to basis. That gritty reality coupled with her own childhood had made at least one thing clear in her head. She’d never wanted to bring a child into the world that couldn’t have the love of both parents.

“Is everything okay with the...baby?” she said, her thoughts steering in another direction suddenly.

Dr. Hasan smiled, as though reassured of Lauren’s mental state. “It is very early in the pregnancy, I’m assuming. As far as your health, you’re fine. But you’re dehydrated and I suspect your iron content is low. Nothing that a week’s rest and nutritious food wouldn’t cure, though.”

Lauren nodded, feeling a little calm. As much as she hated staying within a ten-mile radius of Zafir, she wasn’t going to take any chances. She’d stay a week and then fly back to New York on her originally scheduled flight.

She needed to sort out her life, and she couldn’t do that here. Once she was back in her own city, adjusted to this new change, then she would tell him.

“Are you friends with Zafir?”

Deep pride filled the doctor’s eyes. “Yes, Zafir... I mean, His Highness and I have known each other since childhood.”

So Farrah was not only his staff but one of his friends. A week was a long time surrounded by people who worshipped the ground Zafir walked on. “But as your patient, I have your discretion?”

She frowned. “Yes, of course, Ms. Hamby.”

“Please call me Lauren.” She tugged the sheet up and clasped her hands on top of it. “I need you to keep...this,” she said, as her fingers fluttered over her stomach, “between you and me, Dr. Hasan.” A part of her flinched at the lie she was spouting with such little effort. “It doesn’t concern Zafir and I would like to keep it that way.”

A frown furrowed the doctor’s forehead. “Of course, it’s not something I will disclose to anyone. But if—”

Lauren turned away from her questions. It was better for everyone concerned if she said very little right then.

* * *

Zafir signed the last file with satisfaction and pushed it into the pile for his assistant. This was one of his pet projects, a plan sanctioning the money to upgrade the existing women’s clinic on the outskirts of the city for the tribes that still resided in the desert and constantly faced the challenge of bringing their women into the city for medical care.

He stood up from the massive oak table and walked toward the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and drank it straight. It burned a fiery path through his throat and gut but did nothing to curb the seething mass of frustration. Knowing that Lauren was in the palace, just in reach, was messing with his self-control.

Tariq’s death had put an end to their affair, but he had not forgotten the mindless pleasure he had found in her arms.

The man he was in Behraat couldn’t have an affair without courting undue scrutiny from the High Council and more importantly, the wronged people of his country. He needed to create a different image, put distance between him and the scandalous life led by Tariq. Yet...

Arif stepped into his office, a tiny camcorder in his hand. “We found the man.”

Zafir’s heart pumped faster, as if he was on a stallion racing against a desert storm. “And?”

“He gave us the footage, said he didn’t want to do anything to upset the balance of power in Behraat. As long as you give him an exclusive one-on-one.”

Perversely, her friend’s indifference toward Lauren’s safety riled Zafir while she had refused to betray him in any way. “He did not inquire after Lauren?”