The Sheikh's Shock Child

One passionate night...

One shocking consequence!

Working aboard Sheikh Khalid’s luxury yacht, innocent laundress Millie hides in the shadows—until she succumbs to his touch. Overwhelmed by the intensity of their encounter, she doesn’t even realize his yacht has set sail—and soon she finds herself between his golden sheets! But becoming Khalid’s mistress isn’t the only consequence of their reckless desire...and Millie’s scandalous news will bind them, permanently!

SUSAN STEPHENS was a professional singer before meeting her husband on the Mediterranean island of Malta. In true Mills & Boon style, they met on Monday, became engaged on Friday and married three months later. Susan enjoys entertaining, travel and going to the theatre. To relax she reads, cooks and plays the piano, and when she’s had enough of relaxing she throws herself off mountains on skis or gallops through the countryside singing loudly.

Also by Susan Stephens

Bound to the Tuscan Billionaire

In the Sheikh’s Service

A Diamond for Del Rio’s Housekeeper

The Sicilian’s Defiant Virgin

The Secret Kept from the Greek

A Night of Royal Consequences

Hot Brazilian Nights! miniseries

In the Brazilian’s Debt

At the Brazilian’s Command

Brazilian’s Nine Months’ Notice

Back in the Brazilian’s Bed

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Sheikh’s Shock Child

Susan Stephens

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07217-5

THE SHEIKH’S SHOCK CHILD

© 2018 Susan Stephens

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Megan, for excellent editing and steely nerve.

Thank you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

SAPPHIRES DRIFTED IN a shimmering stream from the Sheikh’s fingers. Backlit by candlelight, the precious gems blazed with blue fire, dazzling fifteen-year-old Millie Dillinger. Seeing her mother cuddled up to the Sheikh had the opposite effect. Toad-like and repellent, he was hardly the dashing hero Millie had imagined when her mother had said they were both to be guests at a most important royal engagement.

Millie had just stepped on board the Sheikh’s superyacht after being brought straight from school in a limousine with diplomatic plates, and found this a very different and frightening world. Sumptuous yes. Everywhere she looked there were more obvious signs of money than she’d seen in her entire life, but, like the Sheikh, the interior of his vast, creaking superyacht was sinister, rather than enticing. She kept glancing over her shoulder to check for escape routes, knowing it wouldn’t be easy to go anywhere with heavily armed guards, dressed in black tunics and baggy trousers, standing on either side of her, with yet more posted around the room.

Much in Millie’s life was uncertain, but this was frightening. Her mother was unpredictable, and it was always up to Millie to try and keep things on an even keel. That meant getting them out of here, if she could. This big room was known as the grand salon, but when she’d seen pictures in magazines of similar vessels, they were light and elegant, luxurious spaces, not dark and stale like this. Heavy drapes had been closed to shut out the light, and it smelled bad. Like an old wardrobe, Millie thought, wrinkling her nose.

The Sheikh and his guests were staring at her, making her feel she was part of a show, and it was not a performance she wanted to take part in. Seeing her mother in the arms of an old man was bad enough. He might be royalty, and he might be seated in the place of honour on a bank of silken cushions beneath a golden canopy, but he was repulsive. This had to be their host, His Magnificence Sheikh Saif al Busra bin Khalifa. Millie’s mother, Roxy Dillinger, had been hired to sing at his party, and had asked Millie to join her. Why? Millie wondered.

‘Hello, little girl.’ The Sheikh spoke in a wheedling tone that made Millie shudder. ‘You are most welcome here,’ he said, beckoning her closer.

She refused to move as her mother prompted in a slurred stage whisper, ‘Her name is Millie.’

As if names were unimportant to him, the Sheikh beckoned again, and more impatiently this time. Millie stared at her mother, willing her to make her excuses so that they could leave. Her mother refused to take the hint. She was still so beautiful, but sad for much of the time, as if she knew her days in the sun were over. Millie wanted to protect her, and quivered with indignation when some of the guests began to snigger behind their hands. Sometimes it felt as if she were the grown up and her mother the child.

‘See, Millie,’ her mother exclaimed as she raised and slopped a glass of champagne down an evening dress that had seen better days. ‘This is the type of life you can have if you follow me onto the stage.’

Millie shrank at the thought. Her dream was to be a marine engineer. This was more like Walpurgis Night than a theatrical performance, with every witch and warlock gathered to carouse and feast at the feet of the devil. Candlelight flickered eerily over the faces of the guests, and an air of expectation gripped them. What were they waiting for? Millie wondered. She didn’t belong here, and neither did her mother, and if her mother started to sing it would be worse. A careless approach to her health had ruined Roxy Dillinger’s renowned singing voice. She had squeezed herself into a shoddy and revealing floor-length gown, but Millie knew that the best she would be able to manage was a few cigarette-scarred songs for people who didn’t care that Roxy had once been known as the Nightingale of London.

Millie cared. She cared deeply and passionately for her mother, and her protective instinct rose like a lion for its cub. Ignoring the impatience of the Sheikh, she held out her hands. ‘It’s time to go home. Please, Mum—’

‘Roxy,’ her mother hissed, shooting a warning glance at Millie. ‘My name is Roxy.’

‘Please... Roxy,’ Millie amended reluctantly. Whatever it took, she would get them out of here somehow.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ her mother snapped, staring round at her less than admiring public. ‘I haven’t sung yet. Tell you what,’ she said in a change of tone. ‘Why don’t you sing for us, Millie? She has a lovely voice,’ she added to the Sheikh. ‘Not as strong and pure as mine, of course,’ she added, snuggling up to him.

The way the Sheikh was looking at Millie made her skin crawl, but she refused to back down. ‘If you come home with me now, I’ll buy cakes on the way,’ she coaxed her mother.

Unpleasant laughter greeted this remark. A gesture from the Sheikh silenced his guests. ‘I have world-renowned pastry chefs on board, little girl. You and your mother can eat your fill—once you’ve sung for your supper.’

Millie suspected the Sheikh had something else in mind other than singing. With her plaits, spectacles and serious demeanour, she would certainly be a novelty for his sophisticated guests, who had started to chant her name. Far from this being encouragement, as her mother seemed to think, Millie knew it was mockery of the cruellest kind. Her neck burned with embarrassment as she begged, ‘Please, Mum. You don’t need the Sheikh’s money. I’ll take an extra shift at the laundry—’

Screeches of laughter drowned out her voice. Desperate now, she glanced longingly in the direction of the marina, where life would be carrying on as normal. If this was how the super-rich lived, Millie wanted no part of it. Tonight had cemented her decision to forge a life she could control.

‘Sing for us, Millie,’ Roxy slurred. ‘You can be my support act.’

Millie loved singing, and had joined the school choir, but her real passion was discovering how things worked. Once she’d passed her school exams, she was determined to put in as many hours as it took, working at the laundry to fund more education.

The crowd continued to chant, ‘Millie... Millie... Millie...’ Her mother’s eye make-up was smudged, and she looked so tired. ‘Please, Mum...’

‘You’ll stay here,’ the toad on the dais rapped. At his signal, the guards closed around Millie, cutting off all avenues of escape. ‘Come closer, little girl,’ he drawled in a sugary voice that frightened her. ‘Dip your hands into my bowl of sapphires. They will inspire you, as they have inspired your mother.’

Millie flinched away as someone shrieked an ugly laugh.

‘Touch my sapphires,’ the Sheikh continued in the same hypnotic tone. ‘Feel their cool magnificence—’

‘Step back!’

The icy command was delivered like a shot and shocked everyone rigid. Millie turned to see a colossus in travel clothes striding into their midst. The guards snapped to attention as he passed, and even the Sheikh’s spoiled mouth remained petulantly closed.

What a devastating man, Millie thought. Much younger than the Sheikh, he was infinitely more attractive, and Millie’s ideal when it came to a romantic hero. While the Sheikh overflowed his cushions, this man was lean and fit, like a soldier or a bodyguard.

‘Why, brother, you’re such a prude.’

When the Sheikh drawled this, she gasped. His brother? This was the toad’s brother? There was so little resemblance between the two men it didn’t seem possible. While the Sheikh sent shivers of disgust shooting down her spine, his brother inspired a very different response.

She cringed to see the Sheikh wrap his arms a little closer around her mother, as if claiming his property in the face of a challenge. ‘Have you never played Bridge the Generation Gap before?’ he asked, glancing between the newcomer, Millie, and her mother.

‘You disgust me,’ the newcomer rapped. ‘She’s just a child,’ he observed as he flashed an appraising glance at Millie.

That brief look seared her to the depth of her soul. She would never forget it. There was anger in his eyes, but also concern, and it made her feel safe for the first time since she’d boarded the yacht.

‘I can’t believe you’d sink so low as to include a young girl in your debauchery,’ he said scathingly.

‘Can’t you?’ The Sheikh gave a careless shrug. ‘She’s a pretty young thing. Why don’t you take a turn when I’m finished with her?’

‘You and I are very different, brother.’

‘Evidently,’ the Sheikh conceded. ‘But it’s no business of yours how I spend my free time.’

‘When you bring our country into disrepute, it is my business.’

The Sheikh’s striking-looking brother had everyone’s interest, Millie noticed, and no wonder, with his skin the colour of polished bronze, and that thick, jet-black wavy hair. His body was as powerful as a gladiator’s, his eyes as fierce and unforgiving as a hawk’s, while harsh cheekbones and sweeping inky brows added to the exotic picture of a man who commanded the room.

‘You sicken me,’ he rapped with disgust. ‘I return from fighting alongside our forces, to find you indulging yourself in the most depraved manner imaginable. You won’t be satisfied until you’ve brought our country to its knees.’

‘I’ll bring something to its knees,’ the Sheikh agreed with a lascivious glance at Millie.

Millie gasped as the younger man swept a protective arm around her shoulder. ‘You won’t touch her,’ he warned.

The Sheikh’s response was a lazy wave of his hand. ‘You take things too seriously, Khalid. You always did.’

Khalid.

Learning her guardian’s name, Millie felt a rush of emotion. He remained standing between her and the Sheikh, to protect her from his brother’s crude remarks and lewd glances. If only he could rescue her mother too.

‘Don’t bring your bleeding heart here,’ the Sheikh dismissed with a scornful look. ‘It’s not appreciated.’

‘A bleeding heart because I care for our people?’ the Prince challenged, stepping away from Millie. ‘Where were you when our country needed you, Saif?’ he demanded. ‘You left our borders unprotected and our people in danger. You should be ashamed of yourself,’ he finished with icy disdain.

‘It is you who should be ashamed for ruining the evening for my guests,’ the Sheikh remarked, unconcerned. ‘And it is you who should apologise,’ he insisted.

Shaking his head, Prince Khalid assured his brother that he would do no such thing. ‘Come,’ he added sharply to Millie. ‘You’re leaving right now. And if you had any sense,’ he added to Millie’s mother, ‘you’d leave too.’

Roxy’s response was to turn her sulky face into the Sheikh’s shoulder.

‘Is this what you want?’ the Sheikh asked Millie.

‘Yes,’ Millie almost shouted, ‘but I’m not leaving without my mother. Please—’ It was useless. Her mother didn’t move.

‘At least take some sapphires with you,’ the Sheikh suggested in a mocking tone.

‘Don’t touch them!’ his brother rapped.

‘As if I would!’ This time she did shout, and it was so unlike her to lose her temper, but if he thought for one moment she could be bribed with sapphires!

Prince Khalid smiled faintly as he looked at her, and there was almost respect in his eyes, Millie thought, as if he knew she found this situation as deplorable as he did.

‘You’re a disgrace to the Khalifa name,’ her rescuer thundered, turning his attention to Sheikh Saif. ‘If you weren’t the ruler of Khalifa—’

‘What would you do?’ the Sheikh queried in an oily tone. ‘I stand between you and the throne. Is that what’s really troubling you, brother?’ Opening his arms wide, the Sheikh drew in his avid audience. ‘My poor brother can never get over the fact that he can’t have things all his own, dull way. How boring life would be with you in charge of the country, Khalid.’

This was greeted by murmurs of agreement from his guests. Millie risked a glance to see how the Prince had taken this latest insult. Apart from a muscle flicking in his jaw, he remained unmoved. ‘I’m taking the girl,’ he said, ‘and I want the mother gone by the time I return. Her daughter should not be left alone at night with so many unpleasant characters roaming King’s Dock.’

A gasp of affront greeted this remark. The Sheikh remained unconcerned. ‘But she won’t be on her own, will you, my dear? She’ll have you,’ he added with a sneer for Prince Khalid.

By this time, Millie was consumed with fear for her mother. ‘I can’t leave her,’ she told the Prince when he tried to usher her away.

Gripping her arm firmly, he warned, ‘Don’t get any ideas. You’re leaving now.’

‘Not without my mother,’ Millie said stubbornly.

‘Get her out of here!’ her mother yelled with an angry gesture in Millie’s direction.

Having finally dislodged herself from the Sheikh’s embrace, her mother was standing with her fists tightly clenched. ‘You’re nothing but a little killjoy,’ she railed at Millie. ‘You always spoil my fun!’

Gasping with hurt, Millie was barely aware that the door of the grand salon had slammed behind her, making her last memory of that night her mother’s voice screaming at her to go.

* * *

‘What’s your name?’ he asked the pale, tense child as he escorted her off the Sapphire. He needed something to distract her from the ordeal, and wanted to keep her talking. She seemed so unnaturally quiet.

There was a silence and then, to his relief, she said in a strained whisper, ‘Millicent.’

‘Millicent?’ he repeated. ‘I like your name.’ It suited the girl with her serious demeanour, heavy glasses and neatly braided hair.

‘People call me Millie,’ she added shyly as they left the shadows behind and exited the vessel into clean ocean air.

The child was as refreshing as the ocean, he thought, and he was determined to do what he could to protect her from harm. ‘What do you like to be called?’ he asked when she turned back to stare up at the shaded windows behind which they both knew her mother would continue to party.

‘Me?’ She frowned and then refocused on his face. ‘I like to be called Millie.’

‘Millie,’ he repeated.

‘Will you do something for me?’ she asked, surprising him with her quick recovery.

‘If I can,’ he agreed.

They had reached the head of the gangplank, where she drew to a halt. ‘Will you tell my mother to leave?’ she begged earnestly. ‘She might listen to you. Will you find her a cab and send her home? I’ve got some money. I can pay you—’

‘You’ve got your bus fare home?’ he guessed. She was young, but she was sensible. She had to be, he thought.

‘Yes,’ she confirmed. Her forehead pleated with surprise, as if common sense were second nature to the daughter, if not the mother. ‘Of course I do. Well? Will you?’ she pressed.

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he agreed.

‘Please,’ she pressed. ‘Promise me you’ll try.’

Something about her steady gaze compelled him to answer in the affirmative. ‘I promise. Now go home and do your school work.’

He followed her gaze with interest as something else occurred to her. She was staring at his brother’s chauffeur, who was standing stiffly to attention at the side of the royal limousine. He saluted as Khalid approached.

‘He’s been standing here for ages,’ Millie whispered discreetly. ‘Could you bring him a glass of water before he takes me home?’

‘Me?’ he exclaimed.

‘Why not you?’ she demanded. ‘There’s nothing wrong with your legs, is there?’

Her cheeky comment took him by surprise. She had spirit, and to spare.

‘He brought me here,’ she explained, ‘so I know he must be tired.’

Completely unaware of status or rank, she was a novelty, and a welcome reminder that their respective positions in life had been decided by an accident of birth. Her cheeks blushed red as he pointed out the iced water dispensers, both in the front and the back of the vehicle. ‘He’s fine,’ he explained in the same confiding tone. ‘Give him your address and he’ll see you home safely.’

‘And my mother?’ she said, staring back at the ship.

‘I’ll do what I can.’ He ground his jaw with disgust at the prospect of returning on board. ‘Never put yourself in such danger again,’ he added in his sternest tone.

She didn’t flinch as she retorted fiercely, ‘I never will.’

He watched the vehicle pull away with its lonely figure seated upright in the back. With her school satchel at her side, and her hands folded neatly on her lap, Millie stared straight ahead. It was impossible to imagine a greater contrast to her mother, and his last thought before turning to the ship was that Millie was a good girl who deserved better than this.

CHAPTER TWO

Eight years later...

‘OKAY, IT’S WORKING AGAIN.’ Satisfied with her handiwork, Millie stepped away from the boiler she’d just repaired.

‘You’re a gem,’ Miss Francine, the octogenarian who had worked at the laundry since she was a girl, and who now owned the business, beamed at Millie as she enveloped her favourite worker in a hug. ‘I don’t know anyone else who has the patience to coax these old machines back to life. What would I do without you?’

‘We’d go down to the stream and beat the yachties’ sheets clean with stones,’ a girl called Lucy suggested dryly.

With a grin for her friend, Millie plucked a pencil from her bundled-up hair to make notes on how to start up the ancient boiler should it fail when she had returned to her apprenticeship as a marine engineer.

‘You’d better not beat the Sheikh of Khalifa’s golden sheets clean,’ Lucy observed, matching Millie’s grin. ‘He might keel-haul you, or... What?’ she demanded when both Millie and Miss Francine froze in horror.

‘Nothing,’ Millie said quietly, forcing her face to relax as she flashed a warning look at Miss Francine to say nothing. ‘I didn’t know the Sheikh’s yacht had berthed, that’s all.’

Lucy flung her arms wide like a proud fisherman demonstrating the improbable size of his latest catch. ‘It’s enormous! You couldn’t miss it, if you hadn’t had your head stuck in the boiler cupboard.’

Then, thank goodness she had, Millie thought.

‘When did those sheets come in?’ Miss Francine asked, obviously trying to distract from a topic she knew Millie would not want to discuss.

Lucy held out the yards of gold fabric overflowing her arms. ‘The housekeeper from the Sapphire brought them, saying they needed special handling.’

‘Ripping up?’ Millie suggested beneath her breath. The golden sheets reminded her of one particular night and all its heartwrenching associations.

Miss Francine stepped in to her rescue again. ‘If a yacht the size of the Sapphire has berthed, we must get back to work. We’ll have laundry coming out of our ears,’ she enthused, with an anxious look at Millie. ‘And it might be the pressing machine that goes next.’

‘Well, I’m here if it does break down,’ Millie soothed, appreciating the change of subject.