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A Surprise For The Sheikh
Sarah M. Anderson


One night with a sheikh leads to a secret baby surprise!Billionaire sheikh Rafiq "Rafe" bin Saleed has come to Royal, Texas, to buy the town—and get even with his former best friend. But Rafe's plans are pushed aside for one amazing night with a stranger—and then nearly derailed when he discovers the identity of his mystery woman. For not only is Violet McCallum his enemy's cherished little sister, she's now pregnant with Rafe's child! Rafe knows he has the upper hand; all he has to do is walk away. But there's something about Violet that won't let him leave without her…







“It would bring dishonor upon my family and myself if my child were born out of wedlock,” Rafe said.

Violet shouldn’t have been surprised by this. She had basically guessed it when she’d looked up information on his country.

That didn’t mean it was what she wanted to hear seconds after one of the best orgasms of her life. She sagged against his chest. “Do we—will we have to get married? Is that what happens in your country?”

He paused. “In my family … we do not have a choice. We are married for power, we bin Saleeds. Love …”

She closed her eyes. Love. They had talked about a lot of things, but love was not one of them.

Rafe cleared his throat. He began to rub his hands up and down her back. “It is something to consider, yes. But I have made you this promise, Violet. I will not force you to do something you do not wish to do.”

“Oh. Okay.” But honestly, did she know him well enough to believe he’d keep that promise?

* * *

A Surprise for the Sheikh is part of the series The Texas Cattleman’s Club: Lies and Lullabies— Baby secrets and a scheming sheikh rock Royal, Texas.


A Surprise for the Sheikh

Sarah M. Anderson






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


SARAH M. ANDERSON may live east of the Mississippi River, but her heart lies out West on the Great Plains. Sarah’s book A Man of Privilege won an RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award in 2012.

Sarah spends her days having conversations with imaginary cowboys and American Indians. Find out more about Sarah’s love of cowboys and Indians at www.sarahmanderson.com (http://www.sarahmanderson.com) and sign up for the new-release newsletter at www.eepurl.com/nv39b (http://www.eepurl.com/nv39b).


To Dad, who taught me the importance of never saying “very” when “damn” would do.


Contents

Cover (#u8da11d88-0537-507c-b816-8d45835689bd)

Introduction (#u0652a705-cd2b-55d7-809a-d6451a144783)

Title Page (#u0f6eeff6-3ee1-5d3d-a3e4-c55e26ab69f9)

About the Author (#uc34f61c9-548e-52b3-b83f-384a36edea47)

Dedication (#u920f49d1-071a-5526-a00b-37d7cfa6b24b)

Prologue (#ulink_25a38ebf-b853-5366-8ad9-80b376bae449)

One (#ulink_41017972-cd11-50fb-a229-06eb6e8c3686)

Two (#ulink_137c5114-a8c9-5ced-a28e-959b06203aa7)

Three (#ulink_d3f2021b-f1d8-50c8-9ba9-f51222a062c0)

Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#ulink_190362ae-6a12-5f52-8ff3-8ee61a11f843)

This was really happening.

Ben’s hot body pressed Violet against the back of the elevator. Something hard and long bumped against her hip, and she giggled. Oh, yeah—this was so happening.

She was really doing this.

“Kiss me,” Ben said in that sinfully delicious accent of his as he flexed his hips against hers. She didn’t know where he was from, but his accent made her think of the burning heat of summer sun—because boy, did it warm her up.

Violet ran her hands through his thick black hair and lifted his face away from where he’d been sucking on her neck.

He touched his forehead to hers. “Kiss me, my mysterious, my beautiful V.” Then—incredibly—he hesitated just long enough to make it clear he was waiting for her decision.

Power surged through her. This was exactly why she was riding in an elevator in the Holloway Inn up to a man’s room—a man who did not know she was Violet McCallum, who did not know she was Mac McCallum’s baby sister.

Her entire life, she had been Violet. Violet, who had to be protected from the big bad world. Violet, the lost little girl whose parents died and left her all alone. Violet, who still lived at home and still had her big brother watching over her every move to make sure she didn’t get hurt again.

Well, to hell with that. Tonight, she was V. She was mysterious, she was beautiful, and this man—this sinfully handsome man with an accent like liquid sunshine—wanted her to kiss him.

She was not Violet. Not tonight.

So she kissed him, long and hard, their tongues tangling in her mouth, then in his. She did more than kiss him—she raked her fingers through his hair and held him against her. She made it clear—this was what she wanted. He was what she wanted.

She hadn’t come to this hotel bar a town away from Royal, Texas, with the intent of going to bed with a stranger. She hadn’t planned on a one-night stand. She’d wanted to get dressed up, to feel pretty—maybe to flirt. She’d wanted to be someone else, just for the night.

But she hadn’t counted on Ben. “You have beautiful eyes,” he said in his sunshine voice, his hands sliding down her backside and cupping her bottom. “Among other things, my mysterious V.” Then he lifted, and it was only natural that her legs went around his waist and that the long, hard bulge in his pants went from bumping against her thigh to pressing against the spot at her very center.

Violet’s back arched as heat radiated throughout her body. Ben held tight to her, pinning her back against the elevator wall as he pressed his mouth to the cleavage that this little black dress left exposed. One of the hands that was cupping her bottom slid forward, snagging on the hem of her dress as he stroked between her legs. The heat from his hand only added to the raging inferno taking place under her skin.

“If you leave this elevator, you will be mine, you understand? I will lay you out on the bed and make you cry out. This is your last chance to take the elevator down.”

A shiver of delight raced through her. Respectable Violet would never let a man talk to her like this. But V? “Is that a promise?”

“It is,” he said in such a serious tone that she gasped. “Your pleasure is my pleasure.”

That was, hands down, the sweetest thing anyone had ever whispered to her. Her entire life had been one long exercise in telling people what she wanted only to have to listen to the litany of excuses why she couldn’t do what she wanted or couldn’t have what she wanted. It was too risky, too dangerous. She didn’t understand the consequences, she didn’t this, she didn’t that—every excuse her brother could throw at her, he did.

If Mac knew she was in this elevator with a man whose pleasure was her pleasure—well, there might be guns involved. This was risky and dangerous and all that stuff that Mac had spent the past twelve years trying to shield her from.

She was tired of being protected. She wanted something more than safety.

She wanted Ben.

“Why are we still in this elevator?” she asked in as innocent a tone as she could muster, given how Ben’s body was pressing against hers.

“You are quite certain?”

“Quite. But don’t stop talking.” The words hadn’t even gotten out of her mouth before Ben hauled her away from the wall of the elevator and out into the hall.

“Are you this adventurous in everything?”

He was carrying her as if she weighed nothing at all. She was as light as a feather, a leaf on the wind, in Ben’s arms. She was flying and she didn’t ever want to come down.

She also didn’t want to cop to her relatively limited experiences in the whole “pleasure” department. Every time she got serious about a guy, her brother—her well-meaning, overbearing brother—came down like the hammer of Thor and before Violet could blink, the guy would be giving her the it’s-not-you-it’s-me talk.

Violet may have had only a couple of boyfriends, but V was knowledgeable and experienced. She could not only handle a man like Ben, she could meet him as an equal. And so help her, no one was going to give her the let’s-be-friends talk tonight. “Why don’t we find out?”

He growled against her neck.

A door opened. “What’s—” an older man, voice heavy on the Texas accent, said.

Ben stopped and, without putting Violet down, turned to stare at the old man in the open doorway. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t make a menacing gesture. He just stared down the other man.

“Ah. Well. Yes,” the older man babbled as the door shut.

“Whoa,” Violet said, giggling again. “Dude, you are—wow.” So this was what exuding masculinity looked like.

“‘Dude,’ eh?” Ben said with a sexy chuckle as he began walking down the hall. Every step made Violet gasp as Ben’s hard length pressed against her sex. “For a woman as beautiful as you, you often talk like a man.”

“I don’t always wear little black dresses.”

Ben stopped in front of another door. “Hmm,” he said as his hands stayed on her body as he set her down, which effectively meant he hiked her dress up. “Are you sure you won’t tell me your name?”

“No,” she said quickly. She didn’t want this fantasy night of perfection to be ruined by something as mundane as reality. “No names. Not tonight.”

He got his key out and opened the door. Then his hands were back on her body, walking her backward into the room. “Who are you hiding from? Family?” He pulled her to a stop and turned her around. His fingers found her zipper and pulled it down, one slow click after another. “Or another lover, hmm?”

“I’m not hiding from anyone,” she fibbed. It was a small fib because, no, she did not want Mac to know she’d done something this wild, this crazy. That’s why she was in Holloway instead of Royal.

“We are all hiding from something, are we not?” Ben began to pull the dress down, revealing the black bra with the white embroidery that she wore only when she was feeling particularly rebellious. Which, in the last few months, was almost every day.

“I just—look,” she said in frustration, taking a step back and pulling free of his hands. “I won’t ask about you, you won’t ask about me, and we use condoms. That’s the deal. If that doesn’t work for you...” She grabbed the sleeves of her dress and tugged them back up.

Ben stood there, his sinfully delicious lips curved into a smile. Oh, no—he wouldn’t call her bluff, would he? Because she wanted to strip him out of that suit—and she didn’t want to walk out of this room until she was barely able to walk at all.

“I just need a night with you,” she said, the truth of that statement sinking in for the first time since she’d walked into the bar at the Holloway Inn and laid eyes on this tall, dark and handsome stranger. She’d thought she just needed a night out, but the very moment Ben had turned to her, his coal-black eyes taking in her lacy black cocktail dress, her wavy auburn hair, her stockings with the seam up the back—then she’d needed him. And she wasn’t going to rest until she had him. “That’s all I’m asking. One night. No strings. Just...pleasure.”

Ben stepped into her, cupping her face in his hands. “That is really all you want from me? Nothing else?”

The way he said it, with a touch of sadness in his voice, made her heart ache for him. She didn’t know who he was or why he was here—he wasn’t local, that much was obvious. But she got the feeling that in his real life, there were always strings.

She knew the feeling. And for tonight, at least, she didn’t want to be hemmed in by other people’s expectations of her. Good idea or not, she was going to take Ben to bed. There would be no regrets. Not for her. “No. Your pleasure is my pleasure,” she whispered against his lips, turning his words back to him.

“Kiss me,” he said against her skin.

So she did. She tangled her hands in his hair and pulled him roughly against her mouth, and then they were flinging each other’s clothing off and falling into bed and she couldn’t tell where her pleasure began and his ended because Ben was everything she’d ever dreamed a lover could be, only better—hotter, sweeter.

She fell asleep in his arms, listening to him whisper stories to her in a language she did not know and did not understand, but it didn’t matter. She was sated and happy. She’d started this night desperate to do something fun, something for herself.

Ben—no last name, no country of origin—was an answer to her prayers.


One (#ulink_28387c9c-d393-5f2d-9525-ca68daf42fac)

Four months later

This was not happening.

Dear God, please let this not be happening. Violet stared down at the thin strip of plastic. The one that said in digital block letters, PREGNANT.

Maybe she’d done it wrong. Peed on the wrong end or something. Yeah, that was it. She’d never taken a pregnancy test before. She hadn’t even studied. She’d failed due to a lack of preparation, that was all.

Luckily, Violet had bought three separate tests because redundancy wasn’t just redundant. It was confirmation that her night of wild passion four months ago with a stranger named Ben had not left her pregnant.

Crouched in the bathroom off of her bedroom, Violet carefully read the instructions again, trying to spot her mistake. Remove the purple cap: check. Hold the other end: check. Hold absorbent tip downward: check. Wait two minutes: check.

Crap. She’d done it right.

So she did it again.

The next two minutes were hell. The panic was so strong she could practically taste it in the back of her throat, and it was getting stronger with every passing second.

The first test was just a false positive, she decided. False positives happened all the time. She wasn’t pregnant. She was suffering from a low-grade stomach bug. Yeah, that was it. That would explain the odd waves of nausea that hit her at unexpected times. Not in the morning either. Therefore, it wasn’t morning sickness.

And the low-grade bug she was fighting—that’s what caused the positive. It had absolutely nothing to do with that night in the Holloway Inn four months ago. It had nothing to do with Ben or V or...

PREGNANT.

Oh, God.

One was a false positive. The second? Considering that she’d had a wild night of passionate sex with a man in a hotel room?

What the hell was she going to do?

She didn’t have a last name. She didn’t have his number. He’d been this fantasy man who had appeared when she’d needed him and been gone by morning light. She’d woken up in his room alone. Her dress had been cleaned and pressed and was hanging on the bathroom door. Room service had delivered breakfast with a rose and a note—a note she still had, tucked inside her sock drawer, where Mac would never see it.

Your pleasure was my pleasure. Thank you for the night.

He hadn’t even signed it Ben. No name, no signature. No way to contact him when she had a rapidly growing collection of positive pregnancy tests on the edge of her sink.

She was screwed.

Okay, so contacting Ben was out, at least for the short term. She might be able to hire a private investigator who could track him down through the hotel’s guest registry, but that didn’t help her out right now.

“Violet?” Mac called out from downstairs. “Can you come down here?”

She was going to be sick again, and this time she didn’t think it was because of morning sickness.

How was she supposed to tell her big brother that she’d done something this wild and crazy and was now pregnant? The man had dedicated the past twelve years of his life to keeping her safe after their parents’ deaths. He would not react well.

“Violet?” She heard the creak of the second step—oh Lord, he was on his way up.

“Give me a minute!” she called through the door as she grabbed the two used tests and shoved them back in the box. She hid everything under the sink, behind her maxi pads. Mac would never look there.

She needed a plan. She was on her own here.

Violet stood up and quickly splashed some cold water on her face. She didn’t normally wear a lot of makeup. She had no need to look pretty when she was managing the Double M, their family ranch. The ranch hands she’d hired had all gotten the exact same message, no doubt—hitting on Mac McCallum’s little sister was strictly forbidden. Which irritated her. First off, she wasn’t hiring studs for the express purpose of getting it on in the hayloft. Second, she was the boss. Mac ran McCallum Enterprises, the energy company their father had founded, and Violet ran the Double M, and the less those two worlds crossed, the better it was.

Because Mac did not see a ranch manager, much less a damned good ranch manager. He didn’t see a capable businesswoman who was navigating a drought and rebuilding from a record-breaking tornado and still making a profit. He didn’t see a partner in the family business.

All he saw was the shattered sixteen-year-old girl she’d been when their parents had died. It didn’t matter what she did, how well she did it—she was still a little sister to him. Nothing more and nothing less.

Violet had wanted so desperately not to be Mac’s helpless baby sister, even for a night. And if that night was spent in a stranger’s arms...

And here she was.

She’d just jerked her ponytail out of its holder and started wrenching the brush through her mane of auburn hair when Mac said, “Violet?”

She jumped. She hadn’t heard Mac come the rest of the way upstairs, but now he was right outside the door. “What?”

“An old friend of mine is downstairs. Rafe.”

“Oh—okay,” she said, feeling confused. Rafe—why did that name sound familiar? And why did Mac sound...odd? “Is everything okay?”

Ha. Nothing was okay, but by God, until she got a grip on the situation, she was going to pretend it was if it was the last thing she did.

“No, it’s fine. It’s just—Rafe is the sheikh, you remember? From college?”

“Wait.” She cracked the door open and stared at her brother. Even though she’d hidden the evidence, she intentionally positioned her body between him and the sink. “Is this the guy who had the wild younger sister who tricked you? That Rafe?”

“Yeah. Rafiq bin Saleed.” Mac’s expression was a mix of excitement and confusion.

“What’s he doing here right now?” Violet asked. “I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t he blame you for his sister’s—what did you call it?”

“Compromising her innocence? Yeah.”

“So why do I have to meet this jerk?”

“He’s in town. He’s apologized for his behavior years ago.”

Violet stared at him. Men and their delicate attempts at friendship. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah,” Mac said with a shrug. “Why wouldn’t I be? It was a misunderstanding. His father was the one who was mad. Rafe is making amends.”

After twelve years? That seemed odd. Men. “And you’re warning me in advance because...”

“Because I know you, Violet. I know you’re liable to shoot your mouth off. He’s a sheikh—they have a different set of customs, okay? So try to be polite.”

She gave him a dull look. “Really? You think I’m so impulsive I can’t even make small talk with a man from a different culture?” She shoved the door open. Her hair could wait. “Thanks, Mac. I appreciate the vote of confidence there.”

Mac grinned at her. “Said Violet, impulsively.”

“Stuff it. Let’s get this over with.” She pushed past her brother and stomped to the closet, where she grabbed a clean shirt. If she was going to be meeting—wait, what was a sheikh? Were they royalty? Well, whatever he was, the least she could do was make sure she was wearing a shirt that didn’t have cow poop on it. “I’ll meet your rude sheikh friend and then make myself scarce, okay? I’ve got stuff to do anyway.” Like maybe tracking down her one-night stand and figuring out her due date and, well, her schedule was just packed. She started unbuttoning her work jeans.

The wheels of her mind spun. This was going to change everything. She’d had plans—she’d been slowly working on convincing her brother to buy the ranch to the north, the Wild Aces. Violet had loved the Wild Aces for years. She wanted out of this house, out from under Mac’s overprotective roof, and the Wild Aces was where she wanted to be.

They were already leasing the land. The Double M’s water supply had been compromised by the tornado last year. But Wild Aces had plenty of water. Violet had thought that would be the motivation Mac needed to sign off on the purchase, but because she was the one who’d suggested it instead of his assistant, Andrea Beaumont, Mac had said no. Eventually, the two women had convinced Mac to at least lease the land.

But now? Violet was pregnant. How was she going to manage the Double M, much less the Wild Aces, with a huge belly or a baby on her hip?

Mac didn’t say anything for so long she paused and looked up at him. “What?”

“Everything okay?” he asked.

She tensed. “Why wouldn’t it be? It’s fine. Totally fine.”

Mac wrinkled his brow at her but before he could question her further, she said, “Shouldn’t you be downstairs with your sheikh friend or something? So I can finish getting changed? Maybe?”

Mac paled. He may have stepped into the role of father figure after their parents’ deaths, but he was still a big brother. An irritating one at that.

Okay, so she had a plan. She was going to pretend everything was just hunky-dory for the foreseeable future while she thought of a better plan.

Where was Ben? And even if she could find him, would he be happy to see her? Or would he claim that their night had had no strings attached and a baby was a huge string and therefore, she was on her own?

What a freaking mess.

* * *

“Sorry about that,” Mac said, strolling back into the room. “Violet’s...well, she’s Violet.”

Rafe sat in the center of the couch, surveying the room and the man before him. Mac had most certainly aged in the past twelve years, but he didn’t have the haunted look of someone who had betrayed his best friend.

Rafe was not surprised, not really. At the time Mac compromised Nasira, he had exhibited little regard for Rafe’s family’s name. He did not look guilty because, more than likely, Mac McCallum was incapable of feeling guilt.

Revenge was a dish best served cold. But Rafe couldn’t overplay his hand here. He put on a warm smile and said, “Yes, your younger sister—I remember. She was still in high school when we were at college, correct?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Mac shrugged apologetically. If Rafe were capable of being sympathetic with a person such as Mac, he could sympathize over wayward younger sisters. “So,” Mac went on, changing the subject. “Tell me about you, man. It’s been years! What are you doing in town?”

Rafe shrugged, as if his being in Royal, Texas, were some sort of happy accident instead of entirely premeditated. “My father is dead,” he said.

Mac’s cheeks reddened. “Oh, dude—sorry about that.”

Rafe smiled—inwardly, of course. The last person to say “dude” to him in such a way had been V, the beautiful woman at the inn a few months ago. It had seemed so odd coming out of her perfect rosebud mouth. It was much better suited to a man like Mac.

Where was V now? That was a question that had danced at the edge of his consciousness for months. He had gotten better at putting the question aside, though. It was almost easy to not think of her. Almost.

“I appreciate your concern, but there is no need for sorrow. He was a...difficult man, as I’m sure you know.”

Mac nodded sympathetically. In fact, before Mac’s betrayal of Rafe’s family, Mac had been one of the few people Rafe had confided in about his “difficult” father. There had been a time, long ago, when Rafe would have trusted this man with his very life.

Rafe did not trust people. He had learned that lesson well. Years spent locked up by his father had taught him that.

“With his passing,” Rafe went on, “my older brother Fareed became the sheikh and I became more free to seek my way in the world.” He tried to make it sound carefree and, in truth, some of it had been. Fareed had turned his attention to the modernization of their sheikhdom and released Rafe. Fareed had even entrusted Rafe with control of the family shipping business. All things considered, the reversal of fortune had been breathtaking.

But just because Rafe had no longer had to deal with Hassad bin Saleed did not mean he was free. He was still a sheikh. He had his people’s honor and pride to preserve.

And if that meant waiting twelve years to exact his revenge, then so be it.

“I had meant to seek you out much earlier,” Rafe went on, bending the truth until it was on the verge of breaking. “But my brother gave me the shipping company and I was quite busy turning the business around. You understand how it is. I am expanding my company’s holdings and was looking to get into energy. The worldwide demand is rising. Naturally, I thought of you. I remember how fondly you spoke of this area and its many resources.”

That was his story. Secretly, Rafe had been buying up land all over Royal, Texas, under the front of Samson Oil, a company he had created ostensibly to purchase the mineral rights and whatever remaining oil existed underground.

But Samson Oil was buying lands that had no more oil and no valuable mineral rights to speak of. The land was good for little else besides grazing cattle, and the entire town knew it. He had hired a Royal native, Nolan Dane, to act as the public face of Samson Oil. The townsfolk had been easily swayed by the outrageous offers and Nolan’s down-home charm. They were happy to take his money—except, of course, that no one knew it was his money. By the time they figured out his scheme, it would be too late.

Rafe would own this town, and he would do with it as he saw fit.

Mac snorted. “Tell me about it. McCallum Enterprises has completely taken over my life. I can’t even run the ranch anymore—Violet handles that for me.”

“Your younger sister does a man’s job?” But he was not truly surprised. Mac had always spoken of how outlandish his baby sister was—a tomboy, he’d said.

“She does a damn good job, too,” Mac said in a thoughtful voice.

“I had thought she was going to follow you to Harvard.” That had been the story Mac had told him all those years ago. But had that just been a lie to earn Rafe’s trust as they bonded over difficult younger siblings?

“That was before our parents died. They went out for a flight on Dad’s plane and...” Mac sighed heavily. “She was so lost after the accident, you know? I hated that I wasn’t here for her when it happened.”

“I had not realized,” Rafe said sympathetically, even though of course he had realized. The McCallum family had suffered a terrible blow when Mac’s parents’ plane had crashed into an open field. There had been no survivors.

It all happened right after Rafe had been pulled out of Harvard by his father for daring to let his younger sister consort with the likes of Mac. Rafe had not found out the details of the accident for years afterward—after his own father had died and Rafe had suddenly had the means to investigate his enemies.

It had been a missed opportunity. If Rafe had been aware of the McCallums’ deaths at the time, he could have moved swiftly to buy Mac’s land out from under him or take over McCallum Enterprises. Instead, Rafe had to settle for watching and waiting for his next best opportunity to exact his revenge. He had not rushed. He was, as the Americans often said, playing the long game.

His patience had finally paid off when, last year, a tornado had torn through Mac’s hometown of Royal, Texas. The town’s economic base was weakened, which was good. But what was better was that Mac’s water supply had become compromised.

It was a particularly good scheme. Rafe would not only cut off Mac’s water supply and essentially strangle his ranch, but under the guise of Samson Oil, he would also buy up large parts of Royal. Mac had always spoken of his love for his hometown.

When Rafe was done with him, Mac would have nothing. No town, no land. That was what Mac had left Nasira with when he had betrayed Rafe’s trust and ruined Nasira.

Thus far, Rafe had been operating in secrecy. But when his scheme came to fruition, he wanted Mac to know it was he who had brought about his destruction.

Which was why he was here, pretending to be concerned for the well-being of his former friend’s sister. “Was it very hard on her?”

“Oh, man,” Mac said with a rueful smile. “I moved back home and tried to give her a stable upbringing, but never underestimate the power of a teenage girl. Hey, listen,” he went on, leaning forward and dropping his voice a notch. “I know that things didn’t end well between us...”

Rafe tensed inside but outside, he waved this poor excuse for an olive branch of peace away, as if he’d truly left the matter in the past. “It was all a long time ago. Think nothing of it.”

“Thanks, man. I never meant to hurt Nasira, but I swear to you, I had no idea she was in my room that night. It wasn’t what it looked like.”

Rafe’s mask of genial friendship must have slipped because Mac’s words trailed off. Rafe rearranged his face into one of concern. “It’s fine. She was able to marry a man who was more to her liking.” It was time for a subject change. “Your sister, Violet? It has been a long time.”

“Yeah—that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I try to keep her out of trouble, but if you, you know, could just keep an eye on her while you’re in town, I’d really appreciate it.”

Now this was ironic. Here Rafe was, doing everything within his power to avenge the honor of his sister and his family, and Mac, the source of all his troubles, was asking Rafe to look after Violet?

That would be a new layer to Rafe’s revenge—corrupting Mac’s sister just as Mac had corrupted Rafe’s.

“But of course,” Rafe said as he bowed his head, trying to look touched that Mac would extend him this much trust. The fool. He was making this too easy.

“My ears are burning.” Rafe heard the soft feminine—and familiar—voice seconds before its owner entered the room. “What are you two...talking...”

She stood in the doorway, her mouth open, all the color draining from her cheeks.

Rafe’s body responded before his brain could make sense of what he was seeing. His gut tightened and his erection stiffened and one word presented itself in his mind—mine. The reaction was so sudden and so complete that Rafe was momentarily disoriented. This woman was lovely, yes, but her body was not the kind that usually invoked such an immediate, possessive response from him.

Then the conscious part of his brain caught up with the rest of him and he realized exactly who she was.

She looked different in the light of day. Rafe had not known her in such mannish clothing—jeans and work shirts. Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck and her face was scrubbed clean.

But he recognized her nonetheless.

V.

His mind spun in bewilderment. His mysterious, beautiful V was here? The woman he had been unable to put from his mind was...in Mac’s home?

Mac stood and Rafe stood with him. This was an...unexpected development. He would have to brazen it out as best he could. “Ah, here you are. Violet, this is my old college friend, Rafe bin Saleed.”

“Bin Saleed?” she said, her eyes so wide they were practically bursting out of her head. “Bin?”

“Um, yeah,” Mac said, his gaze darting between the two of them. “Rafe, this is my little sister, Violet.”

V was Violet. V was his mortal enemy’s younger sister.

Destiny had a twisted sense of humor.

Inwardly, he was kicking himself, as the Americans said. Rafiq bin Saleed did not randomly bring a woman back to his bed. He did not seduce her and strip her and he most certainly did not send her love notes the next morning. He was a sheikh. He had no need for those things. His one night of passion with the exact wrong woman could threaten twelve years of planning.

Outwardly, however, he kept his composure. Years of facing his father’s wrath had trained him well in remaining calm in the face of danger. He had to put a good face on this. His scheme had not yet come to fruition, and if Violet placed him in the greater Royal area four months before his “arrival” today, everything could be at risk.

All his schemes could fall apart in front of him, all because he had been unable to resist a beautiful woman.

Unless...a new thought occurred to him. Unless Violet already knew of his schemes. Unless she had been sent by her brother to find him all those months ago. Unless Mac had anticipated Rafe’s attack and launched a counterattack while Rafe was distracted by a beautiful smile and a gorgeous body.

But she had insisted on no names. He had never used his real name, just as she had hidden hers. Was it possible that she had really just been looking for a night’s passion?

He had no choice but to continue to play the part of the long-lost friend. He couldn’t show his hand just because he had accidentally slept with this woman. “Violet,” he said, letting the hard T sound of her name roll off his tongue, just as so many other things had rolled off his tongue. He bowed low to her, a sign of respect in his culture. “It is an honor to finally meet Mac’s beloved sister.”

“Is it?” she snapped.

Mac shot her a warning look. “Violet,” he said quietly. “We talked about this.”

“Sorry,” she said, clearly not sorry at all. “I was expecting someone else entirely.”

Rafe wanted to laugh. Truthfully, he had been, as well. But he did no such thing. Instead, he said calmly, “Have I come at a bad time?”

Americans had an expression that Rafe had never heard before he’d attended university at Harvard—“If looks could kill.” In his sheikhdom of Al Qunfudhah, no one would dare look at a sheikh with such venom—to do so was to risk dismemberment or even death at the hands of Hassad bin Saleed, who had ruled with an iron fist and an iron blade.

But he was no longer in Al Qunfudhah, and if looks could kill, Violet would have finished him off several minutes ago.

He notched an eyebrow at her. He was more than capable of controlling himself. Could she say the same? Or was that why Mac had gone to speak to her privately—were they getting their stories straight?

You were capable of controlling yourself, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered. Until you met her.

“No, no,” Mac said warmly. “Violet, maybe you should get us something to drink.”

She turned her wrathful gaze to Mac and Rafe decided that, even if Mac had sent Violet to him, she had not told her brother the truth of their evening together. “Excuse me? Do I look like your maid?”

“Violet!” Mac sent another worried grin toward Rafe. “Sorry, Rafe.”

Rafe waved his hand as if Violet’s attitude were nothing. “We are not in Al Qunfudhah,” he said, trying to set Mac at ease even as he enjoyed his old friend’s discomfort. “I remember how things in America are quite different than they are back home. I do not expect to be served by the women in the house.”

But even as he said it, he casually sat back in the middle of the sofa, spreading his arms out along the back and waiting to be served by someone. He took up as much space as he could. I am here, he thought at Violet, catching her eye and lifting his chin in challenge. What are you going to do about it?

Oh, yes. If looks could kill, he would be in extreme pain right now. “That’s where you’re from?”

The bitterness of her tone was somewhat unexpected. The last time he had seen her, she had been asleep in his bed, nude except for the sheets that had twisted around her waist. Her beautiful auburn hair had been fanned out over her shoulder, and even as she slept, her rosebud lips had been curved into a satisfied, if small, smile. She had looked like a woman who had been thoroughly pleasured, and Rafe had almost woken her up with a touch and a kiss.

But she had only asked for a night, so he quietly let himself out of the room, arranged to have breakfast sent up and then met with Nolan to go over his plans for purchasing more of the land around Mac’s Double M ranch. He had tried mightily to put his night of wanton abandon with the beautiful V out of his mind.

Which was not to say he had succeeded. Not for the first time, he replayed their evening together. He had not coerced her—no, he specifically remembered several points where he had given her a respectable out.

It had been her choice to come to his room. Her choice to make it one night. Her choice not to use names or places.

As far as Rafe was concerned, Violet had nothing to be bitter about. He had made sure she had been well satisfied, just as he had been.

“I’ll get us something to drink. Violet, can I talk to you in the kitchen?” Mac said, forgoing subtlety altogether.

“I’ll take some lemonade,” Violet responded, ignoring her brother’s request and sitting in a chair across from Rafe. “Thanks.”

Of course Rafe knew they were not in Al Qunfudhah anymore, but it was something of a surprise to not only see a woman give a man—her guardian, no less—an order, but to see that man heave a weary sigh and obey.

Perhaps if Nasira had felt freer to assert herself as Violet did...

Well, things might have been different. But knowing his father, things would not have been better.

Rafe pushed away those thoughts and focused instead on the woman before him. Violet was seething with barely contained rage, that much was obvious.

Once Mac was out of the room, Violet leaned toward him. “Rafiq bin Saleed?”

He would not let her get to him. She may be a slightly hysterical female, but he was still a sheikh. “It’s lovely to see you again, V. Unexpected, yes, but lovely nonetheless.”

“Oh, it’s unexpected all right. What the hell?”

He ignored her outburst. “You are well, I trust?”

Her eyes got wide—very wide indeed. “Well? Oh, you’re going to care now?”

He bristled at her tone. “For your information, I cared that night. But it was you who asked for just that—a night. Just one. So I honored your wishes. No names, no strings—that was how you put it, was it not?”

She continued to glare at him. “What do I even call you? Not Ben, I assume.”

“Rafe will do for now.”

“Will it? Is that your real name? Or just another alias?”

“My name is Rafiq,” he said stiffly. He did not enjoy being on the defensive. “Rafe is a well-known nickname in my country.”

Her nostrils flared, as if she were getting ready to physically attack him. “Well, Rafe, since you asked, I am not well.”

“No?” Against his will, he felt a plume of concern rise through his belly. He should be glad she was not well. That would only cause Mac more suffering.

But Rafe was concerned. He wanted to pull her into his arms and feel her breath against his skin and make her well. He was a wealthy man. There was nothing he could not provide for her. “Not because of something I have done, I hope.”

She was breathing hard now, as if she were standing on the top of a tall peak and getting ready to jump. “You could say that. I’m pregnant.”

Rafe blinked at her, trying to comprehend the words. Had she just said—pregnant? “Mine?”

She looked much like a lioness ready to pounce on her prey, all coiled energy and focus. “Of course it’s yours. I realize we don’t know very much about each other but I don’t normally pick up men. That was a one time thing. You’re the only man I’ve been with in the last year and you were supposed to use condoms!” She hissed the word but quietly. It was for his ears and his ears alone.

Before he could come up with something reasonable to say—something reasonable to think, even—Mac strode back into the room, carrying a tray with a pitcher and glasses. “Lemonade?”


Two (#ulink_eb54bd57-0cef-5029-950c-8b1911abfc0e)

Rafe just...sat there. For Pete’s sake, he didn’t even blink when Mac walked back into the room. Violet’s whole world was falling apart around her and Rafe looked as though she’d announced she liked French fries instead of the fact that she was carrying his child.

She couldn’t take it. She needed to go. If she could make it back to a bathroom, where she could throw up in peace and quiet, that’d be great.

“Actually,” she said, forcing herself to stand. “I’m not thirsty. Thanks anyway, Mac.”

The father of her unborn baby was not just some nameless stranger she’d met in a bar. Oh, no—that would be getting off easy. If that were the case, she’d merely be pregnant and alone. Which was a terrifying prospect, but comparatively?

The father of her child was a sheikh. And not just any sheikh. Her brother’s former friend, the one who had blamed Mac for seducing his sister and ended the friendship under no uncertain terms.

Oh, she was going to be so sick.

She willed her legs not to wobble as she stood. Ben or Rafe or Sheikh Saleed or whatever his name was stood with her.

In the past thirty-some-odd minutes, her perfect fantasy night had somehow become an epic nightmare. Had she been dreading telling Mac she was pregnant before? Ha. How the hell was she supposed to tell him now? I’m expecting and by the way, the father is your old friend. Isn’t that a laugh riot?

Mac already treated her as though she was still a lost little girl of sixteen. What would he do now that she’d proven how very irresponsible she was?

Oh, God—this was going to change everything. It already had.

She turned and headed for the door, but due to her wobbly legs, she didn’t get out of the room fast enough. “Violet,” Rafe said in his ridiculous voice, all sunshine and honey, and damned if the sound of her name on his lips didn’t send another burst of warmth and desire through her. Her head may have been a mess, but her body—her stupid, traitorous body—still wanted this man. Hell.

It didn’t matter. She couldn’t let his accent melt her from the inside out, because what had happened the last time? She’d ended up pregnant and unmarried. Violet did not often think of her parents—the loss was too painful, even after all these years—but right now, what she wanted more than anything was her mother.

“What?”

Mac winced and Violet could almost hear him adding, Said Violet, impulsively.

“I would like to know more about Royal and catch up with my old friends.” Something about the way Rafe said friends hit Violet wrong, but before she could figure out what it was, he went on, “Would you both join me for dinner tomorrow night?”

What had she done to deserve this? Because the torture of sitting through dinner with both her brother and her former lover at this exact moment of her life and pretending that nothing had changed was right up there with being stepped on by a herd of stampeding cattle.

“Well, damn,” Mac said. “I’m going to be out of town. But Violet can go with you.”

That was just like Mac, to assume that she spent all her free time painting her nails and listening to Backstreet Boys. She rolled her eyes at Rafe, which must not have been something people in his country did, given the way the color on his cheeks deepened.

Still, Rafe forged on, by all appearances completely unbothered by her impulsiveness or her pregnancy—except for that blush, which only made him look more sinfully handsome. Damn the man.

“Ah, that is acceptable. That way I can keep an eye on you.” His gaze never wavered from hers. “Shall we meet tomorrow, say at seven?”

And Mac, the rat bastard, nodded his approval, as if they were having this entire conversation about her without remembering she was in the room.

She was totally going to blame this on hormones, this mix of rage and self-pity and the sudden urge to cry, all folded in together with desire and relief until she was so mixed up she couldn’t think straight.

But had Mac already asked this man to keep an eye on her? Violet so did not need a babysitter at this point. In six months or so, yes, she would need a babysitter. But before she had an actual baby, she did not. “I don’t—”

“Sure, that’d be great,” Mac said warmly, as if Violet were incapable of having dinner on her own without getting into some sort of trouble. “I have a meeting with Andrea scheduled that I can’t get out of—Andrea’s my assistant,” he added, seeing Rafe’s quizzical look. “But you two can go on and have a nice time.”

A nice time? Oh, she had some things she wanted to say to her brother—about Rafe—but the fact was, she did actually need to talk with Rafe. Alone. “Yeah,” she said, trying to sound at least a little bit excited about the prospect. Four months ago, another evening with her mystery man, Ben, would have been too good to be true. But now? “Sure. Dinner.”

Rafe gave her a small smile that absolutely did not appease her. She hated him right then, because her entire world had just blown up in her face and the father of her child stood there looking as sexy as he had the night he’d taken her to bed. This pregnancy was going to change everything for her—but for him?

Yeah, they needed to talk. Preferably where no one would interrupt them to offer lemonade. “Tomorrow, then,” Rafe said.

“Sounds good.” Mac was staring at her, so she dug deep for something polite to say. “I look forward to it.”

Rafe tilted his head down but kept his gaze locked on hers. “As do I.”

“Say, Rafe, in two nights, I’ll be at the Texas Cattleman’s Club—we’ve got a meeting. If you’re interested in setting down some roots locally, you could come with me.”

Violet started choking. Somehow, the air had gotten very sharp in her throat. She couldn’t have heard that right—could she have? “What?”

Rafe inclined his head at Mac, but he spoke to Violet. “I have been considering branching out into the energy business, so naturally I sought out my old friend.”

“Oh, naturally. That makes total sense.” She tried to smile, but it must have looked more like teeth baring, because both men recoiled slightly.

Something didn’t add up here. But her head was such a hot mess right now that she had no hope of figuring out what it was.

“I shall see you for dinner tomorrow night,” Rafe said, and she didn’t miss the particular timbre of his voice that seemed designed to send a thrill through her body. Then he turned, giving Mac a big smile that seemed less than sincere, Violet thought. “And I would be delighted to see this club of yours.”

“Great,” Mac said, clearly missing the forced smile. “It’s a plan!”

* * *

Morning sickness was a lie. This was what Violet had concluded after a night and a day of suffering with a roiling stomach.

Of course, there was also the possibility that it was not morning sickness. A quick web search revealed that most people were only sick for the first three months, and Violet was safely in her fourth month. After all, she knew the exact date of conception.

Just thinking about that night in Ben’s—Rafe’s—arms again made her stomach turn. Frankly, she defied anyone to not have an upset stomach in a situation like this.

She stood in front of her meager closet in nothing but her panties and bra—her regular bra, not the black-with-white-embroidery number she’d been wearing when she met Rafe. This was a smooth white T-shirt bra. Not a danged thing sexy about it.

Because that’s who she was—functional and dull and not terribly sexy. If Rafe thought she was going to show up for dinner tonight as V again, he had another think coming.

Besides, her one fancy cocktail dress—black with the lacy sleeves—well, it didn’t exactly fit right now. She’d already tried it on and she couldn’t get it zipped.

All those little changes her body had been experiencing—the slight weight gain, the nausea, the overwhelming urge to nap—she’d written off each and every little bump in the road as exhaustion or a bug or the changing of the seasons or stress or, hell, the phases of the moon. But now?

Not a bump in the road. A baby bump.

She had a plan. She had an appointment with an obstetrician in Holloway in two weeks. It was ridiculous that she felt she had to go to the next town over, but she hadn’t exactly decided just yet on how she was going to tell Mac about this “bump in the road.” She kind of had it in her mind that once she had a doctor’s official...whatever, it would be easier to talk to Mac. But if she went to the local doctor in Royal, word might get back to Mac before she could gird her loins. So she was just buying a little time here.

And as for Rafe...okay, she was still working on that part of the plan. She’d done another quick internet search on his country, Al Qunfudhah. The Wikipedia article had stressed that, compared to some of the neighboring countries and kingdoms, women enjoyed a great deal of freedom in Al Qunfudhah, but the article had hit Violet funny. Why would anyone make such a big deal about women being able to drive as if it were some wondrous gift?

She did not know what Rafe intended to do. He really was, according to that same article, a sheikh. His brother ruled the country. His father had died a few years ago. But beyond that?

It had been bad enough when she’d been pregnant with some random stranger’s baby. But a sheikh’s baby?

She was getting ahead of herself. Dinner first. And that meant she needed to put on clothes.

She finally settled on one of her few dresses—the fanciest dress she’d owned, until she’d bought the black one on a whim. It was an olive-green cotton dress with tiny pink flowers printed on it, and it had a pink satin bow at the scoop neck. It was just a little bit girlie but also, due to the darker color, not so girlie. Plus, it was a forgiving cut and it still fit. She paired it with her jean jacket and her nice pair of brown boots, the ones with the pointed toe. She twisted her hair up and pinned it into place, but she decided against dangly earrings. This wasn’t a date. This was a...negotiation, really.

That didn’t stop her from putting on small hoops, as well as mascara and a little blush, though. Not enough that it looked like she was trying, but every little bit helped.

At least Mac wasn’t here. If he saw her in any dress at all, he’d start asking questions. Outside of weddings and Easter services, she was not known for busting out the dresses.

She was debating the merits of her regular tinted lip balm versus actual lipstick when the doorbell rang. Crap. Violet started to hurry, but then thought better of it. She was not at Rafe’s beck and call. She was pregnant. She would not hurry to accommodate him. He’d better get used to doing the accommodating around here. She slowly applied a light layer of a deep pink lipstick and then grabbed her jacket. She was cool, calm and collected. No reason to be nervous, right? Just dinner with the father of her child. Easy peasy.

But by the time she got downstairs, she was on shaky legs and it only got worse when she opened the door to find Rafe standing there, a devilish grin on his face and a single red rose in his hands. And then he took her in, her dress and her boots and her jacket, and she wished in that moment she’d tried a little harder to get the zipper up on her black dress.

“Ah,” he said in a voice that sent a shiver through her. The voice was so unlike the way he’d spoken to her yesterday that she stared at him. This was the man she’d met in a bar. This was the man who’d taken her to bed.

“Hello,” she said, feeling unsettled because it was so hard to reconcile this man with the one who’d sat in the living room yesterday and looked at her as if she were a deer and he were a wolf.

He still looked as though he wanted to devour her, but the difference was so startling that she was helpless to do anything but stand there, gaping.

He held out the rose. “A beautiful flower for a beautiful woman.”

She couldn’t help it: she wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to feel the way he’d made her feel, beautiful and sensual and desirable. But now that they knew who the other was, she didn’t think chasing that little bit of happiness was the best idea. “Look—is this a date? What is this?”

There was that hardness in his expression again and she had to fight the urge to step back. She was not imagining that. “I would never force you to do something against your will, Violet. If you would like to go to dinner as friends, then we may do that. If you would like to consider this a more romantic evening...” His voice trailed off as his eyes warmed.

She took the rose and set it down on the foyer table. “The last time we had a romantic evening, things went wrong.” Two-positive-pregnancy-tests wrong. “I think we should get a few things settled before we do anything else.”

“Yes, that is a wise choice. It would be too easy to...well.” She could be seeing things but he might have actually blushed. “Shall we? I made reservations at Claire’s.”

“Oh.” Claire’s was one of the nicest restaurants in town and she was wearing a jean jacket. Crap. She looked down at her outfit. “Maybe I should change?”

“You look beautiful,” he said, stepping toward her. Before she could react, he had cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her face. “You were beautiful that night and you are beautiful now. And anyone who would deign to criticize you will face my wrath.”

Wow, that was the sexiest-sounding threat she’d ever heard. Violet was speechless. Even if she could talk, she had no idea what might come out of her mouth. Something impulsive? Something stupid? Both?

Or, worse, would she tell him how much she’d missed him, how much she’d savored their night together?

Because it would be terrible for him to back her into this house and carry her up the stairs the way he’d carried her down the hall of his hotel. It would be awful if he laid her out on her own bed and did all those things he’d done before.

Yup. It would simply be the worst.

“Ah,” he breathed, so close to her that she could have tilted her head just a little and brought her lips against his, “you asked me what this evening is about. But now I ask you—what is it you want this evening to be?”

Violet was used to dealing with men. She did a man’s work, day in and day out. She dealt with cowboys and her brother, and didn’t spend a hell of a lot of time in a beauty salon, gossiping with other women. She could more than hold her own when some jerk got it into his head that she, a delicate female, shouldn’t be fixing fences or branding cattle or any of those manly things men liked to think they were the only ones capable of getting done. Men who decided they were alphas and she had to fall into line either got their metaphorical butts handed to them on a platter or a black eye as a souvenir of the experience.

So, really, Violet should not have felt this urge to give in to Rafe, to tell him that whatever he wanted, she wanted. But she was tempted. The masculinity coming off him was so strong, so potent, it was almost as if she could see the air shimmering around him, like heat off a highway.

All those men before—they’d been all talk. They had to tell people they were the boss because otherwise, no one else would know it. But Rafe? Jesus, he was in a different class. This was not just an alpha man, this was a man born to power, a man who breathed it as easily as he breathed air.

This was a sheikh. Her sheikh.

But just as she was about to succumb to his sheer machismo, she remembered their situation.

So she forced herself to lift her chin out of his grasp and she forced herself to stare into his eyes—dark and warm and waiting on her to say the word so he could strip her right out of her dress—and she said, “I want to figure out how we got here and what we’re going to do next.” Dang it all, her voice came out as something closer to sultry than businesslike.

Rafe heard it, too, and his lips curved into a knowing smile. “Ah, yes. How we got here. I seem to recall carrying a beautiful, mysterious woman to my room and—”

“No, stop.” Heat flushed her body, but she was not going to fall for him a second time. She had enough going on right now. “I mean more along the lines of what happened afterward. I’m pregnant. We need to be taking this seriously.”

That worked. Rafe straightened and, sighing, nodded. “Would you like to discuss this over dinner or somewhere more private?”

Private was good. Private was great. But private also meant more of those smoldering looks and hot touches from this man and again, she was totally going to blame the hormones on this one, but she didn’t know how strong she could be if she had to fend off those sorts of advances all evening long. “Dinner,” she said decisively.

Rafe, to his credit, didn’t use all of his innate power to overrule her, just as he hadn’t coerced her into doing anything she hadn’t wanted that night. Instead, with a nod of his head that veered closer to a bow of respect than anything else, he said, “Dinner, then.”


Three (#ulink_55b4c781-0eba-576c-905c-c089eb3d3501)

Rafe and Violet were shown to a secluded table tucked into a small alcove in the back of the restaurant. Perfect.

He needed this dinner to be in the public eye because he had little doubt that word of it would make its way back to Mac, and Rafe wanted everyone to see him acting like a gentleman. But he also needed to be hidden away enough that he and Violet could discuss things like pregnancy and plans without being overheard.

He held Violet’s chair for her, which gave him the opportunity to admire her from the back. There’d been a moment earlier this evening when he’d wanted nothing more than to sweep her off her feet and carry her to a bedroom. Any bedroom would do. In this outfit, she was not the seductress V had been all those months ago, but she was also not the angry cowgirl who, just yesterday, had informed him she was carrying his child.

Yesterday, she had not been so very hard to resist, between her shell-shocked appearance and her perhaps justifiable anger. But today?

As she sat, Rafe had to physically restrain himself from leaning down and pressing his lips against the exposed nape of her neck, right next to where a tendril of hair had escaped her updo and lay curled against her fair skin like an invitation.

He managed not to kiss her there, but he must have stood too still for too long, for Violet turned and looked up over her shoulder at him and said, “Yes?”

Rafe didn’t answer immediately. He took his time circling the table and taking his seat. “I do not think I have told you how glad I am to see you again.”

Violet notched an eyebrow at him. “Seriously? You didn’t act all that glad yesterday.”

“True. But I think that, given the surprising nature of our reunion, we can both be forgiven for being less than enthusiastic at first.”

Her eyes narrowed and he got the feeling he’d said the wrong thing. “Oh, really?”

This called for a tactical retreat. A fast one. “Let us plan, as you have requested. How long have you been aware of your impending blessing?”

Because he needed to know that she was being honest—that not only was she expecting, but that it was his child. The four months between that evening and this one left plenty of time for her to have taken other lovers.

Her cheeks colored. “Well, since yesterday. I was in the process of peeing on a stick when Mac came to tell me you were in the living room.”

Rafe coughed over her coarse language, which made her eyes narrow again. “I did not realize,” he said. “Just...yesterday?”

“Yes.” After a pause, she said, “I had been feeling a little off for a while—super tired all the time, gaining a little weight. I had thought maybe I just had a stomach bug that was hanging on, but then my friend Clare started asking about how I was feeling and suggested...” She swallowed, staring at her water glass. “And I bought a test. A three-pack, just in case, you know?”

“I see,” he said, although he was not entirely sure he did. “How many tests were positive?”

“Two. I didn’t believe the first one. But two that said the same thing...” Her voice trailed off sadly. “I guess I was maybe a little rude yesterday, but I had gone from suddenly realizing I was pregnant and wondering how the heck I was ever going to find you and tell you, to walking into the living room and finding you. Except you weren’t who you said you were.”

“Yes,” he said sympathetically. “I can see why that would have been a bit of a shock. It was quite unexpected to see you again.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Why did you say your name was Ben that night?”

This was dangerous territory because the truth would endanger his scheme. So he turned her question back on her. “Why did you go by V?”

She did not answer immediately and then, just as she opened her mouth to respond, the server came up to take their orders. Rafe did not often drink. In fact, he had not drunk wine since that night. Perhaps that was why he had taken V to bed, because his inhibitions had been lowered.

But tonight, he decided he needed a glass of wine to get through this evening. Otherwise, he might overreact the way he had to Violet’s announcement yesterday and if he enraged her again, it would put his whole scheme in danger of collapsing.

He did not know if Violet was his friend or his enemy. What she was, at this point, was a former lover, and those relationships could go either way. But no matter how this played out, Rafe knew he needed to keep her close.

So he ordered a bottle of sauvignon blanc to accompany his filet mignon and her chicken dish. In the past several months, he had grown quite fond of Texas beef. Even the barbecue was delicious and quite unlike the way beef was prepared in his country.

But when he placed their orders, Violet narrowed those beautiful eyes at him again. It was only when the server was safely out of earshot that she leaned forward and said in a tense whisper, “I can’t drink.”

“Oh?”

“Because I’m pregnant?” she said, although it was clearly not a question. “I’m not supposed to drink.” A look of panic flared over her face. “Do you know anything about pregnancy? About babies?”

Rafe rolled his hand. “Of course not. I do not have any children and, if I did, we would have nannies to care for them. That is how I was raised.”

Had he thought this declaration would relieve her anxiety? If so, he had guessed wrong. The color drained out of her face and, if anything, she looked more worried than before. “Nannies? As in, plural? I didn’t—I mean, that’s not what I had been thinking for our child.”

“Let us not get ahead of ourselves,” he cautioned, because that look of terror on her face made him strangely uncomfortable. He should be reveling in her panic—thrilled, even, that he was striking such a blow against Mac’s sister. This was revenge at its finest.

And yet, it wasn’t. If her pleasure had once been his, her terror was also his. It was a weakness he did not like because weaknesses could be exploited.

“Okay,” she said softly.

“Let us start at the beginning,” he went on, more gently than he had planned to. But it worked because she took a deep breath and sat back in her chair, looking almost calm. “I did not realize who you were that night. And I assume, based on your statement earlier that you were wondering how you’d find me, you did not know who I was?”

“No, I didn’t. No names. That was the deal.” She cleared her throat and began to fiddle with her silverware, arranging the knife and the fork in perfect alignment. “I was V for the same reason I was out in Holloway instead of Royal. I wanted a night out where word wouldn’t get back to Mac.” She looked up and he could see in her eyes that she was pleading with him. “He wants what’s best for me, I know that. But sometimes...he can be suffocating. I mean, he doesn’t think this is a date because he asked you to keep an eye on me, didn’t he?”

“This is true,” Rafe confirmed.

She exhaled heavily. “That’s how he is. Every man is either a threat to my innocence or a babysitter.”

“But you have reached your maturity,” Rafe noted. “You are not the same little sister he told me about when we were in university twelve years ago.”

She snorted. “Try telling him that. He still treats me like I’m sixteen and lost without my parents. But I’m not. I’m a grown woman now and I’m capable of running half the family business and...okay, so getting pregnant wasn’t my finest hour, but I can do this, Rafe.”

Rafe thought this over as the wine was served. Violet asked for a Sprite instead. “I must ask—your innocence?”

“Lord,” Violet said, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling, and Rafe couldn’t tell if she was praying for strength or something else. “Fine. No, I was not a virgin. You?”

Rafe almost glared at her because this line of questioning was not something sheikhs had to endure. But as she watched him, he quickly realized that, to Violet, he was not primarily a sheikh. He was, first and foremost, a man to whom she would be forever tied. “No. And before you ask, I am not currently seeing anyone else. In fact, except for our evening together, I have been celibate for some time.”

Her lips quirked into something that was almost a smile. “Celibate, huh?”

He shrugged, trying to keep it casual. “I have been busy. My brother is the sheikh of Al Qunfudhah and I run the shipping business owned by our family. While our sheikhdom was originally founded on oil, we have diversified and my shipping business now accounts for thirty percent of the gross domestic product.”

“But celibate? You’re a sheikh,” she said, clearly puzzled. Then her gaze drifted over his face, his shoulders, and down his chest before she looked back at him. “And you’re gorgeous.”

Rafe felt his face warm. “So I have been told. But just because I could have any woman I want does not mean I should.”

“And modest,” she added in a mocking tone. But she smiled when she said it. “That’s a refreshing attitude, I have to tell you. Most men would take whatever they could get.”

“I am not ‘most men.’”

“No,” she agreed, her smile warming. “You’re not.”

Rafe was pleased. He should have been pleased because Violet was opening up to him and the more he drew her in, the more complete his revenge would be.

But that was not why he leaned forward and placed his hand on top of hers, stilling it in the middle of adjusting the precise placement of her soup spoon. “And you? Are you involved with anyone?”

“No,” she said in a breathy whisper. “Most guys don’t last too long before my brother scares them off.”

“That must be frustrating.”

She tried to shrug off both the sentiment and his hand and, given that they were in public, he had no choice but to sit back in his seat. “It is, but it’s also a blessing—I guess. If they can’t stand up to Mac, how could I expect them to stand next to me, you know?”

Rafe thought about this. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that standing against Mac would not be problematic. “Indeed.”

Their meals arrived along with Violet’s soda. She sipped at it gingerly and took small bites of her food. “Is it all right?” he asked, concerned. If she was expecting, shouldn’t she be eating more?

“It’s fine. I just—well, I’ve been dealing with morning sickness—which is a lie, by the way. My stomach’s most upset in the evening. And for a lot of people, it ends after the third month, but I think it’s actually getting worse.”

This news was alarming. “Have you seen a doctor yet? Do you think everything is all right?”

She looked at him, trying not to smile and not quite succeeding. “I’m fine. According to the internet, this is all normal. I scheduled an appointment with a doctor in Holloway and the quickest they could get me in was in two weeks.”

He set his knife and fork down a bit harder than he meant to, given how the beverages danced in their glasses and Violet’s eyes widened. “That is not soon enough. I can have a private doctor here tomorrow—Friday at the latest.”

“Rafe,” she said, her soft Texas accent caressing his name like a lover’s hands. She’d said Ben that way, but not Rafe. Not like that. It was enough to make him pause as he typed in the password to his phone. “It’s fine. There’s no danger.”

“I merely want what is best for you and the child,” he said, his voice getting caught somewhere in the back of his throat. And he was surprised to realize how very much he meant it.

“Yeah,” she said in that quiet voice, “about that. Okay, so I’m not seeing anyone and you’re not either. Which doesn’t mean that we’re together.”

“I would not make such presumptions,” he assured her.

“It just means that, for once, there’s one less complication to deal with.”

“Agreed. And I would not be outside of bounds if I asked you to refrain from starting a relationship with anyone else while you are carrying my child, would I?”

What started out as a smile progressed into a full giggle. There was simply no other word for it. Violet McCallum was giggling at him. “Out of bounds. Not outside.”

He should have been insulted that she was mocking him. What was it about this woman that made him not only accept her teasing, but crave it? “Ah, I see. Thank you. I shall remember ‘out of bounds’ in the future.”

“No,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “You are not out of bounds. Dating is a challenge in the best of times. Right now, I can’t see how it’d be anything but impossible. I am not looking to start a relationship right now.”

A new thought occurred to him as Violet settled down and sipped her soda. Rafe’s original plan, once he had realized that Violet was V, was to use and discard Violet much as Mac had done to Nasira. That was the ultimate revenge, a sister’s honor for a sister’s honor.

But now that Rafe was spending more time with Violet, he wondered if he would actually be able to do that to her. She was, after all, carrying his child—if she could be believed. And Rafe desperately wanted to believe her.




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