“Relief,” said Queenie firmly, looking him directly in the eyes so he could see she was serious as hell. “Yes, he was a part of my life. Yes, whatever happened with him affected me in more ways than I probably understand. But I was nineteen the last time I saw him, Bawaar! I’m in my thirties now! If he’d been watching me all these years, waiting for a chance to . . . to get revenge for what he thinks I did to his life?! Shit, I’m glad he’s dead! I’m sorry if that sounds cold, but to hell with him! I’m glad he’s dead!”
The Sheikh put his arm around Queenie and pulled her into him, and then she broke. The sobs came hard and heavy, and the Sheikh cradled her like a child as she bawled into his chest.
“I don’t even know why I’m crying!” she said, laughing and sputtering. “I really don’t give a shit about him. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes. But it does not matter. Your past does not matter to me. You know that, do you not?”
Queenie sniffled as she took the silk handkerchief held out by the Sheikh. “I thought you investigated my past before deciding to marry me.”
The Sheikh grunted and shrugged. “That was just to prove to you that your past does not matter. I knew that no matter what I learned about you, it would not change how I felt.”
Bawaar felt her breathe deep beside him, and he pulled her even closer as he watched those trees sway silently outside the thick glass, drizzling snowflakes like it was all staged. It felt like he was watching a movie, a surreal play or drama. Slowly his mind was pulled back to the reality, which was more surreal than any movie he’d ever seen, more convoluted than even the Arabic epics he’d read in school.
“You know, it’s possible that his wife isn’t involved at all,” Queenie said slowly, and the Sheikh smiled when he saw that his queen was focused and together after her cry. She’d broken for a moment, but just like that she was back together, strong and ready for whatever came next. “I mean, he could just as easily have dropped dead of a heart attack. Just a coincidence, for all we know. And then maybe Renita got scared and just took off, thinking she’d get in trouble or something.”
The Sheikh frowned as he pulled out his phone. “I cannot agree with the first part of that. But the rest of it is possible. Van Hosen’s men would have been here all the while. So it is not like this wife could have kidnapped her or anything. Not unless she stormed in here with an army.”
“An army of Eskimos? Unlikely,” said Queenie, smiling and then raising her hand to her mouth. “Ohmygod, that’s kinda racist, I think!”
“To use the word Eskimo is racist? Ya Allah! Next you will say that to call me an Arab is racist!”
Queenie shrugged. “Well, it does sound kinda racist when you say it in that tone.”
“Now that is racist,” declared the Sheikh, grinning as he felt a warm glow flowing through his body. Only now did it occur to him that it was still so early in their relationship, but already it felt like they were bound together, in this together . . . whatever this was.
This experience itself is a Christmas Gift, a Ramadan Miracle, a gift from the Gods, all of whom love this time of year, the Sheikh thought as he kissed her hair and watched the evergreens dust the landscape with snow as the breeze whispered through the branches. “There is a lesson in this experience,” he said softly, his thoughts seamlessly flowing into speech. “A meaning that will define the rest of our relationship. A Christmas Gift that we will carry with us the rest of our lives.”
Queenie giggled. “You sound like the narrator in some cheesy Christmas movie.”
“You are mocking my Christmas spirit?
“Aren’t you a Muslim?” Queenie said, frowning as she leaned away from him so she could see his expression.
“Yes, but Christianity and Islam have common origins. And this time of year is holy for Muslims as well. Besides, Christmas is about more than religion. Every nation and culture celebrates some version of Christmas. And because it is so close to the New Year, this is always a time of reflection, a time for new beginnings, a time for—”
“Sheikh,” came his attendant’s hesitant voice from behind him. “There is a phone call.”
Bawaar took a breath, annoyed at first for the interruption. But then he looked at the phone in his hand and remembered that he’d meant to call Van Hosen anyway. It was probably Van Hosen calling him with word on Renita’s whereabouts. Good. Time to finish this.
“Speak, Van Hosen,” said the Sheikh into the golden iPhone the attendant offered. He leaned back and sighed again, but then immediately sat up straight when he heard the voice. “What?” he said, frowning as he listened. “Where did they drop her off?”
“What? Where is she?” Queenie said, grabbing his arm and leaning in.
The Sheikh flipped on the speaker so she could hear.
“Alaska?” said Queenie. “Did he just say the word Alaska?”
The Sheikh listened, and then turned to Queenie, his eyes as wide as hers as the trees outside began to sway violently in a sudden gust of wind. “Yes,” he said slowly as his mind raced to put the pieces together. “He did indeed say Alaska.”
22
SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA
“I don’t get it,” said Queenie, squinting as she took a left turn, heading directly into the sun.
“Me neither,” said the Sheikh, putting on his sunglasses and looking at his watch. “According to my custom-made Rolex, it is almost midnight. But I could swear that yellow fireball directly ahead is the sun. Yes?”
Queenie snorted, glancing over at Bawaar and then back at the empty highway. There was really no good reason for them to even be here. But then again, there didn’t seem to be a good reason for Renita to be here either. Perhaps that was why both she and the Sheikh had agreed to follow this through to the end. Rather than drive off into the sunset, they were now . . . well, still driving off into the sunset, it seemed.
“You know this is the Land of the Midnight Sun, right?” she said, fumbling around for her sunglasses and then cursing when she remembered she’d left them on the Sheikh’s jet. “Goddamn it! I’m gonna have wrinkles from squinting so much! Can I borrow your sunglasses?”
“Absolutely not,” said the Sheikh, pushing his shades back up on his nose and settling into the passenger-side seat of the Range Rover he’d purchased in cash from the dealership outside Anchorage just because he didn’t like the selection of rental cars at the airport. “I am the face of a kingdom. It would not do for me to have wrinkles. Besides, I am not used to this midnight sun tomfoolery. I might get blinded. You would not want a blind husband, would you?”
Queenie shrugged, smiling as she relaxed in her seat and listened to the heavy car purr its way down the smooth highway as her fiancé’s deep voice entertained her. This feels like a honeymoon, she thought. Like a vacation. Like it doesn’t matter why we’re here, because it’s just . . . fun! “A blind husband wouldn’t be so bad. That way I could just let myself go and you wouldn’t notice. I’d be like nine hundred pounds by the time I’m forty. Bags under my eyes from binge-watching Netflix all day. Rolls of fat all over my body.”
The Sheikh slid his hand over her belly and then placed it against the front of her jeans as she gasped and swerved before getting control of the car again.
“Go on,” murmured the Sheikh as he rubbed her mound through her tight black stretch jeans. “You are only turning me on, woman. A hefty queen only exudes power and authority. Tell me again about you being nine hundred pounds of woman, with nipples the size of dinner plates. Let me see.”
“See what?” Queenie said, swatting away his hand as he reached for the neckline of her pink sweater, pulling at it until she managed to stop him. “OK, this sweater doesn’t open that way! You’re gonna stretch it out of shape, you beast!”
“I want to stretch you out of shape. Stop the car,” he growled, leaning over and kissing her neck as he reached across and
grabbed her boob firmly, pressing so hard she almost honked the horn.
“Here?! Are you crazy!” she said, laughing as she arched her neck back and let the Sheikh massage her breast until she felt her nipple tighten beneath the soft lambswool. “Besides, we’re on a mission, remember?”
The Sheikh sighed and pulled back, grunting as he turned his head away from her. “I suppose. All right. If you are so focused on your mission, then so be it. I will have to take matters into my own hands.”
Queenie frowned as she saw the Sheikh recline his seat and fumble at his belt. Then she gasped in mock horror as he unzipped and pushed his wool pants down past his tight, muscular hips, sliding down his black silk underwear and releasing his mighty brown cock. It sprung up like the first shoots of spring, thick and heavy, its head dark red and swollen, and the Sheikh began to nonchalantly stroke himself as the midnight sun gazed down on them through the windshield.
“Oh. My. God,” Queenie muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. “You are unbelievably sick. A total perv! Poor Renita! I can only imagine what she’d have done if you whipped out your cock like that!”
“Please do not mention her name or else I will lose my hardness,” said the Sheikh. “Besides, what my ex-wife would have done is not relevant. The question is, what will you do, my queen?”
Queenie did her best to keep a straight face and focus on the road, but it was hard to ignore the massive pillar of a cock that was butting into the corners of her vision as the Sheikh shamelessly touched himself like a horny schoolboy. In a way it was sick, but it was also beautiful, natural, and utterly free of shame and self-consciousness. It was like he was opening up to her, showing himself in the light of the sun, not afraid to display every side of him: both his body and his personality. She’d made the comment about Renita without really thinking about it, but now it occurred to her how strange it was that she could mention his ex-wife’s name like it was all just a running joke!
And in a way it is a big joke, isn’t it, she thought as she finally smiled, shook her head, and then reached across the gearshift and grasped the Sheikh’s cock as he groaned out loud, grinning wide and leaning back as she started to jerk him off, her eyes still on the road ahead.
Hell yeah, it’s a big joke, she decided as she thought back to what they’d learned from Van Hosen’s security people. Apparently they’d been asked to escort Renita safely to Alaska, USA, after which they’d been dismissed. Sent away. Relieved of their duties. Told they were no longer needed. It made no sense, Queenie had decided when she heard. It was too weird to be a coincidence. But it was too weird to be part of any coherent plan either! Way too weird!
It was only after the Sheikh had his own security services obtain footage from the cameras outside Anchorage International Airport that things made some sense . . . well, maybe not sense—more like a connection.
Queenie and the Sheikh had watched the airport footage, seen Renita dismiss Van Hosen’s guards outside the private terminal for charter flights. She’d stood there alone at the curbside for several minutes, finally pulling out her phone and dialing. She’d said something, hung up, and waited a few more minutes. Then a ten-year-old white Ford Explorer had pulled up, and Renita had gotten in with a smile.
That was the only footage they had, and when the Sheikh had his technicians freeze the picture and zoom in on the driver, Queenie had frowned when she saw that it was Blue-Eyes’s wife. The same woman who’d showed up outside Mama’s front door a decade earlier, calling nineteen-year-old Queenie a whore and a home-wrecker, threatening bloody murder as she screamed, “Get your own man, because this one is taken!”
“What the hell,” Queenie had muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. “Are they like . . . friends now?!”
“Renita does not have any friends,” the Sheikh had muttered, turning to his people and barking out orders in Arabic. “I will have my people pull up all information on this woman.”
“Why?” said Queenie, not sure how she felt about what was happening. It was sickeningly confusing, the feeling that she was at the center of this somehow. “Just send the police there! She murdered her husband, didn’t she? And Renita was part of the plan. Blue-Eyes was an American Citizen, and so Renita will be held in the United States until the trial is done. She can’t have an abortion while in prison. And yeah, she could still kill herself, but I doubt she has the gumption to hang herself with a bedsheet or something!”
The Sheikh took a deep breath and turned to her. “My medical people examined Blue-Eyes,” he said softly. “There is no evidence of foul play. No poison. No trauma—at least not any that was inflicted by someone else.”
“What do you mean? So there was . . . self-inflicted trauma?”
“You could say that, I suppose. But no. My medical examiners reported that Blue-Eyes’s insides were ravaged by cancer. Tumors eating away at every major organ.” He’d waited a moment as Queenie took a breath, a shudder going through her as she tried to process all of it. “Also,” said the Sheikh, his green eyes narrowing, “my examiners assure me that Blue-Eyes did not die in that room. He’d been dead for at least two days, his body kept cool and then transported to my house in Europe.”
“Transported? From where?” Queenie had said, blinking and shaking her head.
Bawaar had shrugged at the time, but then they’d discovered Renita’s whereabouts, seen the camera-footage, seen the driver of the white Ford Explorer.
“We can turn our backs on all this,” the Sheikh had said to her, taking her hand. “Walk away from Renita’s madness. I am prepared to do it. Let her do her worst. She wants to kill herself and her unborn child, so be it. I refuse to participate in her madness any longer. I want to move forward. Move forward with you. We are in no danger from her within the walls of the Royal Palace or anywhere we travel. She might as well not exist. She might as well be dead, in fact!”
Queenie had closed her eyes and taken several long breaths. Then she’d shaken her head and slowly opened her eyes. “The child is not just hers. It’s yours too.”
The Sheikh’s jaw had tightened, and Queenie could see that he was trying to block out his own emotions. “I do not want the child,” he’d said through gritted teeth, his gaze drifting down to the floor as if he didn’t want to look into her eyes. “Neither does Renita. Perhaps it is better if she chooses to abort. After all, if the child is unwanted, it is better off not being born.”
“The child isn’t unwanted,” Queenie had said, the words coming out before she even realized she was speaking. “I want the child.”
The Sheikh’s eyes had widened. “What are you talking about, Queenie? You want Renita’s child?!”
“It’s not just her child. It’s yours too. And if we’re going to be married, then in a way the child is mine also, right?” She’d shaken her head as her eyes welled with tears. “I was an unwanted child,” she said softly. “Maybe I’m being tested here. Maybe the universe is offering me an unwanted child to see how I’ll react, to see if I can . . . I don’t know . . . forgive myself? Forgive my parents? Learn how my mother came to love an unwanted child? Learn how to love myself by finding it within me to love this child? After all, in all this we’ve only been thinking about ourselves, haven’t we? Renita wants to hurt you by using her pregnancy to make you look bad in public. You want to fight her by turning your back on her drama and saying to hell with it, do what you want!”
“And what do you want?” the Sheikh had said, frowning and exhaling hard. “Do you not want to be with me? Build a life with me? Build your own family with me?”
“Of course I do! But I’m not going to let you turn your back on your own family so I can get what I want, Bawaar! You can have all of it. We can have all of it! We just need to open our hearts a little!” She’d paused as she remembered that all of this had started on Christmas Eve, manifested on Christmas Day. A time for love, forgiveness, and goodwill, wasn’t it? A tim
e for family!
“So what do you want to do, Queenie?”
“I want to go to her. Go to them both. Sit down and talk to them. Tell Blue-Eyes’s wife that I never meant to hurt her or her family. Tell Renita that if she doesn’t want the child, I’ll love the kid like it’s my own, raise it alongside my own babies, never stand in the way if the child eventually sits on the throne. That’s the only way to finish it, Bawaar. We can’t turn our backs. We can’t run. We can’t just burn it all down because we don’t want to deal with it.”
“I thought that was your way of dealing with things,” the Sheikh had said, raising an eyebrow as a half-smile curled around the corner of his mouth. “Burn it down, run away, don’t look back.”
“I know,” she’d said. “But it’s Christmas, and New Years Day is around the corner. Time for forgiveness. Time for change. Time for new beginnings.”
“All right then,” the Sheikh had said softly, his green eyes bright with what Queenie could only interpret as love, perhaps with a hint of admiration, a glimmer of . . . relief? “Then I will try to find it in myself to forgive Renita too.” He’d swallowed hard and taken a breath. “And I will admit that I do care about the child, that although there is no doubt in my mind that my future is with you, that you are my family, my queen, the to-be mother of my princes and princesses, I cannot turn my back on my past. I have to accept it, incorporate it, carry it with me.”
“So then we’re set,” Queenie had said, trying to keep her voice from cracking as she felt the tears roll down her cheeks like ice melting. “We’re heading north. To Alaska. Mush, baby!”
23
“Have a Mushy Christmas!” she shouted, laughing out loud as they drove past a billboard showing a group of huskies pulling a sled with Santa Claus smiling down at them.
Mistletoe for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 17) Page 13
