The Sheikh's Shock Child

by Susan Stephens

  ‘Good news, Majesty.’

  He relaxed. ‘Tell me...’

  The officer could hardly contain his excitement. ‘The new seam of sapphires is almost ten times larger than first thought, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Good news, indeed!’

  Returning to his study, he placed a call to congratulate his team. As he waited for the line to connect, his thoughts returned to the young woman on the dock. She’d be on board by now, with his security guard in attendance. No visitor would ever wander the Sapphire unattended again. After the tragedy under his brother’s rule, Khalid had vowed that he would never take a chance with another person’s life.

  ‘Ah, Jusef,’ he exclaimed as the line connected. He enjoyed an upbeat exchange with the manager of his mine, ending with the promise, ‘I’ll be home soon to celebrate with you.’

  It was a good enough reason to postpone his search for a bride, and he left his study in the best of moods. A final glance through the window reminded him of the girl, and he smiled to think of her standing up to his guards, and getting her own way. That was no mean feat. His guards were ferocious.

  There was just time to check the arrangements being made for Tadj, before taking a shower and preparing for the evening ahead. It would be a very different party from those his late brother had held on board the Sapphire, in that the people present would be interesting and stimulating company and there would be no wild excesses of any kind. Saif had been furious to have his pleasure curtailed, and had ordered Khalid off the Sapphire. Echoing the words of the girl’s mother, he’d accused Khalid of being a killjoy.

  Better that than a killer, Khalid had always thought.

  CHAPTER THREE

  RETURNING TO THE Sapphire wasn’t as easy as Millie had imagined. Her heart had started thundering out of control the moment she’d set foot on deck. However many times she told herself that this was a rite of passage, and she must get through it, her body’s reaction was out of her control.

  I’m not a teenager, finding my way and feeling awkward, but a successful woman, confident in my own skin.

  She had silently chanted this mantra from the moment she’d entered the locked dock. The past couldn’t hurt her, if she didn’t allow it to. The emotional scars from that night hadn’t weakened her, they’d made her strong. Unfortunately, none of these self-administered reassurances helped to soothe her as she stepped onto the recently swabbed teak and all the memories came flooding back. Her throat dried when the guard beckoned her towards the impressive double doors leading into the interior of the vessel.

  Taking a deep breath, she braced herself and walked in.

  The first thing she noticed was the lack of a sickly-sweet smell. She hadn’t known what it was eight years ago, but now her best guess was cannabis. The air inside the vessel today was as clean and as fresh as the air outside. And there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen, let alone a carelessly stubbed out cigarette, or an empty bottle left to roll aimlessly about. There was certainly no jarring music, or cruel laughter, just the low, almost indiscernible hum of a well-maintained engine of the type Millie loved—

  She jerked alert as the guard coughed to attract her attention. ‘Sorry to keep you,’ she said. ‘I was just getting my bearings.’

  A steward was on hand to take charge of her oilskins and the wheeled trolley. Watching her oilskins disappear around a corner definitely gave her second thoughts. She wanted to call him back and return to the safety of the laundry.

  Don’t be so ridiculous!

  What about her determination that the past couldn’t hurt her? And the note she intended to leave for Sheikh Khalid, asking if he could make time to see her.

  Where was he? she wondered. Somewhere on board? Somewhere close?

  A ripple of awareness tracked down her spine. Her overactive imagination getting busy again, she concluded as the steward returned to her side. He suggested, and tactfully, she thought in view of the state of her trolley, that it might be an idea to unpack the laundry here.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise the wheels were quite so muddy.’ Or that they would leave such obvious tracks on the pristine floor. Not wanting to cause extra work for the crew, she was glad of the blue plastic overshoes the steward handed her.

  She was sorry about everything, Millie thought, which was hardly the mind-set required to make the most of this opportunity. The steward might pass on a note to someone in authority who had contact with the Sheikh. And though Sheikh Khalid almost certainly wouldn’t agree to see her, she had to try.

  ‘I’ll help you unpack,’ the friendly steward offered.

  The Sheikh’s staff seemed nice. She took some comfort from that. There were no stony faces—apart from his guards—and the atmosphere was different; very different, Millie thought as she introduced herself.

  ‘Joel,’ the steward replied with a friendly smile.

  After a brief handshake they got to work, and the familiar actions of lifting the laundry from its nest reassured her. She knew what she was doing, and working side by side with Joel boosted her confidence. His uniform was very smart, and not at all intimidating, as she remembered the black-clad servants at that other party. Crisp and white, it was quite a contrast to her comfortable work clothes of jeans, a long-sleeved top and sneakers.

  If it came to running for it, she was ready, Millie concluded dryly as she straightened up to announce she was ready to make up the bed. The guard would escort them, he said. Things had certainly changed since the free-for-all days of Sheikh Saif, she thought as they set off at a brisk walk with Millie like a sandwich filling between the two men.

  Passing through another set of double doors, they entered a world of unimaginable luxury and calm. Or massive wealth and relentless control, depending on how you looked at it. Either she found some humour in this situation, or she’d lose her nerve and run. She couldn’t believe the last time she’d been here her mother was alive. It seemed so long ago. And now her senses were heightened to an unparalleled degree. She felt like a sponge, obliged to soak up everything, whether she wanted to or not. Though she had to admit that the vibrant works of art, tastefully displayed on neutral walls, were beautiful, as were the priceless artefacts housed in glass cases. She would have loved the chance to take a longer look at them. Glimpses into staterooms as they passed revealed one luxurious setting after another, but the walk was so long, she began to wonder if they would ever arrive at their destination. The Sapphire was bigger than she remembered, but then she had only seen the grand salon eight years ago.

  I could get lost here and never be heard of again. Like my mother.

  That imagination of hers was working overtime again. She was here to work, and when that was done, she was out of here!

  * * *

  Millie Dillinger, Khalid mused as he strode through the immaculately maintained vessel in the direction of the guest quarters. The girl’s name would be branded on his mind for ever. How could he ever forget the dramatic events surrounding their first encounter? He’d been in a furious mood that night, too angry by what he’d discovered at Saif’s party to spend much time reassuring the girl. His first impression had been of a quiet and contained young person, which had made the way she’d stood up to him all the more surprising. She’d showed no deference for his rank, or for that of his brother, and, in being completely open and frank, had opened his eyes to a world where women didn’t simper and preen in the presence of immense wealth and power. If only she’d known it, Millie Dillinger had consigned every prospective bride of his to the remainder bin of history. None of them had her spirit.

  Even though she’d been just fifteen, the connection between them had been immediate and strong, his overwhelming need to protect her his only concern. As he turned onto the corridor leading to what would be Tadj’s suite, he thought back to his attempts to persuade Millie to leave the Sapphire for her ow
n good, and her refusal to go without her mother. The child had become the carer, he’d thought at the time. She’d be twenty-three now, and had been an orphan for eight years, but, remembering the fire in those cornflower-blue eyes, he knew she was too strong for life to break her as it had broken her mother.

  * * *

  Wow! Quite literally: wow! Millie’s jaw had dropped a little more with each step she’d taken on board the Sapphire, where every corner revealed a new wonder, but this guest suite was beyond belief. Ablaze with gold, it glowed with sapphires. Every surface that could be gilded was gilded, and every practical item, even down to the tiny waste-paper bin placed at one side of the solid-gold dressing table, was intricately worked, and studded with precious stones. Striking works of art hung on the walls, while soft furnishings begged to be stroked and snuggled up to. Carpets and rugs? Oh, yes. She was sinking in those up to her ankles. And it was brilliantly lit. No dark corners here. No den of vice. Miss Francine was right to say the Sapphire had been completely transformed.

  * * *

  And now it was fit for a king, Millie thought as she stood back to review her handiwork. Glancing in the ornate mirror, she reassured herself that, in the unlikely event that the laundress met a sheikh, the sheikh wouldn’t look twice at that laundress. In weather-sensible shoes covered with blue plastic overshoes, an old pair of jeans and a faded top, she’d come straight from fixing a boiler, so although she’d washed her hands until her skin had turned red she almost certainly still had the tang of oil about her.

  Turning full circle, she tried to record every detail, so she could tell her friends when she got back to the laundry. She had no doubt they would be in fits of laughter when she told them about the erotic hangings above the bed. Though, in fairness, even the most particular guest would be comfortable here. The suite was definitely over the top, but it was also very airy and welcoming. She had to admit, she was impressed.

  The guard and the steward had remained outside the door while Millie was working, so she could touch this...lift that...peer behind the curtain at the elegant balcony lit by the warm glow of a lantern—gold, of course—and even quietly open the drawers... There was nothing in them. She hadn’t expected there to be, but couldn’t resist having a nosey. Unlatching the door to the balcony, she stepped outside. Leaning over the railings, she wondered if her mother had stood here, and had maybe fallen from this very spot. It was possible...

  Remaining quite still, almost as if she expected an other-worldly voice to fill in the details, she was finally forced to give up and return inside.

  There was nothing sinister about this room, Millie told herself firmly. It smelled lovely, felt lovely, was lovely, apart from the lurid hangings. Could people really contort their bodies like that? Angling her chin, she tried to work out the mish-mash of limbs and faces, and had to give up. Anyway, the stateroom looked fabulous with those golden sheets in their rightful place. But who would sleep here? she wondered with a frown. Was this a gilded cage, waiting for another broken bird?

  Stop it! This was a particularly lavish suite on board a billionaire’s yacht, and nothing more. Millie had merely provided some final touches for a guest—

  Khalid’s mistress?

  Why should she care? He might be married, for all she knew—

  ‘Mademoiselle Millie?’

  She almost jumped out of her skin as the door opened, but it was only the steward wanting to know if she needed any help. ‘I’m doing fine, thank you,’ she reassured him with a smile. ‘I’ve nearly finished.’

  Aladdin’s cave could take another pop of gold, Millie concluded as the door closed quietly behind the steward. And her overactive imagination could take a hike. The Sheikh probably wasn’t even on board. And even if he were, would he have changed that much? He was probably the same, devastatingly good-looking charmer who made promises he couldn’t keep; a man who’d spirited his brother out of the country after her mother’s death.

  Power and money made anything possible, Millie concluded, firming her lips into an angry line. Eight years ago, the headlines had read: ‘The Nightingale of London found drowned in King’s Dock.’ But had her mother drowned? Or was she murdered? And did anyone care?

  Millie cared, and was determined to uncover the truth of a night she would never forget. She wouldn’t rest until she found justice for her mother. Cause of death had never been established, let alone convincingly explained to Millie. It felt to her as if everything had been brushed under the carpet. Claiming diplomatic immunity, Sheikh Saif had left the country, while his brother, now Sheikh Khalid, had remained in the UK to clear up his mess. As far as Millie was concerned, he was responsible for allowing Saif to get away. The coroner’s court had managed to establish that drink and drugs had contributed to her mother’s drowning, but who had given her those things? Miss Francine had warned Millie to leave the past alone, but how could she ignore a chance like this? Sitting down at the dressing table, she plucked the pencil out of her hair and began to write a note on the order pad she always carried.

  She flinched guiltily as the door opened a second time, and stood, as if to demonstrate her readiness to leave. The guard was talking into his mouthpiece.

  ‘Just collecting up my things,’ she said.

  If he noticed that she was nowhere by the bed, he didn’t respond. He was too busy talking to whoever was at the other end of the line. She relaxed as he left the room. Maybe now she could finish that note.

  Maybe not. The door opened again almost immediately.

  * * *

  He deplored ostentation. Even the intricately decorated solid-gold handle of this guest stateroom jarred as he closed his fist around it, but this particular suite of rooms had been kept intact, and was in the traditionally ornate style, favoured by his late brother. It served as a reminder to Khalid that extreme wealth could be extremely corrupting. He thought Tadj would appreciate the irony. The last time they’d stayed together had been in a basic tent when they were both serving in Special Forces.

  After his brother’s death, Khalid had insisted on a deep clean of the entire vessel, following which he’d brought in several cutting-edge designers to modernise the ship, with the proviso that this vintage suite be left intact. The best palace craftsmen had worked on the project, and the suite had fast become a talking point, both for its recording of unique and authentic historical detail, and for the erotic hangings above the bed.

  ‘Your Majesty...’

  He thought his guard seemed slightly uncomfortable. ‘Yes?’ Khalid paused with his hand on the door.

  ‘I didn’t expect you here so soon,’ the guard admitted.

  Khalid was instantly suspicious. ‘Well, I’m here,’ he said, opening the door wide.

  ‘Millie?’

  He would have known her anywhere, even after all this time. Eight years simply faded away. She’d changed beyond recognition, but the bond between them remained the same. She was a very beautiful woman. The braids were gone, likewise the spectacles, and there was no panic in her steady stare, reassuring him that her vibrant spirit was intact too.

  The girl on the dock. Of course!

  ‘Your Majesty!’

  She seemed equally surprised, and for a few moments they just stared at each other. Her long, honey-gold hair was still damp from the rain where her oilskins had failed to protect her. Bundled up loosely on top of her head, the messy arrangement boasted an unusual ornament in the shape of a pencil, which she’d just stabbed into it as she catapulted away from the dressing table to stand in front of him, in what he guessed was the best expression of innocence she could muster. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

  ‘Writing you a note,’ she said with the frankness he remembered from all those years ago. ‘I suppose I don’t have to now,’ she added.

  ‘A note?’ he queried.

  ‘A request to meet with you—to talk,’ she explained.
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  The bright blue eyes were completely steady on his. Her gaze was as direct as ever.

  ‘Hello, by the way,’ she added, as if finally realising that this meeting was a bombshell for both of them.

  ‘Do you generally wear a pencil in your hair?’ he asked as her cheeks blazed red.

  ‘It’s useful for writing notes on how to fix boilers,’ she said.

  He waved away the guard and steward as they entered the room to see what all the fuss was about. ‘Welcome on board the Sapphire, Miss Dillinger.’

  Her look said clearly, I’m not a guest, and if it hadn’t been for these wretched sheets, I wouldn’t be here at all.

  * * *

  Electricity didn’t just crackle in the air, it was bouncing back and forth between them. She was so shocked at seeing Sheikh Khalid again, and in flowing robes that made him look more intimidating than ever, she couldn’t think straight. What annoyed her most of all was the fact that he’d thrown her to the point where she was quivering like a doe on heat, rather than standing her ground in front of him like a hard-working professional.

  It was time to get real. This was not the tough guy in jeans who invaded her dreams most nights, but an all-powerful king in whose water-borne kingdom she was currently—well, if not a prisoner, at the very least, vulnerable, which was not a condition she ever flirted with. No one could call his brutal attraction charm. However divinely warm, clean and sexy the Sheikh might appear, he was in reality a granite-faced titan without a single decent bone in his body. He’d turned a blind eye when she’d begged him for help. So whatever her body thought of his blistering masculinity, Millie Dillinger remained unimpressed.

  But...

  Calm down and think. This was almost certainly the only chance she’d ever get to ask him about that night. Being as different from the women he must be used to as it was possible to be, with her no-make-up face and her long hair piled carelessly on top of her head—not to mention the pencil garnish—she doubted she was in any immediate danger.