The Sheikh's Shock Child

by Susan Stephens

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Millie’s darkly dangerous Sapphire Sheikh confirmed.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  MILLIE AND KHALID’S arrival in Khalifa was a double celebration. Before their private jet had landed, Millie changed out of casual jeans and a lightweight top into a knee-length summer dress, garnished with a simple straw sun hat with ribbons streaming behind in the same blue as her eyes. Khalid had donned his regal royal robes of black and gold, with the crown-like agal holding his flowing headdress in place. They drove through streets lined with flags to herald a much-loved leader’s return, in an open-topped limousine to the cheers of his people who were also celebrating the discovery of yet another rich seam of sapphires in the Khalifan mines. It was a sign, the elders had said, Khalid confided in Millie, that their leader’s prospective bride would bring good fortune to their country.

  ‘I’ve never been so happy,’ Millie admitted. ‘You love me, and that’s enough,’ she said as Khalid raised her hands to his lips. Which was exactly what she’d said when Khalid had placed the fabulous sapphire engagement ring on her ring finger. But he’d insisted, saying the sapphire was the same colour as her eyes. It was a huge and flawless blue, surrounded by flashing diamonds that sparkled and glowed in the blaze of the sun.

  ‘Sapphires mean many things to many people,’ Khalid had told her, when she’d said it was too much, and all she needed was him. ‘To some they bring nothing but greed and grief, while to others, they foretell a lifetime of happiness ahead, and that is how it will be for you.’

  She believed him, and knew that the wonderful ring was the start of their future together. The past could hold no more terrors for her. Their love had driven those shadows away.

  ‘And now for the intimacy of the desert,’ he said as the limousine turned into his private airstrip, ‘where I will be joining you tomorrow.’

  ‘The intimacy?’ Millie queried, thinking of the vastness of the place she had chosen to pledge her love.

  ‘Wherever we are, it’s just the two of us,’ he said.

  The look in Khalid’s eyes as he escorted her up the steps of the aircraft before parting from her thrilled Millie more than she could say. The prospect of being married to him still seemed incredible. ‘How can I wait?’ she whispered as he turned to go.

  ‘I’ll make sure you’re well rewarded for your patience,’ he said.

  * * *

  This was going to be the perfect wedding with the perfect guests and the perfect bridegroom, Millie thought, tense with excitement as her friend Lucy helped to put the finishing touches to Millie’s flowing white lace gown, while Miss Francine made sure the diamond and sapphire tiara was safely secured in Millie’s hair. Khalid had only insisted on one thing in his bride, and that was that she leave her pencil ornament behind, and replace it with the priceless coronet for their marriage ceremony.

  They were still laughing over his innovative wedding gift, which was a comprehensive tool kit, just to let Millie know that she might be a royal bride, but she could still be called upon to mend a boiler from time to time. And his gifts didn’t end there. There was a snowy-white pony waiting to greet her arrival in the desert, and when she joined her group of friends in the bridal tent, she found them cooing over a golden chest, studded with sapphires, which, when she opened it, was full of the most incredible jewels, as well as a stack of pencils. But the best thing of all was the news that Miss Francine’s laundry had been saved, and was well on its way to becoming a highly successful franchise.

  Not totally the best thing, Millie thought as she stepped out of the tent to find Khalid waiting for her, mounted on Bakran. ‘You’re not supposed to see me,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Too late,’ he informed her. ‘And as it’s your wedding day, I don’t know why you’re hesitating.’

  ‘I’m not,’ she said, seizing hold of his hand.

  In seconds she was on the back of his fiery stallion, and, to cheers from her friends, they galloped across the desert to the shore of the oasis where the crowd of guests were waiting to welcome the Sheikh of Khalifa and his Queen.

  EPILOGUE

  Eight years, one engineering qualification,

  four children, and a newborn baby later...

  ‘A PENCIL IN your hair?’ Khalid demanded as their oldest child, Luna, a gorgeous, bubbly tomboy, consulted her clipboard and frowned.

  ‘The entire palace air-con needs a complete refurb,’ Luna informed her father in a tone that exactly mimicked her mother’s.

  ‘And I know the very person to supervise these works,’ Khalid said as he drew Millie close.

  ‘I’m quite capable of supervising my own works,’ Luna assured him.

  ‘By pressing your brothers and sisters into work?’ Khalid suggested fondly. ‘Come on, time for bed.’

  Millie helped him chivvy the children out of the family snug they had created in their magnificent palace in Khalifa. ‘It’s adult time now,’ he added with a glance in Millie’s direction.

  Would she never get enough of this man? Millie wondered as she took in Khalid’s magnificent physique, shown off to best advantage in snug-fitting jeans and a close-fitting top. He’d had taught her everything about love and trust, and feeling safe—as well as the most incredible sex.

  ‘It’s a very important part of marriage,’ he told her when they had finished the bedtime stories and closed the door on their sleeping children.

  ‘I would never disagree,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, you would,’ Khalid argued dryly. Drawing her into his nearby study, he closed the door.

  ‘I would never argue about this,’ she whispered as he kissed her neck and backed her up against the wall. Dispensing with the clothes that stood in his way, he lifted her. ‘But can I remind you that we’re hosting a royal banquet in less than an hour.’

  ‘Then, you’ll have to be quick,’ he said.

  ‘With you?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ll make up for it,’ he promised. ‘Just concentrate and let me do the work.’

  Okay, he was right. He hadn’t even touched her yet, and she was already hovering on the brink. ‘You’ve made me mad for you,’ she said.

  ‘Are you pregnant again?’ he queried. ‘That always makes you mad for sex.’

  ‘You make me mad for sex,’ she corrected him.

  ‘That too,’ he agreed.

  ‘Modesty would become you.’

  ‘But it wouldn’t satisfy you.’ And with that, he proceeded to tease her into an advance state of readiness. ‘So. Are you pregnant?’ he asked when she was quiet again.

  ‘We can only hope,’ Millie whispered.

  ‘And trust,’ Khalid added, ‘but as we don’t have much time, and I feel the need again, we’ll talk about this later.’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ Millie said, sharing his smile.

  ‘This is the only time I can ever get you to obey,’ Khalid complained as he positioned her for pleasure.

  ‘Be grateful for small mercies.’

  ‘Small?’

  ‘Okay, not small,’ she gasped as he took her in one firm thrust. And now it was impossible to speak at all.

  She would never tire of this man and the family they were building. This was her life, her love, her everything. ‘You’re a very bad man,’ she scolded as Khalid began to move with real intent.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ he agreed. ‘Thank goodness I found such a bad woman to match me.’

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed THE SHEIKH’S SHOCK CHILD by Susan Stephens why not explore these other stories in the ONE NIGHT WITH CONSEQUENCES miniseries?

  PRINCESS’S PREGNANCY

  by Natalie Anderson

  CONSEQUENCE OF HIS REVENGE

  by Dani Collins

  CONTRACTED FOR THE PETRAKIS HEIR

  by Annie West

  CLAIMING HIS NINE-MONTH CONSEQUENCE />
  by Jennie Lucas

  Available now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from CLAIMING HIS PREGNANT INNOCENT by Maggie Cox.

  Claiming His Pregnant Innocent

  by Maggie Cox

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN, the tenant wants more time to consider her position? Are you telling me she’s refusing to vacate?’

  Bastian Carrera couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. It was the last thing he wanted to hear after spending the past month enthusiastically talking to buyers overseas in a bid to increase his family-owned company’s market share of organic olive oil, and the day after tomorrow he would be out of the country again.

  He’d returned home to Italy for a ‘pit stop’ before heading out to Brazil—not just on business, but to lecture. His family business was one of the leaders in its field, and many people were interested in how it had achieved its phenomenal success. The family might have the kind of personal wealth that most people could only dream of, and at thirty-six Bastian could have long ago taken things more easily if he’d wanted to, but he still took a personal interest in all aspects of the business.

  However, the troubled expression on his father’s bronzed, lined face now couldn’t help but disturb him. It conveyed the guilt the older man plainly felt at not being able to give his son better news.

  Just before Bastian had left he’d given notice to his tenants to quit the stone-built cottages they rented so they could begin work on the remaining acreage and get the rest of their land certified as organic. It generally took around three years to have the land converted, and his intention was to plant more groves with the finest organic olive trees.

  For generations his family had established itself as one of the best olive oil producers in Italy and it had made their fortune, but it had never been just about making money. Their aim was to provide people with the very best produce they could deliver, and to that end Bastian took every chance he could to make improvements.

  His father sighed. ‘No... She is not exactly refusing, but—’

  ‘Did you make it clear that she hasn’t a choice about whether she goes or stays? That we need the land for conversion?’

  Reddening a little, Alberto Carrera shifted one shoulder. ‘I did. But the lady doesn’t want to go. She has not so long ago got divorced and is hoping to reignite her career. The light in the villeta is perfect for her work, she says, and she has set up her easel under the skylight.’

  ‘And who is she...? A student of one of the great masters?’ Unsympathetic, his son scowled.

  ‘She is not that kind of artist. Lily is an illustrator of children’s books and she says it is her right to remain in the villeta since she has signed a lease for two years and so far has only been renting for six months.’

  The younger man scowled again and let loose a colourful curse. But, whatever emotion his expression might suggest, his visage was compelling—strong-boned and handsome as sin. Alberto proudly told people that his son’s looks came from his mother’s side...that all her family had been exceptionally beautiful. His only son was his last link to Annalisa, the enchanting girl he had fallen head over heels in love with all those years ago and lost far too soon when she’d died giving birth...

  ‘And did you offer this woman the compensation we discussed and tell her we would find her somewhere equally suitable?’

  ‘Yes, I did, son. But my sense is that she is not going to be so easily persuaded—and I can’t blame her.’

  Impatient now, Bastian dropped his hands to his hips, his dark eyes flashing, ‘What do you mean, you can’t blame her? You sound as though this woman has put you under some kind of spell, Father! I have just two days before business takes me abroad again and I need to know the land conversion is in hand before I go. Never mind... I will go and speak to her myself.’

  As he descended the grand stucco steps of the family’s house he was glad to get some air. His heart was pounding with indignant fury at this woman who imagined she could bend his father’s will to suit her own. How dare she try and take advantage of him when Bastian wasn’t around, perhaps seeing an opportunity to wear him down? He would soon set her straight...

  On his way to the comparatively modest stone cottage that his ancestors had built, he reflected some more on its stubborn occupant.

  Not that he knew her or had even laid eyes on her. He left that part of the business to his father.

  Alberto had become a little less able since his heart attack a year ago, and Bastian wanted him to keep his duties to a minimum. Along with the family’s housekeeper, Dolores, they had a loyal workforce who tended the land and oversaw the olive growing, and Bastian himself quite often helped out because he loved being close to the earth. In his opinion, its scent was like no other...

  His father hadn’t complained too much about his new duties, thank God, and his son guessed he was only too aware that age was catching up with him. He’d practically worked himself into the ground, helping to build up the business, and the heart attack had quite rightly scared him...

  Reaching the house that was set back from the olive groves, and gave its occupants plenty of privacy if privacy was what they sought, he negotiated the narrow stone steps with his usual agility. As he glanced up at one of the two wrought-iron balconies set beneath the sloping roof, with its plethora of red bougainvillea spilling through the decorative bars, he took a moment to breathe in the fragrance that saturated the air.

  His tension started to ease. It was good to be home again, even if it wasn’t for very long.

  Quickly he remembered his reason for visiting and rapped commandingly on the door. In his view it was important that he immediately gained the upper hand with his recalcitrant tenant and did not give her any advantage. At least that was the plan.

  But the door opened suddenly and his gaze fell on a green-eyed fair-haired beauty who stood before him, barefoot and tousle-haired, in a sleeveless multi-coloured striped dress that couldn’t help but pay homage to a body so slender she might have been a prima ballerina. All his plans flew out the window...

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked, her pretty, unadorned mouth clearly unsure as to whether to smile or not.

  Where do I start? he thought. The shocking waves of potent want and need that swept through him powerfully just then all but stopped him from speaking. It was like being scorched inside and out, and he feared burning in the flames...

  Hurriedly collecting himself, he replied, ‘Signora Alexander? I am Bastian Carerra...your landlord.’

  ‘You mean you’re Alberto’s son?’

  Now her lips did shape a smile. Was there a woman alive who was immune to his father’s charm? Bastian mused. He could hardly believe this woman had been married and divorced, though. There was a real ‘untouched’ air about her...

  ‘That’s right. Can I come in? I’d like a word with you.’

  Despite the heat of the day, he knew his tone was a little frosty. No matter how attractive Lily Alexander was, he’d make no bones about demanding she leave. After all, business was business, and he wouldn’t let the demands of his libido override his common sense...

  ‘We’ll go into the sitting room. We can talk there,’ she suggested. ‘But first of all can I get you a drink?’

  ‘No. I’d prefer it if we just talked.’

  As she led this somewhat serious Italian into the charmingly homespun living room, with its very agreeable little balcony outside the French doors and in the distance a superlative view of the sea, Lily’s heartbeat skipped a little.

  The younger Carerra might appear somewhat humourless, but no one could deny he was hot... With his mussed dark hair touching his shoulders, prominent cheekbones and those sultry brown eyes that could make any woman melt if he looked at them directly, he certainly stirred the senses. And it didn’t hurt that he wore his white cambric shirt and light blue jea
ns in an easy way that suggested he never had to worry about what he wore... That fit, toned body of his guaranteed that he’d look good in just about anything.

  Catching herself, she realised it had been a very long time since she’d looked at a man with anywhere near longing. Life with a husband who hadn’t been interested in intimacy had seen to that. In any case, she wouldn’t let this pointless impulse to get to know the handsome Italian detract from her goal to continue renting the villeta. Coming here had given her the freedom she needed to concentrate on her work and earn a better living.

  She’d always thought herself blessed to have artistic skills, even if it had bemused her logically minded ex-husband.

  ‘I can’t pretend I understand your devotion to this drawing you do when you could easily have a much better-paid career if you put your mind to it,’ he’d declared.

  The problem was, Marc put all his energy into working as a broker in the City, and to him money was the only thing worth having. Lily should have known from the start that his values were a million miles away from hers. But her search for more stability in her life and her decision to marry a man with money and property, who could provide her with security, had led her completely astray.

  Yes, Marc was attractive, engaging and witty, and when they’d first dated he’d regularly told her how much he enjoyed being with her, that he liked her better than any other woman he’d dated. What was not to like? But her feelings of friendship towards him had sadly not blossomed into desire.

  On that subject, she’d become doubtful that she even had it in her to feel such an emotion.

  In truth, what had started out as an enjoyable friendship categorically should never have led to marriage. That much was clear. Shortly after they were married their relationship had very quickly lost its way. Added to that, Lily had quickly grown to despise the phoney London life they’d lived, because she hadn’t been able to relate to his friends and colleagues who, in her opinion, put money and possessions over everything that was natural and good.

  It hadn’t been the life she would have chosen if she’d utilised some common sense and their divorce had been both inevitable and welcome. When she’d received her Decree Absolute a year ago she had determined never to do anything so foolish again as to marry someone she barely even knew. No, she would be much more sensible.