The Sheikh's Pregnant Employee (Almasi Sheikhs Book 3)

by Leslie North

  A string of words in Farsi tumbled from his lips, and then he started pumping. She hooked her ankles behind his back, knotting a hand in the lapels of his coat, her body already tense and ready to pop.

  “I’m close,” he said, his voice ragged.

  “Me too.” She swallowed a moan as he rolled against the taut nub of her clit. She pressed her forehead into his chest, breaths escalating as the tension climbed.

  He rocked into her again and again, each time bringing her lightyears closer to orgasm. On the third thrust, she fell over the edge, pleasure rocketing through her limbs so fast that she went limp in his arms.

  The sticky sweet waves of her orgasm subsided as he stilled against her, groaning into her neck. Once his breathing calmed, she tilted her head up to look at him, finding the same buzzing happiness in his expression.

  He smoothed his lips against hers, back and forth, and for a long time, neither broke the embrace.

  7

  On Monday morning, Zahir felt like he was in a lust hangover.

  One full day of rest and lounging hadn’t cleared his head after the wedding. He and Layla hadn’t talked on Sunday, despite the fact that they spent the rest of the reception parked at the table, sipping wine and chatting like old friends. It left him dying to text her, touch base, just hear her voice the next day. But he abstained, because what they did had been wrong, and it couldn’t—wouldn’t—happen again.

  Disbelief made circles in his mind, alongside relief. On the one hand, how had he been so stupid? If they’d gotten caught—by anyone—it could have been the biggest scandal of the year. Especially if any of the board members had caught wind. On the other hand, it was exactly what he’d craved, what he needed. Too much longer without giving into that passion and he might have snapped.

  Layla breezed into the office looking completely normal. Sexy as always, her strawberry-gold hair swept back into a loose bun. Affectionately disinterested.

  “Morning, Zahir.” She popped her head into his office as normal, to let him know she was there.

  “Morning.” He flicked a pen against his fingertips, wanting to say more. “Did you have a good weekend?”

  Her distant smile turned icy. “Why, yes, I did. How about you?”

  “Oh, yes. Extremely satisfying.”

  She nodded, then spun on her heels and strutted past his office. Zahir rubbed at his face. How was this stuff supposed to work? Playing it normal would never be possible. Not with this elephant in the room.

  A moment later Layla strode into his office, shutting the door behind her. She came up to his desk looking like she might pull a gun out of her cleavage.

  “Okay, listen. You know exactly what we did this weekend. So why even ask?”

  He let a breath of air he’d been holding. “I was just trying to be casual. Normal. You know, like I thought you wanted.”

  She groaned with frustration. “This is why these things never work. We made a mistake. It can’t happen again. Can. Not.”

  Disappointment crashed through him. “Got it.”

  “What happened on Saturday was a one-time mistake. We were getting to casual and normal, but this weekend ruined it. And you just happened to catch me at a vulnerable moment with some really convincing sexy talk which, additionally, is a comment that will be forgotten as soon as I leave this office.”

  A laugh escaped him despite his better judgment. “Right. Understood.”

  “And we won’t talk about Saturday, or this conversation, again.” Her nostrils flared as she appraised him a final time, and then she spun on her heels and stormed out of the office.

  So that made her stance clear. He crumpled into his seat. Her words had deflated him, left him feeling not just put in his place but also…disappointed. Like the tiny flame of hope inside him had been whooshed out of existence.

  But hope for what? He straightened his back, busying himself in his emails. Somewhere deep inside, there’d been a hope for something with Layla. Not that it made sense or that he even had any idea what that something meant.

  But there was something about her that demanded attention, an essence or energy that captivated as much as it left him wanting more.

  Distraction would be key from here on out. He needed to put on his game face and stick to the plan. Because being around her five days a week without the power to prod, delve, or touch was a special type of challenge, one that he’d need all his reserves to overcome.

  Layla flopped onto her couch with a satisfied groan. Four weeks. Four weeks at the new job under her belt, and once again she and Zahir were on their way to being regular, normal, non-sexually-active coworkers.

  She flipped onto her back, studying the dappled ceiling of her new apartment. It was a three-bedroom with a balcony in the heart of Minarak, not that she needed three bedrooms. But her pay package included it, and it was sorta luxurious, and now whenever she had guests she could offer them their own room instead of a lame blow-up mattress next to her own bed.

  One month at the job. Two weeks in her new apartment. One week, six days, and two hours since Zahir had last penetrated her. She groaned, tugging at her hair. She had to stop thinking things like that. But they sprouted unbidden inside of her, like a clingy weed she had to keep uprooting and spraying with dangerous chemicals.

  But yet it persisted. The sinuous thoughts, wending their way through her mind.

  At least it was better at work. Ever since his stern talking-to, Zahir had behaved himself like a choir boy. He barely even looked at her, which relieved as much as it infuriated. And most days, it felt like they were simply playing a game, one in which the rules were crystal clear until they weren’t.

  Because she didn’t trust herself to not fall back into his arms sometime over the next year. And she didn’t trust him to not let it happen. Especially if anything brought them together over a free weekend.

  She needed to find a new dude and stat. Not that she advocated for distraction via the male gaze, but Zahir was a tough one to forget. Uprooting him simply wasn’t enough. She had to replace him so that new roots could take over.

  Yeah. That seemed like it made the most sense. She rolled off the couch, eager to snack on the hummus she’d found at a neighborhood market. It looked homemade and ultra-tasty. She hadn’t had much of an appetite for breakfast the past few days, which left her starving by lunchtime and super ready for snacks after work. After that, she’d open some wine and settle into her favorite Friday routine—getting ready to go out.

  Marian and Omar were still on their honeymoon. They’d planned for a long getaway, and by her calculations, they were probably somewhere in Iceland by now. Things at work had been busier for Zahir in Omar’s absence, which was a blessing. Anything to lessen the chances of them running into each other.

  Four weeks down. Only forty-eight to go. She sighed as she rummaged through the fridge, pulling out the hummus and a bag of carrots. It wasn’t like she was counting down or anything. She sorta liked having the stable job in a foreign country. It was a cool way to explore a new country while living there. She hadn’t done much proper exploration yet, but it would come in time.

  Most of the exploration you’ve done has been Zahir’s body.

  The thought slammed through her and she almost dropped the carrots. Dammit. If only she could stop those thoughts, her life would be so much easier. She’d get around to traveling Parsabad. It wouldn’t only be Zahir’s body soon enough. Maybe she’d take a day trip tomorrow. Somewhere cool and new.

  Yeah. That sounded good. She plopped the carrots and hummus onto her coffee table and reached for her laptop. A quick search would help her find exactly what she was looking for. Fun, affordable, and perfect for single ladies.

  Once her laptop was on, she reached for a carrot, swirling it in the hummus. She crunched into it as her operating system flashed to life. She moaned in approval when the hummus hit her taste buds. Definitely homemade.

  Does Zahir make hummus? The thought stepped tentatively throu
gh her brain space. She should find out. She swirled the bitten end of her carrot into the hummus again, crunching a second time. Except no—she wouldn’t ask him. Because that would be getting personal. And that wasn’t allowed.

  She sighed. Better to just plan a little getaway and get over the Zahir complex. With enough time, this plan had to work—the avoid-and-forget approach.

  She typed in a Google search and scrolled through results, ideas sparking to life. Some of these destinations would be awesome for long weekends. Spa environments, hiking trails, even camel rides through the desert. Didn’t Annabelle do something like that? She vaguely recalled a story about Imaad wooing her in a Bedouin tent. Maybe Zahir and I could…

  No. Wrong thought. She doubled down on her efforts to concentrate, clicking through the options for a day trip from Minarak. She’d have to rent a car or even hire a taxi, but that would be easy enough. Maybe she could get a recommendation through the Almasis. That would be a totally legitimate reason to call Zahir over the weekend.

  She pinched her eyes shut. It just wouldn’t stop, would it? She crunched into another carrot. Her sex drive had been ravenous the past few days. She was getting off every night at bedtime and then again in the morning sometimes too. Maybe it was her time of the month—she always seemed to get a little more amped up around then. That would explain the Zahir thoughts, at least.

  That or the fact that he’s drop dead sexy and the best lay of your life.

  She groaned as she opened the computer calendar. When was her last period? She certainly hadn’t bled since her first hook up with Zahir. And the first time was…a month ago. She struggled to think when her last period fell, swallowing a big chunk of carrot that made her cough. She could have sworn it was a week or so before leaving New York. Because she’d been over it by the time she had her going away party, which had been…

  She consulted the calendar again, furrowing a brow. Wow. It had been way over a month since her last period, and that was maybe still being conservative. She reached for another carrot, nibbling it while her brain worked through the math. Why would she be late? She was never late. She didn’t use birth control, but she also didn’t have unprotected sex.

  You can’t be pregnant. The thought soothed her, made it seem like a fact. She and Zahir had used a condom both times. She’d seen him use it herself. Heard him rip open the package. She was safe and protected.

  She swallowed hard, thinking back over the past week. Each morning she’d felt a little off, but was it maybe, somehow, a sign? Not necessarily a pregnancy sign, but just a totally-normal-late-period sign.

  Her hand hovered over another carrot as a sneaky thought crept through her head. What if you’ve been starting to have morning sickness?

  She hadn’t eaten breakfast for the past three days. Just hadn’t wanted to. That didn’t mean she was pregnant though.

  She tried to laugh it off, as if it might convince the reality of the situation to join in on her reasoning. This was just a blip. A late period due to moving. A random bout of nausea because she was acclimating to a new diet, a new eating lifestyle.

  She blinked a few times, trying to go back to planning her day trip. But the thought hung threatening and bulky in the back of her mind. A distant threat. It pushed her to her feet and out the door.

  It was simple. She’d buy a test and find out, once and for all. It wouldn’t be dramatic or hard, it was simply the easiest way to resolve this niggling worry. Besides, she couldn’t take a day trip while she wondered.

  She certainly couldn’t enjoy that bottle of wine if she wondered, either.

  It’s fine. Your body is just adjusting. Remember that time you went to England and your period disappeared for two months afterward? She reassured herself on her way to the corner store, which also had a small pharmacy inside. A blast of cool, dry air met her as she pushed into the store. She browsed each aisle until she found what she was looking for, the telltale rectangular box with a picture on the front showing a positive test result. She paid quickly and hurried back to her apartment, heart knocking against her ribs.

  Your body is just adjusting. She repeated it like a mantra. She couldn’t be pregnant. She wouldn’t be pregnant. Because that wasn’t in her plans, and it was very likely never to be in her future.

  Settling down and having someone’s baby—that had never been part of her life plan. Not since she’d realized at age sixteen that she could go anywhere, be anyone, do literally anything she wanted and to hell with anyone who told her otherwise. Her family’s urgings to settle down and start a family only pushed her in the opposite direction. She was the girl who quit the corporate life to go gallivanting around the world during her prime childbearing years. Even though sometimes you get stuck in another corporate job immediately after.

  She ripped open the packaging, fumbling to find the English section of the instructions sheet. Maybe it wasn’t stress or long-distance moves; maybe she had cysts or something. That could be it. Her finger trembled as she underlined the English directions. This might just be cysts after all.

  The sheet told her to wait until morning for the best results, but she didn’t have time. Tomorrow morning, she’d either be day-tripping or crying into her pillow. It had to be now.

  She stumbled toward the bathroom on Jello knees and perched over the stick, grunting as she tried to force a pee. Finally a trickle emerged, and she aimed it just right. She doused the stick, and then she waited.

  Layla didn’t even get up from the toilet as she waited for the stick to tell her her fate. She clutched at her hair, heart hammering in her throat, counting seconds so she didn’t peek too soon and see a wrong result.

  When an eternity of seconds had crept by, she finally allowed herself the answer. She snatched up the stick, her belly tight with tension as she looked at the small window.

  Two lines.

  She blinked a few times, letting the news wash over her. A strange cocktail of emotions burbled through her, but she couldn’t make sense of that now.

  The test clattered to the floor and she yanked her pants up, running to her phone. She needed Marian, wherever she was. And she just prayed to God she picked up.

  8

  Zahir’s gut felt tense as he locked up his office prior to the weekend. He’d stayed late to finish up a few pending reports for Omar during his absence. Of course Omar had taken the longest honeymoon known to mankind, but Zahir could hardly blame him. Their travel route was admirable and even something of his own fantasy. Hell, getting out of the country more often was becoming more and more of a scandalous thought. Almost as scandalous as his constant thoughts of Layla.

  His gut wrenched again. It was like he couldn’t help but link everything back to her, so much that he wondered if he needed to call her. Maybe she was in trouble somewhere, and this was her signal for help.

  Are you crazy? Two full weeks of minimal contact hadn’t lessened his urges or attraction any more than it had before; it simply made it necessary to distract himself. Which, thankfully, came in the form of work. And masturbation. Lots of masturbation.

  A familiar gruff voice interrupted his quiet walk down the hallway. His father curled a finger in the air, beckoning for him to follow. Zahir altered his path to go to his father’s office.

  “I’m surprised you’re here this late,” Zahir said, closing the door behind him.

  “I just got off the phone with an important person.” His father’s eyes twinkled as he sat behind his desk. “I would have called you if I hadn’t found you leaving the office. I have some news for you.”

  There was a note of joviality in his father’s voice, one that Zahir wasn’t accustomed to hearing. This was either a huge business deal or…he couldn’t even guess what might make his father this giddy. “Do tell.”

  “Zahir, my son, I think it’s time that we begin to prepare for you to assume control here.”

  The words floated heavily in the air, like a tanker in the ocean. Zahir tapped out a slow rhythm on the ar
m rest of his chair, struggling to fully process the words.

  “I’m flattered.” Of course, he’d known this day would come. He just hadn’t expected it so soon.

  “You’re flattered, and you’re readier than ever. We’ve been preparing you for this day. I have full confidence that everything will go smoothly, but we should begin the transition immediately.” His father paused, clearing his throat, ensuring perfect delivery. “And part of that preparation includes your getting married.”

  Every bone and cell inside Zahir’s body froze. He reluctantly met his father’s stern gaze. “Ah.” Married. Fuck. He’d avoided it long enough. As a bachelor thirty-three-year-old, he was practically a unicorn in his country. With his two younger brothers already married, sometimes it felt a little embarrassing. Not that he minded continuing his bachelor life in any way.

  “I’ve arranged a bride for you.” A grin flickered on his father’s face. “She’s a beautiful girl, very smart, unspoiled—” That was code for virgin. “Absolutely perfect for you. And this arrangement will greatly satisfy some of our board members.”

  Zahir’s gaze swept over the desktop, focusing on the dark stain of the wood. There were so many elaborate swirls there. Far too many to even count. And suddenly, he was far more interested in counting the swirls than continuing this conversation. “I—I’m not sure what to say.”

  “Say you’re ready to set a date.” His father leaned forward a bit. “If we hurry, it could be before the end of the year.”

  Zahir blinked, something jerking inside his chest. “I’m in no mood to get married right now.”

  His father grumbled a bit, some of that glow falling off his face. “Mood? Who needs to be in a mood to get married? This is a business arrangement. You’re the one we planned to take over for me, but the board will only support it if you’re married.”