The Sheikh's Baby Bargain_He needs an heir and the only person who can help is his estranged wife.

by Clare Connelly

  He hadn’t realized she was there. He wore a simple pair of black trousers and a loose-fitting white top, and to his right there was a stash of stones.

  He picked one up, running his fingertips over the smoothness of it before standing. He met her eyes, which was a welcome change from the palace servants.

  “Amit,” she said again, more confidently this time, wanting to reassure him.

  He was so like Raffa, and yet different too. He had Raffa’s intelligent eyes and assessing gaze, his generous lips. But he was gangly and tall, slim and uncertain. Even as a teenager, Chloe doubted Raffa had ever been anything other than muscular and warrior-like.

  “No one usually comes up here,” the teenager said defensively, echoing so many of her own teenaged resentments that she could do nothing but nod.

  She tried to marshal her thoughts, to quickly recollect all that she knew of her husband’s love child. He’d been conceived when Raffa had been only twenty years old, and the woman was rumoured to be the love of Raffa’s life. They’d never been able to acknowledge their relationship, but though it remained shrouded in secrecy, she’d been living at the palace, leaving little doubt as to their bond.

  A frisson of emotion trickled down her spine. That was all palace gossip, whispered between her maids when they’d thought she hadn’t been listening. Talk of how the Sheikh’s marriage had always been destined to fail, given that he was still in love with the other woman. And now she was face to face with the physical proof of that love.

  “What are you doing?” She asked, with natural curiosity, moving closer to the boy.

  He eyed her thoughtfully, the intensity of his gaze so like Raffa’s that she felt almost as if she knew him already. “Skimming rocks,” he said after a moment, evidently deciding to trust her.

  “I see.” She had two options. Leave, or stay.

  “Have you ever done it?”

  “No,” she shook her head, moving forward, her mind made up.

  “The Sheikh taught me,” he said, causing Chloe’s lips to momentarily twitch downwards, into a small frown. “He used to come here to do this, when he was my age.” He wrinkled his nose. “Or a bit younger, I guess. He taught me two years ago. On my tenth birthday.”

  “Did he?” Chloe murmured, seating herself with care on the large rock beside Amit. It was not easy in the robes she’d been wrapped into that morning.

  “He’s better at it than I am.”

  “Show me,” she commanded, but softened the words with a smile. Their eyes met and her heart lurched. This young man was her step-son. Why had she never thought to get to know him before this moment? How come she’d neglected her responsibilities to him? Shame flushed through her but she didn’t reveal, even for a moment, the direction of her thoughts.

  “You need to have the right stones, to start with. Smooth, like this. Not too big or they’ll sink. Here. Feel it.” He extended his hand, palm-side up, with one of the pebbles in it. She took it, running her fingers over the edges.

  “See what I mean?”

  She nodded. “It’s smooth.”

  “Yes.” He reached for another one. “You need to imagine the water is a plane, with nothing beneath. You want to throw the rock so that it lands square on the water’s surface, and the tension bounces it to the next spot.”

  “That sounds almost impossible.”

  “Watch.” He lifted his hand and then, with the action of someone who’s done something many times, he expertly cast the stone onto the water. It did just as he’d said, bouncing four times before thudding into the water and sinking from view.

  “That’s impressive,” she said truthfully.

  “Not really. The Sheikh once made a pebble skin all the way across the stream. I counted ten jumps.”

  “Ten?” She lifted her brows. “Seriously?”

  He nodded. “He’s had a lot longer to practice.” The words rung with such arrogant pride, so like Raffa, that Chloe had to stifle a laugh.

  “Let me try.” She fingered the rock once more, the tip of her tongue poking out of her lips as she recalled Amit’s throwing motion. She drew her arm backwards, eyed the water carefully, and then released the rock.

  It sank immediately, and she laughed, turning to face Amit. A reluctant smile was on his own lips.

  “That was pathetic, your highness,” he said with a rueful shake of his head. “But no worse than my first dozen or so attempts.”

  Her gaze jerked to his. “You know who I am?”

  “Of course. You’re the Sheikh’s wife.”

  “Why do you call him that?” She asked slowly.

  “It’s his title.”

  “But you’re… surely you, of all people, could be excused from such formality?”

  “Why should I be?” He asked, turning his attention back to the pile of stones to his right side, with all the appearance of calm. But Chloe had the advantage, for she knew his father, and had become adept at reading Raffa’s expressions and understanding their meaning. She knew then that the boy was dissembling. He didn’t know she knew who he was, and he was trying to protect her.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to disabuse him of that notion when it occurred to her that forcing him to admit his parentage to his step-mother might make him even more uncomfortable. She had no interest in doing any such thing, and so she allowed the fiction to pass. There’d be time to address it with her husband.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she demurred simply. “Show me another one. Otherwise, how will I know that first wasn’t a fluke?”

  “A fluke?” He shook his head. “It was no such thing. See?” And he skimmed another rock perfectly.

  She stayed with him almost an hour, mostly in contented silence. But the desert winds of Ras El Kida were unusual, and she had not Amit’s skill in reading them. He paused when his pile of stones was only half-empty, and turned to her.

  “We must leave now.”

  “Why?” She’d been having a better time than she’d imagined possible, within the grounds of the ancient palace.

  “A sandstorm. Can’t you smell it?”

  She shook her head and breathed in, tasting only the freshness of the tree-filled air.

  “It’s the clay,” he said, shaking his head and standing, before lowering his hands for her grip. He helped her up, then put a hand in the small of her back. Again, she was reminded of Raffa, of that confidence that must surely have been innate. “This way.” He guided her through the forest, a different way to that which had brought her to him. His path was more direct, though steeper, so she slipped once and had to break her fall by grabbing the branches of a tree. It cut her hand though so she had a small amount of blood in her palm.

  “Are you okay?” Amit asked with obvious consternation.

  “I’m fine.”

  She kept moving, but Amit stalled her, with a quick, urgent: “Look!”

  Chloe followed the direction of his outstretched hand, frowning as her eyes adjusted. “What?”

  “Look!” he said, pointing again. And in the distance, she did see it. Barely discernible at first, there was a haze far away, but it was getting closer, plumes rising from the desert sands into a sky that was turning from blue to black before her eyes.

  “Hurry,” he murmured, gripping her hand and pulling her after him.

  Her hair caught on a branch and she lifted her free hand to hold it back from her face.

  They were close to the palace now, so that within minutes they’d entered the garden to the side – a grove of fruit trees that were as fragrant as they were beautiful. But their divine scent was dampened by what Amit had detected far, far earlier than she. Now Chloe smelled it, thick in the air. He’d called it clay, she’d have said tar. An earthy, over-heated, rumbling smell that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

  They reached the palace when the storm was dangerously close to them. Security guards didn’t meet Chloe’s eyes but she saw the surprise in their faces as she and Amit rounded a corner and
headed towards a large, open doorway.

  “You fool,” one of the guards chastened Amit, and pleasure instantly extinguished from the young boy’s face.

  He lifted his radio transceiver and began to speak into it. Amit shot the man a fulminating glare, so reminiscent of Raffa’s that Chloe was once more amused by their likenesses, before gripping her wrist and pulling her into the palace.

  “You have to go,” he said urgently, then frowned. “You have blood on your face.”

  “Oh.” She lifted her fingers and wiped at herself self-consciously. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, but you really must go. If the Sheikh finds you with me, he’ll be furi--,”

  “Too late.” The words rung out in the corridor, as Raffa stood a little distance away from them, his strong legs planted wide apart, his arms crossed at his chest. His hair was in that bun he wore, high on top of his head, and his eyes glittered like the sky speckled with sand now.

  “Well?” He demanded, looking from one to the other. “Would either of you care to explain why you were outside?”

  Chloe took one look at her young friend’s face and felt her heart drop. He was terrified! And of his own father!

  “It was my fault,” she said. “I … got lost. And Amit found me, and helped me home. I shouldn’t have walked so far from the palace but it was such a nice afternoon and I was following the stream.”

  The full force of Raffa’s energy transferred to Chloe, so she felt as though a cable had wound around them and surged with electricity. It made her tremble at her knees, but she remained outwardly cool. She had learned, as a girl, that the best defense was a good offence.

  “Is that a problem, your highness?” She demanded tartly, taking a step closer to her husband, putting Amit at her back. “Would you prefer I stay chained to my rooms?”

  His eyes held a warning she wouldn’t heed. “You shouldn’t put ideas into my head.”

  She held her pose, tilting her chin defiantly. “I wasn’t making a suggestion.”

  He ground his teeth, so that a muscle jerked at the base of his jaw, drawing her attention to the thick column of his neck and the vee of his chest that was exposed by his shirt.

  “Well?” He growled the word, and Amit came to stand beside her. She threw the boy a look of sympathy.

  “Stop acting like an angry bear,” she chastised Raffa in a way he’d never been spoken to in his life. “Didn’t you just hear me? Amit found me and…”

  “I was skimming rocks,” the boy said, his head bent.

  “Without telling your security detail?”

  The boy didn’t lift his eyes.

  “We’ve talked about this.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, sir.”

  Raffa’s attention went from his son’s face to his wife’s. “This doesn’t concern you. Wait for me in your suite.”

  “Not if you’re going to stand here and shout at him,” she said hotly. “He’s a boy, of course he was skimming rocks. That’s what children should be doing.”

  The muscle in Raffa’s jaw jerked once more.

  “Fine.” He reached down and grabbed Chloe’s hand, holding it in his own. He began to move down the corridor, turning and calling over his shoulder, “Be in the library in ten minutes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Stop pulling me,” Chloe said icily, when they had rounded the corner and were out of Amit’s sight. “I am capable of walking.”

  “It’s not wise to lie to me,” he said, though he did drop his grip on her arm. “This is my palace, my kingdom…”

  “Your son is clearly terrified of you,” she interrupted, thrusting her hands on her hips. “I lied because I don’t enjoy seeing a twelve year old being made to feel like a petty criminal. Besides,” she continued, oblivious to the shifting expressions on her husband’s face. “That wasn’t completely a lie. I wandered up to the forest on my own. There’s no saying how far I would have gone had I not happened to bump into Amit. I watched him skim rocks and we chatted, and then he noticed the approaching sandstorm far quicker than I ever would have. So if he hadn’t been with me, I’d probably still be up there now.”

  He didn’t answer, so the only sound for a long moment was the rasping, angry breath coming from Chloe.

  “And you don’t get to speak to people like you did him! You might be king but…”

  And then his lips came down on hers, taking possession of her mouth in a way that was unlike anything she’d ever known. Not like the kiss of exploration they’d shared the night before. This was a kiss of punishment and possession. His mouth covered hers and his hands bundled into her hair, his fingers catching at it and holding her so that she was his captive – but oh, such a willing captive. She moaned and opened her mouth wider, surrendering to the kiss, her anger being rushed out of her body on a tsunami of instant desire.

  The anticipation of the day was a storm and it was breaking around her, consuming her in its fervent desperation. Her hands lifted of their own accord, her fingers curling in his shirt. He made a guttural sound as his kiss became more frantic, but there was a threat in it too, a fierce reminder of who was in charge. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a drum was beating its insistent warning – a reminder that she had sworn she wouldn’t do this! That she wouldn’t succumb to the passion he could so easily spin around her.

  With a growing sense of impatience, and an anger directed entirely at her own weakness where her husband was concerned, Chloe ripped herself away from him, putting vital space between them. Her chest heaved with the effort of catching her breath but she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, staring at him as though he’d lost his mind.

  Raffa watched her with far greater composure than she had mustered.

  “How dare you kiss me to silence me?” She demanded, the words rich with contempt.

  “I dare because I am king,” he said. “Now, I am going to go and deal with the boy and then, my wife, I am coming to deal with you.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT WAS OVER AN hour later when he came to her, and by then, Chloe was ropable. She had been pacing for almost the whole time, and at the sound of her door being pushed inwards, she was about ready to shout the palace down.

  But one firm look from Raffa held her silent.

  “Leave us,” he commanded, and her maids silently filed from the room, each dipping their heads in a mark of deference to their Sheikh as they went.

  “Are you here to ‘deal’ with me, your highness?” She demanded crossly, putting her hands on her hips and staring at him without even a hint of compliance.

  He shut the door and turned the lock, then paced towards her. She knew she was angry, and she could feel his anger reverberating back at her.

  “Amit, at least, had the good sense to apologise,” he said, closing the distance so that there were only a few feet between them.

  “Amit is scared of you. I’m not.”

  His nostrils flared as he exhaled angrily. “Your brother never warned me you were so forthright.”

  “Forthright?” She snapped. “And is that a bad thing? Oh, I suppose you thought you were getting a submissive little wife, someone who would be seen and not heard? That’s not me, Raffa.”

  “Apparently not,” he said, and then he laughed. Just a short sound but it did something to the temper that was fizzing through her veins, wrong footing her anger and bringing other emotions bubbling to the surface.

  “I won’t be dictated to. I like exploring. If I’m to live in the palace, and it seems I have little say in the matter, then I will do so in my own way. I’m not going to be under your control! I won’t follow the stupid palace rules. Got it?”

  “Rules such as what?”

  “Such as having six maids with me anytime I move! I detest it! And, what’s more, that protocol was never observed when I lived in Qadim.”

  “It should have been.”

  “I do not want – nor need – an entourage! This building is one of the most se
cure on the planet, surely. Each room has guards, entrances are monitored. It’s a fortress.”

  “It’s not just a matter of security. It’s a matter of propriety and tradition. Ancient lores establish this precedent and we follow their dictates because it’s as my people expect.”

  “Well, time’s change. I’m sure there’s something much more useful these women could be doing.”

  His eyes narrowed and then he nodded. “I’ll consider your request.”

  “You’ll…” It was more than she’d expected, but his apparent willingness to be reasonable had the opposite effect than to calm her. It stirred her anger up anew, so that she glared at him.

  “I hate having to ask you for permission! I want to be in charge of my own matters. My staff, my calendar, my life.”

  “I have already said,” he responded, louder than he’d realized, “that I will think about this.”

  She compressed her lips. “So now what? You think you’re giving me what I want and we should go to bed together? Well, fine. But you should know I have no plans to enjoy myself.”

  His head jerked a little, and she had the most galling suspicion that he was laughing at her. “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, really! So let your macho ego chew on that!”

  He closed the distance between them and lifted her easily, over his shoulder, carrying her through to her suite and into the palatial bedroom that had been assigned to her. It was immaculate, so that when he dropped her onto the bed, her red robe was the only sign of disarray in the otherwise sumptuous space.

  “What are you doing?” She demanded, pushing up on her elbows.

  “You may rant and rave about your complaints out there but in here, I am going to show you how little you know of your own body.” He straightened, and she was awe-struck by the image he made, so huge, so strong, so incredibly handsome – in a wild, rugged way – that her heart was pounding inside of her chest.

  But she refused to show him that he affected her at all.

  “Fine,” she said, shrugging her shoulders and flopping back onto the bed. “Do what you want. I’ll just lie here.”