by Ella Brooke
Table of Contents
Sheikh’s Accidental Baby
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
ANOTHER STORY YOU MAY ENJOY
Wed to a Prince
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Sheikh’s Accidental Baby
By Ella Brooke & Jessica Brooke
All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2017 Ella & Jessica Brooke.
CLICK HERE
to subscribe to my newsletter & get EXCLUSIVE updates on all offers, secret previews, and new releases!
Chapter One
Her back ached.
Most twenty-five-year-olds didn’t struggle with an aching back the way that Tiffany Saunders did, but most of them weren’t working twelve-hour days on the housekeeping staff of The Cambrian, one of the hottest luxury hotels in Switzerland — or in Europe, for that matter. While there were great advantages to her job, like seeing most of the continent while her friends back in Chicago were lucky to have been out of the States, there were also huge costs to being an expat working an intense job to keep up her traveling lifestyle. The six weeks she had off each year were her bastion, her special oasis to help her travel to warm locales and deal with the constant and literally back-breaking work at The Cambrian. The chalet-like hotel was gorgeous, nestled in the Swiss mountainside, and its clientele were some of the most wealthy that Europe, Asia, and the Middle East had to offer.
However, the work did make Tiffany feel like she was living the expression “always a bride’s maid, never the bride.” Understandably, most of the time she was to be seen and not heard. Her friends back home always told her how lucky she was to work at one of the hottest resorts in the world. While it was true, she also had to watch other people enjoy themselves while she slaved away and was browbeaten by management if the hospital corners on the beds she made weren’t crisp enough, or if she forgot to leave a Swiss chocolate on a guest’s pillow. If her family and friends back home thought she was some princess having an amazing time, then they were wrong. For the bulk of the year she was Cinderella, and it was a price she used to gladly pay to have the freedom to see parts of the world most Americans dreamed of. However, as the calluses grew thick on her hands and her shoulders sometimes seemed to stoop low, Tiffany wondered how much longer she could keep it up.
“You’re thinking again,” her friend, Greta, said.
Tiffany and Greta were a study in opposites. Greta was from Sweden and was close to six feet tall with bird-like bones and blue eyes. If she weighed even a hundred and twenty pounds, Tiffany would be surprised. In contrast, Tiffany was barely five-foot-three with hips that were curvier than she would have liked, doe brown eyes and long, blonde hair. The blonde locks were basically the only thing that she and Greta had in common, but the two girls had made fast friends. For three years, Greta mentored Tiffany thoroughly on the art of housekeeping, and also served as her travel buddy.
Still, Greta came from a family of hotel staff. The one daring thing Greta did was opt to work in another country, but she stayed in housekeeping, which was practically in her blood. To her, the being at The Cambrian without being seen or, worse, being looked through, was second nature. For Tiffany, it was beginning to chafe.
“I’m not thinking… much.”
Greta shook her head as she continued making the bed. The next guest, some hoity-toity sheikh, was due to be in at any minute, and they were behind in the cleaning and room set up. It wasn’t their fault. Some low-ranking member of the British royal family had held a party at the pool earlier that afternoon that had left the place a disaster. It took nearly everyone on the hotel staff to clean up after that disaster, so Tiffany and Greta were left scrambling.
“You do think too much. I know that look. Tiffany, I don’t want you to leave.”
“I’m not leaving,” Tiffany quickly changed the subject, “We have to get through this bed-making and then I have a bit more mopping to do in the bathroom.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Greta said, making short work of the bed as Tiffany dusted the entertainment center. “You’re getting tired of working here.”
“I can’t deny that. I guess I’m just tired of the slights, you know? I love the fact I have six weeks of vacation. I’d never get that in the States. But doesn’t it ever bother you when the clients yell at us? Or that we’re surrounded by luxury but can’t be in it?”
“Gold digging?” Greta joked, turning her attention to the cart and making sure the mints were laid out on the pillow.
“No, but I do want someone to see me. I feel like cellophane. Like people are always looking through me, and I hate that feeling. I thought I could get used to it, but maybe I take things too personally. When I mess up and people scream at me, it makes me feel so self-conscious that I want to curl into a hole and die. My ears still feel like they’re ringing from Frau Fernstein and her poodle mishap.”
“But these are guests. We work hard to make them happy, but we don’t take the insults personally. It’s just how guests are. You go home afterwards and relax, and you never let it touch your rest. That’s the point. The guests are here. When we’re back at our apartment, then we’re just us, two girls out there in the most beautiful mountains on Earth.”
Tiffany grinned, thinking about how much she relished the skiing around here as well. There were huge perks to her life, but maybe not enough to take all the slights with a smile forever. “I know, but maybe I’m not made to just throw it all away, to let it roll off my back.”
“Or maybe you’re not sleeping enough since your dad started having his coughing fits? I know you’re anxious about the test results today and have been since he saw the specialist. You’ll feel less upset with some good elbow grease to exercise the anxiety away and then some rest. It’ll all work out. That much Greta is promising you.”
Tiffany sighed and swept up the mop from the cart. The bathroom definitely need a fast swab. “You can go on to the next room. We just need the mopping done and then I can take the cart and join you.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Greta arched one neatly trimmed brow back at her. “You’re not just trying to get rid of me for being so optimistic, are you?”
“No, but there are some promises you can’t keep, Greta. Neither of us can change the fact that my dad smoked for decades. If the coughing is something worse, I wouldn’t be surprised, just scared.”
“But it might not be, and you have to cling to that,” Greta replied, grabbing the vacuum and heading out of the room. “I’ll just be one floor down in the luxury suites.”
“I know,” Tiffany finished, smiling at her friend despite everything. “Can you imagine a life where this is a downgrade? That if you can’t be in the presidential suite, then you’ll just have to settle for luxury.”
Greta shook her head. “One thing I’ve learned from my mother is that all rooms still have a bed and a toilet somewhere. At the end of the day, we’re all the same.”
“Except when I forget to walk the poodle at four and some bad stuff happens that
I will not elaborate on...” Tiffany trailed off with a sigh.
“Trust me. I’ve done worse. Now get finished!”
Once Greta was gone, Tiffany slipped her headphones on and turned on her music. A bit of 80s hard rock would make the cleaning go faster, and soon she was mopping up a storm, making those floors shine. She didn’t notice anyone come in — let alone a massive entourage —until she felt a pair of hands on her hips. Startled, she whipped around and her earbuds slid out of her ears.
“Excuse me?”
Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she tried to ignore the gorgeous man who stood before her. He was easily six-foot-three with jade green eyes and a square jaw. His dark hair was a bit shaggier than she’d assumed an oil sheikh would prefer to wear his, and his full lips tempted her in a way no lips had in months, not since she’d started really freaking out about her dad’s health problems.
This had to be Sheikh Sirhan Hakim of Dubaya. Damn, if he didn’t look like an archangel come down from heaven just for her.
“I said, no need to stop,” he said, licking his lips. “I loved the view.”
The polite smile froze on her face even as her blood boiled. She was trained to always be polite, and had met her fair share of the entitled and wealthy, but the full scope of what had just happened swam through her mind. He meant to grab her hips; not to let her know he was there, but because he was staring at her ass as she mopped. Drunken guests by the pool or bar had asked her out before, but Tiffany had never been treated like a piece of meat before. But she was already on thin ice after the Frau Fernstein incident, and she needed to stay polite and avoid write ups.
“Sheikh Hakim,” she said, smiling wider and giving him a polite half-bow. Tiffany wasn’t even sure if they did that in Dubaya, but she was hoping her gesture came off as polite. “I’m so sorry. We had a hospitality emergency earlier, and we didn’t mean for your room to be so unprepared.”
He smirked back at the tall man with the long goatee who was setting their suitcases down. “That’s fine, like I said, for a view like that, I’d gladly wait even longer.”
She gritted her teeth and grabbed the mop more tightly in her hands. “I do need to go now. I think it’s done and my friend needs help with the luxury suites.
Sheikh Hakim eyed her name tag. “First, please call me Sirhan, Tiffany. I want us to be friends, after all.”
“That sounds great, but we’re not really allowed to talk with clients outside of their needs. Just call the front desk if you need anything and the concierge can help you. If you have a cleaning issue, then I or Greta or anyone else will be happy to help.”
He let her brush past him but shook his head. “And what if I have a different type of emergency?”
“What kind?” she asked, trying to tell her treacherous body to stop screaming at her how hot he was. Rules were rules, and she wasn’t going to lose her job.
“Maybe I want you.”
She shook her head and hurried for the door. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not part of your stay.”
Chapter Two
Sirhan hadn’t slept well the night before. He’d been restless and far from satiated. Although there were gorgeous European women, a few of them minor royals, he found no one who had piqued his interest as much as the maid, Tiffany, had. It was odd. While her doe-eyes were haunting and her ample hips intriguing, she wasn’t his usual type. As one of the wealthiest men on Earth, thanks to his family’s oil interests, he often gravitated toward models and actresses. But there was something about the girl’s fiery spirit that had etched her indelibly on his mind.
Currently, he was finally warm, settled into a hot spring. Most of the trip had been his best friend, Ibrahim’s idea. Sirhan would much rather be in Monte Carlo or Sydney by the beaches. Cold had never been Sirhan’s thing, and he was only humoring Ibrahim after his latest break-up since his comrade loved to ski. For his part, Sirhan shivered in anything below 90ºF. After all, it was usually 115ºF in Dubaya and could soar far higher. The puffiest of coats couldn’t help him in that regard. However, having the natural hot springs to bathe in was inviting, like curling into a warm and relaxing bath.
He could certainly see how they’d gotten their reputation for being curative.
“You’re distracted,” Ibrahim said.
“I’m cold. I feel as if until we got in the springs that certain bits were going to freeze off, my friend. How could I not be distracted like that?”
His friend stroked his goatee. “Perhaps, but I saw you in the club last night. Since when has the great Sheikh Sirhan Hakim gone to bed alone?”
“Sometimes more than one girl, and don’t you forget it,” Sirhan bragged.
It was a hollow gesture, one made to try and distract his friend. He didn’t like this new confusion or need. Ibrahim was right. He was a sheikh, even if he’d only been one officially for three years since his aging father had ceded the throne. He might still be feeling his way through the running of a huge multinational corporation and an entire nation, but he was still a sheikh. Above all things, Sirhan was competent with the ladies as well, debonair as he could be. This wasn’t like him.
“No,” Ibrahim said, wonder creeping into his voice. “I think that something significant has happened here. I think that you’ve met your match. You’ve never had one woman, ever, say no to you.”
“It was probably just a momentary brush off. She’ll be mine soon enough.” He offered his friend a cocky grin. “No one can resist me for long.”
“She seemed pretty invested in keeping her job, my friend.”
“So? What’s your point?”
Ibrahim shrugged. “You’re almost thirty. Perhaps you’re getting tired of taking whichever willing vixen says yes.”
“I could never grow tired of it. I think you’re projecting,” Sirhan said, leaning back in the springs, relishing the feel of the hot water bubbling up over his chest. “I’m so sorry about Ariel. I hoped she would make you happy, and your engagement news was a great joy to me.”
“Just because my relationship wasn’t meant to be doesn’t mean that all relationships are like that. I’m going to keep trying while I mend my broken heart.”
Part of Sirhan had to admire his friend; his spirit to keep trying. He couldn’t risk his heart that way. “You know there are reasons. There’s the destiny of the crown and the pressures that come with it. I want to have as much fun as I can before I’m settled with the appropriate bride for forging an alliance and duty. Fun is what I’m into, and I don’t need stiff maids to make me happy.” Ibrahim smirked. While Sirhan was glad that his friend was showing some mirth after a rough break-up, he wasn’t pleased that it was at his expense. “What?”
Ibrahim shrugged and dunked his head before speaking again. “Then that’s why you were so ready to find anyone else last night. Admit it. You’re intrigued by a woman with enough determination to say ‘no’ to you. You can’t stand that she refused.”
“I can, and I will. Trust me, I’ve already forgotten about Tiffany.”
“Yeah, I can tell by the way you casually drop her name.”
He reached over and splashed at Ibrahim. “You’ll see. Tonight? Tonight I come home with twins.”
***
It was 10 p.m., and Tiffany was finally off shift after another long day. Soon she would take the tram to her apartment and relax, but she wanted to finish her dinner in the staff lounge first. Her stomach was rumbling too much to wait for a real dinner when her spare sandwich would tide her over. Cracking her neck, she pulled out her bag and then started to bite into her tuna and rye.
Or she would have, if her cell hadn’t started ringing a very prominent tone.
She swallowed hard. It was her mother’s ring, and she knew that her parents had promised to FaceTime her yesterday, but they’d waited until today and she had tried to tell herself it was because there was nothing to tell. With shaking hands, she set her food down and grabbed her phone instead. She knew that her hopes had been in v
ain when she spied her mother’s face. Somehow, it seemed as if her mom had aged twenty years in just forty-eight hours, as if her crow’s feet were more pronounced and her hair more grey.
“Mom?”
Her mother swallowed hard and tried to smile, but her expression crumpled into a worried grimace instead. “Honey, we meant to call you, but by the time we were ready… it was so late there, and we know you didn’t get off for your two days until this evening.”
“Mom, you need to tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s fine. The doctors say your father has a lot of options.”
Tiffany’s heart caught in her throat and her body went numb. Doctors only needed to talk about options when something terrible was on the horizon, when there was something that needed to be treated.
“What? Mom, what are you trying to say?”
Her mother wrung her hands on the other line. “It’s stage III lung cancer. He’s going to have to go into chemo right away. It’s going to cost a lot, and on just my salary…”
“Stupid cutbacks.”
“No one reads newspapers anymore,” her mom pointed out, even as her lip trembled a bit. “Don’t worry, we’re going to also look into our loan options to pay for treatment.”
“Mom, I can give you money. I know that Greta won’t make me cover rent for a while if you need most of my salary to help with treatment or anything extra your teacher’s insurance doesn’t cover. I can help.”
“Dear, you don’t have to.”
“I want to! It’s dad and… I… Can you put him on?”
Her mom sighed. “He’s been in his room for a while. With me, he’s very perky and talking about articles on advancements in treatment and new oils and organic treatments. He’s trying to put on the brave front because that’s what your father does, what he’s always done, but I know that in private he has to feel—”
“Awful,” Tiffany supplied, sniffling herself.
“How’d you know what I was going to say?” her mom asked, blinking wide brown eyes back at her.
“Because that’s how I feel. I know and I won’t… I know he’s just gonna deflect a million questions and definitely turn down the help.”
