Sheikh's Pregnant Lover

by Sophia Lynn

  She grinned, taking the flowers and the hand he offered. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  Epilogue

  Nine months later

  “If you tell me to breathe one more time, I’m going to kill you!”

  Sweaty and exhausted as she was, Madeline couldn’t help but grin as she heard Vanessa screaming at Adir right across the hall. The two of them had gone into labor within hours of each other, and had both been rushed to the hospital in the same ambulance as they’d been having afternoon tea at the Burj. Vanessa had demanded that she and Madeline be put in the same birthing room, but there hadn’t been an available space, so they’d had to resort to calling out to each other from across the hall until their husbands arrived.

  Her own child fussed at the sound, and Madeline cooed, shifting her newborn daughter in her arms to snuggle her closer. Melinda rubbed her tiny, pink face into Madeline’s chest, and Madeline’s heart melted at the sight of her gorgeous baby girl. She’d been preparing for this day for nine months now, and yet it was still so surreal that the little being she’d carried in her womb was finally here.

  “Oh, for Allah’s sake,” Zayid groused, walking back into the room with a Styrofoam cup of coffee for himself and a bottle of water for Madeline. “The two of you went into labor at the same time. Why is Vanessa’s taking so much longer?” He crossed the room then opened Madeline’s bottle of water before he handed it to her.

  Madeline shrugged a little as she shifted slightly to accept the beverage. “Everyone’s different.” She’d been simultaneously lucky and unlucky. Melinda hadn’t been due for another two weeks, so she shouldn’t have gone into labor already. On the other hand, her baby had been born safely and her labor had ended over an hour ago, while Vanessa was still going strong. “I wish I could go and see her.”

  “I’ll take you in there after the baby’s born,” Zayid promised, leaning down to kiss her sweaty forehead. “For now, you need to rest as much as possible. You just gave birth yourself, you know.”

  “I do know.” Madeline watched as Zayid’s silver eyes shifted from her face and down to their baby. Her heart swelled again as she saw the absolute adoration in his gorgeous eyes. Barely an hour after birth, Zayid was just as madly in love with Melinda as she was.

  “Let me hold her for a moment,” Zayid murmured, and Madeline adjusted her arms so that Zayid could take the baby. Melinda fussed a little, but she quieted almost instantly as Zayid cuddled her to his strong, warm chest. As Madeline lowered her hand, the diamond on her ring finger winked, and she grinned again. Zayid had convinced her to marry him a few months into her pregnancy, when she’d begun to show, and it had been the best decision of her life. He took care of her without smothering her passion for biochemistry, and he allowed her to continue to work at the lab—at least until the final month of her pregnancy, anyway. If her boss hadn’t insisted she take off work, Zayid would have browbeaten the lab into giving her an early maternity leave, anyway.

  Just as Madeline was taking a swig from her water bottle, she heard Vanessa give an ear-shattering scream, followed by the high peal of a crying baby. She heard the doctor murmuring something, and then Adir shouted, “Wait. It’s a boy?”

  Zayid and Madeline exchanged glances. The doctors had predicted a girl.

  “We have to go see that baby now,” Madeline demanded, struggling to her feet. Zayid moved to help her, but then he remembered he was holding the baby, so instead he shouted loudly for a nurse.

  Ten seconds later, when Madeline was halfway out of the bed, one came rushing in. “What are you doing, miss?” she gasped, grabbing Madeline by the arm. “You shouldn’t be trying to get up on your own yet!”

  “I want to see my friend’s baby now.” Madeline braced herself against the woman’s shoulder, refusing to take no for an answer. “She’s right across the hall.”

  “Very well.” The nurse sighed, realizing that there was no point in arguing, and led Madeline across the hall, with Zayid and Melinda in tow.

  The doctor was just handing the newborn back to Vanessa when Madeline walked through the door, with Adir standing right by the bedside and looking so proud that she thought his chest would burst. The baby was already swaddled in a blanket, but Madeline had no doubt Adir’s announcement was correct that it was a boy.

  “Well you look like a hot mess,” Madeline said, grinning as she approached Vanessa. Her best friend’s face was blotchy and flushed, her blond hair was a tangled mess, and her blue eyes were still a little wild.

  “You’re one to talk,” Vanessa said, but she didn’t even look up at Madeline—she was too busy staring down at the little baby in her arms.

  “A boy,” Adir murmured, shaking his head a little. “Of course I was happy with a little girl, but the fact that we have a boy so soon…”

  “Congratulations.” Madeline embraced him. She knew that Adir needed a male heir, and how much it meant to him that his first child was male. “I’m very happy for you.”

  “And you.” Adir tore his eyes away from his wife and child to smile at her, and then Zayid as he approached holding Melinda. “Your baby is beautiful.”

  “Bring her here for a moment,” Vanessa said, looking up to smile at Madeline. “I want to see them both together.”

  Madeline took the baby from Zayid, then sat down next to Vanessa on the bed so that both babies were only inches from each other. Swaddled in pink and blue blankets, their tiny faces peaceful in sleep, the two of them looked like little angels.

  “They’re going to give us hell when they’re older, aren’t they?” Vanessa remarked fondly. “With the two them growing up together, and with our temperaments, I’m sure they’re going to get into all kinds of trouble.”

  “Oh, you can count on it.” Madeline laughed, and then snuggled her baby against her chest again. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  The End!

  Click here

  to subscribe to my newsletter & get EXCLUSIVE updates on all FREE book offers, secret previews, and new releases!

  ANOTHER STORY YOU MAY ENJOY

  Sheikh's Scandalous Mistress

  By: Sophia Lynn and Jessica Brooke

  Free preview below!

  Sheikh's Scandalous Mistress

  By: Sophia Lynn and Jessica Brooke

  All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2015-2016 Sophia Lynn

  Chapter One

  Amanda Sinclair kept her head held high, ignoring her fellow reporters’ wolf whistles. Several of the guys from Metro snickered as she walked by, and Amanda thought she heard Simmons call her Dead Meat Walking. She’d heard worse. Some of the staff had been saying terrible things loud enough for her to hear all week. However, it chafed. It was clear that most of the other journalists at the Washington Sentinel were jealous. She’d been working nonstop for six months on her expose of Senator Jackson. He was the chairman of the Senate Committee on Appropriations and a secret arms dealer. Amanda might have jumped the gun publishing the first in her series, but she had multiple corroborating sources. She was definitely going to nail his ass. Jackson was as dirty as they came, and she was about to prove it.

  If the rest of Metro thought she’d been foolish to jump to publishing before her editor had given the final go-ahead, then they could keep their unsolicited advice and opinions strictly to themselves.

  Or, better yet, they could shove it up certain orifices that shall remain nameless.

  Her best friend, Margery, offered her a small smile and a thumbs-up, even as the rest of the office seemed to part for her like the Red Sea. Her best friend was also on Metro, but she’d been content to cover the ins and outs of DC infrastructure. Margery covered which public school was getting an overhaul or a new construction deal, but Amanda was trying to work her way up to the top beat. Those were the reporters that permanently covered Capitol Hill, and if she made it there, it could hopefully net her a Pulitzer nomination. Her masterwork on Senator Jackson was supposed to
get her there. But now…

  When Donald Harris, her grizzled editor, had screamed across the office that he wanted to see her butt and now, even Amanda couldn’t ignore the signs. She just wasn’t going to let anyone else know she felt like she was approaching the gallows.

  Never let them see you sweat.

  Her mom, who’d been a decorated reporter for the Post, had always said that. Even now, Amanda clung to that advice. A real reporter couldn’t be vulnerable, and she refused to ever show weakness. Not after all she’d been through in her life. While she couldn’t tell Harris to shove it, she could still go in there with dignity. She’d tell him that he was overreacting and that her piece was important—it would put the struggling Sentinel back on the map.

  At least that was the plan.

  But nothing ever went to plan, did it?

  ***

  “You know why I’ve called you in here, don’t you?” Harris asked. There was a no-smoking policy in the office, but that didn’t stop him from nursing a thick cigar between his lips. She coughed a bit as the smoke unfurled from its tip. “Seriously, Sinclair, do you have any idea how badly you’ve fucked up?”

  She stilled in her chair. It wasn’t the curse word, itself, that worried her. It was just that despite his old newsman persona, Harris wasn’t one to cuss. He’d often said that it didn’t serve any point to revert to swear words, and he was too old and established to use shock value to get his reporters to comply with his needs. No, if Donald Harris was cursing, then things truly had gotten fubar.

  “What?”

  Shaking his head, he began to pace before the large window in the corner of his room. “For the last two days, I’ve been on the phone with Senator Jackson’s press secretary. But it didn’t stop there. The senator called at least twice to personally yell at me, followed by a call from his pricey lawyers over on K Street. They sent the owner a cease-and-desist letter. They want a retraction on your first piece and then they want you gone.”

  “Of course he wants me gone! Senator Jackson is a damn arms dealer—he’s in cahoots with the biggest cartels in El Salvador and Guatemala! He needs me gone. I mean, let them sue us. I have the proof.”

  “And you published before I cleared it. Look, Sinclair, I’ve always liked you. You’re a hothead, but your work is great and it’s honest. Personally?” he said, gesturing vaguely to his chest. “I think that Senator Jackson is as crooked as they come.”

  “See? We can fight this. It’s not like we don’t have our own lawyers.”

  “We can’t afford this fight. Circulation’s down twenty-five percent this year alone, and we already lost a suit because of that drunken fistfight our sports reporter started on opening day. The truth is that the Sentinel is tapped out. I’m sorry.”

  Her heart started hammering. The old pit-bull mentor of hers was tough, but Harris had always had a soft spot for her. There was no way he was firing her. That wasn’t possible. Couldn’t be. She’d had to work her way up here from a nowhere paper in Northern Virginia. If she lost her job she’d be stuck back there or worse. Considering the state of journalism today, there was a good chance her only option would be blogging from her breakfast nook.

  As if that was journalism.

  “Are you firing me? You can’t! Not after five years! You know what I bring to this paper—you’ve seen the awards I’ve won for the Sentinel. I mean, are we about truth and justice or are we about avoiding suits?”

  “Usually we’re about both,” he said. “And I didn’t say I was firing you, Sinclair. Jesus, jump to less conclusions.”

  She frowned, pushing her long blond hair back out of her face. It tended to fall out of her tight buns at the worst times. “Okay, so I have to drop the story. What’s the real catch?”

  “Why do you think there’s a catch?”

  “Because it’s life and there’s always a catch,” she continued. “So I’m not fired, but what else aren’t you telling me, Donald?”

  He sighed and sat down on the corner of his desk. She watched him stamp out the butt of the cigar into his old, yellow-glass ashtray. “Have you ever wanted a long vacation?”

  ***

  “Son of a bitch!” she shouted again. She drained her mojito but wasn’t feeling enough of the rum yet. Intellectually, Amanda understood that Harris had stuck his neck out for her, and that any other editor would have thrown her to the wolves to be fired or sued into oblivion. Still, the alternative wasn’t any better. She was being exiled, and the bitch of all of it was that Senator Jackson was just going to walk. “I can’t believe it.”

  Margery frowned back at her, her brown eyes concerned behind the thick rims of her nerd chic glasses. “It’s not that bad.”

  “I’m being shipped off to the middle of nowhere. I’m gone, removed from the hustle and bustle of both DC and the Metro.”

  “You’re being melodramatic. It’s just six months! Considering you rushed to press before he gave the final go-ahead, you’re really lucky that’s all you got,” Margery continued, sipping at her Long Island iced tea.

  “I’m not even talking about being sent to Abu Dhabi. I know that’s at least a bustling tourist destination. I mean they sent me back to Life and Style. I’m going to be covering the opening of a casino, and then? What? Am I going to cover the start of a waterpark in Shanghai? Maybe a new roller coaster in Berlin? This is demeaning. I’m a reporter, not a glorified puff-piece press agent.”

  “And you’re still a reporter. You can lay low for a few months.”

  She narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Six is not ‘a few.’ Six is half a year.” Amanda heaved a heavy sigh and gestured to the waitress. “Can I get a Sex on the Beach?”

  “You might want to pace yourself. You’re going to have to pack quickly if you’re going to be there in time for the Ali Babba Casino unveiling next week,” her friend suggested.

  Amanda didn’t care. She almost had that bastard nailed dead to rights. But now? Now she’d be going half a world away to a ridiculously named hotel, just to ask an assistant about the executive chef at its sushi restaurant or the seating capacity in the stage show theater. The fact she’d be doing it in one hundred and twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit each day just added insult to injury.

  “I think I need another drink. I’ll try and forgive myself tomorrow. I just…you know how important that story was to me. You should have met the families I talked to, the people who have been ruined by the cartels and then fled here. It’s not even just them. The few ex-aides I was able to get to talk by offering protection?”

  Margery nodded and leaned in closer. “Yes?”

  “They were scared. They were always shaking when I talked to them. This man is beyond dangerous, and people keep saying he’s going to run for president in the next cycle. He needs to be brought to justice. Instead, I’m going to let down all those people who trusted me. They told me their stories so they’d get out, so maybe one day they’d be safe. They didn’t do it so I could ask someone in Abu Dhabi about their blackjack tables.”

  Margery patted her hand. “But you sometimes have to live to fight another day. If you reach out to even more contacts while you’re in the Middle East, maybe then you can get a mountain of evidence even Jackson’s lawyers can’t bury.”

  “My mom wouldn’t run,” Amanda lamented, gratefully pausing to sip the drink the waitress had brought. It was her third mixed drink in an hour, and she’d be regretting it in the morning, but right now she just needed the oblivion. She needed not to care. “She was never scared of anything.”

  Margery swallowed and seemed unsure of what to say next. “You know that…”

  “What? My mom put everything she had into her job at the Post. She was one of their most decorated reporters, and she helped find things that got a vice president impeached and imprisoned.”

  “She also died under less than normal circumstances,” Margery pointed out. “You’ve said yourself a million times, what happened to her in
the garage when you were nine never made any sense.”

  “I know,” she said, her throat constricting at how much she missed her mother. Some things didn’t stop hurting even after sixteen years. They said her mom had committed suicide, but she knew for a fact her mom hadn’t been depressed and that people had been following both of them. A strange man had come up to her at the playground twice the week before. “But she did what was right. I know she’d be disappointed if I just nodded my head like a good girl and fled to Arabian wonders.”

  “No one talks like that,” Margery said, chuckling. “It’s not retreating or running away. It’s just regrouping. You can get Jackson, but you have to be smarter about it. Look, if Harris didn’t believe in you and didn’t eventually want this scumbag to go down, then you really would be planning out your day tomorrow at the unemployment office. He didn’t do that. You just have to be smart.”

  “Are you saying my mom wasn’t?”

  “I didn’t know your mom. But no matter how good a reporter she was, she clearly made some enemies and she left you alone too.”

  “Not because she wanted to,” Amanda objected.

  “True. But intentional or not, the effects come out all the same,” Margery said. “You miss her and maybe…”

  “What?”

  “Maybe sometimes being smart is better than being right.”

  “I owe those people, Margie. They told me all their stories, all their fears, and I swore on my honor I’d take Jackson down. Now they’re going to see that nothing got published and I’m on what looks like an all-expenses-paid vacation to the hottest resort in the world. It’s not just demeaning, but it’s frustrating as hell.”

  “Or,” she said, sipping down the last of her drink, “you could give yourself a few weeks to take a mental break, relax, and then go at it again. There’s nothing wrong with admitting something didn’t work on the first try. There’s also nothing wrong with taking a breather.”