by Kristi Gold
KRISTI GOLD
Fit for a Sheikh
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Table of Contents
Title Page
Fit For A Sheikh
Excerpt
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Copyright
“WHAT’S HAPPENING IN ROYAL?”
NEWS FLASH – Looks like all the action is happening in Las Vegas these days! Alexander Kent just returned with his beautiful bride, Stephanie, in tow. What started off as a surprise engagement seems to have exploded into a passionate romance while they were in Vegas. The sparks that couple are giving off are enough to start a fire!
Sheikh Darin Shakir has recently been spotted in Vegas, as well… Our roving reporter, on track of just what went on there, has informed us that this mysterious Millionaires’ Club member was last seen in the company of a very sexy redhead. Darin is sexy enough to make any woman fall for him, but our reporter seems to think there was something more going on than a simple fling in Sin City.
There’s plenty of hubbub in town since the dangerous Dr Birkenfeld escaped last month. The sheriff was fit to be tied when he found out and the words he spewed at our reporters were just not suitable for this paper! No one knows exactly where Birkenfeld may be…or when he may come back. Our favourite gents at the Millionaires’ Club are still avoiding an interview, but it is clear they’re worried. Come on, guys. Can we catch the baddie so that this crowd can have a true happily-ever-after?
KRISTI GOLD
has always believed that love has remarkable healing powers and feels very fortunate to be able to weave stories of romance and commitment. As a bestselling author and a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award finalist, she’s learned that, although accolades are wonderful, the most cherished rewards come from the most unexpected places, namely from personal stories shared by readers. Kristi resides on a ranch in Central Texas with her husband and three children, along with various and sundry livestock. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted at [email protected] or PO Box 9070, Waco, TX 76714, USA.
To editor Stephanie Maurer and authors
Sara, Laura, Kathie, Cindy and Cathleen for
making participation in this TMC series such
a pleasurable experience!
One
Men viewed him as a dangerous loner who would stop at nothing in the search for justice. Women considered him a compelling lover who would stop at nothing in the pursuit of pleasure. A dark prince. Enigmatic. Invincible.
As a former military tracker, tempting fate and defying fear had become a way of life for Sheikh Darin ibn Shakir. A means to escape his own demons and a noble legacy he had never embraced. Yet the mission he was about to undertake had resurrected past failures he would rather forget. But he couldn’t forget, not this time. Not until he saw the murderous Dr. Roman Birkenfeld—who had stolen infants from their mothers then sold them as if they were his to barter—punished for his heinous crimes. Whatever it might take.
Preparing for his departure to Las Vegas, Darin began filling the black duffel bag with supplies and clothing he would need for his travels. He paused momentarily to survey the room where he’d resided over the past year. His cousin, Hassim “Ben” Rassad, had welcomed him into his home and facilitated Darin’s membership into the elite Texas Cattleman’s club, a group of men who assisted in apprehending criminals few would dare to confront. Although Darin was grateful for the opportunities, he planned to move on to the next mission alone, tracking an extremist in Obersburg who had threatened the royal family. He had no ties in America aside from his older brother, Raf, who resided in Georgia, and Ben. As for his homeland, Amythra, he’d vowed to never return. The place held nothing but bitter memories.
“The car is on its way.”
Darin turned toward the door to find his cousin dressed in faded jeans and scuffed cowboy boots that gave no indication he, too, had been born into nobility. Glancing at the lone bag set on the end of the bed, Ben asked, “Is that all you are taking?”
“I do not anticipate remaining for more than a few days.”
“You should pack this, as well.”
Darin afforded a cursory glance at the square of white cloth and gold band Ben held out to him. “I have no need for a kaffiyeh where I am going.” He’d had no need for any royal trappings for some time now. Ben’s brother, Kalib, ruled as king of Amythra, therefore Darin was far down the line in terms of inheriting the throne. A good thing because he did not want that burden. He never had.
Ben offered the kaffiyeh again. “You could use it as a disguise, if for no other reason.”
Seeing no need to argue that point, Darin took the kaffiyeh from Ben and stuffed it inside the bag’s outer pocket.
“Alexander Kent tells me he has arranged assistance from the Bureau,” Ben said.
Something else that did not please Darin, although he greatly respected Alex Kent, a former FBI agent and fellow Cattleman’s Club member. “I would prefer to work alone.”
Ben released a frustrated sigh. “Might I remind you that when you joined our organization, you agreed to work with the others as a team?”
Darin needed no reminders. He’d been working that way for the past year, and he’d had no difficulty adhering to the policy. But this was different. This was personal. “I did not realize that this assignment would include other branches of law enforcement.”
“It is necessary since this mission does not involve private hire. The illegal adoption ring and extortion violated federal law. That is the way in this country.”
“I will honor the law. I will also have Birkenfeld in custody in a matter of days.”
Ben looked skeptical. “Do you really believe you will find him so quickly?”
Darin holstered the Beretta, secured the strap over his shoulder then slipped a black jacket over his T-shirt and the gun. “Birkenfeld is not as smart as he believes, even if he did escape the authorities.” And that thought brought about Darin’s anger. He had been involved in the doctor’s original capture, only to have the criminal slip through their hands due to Birkenfeld’s cunning and desperation and one novice police officer’s inadvertent mistake.
“Then you are certain he is still in Las Vegas?” Ben asked.
Normally Darin would be guarded with that information, something else he had pledged when he’d joined the Cattleman’s Club. But Ben was still officially a member, though he’d retired from active missions since his marriage. Therefore, Darin had no reason to withhold details in the case. “He is there, according to the attorney, Larry Sutter, Birkenfeld’s cohort. Birkenfeld contacted Sutter on his cell phone and arranged a meeting in some obscure Las Vegas lounge. I am to join an operative posing as a bartender.”
“This Sutter is in Las Vegas, as well?”
“Yes, in a hospital under protective custody since he has decided to turn state’s evidence in exchange for a lesser sentence. It appears he will be there for a while as he recovers from Kent’s beating.”
“Alexander Kent beat him?” Shock reflected in Ben’s tone and expression.
“He was protecting his lover from Sutter while they were infiltrating the adoption ring. There are no limits to what a man will do for the woman he loves.” Even kill if necessary, something Darin knew intimately.
Ben sent him a knowing look. “Very true. I, too, have been in that position.”
So had Darin, yet he had failed wh
ere Ben had not.
Ben thrust his hands in his pockets and watched while Darin took a few more things from the bureau drawers and added them to the bag. Darin sensed his cousin wanted to say something more, and not necessarily anything he wanted to hear.
“Are you certain you should be the one undertaking this particular mission?” Ben asked, confirming Darin’s suspicions.
“I volunteered. Unlike the other members involved, I have no wife with whom to be concerned.” No one waiting for him. No one who really worried over his activities.
“It is past time for you to consider settling down, Darin. Past time you find a suitable woman to share in your life.”
After stuffing the last of his clothing into the bag, Darin zipped it with a vengeance. “I have no desire to settle down. After Raf’s wife died, I decided my brother and I are cursed when it comes to women.”
Ben’s smile was cynical. “I thought you were too logical to believe in curses.”
“I was, before…” Before his world had come apart with the speed of a bullet.
“Before you lost her,” Ben finished for him. “Yes, the outcome was tragic, but we are all fortunate, and grateful, that you stopped Habib before he did further harm. You had no control over the situation beyond that.”
“I do not care to take the risk with another woman. Not with the life I choose to lead.”
“Yet you risk your life much of the time. Why not take a chance on finding a wife? I did, and I have no regrets.”
Darin recognized that Ben had found a very special woman, someone worth that risk. An American woman whose determination and spirit equaled most men Darin had known. He could not blame his cousin for falling for Jamie. She was everything a man would desire in a life partner, beautiful and full of passion. Ben and Jamie’s commitment and love for each other was obvious in every look they exchanged, a painful reminder of what Darin had once had—and lost—and one of the reasons why he needed to leave their home. The other reason cried, “Papa! Papa!” as she rushed into the room and grabbed Ben around the legs, her light brown hair flowing over her tiny shoulders.
Ben picked up two-and-a-half-year-old Lena and lifted her high above his head, much to the little girl’s delight. “You are full of energy today, yáahil.” He brought her into his arms and kissed her cheek. “I thought you were making xúbuz with your mother and Alima.”
Lena wrinkled her upturned nose. “I don’t like bread. I want cookies.” She sent Darin a vibrant smile, much like her mother’s, then pointed to his chin. “Scratchies all gone, Dawin?” she asked, as always mispronouncing his name, something Darin found endearing.
Ignoring the deep ache radiating from his heart, he rubbed his clean-shaven jaw and favored her with a smile. “Yes, little one. All gone down the drain.” He’d removed the goatee that morning to make himself less recognizable to Birkenfeld. He had also cut his hair to the top of his collar and now wore a gold loop in each ear. Hopefully enough of a change to disguise himself somewhat, which brought about a reminder of something he had almost forgotten.
Darin tucked his hair behind his ears and set the black baseball cap low on his forehead. He then picked up the bag and said, “I am ready.”
Lena leveled her dark eyes on him. “Where ya goin’, Dawin?”
He walked to her and ran a fingertip over her soft cheek. “To a place with many bright lights.” And a man who needed to be tracked down and punished.
She leaned over and touched his jaw as if fascinated with the absence of whiskers. “I wanna go.”
Darin took her hand and kissed her palm. “Not this time, little one.”
As Darin, Ben and Lena headed through the great room, Jamie met them at the front door. “Leaving again, Darin?”
“For a time.”
Jamie raked a hand through her blond hair and patted her distended abdomen. “I hope you’ll be back in the next few days for the baby’s birth. It’s really something to see big tough Ben here in nervous father mode. I swear, I thought he was going to pass out when Lena—”
Ben halted her words with a kiss, then wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I was quite calm during Lena’s birth.”
Jamie grinned and Lena giggled. “If you say so, honey.”
True affection passed between father, mother and child, evidenced by shared smiles, Lena’s head resting against Ben’s chest, Jamie’s arm around Ben’s waist.
Needing to escape, Darin walked onto the porch, thankful to discover the sedan had arrived to take him to the airstrip. Seeing this closely bound family was almost too much for him to bear, although he would never reveal that to anyone.
Before entering the car, he turned to wave goodbye, and little Lena with her father’s eyes and her mother’s smile, blew him a kiss.
Memories of what might have been crowded Darin’s mind, save for one cruel bastard who had taken three lives—Ben’s father, Darin’s fiancée and their unborn child. A man much like Dr. Roman Birkenfeld. Both had no regard for the sanctity of life and the rare gift of love.
Darin vowed to hunt down Birkenfeld even if it proved to be his last act on earth. But in the process, Sheikh Darin ibn Shakir would not allow himself to feel his own pain. Not if he wanted to succeed.
Not much went on in the off-the-strip Silver Ace Lounge on Mondays. The absolute height of boredom, a familiar concept for Fiona Powers. Hotel management student by day, bartender by night, the same-old, same-old since she’d moved to Vegas from Idaho five years before. But no one had said life would be easy for a struggling small-town gal with big-time dreams.
Fiona slapped a rag over the counter where some drunk had missed his big mouth, pouring his boilermaker all over himself and the bar. Fiona had tried to cut him off after two rounds, but scrawny, balding Benny Jack, the other barkeep, had kept on serving the guy as if he’d been doling out fruit juice. Thankfully, the inebriate had left an hour ago after Fiona had called him a cab, as well as some unflattering names under her breath.
“Slow night, huh, Fee-Fee?”
Fiona turned and leaned back against the bar, elbows braced on the counter, preparing to repeat the same admonishments to Benny Jack. “For the thousandth time, Fee-Fee is the name someone would give a poodle, and I assure you I am not a poodle even if my hair is curly. I do not sit up on my hind legs and beg, nor do I leave puddles on the sidewalk. But if I were a canine, I would take great pleasure in planting my pointy little teeth in the middle of your butt. Better still, I would probably go directly for the nethers and give them a good shake.”
Benny grinned, displaying his lack of teeth. “Didn’t know you were into that kinky stuff, Red.”
Red. The second-worst nickname Fiona had encountered. Obviously Benny was determined to cut his life short tonight. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Maybe some cave on the other side of the continent?”
Benny hooked his thumbs in his suspenders. “Yep. I got a date.”
Great. Benny, the toothless, thin man had a date and Fiona was stuck tending regulars in a dive. “Just some advice, Benny. When you pick her up, don’t drag her by the hair to your car.”
Benny grinned again before turning toward the exit. “By the way, a new guy’s coming in to relieve you in a while.”
“What new guy?” Fiona said but received no response since Benny had already left out the back door to commence with his courting ritual that probably involved a back-seat roll with some big-haired broad.
And here she was, faced with a new guy no one had bothered to tell her about, not even Jimmy, the bar’s owner. Oh well, at least she might get home early to do some studying. If the latest employee knew how to tend bar. Otherwise, she’d have to train him, and hopefully that didn’t require newspaper on the floor. Jimmy had a tendency to hire knuckle-scraping morons—case in point, Benny Jack.
Fiona turned back to survey the limited occupants—two middle-aged guys in polyester pants shooting pool and bull, and one elderly man reading the paper and smoking a fat cigar that smell
ed about as delightful as stagnant sewage.
She leaned over the bar, propped her cheek on her palm and sighed. Yeah, just another night in nonparadise. But what could she expect when she chose to work in a place that served as stomping grounds for locals with the mean age of sixty? At least the tips were good, but for once she wished someone more interesting would come in.
The front door opened, and she expected another of life’s little disappointments to enter in the form of an octogenarian. What she got was the surprise of her life.
He seemed to emerge from the smoky haze like some otherworldly presence who had recently landed from Planet Machismo where the all-male aliens survived on testosterone alone. He wore black, from his baseball cap to his combat boots. Black cargo pants, black T-shirt, black jacket— Jacket? No one wore a jacket in Vegas in April, unless they were hiding something or hiding from someone. He stalked toward the bar with confidence as if challenging someone to stop his progress, his dark gaze scanning the room.
Fiona’s hopes soared when she considered he might be the new bartender. They dropped when he slid onto the stool with the prowess of a panther, directly in front of Fiona like any other customer. He studied her as if he expected her to swoon. She wasn’t going to do that, although her knees did feel a little flimsy.
She sent him a smile. “What can I get for you?” Coffee? Tea? Me?
“Coffee.”
Darn. “Black?”
“Yes.”
This did not surprise Fiona, nor did the fact that his voice was deep as a water well. She had never seen such a perfectly chiseled face covered by skin the color and texture of melted milk chocolate. Obviously black was his signature color, right down to the shadow of whiskers framing his full lips and the long dark lashes outlining his eyes, which Fiona considered totally unfair. Her lashes showed up after applying two coats of mascara. A slight indentation to the right of the bridge of his straight nose, as if it had been broken at one time, was the only true flaw in his face. But it sure as heck didn’t detract from his incredible looks.
