The Sheikh's Surprise Mistress (Jatar Sheikh Series Book 5)

by Jessica Brooke

  Stupid-stupid-stupid fucking idiot! I was pregnant. I knew it, I knew it was Amir’s, and I was suddenly frantic with anxiety. I couldn’t start a new job and be pregnant—or be a new mother. I couldn’t afford a nanny or help. I certainly couldn’t dump it off with Grandma. She didn’t deserve to be saddled with me, let alone a newborn.

  I was a wreck, and decided I would simply abort the baby. There would be future pregnancies for me—for me and whatever man I decided I would marry. I was not going to do this bullshit alone. Or at all! I went through the next week hoping against hope I was actually ill, but nothing changed, and I continued to be sick at the worst possible random moments.

  Six weeks from the day of my arrival back in the States, I called the clinic and made an appointment for an abortion. It wasn’t like this was new territory for me; this had happened once before. I knew the score and the routine, and I simply wrote “doctor” on the calendar for two weeks in the future. I tried to focus on other stuff and booked my flight for the interview in New York. I was not going to take a detour at this point in time. I just wasn’t!

  I was careful the morning of my interview and only drank ginger ale and ate soda crackers. I figured I could manage for an hour and then go vomit my brains out after. Anna and I had talked in the wee hours of the morning, and she’d wished me good luck—she was oblivious to my current state, and I wished to keep it that way.

  I survived the interview, but I knew I didn’t give the best presentation. I was so worried about getting sick, that I kind of made myself sick. Although I didn’t hurl during the interview—thank God!—I did lose it shortly afterwards. They told me they had a hundred applicants and it would take at least a week before they could return with an answer—maybe two.

  I went home and crashed. The only good thing about my current state was the simple fact I was having no trouble sleeping. I was sleeping like a dead person—and dreaming like a lunatic. The worst part was that my dreams were nothing but Amir—all Amir—only Amir. I would wake up morose and full of shame. Not because of the content of my dreams, but because of the fact I knew I was in love with him and the baby growing inside of me was his. Our love child.

  I didn’t have a lot going on, so I stayed around the apartment, waiting for word on the interview. Anna called, and we chatted.

  “You don’t sound okay,” she grilled me for the fourth time after I repeatedly told her I was fine.

  “Just a little off is all—you know I had that flu? Still recovering.”

  “Okay, but I sense something. You know you can talk to me right? About anything! No judgment, Jules—only love.”

  “Yeah, I know. But seriously, how is your preggers going along? You haven’t talked about it much?”

  She was sweet with her answer, “I know how you feel about kids—and this kind of thing—anyway, I’m fine. Getting sick all the time, though. It sucks. I keep throwing up in planters or trash cans. This place is so big, I can’t make it to a bathroom.”

  Then I totally blew it. “I know, it hits at the strangest times, too.”

  She was really quiet. So quiet I thought we’d been disconnected, but I was too afraid to utter a word. It was her that finally spoke, and in her all-knowing way she simply said, “I won’t tell.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I had a wonderful-horrible dream. Amir and I were together. He was holding me and kissing me with abandon. The kind of abandon that men rarely offer. I was soaking it up, wallowing in it with him—in his affection and how much he wanted me. It felt good to be desired and even in the dream state, I ached to feel his hard body pressed to mine.

  He stroked my body with those huge hands and played my body like an instrument, eliciting cries and moans as he parted my wet folds and used his finger to make me orgasm. Within the dream, I begged him for more, for all of him. He complied, pinning me down with his broad chest and sliding his hardness in and out of me.

  He made love to me the same way he had that last night together. Like, true love making. Not sex, not a one night stand. True love! I’d tried to banish all those feeling and thoughts, and now because of this stupid dream, they came rushing back in. Amir owned me—at least, in the dream—he completely possessed my body, causing a raft of cravings to erupt and seek release. He held me and made me feel safe, and then he gave me rapturous, blissful escape.

  I woke up calling his name. Then I fell back against my pillows crying. My body was still recovering from the orgasm, and when I touched myself my hand came away soaked with lubrication. How? From just a freakin’ dream? From just two nights with a man I didn’t know?

  I stayed in bed the entire next day, and by the following, I sorely needed a shower. I was in just my sweatpants and a ratty old T-shirt and my hair was up in a knot on top of my head. I didn’t have on any makeup and even to myself, my reflection looked horrible. Anna called, but I let it go to a message knowing it was really late for her, and she would be heading to bed. If this were a normal Saturday, I would have been out and either working or grocery shopping.

  I called and ordered pizza and then plopped on the couch to wait for the delivery. After only ten minutes, there was a small knock on my door. Thinking it was the pizza—but much quicker than normal—I didn’t hesitate to swing the door wide, twenty dollar bill in hand.

  Oh no. “Amir? What are you doing here?”

  His handsome grin instantly sent jello to my knees, and I clutched the door to stay upright. “Hello, beautiful. I missed you.”

  It had been almost two months, and I’d not heard a word from him and now here he was. I was mortified at my unkempt appearance, and then I suddenly cursed Anna in my head thinking she’d told him. I stood there with my mouth hanging open in shock, blocking the doorway. Amir casually waited, crossing his hands in front of himself as I sagged and swore and gripped the door for dear life.

  “Will you not let me in?” he finally asked.

  “Oh yeah—sorry—sure.” I stepped aside, and as he passed, I straightened my shirt the best I could and pulled up my pants.

  Instead of sitting on the couch, he turned to me and put both hands at my hips, gazing into my eyes. He reached over me and swung the door shut, still wordlessly holding me in rapturous sway. “Have you come to your senses?” he asked.

  I darted my eyes, thinking. “Um…”

  He chuckled and repositioned his hands so one was at my neck and one was at my lower back, and he pulled me into his hard body.

  “Ohhhhh,” I managed to sigh as he slated his mouth to mine, wasting no time and kissing me as if we were an old couple having only been apart a few hours.

  When he pulled back, leaving me limp and breathless, he said three words that again rendered me useless and speechless. “You are mine, Julie.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I stuttered through an odd nodding and head shaking response and then peeled myself away from Amir’s chest. I ached to stay in his arms and feel his strength and that elusive peace I seemed only capable of feeling when I was with him. The odd sense of living in an incomplete state had haunted me since I left Dubai, and now, in this moment, I felt whole for the first time in months.

  He let me wander towards the small kitchen—away from him—as I caught my breath. “I will sit,” he announced.

  I waved him to the couch and leaned against the counter. “Amir. I am sorry. I just—you just caught me off guard is all.”

  I busied myself by putting on a pot of water for tea. I put my hand on my belly as I stayed turned away from him. When he spoke, it was much closer than the couch, but I didn’t turn around. “I should have come to you sooner. I should have shown you how I felt with my actions.”

  I shook my head and remained facing away from him. I didn’t want him to see my cry. Unfortunately, my voice cracked even though I thought I had it under control. “What made you come? Did you talk to Anna?”

  “No.” He was now directly behind me. My insides shivered, and I ached for him to wrap his arms around me. �
�I came because I could no longer stay away.”

  The tears popped from my eyes and a stifled gasp escaped my mouth. My stupid emotions were bubbling close to the surface, and even though I tried my darndest, I couldn’t stop the overflow. He did come to me then, wrapping his arms around me and holding me tightly against his chest. I cupped my face in my hands and sobbed. “I’m so sorry—too emotional—I hate being a woman.” I cried as he held me with my back against his body.

  He kissed the top of my head, “I would have you no other way, princess.”

  He still didn’t understand what was happening or why I was so overly hormonal. I debated with myself if I should tell him, and I almost caved in that instant, but I didn’t. I just couldn’t make that choice, and I knew if he knew, he would insist I keep the child and marry him.

  I set my jaw and turn off the stove. “Amir, I have to talk to you. I have to—well, we just need to talk. Can you please not touch me for a while? I can’t think when you touch me.”

  I could feel his reluctance to let me go, but he did and turned without a word. I poured us some tea and decided to sit in the chair—not on the couch where he could reach me easily. He looked huge sitting in my tiny living room, on my tiny sofa. He was stunningly beautiful, and my entire body salivated at him being so near. I swallowed repeatedly, and then suddenly my stomach roiled and I knew I’m going to be sick. Dammit!

  I excused myself and rushed to the bathroom. I tried and be as quiet as possible, but I knew he could hear me retching. After mouthwash and more apologies, I took my seat and stared at him. He stared back.

  “What do you need to tell me, Julie?” his voice was an odd mix of stern and curious.

  I lifted my finger and sipped my ginger tea. “I have some questions for you, first.” He nodded and picked up his tea, dragging the tea bag through the steaming water without taking his eyes from mine. Still as unsettled as I’ve ever felt, I continued.

  “Anna just told me you are a sheikh? You have your own country? Abu Dhabi? Is that right? You’re like a king?”

  “That is correct.” He answered as if it were common knowledge.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “My status should make no difference to you.” he rejoined.

  “But it does!”

  He cocked his head, looking confused. “Why? We were simply sating a crave when we originally met.”

  “True—but—but, now it matters.”

  “Well, now you know.” I made an exacerbated sound, and he chuckled. “Yes, I am fully aware I frustrate you, Julie. You have more questions? What do you need to know?” He spread his arms in a graceful movement, not even sloshing any of his tea.

  I blurted, “Are you married?”

  “I was.”

  “Divorced?” I squeaked, thinking the Arab populous didn’t believe in divorce.

  “Widower.”

  I nodded. I wanted details, but those were not absolutely necessary at this moment. “Children? Do you have children?”

  “I had a son. He too died. He was twelve.”

  “Oh wow. I’m so sorry.”

  “I will never recover from losing them. I’ve learned how to live and move past it. It was a horrible episode in my history.” He seemed rattled that I’d dug up something he’d tried so hard to bury, and I understood.

  “I lost both of my parents when I was young. I don’t think we can ever fully heal from that kind of wound.”

  He nodded, but didn’t say anything else.

  “On a lighter note, do you mind if I ask you something kind of personal. I realize it might be a naïve question.” He motioned with his hand that I continue. “Do you have a harem?”

  He let out an ironic chuckle, “We have concubine, not harem.” I lifted my brows and gave him a half grin. “I have three women who will service me should I need them.”

  I bit my lip and gave him a solemn nod. “Three. Wow. Only three?”

  He bumped his chest in amusement, “Yes only three. I will ease your thoughts, princess. I’ve not called upon any of my women for years.”

  This gave me hope, and I tried to hide my relief. “Whatever—none of my business.”

  “You just made it your business,” he reminded me. Then he leaned forward and set his cup on the table between us.

  “Julie. How can I make myself clear? Must I confess all my sins to you? Will it ease your thoughts to know I’d not taken a lover for years? Since the death of my wife and child? Will that make you feel better? Does it help to know—you were my first lover in years? You have wrought a toll on not only my body, but my heart.”

  He covered his heart with a broad palm as emphasis. “I too thought perhaps we would simply romp, have a distracting weekend at the wedding of my best friend. Initially, I thought the same as you—just a thing? Right?”

  It sounded all wrong when he threw my words back at me in his uber-sexy masculine accented voice. I sucked in the side of my mouth, trying not to laugh. I managed a strangled, “Yeah, I guess. Yeah…”

  He continued, seeming incredibly sincere. “Julie—this is not—just a thing! How long before you admit the same?”

  I blinked at him and decided he was right, and I was wasting time. “I have to tell you something.”

  He gave me an expression indicating I needed to go on. I opened my mouth, but the words stuck. I felt the warm tears as they slid down my cheeks, and I started shaking my head. I cry-talked for a few seconds, and I knew he didn’t understand a word I said. I finally ran to my bedroom, slamming the door shut and locking it from the inside.

  He knocked and asked me to open the door. I cry-shrieked that I needed a few moments alone. I heard his footsteps as he returned to the living room. I laid on my bed and wept for far too long. I knew there was no escaping this inevitable future. A future I had never planned nor dreamt of living. But it was looming, and I knew I had to live it—with him. I cried for all that I was giving up. Part of me also cried for all that I was gaining.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Amir knocked on my door and announced, “I am going to my hotel. You will join me for dinner this evening. A car will pick you up at seven.”

  I didn’t reply. I looked at the clock and sagged back against my bed. I had hours and decided I needed a nap. I knew I had to meet him. If I didn’t, he would come and carry me out. Or he’d just enter and fill my apartment with more of his powerful self.

  How was I going to tell him? I didn’t want him to feel as if I were playing him or as if I were trying to snag my own sheikh. I wasn’t. I actually wished I’d never gone down that road—never let him touch me. I thought back and wondered how things might have gone if I’d never let him near me. I replayed my memories from the first moment I saw him—looking at me like a hunter and I was in his sights.

  The first time our eyes locked, I knew. I had to be honest with myself. It was one of those moments when time stands still or moves in slow motion. Just him and me as the rest of the room faded away into oblivion. I felt the weight of his gaze as if he’d touched me. Even Anna had felt it from across their table that night. What had I said to her? I was defiled—contaminated—a man like him would never want a woman like me. What a crock. I was grasping at straws even then.

  Amir and I were probably meant to be. One of those stupid love stories where no matter how hard we try, we can’t stay apart. I still fought within myself. Hoping against hope that I could magically be okay without him in my life. Still full of numerous doubts—way more than I had hopes it would work out.

  I struggled to make myself presentable. My eyes were so puffy and swollen I really couldn’t do much with them. I washed and straightened my hair, and I put on a denim skirt that hit me mid-thigh. Instead of heels, I wore a tall pair of leather boots and no nylons. I tried on every bra I owned, but none fit my new much larger breasts. So I opted for a tank top under a sweater.

  I descended the stairs promptly at five to seven, and as promised a limo was waiting. The driver was just co
ming around the car and nodded at me, “Miss Stanley?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent, His Majesty sent me.”

  His Majesty? I was suddenly re-petrified, and my legs shook as I walked to the waiting open door. I expected to be alone, but one large man sat in the passenger seat in the front. He looked over his shoulder and gave me one quick nod before the privacy glass rose and I was alone in the cavernous vehicle. I noticed the bar with decanters full of golden and amber liquids, probably the best on earth. I could so go for a drink—or ten—right now. Then I remembered my pregnancy and halted my progress to the liquor I so desperately needed.

  My hands were still shaking when the limo came to a halt in front of an exclusive bistro in downtown Boston. I’d eaten here once when Anna’s dad was in town and took us all out. Otherwise, I could never afford to eat in a place like this. When the door opened, a large hand was proffered to help me out. I knew it was Amir, and I gratefully set my hand in his. Almost instantly, my entire body settled. His calming effect on me was a truly miraculous thing.

  He held my hand and let his eyes travel over my semi-casual outfit. “You are the most beautiful woman in the entire world.”

  I pfffffted at him and he grinned. Then he traced a finger across my cheek, and my eyes went half-mast. I sighed and whispered, “How do you do that?”

  “Do what, my princess?”

  I blinked as I refocused on his handsome face, “Calm me instantly.”

  His expression was one of extreme satisfaction. “There is no greater gift a man can give his female. You should take that as an omen.”

  I pffffted again and he chuckled, and we went into the restaurant. Our table was private and candle lit, and when he pulled my chair around so that I was sitting directly next to him—not acres away—I knew he was not going to play any games with my fragile state of mind. I sat and smoothed my skirt, and my hands started shaking again.