SECRETS OF A PREGNANT PRINCESS

by Carla Cassidy

  "Very well." Abdul stood. "I have the necessary paperwork in the other room. I'll just go get it and we can have my wife and son be witnesses."

  "You don't have to sign a prenuptial agreement," Samira said to him once Abdul had left them alone in the room. "If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't be marrying you."

  "I appreciate that, Samira, but signing a prenup is a smart thing to do."

  "I have no intention of ever getting a divorce," she repeated and her eyes held an appeal, a need to hear the same sentiment from him. He didn't disappoint her.

  "Nor do I," he replied. "I am in this for life, Samira." He meant it. He would not be the one to ever seek a divorce. However, he knew there was a strong possibility that when they returned to Tamir, she would.

  This marriage was agreeable to her now because she was afraid of her parents, afraid to go home without being married. Once she returned to her home and to her life as a princess, Farid didn't expect the marriage to last. He was already prepared for the end before the marriage had even officially begun.

  She would meet a man her equal, a man who could give her the hearts-and-flowers kind of love that she obviously believed in. A love he didn't believe in.

  However, no matter how long or short the marriage, to the outside world, the child she carried would be Farid's, and he would be in the child's life for as long as he was wanted and needed.

  Both Samira and Farid stood as Abdul reentered the room, this time flanked by a tall young man who resembled him and a short, squat woman with graying hair. Abdul introduced the two to Farid as Aziz, his eldest son, and Iraina, his wife.

  "I have typed up a brief prenup." He handed a copy to Farid and a copy to Samira. It was brief, merely stating that each would leave the marriage with the same assets they had when they entered into the marriage. "If you'll both sign my copy, then we can proceed with the ceremony."

  The ceremony to make Farid and Samira husband and wife was a short, simple one. They pronounced their desire to marry each other, then Farid was required to give Mahr. Mahr was a gift from the groom to the bride, and Farid had come prepared for such an offering.

  He withdrew from his pocket a thin gold ring and handed it to Abdul. "It was my mother's ring," he said. She had given it to him days before she'd died, telling him to find love and to use the ring to symbolize that love.

  It was also at that time that she'd told him the secret she'd carried for years, a secret that had ripped apart the fabric of his life and had filled him with an anger he'd yet to resolve.

  But there was no place for anger in him at the moment, and he shoved away thoughts of his mother and her deception as Abdul proclaimed them husband and wife.

  "And you may kiss the bride," Iraina exclaimed with a girlish giggle.

  Abdul rolled his eyes. "I fear that western influences have corrupted my wife."

  "But that's one of the nicer western traditions," Samira said and looked at Farid shyly. "I would not be averse to a kiss from my new husband."

  A surge of energy swept through him, an energy that brought with it a rush of heat. Kiss Samira? In the brief time he'd had to contemplate marriage to her, he'd envisioned the two of them making parenting decisions, attending social and business meetings as a couple, and sharing a living space. He hadn't thought about kissing her.

  Iraina giggled and both Abdul and his son looked at Farid in commiseration, as if to acknowledge that it was easier to bow to the wishes of their women than to fight them.

  Farid stepped closer to Samira and placed his hands on her shoulders. Her eyes shone and she parted her lips slightly. He was suddenly struck with a desire so intense it half blinded him.

  He didn't want to just kiss her. He wanted to slowly remove her dress and taste every inch of her silky, sweet skin. He wanted to cup her bare breasts in his hands and rub his thumbs across the peaks until she cried out his name with urgent need.

  Stunned by his own thoughts, he quickly shoved them away, touched his lips to hers, then stepped back from her. He thought he saw a touch of disappointment in her eyes at the brevity of the kiss, but it was there only a moment, then gone.

  They remained in Abdul's home long enough for his wife to serve them refreshments, then they got back in the rental car for the long drive back to the palace.

  "What did Abdul and your father fight about that caused the rift between them?" Farid asked, seeking any kind of conversation so they wouldn't suffer an uncomfortable silence.

  Married. They were married. The enormity of what they'd just done hadn't sunk in yet. He wondered later if he'd have regrets or not.

  "I don't know. I remember at the time my mother said it was nothing more than male foolishness. Both Abdul and my father are very proud men." She frowned and looked down at the ring she wore.

  "You're frightened of how your father will accept our news?" He guessed at what was on her mind.

  She smiled at him, as if pleased that he'd read her mind. "Frightened is too strong a word – concerned is more like it. Although I would have been far more concerned if I was going back to Tamir unmarried and pregnant." She sighed. "I just hate confrontation, and I know there is sure to be one with my father when we return."

  A wave of protectiveness rose up inside him. "If and when you have that confrontation, you won't be having it alone. I'll be standing right next to you."

  She flashed him a smile that once again sent a fluttering heat through him. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and focused his attention on the road ahead.

  Their conversation on the ride home remained light and easy. They talked about the landscape, the country of Montebello, and of the celebrations that would take place in five months' time when Prince Lucas would take the crown in January.

  By the time they reached the outskirts of the piazza just outside the palace gates night was falling and they were both ready for another meal.

  They returned the car to the rental place, then walked to the Red Dragon Inn for a late dinner. He could tell she was weary by the time they'd finished eating. As they walked back to the guest house, her eyes were drooping and she had grown quiet.

  "I think the princess who used to love to stay up late has disappeared," he observed.

  She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, then laughed. "I don't know what's the matter with me lately. I can't seem to get enough sleep."

  "That's because you're sleeping for two." He frowned as they entered the guest house. "Aren't you supposed to be taking special vitamins or something?"

  "Yes, and as soon as we get back to Tamir I'll go to the doctor for the prescription and a complete check-up."

  "That's important," Farid said. "My son must be strong and healthy."

  She looked at him in surprise and he realized it was the first time he'd made reference to her baby being his. "And if it's a daughter?" she asked.

  "Then she will be beautiful and healthy."

  She patted the sofa next to her and he sat down. "What would you prefer, Farid? A son or a daughter?"

  As always, when seated so close to her, his head was filled with her sweet feminine scent. When had he become so aware of her as a woman? Always before he'd managed to think of her as a princess … a sexless entity to be admired from afar, to be protected at all costs.

  Funny, because he'd never had a long-term relationship with a woman, the possibility of having children had never entered his mind. Now he found himself contemplating the joys and heartaches of children.

  "A boy will cause us sleepless nights. He'll fight our authority, ignore our curfews and take us to the brink of madness before he finally becomes a man." He smiled softly. "But, a girl … a girl will simply break our hearts."

  "That is positively dismal," Samira exclaimed.

  He laughed. "Ah, but amid the heartache will be the greatest joys of our lives. Boy or girl … as long as it's healthy, I'll love either."

  She reached out and took one of his hands in hers. "Thank you, Farid. Simply saying thank you see
ms so inadequate for what you've done for me." Tears suddenly glistened in her eyes and she released his hand and stood. "I must be overtired, because I'm getting emotional. I think I'll just go on to bed."

  "Good night, Samira."

  She murmured a good-night, then disappeared into the bedroom. Farid remained seated on the sofa, thinking about the day's events.

  Married. He was married to Princess Samira of Tamir. He was responsible not only for her safety and for providing for her, but he was also responsible for her happiness. They had bound their lives together.

  A temporary arrangement in all likelihood, he reminded himself.

  She didn't love him and he didn't love her, but surely they could find some sense of contentment with one another for the time they shared together.

  He admired many things about her. Her gentleness, her generosity and the quickness of her sweet smiles. She was more than easy to look at, and there had been moments over the past twenty-four hours when her smile and her touch had stoked a simmering ember of heat in the pit of his stomach.

  "Farid?"

  He turned toward the bedroom at the sound of her voice and his breath froze in his chest at the sight of her. She stood in the doorway, clad in a long, silky white nightgown with spaghetti straps. She looked lovelier than Farid had ever seen her before.

  "If we are going to make my parents believe that we married for love, then it's important that we share the same bed." Her cheeks grew more and more pink as she spoke. "We should get accustomed to sharing a bed before we return to Tamir."

  He nodded. "Then I'll be in there in just a few minutes."

  "All right," she replied and once again disappeared from the doorway.

  Farid drew in a deep breath. He hadn't thought about the sleeping arrangements. He hadn't considered that they would be sleeping side by side in the same bed.

  When he had thought about marrying her, he hadn't considered the intimacy that was inherent in a marriage even if the two people involved weren't having sex.

  Drawing another deep breath, he stood. It was no big deal, he told himself. He could sleep in the same bed with Samira.

  He checked to make sure the doors were locked, then turned out the living-room light. Moonlight danced in the bedroom window, sending in enough illumination that he could easily see her on the right side of the bed, the sheet pulled up to just below her chin.

  Her eyes were closed as if she'd already fallen asleep, but he knew she wasn't asleep by her irregular breathing. He knew by her pretending to be asleep she was hoping an awkward situation would be less awkward.

  He moved to the empty side of the bed and eased down on the mattress. Quickly he removed his shoes and socks, then unstrapped the gun he'd been wearing on his ankle.

  He normally wore the gun in a shoulder holster beneath his suit jacket, but since Samira had insisted he not wear his uniform the past two days, he now wore the gun hidden at his ankle.

  He placed the loaded weapon on the nightstand, then pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on a nearby chair. Samira's scent enveloped him, creating a small ball of heat in the pit of his stomach.

  Why did he feel so ridiculously nervous? There had been times in his past working royal security that he had literally faced death, but he couldn't remember being as nervous as he was at this moment.

  Standing up, he removed his slacks, then slid beneath the sheet. He lay on his back, afraid to move a single muscle as his mind filled with a vision of her in her nightgown.

  The white of the gown had made her olive skin look rich and warm, and the upper portion of her breasts had been visible above the neckline.

  The ball of heat in the pit of his stomach expanded as he thought how easy it would be to touch her skin right now. All he had to do was reach out across the width of the mattress, and he would encounter her warm, sweet skin.

  He squeezed his eyes tightly closed in an attempt to banish the mental image and was instantly suffused with the memory of the brief kiss they had shared.

  Despite the fact that his mouth had touched hers for only a moment, it had been long enough for him to recognize that her lips were achingly soft.

  Farid sighed, realizing that he just might have underestimated the difficulty of the celibacy issue.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  «^»

  Samira awoke as dawn's light was stealing through the window. Warmth. She was surrounded by it, a sweet warmth that made her reluctant to move.

  She drifted in the twilight place between unconscious sleep and complete wakefulness, no conscious thoughts disturbing her overall sense of well-being and security.

  It wasn't until she became aware of a strange noise that the last vestige of sleep fell away and complete consciousness swept in.

  Farid.

  Beneath her cheek she could feel his warm, firm flesh, and in an instant she realized she was lying sprawled across his bare chest and the sound that had awakened her was the faint snoring that emitted from him.

  She had never awakened in a man's arms before and the pleasure she now felt caused her pulse to accelerate. His arm was around her, his hand resting in the small of her back with a sweet intimacy that sleep had bred.

  She was afraid to move, and equally afraid not to. It would be embarrassing if he were to awaken and discover her shamelessly draped over him.

  But she didn't want to leave the evocative warmth of his arms. She wanted to linger here, with his bare skin against hers, his male scent surrounding her. He smelled so wonderfully alien to her – a clean scent mixed with spicy cologne and a maleness that was intoxicating.

  Cautiously, she raised her head, reassured when there was no break in his soft snoring. As he continued to sleep, she took the opportunity to study him.

  His long, dark lashes cast spiderlike shadows beneath his eyes that gave him an air of vulnerability that was instantly appealing. His mouth was slightly open and his strong features appeared softer in sleep.

  Last night had been the first time she'd ever heard him laugh, and she'd been stunned by how the wonderful sound had seemed to wrap itself around her heart.

  In the past two days, since the moment he'd proposed to her, she'd seen a side of Farid she'd never seen before. There had been moments when he'd seemed softer … almost gentle. So unlike the arrogant, distant, unemotional man she'd believed him to be.

  She found her gaze focused on his mouth and she remembered the kiss they'd shared the day before at the end of their marriage ceremony.

  The kiss had been brief … far too brief. But when his lips had touched hers, they had been sweetly warm and she now wondered what it would be like to receive a real, lingering kiss from him.

  She closed her eyes and imagined it … his mouth taking possession of hers as his hands tangled in her hair. His tongue seeking hers as he sought to deepen the kiss. Ah, the vision took her breath away.

  She opened her eyes and squeaked in surprise as she realized he was awake and gazing at her. She quickly rolled over onto her own side of the bed, aware of a small grin of amusement curving his lips.

  "Good morning," he said.

  "Good morning," she murmured as she closed her eyes and fought off a sudden wave of nausea. Apparently she'd moved too quickly. Morning sickness threatened to overtake her.

  "Are you all right?" His voice held a residual bit of sleepiness in it, making it deeper than usual and oddly provocative.

  She didn't open her eyes, in truth was afraid to. She wasn't sure she was ready to see him all tousle-haired and bare-chested. "I'm okay. I'm just feeling a little bit nauseous."

  "Then just lay here and relax," he said. "It's still early."

  She felt him get out of bed. She heard the rustling noise of clothing and knew he was getting dressed. She kept her eyes closed and some of her tension left her as she heard the sound of the bathroom door opening, then closing.

  She wasn't sure which was worse, the awkwardness of waking up in a bed with a man she hardly kn
ew, or the queasiness that threatened to erupt into something worse at any moment.

  At least the morning sickness had alleviated some of the embarrassment of waking up to find herself draped over Farid like a blanket.

  She heard the bathroom door open once again and gasped in surprise as a cool compress was laid across her forehead. Her eyes sprang open. Farid stood by the side of the bed, gazing down at her with undisguised concern.

  "Thank you," she said as she reached up to touch the cool, folded cloth.

  He nodded. "I don't know if it will help or not, but it's the only thing I knew to do."

  "It's helping already," she replied. She forced a smile. "Don't look so worried. Morning sickness is perfectly normal."

  "Does it last long?"

  "I hope not," she said. "Actually, I've heard it usually passes within the third or fourth month of pregnancy."

  His look of concern eased somewhat. "Is there anything else I can do for you? Anything I can get for you?"

  "No, thanks. I'll just lie here a few more minutes and it will pass."

  He shifted from one foot to the other as if reluctant to go, yet eager to leave. "Then I'll just let you rest."

  She watched as he left the room and pulled the bedroom door closed behind him. Her thoughts were filled with him.

  Farid Nasir.

  Her husband.

  She looked at the slender band of gold that encircled her finger. The ring was simple and relatively inexpensive, but the thought that it had been his mother's and he'd given it to Samira, touched her. As did the fact that he had made her a cold compress for her head.

  She reached up and turned the cloth over. Farid Nasir was a man of many facets. She'd believed him to be cold and arrogant, and there was a touch of those qualities in him, but there were so many others to explore as well.

  She knew now that he had a wonderful sense of humor. She'd not only seen it sparkling from his eyes, but had heard it in the robust laughter he'd released the night before.

  He also had a surprisingly gentle center, displayed as he'd held the lost little girl in the piazza, exhibited when he'd spoken of the baby she carried and apparent in the gift of a cold compress for her head.