Sheikh Obsessions - A Sheikh Romance Box Set

by Holly Rayner

  “Do you have heartburn yet?” Hassan asked, and Morgan laughed.

  “Not yet, but it’s good to know you are aware of all the possible symptoms I might endure as we move forward.”

  “Mmm,” Hassan said, taking a bite and chewing it thoughtfully. “Where do you want to go, Morgan? Is there anywhere you’d like to raise a family?”

  Morgan thought about that. She knew that Florida was out of the question, as was Houston. To her surprise, she wasn’t exactly sad about leaving Texas behind.

  “What if we just travel, take on the open road until we find a place that suits us best? Before the baby comes, we can pick a spot and make a new life for ourselves there.”

  Hassan grinned. “I like that idea. A new start for us both, and a good life for our little one.”

  A clap of thunder erupted then, making Morgan jump. Hassan was at her side in a flash, and she gazed up at him with a rueful grin.

  “Who knew you even got rain out here?”

  Hassan gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Sometimes we do. Looks like this one will be a tempest.”

  They stood and gazed out the window, Hassan standing behind Morgan, cradling her against his body. The rain began to pummel the ground in waves, the wind tossing the droplets this way and that.

  “I’d like to go somewhere we can still see the stars,” Hassan said, brushing his lips against her temple.

  Morgan shivered, nestling in closer to him. “Of course. Where else would we be?” she said.

  “I know you grew up in the city. It might be a lifestyle you’re used to,” he said, his voice doubtful.

  Morgan turned in the circle of his arms and looked up at him. “Hassan, that night we spent out in the desert was one of the best of my life. I’ve never seen so many stars, felt the vastness of everything. I would give anything to spend my life feeling that way with you.”

  Hassan kissed her then, a cherishing, gentle kiss. When he pulled back he said, “There’s just something I have to take care of, before we go. I can do it tomorrow. Until then, let’s get some sleep, mm?”

  Morgan pressed her hand to her mouth as her third yawn of the evening forced its way to the surface. She wanted nothing more than to finally get some sleep, and gratefully accepted a pair of shorts and shirt Hassan kept in one of the drawers.

  She changed in the bathroom, rubbing her teeth with some toothpaste. She was too tired to go out to her car to get her bag, so that would have to do for the moment.

  When she walked back into the room, Hassan was already under the blanket, his shirt once again removed. Morgan breathed in the scent of him, relishing in how small she felt wearing his clothing. He held up the blanket for her to snuggle in, which she did, happily.

  Hassan wrapped his body around her in a warm cocoon, and Morgan took a few deep breaths, listening to the rain pattering on the roof. It was the last sound she remembered before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  THIRTEEN

  Morgan could feel rather than see warm sunlight pouring onto her pillow. She stretched out, and her arm bumped into a man-like shape. Cracking her eyelids open, she found Hassan staring at her with adoration.

  Her smile was shy as she peeked up at him. “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Ten,” Hassan answered, and her eyes opened fully.

  “What?!” She lifted herself onto an elbow and gazed at the red glowing numbers of the bedside clock. Had she really slept in that late? Morgan hadn’t slept past 7AM in years!

  “Morgan, you’re growing a person in there. Your body is craving rest,” Hassan said, lifting her hand and kissing her fingertips.

  Morgan tried to ignore the fire that was sparking in her body. She placed a hand on her belly, and Hassan’s quickly followed.

  “I haven’t really come to terms with the reality of it yet,” she said, loving the feeling of his warm hand on hers, both of them cradling their unborn child.

  “I think it takes a while to sink in, especially when it’s unplanned,” Hassan said, resting his head in the crook of her neck.

  “I was so scared you wouldn’t want it—wouldn’t want me,” she whispered.

  Hassan lifted his head then and looked her straight in the eye. “Morgan, I want you to know this. The night I first saw you, I felt something I can’t even begin to describe. When we went back to the shack, you were so honest with me. You understood my situation, and you didn’t try to force me to live my life against my will. I’ve never met a woman who is so kind and compassionate. Add to that the fact that you’re beautiful—you’re the perfect catch. I will always want you. Always,” he breathed, kissing her cheek.

  Morgan realized then that tears were escaping from her eyes, and she hastily brushed them away.

  “It’s okay to cry,” Hassan said, taking her hand and wiping another tear away. “This is an emotional experience, Morgan. Allow yourself to feel.”

  “Thank you,” Morgan choked, no longer holding back.

  When she was able to look back up at him, she beamed. “You’re my perfect catch, too, for the record,” she said, and he laughed.

  He kissed her then, making love to her with gentle adoration as the sunlight of a new day spread across the room.

  Afterward, Morgan took a rejuvenating shower and changed into a new set of clothes, Hassan having brought in her bag. She then waited for him to pack up his things so they could go on their next big adventure…whatever that was. It took him only a few minutes to shower, pull his few clothing items from the drawers and place them in his bike pouch.

  When they’d both zipped up their bags, Hassan strapped his onto the side of his bike and gave Morgan a quick kiss.

  “Just follow me. This won’t take long,” he said, his expression unreadable. He pulled out of the parking lot, Morgan following behind.

  They drove for about twenty minutes before a dingy, hole-in-the-wall biker bar became visible on the left. The parking lot was full of street bikes and a few motorists having jaunty conversations in little groups. Morgan owned the only car in the lot, and she pulled in a safe distance away from the bikes. Whatever Hassan needed to take care of, it clearly wasn’t with the best of characters.

  Morgan turned off the ignition and reached into her glove compartment, realizing with a sigh that in her haste to leave she must have forgotten her gun back at home. Damn.

  She exited her car and was met with the piercing stares of about twenty rough-looking bikers. Keeping her eyes on Hassan, she quickly joined him, not missing the lifted eyebrows of some of the men outside.

  Hassan smiled calmly down at her, as though they were just going to a pleasant brunch, and not what was clearly biker gang central. “You look lovely,” he said, planting a kiss on her forehead as they entered the bar.

  From the corners of the bar, men cast hungry gazes at Morgan, but when they saw Hassan their eyes immediately darted back down to their tables.

  “You’ve certainly left an impression among the down-and-out of society,” Morgan said as Hassan pulled out a chair at an empty table for her to sit in.

  After she was seated he took the chair across from her, facing the door. He stared at it before looking back at Morgan. “Being a member of Daryl Trent’s crowd tends to have that effect,” he said.

  “Why?” Morgan asked, keen to see how much Hassan was going to trust her with the darker side of his past.

  To her surprise, he grinned.

  “Daryl doesn’t mess around, and he’s got some ins at the police station. Somehow he always manages to get released from jail shortly after being arrested, no matter what the crime. That kind of freedom has allowed him to get away with whatever he wants.”

  “So how did you get involved with him?”

  Hassan shrugged. “How does anyone? I needed money, he liked my muscle, and I was able to do a few quick and easy jobs for him that brought in more dough.”

  Seeing the critical look on Morgan’s face, Hassan put his hands up in a defensive gesture.

  “No
, nothing violent or anything like that. Mostly robberies, done under the cover of night. After a few weeks I realized I’d gotten in a little too deep with Daryl when he ‘asked’ me to do a job for him that would involve assault. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it, but I needed the money. He gave it to me in advance, trusting that I would do the job, then I hopped on my bike and headed out this way. Heard he was pretty steamed up about it,” Hassan said with a grin.

  “That’s pretty cavalier. I’ve seen the guy, Hassan—you could be in real danger. He has connections, too.”

  Morgan felt a pang of fear. What had he gotten himself into, just to experience a new kind of life?

  Hassan reached for her hand across the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “It won’t matter, Morgan. We’ll be long gone right after I finish my business here,” he said, casting another glance at the doorway.

  “Who are you—” Morgan began to ask, but before she could finish, a heavyset man strolled in wearing jeans and a patterned shirt, and Hassan stood.

  Catching sight of him, the man froze like a deer caught in headlights. Morgan saw him visibly sigh as he walked over to Hassan.

  “Sheikh. I figured you’d be around here at some point.”

  Hassan’s smile was tight. “I’m glad to hear you’ve been waiting for my arrival. Now, Carlos, I’m going to need that money you owe me.”

  “That was weeks ago!” the guy said.

  Morgan watched several droplets of sweat streak down the man’s face. Whatever their deal was, he was scared. A shiver ran down her spine, and she could feel something very bad was about to happen.

  Hassan took a step closer to the man, who, Morgan noticed, was wearing a name tag: Carlos Santiago, Bar Manager.

  “Which means you owe me a lot of money, right?” Hassan said, his gaze intense.

  Carlos raised a trembling hand. “That money doesn’t belong to you, Sheikh!” he shouted.

  Morgan realized then that the bar was absolutely silent. Everyone was watching this interaction with rapt attention, beers untouched. That was how she was able to hear the door open, and see Daryl Trent walk in, carrying a pistol.

  “He’s right,” Daryl said, cocking his weapon and pointing it at Hassan.

  Men all around them slowly rose from their tables and exited, clearly not wanting to bear witness to whatever was about to go down.

  Daryl only had eyes for Hassan, and was taking long strides in their direction. “Thought you’d get away with robbing me, Sheikh?”

  Hassan grinned, fearless, and Morgan wished she could feel the same. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she forced herself to calm down. The situation would not improve by her panicking.

  “I did, and I think I still will, once Carlos here gives me the money I’m owed.”

  “That money belongs to me,” Daryl hissed, placing a hand on Carlos’ shoulder. The poor man nearly jumped out of his boots. “Get my money, Carlos. Now.”

  Carlos scurried back behind the bar, and Morgan wondered if he would actually come back with money or simply abandon the place altogether.

  Daryl’s gun was still pointed at Hassan, as was his deadly stare. He didn’t even notice Morgan sitting an arm’s length away from him.

  “I trusted you, Sheikh. I treated you like a brother.”

  “Which must explain why you don’t have any siblings left. Working for you is enough to make anyone run for the hills.”

  “So you admit that you’re a coward?” Daryl spat, wanting to bait Hassan.

  Hassan shrugged coolly at this. “As much as any man, I want to stay alive. I just realized my chances of doing that would be greater if I disassociated myself from you. ‘Disassociated’ means ‘get the hell away from you’, by the way.”

  “I know what it means!” Daryl shouted, though Morgan had her doubts. She could feel his patience waning. His grin turned cold. “I’ve been waiting for far too long to shoot your ass down.”

  Daryl took another step forward, and Morgan seized her chance. Kicking a leg out, she tripped Daryl, causing him to fall forward onto the dirty wooden floor. Hassan jumped on top of him and Morgan rose, standing away from the melee as Hassan and Daryl struggled on the ground, fighting for control of the gun. As they twisted around, a shot rang out, before Hassan slammed a punch into Daryl’s face, knocking him out completely.

  As Morgan looked around for where the gunshot had landed, she slowly realized a pain erupting in her side. Glancing down, she watched in horror as blossom of blood began to flower against her shirt, above her hip. She pressed her fingertips to the wound, a fresh streak of blood coating her fingertips.

  “Hassan?” she whispered, glancing up from her wound to see him tossing Daryl into a corner of the bar.

  When he met her gaze, his eyes darkened with fear. “Morgan!” he cried, rushing to her side.

  Her knees buckled then, and as she landed in his arms the last thing she remembered was the sight of his face before the world turned to black.

  FOURTEEN

  Morgan was sitting in a field of bright green grass. The landscape was lush and beautiful, and it stretched out as far as she could see. Glancing up, the sky was an ethereal shade of blue, and she realized she was sitting under a tree. A man was approaching from a distance, and she watched quietly as he grew closer and closer.

  It was Morgan’s father.

  “Hi, pumpkin,” he said as he reached the tree, taking a seat next to her.

  “Am I dead?” Morgan asked, remembering suddenly that she had been shot. She wondered what had happened, and if Hassan was okay. And the baby!

  “Don’t worry, everything’s fine. You’re not dead, Morgan. You’re just dreaming.”

  It felt so good to hear her father’s voice again. Morgan wondered how real this was, but suddenly didn’t care. It was a real as she wanted it to be, and that was that.

  “It’s good to see you,” she said, smiling.

  He smiled back at her, placing a gentle hand on hers. It felt so warm, so real.

  “I’m always with you, sweetheart. Never far off.”

  “Except when you’re haunting Mom, right?”

  Morgan’s father grinned. “Yes, only except then. How are you feeling, honey?”

  Morgan reached down and touched the place above her hip where her gunshot wound would be. Nothing was there—no mark or blemish.

  “I feel fine. Why?”

  “I want you to remember this feeling. You’re going to wake up soon, and it’s going to hurt a little.”

  “Dad?”

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “Is my baby going to be okay?”

  Her dad winked at her then, in that way he always did. “She’s going to be just fine.”

  Morgan’s eyes lit up as she stared at her father. Placing a gentle hand on her belly, she looked out across the field and thought she could see the profile of a little girl in the distance, but she couldn’t be sure.

  The child began to move further away, and Morgan’s father stood, brushing invisible dirt from his jeans.

  “You’re doing a good job, Morgan. Keep up the good work,” he said, turning to walk away.

  Morgan could hear a beeping noise in the distance, and knew her time was about to be up.

  “Dad?” she asked, and he turned back to face her. “Thank you, for teaching me to live my dreams. I took this job because of you—I wouldn’t have done it without your example.”

  “Sure you would have. You’re a smart kid,” he replied with a grin, turning around again.

  Morgan began to feel a pain in her side, and she pressed a hand to her wound. Her fingertips were stained with blood again, and she gasped.

  Morgan opened her eyes. The hospital room was sterile and white, a single window allowing afternoon light to pour through onto her face.

  Peering around, she took in her surroundings. She was propped up on a pile of pillows in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines and wires. Glancing down at her hand she saw an IV attached
to it, tying her to a fluid bag. She took another breath, and pulled the blanket back a little to take a look at her side.

  Beneath her hospital gown, her wound was patched up with a large piece of gauze and tape. Pulling the dressing back a little, she observed the stiches there, before replacing the bandage. It looked like a clean wound, just along her side, and far away from her womb, luckily. Still, Morgan felt a twinge of fear for her baby after being involved in such a high-stress situation. No matter what happened in her dreams, Morgan lived in the real world. She needed to know what had happened.