“Another blessing,” she agreed.
Abi took only a few moments to enjoy the peace before smiling up at her husband. “You can let them in.”
He shook his head. “It is too soon.”
“Nonsense.”
He stood. He was torn between paternalistic pride to show off his daughter and a soul-deep need to provide comfort for his wife.
“I’m fine,” she promised.
He moved to the door and pushed it open. Beyond it stood a huddle of nervous, excited loved ones. Annette, of course, holding Michael against her shoulder. Lilah looking like she was about to jump out of her skin, and Will, who had become somewhat of a fixture at the palace. Even Kiral’s uncle was there, his eyes glimmering and his expression glowing. As they moved into the room, the uncle stopped long enough to put a hand on Kiral’s shoulder. “You have fixed it all,” he said seriously. “You have done what I could not.”
The cryptic remark was not something Kiral could interpret at that time. He simply nodded and put a hand around his uncle’s slender shoulders. “Come and meet our daughter.”
“She’s divine,” Lilah sighed. “A little angel on earth.”
“There’s about ten thousand people waiting downstairs to hear about her, too,” Will said with a rueful grin at his friend. “And you thought your people wouldn’t accept Abi as their Queen?”
Abi’s cheeks flushed. It had become a source of great teasing for her husband that Abi had become more adored and revered than anyone could have foreseen. Her popularity outstripped his in every way. The cruel article that had been written about her had sparked a kind of national outrage. People were clamouring to defend her and point out how brave she had been to raise a sick child on her own simply because she respected the royal customs of Delani. She had been touted as a perfect bride and even Melania, herself now married, had sent a secret note months after Abi and Ki’s wedding. We would never have married. He would never have lived without you and I always knew it. I’m pleased for you, your highness, and hope we can meet when ‘the dust settles’. M.
In the months after her daughter’s arrival, Abi thought about fate often, contemplating the magical whims that chose one path over another, then veered to a new direction out of nowhere. Fate, people’s decisions, their motivations — so many paths had run together to form this reality for Abigail. And one man’s particular choice had been, almost, the most vital. And so Abigail called for a man of whom she thought often, and always with gratitude.
The guard approached the Emira’s private office cautiously. After all, he was a lowly palace sentry, and this was the inner sanctum of the royal family.
But when he entered, Abigail stood and smiled brightly. She crossed to him and extended her hands. He did likewise in instinctive response.
“You remember me.” It was a statement rather than a question.
“Of course, your highness,” he said, bowing low.
She laughed. “If you hadn’t taken pity on me on that very hot, unbearable day, when my nerves were torn to shreds and I was certain everything was about to go wrong, I don’t know what would have become of me, or my son.”
His eyes sparkled with pleasure at the unexpected compliment. Though he had often felt relieved that things had turned out as they had, he never once felt she owed him another thought.
“You have good instincts, sir,” she said. “I respect good instincts.” She squeezed his hands and then stepped backwards. The guard couldn’t believe how beautiful and regal she looked; even as a dusty, heat-worn woman, she had been pretty, but now? She looked like she belonged in this building more perhaps than anyone ever had before.
“I want someone like you on my children’s security detail.”
He froze. “Madam,” he shook his head. “It is not, how you say, possible.”
“It is not only possible; it is done.”
“I do not have the rank necessary …”
“You do now. My husband has promoted you at my request. I believe you have, as I said, the instincts that I want around my children. They are the most precious people to both His Highness and me. If you had not acted so courageously on that day it is possible that neither Michael or Astrid would be here now.”
“You are as magnanimous as reported,” he said, his expression a mix of delight and pride. “I am in your debt.”
Her smile shone with the power of every ray of sun that had ever blessed the earth. “No, sir. We are all in yours.”
THE END
A note from Clare Connelly:
Hello, dear reader.
I hope you enjoyed THE SHEIKH’S SECRET BABY.
You might be wondering about Jalilah and Will. These two characters really jumped out at me, and the next installment in this family’s saga will focus on their lives and mysteries. I won’t tell you too much, except this: their story starts with a daring high-rise escape from a potential palace coup, and I’ve never written a couple with such different backgrounds before. Sparks fly off the page!
To be amongst the first to peek at this upcoming release, don’t forget to subscribe to my newsletter.
I adore being an Independent author.
It gives me the ability to write what I really want to write, and to share those words with you: The Reader.
Reviews are incredibly important to indie authors.
Leaving your thoughts on the Amazon or GoodReads sites (no plot reveals please!) is a great way to support Indies like me and to make sure our books find their way into the right hands… people just like you.
Following is an excerpt from SEDUCING THE SPANIARD.
SEDUCING THE SPANIARD
Clare Connelly
All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names and are pure invention.
All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.
The illustration on the cover of this book features model/s and bears no relation to the characters described within.
First published 2015
(c) Clare Connelly
Photo Credit: dollarphotoclub.com/lenets_tan
Contact Clare:
http://www.clareconnelly.co.uk
Blog: http://clarewriteslove.wordpress.com/
Email: [email protected]
Follow Clare Connelly on facebook for all the latest.
Join Clare’s Newsletter to stay up to date on all the latest CC news. http://www.clareconnelly.co.uk/subscribe.html
CHAPTER ONE
Six years ago.
Even though he was technically her step-brother, there was no escaping it. Gael Vivas was, without a shred of doubt, the epitome of roguish charm.
Carrie studied him surreptitiously from beneath her thick brown fringe. He’d just arrived from Spain that morning. She knew, because she’d heard her mother Alexandra giving instructions to the housekeeper to prepare a guest bedroom. To prepare it especially well for this important visitor. After all, Gael never visited. And he was certainly important. And special.
Apart from the odd social mixer, Carrie was woefully inexperienced with boys. The prestigious girls’ college she’d been accepted into on a full academic scholarship was hardly fertile ground for learning about matters of the heart. What she knew she’d gleaned from magazines, movies and courtesy of her friend Juanita, who’d had no problems attracting the attention of any boy she deemed worthy of her time.
But none of Juanita’s crushes were like Gael.
Her step-father’s son wasn’t a silly, childish boy. He was a man. With twenty-nine years of life experience, and the body of a brave, fearless warrior.
The English summer was getting on with a bang. It was early August and the sun was shining, the breeze was slight. Gael had dressed accordingly, in a pair of low-slung jeans and a black shirt.
Carrie’s breath caught
in her throat as he lifted his hands in the air, stretching his muscular arms after the flight to London, and the drive out to the country estate. The action caused his cotton shirt to rise a little, exposing a perfectly tanned expanse of muscled chest. Ripples of defined abdominals were visible and Carrie experienced the first rush of desire, deep in her abdomen. She wrapped her arms around her chest, but she could not look away.
His expression was nuanced. She tried to understand the emotions that flitted across his face as he scanned the elegant country mansion. Alexandra had won it in the divorce from Carrie’s father - Alexandra’s first husband. There’d been two more since then, and now there was Husband Number Four, Diego Vivas.
Did Gael like the house? Carrie hoped he did, though she couldn’t have said why it mattered so much to her. After all, he had chosen to remain distant from them; and on some level, despite her inexperience in adult matters, she suspected it had to do with a disapproval of Alexandra and Diego’s hasty marriage.
Yes, it was definitely disapproval, she thought, watching his lips twist into a grim line as he continued his slow inspection of the property. Forrest View was a stately country home, built in the early renaissance but improved on greatly in the nineteenth century. For her part, Carrie adored it. In a childhood ruptured by divorce, death and instability, Forest View had been a rock. A place of steadfast support and reliable comfort.
She adored coming back in the holidays, though Alexandra had made that difficult since marrying Diego.
For the briefest moment, Carrie’s own expression reflected the same disapproval she saw in Gael’s. But she smothered it quickly.
She loved her mother.
Alexandra was all she had. No father. No grandparents. Friends who seemed to move at a different pace to her; friends she was convinced she would lose contact with quickly enough, now that school had finished. University loomed, and with it, uncertain futures. Beyond Alexandra and Forrest View, Carrie had no idea what life had in store for her.
“Is she here?” On the one other occasion she’d met Gael, his voice had sent shivers down her spine. The spicy timbre of his tone and the gentle husk of his mysterious accent were unlike anything she’d ever known in real life. Coupled with the glint in his almost-black eyes, and the permanently sardonic expression on his strong-featured face, he was surely the most desirable man ever created.
Her heart gave a corresponding tremor as, for a brief moment, she imagined he was inquiring after her. What would it be like to have this man at your beck and call? To have this man care about you, and ask after you? She bit down on her full lower lip, wishing beyond measure that he would look at her as he had the supermodel he’d brought to the wedding.
She leaned against the building, taking comfort from the ancient stone wall. He walked with an economy of movement that was innate to him; a stealthy, powerful gait that spoke of a contained strength ready to be unleashed. He crossed the courtyard and the white gravel crunched beneath his custom-made leather shoes.
She watched him disappear from sight and flipped backwards, pressing her spine against the building while she waited for her breathing to return to its usual speed.
Her skin deepened to a rosy hue as she contemplated going inside to see him. But what would she say? Would he even remember her? Mortification at the possibility that he might not sent a jangle of anxiety running along her spine. They’d danced together at the wedding, the year before. It had been a month to the day after her sixteenth birthday, and she’d then considered herself quite the adult. After all, wasn’t that the threshold of womanhood?
Her cheeks flamed as she remembered the way his hard body had felt against her own soft, generous flesh. His hands had held her lightly, impersonally, and her heart had pounded in her chest. She’d barely been able to speak, for the way his touch had sent her nerves rioting.
And now?
She’d find out soon enough.
She moved up the stairs slowly, trying to conceal the way her legs were unsteady beneath her. She’d changed into a flowing dress when she’d overheard Alexandra’s stern instructions to the housekeeper. It was a beautiful dress, though it did little to conceal her over-full waist and rounded bottom. She had always wanted to be reed-thin like her mother, but it was not her natural shape. And, as Alexandra was fond of pointing out, never would be if Carrie continued to indulge her penchant for creamy pastas and sitting around studying. So what if achieving her excellent academic results had required hours of sedentary desk-time? Alexandra had never taken much pride in Carrie’s scholastic achievements. She’d wished, frequently and obviously, for a daughter who followed after her, in terms of looks.
And that was certainly not Carrie.
Her lips twisted wistfully as she walked purposefully past a photograph of her mother, taken at the height of her modelling fame. She had been one of the top-paid supermodels of the eighties; renowned for her slender, fragile beauty and enormous pale blue eyes. Now, in her early fifties, Alexandra was no less beautiful, and no less vain.
“Carrie.”
She froze in her tracks, halfway down the stately corridor. So he did remember her, at least. She turned, trying to affect an expression of nonchalance on her heart-shaped face.
“Gael,” she responded, cursing inwardly at the slight tremor in her breathy voice. She forced a smile to her face, as she looked up into his stormy dark eyes. “Welcome to Forrest View.”
He nodded, though it was obvious that he was making an effort to relax his stern expression. “Thank you. I’m only here briefly. Where is my father?”
Carrie couldn’t help the sympathetic grimace. “He spends most of his time in bed.”
“I see. And your mother?” Carrie knew she wasn’t imagining the slight curl of disdain that coloured his words.
She regarded him sharply, confusion making her eyes linger a little on his face. “She’ll be back soon. She had some business in town.”
“I see.” His lips were just a line in his face. “Do you know which room I’m to use?”
“Of course,” she nodded nervously. “I suspect you’re tired after your journey.”
His face relaxed completely, and he actually smiled at her properly now. “Not especially. I am hungry, though.”
“Hungry? Why don’t you … I mean … why don’t you come to the kitchen and I’ll fix you a sandwich.”
He grinned and shrugged. “Sure.” He fell into step beside her, and matched his stride to her shorter one. “My father tells me you have done extremely well at school.”
Her heart turned over at the idea of Gael expressing an interest in her. Even in something as benign as her academic achievements. She nodded modestly. “I was lucky with my final exams.”
He shot her a droll look of amusement. “I doubt luck had anything to do with it.”
Her smile was genuine. “Of course it plays a part. The questions catered well to my knowledge.”
“Knowledge you obtained by studying long and hard.”
She dipped her head forward in a silent concession. Her brown hair fell like a curtain.
“What do you intend to study at university?”
“I’ve been accepted into English at Oxford, and Economics at Cambridge.”
“Economics and English? Two vastly different courses. Which is your preference?”
She shrugged. “I like the idea of both. I just want to learn. I can’t wait to get to university.” Her smile was overflowing with enthusiasm. “I can’t imagine what it will be like to be surrounded by people who are smart and motivated and totally wrapped up in academia.”
He walked quietly beside her, his brain ticking over. “But surely of the two you have an area that interests you most?”
Carrie bit down on her lip. “I don’t know. I mean, I love both. And for different reasons. I’m going to tour the campuses and then make my choice.” She slowed her pace and tilted her face to look at him. “What do you recommend?”
“Me?” Gael was not comfortab
le advising her. He scanned her face thoughtfully, unsure exactly what it was about this young English woman that made him uneasy. “I couldn’t say.”
“But you studied economics, didn’t you?” She pushed.
He let out a slow sigh. “I did.”
“And are you glad?”
“Am I glad?” His brow furrowed. “It serves me well. But I did not attend university for enjoyment; I studied as a means to an end.”
“Right. To run your father’s company.”
His laugh was a humourless tone in the cavernous hallway. “No. To avoid running my father’s company.”
It fascinated her. She knew that he’d taken over as chairman of Vivas Industries straight out of college, and that it was still one of the companies that was controlled under the umbrella of his own corporation. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand?” She prompted, her interest undisguised.
“No,” he agreed quietly, his dark eyes probing her face gently. “I would say you don’t.” He shook his head, as if to physically shift the conversation. “I am sure you’ll enjoy whichever degree you choose.”
She nodded slowly, her eyes drawn to his face. She had never anticipated having such an easy conversation with him. Up close, he was so much more fascinating than from a distance. When they’d danced at the wedding, she’d been too nervous to properly appreciate the details. The light smattering of freckles across the tanned bridge of his nose; the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. She fumbled her fingers in front of her.
“What kind of sandwich would you like?” She asked, as she stepped ahead of him into the kitchen.
The Sheikh's Secret Baby: Nothing stays hidden forever ... Page 18
