Taken by the Sheikh

by Mel Teshco

  She should hate him. Sometimes she did. But mostly the foolish, shredded remnants of her heart refused to believe he had meant those last words he’d slung at her.

  Khalid’s likeness gazed back at her. Although her medium of choice was usually paint, this time she’d used pencil. His aristocratic good looks and the faintest hint of a smile on his sensual lips made her chest ache with everything she would never have again. It was crazy that she had finished this portrait so quickly, especially when she was relying on nothing but her memory, but she had worked like a creature possessed.

  She’d lost her job at the supermarket and hardly even cared. She’d snatched a few hours sleep when her eyes refused to remain open, and Clara had forced her to eat when she had rather kept on working.

  Compared to her other work this one was a miniature. Just his head and shoulders; with tousled hair and a look in his eyes that surely she had not merely imagined.

  He had cared about her. She would remember that, and try and forget the words that ate through her like acid. I have no wish to have the child brought up in Omana with my official heirs.

  But it was no good. The pain consumed her anyway. His heirs would also be May’s children, and May would expect Sanura to be a part of their lives. How could she tell her best friend what had really happened this week?

  They had spoken on the phone when Sanura had called to tell her Khalid had come for her. May had panicked, and this time Sanura had no words of comfort to offer. Because now she knew firsthand how powerful the Salah al Din family was.

  She tugged her fingers through her hair and stepped back from the portrait. Now it was done, bone deep exhaustion throbbed through her body. All she wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep for a week. Maybe when she woke up her mind would be clearer, and she’d no longer feel compelled to send this to Khalid.

  It was a crazy idea. But it had been the driving force behind her obsessive compulsion to commit his likeness to canvas. If she really had meant something to him, then he would know why she sent this to him and keep it for the memories. And if she hadn’t… well, then he could do whatever the hell he liked with it.

  But at least she would’ve tried to show him how much she would always love him.

  She glanced at her watch. If she wanted to catch the last post she needed to leave right now.

  As she hurried to the front door she caught sight of herself in the hall mirror. She was a mess. Her hair was tangled and there were horrible dark shadows under her eyes. But she was only going to the post office. Nobody would see her there.

  She pulled open the door and almost dropped her precious package onto the ground. Because Khalid was walking up the garden path toward her.

  *

  Khalid drove himself to Sanura’s, with only his personal bodyguard for company. He had no idea why he’d finally given into the compulsion to visit her. The letter he intended to hand deliver could just as easily be sent by courier.

  Except he knew why. It was because he had the overpowering need to see her again. Even if by seeing her did nothing but rip holes through his empty heart.

  He knew he was setting himself up for rejection. Something he had never before faced from a woman. No woman had ever thrown his gifts back in his face either, but before Sanura had left the other morning she had deposited all the things he’d bought her at the hotel’s reception.

  That was bad enough. This could be worse.

  He stopped dead as she stepped out of the house. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders and she wore a plain tee shirt with threadbare jeans.

  He had never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

  “Khalid?” Her voice was hoarse, with no hint of the contempt that had dripped from her tongue the last time she’d said his name. He couldn’t tell whether she was happy or horrified to see him.

  The letter he’d written in the early hours of the morning burned like a brand in his jacket pocket. Once he gave that to her there would be no further reason to linger.

  He closed the distance between them. “How are you?” Now he was closer he could see how exhausted she looked. Alarm stabbed through him. Was she unwell?

  She clutched a small parcel to her breasts as though it was her lifeline. “I’m fine.” She licked her lips and for a moment he thought she was going to disappear back into the house and slam the door in his face. Then she took a deep breath and met his gaze. “I don’t know if I’m pregnant. It’s too early to tell.”

  He knew that. That wasn’t what he’d meant. “Sanura—”

  “But if I am, I’ll let you know.”

  It was obvious she thought the only reason he had sought her out was to confirm whether or not she had conceived his child. She didn’t appear to think he might be concerned about her at all.

  Could he blame her? After the things he’d said to her? Damn his cursed pride. Why couldn’t he have left her with the knowledge of how much he loved her, instead of trying to salvage his wounded ego?

  Fuck his ego. It had been his heart.

  “I know you will. And if you are,” the words stuck in his throat. He wasn’t used to asking for anything. Especially not something that meant so much to him. But there was no way around it. “I would very much like to be a part of our child’s life.”

  Her eyes widened in clear shock. Had he really trampled on her trust so badly the other morning?

  “Oh. Well, yes. I mean it’s only right that you should. I’m sure we can, you know, sort out the arrangements.” Her grip on her package tightened. “If I’m pregnant, that is. Obviously.”

  He fervently hoped she was. It appeared that would be the only way she would tolerate seeing him again.

  There was so much he wanted to tell her. But he couldn’t find the words. Silently he pulled the letter from his pocket and handed it to her.

  She gave him an uncertain look as she tucked her package under her arm and pulled the single sheet from the envelope. He watched her face as disbelief and then delight illuminated her features.

  Obviously the news that her long lost family had been looking for her mother for years was welcome. He knew she wouldn’t look that thrilled at the thought of whatever inheritance her grandmother had bequeathed. If material possessions were all that motivated Sanura then she would never have left him. Not when he had offered her anything her heart desired.

  All she had desired was to be his only wife. And now that she could, he doubted she still wanted it.

  Finally she looked up at him. “I can’t believe this.” Her voice shook. “I’ve always wanted to know my mother’s family. Well, mostly so I could tell them what I thought of them but this—this changes everything. They wanted to find her. They wanted to find all of us.”

  The perfect idea to see her again occurred to him. “I could arrange a meeting if you wish. I’ll take you there myself.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t… it’s very kind of you. But you need to return to Omana soon.”

  “Those plans have been postponed. I wouldn’t have suggested accompanying you if I hadn’t been able to follow through.”

  He could almost feel the thoughts swirling through her mind. But what about May? Now was the perfect opportunity to tell her he was no longer going to marry the princess.

  But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Because Sanura would leap to the conclusion that he had turned up with the expectation she would now fall into his arms. Now he’d seen her again he wanted her more than ever. He’d use whatever trick at his disposal to continue seeing her, including the connection between her relatives and his old university friend. She would soon realize he was no longer betrothed.

  “I was just on my way out.” She stared at the parcel in her arms, and Khalid’s plans collided. She was dismissing him. Nobody dismissed him. But it wasn’t his regal pride burning his throat.

  He took a step back. To keep this woman in his life he had been prepared to do things that had never before occurred to him. But she appeared oblivious to his efforts. And he c
ould not beg.

  “I apologize for delaying you.” His voice was so formal Sanura actually flinched. He very nearly volunteered to drive her wherever it was she going, but the offer choked him.

  Instead of taking the hint, Sanura continued to stare at that damn parcel. He itched to take it from her and sling it into the nearest bush, so her attention was once more focused on him.

  Then she looked up at him. “I was going to send this to you at your hotel. But I guess since you’re here…” Her voice trailed off and with seeming reluctance she handed him the parcel.

  For once he was speechless as he took it from her. What the hell had she been going to send him? An odd sense of trepidation inched along his spine as he unwrapped the package.

  Khalid stared at the portrait and awe shivered through him. Was this how Sanura saw him? His hair was disheveled and he looked relaxed and on the point of laughing as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

  He looked as though he had just made love.

  “You don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to.” There was an edge of panic in Sanura’s voice and he finally managed to tear his mesmerized gaze from the portrait to look at her. She offered him a pained smile. “It’s just I wanted to show you what you… what our time together meant to me.”

  Why would she have spent countless hours doing this, when she still had to finish her last piece for her exhibition? He knew how important that exhibition was to her.

  Once again he stared at the photorealistic portrait. He was no expert when it came to creating artwork but he knew enough. Sanura hadn’t any photos of him—not looking like this. He doubted a photo existed where he looked like this.

  She had done this from memory. Could he hope she had done it because she loved him?

  “I shall treasure this for all time.” His voice was husky. For once he didn’t care that his emotions were so close to the surface. And then he couldn’t help himself. “What did our time together mean to you, Sanura?”

  For a second she looked like a deer caught in the glare of oncoming headlamps. Then she straightened her spine and looked directly at him. “Everything. I’m sorry how things ended. It’s not what I wanted.”

  Hope flared higher in his chest. “What do you want? Tell me. No matter how impossible you think it is.”

  He didn’t think she was going to answer. Then a becoming blush heated her cheeks. “It doesn’t matter what I want. Maybe I could have learned to accept being your second wife if not for May. I don’t know. It’s so different to everything I know.”

  Shock speared through him at the knowledge she might have married him if not for her best friend. During the last couple of days, when he’d had time to really think about it, he knew he’d been asking too much of Sanura—and too much of the princess. How long could their friendship have lasted under such circumstances?

  “If Maysarah was no longer my betrothed, would you still have me?”

  “What’s the point in talking about it? You have to marry her.”

  She wasn’t going to let him avoid talking about it. If he didn’t act now she would slip through his fingers again. He couldn’t risk losing her for good, simply because the words were too hard.

  He had never really proposed to her. When he’d discovered his great mistake, he’d simply taken it for granted she would have him.

  He glanced over his shoulder. The road wasn’t busy but there were people about. Potential spectators. The thought sent a shudder along his spine.

  But his royal pride was a cold, lonely thing. It wouldn’t keep him warm or make him laugh during the endless years ahead. He was a prince, but for the chance to keep Sanura… he would beg.

  He swallowed and mentally girded his regal loins. With slow deliberation he sank onto one knee and carefully placed her gift on the ground. Then he looked up at her. The look of astonished disbelief on her face would have been comical if he wasn’t consumed with the fear that she would reject him.

  He took her hand and held on with grim determination in case she tried to escape. But she simply stood there, and her fingers tentatively curled around him.

  It was likely all the encouragement he would get. It was enough.

  “Sanura Jones, I’ve never met another woman like you. You’re the only one who fills my mind and my heart. I’ve tried to forget you but you’re the other half of my soul. The princess and I are no longer betrothed. We’re not getting married. Tell me you forgive me. Tell me I haven’t lost you forever.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “Tell me you’ll marry me and make me the most fortunate man alive.”

  She stroked her fingers along his jaw. Her lip trembled. And then she spoke. “Why?”

  Why? He had just poured out his heart to her, and she wanted to know why?

  Sweat prickled the back of his neck, but he didn’t dare break eye contact with her to see if anyone—his bodyguard—was watching. In the end, it didn’t matter who watched.

  He exhaled a breath of surrender. “Because I love you, sweet Sanura. Because I want you, and only you, to be my wife for eternity.”

  She sank to her knees before he could stop her and flung her arm around his neck, crushing their linked hands against her breasts. “I love you, Khalid Andre Salah al Din. I loved you from the moment I met you, and I will love you for all time.”

  Relief, peace and a fierce protectiveness flooded through him as he held her close. With Sanura by his side, nothing was impossible.

  Perhaps one day they would fulfill his dream of opening a hotel in his beloved land. But for now there was something far more important he needed to do.

  He speared his fingers through her hair. Her uneven breath dusted against his jaw and her ice-blue eyes captivated him, the way they had captivated him from the second she’d opened the door to him.

  “You’re mine, Sanura.” The words were a possessive growl and this time she didn’t quiver with indignation. Instead her smile was so filled with love and trust he feared his heart might overflow. “And I will never let you go.”

  The End

  Thank you for reading The Sheikh’s Mistaken Bride. I hope you enjoyed it!

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  About the Author

  Christina Phillips is an ex-pat Brit who now lives in sunny Western Australia with her high school sweetheart and their family. She enjoys writing paranormal, historical and contemporary romance but whether the hero is a fallen angel, tough warrior or a sexy mortal the romance will be sizzling and the heroine will bring her hero to his knees. She loves hearing from her readers!

  Christina is addicted to good coffee, expensive chocolate and bad boy heroes. She is also owned by three gorgeous cats who are convinced the universe revolves around their needs. They are not wrong.

  Sold to the Sheikh

  Cathleen Ross

  Copyright 2014 Cathleen Ross

  Cover Art by Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design

  www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy.

  Acknowledgments

  A
big thank you to Christina Phillips and Mel Teshco for agreeing to be a part of this project. It’s been a lot of fun! Thanks also to Tracey O’Hara for your insightful editing.

  Chapter One

  Princess Maysarah El Habib worked the blonde dye through her dark hair in streaks, fighting with the curls, which refused to cooperate. Hopefully with blonde hair and sea-green contacts she'd pass for a Westerner in Queensland, Australia. Fortunately in coloring, she'd taken after her fair-skinned Australian mother and not her father, Sheikh Abdel El Habib. She also had her mother's petite nose, high cheekbones and smaller frame. From her father's family she'd inherited the almond-shaped eyes, full breasts and long legs. With trembling fingers, she brushed the dye through another lock of hair.

  She had to clear out fast and keep on the move so her father's secret service didn't find her.

  When she'd discovered that the representatives of her intended husband, Sheikh Khalid Salah al Din were coming to London to collect her, she'd fled to Australia. Now he'd married her best friend and May's powerful father was livid. If he found her here on the Gold Coast in Queensland, he'd drag her back to Qtara, have her stripped and whipped in front of the court just as he'd done to her mother when she'd tried to leave him.

  She shuddered. No one defied her father.

  Sweat beaded on her brow as she finished painting on the last of the color. Dye in place, she had twenty minutes to pack while it developed. May flew from room to room like a fluttering moth, gathering possessions and stuffing them into a backpack. Passport. Check. Bundle of cash. Check. Huge sunglasses to disguise her eyes. Check. Jewelry she could hock. Check. One simple bag was all she'd allow herself. She looked at her watch. Twenty minutes was up. Time to wash the dye out. Discarding her sleek Versace bathrobe, she laid out the cheesecloth kaftan, leather sandals and floppy beige hat she planned to wear. On stepping into the shower stall, she was glad she'd had every dark hair lasered off her body. She rejected her Arab side if it meant subjugation and she'd spent enough school holidays here with her mother and Aussie grandparents to know how to blend in. Turning on the shower taps, she lathered the shampoo onto her thick hair. Hopefully with the new fringe and long blonde tresses smoothed out with her hair straightener, she'd get away undetected. The thought of punishment was unbearable. May had never wanted an arranged marriage even though she'd been betrothed to Khalid from birth. The whole concept was barbaric to her. The whipping had broken her mother and she'd made May vow never to marry into the Qtara culture.