Secret Sheikh, Secret Baby

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘You will do as you are told.’

  ‘No!’ she begged. ‘Surely your wife should be with you? Surely your family will expect that?’

  His family expected nothing from her. He stared at her with black soulless eyes, held her wrists as she attempted to claw at him. Could she not understand that his family did not care, that all that was wanted from her was her baby—be it as Hassan’s or his.

  His.

  For a second he relented, let go of her wrists and let her beat at his chest.

  They did not care about her and he must not, Karim told himself, holding her arms again. But she kicked with her feet, beating her way into his closed heart.

  ‘Let me come with you, Karim. Surely I should be—?’

  Only his mouth could silence her, and it felt so good to feel her. He held her angry body in his arms and kissed her quiet. Every time she pulled back he kissed her harder. Now he could taste her, his tongue curling around her rigid one, pressing her right into him so that she could feel what she was missing, feel the heat that had been building for so long now. It was a heat he had refused to douse himself, relishing the challenge like a fast in the desert—because when she came to him, and she would come, how much sweeter victory would taste.

  Her mouth was softer now, her body more pliant in his arms. But then she resisted again—and Karim dropped her.

  ‘I have told you already—the desert is our home till the marriage is consummated. It is entirely up to you.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SHE had to get back to Zaraqua. Would not be left in the desert alone.

  Felicity lay in bed, pondering her baby’s future. She wanted to give it the best chance to have a father, a loving father, and to grow up in a happy, loving home, yet it was up to Karim to take that chance—to trust in her.

  How she hated him. Yet somehow she couldn’t completely…

  She closed her eyes as she recalled his lovemaking, the tenderness he could at times display, the insight that had freed her from her fear of sex only to plunge her into another prison.

  He had to trust that this was his baby. On that she refused to waver. Karim had to make love to her without protection or tomorrow she would be left alone.

  As Karim prayed for his father and his country, Felicity drew her bath.

  She had no seduction routine, no experience, but, drying herself off, she stared at the rows of glass bottles Bedra had prepared her with on her wedding night. She had poured rose water into the bath and Felicity did the same, then stepped into the fragrant water.

  After, as she dried herself, she remembered Bedra’s excited chatter as she had massaged Felicity’s pulse-points with oil from tiny glass bottles. Attar, Bedra had explained—mixed fragrances. This oil was a heady mix of sweet amber, oudh and musk that would please the Prince.

  ‘Oudh?’ Felicity had asked.

  ‘Wood,’ Bedra had said. ‘And I will place this dish of almond oil by the bed…’

  ‘For perfume?’ Felicity had asked, sniffing the bland dish, but Bedra had just laughed.

  It seemed strange to Felicity to be massaging her pulse-points with oil of wood, but the fragrance was heady, and she remembered again him holding her that night, before it had all gone so wrong. She did what Bedra had done, and placed a slim silver dish of almond oil by the bed, waiting for him, as nervous as any bride on her wedding night.

  He was ‘too tired’ to talk when he came to bed. He shrugged onto his side, with his back to her, and promptly feigned sleep. Yet she could feel his tension, could feel the black energy in the bed. When finally he did sleep he rolled over and held her, just as he did most nights. His hand in sleep on her belly made her weep.

  She was protecting him from himself, Felicity knew. The man he really was would never jeopardise the safety of his baby. She turned over and stared at him.

  She touched him.

  She felt his body, reluctant, angry, even in sleep.

  ‘I won’t have the test, Karim.’ She spoke to darkness, and didn’t know whether or not he was listening, but she told him, warned him, begged to his soul to listen to her plea. ‘I will not take the risk, however small, just to appease—’

  ‘Felicity.’ Annoyed with himself for having rolled towards her, he turned away from her again. ‘Can we get through these next days?’

  He willed sleep to come again. For Karim it was going to be a long night, made bearable only by having her beside him. He had considered taking a wife, but only for the sake of duty. There would be no real benefit to him. There had been so many lovers, so many women, and he had felt so many pleasures. Yet after the grim conversation he had had on the phone to his brothers insomnia had beckoned. He had never expected to feel peace this night—his father’s operation looming, so many decisions to be made. Yet climbing in beside her, angry with her, with himself, with his brothers, with his father, suddenly all there was was the dark tent and silence, and the musky scent of her that gently spirited him to a better place. Hearing her breathe beside him had brought a rare peace that was unexpected.

  Perhaps the future was a touch more bearable with her in his bed at night. And then she had awoken him.

  And now he couldn’t sleep.

  He didn’t want the test either—didn’t want to find out the truth. This wretched time was only bearable because of her. Her scent was too heavy, too much woman lay untouched in the bed beside him. He considered asking her to go and bathe, to remove that fragrance so he might rest, except he didn’t want to.

  ‘I cannot sleep,’ he admitted, half an hour of silence later.

  ‘Would this help?’

  ‘What?’ He heard the nervousness in her voice.

  ‘This.’ Her hands were at his shoulders and softly she stroked them. She could feel the knot of tension in the muscles beneath the silken skin, felt him arch his neck as she smoothed a hard knot. ‘Does it help?’

  And because it seemed it did she gently guided him to turn to his stomach. She wanted this closeness as much as him—wanted this chance for Karim to see sense before morning came.

  She knew what Bedra had meant now, was glad for the silver dish of almond oil that was by the bed. Felicity dipped her fingers in it, rubbed it the length of his back, moving her thumbs along his vertebra, her oiled fingers pushing into his loins then up towards his shoulders. She felt the tension seep slowly from him, and when it had, when he was relaxed beneath her, she peeled off her nightgown and turned him over. She dipped her fingers back in the oil as those black eyes caressed her body. She rubbed the sweet potion into him, slid it into the thick black hair, and cupped him tenderly in her hand.

  ‘You know too much.’ He grabbed her wrist. ‘For one so innocent, you know way too much.’

  ‘I know nothing,’ Felicity corrected. ‘Except what my body tells me—what your body shows me it wants.’

  She meant it. Always sex had been feared, yet with Karim it was instinctive, her body, her hands, guided by more than her mind, by more than just thought.

  The oil in her palm made him slide through her fingers, no grip in her hold as she touched him. Her two hands slid in perpetual motion, feeling him grow. Even as he slipped out of her grip the other hand was waiting to slide up to his peak, an endless tunnel that closed around his member. She was enchanted, feeling him grow strong in her hand, feeling his mind weaken. This proud, contained, distant man was coming close now to the man she had first met, the man she had first loved.

  His eyes were soft as he took in her body. ‘Your body is changing.’ It was his first real acknowledgment of her pregnancy, and it made her melt.

  ‘Feel it, then,’ Felicity whispered, because touch brought closeness.

  He oiled his palms with what she’d left on his body and slid his hands over hips that were rounder and softer now, then up to her breasts. Still her own hands worked on. He rubbed her breasts until she felt her thighs grow warm. His fingers stroked her tender nipples, slowly, slowly letting his hands take in the changes. He mo
ved down to the soft curve of her stomach, his thumbs meeting in the middle, where their baby lay beneath. He stroked her pale flesh, and for Karim, for a dizzying second, there was a flash of a life that wasn’t about duty or honour or country. It was about trust, doing things right by her. He could not stand the thought of a needle in her pale flesh, piercing into her uterus, disturbing their baby’s slumber.

  Their baby.

  ‘There will be no test.’ He said it, and then he said it again. ‘There will be no test.’

  She felt all woman, felt a shift between them. They could, here in his bed, be equals. It was something to build on.

  ‘Felicity…’ Her hands were like magic. A silver pearl of moisture was at his tip, and she rubbed it in till he thought he might weep. But Kings did not weep—nor Princes, nor men. With her, in that moment, maybe he could. ‘I do not want to be King.’

  She smiled down at him, held him with her eyes as still she stroked him.

  ‘I would give anything not to be King.’

  ‘You don’t have to be….’

  She didn’t understand, and he was too far gone to explain, reeling from his own admission. From somewhere deep within she had reached in and pulled out the truth. Relief washed through him, allowing him to discard facts and believe she was right, that all he had to be was with her.

  He did not want her hands around him now. He wanted her.

  Her hips were slippery from the oil, but he lifted her, watched the glorious triangle of her thighs part over his erection. He massaged her clitoris, holding her there for a moment, because as soon as he entered her Karim knew he would come. He had never felt a woman around him without barrier, and as he lowered her onto him, felt the delicious grip of warm muscle, he thought he might die from the pleasure of a sensation he didn’t want to end. He was stroking her inside and he could feel every twitch, every clench of intimate muscle, her delicious grip as he raised her hips and lowered her again and again. He refused to give in to his intense need, sliding her up and down his length and staring at her—at this woman who blurred everything, who made light of rules that were ingrained. How, how he wanted to trust.

  She didn’t need his hands to guide her now. Felicity was locked into a delicious rhythm. He was stroking her there now, but still looking at her, and she could feel the first waves of orgasm. She wanted him to come with her, her eyes pleading with him to join, to trust…

  ‘I want to feel you come.’

  Still he held back.

  She was coming, so hard it made her scream. This was what he did to her. Took everything from her and yet held himself back. She was sobbing his name, begging him to believe that he was the only one, that this was his child to love.

  He raised his hips and shot into her. He could do this every day, every night, for ever, if only he could believe.

  He held her afterwards, his hands exploring her body as he wrestled with the demons of his mind.

  His father had never forgiven his mother—had lived a lonely life since.

  For what?

  Karim had not slept well for two nights, he was aware of that. This crazy word love kept bobbing into his head, but he told himself it was lust as his hand crept between her sleeping thighs. Lust would have him hard again, lust would have him waking her from her necessary rest when now all he wanted to do was hold her.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  IT WAS better with her here.

  He had kept his word and brought her back from the desert—for how long he did not yet know. But as Karim visited his father it was easier knowing she was in the plush waiting area outside. Hassan was there too, and Jamal. Ibrahim was flying in and was due to arrive soon.

  He didn’t know in what way it was better, but as he stepped out of his father’s suite his eyes went to hers first, blue jewels that shone from beneath the abaya she had chosen to wear, it was.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Weaker,’ Karim said. ‘They should have done this weeks ago, when I first said.’

  ‘His heart would not have taken a long anaesthetic then.’

  ‘Hassan and Jamal are going back to the palace once they have seen him,’ Karim explained. ‘I am going to meet with the surgeon and discuss his plans for the procedure.’

  ‘I’d rather wait for you.’

  ‘I may be some time.’

  ‘Then I’ll wait.’

  After a moment’s pause he nodded.

  ‘Could I visit Bedra?’

  He shook his head. ‘It is too soon for the people to know. You might be recognised…’ He stared into her eyes and relented. ‘For a little while. Tell her I pray for her and her son too.’

  The maternity ward was busy. Visitors were in each room, and nobody gave her a second glance as she strolled through the familiar ward—dressed in an abaya this time.

  Aarif recognised her, though, bowing, overwhelmed that she would visit. Felicity quickly told him not to make a fuss, and then she saw Bedra, pale and tired on her pillow, but alive.

  Her soft brown eyes filled with tears as they met Felicity’s. ‘Thank you!’ she wept. ‘For what you did. You saved our son.’

  ‘How is he?’ Felicity asked.

  ‘Small, but very brave. The doctors say that he has a strong will, that he is a fighter. ‘We have named him Karim.’

  Felicity left her to rest then, glad to have visited. But it wasn’t only because Bedra was tired that she chose not to linger.

  ‘Helen!’ She watched her colleague frown and turn round. ‘Helen—it’s me. Felicity.’ She saw her friend’s eyes finally widen in recognition.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ Helen said. ‘I’ve been walking past the royal wing every break I get. What on earth is going on?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  They sat in a small annexe off the maternity ward, and nobody gave them a second glance. The abaya provided anonymity, and Felicity was grateful for it.

  ‘This is my last shift.’ Helen shook her head helplessly. ‘I leave for the UK tomorrow. I can tell your family…’

  ‘I don’t want to worry them.’ Felicity’s voice was shaken. She was relieved, almost, that the story was out, but guilty for her imposition on a friend and guilty as to how bad Karim’s actions sounded when she repeated them. ‘Things seem better now. He has said that I don’t need to take the test.’

  ‘If you’re sure it’s his, why don’t you?’

  ‘I am not risking my baby for a man who refuses to believe me. I don’t know what is going on. He said today that I should return to the desert once the King’s surgery is over—that it is better for the people if they don’t know of me yet. I feel as if I am being hidden.’

  ‘Can you talk to him about it?’ Helen asked. ‘Can you tell him how you feel?’

  A bitter, mirthless laugh shot out of her lips, and Helen gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘I’m sorry. Of course you can’t. I forget sometimes just how different it is here.’

  ‘He’s nothing like the man he was at home,’ Felicity said. ‘But sometimes…’ Her voice trailed off as she recalled the tenderness of last night, but she was too muddled to think. ‘I need to get away. I need to think. Maybe once the operation is over…’

  ‘Has he taken your passport?’

  ‘No.’ Felicity shook her head. ‘I don’t think he was expecting to bring me back here to the palace, but I’ve checked and it’s still there amongst my things. I have no money, though.’ She laughed again. ‘I have every luxury you could want, but no money. I can rustle up some back in England…’

  ‘I cannot help you,’ Helen said. ‘If it ever came out, I could never return and work here again.’

  ‘I understand.’ Defeated, Felicity moved to stand. ‘But thank you—thank you for listening.’

  ‘Felicity, sit down,’ Helen said. ‘Tomorrow is the King’s operation. Everyone will be distracted. It is your only chance.’

  ‘You said you couldn’t help,’ Felicity said. ‘And I truly understand. I don’t want to involve you.’
>
  ‘You had no choice but to involve me, but it has to be kept quiet.’ Helen eyes held hers. ‘This conversation never happened. You need a suitcase; you need to look as if you are flying home for a family emergency.’

  ‘To who?’

  ‘To the people at the airport—when you buy your ticket.’ It was Helen who stood now. ‘I am coming in to say goodbye to everyone tomorrow. I’ll leave a case here in the annexe at midday, with money in it. But please, Felicity, don’t acknowledge me at the airport. They will watch CCTV if you get away.’

  ‘I can’t leave tomorrow.’ Felicity shook her head at the impossibility. ‘I’m not leaving Karim on the day his father has surgery.’

  ‘I think you ought to…’ Helen ran a nervous hand through her hair. ‘Felicity, I think you need to. Then you can sort things out. You have to think of the baby.’

  ‘I am thinking of the baby. It deserves a father.’

  ‘Is Jamal pregnant?’ Helen’s worried eyes met hers. ‘I know it is wrong to ask, but surely you can trust me that it will go no further—is Jamal expecting a child?’

  ‘No.’ Felicity shook her head. Jamal had a trim figure, and only this morning she had wept quietly and told Felicity about her shame at not being able to give Hassan a son. She had said that she was glad and grateful that Felicity understood.

  ‘There are rumours that she is,’ Helen said.

  ‘Then the rumours are wrong.’

  ‘These are rumours that come from the palace.’

  ‘But why would they…?’ Her voice trailed off. A thought so vile it didn’t bear thinking started to trickle in, and she blocked it.

  ‘If Karim believes it is not his child…’ Helen gave a tight shrug. ‘They need an heir, Felicity. These are turbulent times, and the people need to know there will be an heir.’

  ‘No.’ She refused to believe it of Karim—remembered his hands on her belly last night, tender hands that had cradled the life within. ‘He said I didn’t need to take the test last night. He said that…’ She recalled his words, and then she recalled something else.