Sheikhs of Al-Dashalid
The Sheikh’s Pregnant Lover
The Sheikh’s Blackmailed Bride
The Sheikh’s Fierce Fiancée
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, MARCH 2019
Copyright © 2019 Relay Publishing Ltd.
All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design by LJ Mayhem Covers.
www.relaypub.com
Blurb
Sheikh Issam doesn’t have time to find a bride. He’d rather a sign would appear to him, signaling the perfect woman and save him the trouble of finding her. However, he didn’t foresee the sign being the sister-in-law of his rival nation’s president crashing into the holiest temple in his country. Now, he and the fearsome beauty must find a way to circumvent the ancient religious law that demands her death—or he’ll face war on three fronts.
Mackenzie came to Al-Dashalid with a mission: save the women’s shelter that had taken root in a disputed fort between Al-Dashalid and her brother-in-law’s country. With war growing more likely every day, she doesn’t have time to waste arguing her way out of an unjust death sentence. She’s ready to sit down with Sheikh Issam and make sure he understands that the safety of the women and children in the shelter is more important than his alpha-male posturing.
What Mackenzie isn’t ready for is Issam offering her the perfect out: marriage. Members of the royal family are exempt from prosecution of holy law. He’ll meet his marriage deadline, and she’ll have his ear about the disputed fort and its vulnerable occupants. It seems perfect.
Now if only she could get him to listen…
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
End of The Sheikh’s Fierce Fiancée
Thank you!
About Leslie
Also By Leslie
1
Driving himself to the mosque had been Issam’s first mistake.
Second, really. The first mistake had been allowing himself to get sucked into this little piece of royal family drama.
He had just stepped out of the shower when his phone buzzed on the bathroom counter. He’d picked it up without looking, assuming it was one of his men. Issam was in charge, in one way or another, of hundreds of people. He held responsibility for millions, if you counted every person living in Al-Dashalid, not to mention the royal family. And he relished that responsibility. However, it meant that he answered the phone without looking who it was.
It was not one of his men.
“Issam.” His brother Kyril was the oldest and had stepped neatly into their father’s role. He ruled the country with a deft hand, though Issam had seen him chasing his children through the courtyards with enough abandon that one might think he was only a family man. “I need a favor.”
“I already have a contingency plan for the summit, if that’s what you’re calling about.” Kyril was set to meet with leaders from all the provinces in Al-Dashalid the following week, and it was set to be an excruciatingly boring affair during which tempers might run high.
“That’s not it. I need you to go to the mosque.”
“I was at the mosque yesterday, and—”
“Inan needs to be picked up from his class.”
Inan was Kyril’s first child, and at five years old he had already made an impression on the people of Al-Dashalid. He had an infectious smile and an impish personality.
Issam laughed. “Surely this is a job for our father. He’s the one who’s retired. I have meetings—”
“Spare me one of the meetings, would you?”
Kyril sounded distracted. In the background of the call, Issam heard Hannah, his wife, calling urgently to him, though he couldn’t make out the words.
“Issam, I have a meeting with a Canadian ambassador in thirty minutes, and Hannah—” He cut himself off. “Can you do it or not?”
Issam had agreed, not wanting to waste further time on a pointless argument. He’d ended the call, then checked his phone. A number of messages waited for him, his father’s among them. He’d decided to take Daya, their mother, for an overnight trip to a beach resort up the coast.
That kind of thing never would have happened before Zafir had his heart attack. It had softened him, made him more aware of how quickly the years were flying by, and he’d turned his attention to his wife. It was all very heartwarming.
Except for the part where he laid down his responsibilities as easily as if they were nothing.
Issam had parked half a block away from the mosque. He leaned back in the driver’s seat, scanning the traffic for any sign of a problem. It was a habit ingrained from being in security all these years. Nothing seemed amiss, so he took out his phone.
The documents waited for him, each in their own file, in a special folder on his phone. And that folder was on Issam’s mind frequently. Too frequently.
It was a collection of dossiers on potential wives.
Issam, like his brothers, needed to be married by the age of thirty to keep his position in the royal family. But unlike his brothers, he wasn’t going to choose a bride based on the heat of a one-night stand or a blog post written halfway around the world. No, he would choose his wife based on cold, hard facts. He wanted a wife who was suitable on paper, and nothing more.
Though he had to admit that the pictures did help.
He needed someone who could stay calm. Who could stay the course. Because while no trouble was brewing on the street by the mosque, there was trouble brewing abroad.
Well…it wasn’t exactly abroad.
The tension had arisen over a small strip of land at the northeastern corner of Al-Dashalid. There was nothing there, save for a crumbling, ancient fort that could hold a few troops on its best day, but it was in a sort of no-man’s land between three countries. One one side, Al-Dashalid. On the other, Al-Madiza. And the narrowest part of this tiny piece of land faced Caldad.
Caldad had faced a leadership change in recent years, like Al-Dashalid. The head of the royal family had suffered ill health, and his son Jabbar had come into power at roughly the same time as Kyril.
The two men could not be more different.
Jabbar was irrational and greedy, and he made Issam nervous with all his saber-rattling. He’d sent troops so close
to the border that it was impossible for Al-Dashalid and Al-Madiza to ignore them, and Issam felt a need to occupy that little strip of land and its fort. But that would violate the unspoken agreement with Al-Madiza not to have a military presence there.
It was on his mind while he scrolled through the files. Photo. Bio. Photo. Bio. He didn’t have time to get into an emotional mess like his brothers. He didn’t want anything that looked like love.
Issam glanced up into the traffic again. He especially didn’t want anyone who looked like the brunette waiting for light to change. She was facing him, and even though her hands were firm on the wheel, her expression was set—determined.
So determined it was almost distracted.
She was beautiful, with a little pointed chin that Issam wouldn’t mind brushing his thumb over, and choppy hair in a trendy style. He was sure her outfit would match. But that kind of beauty—no. It would take him far from his responsibilities and then leave him for dead.
Issam’s phone beeped—a warning for the end of Inan’s class. The boy would be walking out at any moment. He dropped the phone into one of the cupholders and looked back up.
The mosque took up most of the block, and the intersection in front of it was busy. The front doors opened, and a crowd of children came out. Ah, yes—there was Inan. Issam watched him as closely as he could as he climbed out of the car. He stopped in front of the mosque on the sidewalk and began digging in his backpack, no doubt looking for the phone his parents had given him to make contact after his class.
A flash of blue caught Issam’s eye, and he whipped his head around.
The brunette’s car was in the middle of the intersection, but there, barreling down on her, a blue car.
It had run the stoplight.
He saw her eyes widen, the jerk of her shoulders.
She must have stomped on the gas, because her little car lurched forward, through the intersection, and into the opposite lane.
But there was nowhere for the car to go.
The lane was full of cars, and she turned again, heading for the sidewalk.
Heading right for Inan.
Issam threw open the door of his SUV. He wanted to shout, to warn Inan, but there wasn’t enough time and what could he say over the traffic that would save him? Oh, no—
He ran forward through the stopped traffic.
She jerked her wheel.
Her car turned.
She missed Inan, missed the other children, missed the other people who were grabbing children and backing away, quickly, quickly.
The mosque was not so fortunate.
She hit one of the carved stone columns at the front of the building with the front of her car, a horrible crunch of metal.
He ran faster.
The column wobbled, the ancient stones threatening to fall, and Issam registered Inan’s face, his mouth a round, surprised O.
“Get out of the way! Get back!” He shouted at the boy, waving his arm, and then he was next to the car.
Inside was a field of white, the airbags having deployed, and he wrenched uselessly at the handle. Issam pounded on the driver’s side window with a closed fist, and the woman inside blinked as if the airbag had stunned her.
“Unlock the doors!” He pounded again. “Unlock the doors, right now!”
She turned her head and looked at him, her eyes wide with shock.
“What?” Her mouth formed the English word, but he couldn’t hear it. He switched languages, hoping—
“Unlock the doors!”
She raised a quick hand to the armrest and hit a button there. Click. Issam threw the door open and reached inside for her seatbelt. He released it with one deft motion.
“I didn’t hit anyone, did I? Oh, god,” she said, voice shaky. “Was there anyone inside the building that I hit? I was trying not to—”
Issam lifted her up into his arms. If she had any injuries, this wouldn’t be good, but there was no choice.
The column was coming down.
“We have to go,” he said urgently.
She put her arms around his neck.
Issam ran.
He ran straight toward Inan, hooking his little arm with one hand and dragging him backward. Away, away, away.
“Where are we going?” asked the woman. “What’s going to happen to—”
Behind him, there was the sound of falling rock, a great crash into metal.
Her arms tightened around his neck.
“There goes my car,” she said.
2
Mackenzie’s car was completely crushed.
The front end was crumpled in by hitting the column she’d destroyed, and the roof—
Well, it was caved in enough that she’d have been seriously injured, if not killed, if she’d still been in the car.
A bright spike of adrenaline went through her, an aftershock to the first wave from the intersection. She’d seen that blue car at the last moment, and her foot on the gas pedal had a mind of its own. And then the children—oh, god, all the children standing on the sidewalk. There had been no other choice. Column or children, and she’d prayed there were no children behind the column.
She sucked in a deep breath, and the man holding her tightened his grip.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I—” A full awareness came over her. He was holding her in his arms like the hero on the cover of a romance novel. A blush rose to her cheeks, and she took in another deep breath. Whoever he was, he smelled good. Fresh from the shower. A hint of a masculine cologne. “I’m all right.”
It was very nearly true. Her shoulders felt tight, as if she’d tried to brace herself for the impact and overdone it. She wriggled her ankles to make sure her legs were all right, then shifted her weight. The man let her down onto the sidewalk, and Mackenzie’s heart raced. She looked past him—no children on the sidewalk. A few men had gathered near the column and were surveying the damage done to her car, but other than that—
“Was anyone hurt? Was anyone—”
The crowd descended upon them then, men from the mosque coming out to clap her hero on the shoulder, ask him how he’d pulled it off.
Mackenzie dragged her eyes from the sidewalk to his face.
Her stomach lurched. The man was Sheikh Issam, member of the royal family.
And the exact person she’d come here to meet.
He was looking at her, his dark eyes piercing. The photographs she’d found of him in preparation for her visit had not done him justice. He was far taller than he’d seemed in the pictures. And his muscles—she could hardly look away from his muscles, despite the fact that he wore a white dress shirt. Her mouth watered at the sight of him.
But no—no. She was there to negotiate a deal, not fall hastily in lust with the handsome sheikh who’d saved her life. Her heart battered against her rib cage. That’s what had happened. He had saved her life.
He put a hand in the air to still the chatter of the other men and took a step closer to her.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
The options raced through her brain, lightning fast. She could pretend to be utterly shaken, pretend she didn’t know who he was, or—
He narrowed his eyes, then raised a gentle hand to where her hair had fallen over her cheekbone, brushing it back with a movement that seemed almost professional. “Wait. You’re Mackenzie Peters.”
Busted.
“We’re supposed to be meeting this afternoon. I’m Sheikh Issam.”
“Yes—of—of course you are. I’m pleased to meet you.” She stuck out her hand for him to shake. “Though not under these circumstances. I’m really sorry about the column.”
“I’m only glad there were no serious injuries.”
It was her moment. Mackenzie felt the opening in the conversation, and why not? Let him see her here, vulnerable like the women and children who were being housed in that ancient fort, and her argument might hold more sway.
“Sheikh Issam,” s
he began quickly as the men around him began talking again, recounting what had happened. “I wanted to speak with you about the fortifications in—” She needed to get through to him. It had not gone well with her brother-in-law the past couple of days.
“Sheikh Issam.” A voice cut in, and the crowd separated to let a man through. Mackenzie guessed he was someone with some degree of power—the imam at the mosque, perhaps. He placed his hands on Issam’s broad shoulders. “Are you all right? What about your nephew?”
“I’m okay,” piped up the boy, who stood with his hand hooked in one of Issam’s pockets.
“I’m so very glad to hear that, Inan.”
Inan, Mackenzie thought. She’d done some research on the royal family before setting off for Al-Dashalid. This was Kyril’s son, and she’d very nearly run him down with her car. She swallowed hard. This was not a good start. And the way things had gone with her brother-in-law had been dismal, too.
“Everyone else?” called the imam. He moved through the crowd, checking on person after person.
“Sheikh Issam,” Mackenzie tried again. “There are women and children in need of—”
The imam was back. As he stepped close to Mackenzie and Issam, the rest of the men in the crowd melted away, taking their children with them. The curve of their shoulders told Mackenzie that they did not want to be in earshot when the imam delivered his news.
“What is it?” A cold fear rose in her gut. “Was someone injured?”
The Sheikh’s Fierce Fiancée: Sheikhs of Al-Dashalid Book Three Page 1
