33
Cristy shifted against his warm body as she tried to look up and see if Rizaak was just messing with her. The past days together had been so unbelievably surreal that Cristy really couldn’t be sure where fantasy ended and reality began anymore. In a way it ALL seemed like fantasy: Cristy Cartright from Baltimore on a European freighter with an Arab prince, the two of them making love on a blanket beneath the sun and the stars as the ship cut through the ocean. She had found a way to shut off that side of her brain that demanded control, demanded clarity, demanded a PLAN . . . and she had done it so well that now she wasn’t sure if there was any NEED for a plan at all! After all, that feeling of being so completely and totally overwhelmed by the love and passion they shared seemed enough to solve anything!
“I already told you, Rizaak,” she said now. “I’m coming with you. And you agreed. Even if I’m . . . even if I’m . . .” Cristy had to swallow hard and she felt a lump in her throat as she realized that God, she hadn’t truly come to terms with how life would change if she were pregnant! And, oh God, she WAS pregnant, wasn’t she?! Of course she was. She had known it the second time they made love. She had SEEN it when he came inside her that wild night in the darkness below decks, FELT it as his seed flowed through her valleys. Missing her period made it real, yes. But she had always known. And she had also always known what she’d do. “You said it yourself—it’s not like we’re going to be hiding under bridges, fleeing through forests, foraging for food. You said you have access to money, that you know wealthy people who will protect you, protect us, right? And so even if I’m . . . if I’m . . .”
Rizaak looked at her with an intensity that made her shiver now, and she feel the vibration in his chest as he spoke in a deep, deadly serious tone. “Say it, Cristy. Say it so you hear yourself say it, so you know it is real. That you are with child, with our child, with MY child, Cristy. The heir-apparent of the nation my ancestors created with their own blood and sweat, a nation that will need this child. A nation that will need YOU, Cristy.”
She blinked up at him and swallowed hard as the gravity of his words sank in. “And I’ll be there for our child, Rizaak! I’ll be there for you! I’ll be there WITH you! I don’t understand why we even need to—”
“You DO understand,” he said now, the urgency in his voice making her shift uncomfortably against his hard body. “You are just denying it. You know that there is no guarantee that I can ever return to the public view. Perhaps I will never even be able to return to my country. Which is why you must have our child in the United States.” He swallowed and blinked before refocusing his gaze on Cristy, the deepest of intensity in his eyes now. “And then, as soon as you are able to travel with our baby, you must go to Khawas.”
“Sorry, what?” Cristy closed her eyes tight for a moment. “Go to Khawas . . . what?”
“Yes,” he said, his gaze unwavering in its intensity. “Your child will be the heir-apparent to the throne of Khawas, Cristy. And as its mother and sole guardian, by law and tradition it is you that must rule until the child is of age.”
Cristy kept her eyes closed as she wondered if she was back in fantasyland. Either that or she had simply misheard. “I must rule until the child is of age. Rule what?”
The blood was already roaring in her ears like the waves of the ocean, and she could barely hear Rizaak’s answer. Now she sat up and pulled that blanket over her bare shoulders and turned to him.
“Are you . . . are you kidding me, Rizaak? This is a joke, right? You’re just playing with me again, aren’t you?”
Rizaak just shook his head, his gaze locked in on her, his lips taut and unsmiling, his body tense and hard as he sat up cross-legged and faced her. “You will have to go to Khawas with our child. You will be queen until our child turns eighteen. You will be—”
“Rizaak,” she said as the Sheikh kept going. “Rizaak, stop. STOP!”
“You have questions, I am sure,” he said. “But—”
“Questions? QUESTIONS! Hell, yeah, I have QUESTIONS! Like here’s one: What about your uncle? You know, the guy who exploded a BOMB in the United States and will soon be the Sheikh of Khawas while enjoying the secret support of the goddamn CIA!? What about him, Rizaak? After all the trouble he took to destroy your reputation, turn you into a criminal, make sure you end up a fugitive or a prisoner or even dead . . . yes, after all his scheming to get you off the throne so he can take over, kindly old Uncle Bin is just going to step aside and let ME, an American woman, take over. OK, Rizaak. Have you been drinking seawater? The salt drives people insane, you know.”
Rizaak laughed now, shaking his head as his expression eased into a smile. “Ah, so you do have questions.” But the smile disappeared when he saw how damned serious Cristy was right then. “No, that is why it is important that you keep the pregnancy as secret as possible until you give birth.”
“Because what . . . your uncle will . . . will what . . . have me KILLED if he finds out that I’m carrying a child that would allow me to take over the throne that he’s been seeking for the past twenty years? Oh, great. Wow.” Cristy wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or if it was straight-up panic.
Rizaak blinked and broke eye contact for a fraction of second before looking back at her and smiling. But Cristy could see that the smile was forced, and that fleeting change of expression was enough to tell her that what she said might not be that far-fetched.
“Listen to me, Cristy,” he said. “Once the child is born, you will contact the Khawasi Royal Council. They are responsible for all the details of administering the kingdom and enacting the laws and edicts, preserving the traditions and overseeing the nation’s progress. You will tell them the child is of the Khawasi bloodline. That you have borne my child. My DNA is on record and they will be able to verify the truth of the child’s lineage. And then—”
“Well, what’s to stop your uncle from having both me AND the child killed once the Royal Council tells him what’s up?!” Cristy was red in the face as she glared at him, her hands on her hips now as she sat up straight.
“Perception,” Rizaak said. “Once the child is born, you must contact the American and international media and give them your story. Give them the scoop, like you say! It will be sensational news, yes?! It will be reported everywhere! And so then, once you go to Khawas and the child’s lineage is verified, the media will be paying close attention. There is no way my uncle—even if he is truly evil enough to want to have you killed—could get away with doing it. Even a faked accident would look too suspicious. He will be finished! Even the CIA would not be able to do anything in the face of so much publicity! An American woman as queen! You will be all over the news, Cristy! It will work, Cristy! I promise you!”
“But what about your other promise, Rizaak? The promise that we were going to stick together no matter what? That we were going to find a way through this thing together, side by side? That the commitment to be TOGETHER comes first and everything else comes after that. Didn’t you yourself say that as long as that commitment stays firm, a solution will present itself? Don’t you believe that anymore, Rizaak?”
Rizaak’s gaze narrowed as he studied her face, and Cristy could see the respect in his eyes, the admiration in his expression, the confidence in his look. “Ya, Allah,” he whispered, almost like he didn’t realize he was speaking out loud. “She will be a great queen, will she not? How could there have been any doubt?”
“Rizaak,” she said now, searching his expression for some sign that she was getting through, some indication that he believed that this was about THEM more than anything else, that this was about the love between two people, the bond between a man and a woman, the simplest and most powerful force in the universe. “Rizaak, don’t you still—”
But Rizaak’s head was elsewhere, and he stood up now as his breaths came in short bursts. His dark face was flush with color, his green eyes shining like emeralds as he bent down and grasped her by the arms and lifted her to her feet.
The blanket slipped off her shoulders as she rose, and she stood naked before him, as he did before her. Then, without warning, Rizaak bent down and LIFTED her into his arms, cradling her like a child as she gasped and grabbed on to his thick, muscular neck and shoulders.
“Rizaak, what are you doing?” she squealed breathlessly as the naked Sheikh RAN with her in his arms towards the front of the ship, to that small, triangular deck above the pointed bow, that topmost ledge on which she had lain and looked into his eyes and chosen to give herself to him.
And he stood her up on that ledge as she stared down at his naked brown body, his face that was peaked with an expression she couldn’t quite interpret, and when he went down on one knee as those gulls circled above them like a cosmic wreath of white feather, she realized that ohmygod he was asking her to give herself to him one more time. One more time, forever.
Forever.
34
“I do! I mean I will!” she said as the wind roared against the back of her head, whipping her brown hair across her face like a flag in a hurricane. “Oh, God, Rizaak, yes, of COURSE I will!”
He looked up at her, that smile lighting up his handsome brown face, and he climbed up on that ledge with her and took her in his arms. And they stood there above the monstrous bow of the ship as it ripped through the mighty ocean, the two of them naked in the wind but warm in their embrace, vulnerable to the elements but powerful in their commitment, uncertain of the details of their future but secure in the unstoppable force of their love.
“You are right, my queen,” he whispered into her ear as he stood at her back, the two of them facing the front of the ship, nothing but ocean and sky before them. “There is another way.”
35
“Perception,” Rizaak said as the two of them huddled together beneath a warm blanket in one of the narrow wooden bunks in Cristy’s quarters. “Perception will save us. All three of us. Broadcasting the truth is what will deliver us from the threat of conspiracy and secrecy.”
“Oh, so now you think truth is the solution? Truth? That silly old thing? Who would have thought THAT would be the answer, my great Sheikh,” Cristy said, rolling her eyes as she snuggled into him.
Rizaak laughed as he kissed her forehead. “Your American sarcasm aside,” he said, “the answer is yes. It is only when I heard myself speak that I realized the solution is a lot simpler and more direct. But it will depend on us making it back to Khawas without being caught. That is the only way it will work.”
Cristy nodded. “Because once we’re married in Khawas and the media somehow picks up the SENSATIONAL news that the fugitive Sheikh of Khawas has married an American bank teller who, by the way, is now PREGNANT with his child, OMG . . .” She paused, cracking herself up but then feeling a warm, devastatingly deep tremor going through her body when she reminded herself that OMG INDEED—this was the freakin’ TRUTH!
“With a royal child,” Rizaak said, as if she had somehow forgotten an important detail.
“A ROYAL child,” Cristy said after swallowing hard and blinking in the darkness. “Then suddenly it forces the secretive, underground CIA to make a decision that will end up being VERY public. Yes, they can choose to keep blaming you, to keep branding you as the terrorist-Sheikh or whatever, to even make ME a villain alongside! But they can’t blame an unborn child for anything! So even if they lock the two of us away in a secret prison in freaking AFGHANISTAN, the world now knows that I’m pregnant, and so the unborn child can’t just “disappear.” It would be too much for the public to stomach. Perhaps even too much for the CIA to consider doing anyway!”
Rizaak chuckled against her body. “Oh, they would consider it if they thought they could get away with it, I assure you, my dear Cristy. Give your CIA some credit. They are up there with the best of the worst.”
Cristy laughed as she continued. “OK, so we’re betting that the CIA would realize that now perhaps they should switch sides yet again, that given the new circumstances, they are backing the wrong horse in Uncle Bin. They realize that the story of an American woman and an Arab Sheikh falling in love could actually play in their favor, in the favor of America and the West! Because now even if they know they will never be able to influence your decisions as Sheikh, they will at least be assured that since your queen is a down-home American BRAT, it’s probably safe to say that the small, wealthy, strategic nation of Khawas will be a strong American ally for some time.”
“For generations, my little American brat,” Rizaak whispered as he reached beneath the covers and tickled her smooth round belly. “Because there are going to be a lot of little half-American brats coming out of there. Trust me on this one.”
Cristy giggled even as she felt reality once again tugging at the edges of her mind, reminding her of what Rizaak had said earlier, of how all of this depended on one thing, one thing that could go wrong in SO many ways:
They still had to make it back to Khawas. In secret. In hiding. As fugitives from the CIA.
36
“So we arrive in Ireland,” Cristy said as she thought aloud. “You pay Tom and the others whatever you’ve agreed. Then we go underground and make our way across Europe and back to the Middle East? That’s the plan?”
Rizaak sighed and shook his head. The two of them were seated at the wooden table in the middle of the underground old crew quarters in the ship’s focsle, sharing an apple that Rizaak had brought from the pantry.
“That will not work,” he said. “If I know my uncle, he will have the CIA or Interpol waiting for us when we arrive. They will lock down the ship, and that will be the end of the game for everyone. There are only so many places to hide on a ship.”
Cristy frowned as she crunched on the vaguely sour apple. “But if the CIA knows we’re on this ship, they wouldn’t wait until we arrive in port. They’d find us at sea, wouldn’t they? And board us right here? They would already be here, in fact!”
“Exactly!” Rizaak said, excitedly waving a slice of apple as he talked. “Which means they do NOT know we are on this ship! Not yet, at least. My uncle must be stalling them until we pull into port.”
“But why wouldn’t your uncle just tell them we’re on the ship? That would pretty much guarantee that we’d be caught, yeah?”
Rizaak took a breath as he looked down at the apple core that was already starting to turn brown. He exhaled slowly. “Because Uncle Bin does not truly want to see me killed or even injured. That is my only guess. Since Tom does not directly even know that Uncle Bin had hired him, it means they are not in contact with each other. As far as Uncle Bin knows, I am still just a hostage at gunpoint. He knows that if the Americans try to board the ship by surprise, things would become unpredictable. I could be killed if there is a gun battle.”
Cristy nodded. “But if the ship is allowed to dock without incident and only then gets locked down, it makes thing safer. Even if Tom threatens to harm us and forces a standoff, it’s a no-win situation. The authorities can simply say that as far as they’re concerned, everyone on board is part of the conspiracy, so either they surrender or the ship will be taken by force.”
Rizaak knocked on the table as he nodded. “Precisely. Tom will not be able to hold up. He will crack and give in. They all will.”
“Even Jane?” Cristy said.
“Yes,” Rizaak said, not a moment’s hesitation in his expression or tone. “Yes.”
Cristy nodded again and looked down, her mind racing as she tried to think of what to do next. The side of her that loved to plan things, that needed clarity, that needed CONTROL was firing up now, and she could feel her jaw set tight in determination as she looked up at the Sheikh.
“So we’re going to have to get off this ship before it pulls into the dock,” she said quietly as the distant sound of the dark ocean seemed almost deafening through the ship’s metal hull.
Rizaak nodded as his eyes narrowed. He reached across the table and took her hand, and she reached across and took his hand, and the
y looked at each other as the energy flowed between them, a mutual feeling of power rising up in them, an aura of excitement that was strangely devoid of fear.
Because they had both made their choices, Cristy realized as she thought she felt the silent air swirl around the two of them, like the universe itself was sheathing them in a layer of cosmic protection, its reward and blessing for two people who had the courage and understanding to place their commitment to each other above everything else, to resolve to stay together no matter what logic and common sense might dictate.
And as the Sheikh pulled Cristy to her feet, that look she knew so well in his dark green eyes, she smiled up at him and allowed herself once again to give up control to him. To no one but him.
37
And as the lifeboat hit the dark waters in the dead of night, almost capsizing as the massive ship pulled through the waters beside them, Cristy held on to that feeling of giving up control to get control, of feeling fear but facing it, of having complete faith while still excitedly looking forward to the mysterious, magical future of her life, of their lives, of the life growing within her.
She held on to that faith as the little boat crashed and careened through the choppy waves off Ireland’s coast, Rizaak’s steady hand on the wheel as the boat’s motor chugged them along to their destiny.
She held on to that faith when she and Rizaak waded through chest high waters just before sunrise, shivering together as they stole their way up the rocky, deserted shoreline.
She held on to that faith when the sun rose and warmed their cold skin, dried their clothes as they made their way to a rustic service station where Rizaak made a collect call and had four hundred Euros wired to the bewildered, half-asleep, possibly drunk Irish teenager behind the counter.
Hostage for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 3) Page 16
