Sheikh's Pregnant Princess

by Sophia Lynn

  Nadim was just going to ask her where she was taking him when she turned and led him into a building with a glowing pink fluorescent sign over the door. The sign read "Rose," which told him absolutely nothing, but then when he saw another couple arrive, his eyes widened.

  The songbird walked up to the woman at the front desk, cool as ice, and passed a small amount of cash across the counter. The woman barely looked up at either of them, which Nadim decided to take as a mercy, and handed over a keycard.

  "All right," the songbird said, turning to Nadim with a slightly ironic twist to her lips, "let's go."

  Life took all sorts of odd twists, Nadim thought, but he had to admit that at least this one wasn't boring. As she led him through the dark halls of Rose, he realized that this was the most excited and fascinated he had been in a very long time.

  Chapter Three

  The moment the door closed and locked behind them, Elise felt as if she could breathe again. She sighed and glanced up at the rich patron, who was still looking at her as if she was some particularly strange bird that had fallen out of the sky.

  "We're fine," she said. "Go on and have a seat, I just need to make a call."

  At the very least, he didn't fight her, going to sit at the foot of the bed with a certain bemused look. When she had ascertained for herself that he wasn't going anywhere, Elise reached for the phone that hung on the wall. It was an old-fashioned landline, probably more trouble to take out than it was to leave there.

  The person responding on the other end of the line sounded bored, and Elise put on a much higher voice and a French accident for good measure.

  "Oh it is horrible, there was a fight right outside the Bar Rivoli! Two men attacked a third, and then were beaten, oh please do send help! It is just awful!"

  The man on the other end was still trying to get details from her when she hung up, and she nodded with satisfaction.

  "So what was that all about?" the bar patron asked, looking at her with interest. He looked remarkably sober for a man who had been drinking as heavily as he had, and Elise wondered briefly if she should be giving him the same treatment as she had given the man on the phone. Technically, any debt that she owed him had been amply discharged, especially since she had used a portion of his tip to secure this room for a few hours.

  She didn't know why she didn't just disappear out the door, but instead, she offered him an explanation.

  "I wanted to make sure that the men who attacked you at least have to deal with the police," she said, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

  "So why didn't you just go back into the bar and call?"

  Elise frowned, and she realized that perhaps he really was that rich.

  "Because they might have been part of the gangs around here," she said as patiently as she could. "I didn't want to bring any trouble down on the place that I work if two gang members got dragged off to jail. If I call from here, they'll never figure out who did it, even if they have the resources to trace the call."

  If the gang went as far as tracing the call to figure out who had ratted them out, it would be very bad news indeed, but Elise decided that she wasn't going to worry about that.

  The man's scowl deepened.

  "Are you going to be in any trouble for this yourself?" he asked. "Helping me, I mean?"

  She shot him an amused look.

  "Why, are you planning to give me some trouble?"

  He looked a little shocked at that.

  "Of course not."

  "Then good. I want to stay here for at least a little while to make sure that no one comes looking for us, then I'll head home and you'll do the same. In the morning, it will be like none of this ever happened."

  She crossed over to the tiny sink next to the bed. There was no glass, of course, but the water ran out cold and clear. She cupped some in her hands and ran some cold water over her face. She noted that her hands were still shaking slightly.

  "I am not sorry tonight happened."

  She glanced at him.

  "Really? You like fighting gang members that have you outnumbered two to one so very much?"

  The smile he gave her spread across his face slowly, as warm and sweet as honey. It was stunning, making her wonder if he was an actor or something, someone who could turn his charm on like a light switch. She had to shake herself a little to brush off its effect.

  "I liked meeting you and hearing you sing," he said. "Will you tell me your name?"

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say no. She couldn't say that anything good ever came out of giving her name to strange men, but this one was rich, and if she was going to have any hope of getting a career off of the ground, she had an idea that it would be due to currying favor with men as well off as this one.

  "My name is Elise Marten," she said. "And who may I ask are you?"

  A brief shadow crossed over his face, and Elise felt a shiver of instinct run up her spine. Whatever he told her next, there was going to be a lie involved in it in some way, shape, or form.

  "Call me Nadim," he said simply. "I'm pleased to meet you."

  He offered her his hand, and she took it. Instead of shaking it, however, he turned it over, caressing the cup of her palm with his thumb.

  "What are you doing?" she asked, and she could hear the shiver in her own voice. She had had no problem charging into an alley with a board to strike down two muggers, but now, alone with the man she had helped, she trembled.

  "Looking at you," he said. "I have never seen eyes like yours. Not quite green, not quite gray..."

  Elise laughed a little uneasily. He didn't drop her hand, and she didn't try to get it back.

  "My folks used to say they looked swampy...I always thought that was kind of an insult."

  "Mm. I would say instead that there is something in them that reminds me of the spring, of life coming out of the rain and the cold before..."

  "That sounds like a line to me," Elise retorted, but there was a small whisper in the back of her mind that suggested that perhaps it was a good line. It made her think of the good times in the Midwest, before the heat of summer boiled up but after the viciousness of the winter had pulled back.

  The man's smile grew a little, and he nodded.

  "As you like..."

  Never taking his eyes away from hers, giving her plenty of time to pull away if she wished to do so, he brought her hand to his lips. The kiss he planted on her sensitive fingertips was soft and gentle, but there was a stream of pure power running through it, making her gasp softly.

  "Stop?" he asked, his voice like a whisper of velvet, and she felt helpless to do anything but shake her head.

  "No, please don't," Elise replied. Her voice was alien in her own ears. Was it really the voice of a woman who could fill a theater with no microphone? Was this soft husky sound the voice of a woman who couldn't please her last lover?

  Nadim smiled in response, and with a gentle tug, he pulled her onto the bed with him. The plastic-covered mattress crinkled underneath them, but she ignored it as he leaned in to kiss her again. Instead of kissing her lips, he kissed the point of her chin, the roundness of her cheek, and the tip of her ear. She had never imagined before in her life that those spots could be erogenous zones, but with every touch of his lips to her skin, she felt fire dance through her.

  What is this? Elise wondered. What could it be that makes me burn for him?

  She felt as if something inside her was opening up to him, spreading wings to gather him close.

  Then he kissed her mouth, she could taste the alcohol on his breath, and that part of her slammed shut again.

  This wasn't a hint of alcohol, this was more akin to what might have happened if he had tried to drink a distillery dry, and with a disgusted sound, she pushed him off of her.

  "What's the matter?" he asked, propping himself on one elbow. "Did I overstep? Did I hurt you somehow...?"

  "More like you're a married man who's trying to drown his sorrows in the most stupid way possible," she
retorted.

  She knew that there were two bright spots of color high on her cheeks. Her entire body felt hot, but not because of what they were doing. The shock of alcohol on his breath had awakened her to her senses, and she shook her head. What the hell was she thinking?

  He was a married man who had showed up drunk and sad at her show. She had had to help him get out of a nasty scrape because he wasn't smart enough to keep his wallet hidden. She was in a hotel that primarily dealt with women who sold sex to lonely men. He was married, for goodness’ sake.

  She shook her head, pulling away as if the bed was on fire. He gave her another confused look.

  "Look, this is a mistake," she said, her hands on her hips.

  He raised his eyebrow at her, tilting his head to one side. God, she wished that he was a little less attractive when he did that.

  "Nothing has changed at all," Nadim pointed out reasonably. "There is nothing wrong with..."

  "You're married," she said, her voice sounding a little more like a wail than she wanted it to. "Look, even if that doesn't mean anything to you, it means something to me."

  "What does it mean to you?" he asked, and she wondered if he was indeed as drunk as she had thought he was earlier.

  "It means...it means to love and to honor and to care for," she said, struggling to find the words. "It means to respect someone and to put them ahead of yourself, and to understand that they feel the same way about you. That's what marriage means to me, and...oh god, why am I telling you this?"

  There was something sad in his eyes as he watched her.

  "It is what marriage means to me as well," he said gravely. "I am only sorry that my wife does not agree."

  Elise shook her head. There was an insidious voice in the back of her mind telling her that the marriage might be over anyway, this might have nothing to do with her, but she cut it off. She held herself in higher esteem than that, and she had to act like it.

  "And I am sure she doesn't understand you, either," she said, shaking her head. "Look, I'm not saying that you don't have problems, but go home, okay? Go home and get them fixed. Don't hide here with me."

  She could see the look of shock on his face. She wondered if anyone had ever spoken to him like that before, or if he had ever told anyone what he had told her about his wife. She told herself she didn't care. It didn't matter, because she was never going to see him again.

  "Get yourself together. Live a good life. Make better decisions than you did tonight."

  She turned and walked out the door. She heard him calling her name, but no one came after her as she walked down the hallway. Behind the locked doors, she could hear various moans and cries, and unexpectedly, the sound of people talking softly, comforting noises in the night.

  Back on the street, Elise wrapped her arms around herself, walking towards the small apartment she called home. It would be dawn in a few hours, but she couldn't imagine sleeping ever again.

  ***

  Back in the room, Nadim covered his face with his hands as he lay back on the bed. Without Elise there, the room was revealed to be distressingly shoddy and trashy, no place for a man of his rank and dignity. She was right, it was an insult to his wife as well, and almost as if on cue, his phone rang.

  He checked it and blinked in surprise to find that it was Ahmed, his personal assistant.

  “What is it?” he asked, not bothering with a greeting. Ahmed knew him well enough after all this time not to be insulted.

  “Sir, the sheikha is in a state. She is destroying the royal residence.”

  Nadim groaned, shaking his head.

  “Of course she is.”

  “She wishes to see you immediately.”

  “And when did she first utter this request?”

  “Er, four hours go, sir.”

  “And I take it she has been destroying things for some time now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  For a moment, Nadim was tempted to tell Ahmed to simply allow her to keep doing so. There was nothing that Malaya could shatter that he could not replace, nothing important to him that she had not destroyed a long time ago. His wife was nothing if not an energetic woman, and he assumed that if given enough rage and time, she could continue on her course for quite a while yet.

  He also knew that her rage had a rather bad habit of spreading itself to people who had nothing to do with causing it, and whether he liked it or not, there would be consequences for his delay. He gritted his teeth and then sighed.

  “I'll be back at the palace within the hour,” he said, and he could hear Ahmed's relief as he said that he would let the sheikha know.

  He arranged for the intensely discreet car service to pick him up, and as the silent driver transported him through the streets of Hadara, he thought all over again as to how he had gotten into this mess.

  His parents, he knew, had wanted only the best for him, but both of them had been plain when they said that that must include the benefit of the country. Their family was the heart and soul of the country, his father had often said, and that was why they must always look to the future. Ensuring a strong succession was part of that, and in light of that fact, they had chosen Malaya ibn Shouk for him.

  Nadim could still remember the first time he had met his wife-to-be. It was at a grand meeting involving both their families when he was no more than fifteen and she was no more than twelve. He had an impression of wide dark eyes and dark ringlets of hair that cascaded down her back. He had looked at her, wondering what it would be like to spend the rest of his life with this girl, and no sooner than he had that thought, it was over.

  Malaya's parents, old nobility from a line nearly as noble as his own family's, had said that it would be good to preserve surprises for after they were married. If they grew to know each other too well, then it might get their marriage off on the wrong foot. If they came to each other as husband and wife when they were both of age, they would have a better idea of what to expect from one another, a better idea of who they had to be, and they would step up with an intense sense of decorum.

  It must have sounded good to Nadim's parents. The two betrothed did not see each other except for brief moments during the next few years. They never spent more than an hour together until they were legally wed under a canopy of jasmine flowers, toasted by a wedding of more than two thousand people.

  It had started well, with the newspapers touting the most beautiful bride the emirates had ever seen and a happily besotted groom who knew that his life was going to be perfect.

  Nadim couldn't decide if he wanted to strike the young fool he had been or to simply buy him some of the alcohol that he never drank until he was in his fourth year of marriage.

  The royal palace appeared in front of him, and Nadim sighed. There was marriage, and fate, and the closer he got to the palace, the more tightly the noose seemed to fit around his neck.

  Chapter Four

  The palace of Hadara was an entirely new edifice. It was built just fifty years ago, when Hadara left seclusion to find a new place in the world. It was utterly modern and gorgeous, but as he passed through the modern halls, Nadim realized that he found it rather cold. It was all gold and marble, high ceilings and enormous windows. The servants who worked in the palace knew better than to cross the paths of their betters, and so often, it was too easy to imagine himself utterly alone in the palace.

  Well, utterly alone, that was, except for Malaya.

  He had dismissed the immediate staff for the night, and Ahmed had left him with a text that the sheikha was in the library. Nadim felt a pang of old rage go through him. Malaya had a penchant for destroying things, but he had long ago established that the library was out of bounds. It was one of the few things he was ready to do battle on with his tiny wife, one he would not forgive, and seeing his determination, she had backed down.

  Nadim paused at the door of the library, his fingers on the handle. He knew that he had to be gathered and measured for whatever was coming, but for some reason
, his thoughts went back to a woman with a wry smile and pale hair, her eyes the color of spring. Another pang of desire went through him, uneasy and unwelcome. No matter what had happened, he had never cheated on Malaya, yet tonight, he could have done so and not been sorry.

  This marriage is destroying us both in strange and unexpected ways, he thought grimly, and he opened the door.

  Malaya had always had a gift for the dramatic. She stood at the enormous window to the gardens, framed on either side by the fall of pale yellow velvet curtains. The lights had been dimmed, leaving her looking as if she was standing in the candle-drenched past.

  "I see that you have made it back to me," Malaya said, her voice dripping ice. "Did whatever woman you buried yourself in tell you to go home?"

  He felt his hackles rise, and then he pushed it down hard because that was exactly what Malaya wanted. She wanted a fight, she wanted raised voices, she wanted things to spiral increasingly out of control, and she wanted him out of his mind.

  "As a matter of fact, I came home because I was afraid that you might hurt someone," he said coldly. "I wanted to make sure that none of the new servants had to see the sheikha screaming like she had lost whatever good sense she had left."

  Malaya made a sound that would have been a growl if she were a man, and she spun on her heel, stalking towards him. Emptily, he thought that she was still a beautiful woman. Anyone would have thought so, or at least, they would have thought so before they saw her like this. With her fury twisting her face, she looked as if she were a demon sent from hell.

  "I don't care what the servants think," she hissed. "I don't care who might get their feelings hurt, or who might think that they are good enough for punishment..."

  "And I don't think that an aggressive, thoughtless bitch makes a good queen, yet here we are."