The Sheikha’s Unexpected Protector: Desert Sheikhs Book Two

by North, Leslie

“I’m so close,” she moaned, her head tilting back, the tips of her hair hanging wet and matted to her back. Kalif thumbed her hard nipples at the same time. A cry escaped her, and then she went rigid, mouth parted as her pussy contracted in waves around him.

  Her release prompted his own, like the secret password to the gate that they could only open together. He groaned, staring up at her as he came, his cock pulsing inside her over and over again until the pleasure receded into an all-over body buzz.

  “Sometimes it seems like I’ll never get enough of you,” she whispered, her lips dragging against his jawline.

  “That’s why we have a lifetime.” He dragged his fingers up along the bumps of her spine. “A lifetime to tire of each other.”

  “I’m not going back to France.” She pulled back to look at him, wiping away a tear that had fallen.

  “I know.”

  She laughed, a shy smile crossing her face. “How did you know?”

  “Because I know you. Because I’m inside your head.”

  She sighed happily, sinking into his chest, squeezing him tightly. “Yeah. You’ve always been there, too.”

  “I know, Sali.” He kissed the top of her head, his throat tightening. “You’ve always been the only woman for me.” He buried his nose in her hair, his skin buzzing and alive everywhere their bodies touched. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving this to you.”

  Epilogue

  Salari sighed heavily, the fiftieth time that morning. The heat had started at six a.m., it seemed. Even after a year back in Kattahar, she sometimes pined for the cool, pleasant mornings of France. If she missed anything about her time in exile, it was only the weather.

  “Darling.” Kalif came into the room, holding the frozen water bottles she’d requested. “I think we’re close. Do you think we’re close?”

  “I think we’re overdue.” She shifted on the bed, her enormous swelling belly the only thing that consumed her attention anymore. That, and the heat. “This little girl needs to make her entrance, because I can’t stand this heat with all this extra weight anymore.”

  “It’s not even ho—” Kalif began.

  “Kalif.”

  He snapped his mouth shut, pressing one of the water bottles against her neck. He’d been the most doting partner from day one, and an even more admirable father-to-be. Even through the hormonal ups and downs of this pregnancy, including postponing their wedding until after the baby came, he’d been steadfast and supportive.

  She couldn’t have been luckier. But that didn’t mean she wanted to hear his logic.

  “We can go into the cooler again today.” He gathered her hair to one side, rolling the frozen water bottle up and down her neck. “Take a rest near the frozen foods.”

  An unwitting laugh escaped her. “This is what my life has become. Posing as a freezer food.” The rest of her life really had gone on hold over the past few months. All of the work Salari had begun on a Royal Initiative against bullying, a campaign that often took her and Kalif across the country to speak at schools and girls’ homes, was temporarily on hold until she could think straight again.

  Educating the country’s youth, teaching them to embrace compassion instead of resentment and judgment, was the only way she could think to correct the forces that had shaped her own life. Forgiveness couldn’t be taught, but she could lead by example within her own kingdom. Show people what a fallen princess looked like on the upswing.

  “Only until little Arana comes.”

  They’d chosen, without even a second thought, to name their baby girl after Salari’s mother, the late queen who had been the beautiful guiding light of her and Zatar’s lives and a surrogate mother to Kalif once he’d come to stay at the palace.

  Queen Alexis poked her head into the bedroom, her eyes wide and curious. “Is the baby coming?”

  “False alarm,” Kalif said. Salari groaned as water droplets trickled down her back.

  “I’m about to explode,” Salari said, “Nobody told me these last hours would feel like years.”

  Alex pushed open the door, waddling into the room. She was about four weeks behind Salari and had watched every step of Salari’s pregnancy carefully. Like a roadmap for what to expect. “Are you feeling any contractions?”

  Salari huffed, leaning back onto the bed. Her swollen feet stared unhappily up at her, even at nine a.m. “If I could get a contraction I’d die a happy woman.”

  “Sali,” Kalif tutted.

  Alex sat on the bed next to her, taking her hand in hers. She started a slow massage around her wrist and up her arm, slow and steady fingers a relaxing pressure.

  “Mmm.” Salari’s head dropped to Kalif’s shoulder. “That feels nice.”

  “Kalif, you do her feet.”

  Kalif jumped off the bed and took up his post at Salari’s feet. He worked his thumb into the heel of her foot, watching her carefully.

  “Thanks, both of you.” Salari felt herself drifting away, the sweet attention lulling her into a rare moment of relaxation. These last weeks had been hell. And nobody told her about the pelvic pain. They massaged her silently. Salari bobbed along in the peasant stream of her subconscious until she felt a distinct pop.

  Very odd. Her eyes fluttered open. Kalif gasped, pulling away from her.

  “What the…”

  Alex screamed, her face lighting up with joy. She looked up at Salari with the news already shining across her face. “Salari!”

  And then the damp warmth hit her, the pooling liquid dripping down her legs. She blinked once, then again.

  “My water broke,” she croaked.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God.” Alex pushed to standing, comically slow as her own belly prevented rapid movement. “I need to go get the midwife. Should I get the midwife?”

  Salari nodded as Kalif helped her to standing. She waddled toward the bathroom, the gushing warmth between her legs both bizarre and thrilling.

  The next few hours were a blurry rush of activity and gasps, commotion and questions. Kalif didn’t leave her side for a minute, and when the contractions came, he helped coach her through all the training they’d received.

  Minutes bled into hours. By evening, the contractions gave way to pushing. And by nightfall, their new baby girl was safely in Salari’s arms.

  Kalif lay on the bed next to her, one arm around her shoulders, the other cradling the swaddled bottom of their squinty eyed and glossy baby girl. He hadn’t looked away once in the hour since she’d been born.

  “I love you both so much,” he murmured, still not looking away from their new daughter. Tears leaked out of her eyes as she looked between him and Arana.

  “I didn’t know my heart could feel so full,” she whispered through tears, sniffing. All the pain of delivery and the preceding nine months had faded to a distant blip, a memory that felt like she’d seen it in a movie instead of lived it personally.

  Kalif finally looked up at her, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’ve wanted to give you a baby since we were fifteen.”

  Salari laughed, a few tears spilling over. “Oh yeah? We didn’t start dating until I was eighteen.”

  “But I knew.” His gaze drifted back down to Arana. Their dark-haired baby beauty. “I always knew I would be the father of your children.”

  “Not just child?”

  A grin spread across his face, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Once Arana starts walking…”

  Salari laughed again, the joy bubbling up inside her like a shaken champagne bottle. So this was the “babymoon,” except it felt a hell of a lot like what normal life had always been at Kalif’s side. Full and warm, bursting with happiness. A type of joy that made her pinch herself.

  “You’re going to have your work cut out for you,” Salari said, placing a kiss on his cheek. “Now you have two girls to protect.”

  “Even better.” He gathered her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I was born to protect you, Sali, and all the little angels we have together
.”

  Salari cried for the hundredth time that evening.

  Finally, her life was perfect. All the pieces back in their rightful place, forming the picture she’d always imagined it would be.

  End of The Sheikha’s Unexpected Protector

  Desert Sheikhs Book Two

  The Sheikh’s Royal Seduction, 13 September 2018

  The Sheikha’s Unexpected Protector, 20 September 2018

  The Sheikh’s American Fiancée, 27 September 2018

  PS: Do you love hot blooded Sheikhs? Then keep reading for exclusive extracts from The Sheikh’s American Fiancée and The Sheikh’s Forced Bride.

  Thank you!

  Thank you so much for purchasing my book. It’s hard for me to put into words how much I appreciate my readers. If you enjoyed this book, please remember to leave a review. Reviews are crucial for an author’s success and I would greatly appreciate it if you took the time to review the book. I love hearing from you!

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  About Leslie

  Leslie North is the USA Today Bestselling pen name for a critically-acclaimed author of women's contemporary romance and fiction. The anonymity gives her the perfect opportunity to paint with her full artistic palette, especially in the romance and erotic fantasy genres.

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  BLURB

  Christina is in the tiny country of Kattahar for one reason and one reason only—she’s looking for a potential donor for her adorable niece who’s desperate for a kidney. While cleaning out her parents’ attic, Christina stumbles upon a family secret: her sister, Kasha, is adopted and her birth mother, Sabrina, a potential kidney donor, is living in Kattahar. With her world thrown into a tailspin, Christina heads to Kattahar to seek Sabrina out. What’s not in her plans is becoming involved with anyone, including the sinfully hot man she can’t keep her eyes off. But when he asks her to be his fiancée, she’s more than a little intrigued.

  As desperate as Christina is to find her sister’s birth mother, Dakaric, King of Al Qalb, is just as desperate to keep power-hungry, crown-seeking women from distracting him from his goal of making his country prosperous. Christina just happens to be the perfect woman at the perfect time. She’s only in Kattahar for one week, just long enough to pose for some PR photos and prove his “fiancée” exists. If she agrees to the ruse to keep the gold diggers away, he’ll help her find Kasha’s mother. The only hitch in his plan is his growing attraction to Christina, who is beginning to look more and more perfect in every way.

  But desert sand isn’t all that swirls around them. Secrets and lies threaten their blossoming attraction before it can take root. Now Christina and Dakaric must decide if they want their temporary engagement to become an everlasting one.

  Grab your copy of The Sheikh’s American Fiancée

  Available 27 September 2018

  www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  * * *

  SNEAK PEEK

  CHAPTER 1

  Christina blew stray hair off her forehead for the fiftieth time as she hunched over at an awkward angle under the slanted roof of the attic. She and her sister Kasha had been meaning to clean this space out for months. Ever since their mother’s death two years ago. But now, with Kasha just about twenty weeks pregnant, there was no more waiting. If it didn’t happen now, it never would.

  “Mother of…” Christina finished the swear in her head when she knocked her butt against the same jagged wood of the rafters while shifting a box of knickknacks. She had to bite her tongue; her niece Hope was three years old and in that stage of repeating everything.

  “Mother of,” Hope said in her tiny voice. She danced a Barbie doll around a peeling hat box, one of the many items in that gray area between throw away and keep forever in a different attic. Christina grinned over at Hope for a moment, until the reality of their situation burned at the edges of her mind once more.

  Hope was sick. Really sick. And the only reason they had finally gotten around to cleaning this damn attic was because they were going to sell their childhood home. Medical bills were piling up, and there was no donor in sight. Hope needed a kidney yesterday, and neither Christina nor Hope’s dad was a match to donate. With Kasha pregnant, she was off the list too.

  So that left exactly nobody within arm’s reach and a skyrocketing number of bills threatening any solace they were able to find in the midst of such uncertainty.

  Kasha groaned, slowly pushing to standing. She’d just started to pop this week, and her bathroom visits were what she often called “relentless.”

  “Girl, I’m not sure I can hang up here much longer. Between the heat and the overactive pee party, I’m dying.”

  Christina wiped a line of sweat from her brow. “Go downstairs and rest. I can keep rummaging through this stuff. If I find anything I’m unsure about, I’ll bring it down.”

  Kasha sent her an uncertain look, her pitch-black hair frizzing at the temples. Black hair that must have been a recessive gene, they always joked, when compared to Christina and their mother’s golden-brown tresses. Their father’s hair had been the darker side of brown, but still a far cry from the jet-black hair that made Kasha often look like a Middle Eastern princess.

  “I really should be helping.” Kasha’s gaze fell to Hope, who hummed as she bent the Barbie to sit on the edge of the box. Her niece’s energy levels had been notably dropping in recent weeks. The formerly lively, rambunctious girl was now often sullen and quiet. And like her mother, she peed with startling frequency. But unlike her mother, it was because her kidneys were failing.

  “You two need to stay near the bathroom.” Christina tried to make it sound lighthearted, but the same tension rimmed her words that underlined practically everything in their lives anymore. Time is running out. We have no donor lined up. We’re drowning in medical bills. It had been all hands on deck for months now, with no clear end in sight.

  Kasha grunted, wiping off some soot from her knee. “I need a catheter. Why does my gyno keep saying ‘not medically necessary’? It’s my necessity, and it’s medical!”

  Christina cracked a grin. At least her sister’s humor never wavered, despite the rough blows life had dealt her as of late. “Try again at your next appointment. I’m sure you can wear her down.”

  Kasha laughed as she tugged Hope up by her armpits. The girl barely put up a fight. A few months ago, she would have been screaming and kicking to stay with Aunt Christie. “Baby girl, it’s time to go back into the air conditioning. And then we’re going to cook Aunt Christie a mega lunch for being such a good helper.”

  Christina grinned to herself as Kasha and Hope clomped down the wooden stairs, their steps growing fainter until they disappeared altogether. In the heavy, hot silence of the attic, Christina let the enormity of her task return. All of this needed to be cleared out by the end of the month, before they officially staged the house and put it up for sale.

  And then, it was a waiting game. Waiting for interest. Waiting for a donor. Waiting for a miracle.

  Christina huffed, abandoning her task with the knickknacks. She needed to start fresh, in an area that needed the most work. Across the attic, a cluster of boxes called to her. Dusty and forgotten. If she could clear that area out by evening, then she’d really be getting somewhere. Clear goals always helped nearly every situation in life. She wiped off her forehead before digging in. The cresting late morning sun didn’t help her focus in this hot eastern-Maryland summer.

  Christina moved all the boxes out from the corner and then started with the bottom. Dust plumed as she opened the flaps of the box. Unfamiliar folders and tins filled the space. She rifled through the documents of the first folder—the deed to what had been her grandmother’s house, long since razed when new owners bought it.

  More of the same everyw
here she turned. Outdated documents, light bills from the seventies. She hadn’t pegged her mom for such a closet packrat, but that was probably why the attic was off limits to the girls growing up.

  An emerald green tin with golden script snagged her attention. It looked like a foreign alphabet, somewhere between Hindi and Arabic. She turned the tin over in her hands, inspecting the finely drawn swirls and patterns.

  The tin creaked as she opened it. A square photo stared up at her, faded and yellowed at the edges.

  A woman and a baby in what looked like a hospital bed. Christina flipped it over, finding a curious handwritten message.

  Sabrina and Kasha.

  Christina furrowed a brow, flipping over the picture once more. The baby had to be Kasha. But who the hell was Sabrina?

  Pitch black hair flowed around the woman’s shoulders. Despite the fading photo, there was an unmistakable familiarity in that woman’s face. So familiar that if it weren’t for the eighties hairdo, she would have sworn it was Kasha today.

  Christina stared at the photo for what felt like an eternity. And then she dug deeper into the tin, a single conclusion trembling at the brink, too scared to tumble into reality.

  A folded letter underneath the picture was addressed to Judy, Christina and Kasha’s mother. Christina swallowed, reading the faint letters with trepidation.

  Kattahar remains unstable. This uprising hasn’t calmed as I’d hoped it would. Kasha’s father remains unreachable. I need my darling to stay with you a bit longer. I know you love her and treat her as your own. Thank you, my angel friend. You have done both of us a favor greater than words can describe.