Grateful for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 16)

by Annabelle Winters

  Besides, she thought as she tightened her jaw and started up the car’s engine, you barely knew the Sheikh. Don’t build it up into something that’s gonna make you pine for him the rest of your life. Who’s to say you’d even be together now. Who’s to say he wouldn’t have backed out of the wedding anyway. It was a ridiculous idea to begin with! Who decides to get married after meeting twice?!

  Just every royal couple in the history of every great culture, came the answer from an annoyingly pedantic part of Pen’s brain—the part that had wistfully read up on the long history of arranged marriages in cultures ranging from the medieval French and English to modern-day India. There were even arranged marriages taking places in secret in the elite levels of American society—which was as close to royalty as you could get in the good ol’ U.S. of A!

  That melancholy was still weighing her down as she pulled up at the driveway to the private school where the twins had just started that past Fall. She kept the engine running as she unstrapped the kids and took them into the building, kissing them each on the forehead and saying bye with a big smile, feeling like a fraud as she did it even though she knew she loved them.

  Yes, of course I love them, she told herself, that pit in her stomach feeling like a rock that was choking her, dragging her to the ground, making each step she took feel heavy with guilt. Again she thought of Willow and how she’d agreed to be Godmother to the twins. She hadn’t thought about it much at the time: Hell, what Godmother actually expects to be called upon to make good on her promise?!

  Stop it, she told herself, almost saying it out loud as she emerged from the school building so fast she almost knocked over a train of six-year-olds holding hands, led by a teacher. The teacher glared at Pen, looking her up and down, her gaze resting on her cleavage for a moment before meeting her eyes. Pen could see the disapproval in the teacher’s expression, and she almost laughed as she wondered how it was that she’d turned out to be a horrible person: a wealthy single mom who wore low cut dresses to drop her kids off at school while dreaming of being with some alpha bad-boy who didn’t want kids at all . . .

  Pen was so lost in her thoughts that at first she didn’t notice the tall, lithe figure leaning against the gently humming hood of her Range Rover. And when she did, she frowned and sighed.

  “All right, all right,” Pen said, slightly irritated but mostly at herself for being an ungrateful wretch of a woman for having such horrible thoughts, “I’ll move the car in a minute. What’s the rush? There’s no one else in the driveway!”

  “Do I look like the traffic police?” said the woman, adjusting her sunglasses and smiling, her red lips parting to reveal perfectly aligned white teeth that had almost certainly been professionally polished that week. Perhaps every week.

  Pen ran her tongue between her lips and teeth, blinking as she stared up at the tall, thin blonde leaning against her Range Rover like she owned it. Shit, I need to get my teeth straightened, Pen thought absentmindedly as she smiled without showing her own teeth to this supermodel.

  “What is this, PTA recruitment?” Pen said, raising an eyebrow and reaching for her door handle. She hadn’t interacted much with the other parents yet, and this wasn’t the time. She was still too turned around with everything that had happened over the past few weeks. Everything was still too new. New money. New kids. New life. And that nagging feeling like everything was about to go to shit. Or that perhaps it already had gone to shit!

  The woman laughed, taking off her sunglasses and tossing back her long, flowing blonde hair like this was a shampoo commercial. “That’s funny! Oh, you’re so cute,” she said, touching Pen’s shoulder in a way that made Pen want to punch this condescending wench in the mouth and say something like, “Do you know who I am? I’m a millionaire! And I was engaged to a Sheikh once! Cute? Funny? Let’s see what you think when I break your porcelain nose, you Barbie-doll bitch!”

  What is wrong with you, Pen thought as she took a step back in shock. Where are these thoughts coming from?! Why is there so much venom in you? This isn’t you!

  Or maybe it is you, came the counterthought as Pen glared into the blonde’s cool blue eyes. Maybe this was always you, and it just took a couple of twists and turns of fate to bring it out in the open. Maybe all that crap about being a peaceful Midwestern farmgirl with kooky ideas about not wanting to slaughter animals for food was all a front, a farce, a fucking mirage.

  “I’m sorry,” said the blonde, pulling her hand back as if she’d sensed Pen’s annoyance. “Where are my manners. I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Charlotte.” She straightened up to where she seemed almost a foot taller than Pen, who suddenly felt fat and dumpy in front of this Barbie-doll with perfect hair and teeth. “Charlotte Goodwin,” she added, blinking in a way that made Pen realize this woman had rehearsed whatever came next. “Doctor Charlotte Goodwin. I’m a professor at the University of North Dakota, and those are my children you just dropped off at school. I’d like them back, please.”

  18

  Pen stared at Doctor Barbie-doll Blondie sitting across the table from her at Rudy’s Diner in downtown Fargo. Things seemed weirdly out of place, mismatched, like it just didn’t fit. Pen took a breath, feeling a sense of relief when she smelled pancakes, syrup, and fresh coffee in the air. She could tell that this woman hadn’t eaten a pancake in at least a decade, and if she ever drank coffee it was probably through a drip or syringe, because there was no other way her teeth could stay that white.

  Doctor Charlotte Goodwin, PhD, had suggested they get lunch at an elegant restaurant with tiny tables, big plates, and miniature entrees, but Pen had shaken her head and said no. Rudy’s Diner, she’d said. Her head was spinning and her mind was frazzled. She needed to eat, and she knew Rudy’s would fill her up.

  Pen waited until the coffee cups were full and the bacon was sizzling in the background, and then she took a breath and looked at Doctor Charlotte Goodwin right in the eye. “Let me get this straight,” she said, sipping her coffee while holding eye contact. “You’re saying you had an agreement with Willow and Randy to adopt their adopted kids.”

  “Correct,” said Charlotte, slowly turning her coffee cup in a circle but making no attempt to raise it to her lips. “I’ve got all the texts and emails we exchanged about the matter. We hadn’t gotten to the point where we’d brought in the lawyers or filed anything official, but we’d come to an agreement. The lawyers were going to be the next step. But then . . .” She paused, placing both hands around the coffee cup and looking into Pen’s eyes. “Well, you know.” She shook her head. “Unbelievable. Just unbelievable. Such a tragedy.”

  Pen nodded, looking away for a moment and blinking as she tried to process everything Doctor Charlotte Goodwin had told her on the ride over. At first it didn’t make any sense at all: Why in the world would Willow and Randy want to give up the children they’d just adopted?! Willow loved those kids, and she hadn’t said a word about giving them up! Not even in passing. Not even when blind drunk.

  But Randy . . . well, Randy was different. She’d never been super into being a parent. In their private discussions (which Willow had of course made public to her best friend Pen . . .), it had been agreed that Randy would continue to work full-time while Willow stayed home with the kids. Willow had agreed, with the agreement that she’d take on the occasional catering gig to help with the bills and also to get out of the house once in a while. After all, Willow was a people-person, and she’d always loved catering weddings, graduations, and even funerals. Randy had agreed, but although Willow hadn’t really gone into details, Pen had sensed there was some lingering tension about the parental responsibilities. So maybe Randy would consider giving the kids up, especially with Willow gone.

  “So you’re saying both Willow and Randy were ready to let you adopt the twins?” Pen said slowly, nodding and leaning back on the faux leather as the waitress stormed up with a heaping plate of panca
kes, eggs, hash-browns, sausage, and bacon. She smiled as the array of aromas hit her, suddenly making her feel so happy she decided she was in some crazy dream. She dug in, not even bothering to comment on Charlotte’s order of one sad-looking gluten-free muffin.

  Charlotte shook her head and stared at her muffin. Then she glanced up at Pen. “Just Randy,” she said slowly. She carefully unwrapped her muffin and placed it back on the plate. Charlotte hadn’t done much with her food but play with it so far, Pen noticed. Weird. But whatever. Weird was about par for the course in her life right now.

  “How did you get in touch with Randy? How did the topic come up?”

  Charlotte blinked as if surprised at Pen’s level of questioning, but she nodded and reached for her bag, pulling out a slim manila folder and placing it on the table. She flipped it open and spun it around so Pen could see it.

  “All our emails and texts over the past nine months,” she said, clearly pleased with herself for being so organized. Pen hated her already, but the pancakes were too good to hate anything for too long, so she just nodded and shrugged.

  “I’ll take a look,” Pen said, raising an eyebrow when she caught glimpses of texts that sounded pretty darned personal. Stuff Randy had said about Willow, their relationship, their marriage. What the hell?

  “Do that,” Charlotte said softly, smiling and leaning forward on the table. She reached across and touched Pen’s hand, squeezing gently in a way that seemed shockingly intimate in relation to how distant and cold this woman had seemed thus far. What was going on here?

  “Uh, yeah,” Pen said, drawing her hand back and staring into Charlotte’s blue eyes. “That’s what I said. Now, are you gonna eat that muffin or shall I put it out of its misery?”

  19

  It is time to put myself out of this misery, said the Sheikh as the wheels of his private jet hit the tarmac at Fargo International Airport. I have waited three months, but yet this feeling has not left me. And so now it is time to take care of this. To end this misery.

  The Sheikh had been ready to saddle up and ride his damned camel to Fargo and his curvy farmgirl, bring her back with him to their Palace the day after she’d left him. He’d been ready to say to hell with those noble intentions, those grand plans, those goals of finishing what his father had been unable to do. So what if the woman had two adopted children? There were a hundred legal tricks and loopholes that could keep them from ever claiming the throne, yes? After all, even if he married Pen, he did not necessarily need to adopt her children! And if there was nothing legal connecting him to the children, then once Zahaar held elections and transitioned its government to democratic rule, even if those kids did grow up and decide they wanted Daddy’s throne, there would be little they could do.

  Still, Rafeez had held back, telling himself that he would wait three months before making any decisions. He knew better than to make life-changing moves in the heat of anger or the joy of lust, and most certainly the latter was at play with that damned American woman. Ya Allah, he could think of no one else, of nothing else, of no need greater than his need to possess her, to make her his—his woman, his wife, his queen.

  The Sheikh hadn’t taken a woman to bed in the three months since Pen had walked out of his life and sent two hundred turkeys to Zahaar as a comical reminder of her presence. The desire had been building up in him; but it was a desire for her and her alone. Rafeez couldn’t understand it. He’d been infatuated, enamored, and perhaps even been in love before. But not like this. Never like this.

  His mind flashed back to Charlotte Goodwin as the plane pulled up to the private gate of the charter terminal. There was no real reason for the thought other than the association it had with her wedding—which was what had brought him to this God-forsaken place in the American Midwest to begin with. He thought of the brief meeting with her new husband, a thin, bespectacled man who barely came up to her shoulders. He seemed pleasant enough, but something had struck the Sheikh as odd about the match. Still, there was no accounting for taste, and besides, what difference did it make why Charlotte had chosen the man she did? It made no difference of course, and so Rafeez pushed it aside and focused on why he was here.

  For whom he was here.

  20

  “I am here for you,” he said, leaning against the door frame, his large body blocking out most of the light. “I told myself I would wait three months, and now I am here.”

  Pen blinked up at the dark, muscular figure of the Sheikh. She’d seen his caravan of vehicles drive up to her renovated farmhouse, and after a moment of panic she’d rushed to the bedroom and changed out of her single-mom sweatpants and into some black tights and a top that showed off just enough cleavage that it was sexy without being obscene. Not that she was gonna have sex with him. Nope.

  But why not, came the thought as she’d hurriedly dabbed on some makeup and smacked her lips as she checked her look in the mirror. If he shows up at your door with a hard-on and a grin, why is it your responsibility to turn him away again? Why turn him away at all? This isn’t the Middle Ages, is it? A man and woman can have sex and then live their own separate lives and have sex again if they feel like it, right? If you hold hands with a man it doesn’t mean you’re committed to marrying the guy!

  “So has something changed or is this just a royal booty call,” said Pen, taking a breath as she tried to calm her pounding heart, that pesky heart of hers that whispered—nay, screamed—that this was more than just about her booty.

  “Neither,” said Rafeez, still grinning. “I am just here to update you on the status of your turkeys.”

  “How many have you gunned down in cold blood?” said Pen, turning and walking back into the living room, feeling the Sheikh’s eyes on her ass as she tried to keep her back arched so her booty would stick out just right. Just in case this was a booty call. Which of course it was. She could see it in his eyes. She didn’t even need to look at his crotch—though it was hard to miss the bulge.

  Pen could feel her own wetness flow into her panties as she caught sight of that old dining table that marked the spot where the Sheikh had tied her like a bound whore, spanked her bottom red and raw, and then stormed out into a snowstorm when she’d asked him to use a condom. What a first date!

  She thought back to their second date in the backseat of a golden Range Rover gliding through the Arabian desert, the sand dunes silently watching as she made the king come all over her stomach, once again denying his seed entry into her valley. What a strange courtship, she thought as she felt Rafeez behind her, smelled his distinctive scent fill the room, fill her senses.

  Suddenly the thought of him filling her with his seed rushed into her mind, and she turned to him as her arousal burst into full bloom like the sun after a rainstorm. Now she understood why he was here after three months. Sure, this was a booty call. But their entire relationship had been a booty call thus far, hadn’t it? His cock. Her booty. What more was there to a relationship? Wasn’t she just overthinking it?

  Just let him come inside you, she told herself as she looked up at him and smiled. She could feel the fresh lipstick on her face, smell her own perfume in the air. What difference does it make? You’re not responsible for this man’s choices! So what if you get knocked up and he decides he can’t marry you? You’re rich. You’re already a single mom. And you’re . . . you’re tired. Tired of having to make decisions to uphold someone else’s values! Willow’s dead. Randy’s dead. Willow probably didn’t want to give up the twins, but Randy most certainly did. Those emails and texts made it quite clear that Randy wanted Charlotte and her husband to be their parents. And once Willow was gone, wasn’t Randy the official guardian, the decision-maker? Wasn’t it Pen’s moral obligation to uphold Randy’s decision to give the twins to Charlotte? For all Pen knew, Willow herself might have agreed if she hadn’t been killed. Maybe Willow was already on board but had been too ashamed to admit it to Pen. Who kn
ew?!

  “Where are the children?” the Sheikh asked, his voice low as he stepped close to Pen.

  “School,” said Pen softly. She could feel the arousal flow strong through her. But there was also a sick feeling coursing through her body, a pit in her stomach that she couldn’t understand. She wanted to kiss him one moment, throw up the next. What was wrong with her?! Where was all this conflict coming from?!

  The Sheikh grunted, leaning in close, his right arm drawing her in, hand sliding down the small of her back and settling on her ass. His crotch was peaked like there was a pipe in his pants, but when he brought his lips to hers she gasped and turned her head, pushing against his chest and stepping back.

  “I . . . I can’t,” she said, closing her eyes and shaking her head furiously, not sure if she was angry with herself or him or Charlotte or Willow or Randy or maybe even those goddamn turkeys with their droopy necks and constant gobbling! “Oh, God, I’m losing my mind,” she gasped, her eyes going wide as she gasped again and again, staggering backwards until she was stopped by the old dining table. “Oh, fuck, I’m seriously losing my shit! It’s too much. It’s just too much! I can’t . . . I won’t . . . I don’t know how to—”

  But she couldn’t finish the sentence because the Sheikh was on her, his lips smothering hers, his hand sliding around the back of her neck, fingers closing in around her hair, tongue driving into her mouth, hips pushing her legs apart, crotch grinding against her mound.

  “It is too much for me too,” growled the Sheikh, breaking from the kiss just long enough for her to see in his green eyes that he’d lost control, that whatever had been building over the past three months while they were apart had now been unleashed. She wasn’t going to be able to stop him.