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

by Annabelle Winters

  Pen closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, her heart racing as she realized where the Sheikh was leading her, what he wanted her to say. And she knew she had to say it. She had to agree. He was right. If these were indeed his dead sister’s kids, he had the right to know. And hell, if this bitch Charlotte started some kind of legal trouble using those emails and texts from Randy as proof that there was an adoption agreement, it would help to have the Sheikh in her corner, wouldn’t it?

  Again Pen wondered if she was being played, if this was all being engineered by the Sheikh and Charlotte. Perhaps he’d already arranged for fake DNA results. Or perhaps he’d decided to kill the kids if they did turn out to be his sister’s. Or maybe Rafeez and Charlotte would just kill her and live happily ever after in a sandcastle with Willow’s children!

  I want to live in a sandcastle, Pen suddenly thought as her mind swirled and her body tensed up with a strange longing. Away from this madness and depravity. Away from . . . him.

  But she couldn’t sustain the thought, because at the heart of it she knew the last part wasn’t true. She didn’t want to be away from him, psycho or not, big dumb ape or not. Although she shouldn’t trust him, she did. And although she couldn’t possibly love him, she did.

  Oh, God, I love him, she thought as she looked at her bound wrists, felt his seed drip out of her. It sounded mad, depraved, sick. But it was true. She trusted him from the moment she’d let him walk through her door in that snowstorm. Willow had sent him to her, and now she was wealthy, with two wonderful kids, and in love with a Sheikh! Sure, she was tied up and her ass was still stinging from being spanked so hard, but there was a feeling of warmth flowing through her as she put things in perspective.

  We both had our moments of doubt. We both still can’t be sure if the other one is being honest. But we can’t deny that there’s something in the air when the two of us are together. A spark. An electricity. A sense of connection that just can’t be denied.

  “All right,” she said, feeling that electricity flow through her when she understood that the Sheikh wasn’t stupid enough to actually drive up to an American school and expect to bundle up two kids and shove them into his limousine without being taken down with extreme prejudice. He wanted her to say it. He wanted her to make the choice. The choice to trust him. “All right. I’ll do it. I’ll go with you. We’ll pick up the kids together.” She took a breath and nodded. “And we’ll run the DNA tests. Settle this matter once and for all.”

  25

  “I still don’t understand why we had to fly to Zahaar to settle this,” Pen said softly as she watched the twins gently snore, their mouths wide open as they lay tucked cozily in blankets in the large leather recliners of the Sheikh’s private jet. “We do have DNA testing facilities in America, you know.”

  “It is not the DNA tests per se,” said Rafeez. He’d been watching the twins sleep for at least an hour. Just watching calmly, his green eyes unwavering, completely focused on them. Pen had wondered what he was thinking, but she’d stayed quiet and let him be alone with his thoughts. In a way she’d known what he was thinking. She’d been thinking the same thing: What happens if they confirm that the children are related to him? If they are indeed his sister’s children? What happens then?

  “What do you mean?” Pen said, her eyes still focused on how the Sheikh was staring at the children. For a moment she thought of the animal kingdom, where many male animals will kill the young fathered by another male just to make sure their own seed prevails. But then she blinked away the thought and shook her head.

  “I mean once we get the DNA results from the children’s saliva swabs, we will need to compare them with the DNA records of the royal Zahaari bloodline. I checked with my people back in Zahaar, and we have no DNA sample from my sister. We have very few medical records of her. My parents were ashamed of her addictions, her weakness. It is sad, but that is the situation. If we had records, it would be a simple comparison: The DNA records would show a fifty-percent match between the child and the mother, and that would be the end of the matter. But now we will need to test the DNA results against my own sample. And it gets complicated because my sister and I do not share the same mother. I want to make sure I am there to supervise the analysis, to be involved every step of the way.” He took a breath. “And if necessary, to order an exhumation.”

  “Wait, what?”

  The Sheikh shrugged as he silently gestured to an attendant, who disappeared and then almost immediately returned with a tray of steaming hot sweet tea. “Muslims bury our dead just like Christians do, Pen. My sister died of an overdose in the Royal Palace. She is buried in the Royal graveyard on the Palace grounds, along with the rest of my family. It is considered heresy to dig up the grave of a dead royal, but I will have it done if needed.”

  Pen closed her eyes and exhaled. “I still think we could have settled this without pulling my kids out of school and flying halfway across the world. But all right. We’re here now, I suppose.”

  She went quiet as she watched the Sheikh sip his tea. The twins had taken to him instantly, both of them delighted to ride in a limousine that had a fridge and a candy-closet and enough space to run around even though Pen had ordered them to stay seated and strapped in while the car was moving. Getting on the private jet had the kids squealing in delight, and it was only then that Pen realized that other than the very first trip to the United States from Colombia, these children had never even seen an airplane up close.

  “It is very important to keep your seatbelt on while we are flying,” the Sheikh had told each of the twins. “If you want anything, just snap your fingers and one of my attendants will bring it for you.”

  “Mike and Ike’s?”

  “Gummi squids?”

  “I do not know what those are,” the Sheikh had said, scratching his head and making the kids laugh. “But my attendants will get them for you or else I will have them thrown off the plane.”

  “Hey now,” Pen had said hurriedly. “Let’s not give them the wrong idea about how the world works. No snapping fingers to summon attendants. Show respect to people and they will respect you back. As for throwing people out of airplanes for not being stocked with gummi squids . . . hmmm . . . all right, I guess I see the logic there.”

  They’d all laughed as the twins snapped their fingers like it was a Spanish dance party. The attendants joined in the fun, and somehow produced both Mike and Ike’s and gummi squids for the kids, much to the Sheikh’s surprise.

  “I will have to closely inspect the list of items we carry on board,” he told his head attendant sternly. “There is no logical reason for us to have these . . . these things in stock in the galley! Ya Allah, that is an octopus made out of sugar! As for this thing called Mike and Ike . . . by God, it makes my mouth pucker up like a fish dying a horrible death!”

  “OK, can we stop talking about throwing people from airplanes and fish suffocating to death, please?” Pen said to the Sheikh even though she was beaming as she said it. It had occurred to her then that this entire trip wasn’t so much about the DNA results as it was about something else. It was about them. All of them.

  And now as she watched the Sheikh sip his tea, the steam from the pot swirling through the air like white fingers before dissipating, Pen decided that yes, this was about them. Sure, the DNA results were important, but certainly all of that could have been done without flying to Zahaar. This itself was the test, wasn’t it!

  A test in the form of a family vacation!

  He wants this experience, doesn’t he, she thought as she continued to watch the Sheikh watching the kids like they were his own. The experience of fatherhood, of raising children, of being a role model to individuals alongside his broader responsibility of being a role model to his kingdom. This is just an excuse for him to see what it’s like to be the head of a family, not just a country.

  But does he just want a taste, or w
ill he want it forever, Pen wondered as she felt the butterflies in her stomach as the plane slowly began its descent towards Zahaar. What happens if they’re his sister’s kids? What happens if they aren’t? Does it even matter? He’s already made a vow—in private and in public—that he’ll never be a father, never have an heir. So what’s the endgame here? What’s his plan? Was I wrong to trust him? Was I wrong to trust Willow’s opinion of him? Was I wrong to trust my body? Is the only reason he’s flying us all to Zahaar that he can get rid of us in a place where he has absolute control? Are there going to be three unmarked graves somewhere in the Royal Graveyard at the end of this “family” vacation?

  Her thoughts rolled back to Charlotte Goodwin again, then the strange “accidental” deaths of Willow and Randy. Whatever was happening here was clearly important enough for death to be an option. Sure, there’d been no indication of foul play; but the coincidence was too much. Just too much to be believed. But who the hell was capable of engineering two accidental deaths that fooled the police detectives? The cops weren’t morons. They would have been troubled by the coincidence as well. Clearly they didn’t find any evidence in either the car accident or the bathtub drowning.

  The butterflies were going nuts as the plane swooped in for a smooth landing, but alongside the fear was still that warm glow as Pen watched the Sheikh lean over and comfort the kids, who’d both woken up as the plane’s wheels hit the tarmac. She thought of her turkeys and what the Sheikh had said when he made that ridiculous proposal: What kind of life is it for those birds to wake up with nothing to look forward to but their daily feeding? Is it not better for them to live free and wild, even with the threat of being hunted by a predator?

  Is that why I’m still playing this game with a man who could turn on me, turn on all of us, Pen wondered. Because I’d rather be the turkey that takes the risk, chooses to live free and wild instead of in a prison that’s safe and secure but routine and dull? Is that why I’m still here? Is that why I feel this warm glow alongside the fear? Is that why I feel grateful alongside being scared for my children, for myself, for what’s to come?

  Be grateful, she told herself, narrowing her eyes and smiling as she basked in the image of the Sheikh carefully unbuckling the kids and helping them unravel their blankets, find their shoes, and get ready for whatever came next.

  26

  “What comes next?” the Sheikh said, setting his jaw as he stared at the papers handed to him by the Royal Medical Examiner. “What other tests should we run to be sure?”

  The Medical Examiner blinked, bowing his head almost instinctively. “There are no other tests, Sheikh. The results are clear and indisputable. We have run them three times, even taking new samples just to make sure nothing was contaminated in the process. I personally supervised every step of the process. There is no doubt these results are accurate.” He swallowed hard and made brief eye contact with the Sheikh before lowering his gaze to the intricately designed Persian rug. “The match between you and the children is zero percent. You share no blood with the children. They are not part of the Royal Zahaari Bloodline, Sheikh. They cannot be your sister’s children.”

  The Sheikh tossed the papers down on the low teakwood table on which he’d been resting his bare feet. He frowned as he tried to interpret the strange feelings flowing through him as he heard the news. This was good news, wasn’t it? Was it? Ya Allah, suddenly he did not know! He did not know what he wanted! He did not know anything at all!

  Rafeez waved away the Medical Examiner and rubbed his stubble as he looked over at Pen and the twins standing on the open balcony at the far end of the sprawling day chambers that were reserved for the Sheikh’s Royal Family. They look like they belong here, he thought. Like they belong in this palace. Belong in this world. Belong with me.

  I was certain they were my blood, he thought as he finally acknowledged that at the bottom of it he was disappointed, shattered, broken by the news that they were not bound to him by blood. He’d almost welcomed the idea of being trapped by the situation, forced to take responsibility for the children, relieved of the burden of deciding for himself. If they were his dead sister’s children, there was no choice to make, yes? He had to step up and take on the responsibility. Take on the responsibility for all of them.

  I want this, the Sheikh thought as he watched Pen laugh at something one of the twins said and then point at one of the minarets that reached up to the sky from the bustling city beyond the palace walls. Ya Allah, I want this.

  Pen turned just in time to catch him looking at her, and the Sheikh felt himself smile as he gazed into her brown eyes. How in Allah’s name had she stuck it out with him thus far? Obviously she had her doubts about him, his intentions, perhaps even his sanity. But here she was, standing there in a long, flowing white dress with a black head scarf, looking like his queen already. His queen, standing there and looking at him, his prince and princess by her side.

  “I want this,” the Sheikh muttered. “I want it all. I will hold good to my promise to the kingdom, but I will not sacrifice the basic needs of a man to do it. That is all. That is my decision. We will find a way to have it all. Me and my queen.”

  But the moment Rafeez whispered those words to himself, a sudden dread caught hold of him and he blinked and frowned as he wondered what it was.

  Fear, he realized as he studied himself and then glanced back at Pen. Fear that once I tell her the children are not my blood, she will pack up and leave. After all, why would she stay? She has a comfortable life in America. Her financial future is secure. Yes, we have a connection. Yes, there is chemistry between us. But she also knows that I have power and influence, and that if these children were born of my dead sister, I would stop at nothing to get them. Perhaps that is the only reason she is here: To protect her children. Perhaps she reasoned that instead of me kidnapping them, it is better that she willingly plays along . . . plays along until she no longer has to play along.

  “What is it?” came her voice, breaking Rafeez from his daydream. He looked up to see his wide-hipped American farmgirl walking towards him, the twins holding on to her skirts on either side. She looks like a picture of divine motherhood, thought the Sheikh as he watched the warm desert breeze blow her scarf back and play with her long brown hair as she giggled and tried to set it right.

  The Sheikh looked directly into her eyes and smiled. Then he glanced at the twins, a chill rising up in him when he realized what he was going to do. Finally he looked back up at Pen’s pretty round face.

  “They are my blood,” he said quietly, a slow smile breaking on his face. “They are my blood, my family, my children. They will live here. They will grow up here. They will learn Arabic, learn the ways of this great kingdom, the history of their family. They are mine, Pen. And so are you.”

  27

  “A 6.25 percent match with my DNA,” said the Sheikh as Pen listened even though she felt faint in the head and unsteady on her feet. “That means the children were born to a half-sibling of mine, someone who shares twenty-five percent of my DNA. The genetic math works out perfectly. They are my blood, and I am now their father.”

  “You’re not their father,” Pen said instinctively even as she felt her heart leap with a mixture of so many emotions that she realized she needed to sit down.

  “Is he our daddy?” said one of the twins, looking up at her with a wide-eyed smile.

  “Daddy,” said the other, gazing directly at the Sheikh as if she’d already decided on the answer.

  “Can we just . . .” Pen stammered, for once not sure what she was thinking, what she wanted to do, what she needed to say. “Can we . . .”

  The Sheikh raised his arm and two veiled female attendants stepped forward from where they’d been standing like they were part of the purple velvet curtains in the background. The attendants had been with the kids day and night over the past few days, and the twins eagerly went with them
, tugging their black gowns and drawing giggles from the mostly silent women.

  Then the room was quiet, nothing but the gentle swish of warm air coming in through the large open balcony, the faraway sounds of the capital city in the distance, the in-and-out of her own breathing seemingly the loudest thing in her senses. Pen blinked as she carefully sat down on an overstuffed chair with a strong teakwood frame. The Sheikh was across from her on a matching divan, his legs up on the teakwood table upon which were a sheaf of papers.

  They are mine, and so are you.

  Pen looked Rafeez in the eye as she thought back to his words. In a way she’d known it would come to this. She’d known it from the way they’d laughed and joked together, from the way she trusted him to the core even when he’d acted like a goddamn psycho. She’d known it in the way he kissed her, the way he held her, the way he damned well took her like she was his and his alone. Hell yeah, she was his. And now they were bound by blood and genetics too: the blood of these kids.

  Oh, God, Willow, you beautiful bitch, Pen thought as she felt a smile break on her face. You gave me everything before you died, didn’t you? So why am I so fucking scared? Why am I still hesitant? Why?

  Because you’re not sure you deserve it, came the answer on the desert breeze. You’re still wondering if it’s a dream, a fairy-tale, an illusion. You knew that you were too good for a loser like David, but you’re not sure if you’re good enough for a man like Rafeez. And now that the kids turned out to be his sister’s, you might never know if he truly wanted you or if he’s just taking you as a part of a package deal, an obligation to take the mother along with the children.

  That desert breeze picked up a bit just as the doubts began to play havoc with Pen’s frazzled state of mind, and through her blurred vision she saw those papers rustling in the wind. She stared and blinked, frowning as she looked up into the Sheikh’s green eyes.