The Sheikh’s Pregnant Lover (Sheikhs of Al-Dashalid Book 1)

by Leslie North

  He gave a warm speech in Greek, but Hannah hardly heard the words. Her heart was pounding. Any moment now, her single life would be over and done with. It was more nerve-wracking than traveling across the world, and yet Kyril’s eyes called to her, steady and warm…

  “Hannah, do you take Kyril to be your husband? Do you vow to care for him for all the days of your life?”

  Hannah stared at him.

  “It’s your turn,” whispered Kyril.

  “Yes,” she said and swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “Kyril, do you take Hannah to be your wife? Do you vow to protect and care for her for all the days of your life?”

  “Yes, I do,” Kyril said, and they were married.

  The mayor clapped Kyril’s shoulder. “Congratulations, my friend. And thank you for the generous gift you have made to our city,” he said. Oh, Hannah thought—bribes. That was how Kyril had managed the documentation and waiting period.

  Outside on the street, the sun cleared her head. And what she found was a glowing excitement. She laughed out loud.

  “What’s so funny?” Kyril asked, squeezing her hand.

  “That wasn’t what I expected at all! I bought a dress. I had flowers sent to the yacht. I had a plan for a ceremony at sunset.”

  Kyril turned back to face her, a grin playing at his lips. He’d been heading to summon a taxi to take them back to the villa. “Darling—you’re not upset, are you?”

  “That wasn’t what I planned,” Hannah said, the borrowed bouquet dangling brightly from her fingers. “But now that the paperwork is taken care of, we can celebrate properly. With my ceremony. On the ship, with the captain.”

  He blinked, eyebrows raised. “Are you sure you want—”

  “Yes. It’s exactly what I want. Your ceremony, then mine.” She lifted herself on tiptoe to kiss him tenderly on the lips.

  “All right,” he agreed quickly. Hannah took his hand, tugging him along toward the marina. “Captain Stavros will love it, I’m sure.” Then it was Kyril’s turn to laugh. “I thought you wanted something purely practical.”

  Her voice caught. “I did. But then—” She took a deep, cleansing breath. “Then I changed my mind. I wanted more. And I’m going to get it on the ship tonight.”

  Then she realized she'd forgotten one thing. She watched for the right shop as they walked through town. There.

  “Let’s stop here.”

  Hannah felt flushed, overheated, and off-balance. The small jewelry store midway down the block from the marina seemed welcoming—a respite from the blazing afternoon sun. The bell tinkled as they stepped inside, the cool of the air conditioning washing over her shoulders. She’d been right. This was the perfect place. It was unassuming and clean, not so ostentatious that she felt out of place. It was a store Hannah could breathe in.

  “A souvenir?” Kyril seemed curious. He gave a friendly nod to the owner and turned his attention back to Hannah. “They have lovely—”

  “A wedding band.”

  “For you?”

  “For you.”

  He laughed out loud, but she proceeded directly to the case that held the rings and spotted the one she wanted immediately. It was a simple gold band, and she could picture it against Kyril’s skin.

  “This one,” she told the owner, and she brushed Kyril away when he tried to pay. “I’m getting this for you,” she commanded him, ignoring his amused grin. “If you’re going to do the same for me, now’s your chance.” She tried to ignore his expression, anyway. It gave her a flush of pleasure to see that smile on his face.

  “No need.”

  Back out on the street, Hannah questioned him. “No need?”

  “I already have your ring. I brought it with us from Venice.”

  Heat curled around the base of her spine. “You bought that ring?”

  “Of course,” he murmured, wrapping his arm around her waist. “I saw that you loved it. I wasn’t leaving the store without it.”

  “Well,” Hannah said, intending to make a joke, but nothing came to mind. He’d had faith in her, even when she hadn't had faith in the two of them.

  It was, after all, very romantic.

  * * *

  Hannah wore the dress she had bought, a gauzy, flowing gown that made her look regal, and Kyril kept his promise to his new bride. They were married on the bow of the ship, with the grinning captain officiating over a ceremony as short as the one in the city hall but much, much sweeter.

  This time, there was no rush to sign papers. There was no hurry at all, only the gentle rock of the boat. And there were better vows.

  “I promise to partner with you in all things,” Kyril promised her as a street musician hired for the evening played a tune that made his heart swell. They’d spent half an hour together writing new vows simply because she’d wanted to. How could he deny her anything?

  The captain finished the vows with simple words. “It is a blessing, in this world, to have a partner to sail through life with. Have you brought rings to mark this blessing?”

  They had.

  It was Hannah’s turn first. He slipped her ring onto her finger.

  “You’ll have to take your other ring off, Sheikh Kyril,” reminded the captain.

  He hesitated. The signet ring was a powerful reminder of his responsibility to everyone under his care. The gold contained the ashes of a fire, a grim memento of the biggest mistake of his life—a life nearly lost and a hard lesson learned. Kyril could never let down his guard or people could get hurt.

  But he looked down into Hannah’s eyes, and it hit him. This new ring was simply an extension of that responsibility, expanded by the weight of his love for her and their unborn baby. When she slipped the band onto his finger, it felt as if he’d always worn it, despite its differences from the signet ring now on his opposite hand.

  His thoughts raced back, one more time, to the night that had taught him what it meant to be a man, but Hannah’s lips on his, soft and yielding, brought him firmly back to the present.

  “Now we celebrate,” she said into his mouth. “It’s our wedding night.”

  * * *

  Hannah felt sultry as the dress dropped to the floor, revealing the matching bra and panty set she’d purchased along with it. The air in their suite was charged somehow. It was supposed to be a practical wedding, nothing more, but the way Kyril looked at her was full of love.

  And lust.

  “Hannah,” he said softly, and she felt the depth of that love in the sound of her name. “Come to bed.”

  She ignored him as she reached behind her back to unhook the bra. Wrapping her arms around her breasts, she pulled the bra slowly free before dropping it on top of her dress. Stepping out of the circle of fabric, she turned before bending to retrieve the bra and dress from the floor. With her back turned, she didn't have to hide her smile at Kyril's moan of approval.

  "Hannah!" This time when he said it, there was a note of desperation in his face and she chuckled.

  “I’ll come to bed when I want to,” she said defiantly. She slipped her thumbs under the waistband of her thong and slid it down to her feet before stepping out of it. She looked up in time to see Kyril palming his erection, a look of misery on his face.

  "Hannah" His tone turned cajoling as he gave her that grin—oh, that grin—she couldn’t resist. Climbing onto the foot of the bed, she crawled slowly toward him, watching as his eyes dilated as his passion grew. Kneeling next to him, the range of emotions flitting across his face was almost unnerving because they were all for her.

  Reaching out to cup her face in his hands, Kyril was careful with her…for a moment. He kissed her softly, as if the wedding had transformed her into a delicate object despite the striptease she'd given him and his gratifying arousal.

  That didn’t last.

  When she crushed her mouth against his, he growled, his body moving against hers like a bolt of lightning. This—was different. He handled her, moving her so that she straddled him, the head of
his cock sliding against her folds in a delightful, tortuous tease. Hannah, out of patience for his torment, dug her fingernails into his chest and thrust her hips downward, taking him inside.

  “Yes,” hissed Kyril, his hands gripping her hips tightly, dragging her hips back and forth. His eyes burned into her, and despite the fact that she was on top, Hannah felt small. She felt his power. It had been unleashed by the wedding ceremony.

  Kyril possessed her now in a way she hadn’t expected, driving deeper with every thrust. She gave an experimental push against his chest and he pinned her hips against his, his grip unforgiving.

  Her desire wound like a spring inside her, a tension that demanded to be released. She swirled her hips to the rhythm of Kyril’s thrusts, coaxing a low groan from his mouth and forcing his cock against the rough spot inside of her that drove her wild.

  One thrust, two, three—and Hannah couldn’t withstand the pleasure anymore.

  She came hard, crying out, and Kyril made her ride him all the way down from her climax, his cock pulsing inside of her. Her orgasm was so strong it pushed her right out of her body, out of her mind, and when she came back to herself she realized her eyes were squeezed shut.

  When she opened her eyes, Kyril’s looked into hers, a sheen across them she’d never seen before.

  “You’re mine,” he told her, and she knew, for the first time, how true it really was.

  They tumbled back into the sheets, and despite her insistence on freedom, she found herself clinging to him in the dark, unwilling to put even an inch between them.

  “It’s lonely without you,” she whispered, eyes closed.

  “You never need to be without me,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I vowed to protect you and care for you, and I meant it.”

  Hannah fell asleep to the gentle sound of his breath.

  10

  Hannah woke up slowly, deliciously, stretching in the tangled sheets of the enormous bed. She’d grown used to the gentle sway of the yacht underneath her. The movement hadn’t woken her—it was the gorgeous sunlight streaming in through the windows.

  Kyril still slept, arms thrown over his head, the hard lines of his abs on display, standing out against the white sheets. For a moment she considered running her fingers down those lines and waking him up, but it had been a long night. Better to let him rest.

  She pulled on a silk robe and went out on the balcony. It was early yet, and Santorini was beginning to stir. The whitewashed buildings made her heart twist, they were so beautiful, there on the rise of the island.

  Why did they have to go to Athens, anyway? They’d missed her dinner reservation, and all at once the thought of trekking through the city made her feet ache.

  A soft kiss on her neck brought her out of her reverie. “Why didn’t you wake me?” Kyril’s voice was still husky with sleep. “I woke to an empty bed.”

  She turned into his arms. “I want to ask you something.”

  “Sounds worrisome.” He pressed another kiss to her neck.

  “Do we have to leave?”

  Kyril pulled back to look at her. “Leave bed or leave the marina?”

  “Leave Santorini. I don’t want to go just yet. I can’t explain why.”

  “No explanation needed,” he told her firmly, and he took her back to bed.

  * * *

  They spent another two days on the yacht. Hannah was so glad he’d agreed to stay, but not altogether surprised—she could see why this gorgeous island was her new husband’s escape from the world. On the third day, Hannah managed to tear herself away from the ocean for a stay at the villa. Kyril’s eyebrows shot up. And then, in true Kyril fashion, he disappeared onto the balcony with his phone.

  She discovered why when they arrived at the villa…and they weren’t alone.

  He’d planned a day of pampering for her, beginning with a pregnancy massage. The masseuse's hands were so skilled, working over Hannah’s body, that she almost fell asleep on the table by the end. But she didn’t, because there was more in store for her. A couple’s facial came next, then a manicure and pedicure for them both.

  “You look so…”

  Kyril leaned back in his chair, a tablet on his lap. “Refreshed?”

  “Kingly,” she said, though it seemed inadequate to describe how even the sight of Kyril with his feet in lavender-scented water sent a curl of delight into the base of her belly.

  The day ended with a luxurious haircut, the hairdresser lingering over Hannah’s blowout, and she felt as fresh and new as a daisy.

  Tired, too, in a way she hadn’t expected. It was hard work to be this pampered.

  Dessert was the only solution.

  Hannah found the kitchen fully stocked, and she cornered the chef to ask for directions. It was going to be the perfect end to the evening. They could sit out on the balcony and watch the island light up beneath them, all with warm chocolate cake on their tongues. It was a relatively simple recipe, and while Kyril tended to the business of Al-Dashalid from his office, she tossed it into the oven and went to get ready for the night.

  After a shower, she ignored the waiting robe and let the air caress her naked skin. It was time to get dressed.

  Hannah searched the wardrobe and the dresser, looking for something to wear. Something sophisticated but comfortable. But everything she tried pressed against her belly. Even one of the sundresses she tried on looked ridiculous. Hannah scowled into the mirror. What had happened? One day lounging around in a robe and her belly had popped. She resorted to rifling through her suitcase, but nothing there seemed to fit either. She put the robe back on after all—it was the only thing that fit.

  That was how Kyril found her, naked and scowling hopelessly into the suitcase.

  “What a face, my darling.” He wrapped his arms around her, gliding his palms along the curve of her belly. Hannah felt herself melting into him. It was ridiculous, but within the circle of his arms, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh…” She leaned backward into his strong chest. “I was feeling sorry for myself. None of my clothes fit anymore.”

  She could feel Kyril’s smile. “You look radiant,” he said, and she raised her eyes to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. In the light from the setting sun, framed by Kyril’s muscular arms, she did look radiant. “Don’t think about it for another moment. I’ll have these clothes taken away, and we can have maternity clothes sent up. It’ll only take a minute. I’ll make the call.”

  “All right,” she said. But she frowned a little, dissatisfied.

  “Ah,” he said. “I can hear it in your voice—you’re disobeying me.”

  It sent a little shiver of passion down her spine, and she gave a little laugh. “What? How?”

  “You’re still sad. I won’t have it.” Kyril scooped her effortlessly into his arms and took her to the bed. “I know the perfect way to cheer you up.”

  “New clothes?”

  “No clothes.”

  "No clothes? But how will I go out sightseeing?"

  "I'll see what I can do, if and when I let you out of this bed again." He undid the belt on the robe and slipped it from her shoulders. “Lie back.”

  She did. “But you’re still wearing clothes. That’s not—ah…” The words flew from her mind as Kyril bent his head between her legs.

  God, he was skilled with his tongue. Hannah squeezed her eyes closed as the sensations arced up through her body, each lick, each stroke, a different tenor from the last. Hard and soft, fast and slow, and soon they blended into a singular hum of pleasure that pressed her against the bed. She twined her fingers through Kyril’s hair. She was going to explode, and all of Santorini would know about it. How could she keep this pleasure inside?

  She couldn’t.

  Writhing against him, Hannah came hard, bucking against Kyril’s mouth, and he held her in place, his thumbs pressing into her hips. Oh, god, she loved it; oh, it was so good. It was so loud—

  T
he fire alarm.

  It was screeching its warning, and Hannah jerked upward even as she rode out the last of her climax. Kyril was already in motion, tugging the robe up around her shoulders, throwing it closed, yanking the belt into a knot. Then he swept her into his arms again and made for the door.

  She could hear Abir calling from the lower floor, and then, in the distance, another wail. The fire department. Her heart beat hard in her chest while Kyril carried her down the stairs and out into the driveway, barking orders and accounting for his staff and security team.

  Hannah looked over Kyril’s shoulder as the fire truck arrived, followed by several unmarked cars. Cars?

  “Who are they?” she asked. He seemed to realize that he was still holding her at that moment and set her gently on her feet, looking grimly out at the narrow street.

  “Paparazzi.”

  Firefighters rushed in, and Hannah held her breath. A fire in the villa. It was lucky they’d escaped. Fires could go so wrong, so quickly. The paparazzi snapped photos, and she turned, drawing her robe closer to her chest. Here she was, in a robe and nothing else. She edged closer to Kyril, who put a protective arm around her shoulders.

  “Did you see the smoke?” Kyril didn't seem to be speaking to her.

  Abir stood between them and the paparazzi and turned his head to answer.

  “From the kitchen, sir.”

  The kitchen?

  Oh, no.

  Hannah buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Kyril, I’m so sorry.”

  He rubbed a hand on her arm. “For what? You have nothing to be sorry about.”

  “I do. It was—it was—”

  Just then, the fire chief jogged out of the villa and up to Kyril.

  “This is your home?”

  Kyril confirmed that it was.

  “It was a small kitchen fire. The alarms were set properly, so there’s relatively little damage. More smoke than anything. Next time you bake a cake, I’d suggest using a timer.”

  Kyril looked at Hannah, and to her shock, an amused grin played over his lips. “We most certainly will.”