Her Billionaire Sheikh

by Allen, Jewel

  She was asleep in the royal palace.

  Remembering last night, she fell into confusion once again. Not once had Samir tried to kiss her. They’d held hands, true, but wasn’t he attracted to her? He was making her doubt her abilities.

  She smiled at her silliness. Regardless of whether or not Samir found her attractive, she was still a lucky soul, living it up here in this amazing place. She threw the covers off and ran barefoot to the window in her nightgown. A pretty, expensive nightgown that made her feel like a princess in her own fairy tale.

  Going out to the balcony, she sucked in her breath. Roses climbed trellises, bathing the air with their glorious scent. Other flowers tumbled down the ancient walls. The balcony overlooked stone patios that led to mysterious paths through a profusion of gardens. The swaths of shrubbery meandered, revealing fountains in spots, as well as secluded benches. And then beyond, acres of open land were shrouded in the morning mist. Distant mountains of blue were a backdrop for a jagged skyline of mosques and dwellings.

  The imam issued his prayer call, an ancient sound amplified in a modern world. Afterward, an uneasy feeling needled at her, and then she remembered the king.

  There was a knock on the door. She froze. It could be Samir, but she wasn’t dressed for company. She went to the door and pressed her ear close.

  “Who is it?”

  “The maid to help you for the day, mademoiselle.”

  Normally, Reese would have declined, but she was curious. She opened the door to a petite woman probably in her forties who gazed at her curiously too.

  The maid cast her eyes down. “Mademoiselle is very beautiful.” Her accent was strong and lovely.

  “Merci beaucoup,” Reese said, her French returning now. “Come on in.”

  “My name is Marva,” she said. “Perhaps the first order of the day can be a bath, if the mademoiselle is amenable to it, and then I can minister to you on your hair.”

  “Yes, that’s fine. Thank you. Did the prince send you?”

  “Yes, he did, through his vizier.”

  “And the king…?”

  Marva gave her a dark glance. “Is dead.”

  Reese stood in silence, letting this detail swirl around her. “I’m so sorry.” She wasn’t too surprised, but still, the news caught her flat-footed, as though her breath had been let out of her.

  She wondered about Samir. She wanted to talk to him, maybe call him on his cell. But, of course, that probably wouldn’t do.

  Marva drew a bath for her, scented with flowers and laced with sweet-smelling oil. After sitting up the night before into the late hours, a bath felt good. The water was warm and relaxing…until she remembered what day it was and that she should probably hurry if she was to be with Samir.

  She hoped to give him her sympathies.

  Marva helped her dry and change into a different dress, a black one that draped nicely around her body. A classy dress in a sumptuous fabric she would love to own.

  Reese sat in a beautiful damask chair and, as Marva had offered, let the servant minister to her hair. Oils first, then blow dry, then a styling until her hair swung perfectly.

  “The vizier will come to see you in a drawing room downstairs,” Marva said. “I will tell him you are ready, and one of the guards will escort you.”

  “All right.” Reese nodded slowly, overwhelmed by all the attention these people were showering on her.

  She just wanted to see Samir, but she would play along.

  Fifteen minutes turned into a half-hour. She amused herself by watching the world go by from the balcony, but the day was quickly turning hot, so she went in, feeling impatient. She could open the door and just wander the halls, couldn’t she?

  There was a tap on her door. When she opened it, a guard in a red beret and matching uniform clicked his heels together.

  “Mademoiselle Reese Morgan?” When she nodded, he said, “If you will please come with me.”

  Reese followed him down the hall to a grand staircase that led downstairs. The palace seemed shrouded with silence, yet there were furtive signs of activity. Guards marching together down a hallway. Servants bustling around with rolling trays. A few individuals who were striding through the hallways with an important air.

  But no Samir.

  She tamped down the disappointment. She felt disconnected from reality. Here she was in the palace, all of Samir’s doing, and yet she hadn’t seen him.

  She was sure he was busy.

  The guard led her to a room at the end of a long hallway. Again, clicking his heels, he bowed and left. The door opened, and a man in a suit motioned for her to come in. He had graying hair and eyes that missed nothing past accountant glasses perched on his nose bridge.

  “My name is Ahmed al-Muqri. I’m the prince’s political advisor or grand vizier.”

  Reese inclined her head. “Enchanted.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said. “Please, have a seat.”

  Reese sat on a lovely sofa covered with a French motif.

  He sat across from her on another sofa. “I am here as an emissary for the princess mother.”

  Reese’s stomach tightened with anxiety.

  “She expressed her concern about your relationship with His Royal Highness Prince Samir and wished me to ask you a few questions.”

  Ah, the interrogation. Reese schooled her features and smiled. “Of course. Go ahead.”

  “Tell me more about yourself.”

  Wow, a wide-open question. The fabricated history, the true history, or a hybrid? In the end, she decided on a bit of the first two.

  “I grew up in New York with my brother. Our mother divorced our father when I was in my early teens. Life was hard. She sent us to relatives in a small Colorado town where we stayed for a bit, but my brother didn’t like it, so we moved back. I attended the community college and worked some jobs. Traveled quite a bit, and here I am now.”

  “Thank you,” he said. He studied her thoughtfully. “I have pulled up your record. All sorts of documentation…”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “And?”

  “And you have a spotless record. Very clean. Which troubles me.”

  Reese smoothed her skirt but didn’t answer.

  “It almost seems like the kind of background that would be a result of a scrub of the web.”

  “Or maybe,” she said gently, “I just don’t have a record to speak of.”

  “Maybe.”

  He leaned back and studied her some more. “You can, of course, understand why we are concerned with the prince aligning himself with just anyone, especially since the demise of the king.” His eyes filled with tears.

  “Yes, I’d heard. I’m so sorry.”

  “This is highly abnormal, our concern about the prince’s love life. You see, before today, his love life was his business. But today, his love life is everyone’s, including our neighboring countries.”

  Reese blinked. “I had heard bits and pieces. Please, could you enlighten me?”

  The vizier nodded. “He has cousins who, by virtue of their marital status, are making moves to challenge Prince Samir for the throne. A bachelor crown prince is subject to suspicion and doubt as to his fitness as a king. Until he marries, the subject will not be laid to rest. In fact,” he gestured at the pile of newspapers on spread on the desk, “the media is speculating feverishly on the matter.”

  “Do you mind if I look?” Reese asked, standing.

  “No, of course not. Go ahead.”

  Reese browsed through the titillating headlines, some of which included her.

  Crown Prince to Wed American Nobody

  Prince Poised to Take Throne with American

  She couldn’t read past that. Her stomach roiled with distaste that at the hour of his grief, Samir would have to deal with all these lurid headlines.

  We haven’t even kissed.

  “I thought Morocco had tight regulations over the media,” she said, her fingers traveling lightly over t
he newspapers.

  “Morocco is a progressive country, mademoiselle. The Royal Family prides itself in valuing freedom of the press, as I’m sure Americans like yourself do too.”

  “Sure, I do.” She sat back down and looked into his eyes. “But I think your crown prince deserves better.”

  The vizier paused and appeared to study her more carefully now. “You seem a poised and intelligent woman. A formidable opponent for anyone.”

  “It depends on what rode on it,” she said. “I couldn’t play tennis if my life depended on it. No coordination whatsoever.”

  The vizier’s mouth twitched before he burst into a hearty laugh. “What a delight you are, young lady. It’s no wonder the prince is keen on you.”

  The prince. Samir. Her chest tightened. She didn’t care about marrying him. She just wanted to be with him. To make sure he was okay.

  “How is he?” she asked, suspecting that if she seemed more even keel, the princess wouldn’t want to cut her off from his life.

  “He is doing well, under the circumstances. He’s been busy meeting with Parliament to make the transition to the throne. His mother is with him.”

  Guilt needled at her. She hadn’t once thought of the princess mother. “My heart aches for them.”

  The vizier’s expression turned cool. “All of their subjects and those outside the family have been very gracious in their condolences.”

  Point well taken. She was a commoner. She didn’t belong to the family. She wondered what she was even doing there if they didn’t want her around. She could leave, and Samir would probably not notice.

  She hoped he would, even if just a little.

  Quinn definitely would want that.

  Quinn. The thought of her brother waiting with gleeful eyes, rubbing his hands at the prospect of his sister getting in on the engagement jewels, made her sick to the stomach.

  “—so I hope you understand.” The vizier gazed at her expectantly.

  Reese’s cheeks warmed. “Pardon me,” she said. “I didn’t catch what you last said.”

  The vizier cleared his throat once again. “You will be escorted from the premises and taken to the place of your choice. I understand you were staying at Port Eggai before this?”

  Escorted off the premises.

  He was giving her the send-off.

  She would never see Samir again.

  Considering what pretenses she had been operating under, she deserved this. Karma, if you will. She wouldn’t grovel to see him. She would shore up what dignity she had left and leave.

  Her chest tightened with a sad ache.

  What had started as a sort of game had now turned into reality. She needed to get going before she broke down and blubbered in front of this well-meaning man.

  She stood. “Please tell the prince thank you for his hospitality.”

  “Of course.” He studied her with codfish-cold eyes. “I will be happy to.”

  Escorted by guards, she walked through the hallways, noting everything: the sumptuous warmth of the paneling, the graceful arched windows that looked out upon the grounds. Despite the palace’s ancient pedigree, everything was upgraded with modern amenities. Air-conditioning, furnishings…she wondered if somewhere nearby there was an IKEA for royals.

  Up ahead, there was a crowd of people coming out of a room. Her throat tightened as she saw Samir emerge into the hallway. He was dressed in a dark suit, his equally dark eyes finding and zoning in on her.

  Reese stopped in mid-stride. A crowd surrounded him. He would have to step out to see her.

  As she wanted him to. But she simply waited.

  His gaze bore into hers, and he offered a little smile, when someone appeared at his elbow. His mother, whispering something to him. Samir glanced at his mother before raising his eyes once again to Reese.

  And then the contact was broken. A man stepped into their line of vision, and handshakes were exchanged.

  Axel, the prince’s bodyguard glared at her. Even without Axel’s death stare, Samir was too busy for Reese anyway. If she walked past them, she might embarrass herself. The mother didn’t want her to have anything to do with her son.

  Reese, poised to swivel at her heel to flee the opposite direction, paused.

  No.

  She would not run away like a scared rabbit. Especially with Axel’s challenge.

  14

  Samir had seen Reese as he exited the meeting, and the next moment, someone blocked his view of her. Samir focused on shaking the hand of Jainor’s emissary, trying to mask his confused feelings.

  The vizier had reported to him that Reese had requested to leave the premises.

  Jainor’s emissary stepped to the side, and there she was, waiting patiently. To talk to him?

  And here he was assuming she wanted to simply run away.

  Samir forgot everything else. He walked over to her like an eager puppy.

  He stopped short of touching her and just stood there, his gaze roaming over her face.

  “Hello,” he said, feeling foolish at his breathlessness.

  “Hello.” Her expression softened as she murmured, “I’m so sorry about your father.”

  Tears pricked his eyes. “Thank you.”

  She didn’t touch him, but her glance seemed to. In her eyes, concern was etched deeply.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  She swallowed. “I just wanted to tell you thank you before I…I left.”

  He stiffened. “I understand. You have other places to go.”

  Her eyes searched his. She opened her mouth to reply, but his mother had come over to his side, curtailing whatever it was she was about to say.

  “I trust you had a pleasant stay,” Mother told Reese.

  Reese nodded. “Yes, thank you so much.”

  “Come on, Samir,” Mother said. “It’s time to visit with the emissary of Kundara.”

  Reese’s cheeks turned pink. She cast her eyes down and stepped back. “Goodbye, Samir.”

  His eyes continued to seek her as he fell back into the crowd, shaking hands with Kundara’s emissary. She was walking down the hall, without turning to look back at him.

  On top of his father’s loss, seeing her walk away cut deeply.

  But he had his duty to the crown now. He needed to focus on what he had to do.

  Kundara’s emissary, Abdullah Yusif, bowed. “My condolences, Prince Samir.”

  Samir tore his gaze from the hall, from Reese’s retreating figure, and acknowledged Abdullah’s condolences.

  “I trust you received your cousin’s communication from this morning.” Abdullah raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes,” Samir said. “No need for threats.”

  “Threats? Ah, a thousand pardons if that is how the crown prince has interpreted his offer to help.”

  “My kingdom is under my full control.”

  “Except for a consort and the promise of an heir.”

  “Yes, we have heard that ad nauseam. No need to join in with the voices of the media.”

  “The question is, what will you do about it?”

  Samir’s mind flashed to Reese. “Find myself a wife, of course.”

  “This wife—a suitable one with the right pedigree—is hard to conjure at the last minute.”

  “Frankly, I’ve been too preoccupied by my father’s death to care.”

  “Of course,” Abdullah soothed.

  “Abdullah,” Mother purred, “must you badger my son on a day like today?”

  “Not at all.” The emissary bowed, but his eyes gave him away. Speculative and cold. Uncaring. Ready to strike when afforded the opportunity. “I will be in touch once again after the mourning period.”

  “Don’t bother,” Samir replied, working to restrain his anger at his persistence.

  “Can I please talk to you in private, son?” Mother said.

  He followed her into the room. Everyone else had been excused. Axel closed the door, and the two were alone.


  Mother looked frail. She had been under considerable strain, as he could well imagine. She turned to him now.

  “You’re not still thinking of that American girl, are you?”

  Samir looked out the window at the harsh desert he’d always called home. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t.”

  “I wouldn’t badger you about her if our kingdom’s future didn’t rest on it.”

  “I know.”

  “But she’s gone now.”

  Desolation swept through him like a desert windstorm. “Yes, she is.”

  “It’s for the best. We must now think of other potential sheikhas for you, my son. There are several of them…”

  She proceeded to rattle off the prospective princesses. None of their names registered in his brain. He was several miles away, on a beach with a blonde woman lying beside him.

  He should have kissed her then. Why had he held back so much with Reese?

  Because he wanted that first kiss to be perfect.

  Fool.

  Any kiss with Reese would have been perfect.

  He felt a pang rage through his heart. He could let his mother matchmake, or…

  “Mother, stop,” he said.

  “Pardon me?”

  “I love Reese.”

  “You haven’t even kissed her!” Mother closed her mouth and clapped her hand over it. “I mean…”

  “It’s all right, Mother. I know you have your means of finding out these things.” He smirked. “And yes, I haven’t kissed her. Yet.”

  Mother’s lips formed a thin line. “You will make a mockery of your father’s legacy, and he hasn’t even been buried yet.”

  He turned heated eyes to hers. “You know that I value his legacy.”

  “And now you are desperate for a wife.”

  “I do need a wife, as Abdullah has made abundantly clear. And I could get someone much easier than having to try to get the Parliament to agree to my marriage to her. But she is who I want, who I wanted before Father’s passing.”

  “All I ask is that you give some other…traditional choices a chance, son. You owe that much to your father, to pick the best possible sheikha.”

  Samir didn’t like the way the conversation was going. Mother was capitalizing on his grief.

  “How long would that take?” he asked.