Table of Contents
Bad Sheikh's Surrogate Mistress
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
ANOTHER STORY YOU MIGHT LIKE
Sharing a Sheikh’s Bed
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Bad Sheikh’s Surrogate Mistress
By Ella Brooke & Jessica Brooke
All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2017 Jessica Brooke, Ella Brooke.
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Chapter One
Sheikh Zahir Ahmed studied his mother’s every move as he eased into her throne room. The sheikha hadn’t been in the mood to host any of her famous galas since his father’s death four years ago, yet Zahir found her going through fabric swatches, consulting with her favorite caterer, and conferring with three of her most trusted designers and party planners. Her parties used to be the talk of the kingdom of Jardania and were famous throughout the Middle East…something big was up, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.
Clearing his throat, he came to stand before her throne. “Mother, what’s going on? I wasn't aware we were having a party.”
She answered him with a wry, knowing grin, before clapping her hands to dismiss the servants and consultants from the room. While his mother was pushing seventy and seemed to be getting a little stiffer each year, she still had all the energy of a whirling dervish and a devious mind to match. After his father’s sudden stroke, she and his brother Jaheer were his only close kin left. Well, and Akmul, but the less said of his cousin, the better.
She held her hand out to him now. Zahir took it and gently pulled her to her feet. He never minded helping his mother. She led him out of the throne room and into the formal dining room.
“What’re you brewing up here? Is this a party for the court before some go on the Hajj?”
“You wish, my son,” she said, walking to the nearly endless table and leaning against it. “I’m fixing our problem, as it’s come to my attention that you aren’t going to solve it on your own.”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “I wasn’t aware we have a problem. Beyond the usual issues of state, of course.”
She sighed and smoothed her impeccable grey hair. “This is my fault. You took your father’s death so hard, so much harder than even Jaheer and I did—”
“Father was a good man.”
And the type of ruler that Zahir feared he could never grow to be. He always seemed so even-keeled, so sensible and wise when it came to meting out justice for his people. As Zahir poured over each day’s agenda with his generals and advisers, he could only pray for Allah to give him a fraction of his father’s wisdom. Even now, he felt as if that would never happen, that he was the ultimate imposter. He was frankly just glad that in his four years of fumbling, Zahir hadn’t accidentally blown his country off the map.
“He was,” she said, running her hand over his cheek gently, a gesture she hadn’t made since he was a small child. Somehow, even after all this time, the gesture managed to comfort him. “But you haven’t followed his path completely. A ruler of Jardania needs an heir and a queen. I waited for you to do more than toy with European princesses and Hollywood starlets or flirt with old associates from university, but you haven’t.”
“You make it sound like I need to have a ball-and-chain, as my American associates say, in the next five minutes. Marriage is important, but I’m not even thirty. It’s not as if I’m too old to make an heir.”
His mother frowned and pulled away from him. “There are some laws that I didn’t tell you about. I was scared to before, but there are some ancient provisions about the inheritance of your title. I assumed that five years was enough time to find a wife, that you wouldn’t waste it.”
He stilled, not sure where this was going but knowing it wouldn’t be good. “What do you mean, Mother? Stop talking in circles.”
“It’s an old law, almost a thousand years old, from back when the wars between tribes and sheikdoms were so brutal. The reigning sheikh of Jardania must have an heir within five years after assuming the title, or he forfeits it to the closest male relative who does have an heir.”
Zahir’s jaw tightened. “You can’t be serious. Akmul isn’t fit to lead anything. My cousin’s a cruel man and an idiot. He wouldn’t bring anything but misery to Jardania.”
“Then you understand why our situation is dire. You had so much stress on you that I just didn’t feel I could add more by forcing this duty on you. But then you frittered your time away, wasting any chance for a real relationship! The only choice I have left is to host a ball and help you find the most eligible candidates from the neighboring kingdoms. There are many fine sheikhs’ daughters and princesses in the region. There are girls from oil families and old money…girls far more suitable than those you’ve been spending time with in America.”
He blinked. Surely, he’d suffered a stroke in the last five minutes. His mother wasn’t seriously talking about bringing him a selection of potential wives so that he might choose one, unknown, unloved, based on—what?—her pedigree and bank account? She thought the ball her only choice, but he would not play Prince Charming to a ballroom full of anonymous gold diggers.
“I…what about what I want?”
“You’ve slept with half of Hollywood, my son.”
He shrugged. “I’m young, and you can’t blame me completely. If I’d known four years ago I had a damn ticking clock over my head then I’d have done some things differently!” He threw his hands over his head and started to pace. “You might have given me a little more warning.”
“Would you have really been able to focus on this responsibility after your father’s death? Would you have really done anything different?”
“I…”
He trailed off at that. The truth was that he had been burying himself in women since his father’s death. Of all the things he’d tried, only fucking made him feel anything but numb, returned him to some sense of himself. It hadn’t mattered which woman he slept with, as long as he had someone to warm his bed at night. His mother wasn’t wrong; he wasn’t sure he could have been in wife-hunting mode four years ago. Fuck. He wasn’t sure that he could get his head in the game now.
“The ball will take place in a month. You don’t have to love the girl. You merely have to agree to make her your wife and the mother of your child. Besides, there’s always the option of a mistress or dalliances on the side.”
He frowned. “Surely father…”
She shrugged, her face falling for just a moment before she rallied, looking as carefully neutral and strong as always. “He was not the same man when he was young, either. He grew into his wisdom. Truly, if you ever feel lost, remember that it takes time to become the ruler you’re meant to be.”
“So in a month?”
“Yes. Do try and look presentable then, my son. And cheer up. Who wouldn’t want a bevy of th
e most beautiful women in the Middle East vying for him?” she asked, before leaving the room.
He sighed and leaned back against the table. “Maybe I want something different.”
Chapter Two
“Come on, Felicia, what do you have to do before the winter formal anyway?” Sienna asked. Felicia’s roommate, the daughter of the American ambassador to Egypt, had all the money and clout one would expect of the usual students attending the elite American University in Cairo.
Felicia, on the other hand, was a scholarship girl. While she’d earned her way with a stellar GPA all seven semesters so far, she was painfully aware that she didn’t come from an upper-class family—or royalty. She was just Felicia Ryan of Nowhere, West Virginia. She knew there was a wall between her and most of her classmates, no matter how nice Sienna usually was to her.
“Only in this place would you even call something a ‘winter’ dance when it’s in the 70s outside.”
Sienna laughed, her long, red curls fanning out down her shoulders. “That counts as winter here!” They passed by the long rectangular pools through the main quad, and Felicia’s attention drifted to the spouting pairs of geysers lined up through the water.
“Seriously, hello! Earth to Felicia. Tell me that you’re going to help me finish some of the decorations today anyway. Besides, Louis Benoit will be there.”
Felicia stopped and straightened her glasses. God, am I really that transparent? “What?”
“Oh, come on. You’ve been crushing on Louis for over a year. I mean, I don’t think everyone knows, but I’m your roommate. I can tell when you’re hung up on someone after so long. He’s got some last-minute streamers and balloons to hang,” Sienna said, hopping onto the rim of one of the fountains. She balanced there easily, and Felicia no longer worried that the other girl would fall in. Sienna was just like that—perfect. Nothing touched her. “Just come with me and help me get the last-minute stuff set up.”
“I didn’t even know you were on the decorations committee.”
“Favor to Fairuza who’s too busy with a grad school interview. Come on, please?” Sienna asked, hopping back down to grab Felicia by the arms. “I wouldn’t beg if I wasn’t desperate.”
“Fine. I can study for finals later.”
“You can do more than study. Three years plus, and you see the stacks more than you see people. Come on, let’s get to the gym and fix it all up right.”
***
“Hey,” she said,
Louis turned to her and offered a bright smile. “Hey, Fanny, right? You’re Sienna’s roommate.”
Her smile froze on her face, almost like a rictus grin. “I…it’s Felicia.” She knew she looked as awkward as she felt.
She kept her hair in a simple blonde bob, one that was easy to manage but far from stylish, and she wished it were half so luminous as Sienna’s. Her mother had often lamented the cut back when she’d lived at home, back in high school. She was a bit curvier than the other women on campus, too. Okay, at a size sixteen, she was far curvier than Sienna who, no matter how heartily she snacked, seemed to stay skinny as a rail.
At least Sienna had given her some distance to try to (finally) strike up a conversation with Louis. God, who wouldn’t want to? He was the star of the champion soccer team, with hair the color of corn silk and eyes as blue as the ocean. Everything about him exuded confidence and masculinity.
If only she knew how to talk to guys without sounding like a total spaz.
He nodded and then offered her his hand to shake. “I’m sorry. Felicia.” His heavy French accent tripped off his tongue and made him sound even more delicious. His mother was one of the most famous fashion designers in Paris, so he was the typical American University of Cairo student as well.
“What do you study?” he asked.
This is happening. I’m having a conversation with him. Don’t be weird. Come on, Felicia, don’t be weird.
“I’m an art major…sculpture is my medium, but I do other things.”
“Oh, cool. So like da Vinci or something.”
“He, uh, didn’t do much sculpting. I guess you could think more Michelangelo.”
“Cool, so different turtle,” he said and then looked over his shoulder to where Sienna was finishing setting up the punch. Felicia wondered about that—it seemed early to put out the refreshments. The dance didn’t even start for several hours.
“Huh?”
“You know, Ninja Turtles? I just don’t know much about art, but I know a lot about terrible cartoons I used to watch as a kid.”
She nodded and tried to keep talking, tried to ignore the pang of regret that came from realizing he knew very little about art. Most people didn’t. When she won her scholarship, her mother had chastised her for going into art, since it wouldn’t earn her any money. Not that Darlene Ryan knew anything about art or money or keeping a job. Part of her had assumed that if Louis’s mother was a designer, then that maybe he’d absorbed these things by osmosis.
She’d assumed wrong.
Keeping her smile frozen on her face, Felicia gamely moved forward. “Well, I used to watch a lot of Hey Arnold! and SpongeBob. That stuff was great when I was little.”
“What? Sponge who?”
She blushed.
Great, I did succeed in sounding like a complete weirdo.
“It’s a show? It’s the cartoon, you know? Do you guys have that in France? ‘He lives in a pineapple under the sea…’” She trailed off because he was staring at her like she’d grown a second head. “Or, uh, not.”
He shrugged. “I always liked the action-adventure stuff, you know. Anything anime was my game, but the Paper Towel Bob—”
“SpongeBob.”
“Same difference,” he said a bit sharply, waving her off. “Anyway, it sounds like you have your own quirky tastes. So, do you know what you’ll do in the summer once we graduate? I’m thinking of summering in the Azores, but then again, Mom is trying to push for a tour of the Far East for six months. Whatever it is, I’m not ready to start my stockbroker job until at least a year after graduating. Since Father knows someone at the firm, it shouldn’t be a problem. Hell, maybe I’ll ty the backpacking thing in South America. I’ve heard that the coke there is pretty intense.”
She blinked. Surely she’d heard him wrong. “Sorry?”
“Let’s put it this way: the bars in Cuzco sell more than alcohol, and they do it at a pretty decent rate from what I hear. Anyway, what are your plans? Are you and Sienna going to do some joint European tour thing post-grad?”
Sienna could probably afford it. Good thing, too, since she hadn’t exactly excelled at the university. Honestly, her friend was barely passing her classes. Felicia would help out where she could, probably going a bit beyond tutoring for her friend, but she felt so bad for Sienna. The other girl clearly had some learning disabilities that became exacerbated by her love of the two P’s: partying and procrastinating.
“We hadn’t planned anything. Frankly, I’m going to go home. See if I can get a job teaching art at a college. My sister is only fifteen, and I’ve really missed her. I’d like to be able to spend more time with Elena.”
The less time spent around her mother, the better, but if she had to endure the same old fights after four years away to help give Elena a better shot at college for herself and more peace at home, then Felicia would do it.
“And you’re from?”
“West Virginia.”
Louis’s eyes were big as pancakes. “I didn’t know there was a ‘west’ Virginia.”
“Most people don’t,” she muttered.
“Hey!” Sienna called. “Louis? Can you help me get more balloons wrangled in here for the arch?” Her friend smiled brightly at her. “It’ll only take a second, promise!”
Felicia was actually more than relieved when Louis apologized and hopped up from his folding chair to aid Sienna. Once both of them were out of her line of sight, Felicia put her head in her hands and wanted to cry. That meetin
g probably couldn’t have gone worse if she’d tried. In fact, she wouldn’t be a bit surprised to find her picture in the dictionary as the definition of “awkward.”
“God, I’m such an idiot.”
How far had Sienna and Louis had to go for more balloons? They were taking a long time to get back. Thirsty, Felicia strode over to the punch and poured herself a glass from one of the five massive bowls. No one would notice if she took a little. Bringing the cup to her lips, she frowned. The punch smelled heavily of alcohol, a scent she knew too well, thanks to her mother’s bad habits.
She herself never touched it.
Lowering the cup, she frowned at it. “What the hell?”
“That’s what we’d like to know,” said Dean Bauditz. He and a couple campus cops came striding into the hall. “I need you to come to my office, Ms. Ryan. We just were tipped off that you’d been spiking the punch. You know we never serve alcohol at our campus events out of respect for our observant students. This prank is outside the bounds of tolerance.”
“I…wait. You don’t understand. I was doing the streamers and talking with Louis, while Sienna was prepping the punch.”
“Sienna and Louis aren’t here, and I doubt that our soccer captain would stoop to anything so low as to set up our most adherent Muslim students. Ms. Ryan, I am shocked by this lapse in judgment from you. Now come with me.”
Chapter Three
Felicia’s heart pounded painfully against her chest as she sat rigid in her seat. She’d only been in the dean’s presence once before, at a ceremony recognizing the senior students on track to earn honors at graduation. She wouldn’t be the valedictorian, but she was in great standing with the university. She had to be, or she would lose her scholarship. A disciplinary action from the dean could ruin everything. Her throat went dry as the gravity of the fucked up prank Sienna and Louis had pulled crashed over her.
They won’t kick me out, will they? I didn’t do anything!
Dean Bauditz sat at his desk and tented his fingers in front of him. “Can you explain what’s going on?”
“You have to talk to Sienna and Louis. They know. I didn’t do anything.”
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