A Surprise for the Sheikh

by Sarah M. Anderson

  “No,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “You are not out of bounds. Dating is a challenge in the best of times. Right now, I can’t see how it’d be anything but impossible. I am not looking to start a relationship right now.”

  A new thought occurred to him as Violet settled down and sipped her soda. Rafe’s original plan, once he had realized that Violet was V, was to use and discard Violet much as Mac had done to Nasira. That was the ultimate revenge, a sister’s honor for a sister’s honor.

  But now that Rafe was spending more time with Violet, he wondered if he would actually be able to do that to her. She was, after all, carrying his child—if she could be believed. And Rafe desperately wanted to believe her.

  What if, instead of treating Mac’s beloved little sister as Mac himself had treated Nasira, Rafe instead just took Violet? Not a kidnapping—nothing so brutish as that—but Mac had dedicated the past twelve years of his life to protecting his sister. If Rafe were to marry the mother of his child and move her far away, would that not be avenging his family’s honor—while preserving his own bloodline? Violet was already tired of Mac and his interference in her life. It would not be that difficult to turn her against her brother completely.

  This was an idea that had much merit.

  “That is good,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “We should come to an agreement upon what is best for the child.”

  He must not have kept his voice as level as he would have liked, for Violet’s eyes widened. “That sounds...”

  He put on his best smile, his American smile. He did not smile like this at home. He had no need for it. But here, in Texas, this situation required finesse. It was tempting to just tell her they would get married and that she would bear his child and live in Al Qunfudhah. If he were at home, that is all he would have to do.

  But Violet was not one of his people, and he knew enough about her to know that any such broad proclamation would have the opposite effect. Violet would refuse and, as long as she was in Texas, she could continue to refuse him. That was her legal right in this country, he was reasonably sure.

  He would ask Nolan, but his lawyer was no longer his lawyer and, at times like this, Rafe missed the man’s counsel. He wished mightily that Nolan had not quit Rafe’s employ because he had fallen for a local woman—a woman with another man’s child, no less. It had been another betrayal, one that stung.

  It did not matter. He had promised he would not force Violet to do something she did not wish to do and he would keep that promise, for the sake of his child if for no other reason.

  No, what he needed to do was convince her that she wanted to marry him. It should not be difficult. They were attracted to each other and they already had electric chemistry together. All he had to do was push that electric attraction and make her love him.

  In the back of his head, he heard the severe voice of his father berating him. There had never been a time when the sheikh had not told Rafe what a worthless son and worthless brother he was. His father had held Rafe personally responsible for the loss of Nasira’s innocence and Rafe had been punished accordingly. He had not been allowed to finish his American university studies. He had not been allowed to live abroad. He had been forcibly returned to Al Qunfudhah and confined to the basement of the family compound like a dog that had to be broken. Nasira, at least, had escaped into a marriage that suited her. But not Rafe.

  Much like his siblings, Rafe was supposed to have been married off to a bride of his father’s choosing, the daughter of another warlord or royal. The marriage would further cement Al Qunfudhah’s position in the Middle East, and a suitable bride would bring honor to the bin Saleed bloodlines.

  But after Nasira had been compromised by the one man Rafe trusted with his very life, Rafe’s father had refused to allow Rafe the escape of marriage. Nasira had been ruined, so their father had not cared when she had married an Englishman and left the country. For all intents and purposes, Nasira had been dead to the old sheikh. Rafe had not been so lucky. He had been stuck in a hell that was not entirely his own making. The only thought that had sustained him during those first years was that of exacting his revenge on Mac McCallum.

  It had been a relief for all of them when his father had died.

  Now, years after the man’s death, Rafe could hear his ominous voice again. A true sheikh does not play games. A true sheikh would not concern himself with the wants of a woman. A true sheikh would have already carried this woman back to Al Qunfudhah and put her in a harem.

  Not that the bin Saleeds had harems. They did not. But in times past, the sheikh would have kept many women as his concubines. It had always been Rafe’s opinion that his father lamented this cultural loss more than anything else.

  “You got quiet there,” Violet said, pushing what was left of her meal around her plate.

  “I was thinking,” he said truthfully. “There is something of a cultural gap between us that we need to bridge. My child will be a bin Saleed and I would like him—”

  “Or her,” Violet interjected.

  Rafe let a grin play over his mouth. “Or her,” he amended, “to know our people and our ways.”

  Violet frowned slightly, as if he had once again said something out of place. “I was trying to do a little reading on your people. The article I read made it sound like Al Qunfundaha—”

  Now it was his turn to correct her. “Al Qunfudhah.”

  “Yeah, I’m probably going to screw that up a few more times,” she said, forcing a smile onto her face. “But—I mean, what I’m trying to say is, what I’ve read makes it sound like your country is trying to be progressive toward women and minority rights but...it’s still not like it is here.”

  What was she talking about? Rafe gave her a look and she threw her hands up. “I’m not making sense, am I?”

  “Not entirely.” He followed this up with another warm smile. This time, it was not as forced. Perhaps the wine was loosening him up. “But you are concerned about your place and the place of our child in my country, no?”

  “No—wait, I mean yes. That’s exactly what I’m concerned about. I’m not this world traveler like you are. I’ve hardly left Texas. I was supposed to follow Mac and go to Harvard, but then my parents died and we had to run the business and...” She smiled again, and Rafe thought it looked like an apology. It was. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to process everything that’s happened and I’m hormonal and you’re being wonderfu,l but I’m making a fool of myself—again—and it’s still a lot.”

  He was being wonderful? He should not be pleased with this statement. But he was.

  He leaned forward and cupped her face. Her eyes widened but she didn’t pull away as she had earlier. Instead, she leaned into his touch. Her skin was soft as silk against his palm, but warmer. “Ah, I am the only fool here.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide and deep and beautiful. “You are?”

  “I am.” Dimly, he was aware he was leaning in, that her face—her lips—were getting closer. “I find I wish to give you anything your heart desires. Tell me, what is it you want?”

  She looked down at her dish. “I like it here. This is my life. But I am so tired of living with Mac, you know? There’s a ranch to the north of us—the Wild Aces. The Double M is leasing it because our water supply got compromised in the tornado, but I wanted to buy it outright. It’s a beautiful piece of land and the house on the property is almost a hundred years old—one of those grand old homes. I’ve always loved it.” She looked up at him with much confidence in her eyes. Rafe was certain her bravado was not entirely honest. “If I’m going to have a family—and that does seem to be the plan—I’d love to have my own house, my own land.”

  “The Wild Aces, you say?” He said it as if he had never heard of such a place before but, in truth, he knew exactly where the property was. The owner had been rel
uctant to sell to Nolan in large part because she was leasing the water to the Double M. Unlike many of their neighbors, she already had a steady stream of secondary income and was not as tempted by Samson Oil’s generous offer.

  But the Wild Aces was key to his scheme. If he owned that land, he owned the Double M’s water supply. And if he owned that, he owned Mac McCallum. His revenge would be complete and nothing could stop him.

  Nothing except a beautiful woman who was carrying his child. “You wish to have this land as your own?”

  “I tried to get Mac to buy it, but he always reacts to one of my ideas the same way he reacted back when we were kids—oh, isn’t that cute, Violet’s trying to think like a big girl!” she said in the high-pitched, nasal voice many Americans used when speaking to small children and animals. Then she rolled her eyes. “It’s so frustrating. I have to come at him sideways. He’ll at least consider any idea his assistant brings up, so I have to ask Andrea to ask Mac. If I bring it up, he shoots it down, like I’m not smart enough to make wise business decisions on my own.”

  This was at odds with the way Mac had described Violet’s management of the Double M, but Rafe did not show his confusion. “And if you had this land, you would raise our child on it?”

  He was very careful not to make it a promise, because he was a man of his word and if he did something foolish like promise Violet the Wild Aces, he would be honor bound to keep that promise and that would mean all of his work was for naught.

  Besides, he had no intention of staying in Royal or any part of Texas. And being Mac’s neighbor? Out of the question. Rafe had to convince Violet that she belonged with him and that they belonged in Al Qunfudhah.

  But making Violet think he would do something so grand as buy her a ranch without actually promising to do so—well, that was tailor-made to his scheme, wasn’t it?

  “I would love that,” she said, her face lighting up with joy.

  So much joy, in fact, that Rafe was horrified to hear himself say, “I will see what I can do.” Which was not the same as promising her the ranch. He had merely promised to investigate it. He was still operating with honor.

  “Really?” Her eyes were wide and she was looking at him with what he could only describe as adoration. “You’d do that for me?”

  He had lost control of the situation—of himself—that much was clear. And it became clearer when he said, “I would.”

  “Rafe...”

  And he was powerless to do anything but lean forward, to bring himself closer to her, to see how she looked at him. To be the man she saw, not the man he was. “Violet...”

  “Will there be anything else?”

  At the sound of the server’s voice, Rafe shook himself back to his senses. Had he really been about to kiss Violet? In public? In the middle of this restaurant?

  Yes. Yes, he had been. Which was not a part of the plan. He was here as a chaperone to Violet, not a seducer. “No, that will be all,” he said, his voice harder than he meant it to be. The server left the bill and hurried off.

  Rafe glanced at the bottle of wine—he had consumed perhaps two glasses, at most. This was the problem with abstaining from both women and wine for so long. His tolerance for both was quite low.

  “Come,” he said, paying the bill with cash. “I shall take you home.”

  Four

  What she would give to be able to read this man. That was what occupied Violet’s thoughts as she rode in Rafe’s very nice sports car. Because he shifted between hard and soft and cold and warm and—yeah, she was going to say it—scary and sexy so fast that she was getting whiplash just watching him.

  “This land is quite beautiful,” he said conversationally.

  Right now was a perfect example. Minutes ago, he’d leaned over and touched her face and told her he wanted to give her whatever she wanted—no, that wasn’t right. He wanted to give her her heart’s desires.

  That was the man she’d spent the night with four months ago—sensual and sexy and whispering sweet nothings to her.

  But then the waitress had interrupted them—which was good because if word got back to Mac that Rafe had been on the verge of kissing her in public, things would have gotten ugly fast—and all that sensual goodness had flipped off like a switch and suddenly Violet was sitting with an ice-cold man who had terrified the waitress with a few words and a hard look.

  Violet didn’t know which version of Rafe was in this car with her. But she did know that she vastly preferred the sexy sheikh to the domineering one.

  The silence in this car—this very, very nice car that was probably a Lamborghini or a Maserati or some other exclusive brand of vehicle that was expensive and rare and designed to throw other men into a jealous rage—was deafening. She didn’t belong here. Not in this fancy sports car, not with a sheikh.

  She was just Violet McCallum. Nothing really that special here. She got crap on her boots every day and she was pregnant. Big freaking whoop.

  Except...except when Rafe looked at her and spoke to her with that voice of sunshine. She almost felt as if she could do anything she wanted. Be anyone she wanted. Which was exactly how she’d gotten into this fine mess in the first place.

  He wanted to give her whatever she wanted. Well, what did she want? She knew the answer to that—she wanted the same kind of happy family for her child that she’d grown up with. She’d told him about the Wild Aces—but did she want him there with her? Did she want to go to his country—even if she went as a member of the royal family?

  It was all too much, too soon. She wasn’t going to do anything stupid like marry Rafe. First things first. Soon she’d be a mother. Which would be wonderful, she had to admit. Now that she and Rafe were getting a few things straight, she was starting to feel more excited about this new adventure. She’d loved her mother—both of her parents, of course, but Violet and her mother had always had a special relationship.

  “Now it is you who is silent,” Rafe said and thank God, he didn’t sound regal about it. “What is the saying? A dollar for your thoughts?”

  She grinned, feeling some of her tension melting. “A penny. But you were close!”

  Rafe tilted his head in her direction. “I assure you, your thoughts are worth far more than a penny. Do not undervalue yourself.”

  Coming from anyone else, it would have sounded like a load of manure. And maybe it still was. But the way the words rolled off Rafe’s tongue...

  “I was just thinking of my mother.”

  “Ah,” he said softly, but he didn’t barge into the silence as Mac did every single time Violet had tried to talk about their parents.

  Her brother had always had some statement ready to go about how her grief was normal and they were going to get through this together and she was going to be just fine. Then, before she could get a danged word in edgewise, he’d pull her into a bear hug and tell her how proud he was of her and how he was going to take care of her and then he’d hurry out of the room, as if she didn’t know his eyes were watering. As if they weren’t allowed to have feelings in front of each other.

  Instead of telling her how she was supposed to feel, Rafe waited for her to talk.

  How weird was that?

  “I was sixteen when the plane crashed,” she said simply. “But I assume you know that?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “I mean, I still miss them, but it’s been twelve years. Bad things happen and people move on. Or we try,” she added, thinking of Mac’s overbearing version of love. “But this pregnancy—I was just thinking how much I’d like my mom to be here for this. If that makes sense.” If anyone could talk Violet through an unplanned pregnancy, it’d have been Mom.

  They’d had their share of fights—Violet had been a teenager, after all. But she’d always known her mom would be there for her. Until she wasn’t. />
  “You were close to your mother?”

  What an odd question. “Isn’t everyone?”

  “Ah,” Rafe said, and the regretful tone in his voice made Violet glance over at him. He looked pained—not as though she’d kicked him in the shins, but a deeper pain that spoke of a lifetime of loneliness.

  “Oh, right,” she hurried to say, remembering what he’d said earlier. “Nannies. I’m sorry.”

  “I will, of course, defer to you,” he said in a not-at-all seductive voice. He sounded more like a businessman and she didn’t particularly like it. “If you wish to be more involved, then by all means, I will make that happen.”

  “How?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How?” she repeated. “Look, my life is here. I run the family ranch. I know you told Mac you’d go with him to the meeting at the Texas Cattleman’s Club because you were thinking of relocating but honestly? I don’t know what your plans are. I don’t know why you’re here now and I don’t know when you’ll be leaving. I don’t...” Her words trailed off and she suddenly felt like a teenager again, so sure of everything when, in reality, she knew very little. “I don’t want to move to the Middle East. Even if your country is progressive.”

  “I see.” Rafe pulled into the driveway of the Double M. “I can safely say that my plans have recently been revised.”

  “You want this baby? I mean...” she quickly corrected, because all of a sudden an image of Rafe carrying her child onto an airplane while Violet stood in the terminal, watching them go—powerless to stop them—oh, God. No. “What I’m saying is, you want me to have this baby? Because I want to keep the baby.”

  “The child will be a bin Saleed. Of course I want you to have the baby,” he said with a significant edge to his voice. “I will, of course, need independent verification that I am the father.”

  “What?” The word rushed out of her like that one time when a bucking calf had caught her in the gut with a hoof. “You don’t believe me?”