A Surprise for the Sheikh

by Sarah M. Anderson

  “I do believe you,” he said, the honey back in his voice. “We were together and I can only guess that, at some point, the condoms failed. I did use them because I gave you my word I would. But clearly, something went wrong and my brother, the sheikh of Al Qunfudhah—he will not be satisfied taking the word of an American woman. If the child is to have all the rights and privileges of the bin Saleed family, we must prove that I am the legitimate father.”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t considered that. She’d been so focused on what Mac would do when he found out that she hadn’t considered Rafe’s family obligations.

  A family of sheikhs at that. “What will your brother do? When he finds out?”

  Rafe slid a sideways smile at her. It was not terribly reassuring. “Calm yourself, my dear. Fareed is not my father and I am no longer powerless. He will most likely insist that the child be cared for and raised to honor our traditions, but,” he added with what could only be described as a twinkle in his eye, “I do not think this will spark an international incident.”

  There was something there, something just below the surface of what he’d said that tugged at her consciousness. But she had a more pressing question she needed answered before she tried to unpack what he’d really meant. “Will you want custody?”

  That’s what she said. What she meant was, Will you take my baby away from me?

  Rafe pulled up next to the ranch house and parked before answering. “Ah, yes. We must work out an agreement. This is why my plans have changed. I do not want to be away from my flesh and blood for too long.”

  So, yes, it was an odd way to phrase it. But the sentiment was what she needed to hear. He wouldn’t take her baby and disappear in the middle of a different continent. “Okay, good. I know you said you were interested in expanding into energy—are you thinking of living in Royal? At least part of the time?”

  He regarded her for what felt like an eternity. “I am thinking of many things,” he said, his voice low. So low, in fact, that she had to lean forward to catch all of his words. “But if I stay here—even part of the time—we would have to have an...understanding, if you will.”

  “What kind of understanding?”

  His gaze traced her face and she felt her cheeks warm. “I know we have agreed not to see other people while you are expecting, but I do not know how I could be around you and see you with another man. It would cut me,” he added, placing his hand over his heart.

  “Oh,” she breathed. What was he saying? If he stayed in Royal, he’d expect them to be a couple? Together? “You mean...what do you mean?” Because if he meant that they were to live together—or get married—she didn’t know how she was supposed to feel about that. Panic? Yeah, that was an option. Panic was always a good backup. She was barely coping with being pregnant—how was she supposed to throw a marriage into that mix?

  But then another thought occurred to her. Because the one physical thing she hadn’t gotten out of Rafe the first time they were together was waking up in his arms. That wouldn’t be a hardship, falling asleep with Rafe by her side every night and waking up with him every morning.

  Rafe’s gaze was burning her in the best way possible. There was so much going on in his eyes—which was at least something to go off, as he was otherwise completely unreadable. Then he reached over and picked up her hand, leaning into her space to press his lips against the back of it. “I have not stopped thinking of you since our night of passion, Violet. I cannot tell you how many times I almost went searching for you. You...” He looked up at her, his voice raw. “You have graced my dreams and haunted my waking hours, a ghost of a woman I could see, but not touch. And it has been torture. The sweetest torture I’ve ever known.”

  Oh, my. Was he serious? God, how she wanted to believe he was, that their night together had been more than a one-night stand. “I thought of you, too. I...I still have your note.”

  He hadn’t let her hand go. He was still holding it close to his mouth, where she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. Oh, that smile—all of her panic about the future dimmed in the light of his smile. God, Rafe was such a handsome man. “I am pleased to hear that. But I had made a promise to you—one night, no names—and I was honor bound to keep my promise. So I did not search for you. I did not try. I accepted my fate—that one night with my beautiful, mysterious V was all I would get. And now I have this opportunity to know you—not just as V, but as a woman. As Violet. This is a second chance. I would be a fool to let this—to let you—slip through my fingers a second time.”

  “Oh, Rafe.” She had never heard such a romantic speech in her life—and she’d certainly never been the subject of one. “Is that what you want? A real relationship?”

  He turned her hand over and kissed her palm. “I want many things. But you are the one who carries the child. It is you who must be satisfied first.” When he looked at her again, she felt as if she were falling into his eyes and she might never want to climb back out. “I think it is time for you to tell me what you want.”

  The air between them suddenly felt very warm, and she had a flashback to the way he’d bought her a drink at the bar at the Holloway Inn and then joined her. At some point between the first drink and the third, he’d leaned over and said those exact words to her. I think it is time for you to tell me what you want.

  And what she’d wanted then was to be swept off her feet. She’d wanted to have fun; she’d wanted to feel beautiful and special. She’d wanted to be wanted because she was Violet, not because of her brother or her family name or her ranch. Just her.

  And she said to him now what she’d said to him on that night. “Why don’t we talk about this someplace else?”

  One dark eyebrow notched up. “Are you inviting me in?”

  She looked back at the dark ranch house. Mac was gone for the next two nights. She knew it. Rafe knew it. She had the run of the place.

  “We’re not done talking,” she said. Although she wasn’t speaking loudly, her voice filled the small space between them.

  “Indeed, we are not.”

  Violet started to undo her seat belt but before she could get her door open, Rafe was out of the car and hurrying around to her side. “Allow me,” he said in that honey-and-sunshine voice as he opened her door and extended a hand to her.

  She let him pull her to her feet, but he didn’t let go of her. Only a few inches separated them. Despite the spring breeze, Violet could feel the warmth of his chest.

  “This is just to talk,” she heard herself say. “This doesn’t mean anything else.” Which was possibly the most pointless thing she’d ever said in the history of talking because of course Rafe’s coming into her empty home meant something. It might even mean everything.

  “I would make no such presumptions,” he readily agreed. But his words were directly at odds with the way his thumb was now stroking over her knuckles. She was reading him now, loud and clear. “So tell me what it is you want. What are your dreams for the future? What part do you want me to play?”

  “You’re being too perfect,” she told him. Because it was the truth. Everything he was saying—everything he was doing—was exactly what she needed, when she needed it.

  He tilted his head to one side. “Has no one ever asked you what you want?”

  “Oh, sure. What do I want for dinner, whether we should castrate the calves today or tomorrow, that sort of thing.”

  Well, that was some award-winning conversation right there. But Rafe was caressing her hand and looking down at her exactly the way he had when he’d pinned her in an elevator four months ago. Yeah, her mouth and her brain weren’t exactly operating on the same wavelength at this point. Heat poured through her body, loosening her limbs as she melted into him, and all she wanted was for him to pick her up and carry her into that house.

  “A crime, to be certain,” Rafe murmured,
cupping her face with his other hand. “I am asking you now. Tell me what you want.”

  He lifted her face and gazed deeply into her eyes and she was right where she’d been four months ago. She shouldn’t do this. She shouldn’t have done it last time. She should push Rafe back and cross her legs at the ankle and try, for once, to be the prim and proper sort of girl who was absolutely not swayed by a beautiful man with a beautiful voice.

  Rafe was not going to let her go, though. He leaned in closer, so close she felt his breath on her lips, and said, “Because what you want is what I want.”

  And she didn’t want to push him away any more than she had wanted to push him away in the elevator. In his arms, all those months ago, she hadn’t been Mac’s little sister and she hadn’t yet been a future mother. For one glorious night, she’d been who she wanted to be.

  It wasn’t wrong to be that—to be herself. She could do that with Rafe—and only Rafe.

  “Kiss me,” she said.

  His lips curved into a smile—one that warmed her from the inside out. “Are you sure? Because when it comes to you, I do not know if one kiss will ever be enough.”

  “I’m sure,” she whispered, making her decision. “So kiss me.”

  Five

  Judging from the way Violet threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down roughly into a searing kiss, this was all going perfectly according to his revised scheme. Making Violet fall in love with him would be an easy task. All he had to give her was exactly what she wanted—and, as far as he could tell, what she wanted was a passionate lover and freedom from her overbearing brother. Those were two requirements he could meet easily.

  But any thought of revenge went flying out the window as Violet’s tongue traced his lips. He had not lied to her—his thoughts had rarely been far from her and to suddenly find her back in his arms was almost more than he could bear.

  “Violet,” he groaned against the delicate skin of her neck. “Are you quite sure?”

  “I want you,” she said, her voice practically a growl, which sent an uncharacteristic shiver down his spine.

  This was why he had not been able to put Violet from his thoughts—she made him do things that were out of character, such as kiss his enemy’s sister because he wanted to do nothing but feel her body against his.

  He lifted her against his straining erection and began carrying her toward her house. Every step drove him against her soft heat and there were no thoughts of revenge. There was only this burning need to bury himself in Violet’s body, to make her cry out with pleasure.

  When they got to the ranch house, he set her down and turned her around so she could open the door. And if she couldn’t get it open, he’d break it down. Anything to get inside. But as she fumbled with her keys, the situation grew dire. “Violet,” he groaned.

  She finally managed to get the door open and then they were safely inside, away from any accidental witnesses. He pulled her back against him, letting her feel what she did to him. “Your room,” he whispered against the base of her neck.

  “This way.” She pulled away and he let her go just enough that she could lead him up the stairs, but he couldn’t keep his hands off of her. He traced the outline of her bottom through the thin cotton of her dress, which made her giggle.

  When she cleared the top stair, and Rafe was certain they wouldn’t tumble to their doom, he gathered her in his arms. All at once she was kissing him and he was kissing her back and pushing her jacket off her shoulders. Dimly, he thought he should be going more slowly, taking his time to savor her—her taste, the small noises she made when he did something she liked.

  But he could not take his time. He needed her right now.

  He tried to back her toward the right, where an open door beckoned with the promise of a bed, but she corrected their course and led him left. Then her fingers began to work at the buttons on his shirt as she walked backward into her room.

  At least he assumed it was her room. It was dominated by an enormous canopy bed with four tall posts holding up a drape of sheer light blue fabric.

  “Kiss me,” she said again, grabbing his face in her hands and pulling it down. “Please, Rafe, please.”

  “I cannot refuse you,” he said, carrying her toward the bed. In one swift motion, he peeled her dress off and she was nearly bare before him.

  Her hands stilled against his chest. “I’ve changed. Since that night.” She said it as if she were afraid of what his reaction to her body would be.

  But Rafe was staring down at the luscious curves. “If anything, you have changed for the better.” He lifted her hands away from his chest and guided her back onto the bed until she lay before him. He could not be so thoughtless as to take her roughly, not when she was already nervous. Their first time, she had shared the wine with him and there had been no hesitation. But this time, he knew he needed to reassure her.

  “Oh, Rafe,” she moaned as he kissed down her neck to the valley between her breasts. Yes, he thought that perhaps they were slightly larger—fuller, he decided as he cupped them in his hands and slid his thumbs over the cups of the bra, right where her nipples should be.

  “Take it off,” she whispered, threading her hands through his hair and lifting herself up off the bed.

  “Your wish is my command,” he said, reaching behind her back and deftly removing her bra.

  “If anyone else said that to me, I’d think they were full of it,” she giggled. “But when you say it...”

  “It is because I mean it.” He lowered his head to her breast, letting his tongue work her nipple into a stiff peak. “I cannot help myself,” he murmured against her skin as he moved to her other breast. “When I’m with you...”

  “I know. I feel the same way. I—oh!” That was as far as she got before Rafe kissed his way lower, pulling her innocent white panties down until she was completely exposed to him.

  After that, there were no more words to be said because he was busy bringing her to the heights of pleasure with his mouth and she was busy moaning and writhing under his touch. She kept her hands buried in his hair, guiding him in the direction that she most needed him to go.

  Their first time, she had climaxed when he slipped his finger inside her. He would hate for her to think that he had forgotten what she liked best, so he repeated the move.

  “Rafe!” she cried out as he lapped at her body, her inner muscles tightening around his finger.

  And he could not wait anymore, not for her. He could not even do this properly and remove all of his clothing. He unbuckled his pants and grabbed the condom out of his back pocket and somehow managed to get the thing rolled on before he was against her, covering her body with his as he thrust into her warmth.

  “Violet,” he groaned, wanting to hold himself back—to hold himself apart from her because that was the smart thing to do, the calculated move that would contain whatever emotional havoc she wreaked. But he couldn’t, not when she looked up at him with eyes that were glazed with desire, with want—with need.

  “Yes,” she said in a hoarse whisper as she tried to undo the remaining buttons on his shirt. “Yes, Rafe—yes.”

  He grabbed her hands and held them against his chest, where his heart beat beyond his control. Then he began to move into her and she began to rise against him, meeting him with her own desire, thrust for thrust.

  Mine, he tried to say over and over, but his words had left him and all he could do was hold himself together until she cried out in the throes of her pleasure. When she did, when her body tightened down on him, he gave up all hope of holding himself together. He leaned forward and drove into her harder, deeper, until his climax drained him so completely that he fell forward onto her.

  They lay there, breathing hard, their bodies still intertwined. Violet worked her hands free and wrapped her arms around his waist, hol
ding him to her. “Wow, Rafe. Just...wow.”

  He managed to roll to one side. “A compliment, I hope?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She giggled again, a light sound of joy.

  It made him want to laugh with her. He grinned down at her, tracing the curve of her cheek with the tip of his finger. “When we marry, it will always be like this, I think. You and I...”

  His words trailed off because her mouth had twisted off to one side and her eyes had narrowed. “Violet?”

  Silently, she sat up, and then stood and walked away from him. Far too late, Rafe realized what he’d said.

  Married.

  He had overplayed his hand.

  * * *

  Violet sat on the toilet, trying to figure out what had just happened. She found herself reciting the known facts.

  Fact: She was pregnant.

  Fact: Rafe was the father.

  Fact: Sex with Rafe was, unbelievably, even better when she was stone-cold sober than when she’d been mildly buzzed.

  Fact: He had just said, “When we marry.”

  Her brain had gotten stuck on that last word. Okay, Rafe was kind of perfect—sweet words in that liquid sunshine accent of his, hot touches that melted her. He’d even promised to look into the Wild Aces for her. Throw in the sex...

  This did not mean she wanted to get married. Even if that vision of her waking up in Rafe’s arms every single morning was a warm and fuzzy vision. Even if that meant raising her child—their child—together as a family. Even if...

  She dropped her head in her hands, trying to get her muddled thoughts back into some semblance of order.

  Not that she got far. Just back to fact number four.

  When we marry. It was a statement of fact, a foregone conclusion. There was no uncertainty, no will-she-or-won’t-she. Just a fact.

  “Violet?”

  Oh, God—the concern in Rafe’s voice on the other side of the bathroom door was not making this any better.