The Sheik's Pregnant Paramour (The Sheiks of the Arabian Coast Series Book 3)

by Erin Snihur

It was brief, but Amoz saw it. Her flinch at the flirty man’s touch. The man didn’t notice, because he didn’t remove his hand, even when she tried to remove hers under the guise of picking up her drink.

  Amoz was only a few seconds away from racing down the VIP steps to punch the foolish man into a pulp before the flirty man’s attitude seemed to change. He was clutching the woman’s hand so tightly that Amoz gestured to security, intent on sending them to deal with the insolent man.

  In an instant all hell broke loose. One moment the man had leaned over the table, his hand still clutching the woman’s and the next the woman’s free hand swung across the table and connected with his face.

  Stunned, the man released her hand and the woman spared no moment as she grasped her glass and dumped it over the man’s shocked head. The man’s friend protested loudly and, soon, a few people joined to defend the women. Ignoring Tariq’s protests, Amoz ran out of the lounge and down the steps to a few of the security guards who watched the women’s defenders arguing with her assaulters.

  “Break that up and get those men out of here. I want them off this resort by morning,” Amoz growled, his eyes flared with heat as he pointed to the group. Not waiting to see if his orders were carried out, Amoz pushed through the crowd.

  Just as he reached them, the first punch was thrown and a feminine scream erupted from the crush. Growling under his breath, Amoz pushed further through the pulsating crowd and thankfully saw a flash of maroon and a pale, soft arm pushing against a flailing man.

  Pushing the fallen man aside, Amoz didn’t think and instead just grabbed both women by the arms and dragged them from the club. Ignoring the sound of Tariq’s voice calling after him, Amoz didn’t stop dragging the women until they were far enough away from the club.

  Both women appeared stunned when Amoz finally released them as they stared up into his face stunned. The other woman’s face shifted from shocked to a big grin as she stared between Amoz and the woman he’d taken an interest in.

  His woman still continued to stare at him, shocked with her perfect mouth gaping open.

  When did you start thinking of her as yours, Amoz?

  Now that he had her before him, Amoz was equally as stunned by her beauty as he had been at the pool. Her eyes were sparkling green in color and sent blood straight to his cock.

  The woman standing next to his beauty elbowed her softly and that seemed to stir the woman out of her dazed expression as she blushed bright red before crossing her arms over her chest. Inwardly suppressing a groan at the way her bosom swelled under the pressure, Amoz watched as her lips began to move.

  Shaking his head, Amoz inwardly cursed as he realized too quickly that his woman had spoken to him. Ignoring her friend’s snickers, Amoz cleared his throat and met the woman’s green eyes, “I apologize. What was it you were saying?”

  The woman blushed once more and murmured, her voice soft and hesitant, “I was just saying thank you for getting us out of there. It got out of hand way too fast.”

  Amoz swore under his breath. “You shouldn’t throw yourself at strangers like that. You could get hurt.”

  Both women stared at him as if he had two heads. His woman’s friend literally face palmed herself before wearily shaking her head. His woman, however, wasn’t so silent in her condemnation.

  “Excuse me?” His woman asked, incredulous as she stared up at Amoz with venom in her eyes. “You think we asked for that asshole to put his hands all over us and demand sex for the drinks he offered to buy us?”

  Clenching his fists and grinding his teeth, Amoz exhaled, trying to rein in his temper and possessive nature. “No, of course not. But when you come into the club, like a kitten going into a lion’s den, dressed like…”

  His voice trailed off as he waved his hand in her direction and nearly groaned at the sight of her. Her breasts were pushed up in the maroon colored cocktail dress and her pale skin shone from her bare shoulders and down to her beautifully toned legs. What Amoz would give to have those pale legs wrapped around his waist.

  Damn it, Amoz, control your dick.

  The woman scoffed and snapped her fingers in front of his face. “You’re just as bad as that jerk was. Thanks for the help, qadib!”

  Amoz snorted in laughter at her use of the Arabic word for male genitalia. It was funny to him. As a Sheik, he’d never been called such a thing unless it was by a truly close friend. He found he liked hearing her attempt to insult him in Arabic. When she saw the humor flooding his face, she hissed back in frustration, grabbed her friend by the hand and stormed off down the cobbled stone path.

  Hastily trying to pull the angry woman to a halt, his woman’s friend called out, “Teresa! Slow down!”

  “Shit,” Amoz swore as they disappeared around a bend. “That wasn’t exactly what I wanted to happen.”

  “What exactly were you trying to do?” Tariq’s voice answered back from behind him and Amoz nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned to face his confused and mocking friend with a raised eyebrow.

  “Nothing,” Amoz murmured and began striding back toward the club to oversee the chaos and security measures.

  A hand grasping him by the shoulder stopped him. Tariq laughed and squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “You’ve been celibate for too long, my friend.”

  Rolling his eyes, Amoz shrugged off Tariq’s hand and pushed him playfully toward the club entrance. With a quick glance over his shoulder, Amoz made a mental note to see if he could find the green-eyed beauty, Teresa. Even her name was beautiful. All he wanted to do was throw her down in his bed and never let her leave, Amoz knew he had to apologize. Big time.

  3

  How Teresa had managed to sleep with her sister babbling on and on about their crazy night and sexist rescuer, she had no idea. It was only when there came a faint knock at the door and her sister began squealing that Teresa rose from her bed and blankets. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, Teresa’s blurry vision was met with whiteness. A beautiful vase of white, star-shaped flowers with black centers was instantly in her face and the sweet smell perfumed the air.

  Blinking the blurriness away, Teresa looked from the vase of flowers in Samantha’s hands to her sister’s cheerful face. Her sister was bouncing on the tips of her toes as she excitedly squealed.

  “There’s a card!” Samantha finally shrieked, ignoring Teresa’s wince as her overly excitable sister set the vase on Teresa’s bedside table.

  Nervously plucking the envelope from the bouquet, Teresa scanned the envelope. Her first name was the only thing written on the envelope, but on the back where the envelope was sealed lay an embossed image of what appeared to be a lion roaring. Surrounding the roaring lion was a beautiful decal and palm leaves.

  Glancing back up at her sister who continued to bounce, Teresa winced, “You don’t suppose these are from Gerry, do you?”

  Samantha stopped bouncing, as if finally realizing the great possibility. Silent for only a moment, her sister began shaking her, “The only other person who knows we are here is mom and she’s back home. She promised she wouldn’t tell Gerry where we were going.”

  Teresa rolled her eyes at her sister's comments. While Teresa knew her mother loved her in her own way, Teresa always got the feeling that her mother would have preferred Teresa not have separated from Gerry and instead tried to work things out. No matter what Teresa said, her mother would always see the good in Gerry. When she and Gerry married, Teresa and Samantha’s father had just died leaving their mother with considerable debt to manage. Gerry had swooped in with his trust fund and saved the day. He was a hero in her mother’s eyes and Teresa often wondered if her mother would have believed her about Gerry’s abuse if she hadn’t seen the proof of the bruises, he doled out in the last few years of their marriage.

  “They still talk. I know they do, I’m the one helping pay for mom’s telephone bill, remember? I see his number on the statements.” Teresa mumbled and, at her sister’s urging, carefully began to open the envelope. />
  The scent of the flowers tickled Teresa’s nose deliciously as she pulled the small card from the envelope. The same roaring lion, this time embossed in black at the back of the card stared back at her. Intrigued, Teresa flipped the card over. There was a simple phrase on the card in English and then another in Arabic. The swirling black letters in masculine scrawl confused Teresa.

  Enjoy, ya helo.

  ~A.

  Samantha’s squeal was enough to rattle Teresa’s eardrum, causing her to nearly drop the card. Shaking Teresa’s shoulder, Samantha quickly pulled away and went bouncing around the room in search of something.

  “It’s from a secret admirer! You have been holding out on me! Where is the Arabic to English translation book?” Samantha screeched from inside their shared closet.

  While Samantha frantically searched for the book, Teresa stared at the card and the writing. She already knew what it said. It had been her dream to visit the Arabian Coast and immerse herself in the culture. She had taken a few online lessons on the Arabic language. Learning the bad words had been fun. Learning the sweet, romantic phrases that possessive Arabian men often said to their women in romance novels had sent Teresa into a warm tizzy.

  “Aren’t you going to help me find that confounded book? Don’t you want to know what it says?” Samantha shrieked from the other side of the room, knocking Teresa out of her flower-scented daze.

  “I don’t need it,” Teresa said, finally looking away from the card to her confused sister and then back down at the flowers. “I know what it says.”

  Jumping onto her own bed, Samantha smiled widely at her sister, “What does it say?”

  “Ya helo means my beautiful in Arabic,” Teresa mumbles softly as she carefully reaches over to caress a flower petal.

  Screeching once more, Samantha bounces off the bed and begins talking a mile a minute, “Who do you think sent them? It couldn’t be Gerry, he doesn’t know a lick of Arabic! Ohh! What about the guy who saved us at the club last night? He looked Middle Eastern! He was so handsome and wasn’t he the same guy who was checking you out at the pool? Oh my gosh, he wants you! There’s so much to do! We need to get your hair done and your makeup, then you’re going to go down to the front desk and ask them to send a thank you card for the flowers! Soon you’ll have that man in the palm of your hands! What a perfect way to start your holiday!”

  Finally standing from the bed, Teresa called her sister’s name a few times before holding up her hand to interrupt her sister’s words. “Samantha stop! I’m not going to send that man anything. He’s a sexist jerk who probably only wants to get in my pants. If you want him, you can have him, but he is not for me. I already have one too many jerks in my life. I don’t need another one ruining my chance at seeing all that Elish has to offer.”

  Gaping with her mouth open, Samantha’s face morphed into a disappointed frown, “What…but the flowers are so pretty. Maybe he wants to apologize!”

  Rolling her eyes at her sister’s romanticized version of events, Teresa marched around the room quickly pulling on a casual sundress and pulling her long hair into a loose braid.

  “Men like him don’t apologize. Trust me. Been there, done that. I’m returning the flowers to the front desk. He’s lucky I don’t throw the whole vase at him,” Teresa said, her voice final.

  Grabbing the vase, Teresa headed for the door, ignoring her sister’s protests. As she opened the door, Samantha called out.

  “Fine. Send them back. I just wanted you to live a little crazy for once in your life!”

  Before Teresa could respond, Samantha had slammed their room door closed, effectively locking Teresa out. Shaking her head at her sister’s dramatic words, Teresa made her way to the front desk.

  “What do you mean you can’t have them sent back?” Teresa asked, exasperated as the snooty man at the front desk once again explained that the flowers were a gift and made anonymously.

  Rolling her eyes as the clerk made his speech once again, Teresa took the vase and stomped off, ignoring the clerk’s words as he called after her. If the flowers beauty weren’t too much to bear, she would have thrown them away, but she couldn’t. They were too beautiful to be tossed aside like garbage.

  Before she knew it, Teresa was outside of the front lobby and found herself nearing the staff quarters. Turning a corner, a young man pushing a janitorial cart stopped before her, startled. His gaze went from the flowers to Teresa a few times before he apologized profusely and tried to move the cart off the path and out of Teresa’s way.

  “No, no. Please don’t,” Teresa protested in Arabic and smiled slightly at the tall, gangly boy who couldn’t be old enough to grow a beard, much less push such a heavy cart.

  “Your flowers are very pretty, miss,” the boy commented in broken English as his eyes stared longingly at the flowers.

  “Oh, thank you, though they aren’t mine,” Teresa murmured, staring at the flowers before turning her gaze on the boy, “In fact, they’re for you.”

  Before he could stop her, Teresa set the flowers sans the card which she’d left in the room on top of his cart.

  “But, miss, no, they are too beautiful,” the boy protested, but Teresa just waved him off.

  “Nonsense. You are old enough to have a girlfriend, right?” Teresa asked smiling at the boy whose tanned skin blushed bright red at her question.

  “Well, yes,” the boy answered shyly.

  “Then give them to her. She will appreciate them much more than I will,” Teresa said finally and began to scan the area, “The front desk mentioned they had horse stables on this resort. Where are they exactly?”

  Not wanting to stick around long enough for the boy to ask anymore questions, Teresa followed his pointed instructions and marched off. When she turned to look over her shoulder, Teresa laughed softly as the boy continued on his way, whistling a merry tune with the flowers tucked neatly on top of his cart.

  At least someone who actually wants them will love them, Teresa thought, but a voice in her deepest part of her mind hissed back, You wanted them, don’t even deny it.

  4

  The annoying older clerk at the front desk of the resort was going to give Amoz a headache with all his blathering. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Amoz let out a sigh before raising his other hand to signal the man to stop talking.

  “So, what you’re saying is she had the flowers and when she tried to give them back to you, you told her no and she just stormed off with them?” Amoz asked, incredulous. Women loved flowers. Why didn’t this one like the flowers?

  Maybe because they were from you and you made a complete idiot of yourself the night before?

  Ignoring his inner demons, Amoz shook his head and dropped his hands onto the granite countertop. “Which way did she go?”

  The clerk’s mouth opened and closed a few times as he confusedly looked around the busy lobby before wincing. Staring up at Amoz with frustration written across his face, the older man sputtered out a response, “I don’t know, your Majesty. I was watching her like you asked when a few rambunctious guests made a mess at the front of the lobby. Our janitor only just arrived to clean it up and I was quite busy sorting out the mess.”

  Rolling his eyes, Amoz scanned the lobby, only briefly seeing the janitor. It was something out of the corner of his eye that had his gaze traveling back to the janitor, or rather the young boy’s cart. Atop the cart was a very familiar, beautiful looking glass vase filled to the brim with white flowers with black centers. The exact flower he had delivered to Teresa this morning.

  Clever minx.

  Ignoring the incompetent clerk, Amoz strode over to the boy as he mopped up the messy area. Crossing his arms over his chest as he stopped, Amoz cleared his throat interrupting the boy’s merry whistling.

  When the boy met his gaze in confusion, the mop fell from his hand and his whole gangly body began to shake as the boy whispered, “Your Majesty…”

  Holding up his hand to stop the boy’s groveling, Am
oz pointed toward the flowers, “Where did you get those?”

  The front desk clerk, Henry, Amoz thought his name was, piped up, his hiss filling the room, causing a few guests to look their way. “He obviously stole them, your Grace. Mason here is quite young and will be dealt with accordingly.”

  The boy’s lips trembled as his gaze went from Amoz to the flowers and back again as he mumbled, his voice rising with every word, “An American lady gave them to me to give to my girlfriend. I swear, your Grace, I didn’t steal them!”

  Henry scoffed and rolled his eyes, moving to block Mason from speaking any further. “Pure nonsense. Why would a woman give away such beautiful flowers?”

  “She did, sir, I swear it! She was walking toward the staff quarters and gave them to me. Then she asked for directions,” Mason protested, his eyes wildly moving from Henry to Amoz.

  “Where did you send her?” Amoz asked, interrupting Henry’s further sounds of protest.

  “The stables, your Grace,” Mason mumbled and gave a short bow before kneeling down to pick up his mop.

  Nodding at Mason, Amoz turned to Henry and levelled the older, snooty man with a harsh glare. “Ensure Mason is given adequate transportation home at the end of his shift. We wouldn’t want the flowers ruined, now would we, Henry?”

  Henry, mouth agape like a fish, sputtered to answer; but before he could, Amoz nodded to him and strode off, his intent for the stables and one silly, stubborn American girl.

  The stables of the Royal Resort were immaculate. As a child, Teresa had always been fascinated by horses. Her father had worked as a head foreman on a prestigious horse ranch before his untimely death. As a child, Teresa enjoyed the days she would spend amongst the horses, helping her father with his duties. Even the most grotesque duties such as mucking out the stalls she enjoyed, as long as she was close to the horses and her father.

  As Teresa walked the stalls, scanning each and every horse and their name plaque, the smell of hay and animal relaxed her in ways that lying on the beach or by the pool hadn’t. Stopping at one horse whose name was Zeus, Teresa smiled at the aptly named horse. He appeared as your typical Arabian horse with a dark coat and lighter covered horse ankles.