The Sheikh’s Pregnant Lover (Sheikhs of Al-Dashalid Book 1)

by Leslie North

  “I couldn’t have done it without you, Hannah.”

  She walked into his arms and let him hold her for a long moment.

  Then Hannah sniffled. “I’ve been so lonely here.” She let out a laugh. “I didn’t expect that.”

  “You don’t have to be lonely anymore. But look—” Kyril drew something out of his pocket. An envelope. He opened it and took out a blueprint. It was surprisingly large when he unfolded it, and for a moment she wondered how he’d managed to conceal it in his pocket. Then again, she’d only been paying attention to the look in his eyes, not checking his pocket. “It doesn’t have to be the way it was before. I’ve spoken to my mother and sister, and they’ve agreed to postpone the wedding ceremony. Indefinitely.”

  Hannah raised one eyebrow. “It took a blueprint to get them to do that?”

  He squeezed her hand and led her over to the desk. “This is something else entirely. Another proposal of sorts.”

  Hannah looked down at the plans but didn’t recognize a thing about them. “What is this?”

  “This is a building on the palace grounds, but separate from the main area by quite a bit. All of the gardens surround this place.” Kyril ran a finger lovingly over the white lines against the dark blue paper. “It’s an old carriage house and stable. At least, that’s what it was in my great-grandfather’s day.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve had an engineer and an architect come look at it, and they both say it’s structurally sound. Perfectly safe.”

  Hannah snickered and clapped her hand over her mouth.

  Kyril grinned, ignoring this. “It’s well-suited to convert into a living space. And…it’s yours.”

  “Mine?”

  “Yours to renovate as you wish. It will be your own space, away from the main palace. Private.” He paused. “Independent.”

  Her entire soul melted with happiness.

  “Until the renovations are complete…” Kyril rubbed one hand around his cufflinks. “You’re free to live anywhere you wish.” She could tell it was difficult for him to say. “I have to stay at the palace, since I’m the head of the country, but you are free to make your own way for a while. I only hope—” He cleared his throat, and Hannah longed to kiss him. Anything to take away how brittle he felt. “Is it too much to hope that you might come back and live with me?”

  “Yes,” Hannah said instantly, and Kyril’s face fell. “No! I meant—” She laughed, glee bubbling in her chest. “It’s not too much to hope.” She took Kyril’s hands in hers. “I love you. I was so lonely without you, and I even—I never thought I’d say this—I even miss Adira and Daya. My world is not complete without you in it.”

  He took her in his arms then, and his kiss was as hot and new as the week they’d spent together all those months before. Her body responded to him in the exact same way—falling, falling. She couldn’t help that she’d fallen in love with him when he kissed her like that—hard and possessive, his tongue battling hers. It was so deep that Hannah didn’t want to surface, but she did, because a person has to breathe.

  “I’ll let you in on a secret,” Kyril said as she tucked her head against his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. “There is no world without you. You are my world.”

  “You’re mine,” she breathed, and it was the truest thing she’d ever said. “You’re mine, Kyril. Take me home?”

  Epilogue

  Little Inan, Kyril’s son for ten soul-shattering days, slept peacefully in his arms. He still couldn’t believe the sturdy feather-weight of him. His son! His own son. It was as if his heart had expanded to three times its size the moment he came into the world. What a day that had been. Kyril had assumed his child’s arrival would be exciting, but he hadn’t counted on the soaring joy at the birth and the plummeting fear at Hannah’s pain. She’d been such a courageous warrior. It had only confirmed how strong she was, once again.

  Every time he looked into his son’s face, the joy swept him away, as if it had all happened yesterday. Ten days on, and all the days did blur together—Hannah insisted on their caring for their son themselves, at least for the early weeks of his life—so it might as well have been yesterday.

  Kyril’s thoughts were getting away from him. He was supposed to be paying attention to the grand unveiling of his new home with Hannah, and he’d already missed some of what she’d said.

  Hannah led the way through the carriage house, their new home. It was finished at last, and she glowed with pride.

  “I know it’s a bit English cottage,” she said, “but I love that historical look. All the modern conveniences, but with touches from the local marketplace.” She paused in the bright kitchen, an airy space anchored by dark wood features. Kyril loved it. There were splashes of rich color—red, yellow—that reminded him of the main palace, but didn’t overwhelm Hannah’s vision.

  Hannah bit her lip. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s wonderful,” he told her, and he meant it.

  They moved through the expansive living room and up the stairs to the second floor. It was spacious, with room enough for a master suite, three smaller bedrooms, and a large office and den. Kyril’s eyes swept every space for details, and he was impressed. Not a single cord dangled from a curtain or blind. All the furniture, despite its expensive sheen, had soft rounded corners or no corners at all. He’d bit his tongue all through the renovation, wanting badly to mention babyproofing, but Hannah had seen to every detail.

  Hannah stood in the middle of the master suite, the sunlight catching her blonde hair. She wore a thobe, modified to fit her personal style. The shape was lovely on her curves, but the color was unexpected, a pop of her personality. “And this is our bedroom. It’s my favorite room in the house.” She looked around, then nodded to herself. “It’s all done. We only need to move our things from the main palace.”

  Kyril looked at his wife.

  “What?” Her cheeks flushed. “Is there something wrong?”

  “With you? Never.” He swept her into a one-armed embrace and kissed her, her lips parting for him for a moment before she pushed him away, laughing.

  “Our son is watching,” she said with a grin before taking the baby from Kyril’s arms. “And you didn’t even wrap him in bubble wrap! I’m so proud of you.”

  Kyril’s arms felt suddenly empty. “Wait—didn’t we miss one room?”

  Hannah’s eyes went wide. “The nursery! Come see.”

  They made their way down the hall and into the nursery.

  The sight of it took Kyril’s breath away.

  It was like being inside of the world’s most beautiful globe. Every wall was painted with a world map, the lines of the coasts etched in gorgeous relief.

  “What are those?” A small star marked Venice. And another, Santorini, the tiny island covered by the decoration. Paris. Rome. Al-Dashalid.

  “Places we’ve been,” said Hannah, swaying gently with the baby in her arms. “And these—” She motioned with her elbow to a small silver cloud decoration at Mumbai. As soon as she pointed it out, Kyril noticed more across the maps. Many more. “These are places we want to go. Clouds, for dreaming.”

  Kyril felt suffused with happiness. “Amazing. But if you must know, you’d have to cover the entire earth with a cloud. I want to go everywhere with you.”

  “Mmm. Me, too,” said Hannah. She gazed down into Inan’s face, utterly in love.

  A flash of light from over the crib caught Kyril’s eye. It was the mobile, completed at last. He watched the light play over the map of the world, reflected off the glossy ornaments, and breathed in the peace and joy of the world.

  “It might be nice,” he said.

  “What might be?”

  He turned back to Hannah. “Letting you take the reins. You really do make everything better than I ever could alone.”

  “Same to you,” she said, coming to him and rising on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Then she gave him a playful grin. “I only hope you’re ready for an adventure.”
<
br />   Kyril laughed. “Lead on, my queen. I’ll follow you wherever you go.”

  End of The Sheikh’s Pregnant Lover

  Sheikhs of Al-Dashalid Book One

  The Sheikh’s Pregnant Lover, 28 February 2019

  The Sheikh’s Blackmailed Bride, 7 March 2019

  The Sheikh’s Fierce Fiancée, 14 March 2019

  PS: Do you love passionate Sheikhs? Then keep reading for exclusive extracts from The Sheikh's Blackmailed Bride and The Sheikh’s Royal Seduction.

  Thank you!

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  About Leslie

  Leslie North is the USA Today Bestselling pen name for a critically-acclaimed author of women's contemporary romance and fiction. The anonymity gives her the perfect opportunity to paint with her full artistic palette, especially in the romance and erotic fantasy genres.

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  BLURB

  One wild night of drinking led to Catelyn Wolf marrying Sheikh Rami in a lavish, beautiful ceremony. At least, that’s what the pictures show.

  Turns out Catelyn faked the whole wedding with some photoshopped pictures in a desperate attempt to give her fledgling wedding planning business, Elite Occasions, a chance at survival. The Hail Mary worked, and now they have their first client—with a multimillion-dollar wedding to boot. True, her besties, who are also her business partners, weren’t happy with the elaborate lie, but even they had to admit that it worked like a charm...that is until Sheikh Rami himself shows up, demanding to meet “his wife.”

  Sheikh Rami has no time to find a suitable bride, not with his huge contract with a Texas oil company on the rocks. So when news of his “wedding” is uncovered by his brother, Catelyn’s “joke” turns into the answer to Rami’s prayers. Catelyn is good friends with the owner of the oil company—the perfect way to get an in with the company. All he needs is a big rock and an even bigger divorce clause to officially marry by his deadline. The fact that Catelyn is hot as sin only helps matters...

  Catelyn, however, does not go gently down the aisle, and Rami is forced to threaten the business she and her friends have worked so hard to build. If she doesn’t marry him, he’ll out their biggest wedding as a lie and she’ll be ruined. But as their business-only relationship turns decidedly passionate, the two become entangled both in the bedroom as well as in business. In the end they’ll have to decide if the marriage that began as fake is actually fate.

  Grab your copy of The Sheikh’s Blackmailed Bride

  Available 7 March 2019

  www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  * * *

  EXCERPT

  Chapter One

  The cocktail party was going to be the death of him.

  One more moment of idle small talk swirling around him, and Rami, brother of the Sheikh of Al-Dashalid and himself the supreme hater of the boring hours in the middle of cocktail parties, might be forced to put down the glass of tonic half-finished and walk outside into the night. Walk all the way back to Al-Dashalid, if that’s what he had to do.

  He followed the conversation happening in front of him, waiting for something—anything—to capture his interest. But the chatter between Lydia Morris, whom he was trying to charm, and a man named Roland Fields, who wore a ten-gallon hat with his suit, centered on some interpersonal drama involving a fence and a field.

  Lydia laughed, tossing back her head. Her coppery hair, swept back in an elegant chignon, gleamed in the soft yellow light of her own personal ballroom. It was lovely, for sure—the decor was understated, which let the centerpieces on the tables stand out. They were riots of yellow sunflowers and red gerbera daisies in surprisingly chic white vases, and they drew Rami’s eye again and again.

  Was he looking at them too frequently? Lydia wasn’t going to be charmed at the discovery that his attention was more drawn to the flowers. Those red daisies had reminded him of the jaunty red tie his partner for a science class project had worn once. He’d been sick at the idea of having to give the final presentation, so he made a deal with her—she’d do all the talking. He’d do all the work. Her tie had been that same shade—the private school’s color—and neither it nor she had shown up on the big day. He’d blown it, utterly and completely, his sentences stilted and strange. A sea of blank stares had met him at the front of the room, smirks tugging at his classmates’ lips.

  Well, he wasn’t going to ruin this, as much as the extended story about some kind of livestock bored him.

  Lydia turned and put her hand on his elbow. She was in her late forties, trim and polished, and she ran her company with a deft hand. That was why he was at the party in the first place. Rami wanted Morris International to distribute the oil produced in Al-Dashalid in the United States, and Lydia’s company had the best terms and connections bar none.

  “Rami, are you hearing this? Care to weigh in on the dispute?”

  He replayed the conversation in his mind. A broken fence. A runaway steer. A trampled lawn. He cleared his throat, flashing a confident smile to the little group. “At one of our nature preserves in Al-Dashalid, the fences are reinforced with steel wire. We’ve never had a break yet. The only things that come and go are the birds.”

  There was an awkward pause. Lydia cocked her head to the side. Rami’s heart beat faster.

  And then, just like she had earlier, she threw back her head and laughed. “The birds!” she cried, drawing Roland back in despite his hesitation. Rami allowed himself to relax while they let the laugher wind down.

  It was all ridiculous, he thought as he withdrew to the outer edge of the conversation. This was a business deal, and though Lydia expected to be courted—to be charmed, to become friends—wasn’t this a bit too much…extra emotion? It was about oil distribution, not a marriage proposal.

  He needed a way out. Some excuse he could make. He caught Lydia’s eye the next time she turned to him and murmured something vague about needing to make a phone call. “Of course, of course,” she said. “We’ll connect later.”

  He did not make any promises on that front.

  Rami only turned on his heel and made for the nearest exit. Only—where was the nearest exit? It only took a moment to find it. His great height gave him an immediate advantage. There—the far wall.

  He was only too excited to get out of here and into the fresh air. He took one long stride toward the door, through the crowd, and—

  “Oh!”

  A cocktail glass crashed to the floor, and Rami looked down to find out what exactly he’d collided with. Who.

  “My apologies,” he said quickly, still anxious to get to the door.

  And then she looked up at him.

  She was short and took one step back at the sight of him, giving him a full view of the black dress that hugged the lithe lines of her body. The neckline brushed against the swell of her perky breasts. But it wasn’t her body that captivated him.

  It was her eyes.

  This woman—whom he’d just run over at Lydia’s cocktail party—had the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever seen. And he’d seen the waters of Bali.

  * * *

  Catelyn had not planned on being trampled by a prince.

  That’s what he was, really, the sheikh who’d just run into her as if the party was a trap he was anxious to escape. She’d seen him coming. How could she not? He was so tall. Above six feet for sure. Maybe even above six foot five. And she’d been staring, to be truthful. She’d been staring at the elegant lines of his face, the darkly determined eyes, and
that long, lean body. He was perfect for his tuxedo. Everyone had been talking about him, but Catelyn hadn’t been interested until he’d entered her line of sight a moment ago.

  She’d been on her way to Lydia’s clutch of friends to say her goodbyes so she could get out of this party. She only wanted to spend so much of her weekend at home at this kind of event, mingling with businesspeople who were already…settled. They were more interested in talking about dividends than start-ups, which is what Catelyn had spent a year setting up.

  It was also why she’d been avoiding Lydia.

  Lydia, her former mentor, had taught her everything she knew about business. So, naturally, she’d expected Catelyn to join her company—not start her own wedding-planning business in New Jersey. She’d spent lunch today trying to convince Catelyn to take a junior executive position at Morris International, and Catelyn had spent lunch with a smile plastered on her face.

  Now—too bad!—the handsome sheikh had run right into her. No way she could continue on to Lydia now. Not with her cocktail glass on the floor and his utterly entrancing dark eyes searching hers.

  “Hi,” said Catelyn. She gave him a little wave. “You must not have seen me.”

  “I’m so sorry about that.” A little grin curved one side of his mouth. “I was making my escape.”

  Catelyn put on a confused expression. “Why? Party isn’t exciting enough for you?”

  “It’s exciting enough now.”

  She couldn’t help herself—she groaned aloud. “Don’t tell me that makes you want to stay.”