Tara Pammi - The Sheikh's Pregnant Prisoner

“You misunderstand. You’re in Zafir’s private wing. Women are not allowed here. If imprisoning you was what he intended, he could have put you anywhere.” She paused as though waiting for the import of her words to sink in. “Here, he can be absolutely certain of your safety.”

Lauren refused to attach any meaning to Farrah’s revelation.

She walked toward the dark side table laden with exotic fruits and pastries. She picked up the elegant silver jug and poured sherbet into the gleaming silver tumbler and took a sip. Apparently, in Zafir’s world, silverware meant actual silverware.

The smooth fruity liquid slid down her parched throat blissfully. “The only person posing a problem to my safety is His Arrogant Highness.”

“There have been two attempts on his life since he returned to Behraat, Lauren.”

The tumbler slid from Lauren’s grasp, soundlessly spreading a stain on the thick Persian rug at her feet.

Lauren gripped the wooden surface, an image of Zafir dead instantly pressed upon her by her overactive mind. Nausea rose up through her, turning the sweet taste of the sherbet into bitterness.

That he might be dead was a reality she had accepted a few days ago. Yet having seen him, she couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to him. She picked up a napkin and knelt to soak up the stain from the rug. “Why would—”

A knock at the door to the suite cut off her question.

A woman, dressed in a maroon kaftan and head robes that covered her hair, entered the suite. She had a silver tray in her hand, the contents of it covered by a red velvet cloth lined with gold threads.

Kohl-rimmed eyes stole glances at her as the woman spoke to Farrah. Her eyes wide, Farrah stared at Lauren and back at the woman. “His Highness wants to see you in an hour on the rooftop garden,” Farrah said, her gaze tellingly blank of any expression.

The woman stepped forward and stretched her arms. Lauren took a step back, unease settling low in her belly.

Her heart going thump-thump, she pulled the velvet cloth and bit back a gasp. With shaking hands, she took the precious emerald silk gown from the tray and unfolded it, the soft crunch of tissue wrapped in its folds puncturing the silence.

Thousands of tiny crystals, sewn along the demure neckline and the tight bodice, winked at her. A pencil line skirt flared from the waist with a knee-high slit in the back.

A dress fit for a princess, a sheikha, or a rich man’s plaything.

It would fit her like a glove, Lauren realized. Her gaze caught Farrah’s for a second, and the same knowledge lingered there. Her temper rising, she dropped the gown, feeling more dirty than she had ever felt.

The curiosity with which the two women watched her every move, every nuance in her expression, scraped at her nerves.

Were they coming to the same conclusion as her? A female guest tucked away in the High Sheikh’s quarters, on whom he bestowed gifts of the most intimate kind.

What kind of a game was he playing?

A sick feeling coursed through Lauren, settling in her stomach. She showed the velvet case no such care as she had done the dress. She yanked it open and stared at its contents.

A diamond necklace, with matching earrings and bracelet. The name of the top designer in gold threading on the velvet case was redundant to Lauren. She knew this particular design too well. Tears that she dare not shed choked up her throat.

He remembered her obsession with diamonds.

Every surface in her apartment in Queens was littered with brochures and catalogs from the top diamond galleries of the world. It was her guilty pleasure to spend a lazy evening in her recliner, going through the catalogs, marking the ones she liked, while in reality, she didn’t own a tiny pendant.

The diamonds glittered and winked at her as she closed the lid, struggling to keep a check on her unraveling temper.

Did he think she would be softened by this blatant display of wealth, that she would forget everything that had happened? That he could buy her off with expensive gifts?

The fact that he remembered her obsession plunged the stab of his betrayal a little deeper. Whatever he said now, whatever he did, she had to remember that he’d made the choice to cut her out of his life with little regret. That he’d suspected her of the worst.

She dropped the velvet case onto the tray on the bed. “Please instruct her to take it back, Farrah, and to inform His Highness that I don’t intend to see him. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever again.”

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