Olivia Gates - The Sheikh's Claim

Maybe it was the stiffness that took over her body, or the pulse going haywire in her throat, or the fear of discovery in her eyes.

Or it was all of that and a thousand other instantaneous, involuntary signs that coalesced and painted a picture worth a thousand confessions.

It all added up to one thing. One thing that lodged in his mind with the force of an ax. Something devastating.

The truth.

Lujayn’s child was his.

Dear Reader,

Jalal Aal Shalaan, the hero of The Sheikh’s Claim , was an enigma to me as I started writing his story. He’s already appeared in most of his brothers’ stories, but he’s been the one who wouldn’t show me more than what he showed the world—the devil-may-care façade of a prince with the world at his feet. Then, in The Sheikh’s Redemption , his twin Haidar’s book, we finally got hints that not all was as it seemed with this knight of the desert. He was the “wolf” to Haidar’s “lion,” and their radical differences had torn them apart. By the end of that book, it seemed their lifelong rivalry and conflict were resolved, and they were finding their way back to their childhood closeness.

But the twins are still competing for the throne of Azmahar. And Jalal wants it with a burning passion. He believes he has nothing else to look forward to. His siblings and father have found their soul mates and are happy with their families, and he feels left out, aimless and alone. He believes he’ll always be that way, for the only woman he could ever want is lost to him.

Is it any wonder, when she reappears in Azmahar, that his pursuit of Lujayn is relentless, even when her rejection is as single-minded? And that was before he discovers a secret that will make it even more unquestionable that he will claim her as his own, for life.

I loved writing Jalal and Lujayn’s story as they came from totally opposite life situations—a prince and a pauper in love-story format—and not only met halfway but became one. I hope you enjoy reading their story as much as I enjoyed writing it!

I love to hear from readers, so please email me at oliviagates@gmail.com and connect with me on Facebook at my fan page Olivia Gates Author, on Goodreads and on Twitter@OliviaGates.

Thanks for reading!

Olivia

OLIVIA GATEShas always pursued creative passions such as singing and handicrafts. She still does, but only one of her passions grew gratifying enough, consuming enough, to become an ongoing career—writing.

She is most fulfilled when she is creating worlds and conflicts for her characters, then exploring and untangling them bit by bit, sharing her protagonists’ every heart-wrenching heartache and hope, their every heart-pounding doubt and trial, until she leads them to an indisputably earned and gloriously satisfying happy ending.

When she’s not writing, she is a doctor, a wife to her own alpha male and a mother to one brilliant girl and one demanding Angora cat. Visit Olivia at www.oliviagates.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To my endlessly patient and supportive husband.

Thank you for being there for me always.

Love you, always.

Twenty-seven months ago

“So you managed to get away with murder this time.”

Jalal Aal Shalaan frowned at the words he’d spoken aloud.

He was standing at the door of an opulent sitting room in one of the most breathtaking manors in the Hamptons, where he’d been received for years as an esteemed guest. He’d thought he’d never set foot in here again because of the woman who stood with her back to him. The woman who was now lady of the manor.

Lujayn Morgan. His ex-lover.

She’d been picking up letters from an antique marble table when his words had hit her. After a start, she’d frozen midmotion.

His own body was tense all over, too. His fists and jaw were clenched, his every muscle bunched, buzzing.

B’haggej’ jaheem —by hell, why had he said that?

He hadn’t intended to show her any hostility. Or any emotions at all—he’d thought he’d had none left. He’d come here for one reason. To see her without the lust that had blinded him for the four-year duration of their affair. He was here for closure, something she’d robbed him of when she’d stormed out of his life, giving him no chance to defend himself, to negotiate, leaving him wrestling with shock then rage and groping for explanations.

But he’d thought the resolution he was seeking was strictly intellectual. He’d thought he’d properly recovered during the two years since she’d walked out on him, working through his feelings until nothing remained but cold curiosity and mental aversion.

So he’d been deluding himself. What he’d felt for her, though it had reversed in nature, had remained as fierce.

He’d always presented the world with a devil-may-care facade. It was partly his nature and partly defensive. Having Sondoss, the notorious queen of Zohayd for a mother, and Haidar, the enigma who’d tormented him since childhood for a twin, made defenses necessary. They were the only ones who had ever managed to crack his control. Then had come Lujayn.

He was still vulnerable to the mere sight of her. And she hadn’t even faced him yet.

Then she did.

Air deserted his lungs, heartbeats started to thunder.

Her beauty had always been mesmerizing. Her Middle Eastern and Irish genes conspired to create the personification of the best of both worlds. By the time she’d left him, brand names were starting to compete to have her willowy grace showcase their products, and makeup lines wanted that unforgettable face with those one-of-a-kind eyes to smolder at consumers out of their glossy ads.

But throughout their affair, she’d shed weight continuously. It had alarmed then angered him that her obsession with getting ahead in her career had blinded her to how she was harming herself to achieve a perfection she already possessed.

But the gaunt woman she’d been at the end of their affair had disappeared. In her place was the epitome of health and femininity with swells and dips that not even her severe black suit could tame, and had everything male in him roaring to life.

Marriage had been very good to her. Marriage to a man he’d once considered a good friend. A man who’d died less than two years after the wedding. A man whom he’d just more or less accused her of killing.

She inclined her head as she straightened, the movement emphasizing the elegance of her swan neck, the perfection of her raven chignon-wrapped head.

Her cool tranquility was a superb act, but her shock registered in something beyond her acting abilities. The pupils of uncanny irises, as silvery as the meaning of her name did that thing that had enthralled him when she was agitated or aroused, expanding and shrinking, giving the illusion that her eyes where emitting bursts of light.