Dana Marton - The Black Sheep Sheik

“We’ll talk about leaving after you finish your food and put your feet up for a few minutes. How about that? You’re no good to anyone if you push yourself too hard and relapse.”

He went back to his food, his dark brows furrowed. “Do you still work at the hospital?”

“I took the last month of pregnancy as maternity leave. Can’t do those triple shifts. Can’t really stand hours on end in the O.R., either.” There, that almost came out normal, as if she wasn’t spitting mad at him.

“Is everything well with you? With the pregnancy?” His tone was detached.

She made hers match it as she said, “Yes.”

Silence stretched between them. She closed her eyes for a second, consoling herself with the fact that the situation couldn’t possibly get any worse. Then it did.

“I used protection. I always do.” That same emotionless tone again. He was questioning her word.

She hated that. She was a respected surgeon. People normally didn’t accuse her of lying, not even in a roundabout way.

“I said one pass.” Each word was frostier than the one before. “We slept together nine months ago. I’m nine-months pregnant. Do the math. I haven’t been with anybody else since.” Or before, really, not for a long time.

Something flashed across his dark gaze but was gone too quickly for her to identify it. He read her much better, apparently, and could see that she was telling the truth, because he magnanimously said, “I believe you.” Then ruined the whole effect by adding, “Of course, there’ll be a test of paternity.”

“I don’t want anything from you. I can support this child. He’ll be well loved and well taken care of. You can go back home as soon as you recover.”

She’d been preparing herself for a future just like that. She didn’t need a man in her life. She didn’t want a man in her life. Another woman might have built up a number of crazy fantasies over the past weeks about him recovering and the two of them riding off into the sunset. She had no illusions. She’d known from early childhood that the whole happy-American-family thing was a sham, a marketing message companies used to sell things.

His spoon had stopped halfway to his mouth. “A son?”

“According to the last ultrasound.” Despite the strained circumstances of the moment, a thrill ran through her. She couldn’t wait to meet her son. She hadn’t planned on having a baby just now, all alone, but the thought of that baby made her feel happier than she’d ever been. The two of them were going to make an amazing family.

“A boy for certain?”

She focused back on Amir. “This is not something you have to worry about. My son and I will be fine. I have a whole support system ready. I have great friends. And if you don’t believe me about him being yours, that’s okay, too. I’m all right with this. I had time to figure it all out. You obviously have your own very serious issues to deal with.”

Like the fact that somebody wanted him dead. Her heart twisted at the thought of anyone harming him. They shared a child. Whether they ever saw each other again after this or not, there was a connection between them that would never go away. She couldn’t say that the concept didn’t make her feel uneasy.

“Tests will be necessary,” he continued thoughtfully, “so my son’s legitimacy cannot be challenged when the time comes for him to take the throne. He’ll be the crown prince. My heir.”

“No.” Denial flew from her lips as she gripped the edge of the table, pushing her chair back. “Are you kidding me?”

She’d been thinking of her son as hers, singularly hers. She didn’t want anyone to have any claim on him, let alone someone as powerful as a sheik. Her son would have a future as a normal little boy, not crippled by expectations and responsibility in some strange, distant country. “That’s not necessary. As soon as you’re well, you can go back home. You don’t need to be involved in this.”

“As soon as I’m well, we’re getting married.” The somber look on his face said he wasn’t kidding. Nor was he happy.

Welcome to the club. Maybe they could have T-shirts made and have membership cards printed.

She’d spent the last nine months planning on how she was going to be the best single mom ever. Her plans did not, whatsoever, include being married to a sheik.

The sounds of a chopper came through the open windows, coming from the east.

Amir immediately tensed and set his spoon down. “We’ll pack and leave now. No hideout is secure if used too long. My enemies had a whole month to track me here.”

“This is Wyoming, not the Middle East.” Honestly, they were at her father’s cabin, in the middle of nowhere. Even some of the locals couldn’t find their way out here.

They had the Wind River Mountains to the west and nothing but the Rattlesnake Badlands on the other side as far as the eye could see. Beyond a couple of farmers way down the road, few people lived out this way.

She went to the window to look up at the sky. Amir limped over to pull her back, but she resisted until she got a good look. Did the chopper slow as it flew over them? She couldn’t tell for sure, but soon it moved on toward the badlands. “Probably one of the charter tours. They take tourists to see the antelope and the wild mustangs.”

He didn’t look convinced, didn’t relax until he tugged her back to the table. “It might be too late to leave. I shall summon my security here. When they arrive—”

“You’re welcome to go with them.”

“When you’re my wife—”

“Let’s make one thing clear,” she said as unequivocally as she could. “I’m not marrying you. And I’m not in any kind of danger. You can’t use that as an excuse to wrap me in cotton and lock me away. I’m not going to be any man’s emotional slave. And I’m not going to be any powerful guy’s power play. I’m not going to be your prisoner, with you holding this baby over me.”

She clamped her mouth shut, regretting most of that monologue as soon as the last word was out. A simple no would have sufficed. She was projecting and she knew it. But at least she didn’t leave any doubt about how she felt. Considering how used to getting his way he must be, that couldn’t be a bad thing.

His face hardened on cue, his eyes filling with determination as he took her hands and kept them. “My purpose is not capturing you for selfish reasons. I want only what is best for you and my son. I would give my life to keep you from danger.”

The I-control-you-for-your-own-good song and dance. She knew that one by heart, had watched her mother live it with various men after she’d abandoned the family.

“I’m not marrying you, and you can’t make me,” she told the sheik and she meant it.

He glared regally.

He was the only man she knew who could look magnificent in a hospital gown and make her head swim. Figured. Somehow he managed to radiate strength—along with massive disapproval—even in his current, weakened state.

She hadn’t forgotten him in the past nine months, and she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have forgotten him—even if he hadn’t returned—for as long as she lived. But he did return. She’d been moonstruck enough so that if he’d suggested a loose liaison after the baby was born, she might have gone for it. He was the perfect man to have an affair with.

But what he wanted was to control her completely.

“You carry my son,” he said with the arrogance of a man who knew he held the trump card.

“And this is not the Middle Ages,” she told him with the certainty of a woman who believed she had sanity and progress on her side. She pulled her hands out of his, at last, away from his tingling heat.

His voice dropped an octave as he said, “Do you hate me that much for not coming back sooner? I did not abandon you. You were gone when I woke. Matters of the state… I had to return home to take care of things.”