Susan Stephens: Claimed by the Desert Sheikh: The Sheikh and the Pregnant Bride / Desert King, Pregnant Mistress / Desert Prince, Expectant Mother

She’d always wondered why they hadn’t taken that last step. They’d dated for years, been each other’s first time. He was the only man she’d ever been with and until Elaine, Jon had only been with her. She still loved him—a part of her would always love him.

“I think we fell out of ‘in love,’ if that makes sense. We still care for each other, but it’s not the same. I think we would have broken up a long time ago, except my dad was sick and Jon didn’t want to dump that on me, too.”

But she’d sensed the changes in their relationship. “I ignored the obvious because of my dad dying. After he was gone, Jon and I talked and I realized it had been over for a long time.” She forced a smile she didn’t feel. “He’s met someone else. Elaine. She’s great and they’re crazy about each other. So that’s good.”

She mostly meant that. Jon was her friend and she wanted him to be happy. But every now and then she wondered why she couldn’t have met someone, too.

“You are very understanding,” Qadir said. “Even if it is all a mask.”

She stiffened. “I’m not pretending.”

“You’re saying there is no anger at Jon for replacing you so easily?”

“None at all,” she snapped, then sighed. “Okay, there’s a twinge, but it’s not a big deal. I don’t really want him for myself, exactly.”

“But he should have had the common courtesy to wait a while before finding the love of his life.”

“I can’t agree with that. It makes me sound horrible.”

“It makes you sound human.”

“I’m emotionally tough.” At least she was trying to be. There had been a single breakdown about five weeks ago. She’d called Jon, sobbing and trembling with pain. She’d hurt everywhere, not only from the loss of her father, but from the loss of her best friend.

Jon, being Jon, had come over to comfort her. He’d hugged her and held her and she’d wanted more. She’d kissed him and …

Maggie walked to the balcony and stared out into the night. Thinking about that night made her so ashamed. She’d seduced him because she’d wanted a chance to forget all that had happened in her life. And maybe to prove she still could.

At the time, he’d only known Elaine a couple of weeks, but Maggie had sensed they were getting serious. In a way it had been her last chance with Jon.

When it was over, neither of them had known what to say. She’d apologized, which he’d told her wasn’t necessary. Things had been awkward between them. They still were.

“Life is complicated,” she murmured.

“I agree.”

She looked at him. “You’re not going to get any sympathy from me, Prince Qadir.”

“You’re saying my life of wealth and privilege means I don’t deserve to complain.”

“Something like that.”

“You have many rules.”

“I like rules.”

“I like to break them.”

Hardly a surprise, she thought as she smiled. “Of course you do.”

He laughed. “I still do not intimidate you. What was it you called me? A guy with a checkbook and a car?”

“Is reverence an important part of the job?”

“Not at all. You may even call me by my first name, without using my title.”

“I’m honored.”

“No, you’re not, but you should be.” He took a step toward her, then touched her cheek. “Do not mourn for the man unwise enough to let such a prize go. He was born a fool and he will die a fool. Good night.”

Qadir disappeared with a speed that left Maggie gasping. She didn’t know what to think about first. The soft brush of his fingers on her cheek or what he’d said.

She wanted to protest that Jon wasn’t a fool. That he was actually a really bright guy, which was one of the things she’d always liked about him. Except she liked Qadir’s attitude about the whole thing. She also enjoyed thinking about herself as a prize to be won … by a man who was not a fool.

Maggie finished getting ready, then hovered by the door, not sure if she was just supposed to go down to the garage or wait to be called or what.

“Palaces should come with instruction books,” she murmured to herself as she reached for the door handle. She might as well see if she could find her way to the garage and …

Someone knocked on her door. She pulled it open to find a pretty blonde about her age in the wide hallway.

“Hi,” the woman said. “You’re Maggie, right? I’m Victoria McCallan, secretary, fellow American and your guide to all things royal. Victoria, never Vicki, although honestly I can’t say why. It started when I was little. I think I was in a mood and I haven’t gotten over it.”

Victoria smiled as she spoke. She was a few inches shorter than Maggie, even in her insanely high heels. She wore a tailored blouse tucked into a short, dark skirt. Her skin was perfect, her nails long and painted and her hair curled to her shoulders. She was the very essence of everything female. Maggie suddenly felt tall and awkward. Not to mention seriously underdressed in her jeans and T-shirt. She didn’t want to imagine what Victoria would think about the coveralls she had in her duffel.

“You are Maggie, aren’t you?”

“Most days.”

Victoria laughed. “Welcome to the palace. It’s great here.”

“Is there a map?”

“If only. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been lost. We need internal GPS or something. They could implant us with a chip and track us.” She wrinkled her nose. “On second thought, maybe not. Are you really here to fix a car?”

“Work on one. I’m restoring an old Rolls-Royce.” She thought about going into more detail, but figured the other woman’s eyes would glaze over.

“On purpose?”

“It’s not going to happen otherwise.”

“I never got the car thing.”

Maggie looked at Victoria’s perfect outfit. “I never got the clothes thing. I hate shopping.”

“I shop enough for two so you’re covered. Come on. I’ll show you the way.”

Victoria waited while Maggie grabbed her duffel.

“Do I want to know what’s in there?” the other woman asked.

Maggie thought about her personal tools and coveralls. “No.”

“Good to know. The El Deharian palace was originally built in the eighth century. There are still parts of the old exterior walls visible. I can show you later, if you’d like. The main structure is broken down into four quadrants, much like the interior of a cathedral, but without the religious implication. There is artwork from around the world on display. At any given time, the paintings alone are valued at nearly a billion dollars.”

Victoria pointed to a painting on a wall. “An early Renoir. Just a little FYI, don’t even think about taking it back to your room for a private viewing. It’s protected by a state-of-the-art security system. However, if you insist on trying, rumor is they’ll take you down to the dungeon and cut off your head.”

“Good to know,” Maggie murmured. “I don’t know much about art. I’ll keep it that way. How do you know so much about the palace?”

“I like to read. There’s a lot of great history here. Plus I’ve been asked to fill in a few times when foreign dignitaries want a private tour after dinner when the regular tour staff has gone home.”

“You live here—in the palace?”

“Just down the hall. I’ve been here nearly two years.” She paused at a staircase. “Look at that hideous baby in the painting.” She pointed to a large oil painting on the wall. “It’s the easiest way to remember your wing and floor. Trust me, most of the other art is much more attractive.”

“Good to know.”

Victoria started down the stairs. “As live-in staff you’re entitled to a whole bundle of goodies. Free laundry, access to the kitchen. I will warn you that you have to be careful with the food. You can really pack on the pounds in a heartbeat. I gained the freshman fifteen when I first moved here. Now I make sure I walk everywhere.”