Charlene Sands - Saved by the Sheikh! / Million-Dollar Marriage Merger - Saved by the Sheikh! / Million-Dollar Marriage Merger

Tomorrow she would leave. He’d escort her to the airport himself. He certainly wouldn’t allow himself any regrets. Tiffany was not the stranded innocent she’d once almost managed to con him into believing she was. He’d already allowed her to squeeze him for money once.

By foolishly possessing her, taking her under a starlit sky, he’d made a fatal mistake. One that she would milk for the rest of her life—if he let her.

Rafiq had no intention of becoming trapped in the prison she’d created with her soft touches and sweet, drugging kisses.

He became aware that Tiffany was talking to his aunt. He tensed, and started to pay attention.

“You must miss your daughter,” Tiffany was saying.

Lily nodded. “But I’ll be joining her when the holidays come. She wanted a little time to find her feet.”

“How lucky for her that you respect her need for independence.”

“I still worry about her. She had a bad romantic experience a while back.”

That was enough! He wasn’t having this woman interrogating his family, discovering pains better left hidden.

“Wine?” Rafiq brusquely offered Tiffany.

She shook her head, “No, thanks.” And focused on his aunt. “Do you have any other children?”

“No, only Zara.”

“I’m an only child, too.”

“Oh, what a pity Zara wasn’t here for you to meet. You would’ve gotten along like a house on fire.”

Rafiq narrowed his gaze. If Tiffany even thought she might threaten his family’s well-being she would learn how very ruthless he could be.

“I would’ve liked that.”

She sounded so sincere. His aunt was glowing with delight. Lily put a hand on his arm, “I’m sure your father and brothers would like to meet Tiffany.”

“I’d like that but—”

His killing glare interrupted the woman who had caused all this trouble. “Tiffany will not be staying for very long,” he said with a snap of his teeth.

Aunt Lily looked crestfallen. “What a pity.”

Rafiq wished savagely that he’d been less respectful of Tiffany’s modesty. He should’ve known better than to introduce her to any member of his family.

“She’ll be leaving us tomorrow.”

The bedchamber Lily and the little plump maid called Mina showed Tiffany into was rich and luxurious. Filmy gold drapes surrounded a high bed covered by white linen while beautiful handwoven rugs covered the intricately patterned wooden floors. On the opposite walls, shutters were flung back to reveal a view of a courtyard containing a pool surrounded by padded loungers. Water trickled over a tiered fountain on the far side of the pool, the soothing sound adding to the welcome.

It felt as if she’d been transported into another, far more exotic, world.

Alone, Tiffany stripped off her crumpled clothes and pulled on a nightie. She felt dazed and disoriented and just a little bit queasy. Jet lag was setting in with vengeance.

Through an open door, she caught a glimpse of an immense tub with leaping dolphins—dolphins!—for faucets before weariness sank like a cloud around her. She padded through to the large bathroom to brush her teeth before heading for the bedchamber and clambering between the soft sheets where sleep claimed her.

The next thing she knew she was being wakened by the loud sound of knocking. Seconds later the door crashed open.

Tiffany sat up, dragging the covers up to her chin, thoroughly startled at being yanked from deep sleep.

“What do you want?” she demanded of the man looming in the doorway.

“Neither of the maids could awaken you.” Whatever had glittered in Rafiq’s eyes when the door first opened had already subsided.

“I was tired,” she said defensively. “I told you that last night.”

“It’s late.” He glanced at his watch. “Eleven o’clock. I thought you might’ve run out—” He broke off.

Eleven o’clock was all she heard. “It can’t be that late.”

He strode closer, brandishing the square face of his Cartier timepiece in her direction. “Look.”

The wrist beneath the leather strap was tanned, a mix of sinew and muscle. Oh, God, surely she wasn’t being drawn back under his thrall?

“I believe you,” she said hastily, her grip tightening on the bedcovers as she pulled them up to her chin so that no bare flesh was visible. Her stomach had started its now-familiar morning lurching routine.

“Will you please go? ”

And then it was too late. Tiffany bolted from the bed and into the adjoining bathroom, where she was miserably and ignominiously sick.

When she finally raised her head, it was—horror of horrors—to find Rafiq beside her, holding out a white facecloth. She took it and wiped it over her face, appreciating the cool wetness.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“You look terrible.”

This time her “Thanks” held no gratitude.

“I don’t like this. I’m going to call a doctor.” He was already moving away with that sleek, predatory stride.

“Don’t,” Tiffany said.

He halted just short of the bathroom door.

“There’s nothing wrong with me.” She gave him a grim smile.

“Maybe it was something you ate.” Two long paces had him at her side. “You may need an antibiotic.”

“No antibiotic!” Nothing was going to harm her baby. “I promise you this is a perfectly normal part of being pregnant.”

His hands closed around her shoulders. “Oh, don’t try that tall tale again.”

“It’s the truth. I can’t help that you’re too dumb to see what’s right in front of your nose.” She poked a finger at his chest, but to her dismay he did not back away. Instead she became conscious of his muscled body beneath the crisply ironed business shirt. A body she’d touched all over the night they had been together.

She withdrew her finger as though it had been burned.

“I’m not dumb,” he growled.

Right. “And I’m not pregnant,” she countered.

“I knew you were faking it.”

The triumph in his voice made her see red. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

Tiffany broke out of his grasp and, slipping past him, headed for the bedroom. Grabbing her purse off the dressing table she upended it onto the bed and scrabbled through the displaced contents. Snatching up a black-and-white image in a small frame she spun around to wave it in front of his nose.

“Look at this.”

“What is it?”

Couldn’t he see? He had to be blind … as well as obtuse.

“A photo of your daughter.”

“A photo of my daughter?” For once that air of composure had deserted him. “I don’t have a daughter.”

She pushed the picture into his hands. “It’s an image from a scan. A scan of my baby—” their baby “—taken last week. See? There’s her head, her hipbone, her arms. That’s your daughter you’re holding.”

His expression changed. When he finally raised his head, his eyes were glazed with shock.

“You really are pregnant.”

“No, I’m only faking it. Remember?”

Rafiq glared at Tiffany, unamused by the flippant retort—and the sharp edge he detected beneath it. He tightened his grip on the photo, conscious of a sense that his world was shifting.

“So how do you know it’s a girl? Can they tell?”

She stared down her nose at him in a way that made him want to kiss her, or throttle her. Then she said, “My intuition tells me she is.”

Her intuition? The ridiculous reply brought him back to reality, and he shut down the string of questions that he’d been about to ask. Rafiq almost snorted in disgust at how readily he’d crumbled. She was softening him up—and worse, it was working.