KRISTI GOLD - Expecting the Sheikh's Baby

Daniel’s expression went stern. “And just so you know, you might be a good friend, but if you do anything to hurt her, you will have to answer not only to the rest of the family but to me as well.”

He had no intention of hurting Karen. He had no intention of allowing her to cause him pain, either. “You can rest assured that I will take very good care of her.”

“Speaking of family,” Daniel said, “what is yours going to think about you marrying an American?”

Ash saw no reason to tell them immediately. Perhaps later, after the birth of their child. Or perhaps he would call his father following the marriage ceremony if only to inform him that he had not been able to interfere this time.

Ash had waited thirty-six years for the moment when he could prove that the king of Zhamyr no longer had control over his son’s life. “I no longer concern myself with my family’s approval. And I have no obligations as heir since that duty falls on my eldest brother.”

The phone rang and Daniel immediately rose in response. “I’ll get it. I told Phoebe to call when she’s ready for me to come home.”

Ash couldn’t hold back a cynical smile brought about by more envy. “I see she has you shackled.”

Daniel turned with his hand on the phone. “We haven’t tried shackles yet, but you never know.” He answered with a brief hello, said, “Send her up,” then dropped the receiver onto its cradle.

“I take it your wife has decided to personally escort you home,” Ash said.

“It’s not my wife who’s on her way up here.”

“Then who?”

“The woman you intend to make your wife.”

With every solitary ping of the elevator climbing to the top floor of the New Regents Hotel, Karen’s heart beat double-time in her chest.

She was the lone occupant in the car with the exception of a starched and polished attendant who stood in the corner wearing a blue-tailored suit and a poker-faced expression. More than likely, he thought her to be one of the catering staff since she was dressed for work in a black skirt and tailored white blouse. Of course, she was about to meet with a prince who could very well expect her to cater to his every whim. But not if she could help it. She only had one goal in mind—a father for her child. And to conduct her own little interview to make sure that the sheikh fit the father bill.

Karen felt totally out of her element when the doors opened with quiet efficiency to a hallway covered in rich red carpet. She doubted it had been rolled out for her, simple Karen Rawlins from Nowhere, Montana.

The attendant stepped out and kept his hand on the door to prevent its closure. With his free hand, he indicated the entrance at the end of the corridor. “Sheikh Saalem’s penthouse, madam.”

She hoped he’d meant madam in a polite sense and didn’t mistakenly believe she was there to service the sheikh. Surely not. Now if he knew she was wearing skimpy zebra-striped underwear—her one secret indulgence—she could understand where he might make that assumption. But unless he had X-ray vision, he had no way of knowing that.

The man cleared his throat and made a flicking motion on his chin. Did he expect a tip? Karen considered supplying a verbal one—lose the toupee.

Just when Karen reached into her bag for a few bucks, he said, “Mustard, miss.”

Only then did Karen realize she was sporting the remnants of a sandwich she had consumed in record time during her drive to the hotel. Embarrassed, she used the oval mirror across the hall to remove the yellow chin smudge with a napkin she’d stuffed in her purse. While she was at it, she secured the clip holding her hair in a loose upsweep then checked her lipstick. Luckily it was still there, and so was the attendant. From the mirror’s reflection, she noticed that he was ogling her. Ogling her legs, to be more accurate.

She rolled her eyes to the ornate ceiling, turned and forced a smile. “Thank you. That will be all.”

He gave her a brusque nod, backed into the elevator and closed the doors. How nice that he’d immediately left with little effort on her part, Karen thought. Dismissed with nothing more than a simple command.

Standing before the double doors to the sheikh’s suite, clutching her basic black bag to her chest, Karen acknowledged she could get used to saying “That will be all” like some demanding debutante, especially if it encouraged others to do her bidding.

She seriously doubted it would work on Ash Saalem. She also doubted she would be able to get any words out once she faced his high-voltage sensuality, live and in person. But last night, after weighing Maria’s advice, she’d decided to go through with the arrangement—if Ash satisfactorily answered her questions.

Yes, I will marry you and have your baby. That will be all.

Slipping the strap of her purse over her shoulder, Karen pressed the buzzer and sucked in a deep breath, expecting to be met by Ash. She certainly didn’t expect to be greeted by her cousin Daniel.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in a remarkably calm tone despite her surprise.

Daniel stepped into the hall and gave her a wily grin. “Visiting with a friend. What are you doing here? Business or pleasure?”

Karen had no idea what Daniel had learned from Ash and frankly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. From the moment she’d met him, Daniel had stepped into the role of the big brother Karen had never had. A big brother who delighted in teasing her. She refused to provide fodder for the ridicule mill. “I’m here on business.” Not exactly a fib.

Daniel rubbed his jaw and his grin deepened. “Is Ash going to check out your portfolio?”

“Something like that.” As much as she cherished Daniel, she wanted him to leave. She was anxious enough without his prodding. “Tell Phoebe I said hi, will you?”

“Sure.” Daniel leaned forward, lowered his voice and said, “Don’t forget the Do Not Disturb sign.”

That will be all. “It’s business, Daniel.”

“If you say so.” Daniel departed, taking his skeptical grin with him, leaving Karen alone with the sheikh who now stood at the door looking calm and composed, and subtly sinful in his casual tan polo shirt and black slacks.

“Come in,” he said with a sweeping gesture.

Karen passed by Ash while maintaining enough distance between them to prevent inadvertently touching him. The pleasant scent emanating from him teased her senses, a one-of-a-kind fragrance that smelled a lot like incense, exotic but not overbearing. It reminded her of the patchouli oil Sunrise Bowers, Silver Valley’s lone hippie and video store manager, had bathed in. It had that certain kind of distinctiveness, and Karen imagined it bore some equally unique name. Arabian Nights, Desert Sunset, Sex in the Sand.

Good grief.

To avoid looking at Ash, Karen turned her attention to the suite’s opulent living area. A row of French doors opening onto a verandah revealed the downtown Boston skyline and the still overcast skies.

To her right, she noted a cherry wood dining table littered with lunch remains, to her left a sitting area with tan leather-covered sofas and chairs surrounding a small redbrick fireplace. And straight ahead, an open door revealed a king-size bed covered in a gold brocade spread. Quite different from the particle-board furniture, thin bath towels and faulty A/C she’d encountered in the motels where she had stayed on previous trips. Very nice decor indeed. Especially the bedroom and she definitely needed to stop looking at that.

The front door closed behind Karen, startling her. She spun around and blurted, “Nice place. Do you come here often?”

What was she thinking? She sounded like some barfly executing a bad pick-up line, not a smart, sophisticated woman bent on a mission. But Ash had a knack for making her totally tongue-tied and thought-challenged.