Susan Mallery: The Sheikh and the Pregnant Bride

Still, it took a couple of deep breaths before she typed in the “pay this amount and buy it now” price. She writhed in her chair a couple of seconds before pushing Enter.

“Are you in pain?”

She turned toward the speaker and saw Prince Qadir stepping into her office.

“Is it serious?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” She hesitated, not sure if she should rise or bow or what. “I’m ordering parts online.”

“A simple enough action.”

“It’s an auction. I’ve been bidding all morning. Someone else keeps topping me by a couple of dollars.”

“Then offer enough to push him out of the battle.”

“That’s what I did.”

“Good.”

“I probably could have gotten the part for less if I’d waited.”

“Do you think that is important to me? The bargain?”

She looked at him, at his tailored suit and blinding white shirt. He looked like a successful executive…a very handsome executive.

“No one likes to be taken,” she said.

“Agreed, but there is a time and a place to barter. I doubt there is a huge market for parts for my car, but what market there is will be competitive. I want you to win.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“But you do not approve.”

“Why do you say that?” she asked.

“Your expression. You would prefer to bargain and wait.”

“I want you to get your car at a fair price.”

He smiled. “An excellent idea. I appreciate the fairness of your concern. Perhaps a balance of both would be easiest.”

He had a great smile, she thought absently. She hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about princes, but she supposed she would have assumed they were stern and serious. Or total playboys. She’d seen plenty of those during the season in Aspen. But Qadir didn’t seem to be either.

“I’ll do what I can,” she said. “It’s just I’m used to getting the best price.”

“While I am used to getting the best.”

With his family fortune, he always did, she thought humorously.

“Must be nice,” she murmured.

“It is.”

Maggie smiled. “At least you’re clear about it.” She rose and walked to the printer. “Here’s a list of all the parts I’ve ordered so far. I’ll start disassembling her tomorrow. I haven’t seen much rust, which is great. Once I get her into pieces, I can figure out exactly what needs replacing. For now, I’ve just been ordering the obvious stuff.”

She handed him the printout. Qadir studied it, even as he was aware of the woman next to him. She was an interesting combination of confidence and insecurity.

He knew from personal experience that many people were uncomfortable around him at first. They did not know what was expected. He’d asked one of the American secretaries to help Maggie get settled, but only time would make his new mechanic comfortable in his presence.

He reminded himself that being comfortable wasn’t required for her to complete the job.

She was nothing like the women who drifted in and out of his life. No designer clothes, no artfully arranged hair, no expensive perfumes and jewels. In a way she reminded him of Whitney. There had been no pretense with her, either.

He pushed the memory away before it formed, knowing there was no point in the remembering.

“I’ll want to pull out the engine in the next couple of weeks,” Maggie was saying. “You told me you could help with that.” She paused. “Not physically, of course. I mean hiring people. Not that you’re not terribly strong and manly.” She groaned. “I didn’t just say that.”

Qadir laughed. “You did and it is a compliment I will treasure. Not enough people comment on my manly strength. They should do so more often.”

Maggie flushed. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Because you earned it.”

“Hey, back off. You’re the prince. I get to be a little nervous around you. This is a strange situation.”

He liked that she didn’t back down. “Fair enough. Yes, I have a team you can use to pull out the engine. I have several local resources. I will e-mail them to you. Mention my name—it will improve the response.”

“Do you have a little crown logo you put in your signature line?” she asked.

“Only on formal documents. You may have to go to England for some of your purchases. I have contacts there, as well.”

“Any of them with the royal family?”

“I doubt Prince Charles will be of much help.”

“Just a thought.”

“He’s too old for you, and married.”

Maggie laughed. “Thanks, but he’s also not my type.”

“Not looking for a handsome prince? Some of the women here have exactly that in mind. Or perhaps a foreign diplomat.”

Maggie glanced away. “Not my style. Besides, I work with cars. Not exactly future princess material.” She held out her weathered hands. “I’m more of a doer than someone who is comfortable just sitting around looking pretty.”

“That is the monarchy’s loss.”

She laughed again. “Very smooth. You’re good.”

“Thank you.”

“The women must be lined up for miles.”

He smiled. “There’s a waiting area over by the garden.”

“I hope it’s covered. You don’t want them getting sunburned.”

As she spoke she leaned against the desk. She was tall. He couldn’t see much of her shape under the coveralls she wore, but he remembered how she had looked the previous day and was intrigued. Curves and a personality, not to mention humor. How often did he find that combination?

A flicker of heat burst to life inside him, making him wonder how she would taste if he kissed her. Not that he was going to. He was far more interested in her abilities as a mechanic than her charms as a woman. But a man could wonder…

He amused himself by imagining his father’s reaction if he were to start dating Maggie. Would the monarch be horrified, or would he be pleased to see yet another of his sons settling down? Not that it mattered. Speculation was one thing, but acting was another—and he had no plans to act.

“I come bearing food,” Victoria said as she stepped into the garage. “One of the cooks told me you never get away for lunch. He assumes you don’t appreciate his culinary masterpieces. Trust me, those are people you don’t want to annoy.”

Maggie straightened and set down her wrench, then pulled off her gloves. “Thanks for the warning. I’ve been so busy pulling everything apart, I haven’t stopped to eat.”

Victoria set the basket on a cart. “Let me guess. You’re one of those annoying people who forgets to eat.”

“Sometimes.”

“Then we’ll never be really, really close.”

Maggie laughed. “I think you’re a strong enough person to overlook that flaw. Come on. Let’s go eat in my office. It’s cleaner there.”

While Maggie washed her hands in the small bathroom, Victoria set out their lunch. She’d brought a salad with walnuts, arugula and Gorgonzola. Several mini sandwiches on fresh foccacia bread, fruit, drinks and chocolate-chip cookies that were still warm.

“I thought I was supposed to avoid dessert,” Maggie said as she took her seat.

Victoria settled in the one opposite. “It’s your fault. I had to placate the cooks.” She slipped off her high heels and wiggled her toes. “Heaven.”

“Why do you wear those if they hurt?”

“They don’t all hurt. Besides, without them, I feel short and unimpressive. Plus men really like women in high heels.”

Maggie laughed. “I’ve never thought about being impressive. And I’ve never tried to get a man that way. By being attractive.”

“You could in a heartbeat,” Victoria told her as she speared a piece of lettuce. “I would kill for your bone structure.”