The Sheikh’s Pregnant Lover (Sheikhs of Al-Dashalid Book 1) Read online

Hannah shook her head and forced herself to focus on the ticket in her hands. She didn’t speak much French, but she gathered from the words printed on the paper that he’d secured her a private sleeper berth. She blushed, thinking of sharing it with him, and then again, thinking of how she’d only splurged on a four-person compartment when she purchased the original ticket. Not Kyril. He’d want her to be as safe as possible. He’d want her to have a door to lock behind her, to keep everyone else out.

  But why hadn’t he come with her, to ensure her safety? It was so him to buy her a train ticket to Venice to replace the one she’d lost. It wasn’t even the first time he’d plucked her out of a situation like this; the last time it was outside the Museum of Art in the heart of Al-Dashalid’s capital city. The sun had played in his dark hair as he bent toward the ticket window, flashing that signature smile at the woman behind the counter. She hadn’t been able to forget it, that smile. His teeth gleamed white, and his full lips were perfectly framed by his elegantly trimmed beard and mustache. It had been just the same on the train station platform. A shiver of pleasure shimmied down her shoulders and back. The things his mouth could do…

  “Something to eat, madam? Dinner service is beginning.”

  She looked up into the uniformed waiter’s face. “Oh, yeah. Food—that sounds good.” Her stomach growled. It was hit or miss, these days. Sometimes she was so ravenous it was all she could do not to rip open packages on the way home from the store. Other times, the small life growing in her belly made her want to spit out everything she tasted.

  Hannah put her bag on the chair next to her, tucking her ticket into its wide top pocket. It was a little crazy, she knew. The bag was huge and probably a welcome target for pickpockets, but she could carry everything she needed in it, up to and including two changes of clothes. She’d sent a small suitcase ahead to Venice so she wouldn’t have to carry it on the train, one of the perks of planning ahead.

  The compartment began to fill around her. A group of four men, bachelors by the looks of them, took a seat at the far end of the car and ordered a round of drinks. Hannah longed for a sip of a sparkling moscato but settled for pasta in a wonderful, light sauce instead. Her dinner arrived, steaming and warm. One by one, the tables filled, and Hannah ordered more rolls. They were delicious and light, and she could not get enough of them.

  “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

  The petite woman, about Hannah’s height, appeared at the side of her table while she had a mouthful of roll. Hannah covered her mouth with her hand. “Of course,” she said around the roll, gesturing to the empty seats as she swallowed. “I need a friend,” she said jokingly, and the woman laughed.

  “Cecily,” she said, sinking gratefully into the seat across from Hannah. “Traveling alone can be exhausting.”

  “At least we get to see Venice.”

  Cecily’s eyes lit up. “Is it your first time?”

  Hannah took in a deep breath. “To Venice? I’ve never been before. This is only my second time in Europe.”

  Cecily picked up the menu and scanned her dinner options. “What kind of trip is it? Are you celebrating something?” Her eyes twinkled. “I can think of lots of reasons a girl might want a solo trip.”

  Hannah laughed. “In a way. I’m pregnant.” The words tasted strange on her lips. “And I want to see the world before the baby comes. It’s funny, because my younger sister, Helen, just went off to college—” She shook her head, laughing. “You don’t want to hear about all this.”

  “Yes, I do.” Cecily put the menu down onto the table with a thwap. “I’ve been traveling alone for a month. I’m dying for an intimate conversation. Did you look after your sister?”

  “Yes,” Hannah admitted. “We lost our parents when I was eighteen. I couldn’t bear to have anyone else take care of her, so I raised her.” She flicked her eyes up to the ceiling. “The moment she’s grown up, I get pregnant. It’s a hot mess.”

  “A hot mess in Venice,” joked Cecily.

  “Venice and Paris and everywhere else I can fit in. I want to see it all. This might be my last chance for a long time.” Hannah danced in her seat. “I’ve got to live it up.” She didn’t mention that at the end of her trip, Kyril would be waiting for her—waiting for the conversation she didn’t want to have. Yes, he was so hot he made the soles of her shoes melt, but it wasn’t a forever kind of relationship. Hannah knew she wouldn’t make a good wife, not for a sheikh anyway. But a good co-parent? That, she could do. “Tell me about you, Cecily. Take my mind off my swollen feet.”

  * * *

  Kyril paced his opulent suite in the Gritti Palace hotel, twisted the signet ring he always wore, and watched the street lamps glitter on the Grand Canal.

  He’d beaten Hannah to Venice.

  It had been simple—a quick trip on his private jet—but now that he was here, ensconced in one of the most beautiful rooms in the city, he could not quiet his thoughts.

  Pregnant. She was pregnant.

  It had been a complete shock, that recognition.

  He’d chased her across Europe for different reasons entirely. For one, he had not been able to stop thinking about the taste of her kisses, or the way her body moved against his in bed, or the way she looked so thoughtfully at everything they saw in Al-Dashalid, from the ornate public fountains to the art exhibit he’d talked his way into, and more. The way she laughed, her smile wide and free. The jewelry she wore, splashes of color against her neck and earlobes, as bright as she was.

  He’d never felt that way about anyone else before. No matter what he did, she was never far from his thoughts. He could not shake her off. So it seemed only natural that he would find her again. He was twenty-nine, and it was an ancient law in Al-Dashalid that the ruler, and his heirs after him, must be married by thirty. He couldn’t stomach it, rushing in with someone sight unseen, but with Hannah…

  Well, he wanted her by his side.

  He wanted to stop the train, scoop her up in his arms, and whisk her away to a place with thick walls, swarming with security. The need to keep her—and their baby—safe burned in his chest, squeezing at his heart. If he'd known…if the train hadn't pulled away before he could act, he never would have let her make the trip alone. Kyril’s hands clenched into fists. The energy was too much to contain. He needed to get a handle on it before she arrived in Venice.

  Kyril snatched his phone from where it lay on a marble-topped side table next to the bed and dialed the number of the only person he wanted to speak to, other than Hannah.

  “Son, it’s late for a call.” His father answered the phone with no preamble, no gruff tone to his voice. He’d been awake. He was often awake in the stillness of the night. He enjoyed it, he’d told Kyril, now that he didn’t have the worries of the country on his shoulders. No, that was for his son.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll call back.” Kyril said the words, but he knew what his father would say next.

  “Don’t. Tell me what’s happened.” Kyril never called this late for no reason and Zafir, his father and former ruler of Al-Dashalid, knew it.

  “I spent a week with a woman about three months ago.”

  “What woman?”

  “An American on holiday.” A pressing nervousness rose to Kyril’s chest. His mother had been at the forefront of the pressure to be married, but he knew his father wanted the same thing. And now…he might as well say it bluntly, get it over with. “She’s pregnant. And the baby is mine.”

  There was a silence.

  And then, “Congratulations, my son. Fatherhood! Who ever thought it would come so soon?” There was a warmth to Zafir’s voice that shocked Kyril and pleased him in equal measure.

  “Certainly not me.”

  Zafir laughed, his happiness ringing over the line. “I’m ready to be a grandfather, even if you’ve been caught unprepared.”

  “I don’t know what to do.” Kyril moved to the window and put a hand to his hair. “She seems to want nothing to do with me.” He hadn�
��t mentioned his frantic search across Europe for Hannah to his parents, thinking he’d turn up with her as his fiancée and all of that would fade into the past, right in line with the country’s ancient law breathing down his neck. He was running out of time to marry, a requirement for keeping the throne. “I…met with her in Paris and she got on a train to Venice without looking back.”

  “Keep your mind where it belongs, Kyril.” Zafir’s voice took a serious tone. “She’s not your wife—not yet. And a woman cannot be wooed by a man chasing after her. She has to come to you on her own.”

  “But—”

  “I know it can be difficult, son. Waiting is never easy. But you can’t force her into a happy marriage. Let her know you are open to talking, but don’t push her. And whatever you do, don’t chase her to Venice.”

  “All right.” Kyril didn’t bother confirming or denying his location. “Thank you for your advice. I’ll move slowly.”

  “Best for all the lives involved,” his father said. “A child! For my oldest child. What a wonder. Call me whenever you need, Sheikh Kyril.” His father’s sense of humor shone whenever he called him by his formal title. He did not do it often, only when he was feeling particularly amused by his oldest son.

  “I will.”

  Kyril hung up the phone and tossed it onto the bed, where it bounced once and fell to the floor with a sharp clatter. His father was going soft in his retirement. That was the only explanation for this advice, which he certainly wasn’t going to follow.

  Let Hannah roam Europe, alone and vulnerable, while she carried his child? Not a chance.

  3

  Hannah’s heart still fluttered against her breastbone as she lifted the strap of her bag to her shoulder and waited for the train to stop in Venezia Saint Lucia, the only stop in Venice proper. She’d watched the sun rise as the train rumbled through Verona—fair Verona—from the comfort of the private sleeper car, the sheet slung over her shoulders. Kyril’s face as the train doors closed in the Gare de Lyon had kept her up most of the night.

  She stepped carefully from the train onto the gray brickwork and squared her shoulders. A clear, bright morning in Venice. What could be better? Hannah took a deep breath and raised her eyes to the blue and yellow sign pointing the way out through a hallway lined with shops encased in gleaming glass, travelers tugging rolling suitcases, and Kyril.

  Her heart beat faster at the sight of him, standing casually in his dark suit, eyes scanning the platform. His gaze fell on her, and he straightened, power evident in the strong lines of his shoulders, and it was then that she realized she wasn’t alone.

  Kyril was thirty feet away, but a man in a pleasantly dull outfit—dress pants and a blue dress shirt—fell into place beside her.

  “Good morning, Miss George.” His accent reminded her more of the marketplace in Al-Dashalid than Kyril’s did.

  “You must have traveled fast, to beat me here.” Her face felt hot, flushed, even though she couldn’t say she was surprised. It made sense that Kyril was here, waiting. That was why he’d allowed her to board the train. He was already planning to follow. Or lead, she supposed.

  She walked faster, slightly ahead of the bodyguard. Kyril had a few of his own casually ringed around him, and she felt drawn to him as if by gravity itself. Run, said a small part of her heart. But the majority was too entranced.

  Kyril greeted her with a smile that sent warmth down to the tips of her toes. “Hannah. Did you sleep well?”

  She found herself smiling back. “As well as could be expected.”

  “Good,” he said, giving a commanding nod to the knot of bodyguards. “Then you’ll be ready for all I’ve planned.”

  * * *

  Hannah lifted her face toward the sun as the boat rocked gently beneath her, carrying all of them toward the main island of Venice. Even the daylight seemed rich, sitting next to Kyril, his security arranged around them. She ached to inch closer, but no—better to keep a little distance until they could really talk. The motor of the boat, blending with the rush of the wind, made speaking impossible. Even if it hadn’t, the sights would have taken her breath away.

  St. Mark’s Square, growing larger in the distance. The sun glittering on the sweeping water of the canals. And Kyril’s muscled forearms, dark beneath his flawlessly rolled sleeves. His shirt was a pure white. So it begins. Hannah thought she’d had a month of freedom left, but the time fled in those snatches of sleep on the train, while she wasn’t paying attention.

  Landfall.

  The wide dock, ringed with freshly painted rails, welcomed them to the ancient city on the canals, and Hannah’s breath caught. The earth-toned buildings in reds and yellows hummed with adventure. She could lose herself in the narrow streets, exploring for hours.

  But there was Kyril, with a determined smile. He glanced down at the curve of her belly underneath a dark blue sundress. “We should talk.” It wasn’t a question.

  Hannah shifted her weight from side to side, and the heat spreading across her chest felt uncomfortably like a sunburn. “We could go to my hotel.” She raised a hand to shade her eyes from the sun. “It’s close by, I think.”

  “No need to worry about a hotel.” Kyril’s smile grew even more brilliant. “If it’s a hotel you want, I have just the place.”

  * * *

  She’d never seen such an opulent room.

  When Hannah had met Kyril in Al-Dashalid, they’d stayed in royal properties away from the palace. This hotel room, overlooking the Grand Canal, was at least as stunning.

  “This is where you’re staying?”

  It was a stupid question, but she couldn’t help it. The dark furniture, polished to a high shine, was somehow delicate and imposing all at once. The bed linens were meticulously folded, and the crystal glasses on the water stand winked in the sun.

  “We’re staying here,” Kyril said easily, and for once, she was too speechless to argue. How could she, with the canal below, the buildings beckoning her from the other side, and the most beautiful man on the planet settling into a small sofa behind her? Kyril had even arranged for her small suitcase to be delivered from her former hotel. It was perched next to one of the bedroom doors.

  “You’re right.” She turned away from the wide windows and faced Kyril. He nodded to a matching sofa facing the one he sat on, looking every bit a king, and Hannah flushed with nerves. “We should talk.” She eased herself onto the other sofa and willed herself to meet his eyes.

  What was she going to open with? I need time to travel, and I’ve put a lot of thought into each destination. Right. That was it.

  But Kyril spoke first.

  “We need to get married.”

  * * *

  “What—” Hannah lost the thread of her sentence. Words whirled through her mind, none of them settling on the tip of her tongue. “You—we—” What was this? Baby brain? Complete shock? There was no way he’d just proposed. And so bluntly, as if it was a given.

  Kyril leaned forward, dark gaze burning into hers. “You haven’t said. How is the baby? Is everything proceeding smoothly?”

  “Y—yes.” This topic felt firm under her feet, like the dock after the back and forth sway of the boat. “I’m about three months along. Obviously.” Color rushed to her cheeks. “Our timing was—”

  “Impeccable.” He was so confident, so unfazed. “I’m relieved to have found you. You shouldn’t be running around Europe alone—not in your condition. And unmarried at that.”

  Married? What did marriage have to do with any of it? Of course he was the father, but—

  The realization that he planned to marry her—and soon—crashed into her like an ocean storm.

  He pressed his palms together in front of him. “It’s a perfect fit, Hannah. That’s my view.”

  “What’s a perfect fit?” This baby—this unexpected life growing in her belly—seemed more of an earthquake than a puzzle piece sliding into place.

  “You.” His eyes followed the lines of her f
ace. “The child. Our marriage will untie many knots.”

  He had that way of speaking, in pretty curlicues, and she let the words fall softly across her skin. “What knots, Kyril?” It seemed to Hannah that marriage would only create more of them, but he’d come all this way to find her. She’d let him have his chance to speak.

  “You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to marry. I don’t think you understand—” He shook his head, his eyes shining. “I couldn’t forget you. Not for a single moment. You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to make my wife.” He laughed, the low rumble of his voice sending a wave of pleasure through her belly. “Even I couldn’t have planned it so well. The ancient laws of Al-Dashalid—do you know of them?”

  A thought from a guidebook she’d read long ago teased at the edge of her mind. “I’ve heard something, but please, enlighten me.”

  “By law, in order to retain my place at the head of the government, I must marry by the time I turn thirty.”

  All the separate threads—the baby, the marriage he insisted on so confidently—twisted together at the center of Hannah’s chest. She struggled for a breath. No. This wasn’t the way. She wasn’t in love with Kyril. She’d enjoyed the week they spent together. She would never forget the lines of his body against hers. But marriage? No. They could co-parent without marrying. People did it all the time.

  “Kyril—”

  He raised a hand, cutting her off. “You don’t have to agree with me now. But it’s a sign, Hannah. We have to get married.” He leaned back against the sofa.

  “We—” Her heart beat wildly as she cast about for something to say. Anything to say. ”You’re not thirty yet, are you? If you’re not—” Hannah tried again. “We don’t have to rush into this.”

  “What’s the point in waiting? By the time the baby is born, we could be well settled in Al-Dashalid and—”

  It was too much. She grabbed her bag and stood. Where was the exit? The room was full of doors, but where was the one that led her out, where she could breathe? “I have to go.”