The Sheikh’s Pregnant Fake Wife Page 4

  * * *

  Isabella moved to the side, to make room for him and to avoid any direct contact. Her shoulder still tingled from where he’d touched her during the ultrasound hours prior and given that she was outright lying to the man about her identity, all of this only made her feel more uncomfortable.

  But her mother was right, she was too far gone now to back out now.

  Literally.

  She glanced over her shoulder out the small window behind her and saw nothing but moonlit clouds below. She took the water he handed her with mumbled thanks, then stared down at her lap. She never should have agreed to any this. She wasn’t a liar or a cheat by nature like her mother. She wasn’t flamboyant and attention-seeking like her dearly-departed sister had been. Hell, most of the time, she wasn’t even an extrovert, preferring to stay home and read over going out and parading around for the paparazzi as Roxanne had done. But she’d been desperate, about to lose her home, everything she held dear…

  Some of her inner turmoil must have shown on her face because Feraz cursed softly and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. It wasn’t a move meant to seduce at all but being that close to him rocked her world anyway. All those emotions she’d kept bottled up inside her since Roxanne’s death erupted in an unexpected and unstoppable torrent of tears—grief, pain, terror over the future, guilt for lying to Feraz and for pretending to be something she wasn’t, someone she would never be.

  Feraz was perfectly wonderful, holding her close, stroking her hair, murmuring Arabic endearments against the top of her head. What was a hormonally-charged, pregnant girl to do? She buried her face in the front of his soft silk shirt and bawled her eyes out. Through her sobs she registered his comforting heat, the spicy tang of his cologne—sandalwood, cloves, and soap, heard the rumble of his words beneath her ear, low and protective.

  By the time she’d gotten herself back under control, he’d produced a box of tissues from somewhere and held one out to her. She took it and pushed away from him a little, wiping her cheeks and blowing her nose before even attempting to talk to him again.

  God, how embarrassing.

  Isabella wasn’t prone to emotional outbursts like Roxanne had been, but maybe this breakdown had been good, if it reassured Feraz that she was who she claimed to be. His arm was still around her shoulder, keeping her far closer to him than was wise, but she felt so exhausted now that she didn’t have the strength to fight it. She rested her head back against his shoulder and twisted several more tissues between her fingers.

  “Feel better now?” Feraz asked, his tone holding a hint of amusement.

  “Not really.” She sighed. Did he have to be so darned nice? From the way Roxanne had talked about her husband, you would’ve thought she was married to some ogre who kept her locked up in a desert dungeon somewhere. Then again, her sister had always been prone to exaggeration. It was what made her so good at fooling their mother’s marks and how she’d fooled all those playboys she was so fond of picking up around the globe.

  Isabella leaned her head back against Feraz and closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. “I’m exhausted. I’m sorry I cried all over you, I just haven’t been sleeping very well lately.”

  “Because of the baby?” he asked, his fingers tracing gentle patterns against her shoulder through the cotton of her shirt. Sitting here with him felt so comfortable, so right. Isabella did her best to remind herself that none of this was real, but her tired brain didn’t want to cooperate. Images of the life she could have with Feraz in Djeva ran through her brain—sunny days in the grand palace where he lived, warm nights sharing his bed, a gaggle of happy children running around her feet. A future, a life, a real family. All the things she’d always wanted, but never thought she’d find.

  “No,” she said, her voice quiet and relaxed now that she’d gotten all those pent-up emotions out. They had a good five hours of flight ahead of them before they landed to refuel. Surely a nap wouldn’t be out of the question. Her thoughts grew fuzzy and she snuggled closer into Feraz’s side to keep warm. “Just the usual. Bills, making ends meets without a job, taking care of my mother.”

  “You should have told me the monthly allowance I give you wasn’t enough, Roxy.”

  The gentle censure in his tone jolted her awake as much as the use of her sister’s nickname. Crap. Any reasonable person on the planet should’ve been more than able to make do with the two-hundred-and-fifty grand a month Feraz had provided to her sister as part of their informal agreement. Then again, Roxanne had never been a reasonable person. Isabella scrambled for an answer, her posture stiffening against him.

  “Relax,” he said, massaging gentle circles down her back. Isabella damned near moaned, it felt so good. Almost against her will, she melted against him again, biting back a sigh of pleasure. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been touched and stroked like that, let alone by a man. A man as hot as Feraz. She sighed and closed her eyes again. “I was teasing you. I see my bank statements every month. I know exactly how much of my fortune you spend and where.”

  That last statement had her gut knotting again. They’d switched IDs for her sister’s last trip to France, but Roxanne had used her own credit cards to cover her expenses. If Feraz tracked his expenses as closely as that statement had suggested, that could ruin everything. Her mother had assured Isabella that there was no way Feraz would know. That he had a legion of people who took care of all his accounting for him. That he probably wouldn’t know a bank statement or credit card bill if it bit him in the ass.

  From what he’d said, that was wrong.

  They hit a bit of turbulence and Feraz pulled her closer, making her feel safe and secure, despite the gale-force issues battering her from all sides. Cocooned in comfort and warmth, Isabella slowly eased toward sleep once more. She was so, so tired and this mess would all still be there when she woke up again. Plenty of time to worry later. Right now, she needed rest.

  “How’s your family doing?” she murmured against his chest, unable to even lift her head from where it was pillowed against his strong, solid chest. “Your country.”

  He gave a gentle snort, his warm, minty breath stirring the curls by her temple as his other hand came to rest over her belly, over their baby. “You must be truly weary to want such information, rohi.” His quiet chuckle rumbled beneath her ear, lulling her further toward slumber. “But they are fine, since you ask. Raheem and his wife are now running a wildlife refuge. Rehaj and his fiancée are busy making plans for their wedding next Spring. And my sisters are all just as nosy as ever.”

  She smiled at the picture that presented. “Sounds great.”

  Feraz hesitated. “Yes, it is.”

  His grin and his affection for them were evident in his voice.

  “And your country?” she whispered, on the edge of sleep.

  “Djeva is moving slowly but surely toward the twenty-first century. My brothers have helped a lot with that. Raheem’s wildlife refuge has brought attention to our island again and tourism is increasing once more. Rehaj is working closely with my cabinet to ensure that any new legislation we pass will be beneficial to both Djeva and the international business we hope to attract to the area. And even my sisters are helping. Jessenia is working on marketing and PR for the refuge with Raheem and his wife. And Najma, our resident tech whiz, has designed a tourism app for people to download that shows them all the wonderful attractions Djeva has to offer and allows them to book a trip to our country right from their phone.”

  “Wow.” Isabella’s words were slurred from fatigue. “Sounds amazing.”

  “Yes.” He kissed the top of her head, lingering a moment. “Amazing. Get some sleep, rohi. You are safe now and have no worries. I will handle everything from here.”

  As Isabella finally surrendered to exhaustion, a warning niggled at the back of her mind that she shouldn’t let him handle things, that the more he took control of her life, the greater the chances Feraz would discover the truth. B
ut as they soared thirty thousand feet above the Atlantic, with the life she’d known behind her, and a promisingly terrifying new future awaiting, Isabella was too tired to fight anymore.

  5

  “Sir?” A voice echoed through Feraz’s unconscious. “Sir, we are preparing to land in Djeva.”

  Feraz blinked open his scratchy eyes and squinted up at the attendant. “Thank you, Mozy.”

  The man bowed slightly then hurried back to his post at the rear of the cabin while Feraz sat up gingerly so as not to wake a still-sleeping Roxanne. She’d been out cold for the duration of the flight so far, not even waking when they’d stopped to refuel at Heathrow. He winced as he worked out the kinks in his back then gazed down at her, so lovely and peaceful.

  Too bad that wouldn’t last long, if experience had taught him anything. Roxanne was a firebrand. It was part of what had drawn him to her initially, and it was the same thing that had made them entirely unsuitable for each other and had eventually driven them apart.

  Still, it had been nice to talk with her again, without all the nitpicking and backbiting that usually accompanied their conversations. In fact, the entire day with his wife had been enjoyable—other than that stop at her mother’s.

  He stood and stretched before sitting back down and buckling himself and Roxanne in for the landing. She grumbled softly in her slumber and nuzzled closer into his arm, as if she couldn’t get close enough. Feraz smiled. He couldn’t remember a time when his wife had craved his touch. Sure, their sex life had been good, especially in the beginning. But Roxanne had never really needed him. She’d always been far too independent for her own good, never relying on anyone but herself to get things done. Feraz was all for strong, independent women. One could not live in a household with four sisters and a matriarch such as his mother without developing some level of feminist views. But Roxanne’s independence had always seemed to him to stem from fear and not from strength. As if she didn’t trust anyone enough to let them close enough to help her. Even her husband.

  The pilot’s voice crackled over the PA system, letting them know they’d be on the ground and taxiing up to their gate at the private hanger within twenty minutes. Roxanne stirred at the noise at last, sitting up and rubbing her eyes like a child. Feraz’s heart tugged.

  “What time is it? Are we in London yet?” she asked, her voice husky. Feraz felt that gravelly tone straight through to his groin. He shifted on his seat, putting a bit more distance between them now that she was awake.

  “We’ve been in London and gone again. The pilot is preparing to land in Djeva. We’re home.”

  Her green eyes widened slightly, as if she’d forgotten who they were and what they were doing. “Oh. Wow. Sorry. Didn’t mean to sleep so long, but I guess I needed my rest.”

  “No worries.” Feraz smiled at her flushed cheeks. “Once we’re on the ground you may make use of the lavatory in the back, if you need.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She scratched her baby bump. “I need.”

  A few minutes later they’d landed and slowed to a crawl on the runway. Roxanne waddled away to use the restroom while Feraz pulled out his phone to check his messages. Most of them he filed away for later. Government-related business and cabinet posts. Then he stopped at an email marked urgent. From his sister Jessenia. Perfect.

  He suppressed an eye roll and opened it. He’d hoped to keep his return to the country quiet and get his wife settled in the castle before his family descended on her like a pack of the nosy desert vultures Raheem loved so much in his animal sanctuary. Instead, from the message Jess had sent, it looked like the entire family would be waiting for them at the hanger when they pulled in. Ugh. He exhaled slowly and filed the message away.

  This was not how he’d wanted things to be. His family had met Roxanne amidst their whirlwind romance and right before their wedding. After that, Roxanne had mostly kept to herself, avoiding most family gatherings and social functions until she’d finally headed home for what had originally been intended as a short visit. A year and a half later, she was just now returning.

  Of course, his sisters had also kept up with all the latest tabloid gossip about his estranged wife’s philandering and their opinion of Roxanne had plummeted because of it. At first, Feraz had appreciated their steadfastness and support where he was concerned. But as the time separating him from Roxanne grew, with no end in sight, his family’s constant reminders about his failed marriage grated. He didn’t need any reminders of his failures where Roxanne was concerned. He’d been so stupid, thinking with his cock instead of his brain. He never should have married her so quickly without getting to know her better first. He should have taken the time to get to know her sister Isabella better. Perhaps she could have shed some light on why Roxanne was the way she was with him. Isabella had always been so kind and gentle and understanding. Perhaps he’d chosen the wrong sister after all…

  Except Isabella was dead now and he had no choice but to make things work with Roxanne. For better or worse.

  She came out of the bathroom, just as they pulled to a stop inside the small private hangar. Bright morning sunshine streamed in through the entrance to the metal structure and Feraz gave what he hoped was a confident smile to his wife. “I’ve received word my family is waiting for us outside the plane.”

  “Oh.” Roxanne swallowed hard and plopped back down on the dais beside him. “Right. Good. Okay. Guess we had to see them again sometime, huh?”

  “Well, I see them regularly.” He raised a brow at her, afraid she might be feeling sick again. The pink color in her cheeks had faded once more to a pallid gray. “You’ve not seen them since you left the island. But don’t worry. I’ll be right there with you.”

  She nodded, staring at her toes. Her poor ankles looked swollen from the flight and lack of exercise and he longed to pull her close and carry her off the plane and straight into his waiting limo himself, bypassing his nosy family completely. But that wasn’t an option.

  He motioned for the attendant to get her a fresh water then waited while she drank it before standing and offering his hand. “Ready, rohi?”

  Roxanne looked up at him, her green eyes wide with apprehension, so different from the last time he’d seen his wife on the day she’d left him—all fierce and ready to fight. She bit her full pink lips and he tracked the tiny movement with his gaze. It had been so long since he’d kissed her. Would she still taste of cinnamon and mint?

  “What does that mean?” she asked, her words barely more than a whisper.

  “What?”

  “Rohi?”

  “It’s an Arabic endearment,” he said, tugging her to her feet before him, her body brushing his as she swayed slightly. Feraz put his arm around her waist to steady her and hold her in place. She felt so soft and warm and she smelled of flowers and soap, strands of her dark hair coming loose from her ponytail to dangle against her cheeks. He couldn’t stop himself from tracing the backs of his fingers down her cheek any more than he could stop himself from taking his next breath. “It’s not important.”

  Before he realized what he was doing, Feraz bent his head and brushed his lips over hers, once, twice, before claiming her mouth with his. At first she stiffened beneath him, but then she moaned softly and her lips parted. He took advantage, slipping his tongue into her mouth to taste her once more. Not spicy at all this time. Just sweetness and light and pure goodness.

  Reluctantly, he pulled back to gaze down into her upturned face. Her eyes were closed, and her lips still parted. Masculine pride swelled within him knowing he’d been the one to make her look that way. Him. Her husband. Not some boy-toy playboy billionaire who had no business touching his wife to begin with.

  His hands clenched at his sides and Feraz stepped away, straightening his shirt before slipping on his suit jacket. Roxanne slowly blinked open her eyes to stare at him, her expression still dreamy and unfocused. At least it was better than the grief-stricken fear he’d seen there before. Her color was better too, which
would hopefully keep his family from asking any more embarrassing questions than were necessary.

  Feraz ran a hand through his hair then checked his appearance in the mirror before taking Roxanne’s cold fingers in his. “Time to say hello to your in-laws.”

  * * *

  Isabella followed Feraz down the stairs of the plane to the tarmac, trying to stay behind him as much as possible to avoid being bombarded by his family. She remembered them from her visit to the island years prior, when her sister had first met her dashing sheikh, but she certainly didn’t feel comfortable around them now, especially after that blistering kiss onboard the plane.

  Her mind was still reeling from it, truth be told.

  Despite him being married to Roxanne, Isabella had had her share of fantasies about her gorgeous brother-in-law over the years. None of them had lived up to reality. The feel of his lips against hers—soft, warm, tender, demanding yet not pushing too far too soon. God, why Roxanne had ever left this man behind was beyond Isabella.

  “Welcome home, brother,” a tall, good-looking man a few years younger than Feraz said, slapping him on the back. That must be Raheem. Beside him was a petite redhead with sparkling green eyes, not unlike Isabella’s. “And you brought someone with you, I see. About time you brought the wife to heel, brother.”

  Feraz glanced back over his shoulder at Isabella then tugged her forward to his side. “My wife is my equal and I am glad to welcome her home. She deserves your respect and your kindness, as does my unborn child.”

  Isabella found herself immediately surrounded by a gaggle of Feraz’s sisters, all of them talking at once around her as they shepherded her toward the waiting limo. Feraz was walking on ahead with Raheem and another man she assumed was Rehaj, also good-looking, also a bit younger than Feraz. Another woman had joined their group too, a pretty blond who held tight to Rehaj’s arm. She must be his fiancée.